Pieces of a Lie

by Rowena Holloway

  Mina slipped behind the desk. He’d minimised the screen but hadn’t logged off and it was easy to check his search history. Too easy. As she perused the list, her chest grew tight. Heat flooded her body. How often had she defended his snippy ways to others? How many times had she let his temper wash over her, staying silent no matter how small and stupid he’d made her feel in front of a customer? Gibson had been so precious about his reputation, and she’d had to work so hard to win him over, to prove she was made of more honourable stuff than her father. And for what?

  Though his fingers had flown across the keyboard, Gibson hadn’t checked a single item.

  The kettle whistled from the kitchen. China clattered as he made a fresh pot of tea. Mina sat at his desk, listening, staring at the stock that cluttered his store.

  Five years she’d given him. Five years of trying to prove she wasn’t like her father. For all she knew, Gibson had been grooming her. Perhaps for Carlson. She’d thought turning up at his party knowing he couldn’t turn her away without a scene was clever, but his calm acceptance of her audacity hadn’t meant she deserved access to his precious client list. It had meant she was ready to be handed over to Carlson. Her stupid pride and temper had played right into their hands.

  She’d heard enough lies. She’d tried to get on with her life, to fit in, to prove she wasn’t what they said she was. No one would give her a chance. The time for playing along was over.

  Mina rummaged in the desk drawer. When Gibson returned with his fresh tray of tea, she levelled the revolver at him.

  ‘I want the truth about you and Carlson. All of it. Start talking.’

  Chapter 34

  UP CLOSE, THE SYDNEY copper was really something, Candii thought. He’d stopped dead when he saw her draped across his bed. Couldn’t blame him. She looked H.O.T. Had gone all out—her best rhinestone platform stilettos and her sexiest spandex dress, which plunged so low in front it showed more boob than it covered. It even showed off the fancy new tattoo circling her bellybutton.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘How did you get into my room?’

  ‘My name’s Candii, darlin’.’ She crawled across the bed in time to the rock music pulsing through the wall, and let him get an eyeful for free. The spandex rode up her hips, but it didn’t matter. It’d give him a better look at the trail of roses and butterflies tattooed on her inner thigh, let him imagine where they might end up. The punters loved that. ‘That’s Candii with two i’s. And I’m makin’ you an offer you can’t refuse.’

  ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘Sure you are. I’ve got something no one else can give you.’

  ‘Take it next door. There’s plenty of guys in the pub to appreciate your charms.’

  ‘You pimping me out? I thought your job was to protect girls like me.’

  Some of them liked to be convinced. That way they didn’t have to be responsible for what they did with her, but this prick didn’t even see her. The thunderstorm hadn’t done anything for the heat. It was still thirty degrees outside—hotter in this dive—and the stiff hadn’t even taken off his jacket. Well, she’d make him sweat all right.

  She stepped from the bed and tugged the dress down her hips as she walked, making sure to stop right beneath the strong overhead light so that it shone through the pale fabric. She’d been waiting a while in this stuffy room, and the dress clung to her damp body. Except for her G-string, and a certain little something she’d hidden there, she could have been naked. Guys paid plenty to look at her like this.

  The cop cleared his throat and turned away, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and downing it like he’d been on a bender. She almost laughed. Desperate for it, he was. That’d teach him to treat her like she was nothing.

  She jerked her chin at the small bar fridge. ‘Give us one of them Vodka Cruisers.’

  He nabbed one. Tossed it at her. She caught it one-handed.

  ‘Take it and go,’ he said.

  Oh, yeah. This guy needed it bad.

  Candii kept her gaze on his as she lifted the bottle to her lips and ran her tongue along the rim. It tasted good. Ice cold and sweet. She upended the bottle and drank. It was a stinking day, suffocating in this cheap-shit room, and the high from the hit she’d done before she came was wearing off. Hadn’t brought any with her in case the copper turned out to be the uptight do-gooder Slab reckoned.

  Rain spat against the window. The wet seemed to crawl into the room, turning everything damp. Water beaded on the Cruiser bottle and leaked over her fingers, making it slick in her hand. She downed the last drop and tossed the empty at the bin. It bounced off the plastic rim and rolled beneath the table. Didn’t matter. That’s what cleaners were for.

  ‘I got info on Slab Carlson.’ Candii helped herself to another Cruiser. ‘I wanna know what it’s worth to you.’

  ‘How do I know it’s any good?’

  This copper was hard work, but Slab was scared of the bloke, so he had to have some balls beneath his GQ suit. She gulped down the second Cruiser and tossed the bottle. This time she bulls-eyed the bin. If she’d been anywhere else, she would have yelled ‘ten points’ and raised her arms in victory. Instead, she enjoyed the buzz that crawled through her muscles and moved to press herself against the good-looking cop. She smoothed her hands across his chest.

  ‘Mmm. Nice and hard under that shirt. Hard in another place too, I bet. Sure you don’t want a bit of relief?’

  ‘Certain.’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re missing.’

  She snatched his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and rifled through it. A couple of credit cards and some notes. Three hundred at a guess. She plucked out the notes and tossed the wallet to the floor. The cop hadn’t moved.

  ‘Hope your information is worth it.’

  He sounded like he couldn’t care less, but his eyes were darting this way and that. Almost like he was checking the place, as if Slab was gonna suddenly appear, as if she might be setting him up. Man! He was more paranoid than Tiny on a downer.

  Except she was setting him up. Sort of.

  ‘You’re after Slab Carlson, ain’cha? Maybe I can help you with that.’

  ‘Why should I trust you?’

  ‘I got what you need.’

  Up on stage she heard a lot, and she heard even more when she waited tables or kept the guys company. Why anyone paid a cent for that dusty old crap was beyond her, but if someone had conned her the way that punter had been, she’d be pissed too. She waited for the sexy cop to ask her what she meant, but he just stood there. Here she was, putting herself in danger, as far as he knew, and the tosser couldn’t even fake a smile.

  ‘I’m starvin’,’ she said. ‘Give us one of them KitKats in the fridge.’

  ‘Get it yourself.’

  The KitKat snapped like a dry twig but smelled divine. She hadn’t eaten all day. The cop took a long swallow of water. She couldn’t tell if he was freaked out about her being in his room or just thirsty. Whatever. She licked the chocolate coating off a finger of KitKat, taking her time, letting the guy sweat. Then she looked him straight in the eye and slowly sucked the naked biscuit into her mouth.

  ‘You should try it.’ She winked. ‘A little taste of Candii goes a long way.’

  ‘Get to the point, or get out.’

  Candii chuckled. Oh yeah. She was getting to him. ‘You reckon these break-ins are about antiques, yeah?’

  ‘That’s not exactly a secret.’

  ‘That ain’t, but I bet you didn’t know it ain’t nothing to do with antiques. Not really.’

  She waited for him to ask, but he just stood there looking at her like he didn’t give a shit. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. What if he was just like all the other useless cops in this crap-hole town? She took her time over the rest of the KitKat, eyeballing him while the air thickened with humidity and Khe Sanh throbbed through the walls.

  ‘One of the punters put me onto it,’ she said. ‘Well, not me exactly, bu
t I heard about it. Slab went ape-shit when he found out. He’s one scary fucker, that bloke.’

  She touched her hand to her throat where she’d hidden her bruises with pancake make-up. The bastard had tried to choke her. Then to cover up, he’d told the girls she was a snitch. Her! Well, he’d find out what she could do when she did start talking. He might have sent her here with a specific job to do, but he didn’t know what she really had planned. If he did, she’d be dead.

  The cop was looking at her like he expected something. Must have asked a question.

  He said, ‘If he’s that scary, why come here?’

  ‘Maybe I ain’t so happy with Slab Carlson these days. Maybe I’ve heard he’s gonna replace me with that skinny cow who’s in on the antiques scam.’

  ‘Which scam?’

  Ah, he was interested enough now. Must have been her mention of that blonde who had Carlson all hot and bothered. Beat her what anyone saw in that chick.

  ‘Which scam?’ The cop looked calm but he sounded like he was gonna blow a neck vein.

  ‘Something to do with papers the punter got with his prized piece of whatever. The punter gave the papers some fancy-arsed name. Can’t remember it. Started with a P, I reckon.’

  ‘You mean provenance?’

  She shrugged. Sounded about right, but why make it easy for him.

  ‘So Carlson’s in on this provenance scam?’

  ‘Nup.’

  ‘Then why would he care?’

  ‘He doesn’t. Except the guy who’s doing it does business with him. They look at that guy, they look at Slab.’

  ‘Carlson hasn’t had a charge stick since he was a teenager. Why would this worry him?’

  ‘There’s too many on his payroll who can join the dots. Slab’s a big fish, ain’t he? Getting him could make someone’s career. Can’t drop them all off the quarantine station.’

  The cop narrowed his eyes. ‘Meaning?’

  Candii laughed. She’d learned how to line her pocket a long time ago. ‘You want more information, you pay for it. For three hundred bucks you’re lucky I’m even here.’

  ‘Why are you here? Why come to me and not go to the local police?’

  A downpour slapped the window loud enough to muffle the Aussie rock coming from the bar. She waited for some sign he figured it out. Nothing. He looked done-in, fed-up, the way some of the girls looked after a few months at the club. Feelings stirred inside her she hadn’t had since she lost the bub—poor little pea of a thing.

  No way! She wasn’t going there. And she wasn’t gonna feel sorry for no cop.

  ‘Slab don’t exactly offer job security,’ she said. ‘No way in hell I’m gonna be one of them pot-bellied old tarts walking down Grand Junction Road hoping for a horny trucker with a spare quid.’

  ‘If Carlson takes a fall, you might end up like that anyway.’

  ‘Huh. Listen to you, talkin’ like you know me. I’m smart, you know. Not your kind of smart, but smart enough. I got money. Lots of it. I got enough to start my own place. Go legitimate, if I want. Maybe I’ll start me own tat parlour.’ She showed him her thigh tattoo. ‘Designed that one myself.’

  He didn’t even glance at it. Tosser. If he had, he might have seen what she’d nicked from his nightstand. Slab wanting the guy’s cufflinks was weird, but it wasn’t her problem. She sauntered toward the exit, rolling the KitKat wrapper between her fingers and dropping it to the floor. She cracked the door, peeked outside. The rain had cleared the street of people.

  ‘I was never here. You got that? You see me, you pretend I’m invisible. I ain’t gonna end up one of his collector’s items.’

  §

  Linc watched her wriggle out the door and run through the rain to join the fun at the pub. It wasn’t the behaviour of a girl afraid to be seen, but in her situation it was safer to have a good reason to be here than pretend she’d never been near the place.

  Sharp-featured Candii was definitely street smart.

  He’d come back to his room determined to grab some sleep before heading out to watch Carlson’s nocturnal activities, his thoughts filled with Mina and the memory of her in his bed. He’d been totally unprepared to find a stranger sprawled across it with her overblown assets on display. If she hadn’t been wearing so little he could almost see every inch of her, he would have suspected she wore a wire. He had suspected she’d been in his room to plant something on her boss’ behalf. She’d seen him checking out the room and it was obvious she knew what he had thought. Mostly. Her efforts at titillation saddened him. At a guess, she was about Mina’s age, but beneath the troweled-on makeup and false eyelashes, her eyes were centuries old.

  What kind of life had she led to end up with Carlson?

  If he didn’t do something, Mina might be headed the same way.

  God, Mina.

  The thought of her with Carlson twisted his gut.

  His tongue felt welded to the roof of his mouth. Beer might have loosened up Stubbs and Gazza, but drinking during the day wasn’t his thing, and the confrontation with Mina had left him drained. Linc grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge and drank, but no matter how much water he downed, he couldn’t wash away the memory of last night’s pleasure, or the bitterness of Mina’s betrayal.

  Rain beat against the window. A dull throb at the base of his skull kept time to the thud of music from the pub. The room had become claustrophobic, filled with the girl’s body spray and the sickly scent of chocolate. He turned up the fan speed. The blades continued their lazy rotation.

  Linc shucked off his jacket, unstuck the t-shirt from his damp skin, and threw open the door. A merciful sea breeze came in with the rain. He collapsed into the single chair.

  He didn’t buy Candii’s argument. Carlson wasn’t afraid the provenance scam would bring him down, not if he had the local police in his pocket as she’d suggested. Yet the little she’d told him supported his theory that Carlson had set up a pattern of petty thefts and break-ins to disguise the real targets. And if some of the local police were on the take, it would explain why the antiques thefts had flown under the radar all those months. Still, the local boys had struck him as resistant to change, not open to corruption. Except for Wainright.

  Should he trust Candii’s information? If it was correct, how far was Mina involved? Did she know about the fake provenance? Was she behind it? Or was she so hell-bent on finding her father that she’d let Carlson coerce her—or, dear God, seduce her—into his organisation?

  Christ. If he thought about it too much, he’d be back at the shrink’s listening to more of Brian’s psychobabble.

  Weariness dragged at his limbs. He should track down Gibson, make the puffed-up dealer tell him everything he knew, but Gibson would keep. Linc needed a couple of hours sleep to clear his head. Then he’d stake out Carlson and try to fathom what Candii had meant by not wanting to end up one of his collector’s items.

  Chapter 35

  ‘MINA? WHAT THE HELL’S going on?’

  Forbes brushed the beading of rain from his lapels as he stared at the mess. The fingerprint powder had been wiped away, but the kitchen bench was littered with crockery, plasticware and assorted items he vaguely recognised. A plate with a half-eaten ham sandwich balanced precariously near the sink. On the floor were half-a-dozen open boxes, with a stack more lined up against the cupboards. The room smelled of dust and newsprint.

  ‘You should be happy.’ She placed a newspaper-wrapped object in the box at her feet. ‘I’m admitting you were right.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad of that.’ He tried a smile, which she ignored. ‘I just wish I knew about what.’

  ‘It’s time to move on.’

  ‘Now?’ Just two days ago she’d refused to budge. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your opening?’

  She turned away, picked up another sheet of paper and twisted it around a tall figurine, one of Alyssa’s creations. The sound of crumpling paper marked the silence. Why was she doing this now? She hadn’t touch
ed her parents’ things for years, so a few more days wouldn’t have hurt. He’d bet this had something to do with Drummond. The guy had promised to go easy, but so far he’d been as subtle as a politician in election year.

  He put his hands over hers to still them. ‘Mina, honey, talk to me.’

  ‘I thought he was my friend, but he was just playing me. Feeding me lies.’ Her eyes glistened with tears. ‘Using me, like everyone else.’

  He took the wrapped object from her hands and nudged her onto a kitchen chair. His phone vibrated in his pocket. It would be Baldwin, wondering why he hadn’t turned up to the meeting. If they didn’t sort out Daley’s damn chairperson shenanigans, they’d be sunk, his last chance at mayor gone. Right now, his girl needed him.

  ‘Tell me. Who has been using you?’

  ‘Gibson.’

  Her hollow gaze frightened the hell out of him. He’d never forgotten that week after her mother had died, when she’d disappeared inside herself and all he saw was that empty stare.

  He said, ‘It’s not like you to let him get to you.’

  Mina pulled away. ‘For five years, all I’ve heard about are his ethics and the sanctity of his reputation. I felt lucky to have his patronage.’

  All that time Forbes had tolerated her adoration of Gibson—how wonderful he was, how he’d risked his reputation and business to give her a chance, how she owed him so much. Everyone but Mina could see the man was a snippy, bow-tie-wearing prima donna.

  ‘And now?’ he asked.

  ‘I know the truth. That little birdy finally sang.’

  He didn’t like the scowl on her face nor the grim way she spoke. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  She snatched up a sheet of newspaper and wrapped a white dinner plate edged in silver; the setting was his wedding present to Alyssa and Jacko. Surely she didn’t think she needed to be rid of that. He thought of what he’d seen as he followed her through the living room.

  ‘On the end of your bed,’ he said, ‘there’s a packed travel bag.’