In Safe Arms

by Christine, Lee

  To his surprise, she blushed to the roots of her hair, wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  Okay.

  This was strange.

  So unlike her.

  A troubling thought took root in his mind. Did she have food issues, some kind of eating disorder maybe?

  ‘When I was little, my mother would scold me for eating too much.’ She reached for her glass and took a small sip. ‘She lives by the creed, “You can never be too rich or too slim.”’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘She was paranoid I’d gain a whole lot of weight. Dad didn’t care.’

  Nate gave a slow nod. So that was it.

  No eating disorder.

  Just the product of a mother with high expectations.

  ‘Well you didn’t, and I’m paranoid you’re going to pass out.’

  He watched her take another sip of juice and thought back to the night he’d driven her home. There was no question Marilyn Valenti was a very attractive woman, though a little too over-groomed in his opinion.

  Her daughter was much more natural.

  And a healthy appetite was obviously a sore point between mother and daughter.

  He nodded at the remaining food on Josie’s plate. ‘Come on, eat up, you’re looking better already.’

  Christ, he sounded like a parent, and his feelings for Josie were, well — he wasn’t quite sure what his feelings were, but they sure as hell weren’t fatherly.

  She picked up her cutlery and began squashing peas onto the end of her fork. ‘Since I moved to Pyrmont, I rarely think of those things anymore.’

  Those things? ‘You moved out?’

  ‘Eighteen months ago.’

  A chill slithered down Nate’s spine, and it wasn’t the swig of cold juice he’d just taken. If Josie had been at her place last night, he wouldn’t have known where to find her. She would have made it to the police station, and with daddy’s money and influence, would most likely be winging her way to some exotic safe haven in the northern hemisphere by now.

  Instead, she was in his kitchen, eating a microwave meal, and he was still in with a chance of arresting both Kennett and the overseer.

  They ate the remainder of the meal in silence, then tossed the containers in the bin and stacked the dishwasher.

  ‘I might try and catch up on some sleep,’ she said. ‘Thanks for lunch.’

  She turned away and Nate stood in the kitchen watching her go. Josie was a dark horse, more mature than he’d given her credit for. He could understand now why Allegra Greenwood thought so highly of her. She was quick thinking, brave and feisty, and for that he was grateful. She’d need to be, to get through this. Hell, she’d been straight enough to point out in no uncertain terms that he should get a life.

  Like he needed to be told.

  Nate worked at the table in the living room for most of the afternoon, retrieving data from the biometric thumb drive he’d attached to a magnet and hidden inside the spare wheel of the ute. With its double password, fingerprint scanner and metal anti-tamper waterproof casing, the thumb drive was the best portable storage device on the market, more secure than an easily hackable “storage cloud”.

  While Josie slept, he copied the information onto the electronic notebook he’d taken from the floor safe, and printed out the mountain of information he’d collected.

  He’d shadowed every one of the Altar Boys’ inner circle on more than one occasion, and in the clubhouse, he’d hung with those who suffered loose lips after sinking a skinful, while saying nothing himself. At night, he filled databases and spreadsheets with details of known associates, and collated information on the bikies’ everyday movements.

  The next few hours were spent studying Google Maps at street level, particularly the area surrounding the dry cleaners and the gym. He memorised every cafe, shop and office until the images swam in front of his eyes. Eventually, he shut down the notebook and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. No use getting ahead of himself. It could be weeks, even months, before he landed the job of couriering the dirty money.

  He glanced at the mobile phone issued in the name of Nate Jordan. No calls. No messages.

  It seemed the bikies had gone to ground.

  Growing more and more edgy as the news bulletin approached, Nate thought through the police procedure in his head. The arson squad would pick through the remains of the tattoo parlour, but Mulvaney’s computer was ash and Josie’s was locked in his safe. Even if the police commissioned Skype for their server records, they would only get the date, time and duration of Mulvaney’s call to Josie.

  ‘Hey.’

  Nate looked up. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard her get up. She was standing in the doorway, face still pink with sleep.

  ‘Hey.’

  Josie ran her hands up and down her bare arms and glanced at the TV. ‘Any news this afternoon?’

  Nate pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Lizard Mulvaney’s body has been formally identified. Nothing on you so far. The news is just about to start.’

  Josie perched on the edge of the lounge and folded her arms across her stomach, aware of Nate’s scrutiny. She’d stayed in her room until the last possible moment, imagining the media frenzy that was sure to accompany her disappearance. And now, her legs trembled and the blood pounded in her head, so even the familiar programming music coming through Nate’s Bose speakers seemed muted.

  And then her face appeared on screen, the photograph taken at her Year 12 formal, nearly four years ago.

  ‘Ahead in the news. Fears held for the daughter of prominent Sydney businessman, Silvano Valenti. The Prime Minister assures the Australian public the government will turn in a surplus budget, and the NRL footy season kicks off tonight with a rematch between last year’s grand finalists.’

  Josie wiped her clammy palms on her shorts, nausea churning her stomach as the network logo disappeared from screen and the cameras panned to the news anchors in the studio.

  ‘Grave fears are held tonight for the safety of Josephine Valenti, daughter of prominent property tycoon, Silvano Valenti, and his wife, Marilyn. Josephine Valenti’s damaged car was found abandoned in the Kur-ring-Gai Chase National Park in the early hours of this morning, not far from the Valenti home. The high profile couple flew in from Singapore this afternoon. We now cross to Channel Nine reporter, Melissa Manning, who was at Kingsford Smith Airport, when the Valenti’s chartered Gulfstream touched down minutes ago.’

  Josie sucked in her breath as her parents came on screen, mother dressed in a smart white suit, shoulder length blonde hair perfectly styled. She kept her face averted, and didn’t once look at the camera.

  But her father, as dark as her mother was fair, spoke to the huddle of reporters, his voice accompanied by the constant click of camera shutters. ‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, both Marilyn and I are shocked and distraught to learn our only daughter, Josephine, is missing.’

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ The whispered words escaped Josie’s lips as at least a dozen microphones were thrust into her father’s face.

  ‘At this point, I can only say police are doing everything they can to get to the bottom of this matter, and I ask that you respect our family’s privacy during this difficult and trying time. Thank you.’

  He gave reporters a brief nod and then handed her mother into the rear seat of a waiting sedan. All around them, police were on hand fending off more questions from the media.

  ‘Melissa,’ the anchor asked, ‘what do police think happened last night?’

  ‘Police believe Josephine Valenti’s car was forced off the road sometime between 10:00 p.m. and midnight as she left her parents’ home in Cottage Point. She is the only child and sole beneficiary of the Valenti family fortune. From the moment she was born, fears have been held for her safety, and now the family’s worst fears have been realised. Tonight, they anxiously await communication from the kidnappers, re their ransom demand.’

  Kidnappers? Surely the police would have known from her p
hone call that that wasn’t the case.

  And then the picture changed and another photograph appeared on screen. Tears pricked Josie’s eyes and her throat ached with the effort not to break down. It was a picture of her mother, holding her at some social function when she was about eighteen months old.

  Beside her, Nate could have been a statue.

  Josie blinked, trying to clear her rapidly blurring vision, heart pounding so hard it was starting to make her feel sick. But she would not cry in front of Nate Hunter. Even now, it hurt when she recalled his words from that earlier time.

  ‘It’s not your fault you’re young and stupid. But you’re putting yourself in a vulnerable situation drinking like this.’

  Clinging to that memory, Josie sniffed and swallowed her salty tears. No matter how bad things got, Nate would never see her cry.

  ‘What do we know of the Valenti family, Melissa?’ the anchor was asking.

  ‘Yes, Marilyn Valenti is known in social circles as the queen of Sydney fundraising, helping to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars annually for a variety of hospitals and needy causes. The socialite created headlines once, describing Josephine as her “must have accessory” which raised eyebrows and caused quite a stir at the time. Josie, as she’s known, was highly visible in her early years, but spent most of her young life out of the public eye at the exclusive Ascham School for Girls in Edgecliff. Due to celebrate her twenty-first birthday this Thursday, Josephine keeps a low profile, working as assistant to prominent lawyer, Allegra Greenwood, at the Sydney office of Grace and Poole, and running an early childhood music school on weekends. We ask anyone with information to call…’

  The reporter read out the number which flashed on the bottom on the screen, and then the anchor thanked her for the report and moved onto the next story.

  Nate muted the sound and glanced across at Josie. She sat lifeless as a shop mannequin, back rigid as she stared blindly at the carpet.

  Fighting against a natural instinct to reach out and comfort her, Nate settled for shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Hey, this is good…’

  She moved so quickly, she took him by surprise, jumping to her feet and running from the room.

  Nate stared after her.

  Okay.

  He pulled his hands from his pockets and started to follow, halting when the sliding door in her bedroom banged closed. She’d stepped out onto the enclosed verandah.

  Nate blew out a breath. That was okay. She was obscured by darkness out there, and she obviously needed time alone.

  And he was probably the last person she wanted to see right now.

  Chapter 8

  6:30 p.m. Monday

  Allegra looked up to see Luke standing in the doorway of her corner office, short cropped fair hair shining under the fluorescents. She put her dictation handset on the desk and beckoned him inside, watching as he closed the door.

  ‘How did you go with the police?’

  ‘They’re moving quickly.’ He came around the desk to give her a hug then folded his tall frame into one of the ergonomic designed client chairs. ‘I have some news, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’

  Allegra sat up straighter, mouth turning dry like it did when she was about to address the Court. She knew from her husband’s measured tone, whatever he was about to reveal was significant, much as he might downplay it.

  ‘The police are checking camera images within a specified radius around the Valenti’s house. Some of the shots are hit and miss, because primarily they try and get the plate number. But in a lot of cases, the driver’s face is visible.’

  Allegra nodded, wondering what he was getting at.

  ‘I think I saw Nate in a lime green ute.’

  ‘Nate?’ Allegra blinked as her mind made the jump. ‘Nate, who used to work for you?’

  ‘Nate Hunter.’

  Allegra frowned. ‘How is that relevant?’

  Luke leaned forward in his seat. ‘Because he looked like a bikie, and I almost didn’t recognise him. No shirt, hair down to his shoulders, and a three day growth. And he had the whole bikie bling thing going on.’

  Allegra felt the blood leave her face. ‘Did you tell the police?’

  Luke’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘No. We can’t say anything.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Nate’s a member of the gang squad, Ally. I gave him a job when he got stood down for a bit.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘He was a top bloke, and a smart cop. I was sorry to see him go.’

  Needing something for her dry mouth, Allegra reached under her desk and opened the small bar fridge. She took out two Diet Cokes and passed one across the desk to Luke.

  ‘Thanks.’ There was a hiss of air as he twisted off the cap.

  Allegra twisted the top off her own bottle and poured the liquid into an empty glass on her desk. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Nothing. There’s a chance he could be undercover with one of the gangs. Ally, you know I don’t believe in coincidences. Nate looked like a bikie, and he was in the area when Josie went missing. If I’m right, she may have a very small chance. I know he’d do everything he could to help her — if she’s alive.’

  Despite his warning not to, some of the tension left Allegra’s body and she couldn’t help the tiny spark of hope that flared up inside her. ‘Oh, Luke!’

  ‘No — please don’t get your hopes up. I could be wrong. I was in two minds whether or not to tell you.’

  Allegra smiled at her husband across the desk. ‘I’m glad you did, Commander.’

  He smiled back, grey eyes softening, the scar on his cheek moving a fraction. ‘I can’t get involved, you understand that don’t you? I’ll keep my eyes and ears open, that’s all. Any interference could put his life at risk.’

  ‘Of course.’ Allegra took a sip of her drink. ‘I remember him mucking around with Josie. She liked him. They got quite cosy at our engagement.’

  ‘I can’t give you a cast iron guarantee, but I’m fairly certain it was him.’

  He swallowed a mouthful of Diet Coke and grimaced at the taste. ‘How long until you get out of here, Counsellor? I’ll buy you a glass of wine on the way home.’

  Chapter 9

  7:00 p.m. Monday

  When Josie hadn’t come inside an hour later, Nate began to worry. He wanted to talk about the broadcast, and he needed to know she was alright.

  Twenty-one this week!

  Hell, what a birthday present.

  She hadn’t mentioned it.

  Maybe she wasn’t such a princess after all.

  He paced the hallway, mulling over the personal aspects of her life, like what was the deal with her “you can never be too rich or too thin” mother? He could never imagine his own mother referring to him, or any of his siblings, as a “must have accessory”. To be fair, it did sound like a bit of a throwaway line that had turned into a media beat up.

  And Josie taught pre-schoolers music?

  ‘Okay, princess, you’ve had your space,’ he muttered to himself, sauntering into the unoccupied guest room and sliding open the verandah door.

  Cool mountain air drifted in as Nate stepped onto the screened verandah. He stood for a few moments, letting his eyes adjust before making his way over to where Josie was curled up in the egg chair.

  Her voice came out of the dark. ‘Missing me already, Senior Detective?’

  Was he?

  For once, he didn’t retaliate.

  Her flippancy was a front, effective, but a front nonetheless. Strange how he could pick it in the dark, when not distracted by her face.

  He cleared his throat. ‘How long are you going to stay out here?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Yeah. We need to talk.’

  Her answer was to shift over and make room for him — in the one person egg chair.

  A visual of getting up close and personal with Josie crashed into Nate’s brain, sending a jolt of awareness thr
ough his system.

  Okay, if that’s the way she wanted to play it.

  He leaned forward, grabbed her hand and yanked her to her feet. ‘Get up.’

  She came upright, pushing him in the chest with her free hand. ‘What’s your problem, Nate?’

  ‘Be quiet,’ he bit out between his teeth. ‘We’re not talking out here.’

  He threaded his fingers through hers and led the way back along the verandah. ‘Christ, Josie, you’re freezing.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Your skin’s like ice.’ Nate shook his head, exasperated. When would they stop going hard at each other like this?

  Back in the guest room, he unzipped his surf hoodie and shrugged it off, holding it open so she could slip her arms inside. ‘Put this on.’

  ‘Okay, don’t fuss.’ She looked flustered by his concern, as if she wasn’t used to someone looking out for her.

  ‘You’re in shorts and a singlet.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, wrapping the hoodie around her. ‘You’ll make a good father one day, detective.’

  For the second time in twenty-four hours, her words probed at the open wound in his chest, dredging up memories two-and-a-half years old. Holding the small boys’ shuddering frame, reassuring him he’d be back to visit one day. Unwrapping the chubby arms from around his neck and telling him to be good to his mother, then disappearing into the crowd headed for the departure gate, too choked up to look back.

  Nate rubbed his palm over his heart and watched Josie sit on the bed. Now wasn’t the time to bemoan life’s tough choices, it was time to help the woman right here. The one looking at him with a puzzled expression on her pretty face, like if she looked hard enough, she might just work him out.

  ‘I understand watching that broadcast was difficult,’ he began, ‘but it’s all good news for us.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you figure that?’

  Ignoring her dry tone, he continued on. ‘The police haven’t revealed the link between your disappearance and Mulvaney’s death. Thinking about it, it’s a deliberate tactic. They want the bikies to think they’re in the clear, to prevent them going to ground. As for Kennett, he’ll assume I carried out his order, and you never made it to the police station.’