But that big hero is ruining everything I planned. Now they’re off on some road trip by the look of it. I saw them drive away. They didn’t see me in my car, watching them. But I’m here, keeping my distance. I’ve done this before. I know how not to be seen, in and out of the traffic. He doesn’t even know I’m here. Him and his big, black car. He thinks he’s hot shit, but I’m way smarter than he is. As my mother used to say, you can’t keep a good man down. Well, I’m a good man, and he won’t keep me down.
Soon, my love, we will be together. I’m coming for you soon…
Chapter 11
As Jessie scanned the Jeep’s rich leather interior, she realised BJ was not only the action-man type, but he also appreciated luxury. The way the soft, leather seats hugged a person’s body, the touch of sophisticated wood trims and the cluster of state-of-the-art instrumentation, screamed top-end luxury. The Grand Cherokee was the perfect fit for BJ. A bit of GI Joe meets James Bond.
“So, how did things go with your artistic director?”
“He wasn’t happy I had to leave, which is understandable. I just hope I can get back and dance at least a few performances, particularly now Tabitha is out.”
“I’m sure it will all work out. Had any more thoughts about who might have broken into your unit?”
Jessie frowned as she remembered what Officer Wentworth had said last night. “Well, there is this guy Michael. He’s a lighting tech’ at the Company. He keeps pestering me to go out. I’ve told him I don’t want to, but he doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“Anyone else like that around? Pestering you?”
Jessie reflected on the last few days. “There’s my building’s gardener, Ron. But he’s just a lonely, middle-aged man who likes to chat.”
“Listen. You need to call the police with these two guys’ names. At least, give them something to go on. What about this dancer, Tabitha? Do you think she might do something like this to unnerve you so she can get the principal role?”
“Tabitha can be a bitch, but I don’t think she’d do anything like this?”
“You never know. People do odd things when someone stands in the way of their dreams.”
Jessie’s thoughts went into a tailspin. Surely she couldn’t be so hated or Tabitha so jealous that she’d do something as horrible as this? “But I don’t want to get Michael or Ron or Tabitha into trouble. Can you imagine the back lash after the police question them?” She tugged at her hair. The thought of causing all this fuss made her head hurt. It could destroy her chance at becoming the principal dancer in the Company, forever. David would be appalled. She just wished it would all to go away.
“Jessie, call the police. Give them the names.”
She scowled at him, but knew he was right. If someone was planning on doing her real harm she needed to tell the police, despite the repercussions. “Okay. Okay.” She fumbled in her handbag, retrieved Officer Charles’ business card and made the call. After a ten minute conversation, Jessie threw her phone back into her bag and let out a ragged breath.
“Now, sit back and relax. Try not to worry about it anymore.”
BJ’s reassurance soothed the tension in her shoulders, and she settled back for the ride. Within no time, they escaped the city limits and powered along the M31. The heat of the midday sun blasted through the windscreen only to be thwarted by the air conditioning, which maintained a comfortable temperature in the cabin. Clear skies promised a hassle-free trip, while easy-listening music set a stress-free driving mood. Like a kid on her first holiday, Whiskey sat bolt upright, ready for the forthcoming adventure.
Jessie glanced across at BJ. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for me over this past week. You really are the proverbial knight in shining armour, aren’t you?” She stared at the attractive planes of his face as his eyes focused on the highway. Even his scraggy hair tied in its trademark ponytail and scruffy stubble that needed a tidy-up did nothing to hide his good looks. Dressed in rough, almost tattered blue Levis, scuffed tan suede boots and a grey chambray shirt, rolled at the cuffs, he looked like he’d just ridden in on a horse and swung from the saddle. Yet it was the concentrated effort with which his forehead knitted his brows that intrigued her most. She sensed there was a troubled mind caught behind his rugged handsomeness. A mind mulling over a problem that refused to be solved.
“God, no. I’m no knight. Just a bloke who doesn’t like to see someone, particularly a lady, take unnecessary risks.”
“Really? I think there’s a lot more to you than you’re willing to say. But we have about six hours until we get to Yass District Hospital. So that’s plenty of time for you to finally tell me the Brad Jordan story…” She extended her legs deep into the foot well and clasped her hands behind her head. Flashing him a radiant “gotcha” smile, she waited. Judging by the twist of his mouth, she wondered if she’d pushed too hard. Trapped behind the wheel, he had to tell her something. She hoped it would be the truth.
“I guess what with the mugging, your unit break-in, meeting Ricky and Angel who both like you, and most importantly based on Whiskey’s approval…” The dog turned to him on cue, “It would seem you can be trusted.”
“Of course you can trust me. But why so secretive?”
“It’s a long story, but as you say we have plenty of time.” His swift sideways glance of cobalt blue sealed the deal. Chasing the sun up the highway, he repositioned his sun glasses and began. “I don’t talk much about my childhood. But here goes…I grew up in Melbourne and like most kids, both my parents worked. Nothing fancy. Just ordinary, everyday people doing ordinary, everyday jobs. I was the eldest of two boys. I was twelve when my younger brother drowned. He was ten…”
She drew a sharp breath and darted a furtive glance at his stony face. His focus never wavered from the road. In a steady, flat voice, he explained. “We were swimming at the local public pool on the Christmas holidays. Mum had gone to get ice creams and left me in charge of Tony. We were both strong swimmers. We competed in the school swimming carnivals, usually placing in the top three. I figured he didn’t need looking after too much. So instead of watching him, I clowned around with some other boys. When I realised I couldn’t see him, I started yelling for him. Tony was floating face-down in the pool. They tried to revive him, but it was too late. I remember how blue his lips were. His skin, cold and damp. No one could work out why he drowned. But I knew. It was my fault. It was my fault for not looking out for him. It was my fault he died. Everything turned to shit from that day.” As BJ retold his boyhood story, his voice held no emotion, no inflection.
Lifeless, she thought. Exactly how poor Tony must have looked to his older brother who shouldered all the blame for his younger brother’s death. “But you were only a boy. You can’t really blame yourself…”
“That’s what everyone said, except my father. He blamed us both. He left Mum and me not long after that. We never saw him again. It fell on me to look after Mum and do her proud. To somehow make up for Tony’s death and Dad’s leaving.”
God, how awful. What do you say to someone who’s lived such a traumatic childhood? She glanced at the air con display, expecting the temperature to have dropped, but it remained steady. The chill filling the cabin was the haunting legacy from BJ’s past. Unsure as what to say, she decided on silence.
“As I got older I spent weekends at my Uncle Bob’s place on the Mornington Peninsula. My mother’s brother, not my father’s. Uncle Bob taught me about being a man, about responsibility, about perseverance. When I was old enough I joined the army. It was where I belonged. But because most of the other guys didn’t really want to be professional soldiers, I felt out of place a lot of the time. I was there to be the best soldier I could be. After a while, I needed more. So I applied and was accepted into the SASR—Special Air Services Regiment, which is a special missions unit within the Australian Defence Force.”
“Oh, I see…” Her mind teased apart the small details it had unconsciousl
y stored.
“See what?” He glanced across at her.
“Your size, the way you can creep up on someone without making a sound, the constant scanning of your surroundings, your gym at home and the ease with which you threw that mugger in the air…it all makes sense now. It’s your training in the SAS.”
“Yes. Like your ballet training affords you extraordinary skills, my SAS training has done the same for me.” His lips lifted in smile before returning his attention to the road.
Understanding their common ground of discipline, determination and a passionate desire to be the best, she recalled their first meeting. He’d said that he and trouble seemed to go hand in hand. Based on what he’d just told her, it certainly appeared to be the case. No wonder he was only too eager to help out. He probably felt duty-bound to do so.
“After three years, I ended up deployed to a number of combat zones including Afghanistan, as a sniper.”
A sniper. Her skin prickled. Being in the SAS was one thing, but a sniper? As the chill in the cabin thickened, she folded her arms and gazed out the window. She tuned into the drone of the rubber on the highway while the East Wangaratta countryside whizzed past. Parched from recent drought, plains of brittle, dust-covered grasses blurred into a grim landscape of death. BJ was a trained, highly skilled killer. Someone specialised to kill others to protect their own. Jessie had no idea how to process that information.
She was a vegetarian for God’s sake. Not for health reasons, but for ethical ones. She refused to eat any flesh because it upset her to think a life had been taken just to feed her. And here she was sitting beside a trained killer, an SAS sniper. God knows how many people he’s killed. How many lives he’s taken? Was he some crazed serial killer exploiting war to kill other people, or just a noble guy doing an extraordinarily difficult job? A job he chose—no doubt as some sort of penance for not saving his brother all those years ago.
She rubbed her eyes and blinked. Letting out a heavy sigh, she sneaked a peek across at him. Obviously sensing that she needed time to process, he focused on the road, on the job of getting them there safely. That’s what a sniper does. Makes sure the team gets there safely.
Jessie forced her mind to stop dramatizing, to take a more positive approach. She backtracked on everything since meeting him. Her previous thought about him being a GI Joe type was closer to the truth than she’d expected. And she’d just got through telling him he was like a knight in shining armour. On some level, she’d been correct. For the men and women who counted on him to protect them when they risked their lives on war-torn streets, he was. His accuracy, skill and unwavering sense of duty protected them.
She cast him a nervous glance which he caught with a nod and an upward curve of his lips. That was enough. She didn’t need to know more. She didn’t need to know how many people he’d killed or what war was like. He did what he had to do. It was none of her business. Her business was waiting for her at Coodravale Homestead.
Blowing out a calming breath, she reclined the seat, closed her eyes and trusted him to get her there safely.
Chapter 12
All in all, he thought Jessie took the news of his being an ex-SAS sniper well. She’d not commented or passed judgement, which he took as a plus. Like his mates from the unit, he’d got used to not telling anyone about his past. People’s reactions were mixed and difficult to judge. The ghoulish voyeurs pumped him as to what it felt like being in a war zone, “plugging off the enemy”. They made his skin crawl. And the holier-than-thou types reviled him as nothing more than a paid assassin. They never understood that without him and the other troops, the freedom they took for granted could soon be usurped. But it takes all types. He had no one to answer to but himself.
He raked his fingers through his hair, dislodging another section from its ponytail. Through all those years of complying with army regulations, he’d taken to not cutting his hair or shaving as an act of rebellion. Rachael hated when he came home on leave, and got “shabby”, as she called it. But since he had no one left in his life to impress, he wore shabby like a badge of honour.
With the tender memory of Rachael came the familiar tug at his heart. Automatically, he reached his hand between the seats, and Whiskey nuzzled into his palm. “You’re a good girl,” he said, appreciating how her affection lessened some of his longing.
The orb of the sun slid towards the western horizon. A cracking summer spectrum of burnished oranges, reds and yellows flared across the windscreen, and he flipped down his sun visor. Glancing into the rear view mirror, he noticed a car trailing behind them. Not unusual for other cars to be on the highway, but his sixth sense piqued. He strained to identify the make and colour, but in the afternoon’s heat haze the vehicle remained distorted. With a sigh, he returned his attention to the road. Nevertheless, he checked the rear-view mirror more often on the last leg of the journey than the first.
“Jessie, wake up. We’re almost there.” He reached over, gently nudging her from sleep.
Blinking, she rotated her neck, stretched and returned to consciousness. Tilting her seat upright, she looked around, still groggy. “I must have been asleep for hours.”
“A while.” An indulgent smile tugged at his lips.
“Sorry. That’s so rude of me. Here you are driving me all this way, and I just fall asleep.” She dragged both hands through her hair and cast him an apologetic pout. “But didn’t you have to stop to give Whiskey a toilet break?”
“Yes, but you were so dead asleep. I just left the engine running. Since you didn’t stir, I didn’t wake you.”
“I’m so sorry. I usually don’t sleep well at all. I can’t believe I’ve slept all this way.”
“You’ve been through a bit, so you needed to sleep. No big deal.” He shrugged and steered the Jeep through the round-about and up Yass’s main street.
Like many country towns, the traffic flowed patiently while cars slipped in and out of unmetered angle parking on either side of the two-lane road. Rows of turn-of-the-century buildings dressed in pastel shades of egg shell, muted apricot, parchment grey and porcelain white snuggled between more modern buildings of nondescript red and cream brick. They performed their roles of bank, café, Returned Services League Club, supermarket, library, court house and second-hand shops without fanfare, giving Yass a quiet, circumspect atmosphere.
“Not much changes here by the look of it,” he said, charmed by the timelessness in which the town existed.
“It’s your typical country town. There’re the locals, whose families have lived here for generations, and just enough tourists to boost the economy.”
BJ hung a right into Rossi Street and drove up the hill, passing the Yass District Police station on his right and the white picket-fenced Methodist Church built in 1871 on his left.
“There it is. Yass District Hospital.” He nodded to the one-storey brick building at the top of the hill. “Are any of your family going to be here?”
She glanced at her watch. “Maybe Richard, my brother, will be here. Mum’s probably gone home by now as she doesn’t like driving once it gets dark.”
“Are you all right, Jessie?” he asked, noticing her face blanch.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen Dad for nearly a year and the last time I did, he was his usual brusque self. He was always in charge, telling people what to do. Now that he’s had a stroke, I’m not sure how he’ll be. Or for that matter, how I’ll be.” The tremble in her voice intensified as he parked the car in the hospital’s small rear parking lot.
Switching off the engine, he swivelled to face her. “Listen, I’ve seen some awful shit in my time and nothing prepares you for it.” He paused. She swallowed. “It doesn’t matter how much you psyche yourself up, until you get there, face to face with it, you never know how you’ll react. But what I can tell you is, you’ll cope.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re tough, Jessie Hilton. Whether you know it or not, you’re tough.” He meant
it.
“I’m not so sure.” She screwed up her mouth. “They say seeing someone after they’ve had a stroke is a real shock. They can’t talk properly, they don’t know who you are, and they have no muscular control…” Her fingers fidgeted in her lap until one of them sacrificed itself to her mouth, taking the brunt of her anxiety.
He gently reached out to rescue Jessie’s finger and pressed on. “Sure, it’ll be tough, but you’re tougher. Do you want me to come in with you?”
“No. It’s fine. You take Whiskey for a walk. I’ll go in to see Dad. Maybe Richard’s there. I’ll call you when I’m ready. Thanks for the offer though.” She squeezed his hand and managed a thin smile.
“That a girl. Remember, your worst enemy is your own self-doubt. As Nike says, just do it. Don’t think about it too much. Just go in and front up. Okay?” He added extra emphasis to his message. Many times in combat, he’d led his unit into situations they’d instinctively avoid at all costs. With bullets that would rip a man in two cracking around their heads, he’d control the fear and take charge. He applied the same leadership strategy here, hoping it would spark Jessie’s natural determination and dancer’s discipline.
“Thanks. You’re right. All I can do is front up and do my best.” Brightening with resolve, she opened her door as he slid out of his and wrangled Whiskey from the back seat. With his dog leashed beside him, he escorted Jessie to the entrance of the hospital. “If you need anything, just call me. I won’t be far away. Whiskey and I will just wander around here ’til you’re ready to leave. Okay?”
“Thanks BJ…Again.” She stressed the final word.
“Forget it. Go see your father. Even if he hasn’t been the dad you wanted, he helped you get this far, and he’s still here for a while longer.” He hoped his comment didn’t patronise her, but she still had a father. Something he’d lost years ago.
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 8