It hands down beat dying.
Hands down beat either of them dying.
She dried herself with a fluffy towel and glanced at the “Boston Celtics” basketball singlet Nate had left on the vanity. He hadn’t said anything but it was clearly meant for her.
She pulled the garment over her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She could dispense with the leggings. The green and white singlet was nightdress length on her.
Head on straight for the first time since Mulvaney’s Skype call, Josie was using a new toothbrush she’d found in the cupboard, when Nate knocked on the door.
‘Just a second.’ Hastily she rinsed her mouth and opened the door.
‘I found these in the freezer.’ He handed her two gel packs. ‘They’ll help with the swelling on your wrists.’
‘Thanks.’ Yawning, she switched off the light and tried not to think about the way he’d rubbed her shoulders.
‘You should try and sleep.’ He tipped his head in a gesture she recognised. ‘My room’s the one at the end, take your choice of the other two. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.’
She nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. ‘Goodnight then.’
‘Oh, and thanks for the haircut.’ His eyes skimmed over the singlet she wore. ‘It doesn’t look half bad.’
Nate Hunter was a master of the ambiguous statement, and two years ago she would have laughed and asked if it were the haircut or her current state of dress he was referring to as “half bad”.
But that was back when they used to play. Now, all she could manage was a solemn nod.
Aware he was still watching, she turned away and headed for the bedroom.
‘Josie.’ He said from behind her.
And then the doorbell rang.
Josie’s mind came instantly alert; the harmonious sequence of notes an unbefitting announcement of what was sure to be an unwelcome guest.
Before she could physically react, Nate had shepherded her into the nearest bedroom, one large hand splayed in the centre of her back.
She dropped the gel packs on the bed as he pulled the revolver from the waistband of his jeans.
‘Do you think it’s Kennett?’
‘Unlikely.’ He flicked off the safety catch. ‘Kennett’s more a back door kind of guy.’
Jaw set in a brutal line, he grabbed her arm and steered her into a corner of the unlit room. ‘Get behind the door.’
She slipped into the space between the open door and the wall, legs shaky despite her earlier bravado that she could handle this.
‘Stay quiet.’ Nate’s eyes glittered in the dark, body a tense mass of sinew and muscle.
And then he was gone.
Josie wrapped her arms around her middle and stared through the gap between the door and the wall, fingers clutching the soft material of Nate’s singlet, heart labouring like a piston in her chest. They’d only arrived two and a half hours ago. Who could have found them in that time?
Seconds ticked by, and then she heard Nate call. ‘Who is it?’
Silence.
Then, ‘It’s Barry Simpson.’
Josie held her breath.
Keys rattled in the lock and she heard Nate open the door.
‘Barry. What’s up?’
Josie closed her eyes for a beat and expelled her pent up breath. Nate’s laid back tone suggested he knew this person.
‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t know you were back. I just closed up the pub and noticed your light on.’
Josie frowned. Surely he hadn’t called in to say hi at two thirty in the morning.
‘I got in around midnight,’ Nate replied, his voice neither rude nor overly friendly.
‘Still doing that job in Canberra?’
‘Yeah, mate, keeps me out of trouble.’
‘Sure does. Haven’t seen you in yonks.’
‘I haven’t been back in a while.’
‘Well, don’t be a stranger, call by and have a beer.’ Simpson’s voice grew softer, like a song going to fade out. ‘I thought you had a break in. Glad everything’s okay.’
‘Thanks, Barry, appreciate it.’
She heard the door close, and then the room grew darker as Nate extinguished the light in the foyer.
Josie’s body trembled. Apart from a few quiet creaks and groans, the house was silent, and in her mind’s eye she could see Nate standing at the window watching Barry Simpson depart.
Then from out on the street, a car door slammed, and an engine roared to life.
Moving on unsteady legs, Josie emerged from her hiding place and ran into Nate in the hallway. ‘Who’s he?’ she whispered.
Nate rubbed a hand over his face and around the back of his neck. ‘The local publican — lives down the end of this road.’
Josie clutched his arm, his skin warm and dangerously enticing beneath her fingers.
She removed her hand. ‘Do you trust him?’
They walked into the living room and if he noticed her hasty withdrawal, he didn’t say anything.
‘Well?’ Josie asked again. Getting information out of Nate was about as easy as coaxing knee cartilage to regrow.
He slanted a glance at her. ‘I don’t trust anyone.’
Knowing she was included in that sweeping statement, Josie sank onto the lounge he’d occupied earlier. ‘But do you believe him? I mean, who knocks on the door at two thirty in the morning because there’s a light on?’
His eyes softened, tired lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. ‘It’s more countrified here in the mountains. People are friendlier. They look out for each other.’
‘Something you could do without in your line of work.’
He stood looking down at her, hands on hips as if mulling over what she’d said. Then he shook his head as if to clear it, gaze slanting towards the front door. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, urgent.
‘I need to change the plates on the ute, get the other car up and running. Word will get out now I’m back.’
He moved and turned off the lamp, clearly focused on what he had to do to complete his transition from Nate Jordan to Nate Hunter. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be in the garage if you need me. I’ll leave the connecting door open.’
Josie nodded and watched him go, and a few moments later the living room was bathed in the subdued light filtering in from the garage.
Josie glanced towards the hallway, the thought of sleeping in a dark and unfamiliar bedroom unappealing. She’d much prefer to lie here and listen to Nate’s tinkering.
She dragged a throw cushion beneath her head, closed her eyes and stretched out.
Maybe she’d stay here for a little while.
By three thirty, Nate had fitted new plates on the black WRX. He’d cleaned the spark plugs, changed the oil and water, and reconnected the battery. Apart from actually turning the engine over, the vehicle was good to go.
Wiping his hands on a clean cloth, he worked through the case in his head.
The Altar Boys held interests in various businesses across the city, including a scrap metal yard, a boxing gym and a few tattoo parlours. As well as these, there were nightclubs and strip joints in the Cross, a gambling establishment, plus the interest in the Hawkesbury pub.
On the surface, every business checked out, earnings receipted, money banked, and due taxes paid. But that’s where the bikies’ compliance with the Australian law ended.
Most were fronts for money laundering purposes, plus the earnings from those “legitimate” businesses provided capital for the club’s less legal activities. Drugs. Cooked up in hidden meth labs and distributed to suppliers across Sydney by a mobile network of bikies. The suppliers went on to cut the drugs with other substances, increasing the total quantity, which in turn, gave them their profit.
Nate threw the rag into a plastic bucket and switched off the garage light. From his observations, the bikies were having less to do with the crime at street level, and more to do with manufacturing the drugs and
cleaning the dirty money.
And a small criminal faction within the Altar Boys took care of that.
Nate pulled the garage door closed and went to clean up, excitement rippling through his body. He was so close he could almost taste it. If he could reassure Kennett he’d carried out the hit on Josie, he’d use that valuable bargaining chip for a position in the inner circle, a job dealing directly with the businesses laundering the money.
His thoughts turned to the mountain of research he’d done. He’d ask for the fitness centre and the dry cleaners, both located in the maze of underground arcades, linking Sydney’s CBD with the inner city rail line.
Millions of people passed the dry cleaners and gym every day, and the plethora of surrounding shops and cafes provided the perfect vantage point for easy surveillance, something impossible to accomplish in a pub, club or scrap metal yard.
Yes, he’d lean on Kennett to dump Grassy and give him the job. The Altar Boys were already nervous about Grassy’s heavy dependence. It wouldn’t take much to convince Kennett that the bikie’s drug-fucked brain was a serious risk to their lucrative business interests.
In the bathroom, he gave his hands a thorough wash. Once he got the job, he’d get a sighting of the collector — then he’d get a name. And that would lead to another name. No doubt, there’d be a complex set of shelf companies and trust deeds set up for the purpose of concealing the overseer’s identity, but he’d flush the bastard out in the end.
He washed his face and thought of Barry Simpson’s visit tonight. There was an element of risk being here in the mountains, among acquaintances. On the other hand, slotting back in as a member of the community could provide him with a temporary shield from the Altar Boys.
He dried his face then plugged in a text message to his controller.
‘I have a joke. Where do you find a one-legged deer?’
Code for “Operation cut off at the knees, hold tight”.
Within seconds, the reply from Dickson Cross beeped on Nate’s phone. ‘Dunno?’
Nate keyed in, ‘Exactly where you left it’.
Code for “I made it to the safe house”.
Nate pocketed the phone and turned off the light. In his mind’s eye, he could see Dickson searching his phone for the news bulletins. In minutes, he’d be up to speed on the fire and Mulvaney’s suspected death. And in less than twenty-four hours, he should know about Josie.
Nate stepped into the hallway and headed for the master bedroom. As he passed by, he couldn’t help noticing the first guest room was vacant and undisturbed.
A little further on, he faltered outside the second guest room. The door was wide open, left in the same position as when Josie had hidden behind it.
Strange.
Nate stuck his head in the door. He’d be in for a spray from her potty mouth if he scared the living daylights out of her.
He froze. The gel packs were right where she’d tossed them on the bed.
‘Josie?’ He hit the light switch.
Nate’s blood turned to ice, heart a weighty thud in his chest. The room was empty.
She wouldn’t have. She couldn’t be so irresponsible as to make a run for it while he was in the garage.
‘Josie!’ He barked out her name and strode down the hallway to the foyer. The first thing he saw was her handbag lying open on the side table.
Fear lodged at the back of Nate’s throat and his temples pounded in time with his heartbeat. He’d fastened that bag himself, after he’d confiscated her wallet and phone. Now there was a perfume bottle protruding from the open flap.
Why hadn’t she taken the bag with her?
‘JOSIE!’
He wheeled around and stopped mid-stride.
She was there.
Curled up on the lounge.
In the dark.
Relief coursed through him, the emotion so strong it prevented him moving for an instant, stopped him running over and shaking her as punishment for scaring the bejesus out of him.
Instead, he took a long, slow breath and moved towards the couch, frowning at her slim outline, covered in his Celtics top. He had no problem with her sleeping wherever she liked, but did she have to sleep like she was anaesthetised? Surely she would have woken up when he began shouting?
He raked an unsteady hand through his hair and squatted beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. She’d surprised him tonight. After the initial panic, shock and anger, she’d settled down and listened to him. And when bloody Barry Simpson turned up, she had followed his instructions.
Nate’s heartbeat settled into its normal steady rhythm. Oblivious to his panic, Josie was lying on her side, curled up into a tight little ball as if to protect herself from the cold. And in her right hand, she held a portable music player the size of a matchbox, the attached cord disappearing under her hair.
Noise cancelling earphones.
The device must have been stored in an inside zipper of her handbag and he’d missed it.
Nate swallowed. He had to get it off her, couldn’t take the chance it had an activated “Find my iPod” option on it. The local police would be all over that.
He laid a hand on her shoulder, trying not to notice how she filled out the singlet in places he never had.
She lifted her lids, fright registering in her eyes when she saw him hovering over her.
‘Stay there.’ He slid his hands under the still damp, silky curls and pulled the buds from her ears. ‘I just need these.’
She didn’t come fully awake, but she lifted her head so he could free the cord from where it had caught beneath her shoulder.
‘Don’t get up,’ he murmured, watching as she sank back onto the cushion, dark lashes sliding over those spirited eyes that constantly challenged him. Up this close, she smelled like some exotic flower, her skin more Scandinavian white than bronzed Aussie. Like it had seen more of the northern lights than the sun.
Taken with a sudden urge to know what she was listening to, he lifted a bud to his ear. Ah, Maroon 5. That wasn’t too bad. He’d been expecting a boy band, though he didn’t know upon what he’d based that assumption.
Listening to the lyrics for a few moments, he stared at Josie’s pink, heart shaped mouth.
Jesus, she’s beautiful.
He rocked back on his haunches, turning off the device and looping the cord around his trembling fingers. He couldn’t start thinking of Josie in those terms when he never had before. True, he’d been flattered by her attention when he’d worked for Neilson, had enjoyed their innocent flirting. But when she began reading more into it, he backed right off for a multitude of reasons. She was too young to know her own mind yet, and the timing wasn’t right. And if he were honest, he didn’t want her finding out the real reason he was working for Neilson, how he’d been stood down, reprimanded for getting involved with a woman while undercover in the States.
And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.
A mistake?
Nate shook his head. The reprimand still rankled. Try as he might, he would never be of the opinion that being stepfather to three-year-old Jonathan constituted anything close to a mistake.
Shoving the device in his pocket, he stood up and went to fetch blankets from the bedroom, remembering how Josie had enquired about the photograph. What answer could he have given her? That he’d lived with Jonathan’s mother for a while. That he hadn’t been able to speak to the child the entire time he’d been undercover.
That he wasn’t even sure the boy would remember him now.
Back in the living room, he covered her with blankets and stretched out on the other couch.
His momentary fantasy starring Josie was just that — momentary. It was nothing, just the close proximity after two years in chauvinism central with scant female company, none of which had even remotely tempted him.
She moaned in her sleep.
Nate’s body tensed and he closed his eyes, rolled over and prayed for sleep.
It was
nothing.
Just a long time between drinks.
Chapter 6
9:00 a.m. Monday
Josie pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and walked into Coles, eyes trained ahead, conscious of the CCTV camera Nate had warned her about.
The supermarket was a hive of activity following school drop off, the store bustling with mothers replenishing supplies after the weekend.
Just as Nate assured her it would be.
She wore leggings, and Nate’s smallest tee-shirt, knotted at the waist. Her hair was dragged back in a ponytail and pulled through a hole in the back of a red and white Swans cap. Only the flowery patterned Doc Martens set her apart.
The thought of venturing into town had filled her with fear, but Nate wouldn’t hear of her staying at the house. Her face was yet to appear in the media, and according to him, she could be disguised easily enough. Together, they would halve the exposure time spent in the village, halve the chance of Nate running into someone he knew. And while she needed clothes and toiletries, they both needed food.
Even so, she suspected there was more behind his insistence that she accompany him.
He didn’t trust her not to run.
Aware of him a step behind, Josie pulled a trolley from the rack, recalling his earlier words. ‘Don’t freak out if someone spots me. To them, I’m a federal government security guy who drives a black Subaru and mostly lives in Canberra. The Altar Boys know me as Nate Jordan, mechanic by day, lock picker by night. I live in a miners cottage in inner city Surry Hills, and drive the ute when I’m not on the bike. I have two completely separate identities.’
And then there was the real Nate Hunter, undercover detective, hell bent on apprehending the shady underworld’s puppeteer.
Equal amounts of anxiety and hunger stirred Josie’s stomach as she watched Nate head to the far end of the store. Clean shaven, he wore knee length denim shorts, a blue tee-shirt with a surfing motif, sunnies and thongs. With the new haircut, he looked nothing like the intimidating bikie who’d kidnapped her last night.
She repeated his instructions like a mantra.
Get in and get out. Don’t linger, don’t rush. Get the essentials in the time it takes for me to fill my trolley with food.
In Safe Arms Page 5