Her need tasted of the ocean. He imagined them slipping side by side into tropical waters, kicking out from the shore, feeling the water tug at their clothes and caress their slick flesh. He tore at the barriers between them, surprised they still existed. He wanted to consume her, to know her in all her deepest secret thoughts, to vanquish her demons and fulfil every desire.
§
Dunny crept around the back of the hotel, past the recycling skip, past the bins overflowing with the week’s waste, ignoring the urine-stained fences. The bottle-o was doing a decent trade. Good. That way the nosey guy who worked there wouldn’t see him. It wasn’t just that he wanted to be invisible. The guy was a loser, had been since primary school when he used to kick the crap out of Dunny for no reason except for fun.
And Dunny had other things to worry about.
He’d tried to catch Mina at her house, seen her go running and followed her as best he could. She was fast. Too fast for him. But he’d nearly caught her at the kiosk, ’til she saw that dickhead Drummond.
Now she was in his room. His frickin’ room! Alone. Just the two of them.
He counted the back windows, too narrow to do anything more than let in a bit of fresh air but good enough for him to hear what they were saying. Third one from the end. He’d made sure to notice which unit was that cop’s, just like Kegs had taught him. Before Kegs, he used to get confused about things like that. Kegs had helped him learn to read a bit too.
Fuck, he missed the old dude. It wasn’t like Kegs to disappear. Never seen him scareder than when he went off that night to see Slab Carlson. Kept telling himself Kegs was just working, laying low ’cos that Slab Carlson was pissed at him.
“Anything happens, Dunny, you stay quiet,” Kegs had told him. “Don’t want that bastard coming after you. You understand? And no hanging round that Everton girl. Not if the boss has his eye on her.”
He hadn’t worried when Kegs hadn’t come back. Not at first. Then he’d seen that news report about the two bodies at the quarantine station and his guts had kind of screwed up like that time he got the squirts. But they’d said it was a man and a girl. Kegs wouldn’t spend time with no girl. “Stick with the older ones,” he always said, “less trouble.”
He had to talk to Mina. She was nice. She’d help him. But now she was with that cop, and Dunny couldn’t go near no cops. Kegs had warned him.
Third window from the end. This must be it. Dunny cleared a path through the old beer boxes tossed against the wall, nearly yelled when something reared its head, but it was only a sleepy lizard. Bloody things looked enough like a frickin’ snake ’til you saw how short they were.
The frosted sliding window was only open a few centimetres, but he could hear them talking low, like his foster mum used to when she didn’t want the kids to hear her bitchin’ about them. Dunny hooked his fingers in the gap and pushed the bathroom window along the track. It grated as it opened. He froze. They were still murmuring, so he tried his luck for a bit more. The bathroom door was wide open.
No! He almost yelled it. His heart beat so loud he could hear it. No! Not with him. How could she? How could she let that cop put his hands all over her? He’d kill her. Hadn’t he watched over her all these nights? Hadn’t he kept her safe from that creep hiding in her bushes?
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t stop watching them as they moved together, the way she wrapped those legs of hers around the cop, the way she gripped his shoulders, the way her body moved.
His hands shook. Every muscle bunched as tight as his fists. It should have been him. She was his. Not this arsehole copper’s. The blood pounded in his head. His vision misted, but he didn’t need to see them. He heard them. Heard them groaning and laughing. Laughing at him, just like everyone else.
§
God, Linc was beautiful. Long and lean with muscles that left her breathless. And he wanted her. When he murmured her name against her ear, her insides melted. When he trailed his fingers along her skin, every nerve sang. His tongue sent her rolling over the edge into mindless pleasure. She’d had no idea it could be like this. He seemed as lost in her as she was in him.
His passion was in every touch, every uncontrolled gasp of desire. Pleasure built until her whole body sang, until she was one taut muscle, vibrant and so sweet it was almost too much to take, but too good to stop. She couldn’t get enough of him, or the pulse that thudded below his ear, the ragged breath of his pleasure, the way his voice was husky with desire. For her. Their bodies grew slick. She clung to him, afraid to lose the delicious contact. It broke over her in a wave. She cried out and let the shudders take her. Linc chuckled. His heart hammered against her palm. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent. Once he pulled away it would be over. He was a cop with a career, ambitions, friends, probably a family. And she—she was the kiss of death.
Reality dropped like a boulder. She pulled away from his embrace.
‘Mina?’
She rolled on her side and kept her face turned away. Near the pillow was something metallic and small. One of his cufflinks. She clutched it in her palm, as if she would hold onto him for as long as she touched it.
How could she be so stupid? He desired her, that had been obvious, but she wanted more. Why hadn’t she realised that? In the throes of passion it had been easy to pretend Lincoln Drummond loved her.
Linc’s warm hand caressed her shoulder, stoking the flames he’d started when he touched her like this in the hall of her house. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the trail of pleasure as he ran his hand along the hollow of her waist and the flare of her hip. When he kissed her damp neck, he murmured that she tasted like Heaven. The bed rustled as he moved closer. His breath stirred her desire as he licked her earlobe then moved his lips along the curves of her face. She turned to meet them and felt a tear slide down her cheek.
Oh God, now he’d know she was just a lovesick loser.
He kissed her tears and ran his hand along her belly. She flinched as pain jabbed from bruises she’d forgotten.
Linc sat up and turned on the side lamp. ‘What the hell, Mina?’
She pulled the sheets to cover herself. Now it was over, her nakedness made her ashamed. She risked a glance. He looked concerned. She imagined he’d be cocky at his conquest, or scowling at the blush of bruising around her ribcage. Concern made her feel worse.
‘Don’t tell me I need to see a doctor. I’ve been looking after myself for years. Things haven’t changed because you’re here.’
She kept her tone light and teasing, tugged the sheet free and wrapped it around herself as she hunted for her clothes.
‘Come back to bed, Mina.’
‘It’s best if I go.’
Acutely aware he watched her from the bed, she kept her back to him; if she looked at him, she might not be able to leave.
‘Stay,’ he said. ‘I’ll order dinner. Stay the night.’
The sheets rustled as he slipped from the bed. She turned and watched him move toward her, unashamed of his nakedness. Why would he be? He was every girl’s fantasy.
He smiled gently. ‘You don’t need to cover yourself, Mina.’
She realised she gripped the sheet around her and had her clothes bundled in front of her. If he wasn’t ashamed, then neither was she. She might have jumped his bones, but he’d been a very willing partner. She let them drop, heard the thunk of the cufflink as it hit the carpet. Linc didn’t notice. When she began to dress, sliding her panties up her legs and slipping on her sports bra, he groaned.
‘God, Mina. What are you trying to do to me?’
She watched his face for any sign he was messing with her. By his own admission, his integrity had made him arrest his own brother. What would he do now that he’d slept with a suspect?
He brushed the hair from her face and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She remembered the feel of them on her body, the way he’d whispered her name over and over. She relaxed against him. He whispered his desi
res in her ear until yearning threatened her resolve.
She murmured, ‘We can’t do this.’
‘We’ll find a way to make it work.’ His voice was husky. ‘You don’t have to let your father rule you.’
The heat flooding her body turned glacial. She pulled away, tugged on her shorts and tank top, and had barely pushed her feet back into her running shoes before she gripped the handle of the front door.
‘Mina, wait!’
She turned to face him. He looked distraught, contrite, but the truth was out now. He was just like everyone else in Failie.
‘Thanks, Drummond. That really took the edge off.’
She yanked open the door and let it slam behind her. She’d show them all what an Everton was capable of.
Chapter 27
DURING DAYLIGHT, THE BACK streets near the old part of the docks weren’t exactly a hive of activity, but after dark, the labyrinth seemed full of shifting shadows and whispered echoes of the past. Linc had kept watch in more God-forsaken places than this, but he’d never felt this hollow, sucking claustrophobia.
Walls of crumbling brick or rusted corrugated iron rose three stories above him. Unseen things scurried and fossicked among the garbage. The collection of tumble-down buildings had once processed wool for export. Now they were deserted. Secluded. And extremely close to the quarantine station where two bodies had been fished from the mangroves. He could easily imagine the place inhabited by their ghosts. A sensation, like trailing fingers, crept across his skin. He shivered. Fanciful imaginings weren’t going to keep him focused on Carlson and whatever his interest was in this derelict part of town.
Mina had accused him of trying to destroy her business, the only thing she had left, but he could have thrown the same allegation at her. Being a cop was his life, but Mina Everton had entwined herself around his heart and ruined his clarity. The minute he’d held her, felt her lips against his skin, he’d been lost.
He pictured her stiff back when he’d mentioned her dad. He hadn’t been so lost that he could forget who her father was. Not so bloody lost that he could keep his stupid mouth shut long enough to find out what was troubling her. Christ, he was a creep. Had he really been carried on a tide of lust, or had seducing her secrets out of her been his subconscious plan all along?
Recently, he’d spent too many hours on the shrink’s lounge to be sure of anything.
Except Carlson.
He was certain about him.
The rumble of an over-pimped engine silenced his thoughts. The car was jet black, but moonlight glinted off the chrome fender as the Dodge Challenger pulled into the access lane opposite.
It was too dark to see the number plate, but it didn’t matter. There was little chance it would be registered to Carlson—the guy lived as off the grid as possible for a man with his lifestyle and tastes—but his gut told him it was his. Just like this collection of buildings was his, though officially it was owned by the syndicate listed in the property development application.
If not for that one application which identified the syndicate members, he would have missed it, but once he knew where to look, the trail had been easy to follow. On a road map, he’d plotted the addresses of every property owned by Paul ‘Slab’ Carlson, and every syndicate in which Carlson or Quinlan were named. Soon he had a constellation of fluorescent circles that clustered along the oceanfront, docklands and city outskirts.
A car door closed. The tap of hard-soled boots echoed into the night. In the veiled moonlight he saw a figure, the right build for Carlson, enter the building just ahead. After a few moments, fingers of light slipped through the cracks between the boarded up windows on the second storey. He would let Carlson get settled then go in for a closer look. The guy had gone to great lengths to hide his ownership of the building. Sneaking around at three in the morning had to mean this place held something.
If Carlson challenged him, he wasn’t sure how he’d react. When he’d picked up the car—a dark, unmarked CID vehicle, keys courtesy of Stella—he’d signed out his equipment, though he preferred to be without the gun. The heft of the police issue Smith and Wesson felt alien, awkward. Perhaps it was the dimensions, different from the Glock he was used to, or maybe it was because of the memories conjured by the cold metal.
The shooting. It always came back to that.
It was the kid’s eyes he couldn’t forget.
‘There’s been an accident in the Sydney Harbour Tunnel,’ Jodie had told him as they hid beside their vehicle waiting for the SWAT team. ‘Negotiator won’t be here for another twenty minutes.’
Linc had peeked over the hood. The assailant, in a grimy singlet, limp jeans and bed hair, had a sawn-off shotgun in his right hand and the fingers of his left bunched in the white-blond hair of the boy. High on some concoction he’d cooked up in his kitchen, he shouted incoherent abuse, so wild-eyed it was obvious he was beyond reason. He’d pressed the gun to his son’s head and told them to stay away or by fuck he’d blow them all to Hell. The kid whimpered, his bottom lip quivering as he sucked down his tears. He was reportedly nearly five, but his wide blue eyes and plump face made him look like a toddler. The negotiator’s E.T.A. was still more than ten minutes. The kid could’ve been dead in a second. Linc had made a decision that changed at least three lives. That blameless kid would never be innocent again.
His insides quivered, sweat peppered his hairline. If he didn’t get a grip, the shakes would start and he’d be lost. He had to keep it together. He had a job to do, and no amount of penance could undo that moment.
Linc gripped the steering wheel. He focused on the gleaming puddles of water from an earlier burst of rain, on the dimpled steering wheel and the rough stitching beneath his fingers. Being present, noting every little detail at that moment, was a strategy his shrink had encouraged. Except for that advice, soft-bellied Brian with his blinkered life and cosy theories didn’t have a clue.
‘If you’d waited,’ Brian had said, ‘the kid might be minus a life. Now he’s just minus a deadbeat dad.’
The guy’s obsequious smile put a match to the dry tinder in his chest. Keeping it bottled up had felt like a heart attack. When Superintendent Blackwell mistook the red veins in his eyes for the aftermath of tears and told him to man up—well, the bastard deserved the swollen jaw.
The phone on his hip vibrated, jerking him back to the alley, the car and his stakeout on Carlson. He checked the number. Jodie.
‘Hey, Ponce,’ she said, ‘got some info for you on the proviso you don’t call me for a while.’
‘Nice to hear from you too, Jode.’ There was only one reason she’d ask that. ‘Promotion jitters?’
‘Something like that.’
Linc looked back at the boarded windows of the wool store, at the slivers of light. Whatever Slab Carlson was up to in that upstairs room, he was there alone because there was no sign of the ironically named Tiny who’d warned him off outside the club. Someone should tell Carlson that sending a minder out to intimidate him wasn’t the way to keep a place secret. Until Tiny had loped across the road and issued his orders, he hadn’t been sure the place was Carlson’s.
Jodie had been silent so long he asked if she was still there.
She said. ‘There’s no easy way to say this.’
Shit. This couldn’t be good. ‘Are you going to tell me I’m sacked?’
‘Well, officially you transferred out.’
‘I’m on secondment. Or has that changed?’ His scalp tightened at the thought.
The sound of ticking came down the phone line. He pictured Jodie tapping her fingernail on the back of the phone. She only did that when she was really agitated.
‘Spit it out, Jode.’
‘Blackwell’s started a whispering campaign. You know how damaging that can be. They did it to Johnson. Smoke and fire. Mud sticks. I can rattle off any number of clichés. The good news is someone high up is looking out for you.’
A chill gripped his neck. There was only one person
who’d do that, and not for any love of him: Nicholas Drummond.
‘Forget it,’ he snapped. ‘I’d rather stay a lowly constable stuck on traffic citations than be my father’s puppet. I can do this on my own!’
Shit. Now was no time to lose his temper. If he didn’t rein it in he’d blow this stakeout and maybe the case.
‘Hang on there, Drummond. I’ll ignore your slight of the extremely thin limb I’m perched on right now and just ask you what the hell that was all about. I’ve never heard you say so much that wasn’t about work.’
‘Sorry. The prodigal’s curse. You know.’
‘Actually, I don’t. You’ve never spoken about it. Not to me, anyway.’
Jodie had always been there, as a partner and a friend. She knew more about him than almost anyone and still he hadn’t dropped his guard and let her into his life.
‘I always had your back, Jode. Always.’
‘You could’ve had more, but you stuffed that up.’
‘Jode—’
‘I’m not getting on you about it. I’m just saying don’t mess up down there. If you want to come back, you need a result and quickly.’
A few fat dollops of rain tapped against his roof and windshield.
A result. If he was right, he was close to one. Problem was he didn’t want to be right. Not if it meant proving Mina was in the middle of it, that she was hot and heavy with Carlson and had thrown herself at him as a distraction or to undermine him. He wanted to believe she’d been swept away by passion, just as he had, and he’d let himself forget that just hours before, Carlson had put his filthy, drug-dealing hands all over her.
Jodie said, ‘You wanna hear what I got for you, or am I supposed to be a telepath all of a sudden?’
‘Hit me.’ He could swear she mumbled ‘with pleasure’.
‘Okay, you ready for this? It’s weak, and as old as my Aunt Elena, but it might be something.’
‘What?’ His stomach clenched. Jodie’s hunches had rarely let them down.
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