by Chris Taylor
“CHT 157, CHT 157, cat, hat, tat 157,” she repeated, hoping she wouldn’t forget it by the time she returned home. She was less than thirty feet away from the rear of the vehicle and could clearly make out the man’s form in the driver’s seat. His dark hair was cut short and she spied the collar of a white business shirt. A fair portion of his head was above the headrest.
The window was wound down and the man’s arm rested on the door. His hand tapped to a beat she couldn’t hear and she saw ear buds in his ears. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his arms. They were covered in a light scattering of dark hair.
The familiar silver Toyota badge on the back of the car boosted her confidence. At least she was right about the make of it. Gazing across the trunk, she caught the words “Camry” on the left hand side, right above the brake light.
With adrenaline still coursing through her veins, she ducked behind a sprawling jacaranda tree and debated about whether to confront him. It was the easiest way to get it sorted out, and hadn’t that been her plan? She shouldn’t have to rely on the police or waste time wishing there was a man in her life to do it for her. She was Cally Savage. If she wanted something done, she darn well did it herself. It had been that way for a decade.
Taking a deep breath, she thrust back her shoulders and moved out from behind the tree. With narrow-eyed purpose, she strode toward the vehicle.
The car’s ignition turned over. She gaped in surprise and pulled up short. With a squeal of tires, the dark blue sedan pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the throng of traffic.
Cally blinked and her shoulders slumped, deflated. In a daze, she returned to the house. After hurriedly taking down the license plate number, she sank down onto one of the pine chairs at the kitchen table and let her pulse rate return to normal.
Her sleepless nights, coupled with her concerns about Jack, and now another curious appearance of the blue Toyota, overwhelmed her. All at once, she wanted to lay her head down on the table and have a good cry. It was times like this she really missed her friend Kate. They’d been as close as sisters when they were younger.
With a surge of determination, Cally pushed back her chair and strode to the phone. She dialed Kate’s number from memory and smiled with relief when it was answered on the first ring.
“Hi, stranger. You must have been standing right by the phone.”
“Cally! What a surprise! I thought you were Riley. Daisy’s sick with the flu and I need to take her to the doctor. I’m waiting for Riley to call me and confirm he’s on his way home. He’s going to look after Rosie for me while I’m out. She hasn’t caught it yet, thank goodness and I’m trying to keep her quarantined. The bugs that are going around at the moment… I can only imagine how many of them are floating around the doctor’s waiting room.”
Cally felt a stab of envy. How good would it feel to have someone to love like Kate loved Riley; someone to rely on for little things that were so important? She closed her eyes briefly and shook off her melancholy. It was only the culmination of so many stressful events that had her so out of sorts.
“Poor Daisy. I hope she’s feeling better soon.”
“I’m sure as soon as we get some antibiotics, she’ll be as good as new. How have you been?”
Cally bit her lip. A few moments earlier, she’d been desperate to unload on her friend, but Kate had her own worries.
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Busy at work, but otherwise good.”
“How’s Jack?”
She forced a laugh. “Growing faster by the day.”
“What’s the matter, Cally?”
Cally sighed. She’d never been able to put much past Kate. “I-I guess I just wanted to say hello. I-I’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed lately—what, with the break-in and stuff.”
“Did they find out who did it?”
“No and it’s beginning to freak me out. I-I keep seeing this car parked on the main road outside my house. Last week, I thought I saw it following me.” Her breathing hitched. “I’m probably imagining it, but I can’t help it. I-I’m scared.”
Kate’s voice filled with understanding. “Of course you’re scared. Who wouldn’t be? I’d be beside myself if my home was burgled and I lived alone with a young child. And I’m sure you’re not imagining it. You’ve never been someone to exaggerate. Have you called the police?”
“Yes, they’re looking into it.”
Kate’s sigh spoke volumes and Cally suppressed a grin. As the wife of a police officer, her friend knew better than most the demands on their time.
“How’s the new job working out?” Kate asked.
Relieved to switch her focus, Cally smiled. “Well, I’ve finished the first week and they haven’t fired me, so I guess that’s a good start—and the extra income’s a help.”
“I wish you’d let me help you with that. I’ve told you how well the gallery’s going. I can spare the money, Cally.”
Cally shook her head. “We’ve already been over this, Kate. I love you dearly for your kind offer, but I can’t accept your money, even if it is a loan. At the moment I’m worried I… I might not be able to pay it back.”
“It’s only you who’s determined to label it a loan, Cally. I’d be more than happy to give it to you.”
“Yes, Kate and I’m grateful, but I need to do this on my own. It’s important to me.”
Kate groaned. “You and your damn independence.”
“At least you aren’t calling me proud and stubborn like the last time.” Cally smiled at the thought of their last conversation.
“Well, it’s not that I don’t think it!”
“You’ve always been such a good friend. I really appreciate you being here for me.”
“Anytime. It’s not like you wouldn’t do the same for me.”
“You’re right.”
“How about advertising for a roommate? They could help share expenses and you’d have another adult in the house.”
Cally had considered that before and now pondered the idea again. It quickly gained merit. “I think that might relieve the pressure, Kate. A roommate might be just what I need. “
“You could put up a notice at the police station. Who better to protect you then someone sworn to do just that? I could even ask Riley to put the word out amongst his colleagues, if you like.”
“Kate, you’re a genius! I’ve been so caught up with everything, I haven’t seen the obvious. A police officer would be perfect! I’m cleaning again tomorrow night. I’ll see if I can put up a notice then.”
“The sooner the better,” Kate agreed.
Sudden tears burned behind Cally’s eyes. “Th-thank you,” she stammered.
“Like I said; anytime,” Kate replied, her voice thick with emotion. “And let me know if you need help from Riley. He’ll be more than happy to assist you.”
Cally cleared her throat. “Thank you, I will. Say hi to him for me and I hope Daisy’s feeling better soon.”
“Thanks. Let me know how it goes. And give Jack my love.”
A few moments later, Cally ended the call. Her thoughts returned to Kate’s suggestion, and hope and excitement sparked in her belly. A roommate would go a long way to solving her problems and a police officer would be even better. How much safer could she get than having a policeman in residence? Of course, she’d still proceed with caution. She wasn’t stupid. Not everyone in a uniform could be trusted.
Fleeting images of smiling brown eyes and unruly blond hair flashed through her mind. The negotiator’s ruggedly handsome face intruded on her thoughts. Andy’s impressive physical presence had captured her attention the minute she walked into the squad room, but it was the warmth and humor that shone in his eyes and the way he’d taken the time to answer Jack’s questions that had intrigued her. Not to mention the approving glances and the sexy grins he’d given her every now and then.
She frowned when she remembered his remark about Jack. Had he meant to imply she was neglecting her son’s ne
eds, or had she overreacted? Being a single mother, she was used to going on the defensive when she considered herself under attack. Had she misread his intention? He certainly appeared genuine when he’d apologized.
With a small sigh, she wandered into the kitchen and pulled a coffee cup out of the cupboard. She’d put up a notice the first opportunity she got and hope someone would take her up on it. Andy’s smiling face blossomed once again in her mind and her heart skipped a beat. Would he be interested? Butterflies churned in her stomach at the thought of what might be the perfect solution.
CHAPTER SIX
Stewart Brady listened to the Crown Prosecutor drone on about the victim’s injuries and sighed aloud with impatience, not even bothering to hide his smirk. He wished the asshole had been smarter, and hadn’t made that quip about the size of Stewart’s biceps. If he’d had the brains to keep his mouth shut, Stewart would never have taken the barbell to him. The stupid prick had deserved it, fair and square.
The way the prosecutor would have it, Stewart had savagely beaten the victim to within an inch of his life and without any provocation. It was bullshit, that’s what it was and he’d about had enough. Anger surged through him, made even worse by the knowledge he wasn’t in a position to leave.
He glanced toward the two corrections officers who flanked him on either side of the dock. The tall, beefy pair would be hard to escape. Besides, who was he kidding? He’d never survive on the run. He’d lived all his life on his father’s bank accounts. He’d never given thought to stashing any of it away. Was it too late?
With a sigh, he let the fleeting thoughts slide and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out the crumpled page of the newspaper he’d torn off the front cover, now dated more than a month ago. Smoothing out the folds, he stared at the woman and child.
Renewed anger surged through him. He still couldn’t believe she lied to him. She’d gone into the clinic. He’d watched her go inside from where he sat in the car and he’d waited more than an hour. He’d passed the time texting his mates and updating his Facebook status to single. When she’d finally exited the building, he’d taken her home. Before she stepped out of the car, he’d told her they were over.
Okay, so he hadn’t actually asked her if she’d done it, but she’d been in there so long, it hadn’t occurred to him that she hadn’t gone through with it. He clenched his fists and was infuriated all over again that she hadn’t said anything to him. So what if he hadn’t wanted the kid at the time? It didn’t give her the right to have it and keep it from him for ten fucking years.
Jack Savage, the newspaper said. She hadn’t even given the boy Stewart’s fucking name. Jack Brady, that’s who he was. Jack Brady, his son.
He thought of his wife, Tiffany and his other son, Luke and then remembered them as he’d last seen them: Cold and gray and lifeless on matching stainless steel tables. He’d been asked to identify them at the morgue. A stab of familiar pain went through him at the memory. He couldn’t believe they’d gone.
Okay, he may have told Tiff they were getting a divorce, but it didn’t mean he wanted her dead. It may have made things a little easier, but he’d have paid her whatever she wanted if it meant his son hadn’t died in the same accident…
He gritted his teeth and forced back the moan of pure anguish. Lukie, poor little Lukie. He’d always hated the dark. Now it surrounded him. It wasn’t fucking right and it sure as hell wasn’t fair.
Just like his discovery of the other bitch’s deceit.
Renewed fury gushed through his veins. He had to find Cally Savage. She’d stolen his son. A son who was still breathing. A little older, but a son who could replace the one he’d lost. Steel determination surged through him. He’d find both of them and when he did, he’d make her pay. Of that, he had no doubt.
* * *
Nikki Simons stared at the white satin and lace wedding dress that mocked her from the rail inside her closet. The dress was all she’d ever dreamed of: perfect in its utter simplicity, with tiny, hand-sewn pearls. It had cost her most of two pay packets. She’d owned it for more than a month. She’d been so certain Andy would propose to her; that it was only a matter of time.
They’d been together for twelve months. Long enough to decide they were right for each other. They had so much in common and usually managed to have fun. Okay, so perhaps the sex hadn’t been spectacular, but she’d done all she could. It wasn’t her fault Andy wasn’t into threesomes or that he didn’t want to share.
She ought to be flattered he wanted her for himself and she had been, most of the time. Every now and then, she’d caught herself wishing he was different, more exciting, more willing to live it on the edge.
Still, at thirty-five she couldn’t afford to be so picky. She was desperate to have children and her biological clock was winding down. He would have been perfect father material, despite her boredom with him in the bedroom. She’d seen the way he interacted with the children of their work colleagues. She’d seen the yearning on his face. On top of that, he was wealthy, too. What more could she want?
He’d never shared his childhood with her, but she’d sensed it hadn’t been great. He’d said as much the night he’d broken up with her. She was still annoyed he wouldn’t let her in. Twelve months of her life she’d given him and it had all been for naught. She was back where she started, single, old and afraid.
She didn’t want to end up alone, dependent upon alcohol and friends to get her through the day. She had a good job and a shapely figure many female workmates envied. She was a good catch, dammit. It was a shame Andy Warwick hadn’t seen it that way.
Recalling how he’d dumped her, in the back of a taxi, no less, her anger bubbled to the surface. She reached for the bottle of rum that stood on her nightstand and tilted it toward her throat. A mouthful, two and it was empty. She tossed it to the carpet in disgust. It only seemed like moments ago when she’d opened it. Her gaze returned to the wedding dress and fury and disappointment overwhelmed her.
She staggered to the chest of drawers that stood on the other side of her bedroom and wrenched open the top drawer. Her fingers glanced over a hairbrush, a compact, two lipsticks… She thrust them all aside. With her fingers working more frantically now, she at last gave a triumphant yelp. Taking an unsteady step backwards, she brandished a pair of large scissors in the air.
Turning on her heel, she stumbled to the closet and took hold of the wedding dress in her fist. With wild stabs, she attacked it, tearing and shredding the cloth. Moments later, the fog of rage cleared and she stared at the remains of the dress. It hung in tatters, destroyed beyond repair.
The scissors fell from her hand and she slowly dropped to the floor. Sobs tore through her in agonizing waves. She gasped and curled her legs up to her chest and rocked against the pain. This was all because of Andy. It was his fault she was in such a bad way. He should have tried harder to love her. He should never have tossed her aside. They were meant to be together. She had to make him see…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Detective Superintendent Patrick Redding strode out of his office, his face grim. “He’s back up there again, Andy.”
“Excuse me?” Andy frowned and looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk.
“Wayne Tucker, your jumper from last week. He’s back up there,” Redding replied.
“You’re kidding?”
“I’m afraid not. I just took a call from the psychiatric unit of Royal North Shore Hospital. They discovered him missing about an hour ago. No one knows how he got out—or at least, no one’s saying—but he’s back up on a window ledge. This time it’s the ninth floor of the Nurses’ residence, about four hundred yards from the bed he’d been keeping warm in the psych unit.”
Andy sucked in a breath. Adrenaline surged through him. He pushed his chair away from his desk and stood. Quickly and efficiently, he emptied his pockets of his wallet, cell phone and keys and prepared for what was to come. “Who’s at the scene?”
<
br /> “A couple of cars from St Leonards, a couple more from Artarmon. The State Protection Group’s on its way. They want you to lead the team, seeing as Tucker knows you and you managed to talk him down last time.”
“Yeah.” Andy channeled his thoughts to the task ahead. He knew from other negotiators that a second attempt almost always spelled trouble. He strode toward the locker rooms. “Who’s riding with me?”
“Craig Winters, Sandy Ashcroft and Hugh Power are already on their way. Tom Munro’s waiting for you downstairs.”
A little of the mounting pressure inside Andy subsided. Despite the fact he was only in his late thirties, Tom Munro was a veteran and had been the primary negotiator in more than a hundred high-risk situations. He’d won more than he’d lost and Andy was glad to have him by his side.
During his time at the North Sydney Police Station, Andy had come to know Tom and his family. His wife, Lily, was a primary school teacher and was as sweet and gracious as Andy fondly remembered his own primary school teachers were. Their two children, Cassie and Joe were cute, well-mannered teenagers. The Munro clan was the epitome of a wholesome Aussie family and Andy couldn’t help the stab of longing that went through him whenever he thought of them.
He pushed the thoughts aside. Now wasn’t the time to wish things were different. A man’s life was at stake and Andy was responsible for saving him. Depositing his phone and other personal items on the shelf, he stripped down to his underwear and pulled on the navy SPG overalls he kept in his locker.
One of the first things he’d learned in his training was how to ensure there was nothing on his person that could distract the jumper and possibly cause a disastrous ending. A flash of sunlight on a watch face or the sudden ringing of a cell phone could mean the difference between life and death. It was an understatement to say the people he dealt with were not exactly stable.