Inheriting Fear

by Sandy Vaile

  The carnage in the courtyard turned his stomach. Mya rocked back and forth, traumatized either from what she’d done, or what had been done to her.

  Kevin would be dead if Luca hadn’t stopped her—the perp still might not make it—but did that make her a killer? He knew better than most that every person had a point to which they could be pushed. Past that point, even a sane person could snap.

  For the first time in his life, he was oddly unsure of what to do. When he looked into her dry eyes, he felt only the need to protect her.

  “Luca.”

  Heart in his throat, he swung his pistol around.

  Kate ducked and he quickly flicked the safety back on and holstered the weapon.

  She grimaced at the sight of Kevin. “Are they both dead?”

  “Kevin isn’t yet, but the ambulance better hurry.”

  “I’ll get the first aid kit from the car.” Kate took off at a run.

  Luca squatted to check the redhead’s pulse, although the amount of blood leaking from her was a give away. Police sirens wailed, followed by blue and red lights that swirled across the property. The first vehicle braked abruptly as the driver realized he’d entered a crime scene.

  Luca pulled his badge and held it in front of him as two officers leapt from the car, pistols drawn. They appraised the scene and aimed their pistols at Mya.

  Luca stepped in front of her. “Hey, she’s not the perp. She was kidnapped.”

  The officers looked unsure.

  “You might want to keep an eye on this one.” Luca nudged Kevin with his toe.

  “What about her?” A dark-haired constable nodded at Mya, eyeing her blood-stained hands and vacant expression.

  “I’ll watch her. I don’t think there’s anyone else on the property, but I couldn’t get into the house.”

  The other sergeant motioned for his constable to go check.

  “And someone should pick up the second victim. She’s on a side road over there with my partner.”

  Two more officers tumbled from a second car. They didn’t bother drawing their weapons as they approached Rhonda. Blood stained the light-grey gravel. A young constable dry retched when he inspected what used to be Kevin’s face.

  Chapter 40

  “They’ve been in there for an hour. I’ve been waiting all night. Why can’t I go in?” Luca pulled at his hair and paced along the hallway at the Royal Adelaide Hospital.

  “You are not speaking to her until after the debriefing. I’m not having this case compromised.” Moss sighed and placed a hand on Luca’s shoulder, stilling him. “I know you’re worried, Patterson, but she’s in good hands. Just be patient.”

  He felt himself physically sag. It sucked when the boss was right.

  The door clicked and he spun around. A stout psychiatrist stepped into the hall.

  She tucked a short, black bob behind one ear and glanced at Luca. “Inspector Moss, may I talk freely?”

  “Yes.”

  The psychiatrist looked doubtful, but continued. “I’ve persisted for an hour, but I’m not getting anywhere. She’s catatonic. It’s her way of dealing with the trauma she’s suffered.”

  “I need to get a man in there to interview her as soon as possible,” the inspector insisted. “How long do think she’ll be like this?”

  “It could be quite a while before she’s coherent again, but, I do have one idea. Perhaps you could bring a friend in to see her. It might make her feel safer.”

  Luca’s heart lurched. Was he her friend? As close as anyone else seemed to be. If he played his cards right, he could be just what the doctor needed. Moss raised an eyebrow at Luca.

  He shrugged. “She has work colleagues, but I don’t think she spends time with them socially. The guy at the gym seemed to know her”—his lips tightened—“but Kate and I spent more time with her this week than anyone usually does.”

  “Hmm.” The psychiatrist ran a critical eye over Luca. “You’re the one who rescued her?”

  He nodded.

  “Perhaps you could talk to her.”

  Yes, this was what he needed; to see with his own eyes that she was okay. And a tiny part of him hoped she needed to see him as much.

  The inspector chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t want you talking about anything that happened when she was kidnapped. Nothing that compromises this case, or you’ll be on suspension faster than lightning. Understand?”

  Luca smiled hugely.

  He let the psychiatrist enter the sparsely furnished office first. Mya was in a wide armchair, a blanket over her legs, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. A wide bandage was wrapped around her head, a hydrogel second-skin on her grazed cheek, and her eyes were puffy.

  She looked rather small in the big chair, staring at a spot on the blue carpet. She didn’t give any sign that she’d noticed them enter the room.

  The psychiatrist sat opposite Mya and raised a hand to her lips, to indicate Luca shouldn’t speak. He dragged a plastic chair beside Mya and placed a hand on her knee, stroking her long, cold fingers with his pinkie. She didn’t flinch.

  He felt more anxious as each minute passed. This wasn’t the robust, vibrant woman he’d come to love. After a while, she grasped his finger, like a child did when its hand was too small.

  Mya turned tearful eyes to him. His pulse spiked and he shot a panicked look at the psychiatrist.

  “That’s good. She’s becoming aware of her surroundings.” She passed a box of tissues to Luca and he wiped tears from Mya’s cheeks.

  She was back. Only barely, but it was enough to hope. It didn’t matter how long it took, he would stay with her until she didn’t need him anymore. All that mattered was that she was whole again. And if there was any justice in life, Mya would see how besotted he was and give him a chance to prove that he wasn’t like other men she’d had in her life.

  • • •

  Mya felt cold and empty, unsure how she got here, or where here was. There was something warm clasped in her hand and the heat radiated slowly up one arm, through her shoulder, melting the ice in her chest, which had been making it difficult to breathe.

  She turned her head and met cool blue eyes with faint lines on either side. They watched as she studied them. Above was Luca’s pronounced brow, honey-blond hair parted in the middle, strong cheekbones, broad nose, the faint white line of a scar over tight lips.

  He looks worried.

  A gentle hand wiped a tissue under each of her eyes—oh! She drew in a quick breath and held it as the flash flood of memories threatened to drown her. Kev and Rhonda tied her up, hurt her. She tried to save Natalie, but—

  He came. He came to save me.

  The logical part of her brain reasoned that he had to come. It was a cop’s job. He probably came for Natalie and just happened to save her too.

  “Natalie?” The words scratched her throat, making them barely audible.

  Luca leaned closer. “She’s got a few bruises, but she’s all right. You saved her, Mya.”

  She sagged into the armchair, suddenly exhausted. With her eyes closed, she felt strong arms lift and hold her against a warm chest that smelled like cinnamon body wash. Her head bobbed from the movement of being carried, and soon the arms placed her onto something soft but cool. A stream of warm breath ran down her neck.

  “I’ll let you get some sleep now, but I’ll be back,” the comforting voice said. “I’ll always come back for you, Mya.”

  She couldn’t open her eyes but felt her lips curve slightly. Her limbs were heavy.

  He did come for me.

  Maybe this was what it felt like when someone cared. Somewhere deep inside her chest, warmth blossomed.

  Chapter 41

  Luca watched two uniformed officers retreat down the hospital’s white hallway. They had interviewed Mya for an hour and a half, so he assumed she was speaking this morning. Moss refused to allow him to spend the night by her hospital bed, but he was itching to talk to her now.


  He needed to know she would be okay, so he could tell her he couldn’t live without her.

  Luca tried not to breathe too deeply, because the caustic stench of disinfectant made him queasy. His temples pounded like there was a jackhammer in his skull as memories he’d rather forget slide-showed behind his retinas. He would no doubt always associate this place with Olivia in a hospital bed, her emaciated arm on top of the sheet so he could hold her hand, pressing a tiny button every five minutes to release the morphine.

  Why hadn’t he realized what he had until it was lost? There was no way he would make the same mistake with Mya. He couldn’t make her love him back, but he could be there for her. At least offer.

  Through the glass pane in the door to her room, he watched a doctor write on a clipboard, place it in the wire basket at the end of the bed, and leave the room.

  “Detective Patterson?”

  Luca shook the doctor’s hand. Despite knowing Mya wasn’t in danger, a boa constrictor coiled in his stomach in anticipation of bad news.

  “You don’t look like you got much sleep last night,” the doctor said, offering a soft smile of nicotine-stained teeth in his dark face.

  “Huh. You need recliner chairs in the waiting room. How’s the patient?”

  “Still sedated, but I’ll be able to release her this afternoon. Your investigative team was in there for quite a while, so I don’t think more visitors are a good idea for a while.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Through the glass door, Luca could see only the end of the bed protruding from behind a pale blue curtain. Mya’s feet were a bulge under the hospital blanket, and they were twitching. Impatient. He smiled.

  “What’s her long-term prognosis?”

  “She’s suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder—probably has been since she was sixteen.”

  “What does that mean for her now?”

  “PTSD affects the neurotransmitters and her ability to manage stress. It tends to manifest in one of three ways: episodes of reliving the event over and over, which can be quite debilitating; avoidance, where you will see a numbing of emotional reactions and remoteness; or irritation and difficulty concentrating.”

  “She exhibited remoteness before yesterday’s event.”

  “I’m not surprised she was showing symptoms, even after so many years, because she didn’t receive treatment in her teens. Witnessing her mother beaten to within an inch of her life must have caused significant trauma to such a young mind, but she’s a resilient woman, and I believe, with intense therapy—maybe over several years—she’ll be able to move past this event.”

  “Just therapy?”

  “The best thing for her is a strong social support network.”

  Crap, where the hell was Mya going to find that? She’d spent her whole life keeping everyone at arm’s length.

  “Ongoing therapy is essential, but there’s an increased risk of substance abuse, depression, stress-induced disorders. Does she have family to stay with?”

  “No.”

  “I see. It’s not a good idea for her to go home alone.”

  “I live two doors from her. I can check on her every day and make sure she goes to therapy.”

  “It’s not ideal, but I guess it will suffice.” The doctor reached for his pager. “Excuse me.” He hurried down the hall.

  Luca headed back to the waiting room.

  • • •

  Luca’s back had a painful indent from the plastic hospital chairs, so he stood and stared out the window. Local residents went about their business as though no one’s life hung in the balance inside the hospital.

  “Thought you might need a decent coffee.” Kate squeezed her lips together in a poor attempt at a smile and pushed a lidded paper cup into his hand. She looked tired, too.

  “Thanks, it’s been a long couple of days.” He rubbed sleep from the corner of his eye and inhaled the aromatic brew. “Mmm.”

  “How’d the debrief go?” Kate licked foam from inside the lid of her cappuccino.

  “No charges were laid, so she can go home this afternoon. Any news on Kevin?”

  “He’s alive, but Mya messed his face up good and proper. Looks like he’ll be spending his recovery time behind bars anyway. We found a fake ID in Rhonda’s handbag and an empty Sux vial on the floor of her car, which we pulled fingerprints from. I measured her hands, like you asked, and the size matches the bruising the pathologist found on Rosalie. Good call.”

  Luca closed his eyes. Finally they had evidence, although it came too late for some. “At least we know why Rosalie’s profile broke from the group’s usual method of selecting women without living family.”

  “Yeah, because Rhonda made it personal.”

  “Contact evidence has been sent to the lab and I’m waiting on results, but it looks like we can attribute six deaths at Rich Haven to the group. Unfortunately, there isn’t enough surviving evidence at Happy Vale Nursing Home to act on.”

  “I guess we’ll never know for sure.”

  Kate tutted. “Oh, and Old wanted me to let you know that Evan Smith was picked up at an airport in Hawaii.”

  “And …”

  “You’re not going to be happy. Looks like he cleaned out the Spurious Enterprises accounts and sent the money offshore. They’re having trouble following it.”

  “At least we’ve got enough to put Kevin and Willy away.” It was a relief, but the law was never a sure thing.

  Only the dregs of his coffee remained, so Luca tossed the paper cup into a bin before consulting his watch for the hundredth time. He ran a hand along his jaw and felt the bite of stubble.

  “Maybe I should go home, shave, and change my clothes. The doctor said Mya needs to rest. It’s going to be a long road to recovery, but if she can let go of the past, I think she’ll be just fine.”

  Kate put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you going to take that advice yourself?”

  She held his gaze until he had to look away.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an intelligent man. Surely you realize you love Mya. The question is what are you going to do about it?”

  He took a deep breath. “In all honesty, I want to tell her how I feel, but I—she—she’s made it pretty clear all along that she’s not interested in a commitment. I can’t do casual anymore.”

  “Just tell her, Luca.”

  Chapter 42

  Mya stared at a blue fleck in the bottle-green carpet. She knew the funeral would be like this; just her standing beside a gleaming coffin that she couldn’t look at. She wrung her hands together and sneaked a glance at the glossy oak box with its brass handles and wreath of native flowers on the top. They didn’t mean anything, and she didn’t want to think about who was inside.

  Could all of this tragedy have been avoided if only she’d stood on the street and talked to Rhonda Morten all those years ago? Luca had confirmed that Jack had abandoned Rhonda and her mother. If Cockroach had treated them as badly as her and Rosalie, she should have helped them, but Rosalie had been her primary focus at the time.

  She had spilled so many tears, there was nothing left. Her mum was at peace now, no longer tormented by Jack’s mistakes. The shock was that it had taken more than a decade to figure out the same went for her. She didn’t have to be tormented by him anymore either. He was part of her past; some good, most bad, but in the past nonetheless.

  This was her life now. She’d chosen the name, the house, the location. With a little help from Tommy and his dad, Ned, she’d learned to protect herself and keep on the straight and narrow.

  Surprisingly, Mya didn’t feel as empty as she thought she would. Sure, there was an ache for the loss of her mother, but memories glowed deep inside her. They were untouchable and smouldered beside something unexpected: a warm feeling for Luca.

  Discovering an emotional connection to him had been a surprise, but one she wouldn’t trade for quids. He had seen what she was capable of and still he was the first face she recogn
ized at the hospital. Twice a day he had dropped in to see her since she went home. Most evenings he stayed until late, and she knew he was trying to help her feel safe. She didn’t yet, but his company helped. Each night, before he left, he switched on the nightlight beside her bed and waited on the porch until he heard the two bolts slide across.

  The funeral director stuck her head through the door and flashed a half smile.

  “Is everything okay in here?”

  God, if only that woman would stop asking. She’d told her no hymns, no eulogy, or photos on the overhead projector. After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d mourned her mother. Rosalie had been thirty-seven years old when Cockroach stole her life the first time and forty-nine when Rhonda finally took it.

  Natalie had picked Mya’s dress for the funeral—a black number with a faux white handkerchief protruding from a sealed breast pocket. Suitably conservative with a knee-length hem and three-quarter sleeves. Probably the last time it would see daylight.

  Mya’s arms hung by her side. Had she stood there long enough? How long was sufficient to pay respect to someone who lived inside her?

  She flinched as a large hand wrapped around hers. Her gaze followed a suited arm up to Luca’s powder-blue eyes. His face was solemn. He nodded to her other side and she turned to see a relaxed Natalie wearing a dazzling cubic zirconia resting on a velvet ribbon around her throat. An elderly couple hovered protectively behind her—the couple she boarded with, no doubt.

  Beverly Aldridge gave a timid wave behind Natalie. Beside her, Tommy from the gym had gone all out in a shirt and slacks. Even old Bert Reiner had combed his hair to one side and put on a tie. His face crinkled into a smile when she made eye contact. Then the Croydon Hotel contingent arrived with a flurry: Flynn in an Irish-green suit and Jilly hanging onto his arm to balance in stiletto heels.

  A lump stuck in her throat at the sight of all these people in her life. They’d been there all this time, but she hadn’t realized how permanently they’d taken up residence.

  Kate appeared with a single white rose in one hand. She placed the delicate bloom on top of the coffin, then kissed Mya on the cheek. Her embrace was unexpected, and Mya’s throat constricted further. Tears pricked her eyes.