by Sandy Vaile
“You drive the rental and I’ll follow in the Land Cruiser,” Kev said. “When we get to Blanche Point at Port Willunga, I’ll put her in the front seat and we’ll roll it off the cliff.”
Rhonda clapped her hands. “With any luck she’ll wake up just before she hits the bottom.”
A wet smooching sound was followed by Natalie’s half cry, half scream through the duct tape. Then there was the sound of something being dragged across the gravel driveway. Mya shivered. She couldn’t let Natalie down. Couldn’t let her end up like her mum.
Natalie’s cries came from further away. It was time to move, right now, before it was too late.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Rhonda mumbled.
If Kev had taken Natalie, then it was just Rhonda now. Those odds Mya could handle; besides, there was no way the lid of the boot was going down with her in it. Face your fears head on, Ned had taught her when she first walked into his gym, and that’s what she’d been doing since.
Her right hand was almost free when a shadow fell across her face. She kicked up with both legs. The boot popped up; Rhonda stumbled back and squealed. Mya swung her calves over the dip in the boot, wiggled her bottom forward, and rocked until both feet were on the ground.
Rhonda’s nostrils flared like the fire-breathing dragon she was. She stooped to pick up a long stick and stood with feet planted wide, her teeth bared.
Mya was tense and ready for a fight. Still, it was worth trying to explain the disconnect between what Rhonda had said and what Mya knew to be true. Maybe she could talk the woman around.
“I didn’t believe you when you said Jack was your father. If I had, I would have helped you. I didn’t take off to do you out of any inheritance. I did it to get away from a life with him.”
“Rubbish! He never sent us any money. I never even got a Christmas present. I bet you got all kinds of presents.”
“No, I didn’t. I needed that money to look after my mum.” Mya ducked under the swipe of the stick. The horizon pitched and she couldn’t regain her equilibrium fast enough to avoid its backstroke. The stick connected with her shoulder and sharp barbs along the wood drew pricks of blood.
“Jack pissed off as soon as my mother got pregnant, so she didn’t even put his name on the birth certificate.” Rhonda slapped the stick against the palm of her hand. “That’s why nobody contacted me when he died. How do you think it feels to have a ‘father unknown’?”
“At least you didn’t have to live with him,” Mya shouted.
There was no reasoning with Rhonda. She’d spent more than a decade believing Mya had done her out of an inheritance, and if she’d killed Rosalie, then she deserved what was coming to her.
Stop messing around.
Anger flowed through Mya’s veins like molten lava, and this time she had no intention of trying to stop it. This was the moment she’d been waiting for. The time for payback. Her teeth were clamped together so hard they grated, but her gaze stayed locked on target.
At last her right hand peeled from the tape. She brought her arms up in a protective boxing stance. Rhonda gasped and jumped back.
“You know what I can do, and Kev’s not here to back you up now. I was just a teenager when you showed up.” Mya sidestepped.
Rhonda mirrored the movement. “You don’t want to know the kinds of things I had to do to make ends meet after my mum died. You know, your retarded mother couldn’t even scream when I killed her, but I could see in her eyes she knew she was dying.”
Mya’s shriek of rage ripped away any thoughts of danger or civility. She launched fists first and landed a blow squarely on Rhonda’s chin.
She followed quickly with a gut punch. The redhead doubled over, clutching her stomach and gasping for air. Without a pause, Mya lined her up again and sent a push kick into her shoulder. Rhonda hit the dirt with a thud and, hands splayed behind, tried to squirm away.
Not going to happen.
Natalie’s piercing scream sounded from behind a tall hedge. It crawled up Mya’s arms, under her skin, and into her brain. The physical force of the hate she had carried around for so long—Cockroach’s boot raised above her mum’s head, the metal lid of a toolbox coming down, Rosalie struggling for breath—swelled in her tensed muscles. This was the moment to finish Rhonda.
Another bloodcurdling scream.
God, he’s going to kill her.
There wasn’t time to put her revenge first.
A sly smile crossed Rhonda’s face. If she thought Mya had given up, she was going to be sadly disappointed. There was a metal rod in the boot, close enough to reach. She spun around. The tire iron connected with Rhonda’s head with a dull thump. The silly cow frowned, a startled look in her eyes. Then she crumpled to the ground like a rag doll.
The world was still cockeyed from her concussion, but Mya ran toward the glossy pittosporum hedge. She edged around it and caught a glimpse of Kev dragging Natalie by the hair. They were headed toward a huge wooden barn with boarded windows and peeling paint. Duct tape hung half off the teen’s red mouth and a bruise blossomed across one eye.
Five long strides and Mya launched. Her boot connected with the back of Kev’s knees, which made a satisfying thud when they hit the ground. His grip on Natalie relaxed. Her pretty blue eyes stared over his shoulder.
Mya didn’t wait for him to get back up. She spun to deliver a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. Kev grunted and fell sideways but rolled and grabbed Mya’s ankle. One quick pull upended her and her shoulder crunched onto the coarse gravel. Pain ricocheted up her neck and into her skull. All strength drained from the injured arm, but she kept moving.
Scissoring her legs to free them, she scrambled to her haunches.
Whack. The force of Kev’s kick lifted her clear off the ground and dumped her on her side again. She gasped, wrapped arms around her stomach. Precious little air got into her lungs, making her lightheaded again. She was lying on the ground like a pathetic victim.
Every centimetre of her body throbbed with pain, but every millilitre of her blood boiled with rage.
Kev must’ve taken her for beat, because he delivered Natalie an open-handed slap. Her cheek instantly pinked. He followed with a boot to the girl’s ribs.
Mya met Natalie’s terrified gaze. Unlike the rocky ground she was on now, the linoleum had been cool as Mya lay staring at her mum, the day Cockroach struck his final blow. She had lain on the floor, unable to catch her breath, and watched Rosalie’s blood spray from between her swollen lips.
Mya had screamed for him to stop, but his big boot came down on her mum’s head, and she heard a crack. She was looking into her mum’s eyes at the exact moment when awareness went out of them. A moment of inaction she would never forgive herself for.
She refused to watch, while Natalie was brutalized too. Drawing the last skerrick of strength from her sapped body, she flattened palms on the rough ground, pushed onto her knees and then feet. For a moment she stood there, swaying. Kev must’ve heard the movement, because he slowly turned around.
Natalie was on the ground, alive, but she looked like she’d been run over by a tractor.
“Run,” Mya yelled. “Run!”
The teenager moved her legs and arms crab style, propelling herself backward. Kev hesitated, as though unsure who to throttle first. Natalie clambered to her feet and, with one last panicked look, ran for the barn. The big brute lunged in her direction but stopped short when a fistful of gravel hit his face.
Mya didn’t give him time to react but sprung forward and delivered a swift kick to his gut. His mouth gaped, eyes widened. She shifted her weight and drove the thick sole of her boot into his kneecap.
“Shit!” He bent to the injury. An arm went up to defend against her next strike.
Too late; she kept on coming. When he was on his back, she leapt onto his chest, her knees pinning his shoulders, and felt the soft flesh on his cheeks give under her knuckles. Blood streamed down his face. He tore one arm free and p
ulled her off sideways but wasn’t quick enough to his feet.
Mya grabbed the nearest fist-sized rock and brought it down hard.
Chapter 39
Luca’s Corolla fishtailed as he tried to read the tiny map on his phone and drive with one hand. The tires slid from the dirt verge back to the tarmac. Golden wheat stretched as far as he could see, dotted with the occasional farmhouse. Swaggering gnarly gums followed unseen watercourses. The property should be just around the corner.
I can’t lose her now.
Mya might be troubled, even abrasive, but there was more to her—the intelligence, resilience, and passion he’d come to appreciate. Oh, the passion. There was something primal about the way she made love, something desperate about the intensity of her kisses, but what frightened him most was how much he wanted to be the one to soothe her. He wanted to be the one to unravel her mysteries and show her she didn’t have to do everything on her own.
His mobile started singing and he eased off the accelerator while he answered. A toot behind made him flinch. A police Commodore was in his rear view mirror.
“I’m right behind you,” Kate said and then the line went dead.
He pulled to the roadside, jogged to the passenger door of the police car, and got in. Kate accelerated before the door was even closed.
“No lights or siren,” he told her.
She wrenched the steering wheel around the corner and then slowed to fifty kilometres an hour—fast enough not to look suspicious, but slow enough to see well as they passed Rhonda’s property.
A black four-wheel drive was parked by a garage.
“That’s Rhonda’s vehicle and reasonable cause,” he said.
Further along the driveway there was a white sedan with its boot up, and behind that a tall hedge and barn with boarded windows. Along the front of the property, narrow horse yards were fenced with white-washed wood, a rusted metal-plate on the gate read Agistment and stabling—enquire within, but there were no horses. At the back of the property he spotted a sandy arena with faded letter-boards and what looked like a house concealed by a copse of trees.
He couldn’t see any movement but wasn’t about to make them a target by coming up the driveway. Instead he pointed to a dirt track a few hundred metres down the road. Kate followed it until it started to curve in the wrong direction, and then parked on the soft verge.
“Phones to vibrate,” Luca said, dropping his into his breast pocket.
She nodded. “Shouldn’t we wait for back-up?”
That was supposedly the right answer the last time he was in this type of situation, but if he hadn’t gone in, would the little girl have survived? He’d stormed the house and the young constable in tow was shot; not fatally, but Moss called it an unnecessary risk.
What level of risk was acceptable when someone’s life was on the line?
“If you want to wait here, be my guest. We can’t be positive Natalie and Mya are on the property, so at the moment we’re acting on just cause.”
He patted both firearms—one on his ankle and one in a shoulder holster—ducked between strands of a wire fence, and jogged toward the house. Kate’s quick footfalls trailed behind. The nearest house was at least a kilometre away, and he felt exposed in the paddock, dodging cowpats and trying not to roll his ankle in ruts.
At the property’s white fence, he paused. Quiet.
He climbed the rails and sprinted to the back veranda. With a flick of his head, he indicated to Kate the direction he planned to go. She nodded, hand hovering over the pistol in her waist holster.
Luca moved quickly along the back wall and peered through each window. No furniture except in the lounge room, where a few mismatched chairs crowded a folding card table. Not a permanent residence. He tried the handle of the back door, but it was locked.
At the edge of the void between the house and barn, he paused to scan for movement or sound, and then made a dash. He landed back first against the barn wall. A soft bump indicated Kate’s arrival beside him.
Planks of wood had been nailed roughly across the windows. Not good. It usually meant there was something to hide, and the planks were too close together to see anything inside. He sidled along the wall, listening for the faintest sound, his eyes wide. If only he’d see or hear something, to let him know the girls were still alive.
The fist of dread in his stomach was clenched so tight he could barely walk straight.
Tap.
He jumped at the faint sound, right hand resting on his pistol and popping the press stud on the strap to release it. A trail of footprints pointed the way to the corner of the barn, where he stuck just his face around the corner.
A side door was ajar. His heartbeat was faster than the click-clack of a train on tracks, as he wrapped a hand around the knob. Two quick pants and he pulled it open and slipped inside.
Light from the doorway only reached partway across the room, so he crouched by the wall and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The smell of dusty hay and long-dried manure clung to the wood, but there was no sign of life.
When his sight improved, he eased into the large, open area, which was divided into rows of stalls. At the back was an enclosed room, probably an office or tack room, with stairs beside it.
Thud. Luca stilled and waited to hear the dull sound again, so he could tell where it came from.
Thud. Someone was breathing nearby.
Salty sweat stung his eyes and he swiped the back of his hand across them. Slowly, he drew his pistol and released the safety catch. Glancing at Kate over his shoulder, he pointed in the direction of the sound. She nodded, gun still holstered, but hand hovering over it. Probably didn’t want to do the paperwork if he was wrong. They crept forward.
Hay was packed under the windows; a horse rug draped over a low partition had matted hair stuck to the lining and the scent of stale sweat clung to it. Luca peered over the divider at dust-covered tack.
There was another bump, followed by a whimper.
He swallowed hard, adjusted his grip on the pistol, and inched forward. At the end of the wood partition he swung the handgun in the direction of a squeal.
“Natalie!”
Tears rolled from the girl’s bloodshot eyes. He pulled the dangling tape from the side of her face and Kate freed the girl’s hands.
“Do you know how many people are here?” he asked.
“A man and woman, but”—Natalie’s voice caught—“they have Mya.”
Luca’s gut twisted. “I know, but I’m going to find her. Get her out of here, Kate, and call for backup.”
“Will do.”
“Natalie, where was the last place you saw Mya?”
She wobbled her head. “Out front.”
He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I need you to go with Kate. She’ll keep you safe.”
Kate waved the girl forward.
He was surprised when Natalie moved without hesitation. She was obviously traumatized, but not hysterical. Mya must be rubbing off on her. He followed the women outside and watched them jog along the back of the barn, past the house, and climb over the fence.
A maniacal scream from the front of the property sounded like a war cry. Luca’s gut did a somersault. What if he was too late? Gun pointed at the ground in front of him, he crept along the wall of the barn.
He listened. There were rhythmic grunts and the unmistakeable sound of soft flesh being beaten.
Mya!
He peered around the corner, his eyes scanning from side to side, and gasped.
A still male figure was on the ground, with blood-soaked blond hair and Mya straddling him. Her hand lifted high and he saw the red rock. Down it came. Over and over.
“Mya, stop!” He sprinted, tucking his pistol into its holster as he went.
She didn’t turn or stop the onslaught.
Luca grabbed her wrist. She pulled against his grip, let out a feral squeal, and dropped the rock. With her free hand, she
continued to hit the motionless man beneath her.
“Stop. It’s Luca. You’re safe now.”
He grabbed both arms and lifted her off the prone man. She struggled, limbs flailing wildly, until he managed to pin her in a bear hug. He held tightly and she went from squirming to limp. A violent shudder sent a shockwave through both of them.
Taking baby steps, he moved her a few metres away from the gore and gradually relaxed his arms, expecting her to run. Instead, she slumped to the ground, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. Her vacant stare sent a chill through him.
The male body was probably Kevin Walker, although it was difficult to tell from the soft pulp of the face. He knelt and found a faint pulse at the carotid artery.
“Hell, he’s still alive.” Luca dialed triple zero to request an ambulance.
Stupid as it seemed, he followed procedure and slipped handcuffs on the man.
Piow.
The whip-crack of a pistol exploded to Luca’s left and the sound ricocheted off the barn. Ears ringing, he whirled around, drawing his weapon. There wasn’t time to check himself for bullet wounds. Not feeling any could be a good sign, or he could be a dead man walking.
A redheaded woman stood beside the hedge, trying to steady herself from the kickback of the gun she held. She raised it again. Hell, the barrel was pointed off to the side. No, not Mya!
With his gun still raised, he chanced a sideways glance, expecting to see a neat bullet hole in Mya’s forehead. She didn’t look any worse than before. If she wasn’t dead, she would be in a few seconds.
He refocused on the redhead and took aim, then squeezed the trigger again and again. With feet braced shoulder width apart, and temporarily deaf from the report, he stared at Rhonda and she at him. Then she frowned and looked down at her chest, where a dark stain spread above her left breast. The pistol dropped from her hand, her eyes rolled up into her head, and her body folded into a disorderly pile.
The rise and fall of multiple police sirens neared. He continued to train his gun on her, but she didn’t move again.