Giving a courageous grin, she gritted her teeth. Another opportunity to return to the monsters in her sleep was not something she eagerly anticipated. As he closed the door with a soft click, darkness reclaimed her bedroom. Craning her neck, she noticed light still creeping in under the door. He’s left his light on. She wondered if that was for her or if he also didn’t like the dark.
Rolling onto her side, a soft smile twitched her lips. The thought of him being out there, ready to spring into action pleased her. Nothing like having your own warrior on call. A giggle tickled her throat. Despite how heroic it all seemed, knowing he was there lessened the fear of falling asleep. Willing herself to relax and with the memory of his near-naked silhouette filling her mind, she drifted into a long, deep and undisturbed sleep.
Chapter 23
Shadowed from the morning sun by the nearby eastern hills, Coodravale awoke with an air of cool, dry crispness. Birdsong rang throughout the valley, each voice competing over the other. Waking up in country Australia had a bright, cheery atmosphere to it—one that reminded BJ of his teenage years at Uncle Bob’s farm in Victoria. Listening to the cacophony of sound, he wondered how he could attract birds into his yard back home and decided to investigate which plants he’d need once he returned to Melbourne. Padding into the kitchen, he passed Jessie’s open bedroom door, but there was no sign of her. Concerned, he gathered pace into the kitchen, the bathroom, back through the living room and towards the French doors. Peering through the glass, he spied her outside on the veranda and breathed a sigh of relief. In front of her, Whiskey sat entranced, head tilted.
Dressed in figure-hugging ballet gear, Jessie was doing the most amazing things with her body he had ever witnessed. With one hand grasping the veranda railing and the other floating mid-air to her side, she unfolded her leg beside her ear, her foot pointing above her head. The movement reminded him of a butterfly delicately unfurling its wings when breaking free of its chrysalis. He knew it must take an extraordinary amount of strength, yet as she released the railing, her leg hovered in this position without the slightest trace of effort or unsteadiness. After the longest time and minus the railing’s support, she lowered her leg, wedging it in a tight lock with the other. The only hint as to the effort this took was the broad expansion of her ribs as she breathed. Springing onto the balls of her feet, she snapped a half-turn and caught sight of him staring through the glass doors. She scowled at him, wagging her finger. “What are you doing?” Her lips mouthed the words.
Sporting a sheepish grin, he opened the French doors and wandered out onto the veranda, where Whiskey wasted no time in slipping beside him for a morning welcome.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I couldn’t help but watch. I’ve never seen anybody do that before. You’re amazing.” He did nothing to conceal the admiration in his voice.
“That’s because you haven’t seen anyone do ballet, I guess.” In her gear, she seemed transformed. Confident, powerful and accomplished, she’d discarded last night’s panic. In front of him stood a highly skilled and talented young woman.
“You’re right on that count. Never seen ballet at all. Let alone someone as good as you doing it right here within arm’s reach. How on earth do you do that?”
“Years of practice, persistence, sweat, bloodied toes, tired and aching muscles… Need I say more?” Passion shone bright on her face.
“No need. I get the picture. How about I do us some breakfast while you keep practicing?”
“That would be wonderful. Thanks. You know my order.” She mocked him with a small snigger.
“Yes. One egg, no toast.” He paused, reciprocating a smug smile. “But I’ll still cook two eggs, sunny side up and a piece of toast, just in case you change your mind.”
“Whatever. But I’ll just eat the egg.”
“I live in hope,” he said and retreated to the kitchen.
“So, where are we going? What are we doing?” Jessie double-timed to keep up with him, while underfoot the gravel path crunched as if they were wearing jack-boots.
“I’m going to show you what I do.” He flashed a big, easy smile at her.
He’d calculated the risk of doing this, both environmental and psychological. He’d not worn the sandy beret of the SAS for over three years. Only those closest to him knew of his past identity and since he’d already told Jessie, he reasoned showing her a little more would not threaten his or her safety. The only other person he’d ever done this with was Rachael and she’d understood. So he figured Jessie might too. “You said Richard’s gone into Yass to buy groceries, and your mother is at a friend’s place, correct?”
“Yes. There’s no one here except us.” She raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Good.” He opened the back of the Jeep, leaned in and unlocked the concealed, rear floor tray, then lifted out the one and a half metre long aluminium case. He spun it around in front of them and unfastened the clips.
“You practice ballet. This is what I practice.” Reverently, he opened the lid. There snuggled in black foam padding lay his .308 rifle. He heard her muffled gasp and out of the corner of his eye, saw her take a small step backwards. He waited. Sensing her initial shock subside, he faced her. “Ballet is your skill. Shooting is mine.”
“But what are you going to shoot?”
“Targets. I shoot targets. To keep my eye in.” He flashed another easy-going smile, hoping she’d respond with less alarm.
“Oh…” Her eyes jerked from the rifle to him. “You don’t kill anything?”
“No. I don’t kill anything. Those days are over.”
She blew out a breath. “So how does this work then?”
“Do you have a shovel?”
“What for?”
“I need to shovel a mound of earth up behind the target, so the bullet doesn’t travel anywhere except into the dirt.”
“There’ll be one in the shed, I think. I’ll go get it for you.” She hurried off in search of the tool.
Looking down at Whiskey, he stroked her lopsided ears. “So what do you think, girl? Will Jessie be able to cope or not?”
Tongue lolling from her mouth, Whiskey beamed up at her master.
“I hope so, too.” Leaning into the case, he set about the well-rehearsed ritual of cleaning the rifle and checking the bullets and magazine.
“Here you go.” Jessie returned, shovel in hand.
“Terrific. Now does anyone or anything go into that paddock over there?” He pointed to the paddock on the other side of the fence, directly in front of the oak tree.
“No. It’s empty. Only goats visit in the afternoon.”
“Okay. I’ll go set up and you keep watch in case some goats start their day early.”
Grabbing the shovel and a small leather pouch from the rifle case, he set off. Through the old paddock gate, he paced out five hundred metres across uneven ground. Dotted with clumps of spinifex grass and fallen tree branches, the paddock stretched away out of sight to the river on one side and the road on the other. As he’d suspected, five hundred metres brought him to the base of a soaring poplar tree growing on the near side of the paddock.
He placed his kit on the ground and began digging the compacted earth into a rough mound about a half a metre high and wide. When that was done, he retrieved a long, thin rope from his pouch and threw it over a suitable tree branch. Fiddling with the rope, he spied a stone and tied it to the end of the rope so it hung directly in front of the dirt mound. Once the set-up was correct, he collected the shovel and marched back. At the Jeep he lifted his rifle, two pairs of ear muffs and stowed the magazine and bullets in his pockets.
“Whiskey. Sit. Stay.” The dog obeyed, although obviously disappointed not to be joining the fun. “It’ll be too noisy for her next to us. She has to stay here. Take these.” He handed a set of ear muffs to Jessie, who accepted them in silence. “Okay. Let’s go.”
In long strides, he paced back to the paddock gate. Laying his rifle on top of one of
the old, drystone gate pillars, he arranged the bullets and magazine in the exact formation which afforded him the most proficiency and speed. Despite the deadly result this ritual had delivered in combat, each time he executed this preparation, his body involuntarily produced a powerful high. Better to be judged by twelve, than carried by six. The familiar mantra played in his mind as the adrenaline kicked in. Better to be judged by twelve, than carried by six.
“But where’s the target?” Jessie stared out towards the paddock. “I can’t see anything except the mound of dirt.”
“Look closer. See the rope coming down from the branch?” He snuck behind her, aligning with her line of sight and pointed.
“Barely.” Straining, she leaned forward.
“Look at the bottom of the rope. In front of the pile of earth. There’s a stone tied to it. See it?”
She spun her head around, blinking up at him. “You are kidding me, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m not. The stone is my target.”
“But how can you possibly hit that? I can barely see it.”
“That’s because you’re a ballet dancer, and I’m a sniper.” He felt her body flinch. “You remember me telling you I used to go to my Uncle Bob’s farm after my Dad left? Uncle Bob taught me how to shoot. This is how I used to practice. Every weekend, I’d pick off stones from the rope. And every weekend, the stone got smaller and smaller. I became so good at it, it’s the reason I eventually became a sniper.”
“But you killed people?”
“I admit it wasn’t easy, but I was trained not to see it that way. As part of the coalition forces, we were deployed on covert missions to high value targets. My job was to support operations by delivering precision fire from concealed positions and to observe and gather information. You’ve got to understand that when they call in the SAS, it’s not to negotiate. It’s to resolve the situation with violence.” He locked her in an intense gaze. “There’s no good that comes from any war, Jessie. It’s happened. I have to accept it and move on. That’s the job.”
“But it all seems so senseless. How do you deal with it?”
“I tuck that crap away in a compartment in my head or I’d go insane. If you’re not prepared to take the risk or get the job done, then you shouldn’t wear the sandy beret.” He shrugged.
She shuddered. “It seems so black and white, so cold and heartless.”
“Not that much different from the Aussie Ballet Company I suspect, except no one gets killed going for the high value target, for the top job?” Flashing a half-smile, he cocked his eyebrow.
She screwed up her nose. “I get your point about the Company and it being just as ruthless, but I’m not sure it’s really a good comparison…”
“Aside from all the ugliness of war, there was a lot of good that came from my days in the military. Apart from the skills and leadership training, I finally found the family I needed. Those I shed blood with and the pain we shared bonded us as brothers. Like me and Ricky. He helped me get over the loss of Tony. In some ways, he’s like my replacement brother. I found a lost part of myself in the SAS. For that, I will be forever grateful.” He’d not revealed this level of vulnerability for a long time. Nor had he planned to delve this intimately into his past or his feelings. Because of Jessie, his tongue loosened and his heart cleaved open just enough to let some of the pain go. In that moment, he surrendered and fell captive to the spell of a country summer’s day. “So do you want to see me do what I’m good at?”
“Okay.” A casual shrug indicated the time had come.
With her by his side, he explained the complex requirements of weapon maintenance, sighting the rifle, shooting posture, loading the magazine and a range of other processes in which she seemed genuinely interested. “Now put on your ear muffs. This is pretty loud.”
“I’ve heard a rifle before. Dad had a .202.”
“But this is a lot louder. Ear muffs.”
With a pout of reluctance, she obeyed.
Hunkering down on the gate post pillar, he tucked the rifle butt into his shoulder. Better to be judged by twelve, than carried by six. His skin prickled with excitement as his focus sharpened. His limbs and muscles settled into place, ready. Better to be judged by twelve, than carried by six. Sighting the scope, he eyed the stone, drew and held his breath. Forfeiting all other awareness except for the target, he squeezed the trigger. The crack of a single bullet ricocheted around them, loud and forceful. He remained motionless, locked in his firing position, watching the rope swing. A proud smile tipped his mouth as he rose to look at Jessie.
She blinked. “Shit. You are good.”
He shrugged. “That’s what they paid me to do.” Lowering back to his position, he aimed and fired again and again. While the sound fractured the serenity of the valley, it activated his steely focus. He became lost to everything except the target. The smell of gunpowder, the warmth of the weapon, the snap of the spent casings as he slid the pump action and the imperceptible jolt in his shoulder, all conspired to transport him back to the battlefield. Better to be judged by twelve, than carried by six. Not until the magazine emptied its bullets, did he recover. Free of its stone weight, long shattered by his expertise, the defeated rope swung limp and frazzled.
Removing his ear muffs, he turned to her. “Would you like a try?”
“It’s so freakin’ loud. Even with the ear muffs. Look. My hands are sweating and shaking.” She lifted her trembling, clammy hands. “Being this close to something so dangerous makes me really uncomfortable.”
“It’s just anxiety. You get used to it.”
“I’m not so sure. I’ve got danger signals going off in my head everywhere.” She rubbed her hands on her thighs as she shuffled from foot to foot.
“Fear is a good thing if you can control it. Here let me show you.” He signalled for her to replace her ear muffs and stand in front of him. He loaded the weapon with a single bullet and manoeuvred her into position. “Make sure you keep the butt jammed hard in your shoulder.” He held her tight, demonstrating how much counter force she needed. “Look through the scope with both eyes open. Line up the red dot at the bottom of the mound of dirt. Then squeeze the trigger. But hold the butt tight into your shoulder.”
As he released his guiding hands, she inhaled a lungful of air. With concentrated effort, she took her time, aimed and fired. Holding firm, her shoulder rebounded only slightly. She was a conscientious student, but he hadn’t thought she’d be any other way.
“Good. You shot the ground, which is better than sending a bullet into the air.”
“Here. Thanks. You can have the gun back.” Trembling, she handed him the rifle, and he promptly dropped the barrel downward. “I have no idea how you guys do this. Day after day. It’s a wonder you’re not all deaf.”
“Well, deaf is better than dead.” He checked his weapon and collected the spent casings. Coodravale eased back into relative silence, its natural state restored. Birds began conversing once more, staking claim to their rightful position in the trees. With a whistle and release hollered from her master, Whiskey bounded from the Jeep to join them. Whining a greeting, she ran headlong into BJ’s legs. After a quick pat, she turned on Jessie, knocking her to the grass.
“Whiskey. Sit.” Holding the dog to one side, he dropped down on the grass beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” Propped on her bottom, Jessie rubbed grass clippings from her jeans. She paused, sweeping him with her eyes. “God, BJ…it wasn’t until I saw you pick off that target, time and again that…To think, of all those people, all those wasted lives. I never appreciated what you all must have gone through, serving your country.”
“Maybe the easiest way for me to explain it is…you have nightmares when you sleep. We lived the nightmare, day and night. Every tour of duty was a nightmare. But we all chose to do it. No one forced us to enlist, or become SAS. Anyway, it’s all in the past now.” He tilted his head, regarding her. With sunlight glancing off her sleek,
dark curls and highlighting the copper flecks in her eyes, she was a natural beauty. A woman almost fragile in appearance but whose magnetism was blinding. In the brief time BJ had known her, he suspected Jessie had no idea the effect she had on people, particularly men. Because she was oblivious to her loveliness, BJ wanted to protect her even more.
“You’re an amazing man, Brad Jordan. I’m not sure what brought you into my life, but I’m glad you’re here.” She leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek.
“Me, too.” Slinging his arm over her shoulder, he gazed at the poplar tree where the rope dangled. In no hurry to collect it, he gave her a hug. Today, for the first time in a long time, he’d bared a part of his soul. And the best of it was that the person he’d shared it with, hadn’t gone away. It was a good day.
Chapter 24
What a wealth of information Richard was. I couldn’t believe my luck when he sauntered into Rosie’s and gave me the look. “Where are you from?” he asked all coy and sexy, while we waited at the counter to give our orders.
“I’m from Melbourne,” I reply, figuring he’s a local and could be useful to my plan. “What’s your name,” I ask. And when he said Richard Hilton, you could have knocked me over with a feather. The dancer’s brother. So, I bought us coffee each, and we sat chatting for ages in the café. He told me all about his family buying Banjo Patterson’s old property called Coodravale Homestead.
Another idiot! Prattling on about his father who just died and how he can’t wait to move to the city. Hinting at me he’s gay, making innuendos about us catching up while I’m in town. Ugh. He made my skin crawl. What a freak! But I played along, pretending to be mildly interested in his country-bumpkin arse. I needed as much information as I could gather on my dancer and the big hero who’s with her. Richard couldn’t help me with that. He didn’t know much about him. Keeps a pretty low profile he reckons. But he did say that bloody dog was well trained. Nearly took his mother’s arm off when she got too close. I hate dogs…
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 14