Runaway Lies

by Shannon Curtis

  Dominic’s expression was shocked. Worried. She took a deep, calming breath. She hadn’t meant to yell at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she rasped. ‘You’re from a totally different world.’ Planet, more like. ‘This is how you roll. I get it. I just wasn’t expecting a bunch of interviews.’

  Dominic shook his head. ‘No, you have nothing to be sorry for, Darcy. I apologise. I should have known better, should have set it up better.’ He looked at her shoulder and grimaced. ‘Look, let’s get you back upstairs, get you attended to. We can organise a press conference for later—’ He stopped when she held up a hand.

  ‘No press conference. No interviews. No photos. I would like to remain anonymous.’ Her tone was firm, maybe just shy of a yell.

  He nodded. ‘Okay. No press. Again, I’m so sorry, Darcy.’ He turned and opened the door to the second floor. ‘Come on, let’s catch the lift from here.’ He checked the corridor and gently guided her towards the lifts.

  Darcy was in just enough pain to let him. All the while, though, she was planning her escape – because now there was no question about it. She had to get the hell out of here.

  Before it was too late.

  Glass smashed against the plasma television, and red wine dripped down the cracked screen, like rivulets of blood.

  ‘Bitch!’ Mark Shein roared at the broken appliance. Damn, stinkin’, stealin’ bitch. He bit down on his knuckle. Calm down. Think. The rat had finally surfaced.

  ‘Mark? What happened?’ Liz Shein ran into the media room and stopped when she saw the broken television. Her expression quickly changed from concern to anger as she glared at her husband. ‘Must you? Must you destroy everything, you Neanderthal?’

  He hated it when she called him that, when she pretended she was better than he was. It was happening a lot, lately. He sucked in a breath. He wanted to slap her, to smack that superiority right off her beautiful, expensive face. But he didn’t. Despite the rumours, he hadn’t married Liz just for the money. He loved her. A bit. All he’d done, he’d done so that she would finally look at him with pride, with respect.

  It sure as hell wasn’t happening now, though. He gave her a look that made her back away, then shake her head and leave the room, muttering.

  He looked at the red wine dripping onto the cream carpet, and he wished it was Darcy’s blood.

  What to do? The last time he’d tried to get hold of Darcy, it had gone horrendously wrong. It had made things worse, really. No, he needed professional help, this time. No more rookies, no more incompetents. He pulled out the card he’d carried in his wallet since the night Michaels had passed it to him, grabbed his mobile phone from the end table and collapsed on his leather lounge. He keyed in the number and waited for the call to connect, all the while seething at his fractured television screen. He’d made an initial call to the man the night before, but had baulked at the fee – and he’d had no real information to impart. Now he did. He knew where she was.

  ‘Kowalski.’ The voice on the other end of the phone was brusque, abrupt.

  Shein straightened instinctively. ‘I’m ready to do business.’

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘I know where she is.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Central Coast Hospital. She rescued some kids out of a river.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I want her dead.’

  ‘I figured.’

  ‘I want whatever she’s got on me, and I want the bitch dead. Make it look like an accident.’

  ‘You know my terms. Half now – the rest when the job is done.’

  Shein tilted his head back on the lounge. ‘Fifty G is a big ask at the moment. I’m being monitored.’

  ‘No problem. When you think you can manage it, call me. I don’t do this stuff for free.’

  Shein pressed his fist into the arm of the lounge. ‘Fine.’ He kept his tone smooth, calm. Kowalski was a stone-cold hunter. He wanted the man to think Mark Shein could be just as cold and dangerous.

  ‘I’ll send the first instalment.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ Shein began, trying to hide his hesitancy. ‘The kids she rescued belong to Dominic St James.’

  There was a moment of silence on the other end of the call. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fine, but you just doubled the rate.’

  Shein’s shoulders sagged in relief. He thought the celebrity factor might have caused Kowalski to drop the job. His lips lifted in a bitter smile. ‘Make this problem go away, and I might throw in a bonus.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

  The call disconnected, and Shein glanced at the phone in his hand. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of stress. He should be sitting on a beach somewhere, watching bikini-clad women play volleyball – but no. No, now he was trying to clean up the mess Darcy had made. Everything would be better once Darcy was gone.

  He glanced at the damaged television and stained carpet, and his mouth turned down. Damn bitch. Now look what she’d made him do.

  CHAPTER

  5

  Tony Blewitt licked the rim of the envelope and sealed it closed. There. Done. He started when his flatmate stumbled out of his bedroom.

  Adrian yawned, nodding at Tony as he padded across the living room towards the bathroom.

  ‘Hey, Tony.’

  ‘Hey, Adrian.’ Tony turned the envelope face down, but not before Adrian saw it.

  His flatmate jerked his chin. ‘What’s that?’

  Tony chewed the inside of his lip. Damn nosy bastard. He glanced around the room until he spied the newspaper on the coffee table he’d been cutting up. ‘A job application,’ he said. ‘I’m just about to run down to the post box.’

  Adrian stopped and blinked. ‘You’re going to post it? Why not email it?’

  Tony frowned. Uh… ‘Because…it asks for applications to be in writing.’

  Adrian shook his head as he continued on his path. ‘If you write it in an email, it is in writing, you dumb prick.’

  Tony glared at the closed door. Dumb prick. He’d show Adrian who the dumb prick was. The guy was so smarmy, so superior. Ever since he’d lost his job – correction: ever since that son of a bitch St James had fired him – Adrian had made a big deal about it.

  He collected the cut-up newspaper and scraps, scissors and the envelope and dropped the rubbish in the wastepaper basket. He put the scissors in the pen caddy on the kitchen bench, then grabbed his jacket, keys and wallet. He wanted to get out of the flat before Adrian got out of the shower and pestered him again for the rent with his smarmy, supercilious smirks.

  He’d show him, though. He’d show his skinny-arsed ex-girlfriend, Tina, too. His lips parted in a smile. He wasn’t just a stupid schmuck who’d lost his job. He was meant for more. He was meant for bigger and better things. St James would recognise his mistake, and Tony would be the one who made him pay for it. St James would beg to give him his old job back, but it was too late. Tony wouldn’t take it. He’d take the millions, but not the job. St James could take his job and shove it.

  Tony jogged the last block to the train station, and bought a ticket from the machine before he hurried down the stairs to the platform, annoyance at having to use public transport giving an extra bounce to his step. Since he’d locked the keys inside Adrian’s car and had to wait hours in a car park, and then received a significant roadside assistance bill, his flatmate refused to loan him the car. But that’s okay, he was using it to his advantage. He was smart, was Tony. He watched all those cop shows, all the CSI stuff, Criminal Minds. He knew what the cops could do. This was the twelfth letter Tony had meticulously cut, pasted and posted. He’d used the newspaper and some widely distributed magazines for the lettering, and common craft glue. They wouldn’t be able to track him through the materials. And if they tried to track him down through the postmark on each letter, well, that would be a bust, too. Tony simply caught the train to one of
the stations on his line, and posted the letters from there. Different postmarks, different places.

  He chuckled to himself. They’d never track him through that. Tony belched and grimaced at the taste of acid in his mouth. Damn, it felt like his gut was on fire. He would prove to Adrian, and St James, and to Tina that he was no ordinary idiot.

  ‘We need to move them. As soon as possible,’ Dominic said to Alex as they stood outside the room where his children rested. His Southern Highlands property would be the best place. Tucked away in the hills outside Bowral, it was secluded, private – with security that rivalled Fort Knox. He was going to try once more to convince Darcy to join them. After the jostling down in the foyer, she’d needed ice on that shoulder, and another night to ensure she hadn’t sustained further damage to the muscles. He felt bad about the crush downstairs, really bad. He’d left her arguing with the nurse about medication.

  ‘Agreed. I’ll arrange for the chopper to meet us on the roof in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll get Jonah and Julia.’ He’d already planned for this transfer. He had trusted staff waiting for them at the farm to help look after his children. There was no reason to stay any longer, now the doctors had given them the all clear.

  Fifteen minutes later he was walking down the corridor, a child in each arm. He smiled as Julia nestled into his neck and Jonah rested his head on his shoulder. He’d missed his kids, and was so grateful to have them back in his arms. After the divorce, he’d had sole custody, but had reluctantly acquiesced to an uncharacteristic plea from their mother to spend time with the two children. Conscious of Julia’s discomfort from a cracked rib, he tightened his arms carefully. He’d almost lost them forever. Nobody threatened his family and got away with it. Whoever was responsible for the car accident that had perhaps taken their mother’s life and had nearly stolen his children’s lives would pay.

  He was passing Darcy’s door when it opened. She looked surprised before her face softened and she smiled at the kids.

  Jonah lifted his head. ‘Hi, Darcy,’ he chirped.

  She grinned, and Dominic paused at the sight of her genuine happiness. While she still bore scratches and bruises, and looked a little pale, she managed to look relaxed and refreshed. Someone, probably a nurse, had brushed her brown hair and pulled it back into a little ponytail, and for the first time he got a clear look at her face.

  A soft pink hue had returned to her cheeks, and her brown eyes brightened with warm delight at the sight of his son and daughter. Her oval face was clear of makeup, and as far as he was concerned, she didn’t need it. She was a stunner.

  ‘Hi, Jonah,’ she said. Dominic’s gaze was drawn to her lips. She had a nice mouth. No, not nice: full, sensual. Like a cheeky, seductive pout that had him thinking about kissing more than her forehead.

  ‘We’re going, now,’ Jonah informed her. Dominic snapped his attention back from his fantasy.

  She nodded, and turned to drag the strap of her duffel bag over her good shoulder. Alex had returned it the previous evening. Someone had tied a pink plastic bag to the strap. He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘My clothes from the day of the accident,’ Darcy explained, wrinkling her nose. ‘They need a wash.’ She winked at Jonah. ‘I’m leaving too. I was just going to ask your father how I could get out of here.’

  Dominic nodded. She wanted to avoid the reporters – she’d made that abundantly clear the day before. He found it odd. Didn’t everyone want their fifteen minutes of fame? So far everything about Darcy was unusual. The least he could do, though, was respect her wishes.

  ‘We’re heading up to the roof. I have a helicopter up there.’ He saw Alex and a uniformed police officer round the bend in the hall, approaching them.

  ‘Ah, of course you do,’ Darcy said, her tone dry.

  ‘Are you coming with us?’ Julia asked sleepily.

  ‘No, I’m taking my van,’ Darcy said, ‘as soon as I can figure out how to get to it.’

  ‘Why don’t you come up with us?’ Dominic asked. ‘We can get you out of here.’ Darcy frowned, and Dominic noticed the cute way her nose scrunched up.

  ‘Uh, I don’t think—’

  ‘Give your keys to Constable Ellison,’ Alex suggested. ‘We’ll fly you out, and he’ll take your van. We’ll meet somewhere…’ He turned to the policeman.

  ‘Kariong, there’s a scout camping area near there,’ the officer supplied. ‘It’s not too far, and there’s plenty of room to land a chopper.’

  Alex nodded. ‘Kariong it is, then. Constable Ellison can leave the hospital through the delivery entrance, be out on the road before any of the reporters realise we’ve gone. But how will you drive?’

  Darcy gestured to her sling. ‘It’s sore, but not useless. I’ll be fine.’

  Constable Ellison frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re fit to drive?’

  ‘It looks worse than it is,’ Darcy said, smiling warmly at the officer. The policeman hesitated.

  ‘You can show me when you get to the van. If you can’t drive your vehicle, we’ll have to make other arrangements for transport.’

  Dominic eyed the sling. She had a dislocated shoulder, and it had to hurt like hell. He already knew she was supposed to keep it immobilised, and she wouldn’t have the range of movement to operate that wreck. Driving the manual was going to be excruciating for her, if not impossible, yet she was still determined to refuse his help. His lips firmed. Once he got her away from the hospital, he’d try to convince her again to recuperate with them at the farm. He’d noticed how she softened around the kids, and he wasn’t above using it. She might be able to refuse him, but he knew the effect of pester power, especially from four-year-old twins. She didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Darcy dug the car keys out of her pocket and gave them to the police officer. ‘Reverse is a bit sticky,’ she warned him.

  He winked. ‘No problem.’ He crossed the door to the stairwell and disappeared.

  Dominic led the way, children in his arms, to the lift.

  ‘Here, let me take that,’ Alex said, and reached for Darcy’s bag. She held on to it for a moment, before finally relinquishing her grip. She pasted a smile on her face.

  ‘This is becoming a habit. Thanks.’

  They all stepped inside the lift, and Alex selected the roof level. An instrumental version of ‘My Way’ filled the space. Dominic made a mental note to donate more money to the hospital. Apparently the helipad got regular use, with critical patients being airlifted to larger, better-equipped hospitals. While small, it still served a substantial community, and needed some extra funding.

  He stared at the woman leaning against the wall opposite him. Her long legs were encased in some soft dark material, and her grey T-shirt looked faded and worn from many washings. Her clothes were serviceable, neat and clean, and would have been unremarkable except for the body that wore them. She was…fit. Not runway slender, like a lot of women he knew. Strong. Slim and strong, and quietly sexy. She didn’t scream sex appeal in the normal sense, but his eyes were drawn to the toned line of her legs, her flat tummy, the swell of her breasts—

  Stop it. Dominic lifted his gaze to the level indicators. She’d saved his kids, and he was checking her out like some sort of horny playboy.

  He ignored the little voice in his head teasing him that he was a horny playboy. The lift dinged, and the doors slid open. They stepped out onto the roof.

  The wind was strong at this height, and the helicopter’s blades were already whirring.

  ‘Keep your heads down,’ Dominic yelled over the noise to both Darcy and his children. They ran across the helipad, and Dominic lifted first one child, then the other, into the cabin.

  He turned to Darcy, who was looking at something off the roof and to the right. He followed her gaze. Far below, Officer Ellison was just getting to her van. Even from here it looked like a junky jalopy. Ellison had informed them on the first day that it looked like she was living in i
t. That hulk of metal was her mobile home.

  Dominic turned to her. ‘Everything’s fine, we’ll meet up with him—’

  A loud explosion rent the air, and he ducked instinctively, pulling Darcy down with him. She screamed, and he turned to glance over his shoulder.

  What was left of her van was engulfed in flames.

  CHAPTER

  6

  Dominic sat quietly, clutching Jonah to his side as the helicopter shuddered its way to the Southern Highlands. Julia sat opposite, next to Darcy, who was holding his daughter protectively around the shoulders, while her left arm pressed against the hull of the chopper, her sling crisp and white against the darkness of her T-shirt. The fact his daughter had naturally gravitated to the only woman on the flight didn’t elude him. The kids were calm, now, though. He rubbed his son’s arm. The explosion had frightened them, but he, Alex and Darcy had managed to settle them down.

  He eyed the woman sitting across from him. Her head leaned against the window, her helmet making faint staccato clacking noises against the glass as she stared blankly out at the vista below. She’d lost the pink hue in her cheeks, and the shadows under her eyes had darkened. Her expression was unreadable, almost vacant, yet he could see her lips moving, as though she was chewing the inside of her cheeks. Was she in shock? Well, probably. It wasn’t every day you saw your home blow up.

  He glanced briefly at Alex, who raised his eyebrows and shot a look at Darcy before looking back at him. They both knew Darcy had been living in the van. He wasn’t sure if it was by choice or circumstance, but there was no denying the fact now: Darcy was homeless.

  And it was his fault.

  It hadn’t been an accident. It was too much of a coincidence, especially after his wife’s car accident. He knew that, and he knew Alex knew that, too. He just hoped Darcy didn’t realise it.