He frowned. ‘Not for a while.’
The two men stared at each other, then turned and jogged along the hall, across the foyer and up the stairs. Dom reached her bedroom first, and slowed down when he saw the open door.
He’d thought she was just a private woman, before, always keeping her door closed. He realised it was another way she’d hidden herself from the family, from the world. Whenever they’d made love, it had been in his room.
His shoulders sagged. Whenever they’d made love. That’s what it was. Misguided, unintended, and totally mistaken, but he’d made love to that woman, a woman he now knew didn’t exist. She’d pretended so much – God, had it been pretence when she’d lain with him, when she’d cried out with passion in his bed? He had been completely honest with her, in and out of bed. He hadn’t realised how much he’d exposed to her. His family, his home – his heart.
And she’d been using him.
He stepped inside her room, Alex right behind him. He looked at the settee at the end of the bed, where her duffel bag usually lay, and he knew.
She was gone.
Alex crossed to the wardrobe and flung open the doors, making the empty coat hangers rattle. Dom watched as his friend went from one drawer to the next, opening them to look at the emptiness within. While Alex checked the bathroom, Dom crossed to the table and chairs by the window, eyeing the neatly folded paper on it with misgiving. His name was scrawled across the top, and he was reaching for it when Bern entered the room.
Bern gazed about, taking in the minor details that had him realising the correct situation almost instantly, and then swore.
Alex came out of the bathroom. ‘She’s gone.’
Dom picked up the note. ‘It’s probably for the best.’ He didn’t want to be around when she was interviewed or arrested – he didn’t want Jonah and Julia around to see that, either. Despite everything, they still thought Darcy was a good person. He screwed up the note, not wanting to read more lies, but couldn’t bring himself to throw the crumpled paper into the wastepaper basket beneath the writing desk. Instead, he shoved it into his trouser pocket.
Bern yanked his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket. ‘She can’t have gone far. We need to get her.’
Dom stared at the bed, the one his daughter had climbed into each night she’d had a nightmare and Daddy wasn’t home to fight off her monsters. Damn, this hurt so much. ‘Let someone else do it.’ He was done with the whole situation.
Bern shook his head. ‘No, you don’t understand. The warrant for her arrest is to bring her back into protective custody. I’ve just gotten off the phone from Fi – who’s mega pissed at us, by the way. She wants Darcy at the Parramatta office as soon as possible.’
Dom frowned in confusion. Fiannah Knight worked as a lawyer in the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions. ‘What has Fi got to do with this?’
‘Fi is working on a certain case and is quite upset that we had her star witness and we let her go.’
CHAPTER
26
Darcy brushed the tears from her eyes as she pulled up at Bowral train station. It had been too easy to ‘borrow’ one of the estate cars while everyone was still milling about discussing the day’s happenings. She’d slipped out the back door, walked around the opposite end of the house and stolen a car. It had been so simple to go to the board where Roland kept all the keys and help herself to a set.
She lowered her head to the steering wheel. She’d stolen a car. From Dom. She closed her eyes. That wasn’t the only thing, though. She sniffed, lifting her head to check her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, and when she swallowed she could taste bile in her mouth.
Alannah.
The man had driven Alannah’s car. She hoped the young physiotherapist was all right, that perhaps her car had merely been stolen, but the fact that she hadn’t called frightened Darcy. Something had happened, she knew – something terrible and terrifying, so horrific her mind shied away from pursuing those thoughts. She couldn’t think about that now. Later she would freak the hell out over what she suspected had happened to her new friend.
She quickly donned her sunglasses and the cap she’d grabbed from the backseat, and climbed out of the Jeep Cherokee. She walked around to the passenger side to get her duffel bag – she didn’t have the strength in her arm to drag it over the central console. She left the keys in the visor, closed the door and walked away, not looking back.
A train was pulling into the station, and she jogged down the stairs and onto the platform, jumping onto the train and praying she wouldn’t be approached by a ticket inspector – or that the police weren’t right behind her. After what had happened to her today, she wasn’t going back into custody. She didn’t care what they promised. She wasn’t safe anywhere. Not with the cops, not with Dom.
He thought she was a killer.
She checked the train map on the vestibule wall. She wouldn’t go all the way to Central station. Loads of people, but loads of surveillance cameras as well, and the security was pretty good. No, she’d get off at Wolli Creek, and change trains until she got to Strathfield station. She knew she could get through the gates there, and it would be easy to pass the CCTV and disappear into the buses, taxis and foot traffic. As long as she smiled, she’d be okay. When she’d first gone on the run, she’d learned early why you didn’t smile for any of your ID photos: smiling altered the measurements, threw off facial recognition programs. At least, that’s what Doc had told her when he’d taken her photo. He’d also given her tips on avoiding CCTV, and getting around Sydney as a phantom.
She settled herself into a double seat and put her bag beside her to discourage any passengers from sitting near her. Once she was comfortable, she put her hand into the side pocket of her bag. The cash she’d taken from Dom’s dresser was still there and she sagged in relief. Then tears pricked her eyelids, and she pulled the visor low over her face. Crying people were noticeable people. She tried to get control of herself, and realised she was shaking.
He thought she was a killer. Her hand rose to her throat, fingering the bruises she knew discoloured her skin. He wasn’t too far wrong – only she hadn’t killed those police officers. She sniffed, remembering the horror on his face when she couldn’t tell him she wasn’t a murderer. She couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t believe her anyway, not after what she’d done to him.
God, what she’d done to him. Shame and rage roiled in her gut. Poor Jonah and Julia. She’d tried to reassure them, but they’d been badly frightened when they realised hiding in the safe room wasn’t a game they were playing. The agony Dom must have endured when the alarm went off. He’d lost his family in the most violent way; she couldn’t even imagine the dark thoughts that would have gone through his mind this time.
His reaction hadn’t surprised her – well, he’d been a lot more dignified than she’d expected, deserved, even. Hadn’t she played over and over in her mind what would happen if he found out her secret? The reality was both better and much, much worse than she’d imagined. How he must hate her. Hell, she hated herself, only she couldn’t get away from the black turmoil within her.
Alannah.
She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to stop herself from exploding into shards of horror. First the three police officers – Jim Matthews, Mike Cawdry, Elijah Mendi. Then Probationary Constable Jack Ellison. Now Alannah. She whimpered into her hand and squeezed her eyes shut.
She thought about the children. Mark Shein had put Jonah and Julia in danger. Mark Shein had tried to kill her. Sure, it hadn’t been his hands around her throat, but she didn’t kid herself – he was responsible for this second foiled hit. Her mouth tightened. He had chased her, tried to kill her, had her father’s home blown up – God, her father could have died – and now he’d placed the lives of two innocent children at risk in his efforts to get her, to shut her up. And Alannah – oh God, what had happened to Alannah? What the hell was Mark thinking? Only she knew it wa
sn’t Mark – not really. For however desperate, sadistic and violent her former boss was, there were men behind him that made him look like a marshmallow.
She straightened in her seat. Mark was looking for her in Bowral. He wouldn’t expect her to be hiding in his backyard. He’d think she was cowed, running scared. Well, she was through running. She rifled through her bag until she found her father’s St Florian medal and draped it around her neck, taking comfort from that link to her family, no matter how tenuous. She was going to make it right. That’s what this whole mess was about – making it right.
She slid her hand into her bag again and pulled out her lens case. First, she had to make a few changes to her appearance. She checked the bag again, and sighed with relief when her fingers closed around the knife she’d hoped she’d never have to use again, and the key she’d pinned to the inside. It was time for Plan B.
She was going to make Mr Mark Shein quake in his John Lobb Oxford shoes.
‘Son of a bitch!’ Mark Shein sat up in the bed, reaching for the remote. He turned the volume up as he watched the evening news report on another recent attempt to harm Dominic St James’s kids – and his mysterious houseguest.
‘Honey, turn it off, come back to bed,’ Cassandra crooned.
‘Shut up.’
He watched in disbelief, a vein throbbing in his temple, as photos of a young man and woman appeared as overlays on the screen, before two covered bodies were wheeled from a clapboard cottage in the Southern Highlands.
‘You stupid, stupid—’ He flung the sheet off and wriggled his hips to the edge of the bed, incapable of speech. He leaned over and reached for his pants, digging his phone out of the pocket.
‘Get out of here,’ he growled.
‘Baby, why are you so—’ Cassandra started to ask.
‘Get. Out. NOW!’
She jerked, then scowled as she rose from the bed. ‘This is my bloody apartment,’ she muttered, not bothering with a robe as she stalked to the bathroom.
He ignored her, jamming in his pass code, dialling and then waiting for his call to be answered.
‘Kowalski.’
‘What friggin’ part of “make it look like an accident” do you not understand?’ he roared.
There was silence on the phone, but this time Mark didn’t care if he pissed the hitman off. He was screwing things up royally for him.
‘It has to look like a damn accident.’
‘We’ve moved beyond that.’
Mark shook his phone, squeezing it with both hands, wishing it was the man’s neck. When he could talk, he took a deep breath and held it back up to his ear. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way, damn it. Back off. She needs to die accidentally.’
‘That might be a hard sell, at the moment.’ Kowalski’s tone was calm, measured. ‘Don’t worry. My job is still to kill her. Regardless of how she dies, your problems go away.’
‘Unless I’m charged for her murder, you moron.’
Again, there was silence on the phone.
‘Are you there?’ Mark asked.
‘The problem will be taken care of.’
The call disconnected. Mark hurled the phone at the wall, and it thumped to the carpeted floor as rage swirled through his body. ‘Incompetent!’ he screamed. He wanted to do damage to something, he wanted to kick and punch at something that would just take it. He picked up the petite tub of scented moisturiser that Cassandra used and placed on the bedside table and pulled his arm back, stepping closer to the wall as he hurled with all his might. The container didn’t break. It ricocheted back at him, hitting him in the groin. White hot pain gripped his muscles tight.
He clutched himself, eyes wide as he sank to his knees, then collapsed onto his side on the plush carpet, his lips open in a silent scream. The bathroom door flew open and Cassandra stormed out, only to halt when she saw him frozen on the floor.
‘Oh, baby.’ She hurried over to him, brushing a cool hand over his sweaty brow.
His eyes focused on the TV screen. Darcy Montgomery’s smiling face stared back at him, mocking him.
The damn bitch was going to pay.
Kowalski tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Shein was a rude prick – but he needed to be placated, if only for a short while. Then his boss would probably want him to take the investment broker out – but not until they sorted out the Montgomery woman.
He pulled over to the side of the road and watched as the solid gate slid open across the driveway and the car he was following pulled in. The car’s dark windows hid the occupants, but he knew who was there. St James was bringing his family back to Sydney. Wise man. But it wouldn’t stop him. The gate closed almost soundlessly and Kowalski slid down into his seat to wait. It was already getting dark, it wouldn’t be long now.
He crossed his arms. He’d misjudged the Montgomery woman. It wasn’t often he misjudged someone, but she’d managed to get the better of him. He could appreciate that. He would kill her for it, though.
He shook his head. The kids. He should have known. When she ran out of the house, he’d naturally assumed she’d try to get away from the house as quickly as possible, save her own skin. Instead, she’d run back inside the house.
For the kids.
He smiled. The kids were her weakness. That was how he was going to draw her out. It was so easy he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. St James already had some serious security issues. He’d heard about the letter bomb and the other threats, and was happy to use them to his advantage. Shein wanted this to look like an accident, but Shein didn’t know all of the players involved, and the man who paid him a princely sum was a man who wanted things done. Period.
Kowalski was the guy who could get things done.
And the kids were going to help him.
CHAPTER
27
Dom glanced at his watch. Gertrude should be back with the kids by now. It had been a few days since they’d returned home from Bowral, and Gertrude had suggested she take the kids down to the local park for a play. He’d been reluctant, but as she’d pointed out, he didn’t want to make the kids prisoners in their own home: they’d spent the last three days holed up in the Mosman house, or else playing in the grounds, and he could see they had cabin fever and needed to get out. He didn’t have to like it, though. He knew he was being over-protective, but he’d sent a driver with them for added security.
He rose from his desk and crossed to his window. He idly wondered what Darcy was doing. It was weird, not waking up and finding her sitting outside with her tea. Not hearing her read stories to the kids, or laughing as she baked with Gertrude in the kitchen. He was angry, so angry. At her, at himself – he’d invited her into his home, but he should have checked further into her background before doing so, before exposing his family to such a risk. And he missed her. How did that work? After all that he knew she’d done – and he believed what he knew was probably a drop in the ocean compared to the reality of her actions – he still missed her. At least she hadn’t tried to defend herself. There was no defence.
And yet he still wanted her. What a schmuck.
He sighed. The kids missed her, too – they were constantly asking him questions. He fished the note out of his pocket, and read it for what must have been the hundredth time.
I’m so sorry, Dom. I never meant to cause harm.
With love and deepest sincerity,
Darcy Montgomery.
He folded the note carefully and slid it back in his pocket. He couldn’t trust the woman. How could she do that to him? How could she lie to him, and make love to him? That was the kicker. If she’d just lied to him – well, he wouldn’t have liked it, but he could handle it. The fact that she’d shared his bed, though, that she made him feel things for her that he thought he would never feel for another woman again – well, that was worse. And he was still grappling with the danger she’d brought into his home.
He didn’t know who he was more upset with – her for lying, or hi
mself for falling for her lies. Falling for her.
He shook his head. Swell. Just swell. His head knew what she’d done, what she was capable of, but his heart was still catching up.
He turned from the window and went looking for Roland. Maybe the kids and Gertrude were with him, although he hadn’t heard the car return.
Roland was in the garden, trimming some of the azaleas.
‘Have Gertrude and the kids come back yet?’
The older man shook his head as he straightened up, a hand bracing his back. Dom was surprised he didn’t hear a creak.
‘No, but they should be back soon. I was expecting them before now.’
Dom nodded and pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket. Gertrude hated using them, but reluctantly accepted them as a necessary evil. He frowned when he got the three-tone out-of-service signal. ‘She’s turned it off.’
Roland frowned. ‘She wouldn’t do that. Not if she’s out with the kids, and especially not after what’s been going on.’
Dom’s mouth tightened as he started to dial Alex’s phone number, but he stopped when he heard the toot of a horn at the gate. Thank God. He turned around to smile at his returning family, but his smile froze as the solid gate opened to reveal a police cruiser on the other side, and tension twisted his gut.
Gertrude hugged Julia and Jonah to her as best as possible around the child seats as they sat quietly in the backseat. The man in the driver’s seat had remained silent ever since he’d taken her phone off her. She rubbed the children’s arms as they huddled next to her, and tried not to panic, scream or show them her fear.
The man had assured her they wouldn’t be hurt, but she didn’t trust him: she’d seen what he’d done to Darcy’s throat, to her arms. She swallowed. He’d taken them by surprise. She’d brought the children to the car, and they’d been belted in and on their way before she’d realised it wasn’t the normal driver, before she realised the man with the mirrored sunglasses was driving them away from the St James mansion. What had happened to Mr Dudley, their driver? He was a fine, strapping young man; apparently he’d served in the army. For him to disappear…
Runaway Lies Page 23