by Sandy Vaile
A radiant smile that melted the morning’s tension.
“There’s a great cafe at Stirling, about fifteen minutes away.”
“Point the way, navigator.”
They zigzagged through the hills and native scrub, past quaint cottages with ponies in the paddock and a Slow Down sign where a telltale trail of manure scarred the bitumen beside paddocks of dairy cows. When Micah spotted a yard full of rusting cars piled three high, he slowed. No, if the Mutts were chopping cars, there would be a lot less evidence than this.
“You know, with all the drama, I forgot to ask you about Bronwyn. I take it you’re close.”
“She’s my best friend, and she’s got a crush on you.”
He felt her watching him and desperately wanted to look into her eyes, but kept his attention on the winding road ahead. “She recognised me the day I checked in to the bed-and-breakfast, you know. No doubt it’s the idea of me she’s got a crush on.”
“Maybe, but there are more appealing aspects to Micah Kincaid than business magnate.”
Somehow he didn’t think they were talking about Bronwyn anymore, so he snuck a peek. One tire hit the dirt verge.
“Keep your eyes on the road!”
“Sorry. Anyway, whatever the reason for her crush, I’m not interested in Miss Travaglia.”
“Turn left here.”
Neve was quiet as they negotiated the final twists and turns into Stirling and found a car park on the tree-lined street. From her pinched expression, he’d hazard a guess that he’d put his foot in his mouth again, but how? Surely not because he didn’t like Bronwyn. Maybe because he hadn’t said he liked her.
“Hang on a minute. I need to load my sim into the new phone,” he said.
“What, the world can’t do without you for a few days?”
He shrugged. “I run a corporation that owns umpteen businesses. People need to contact me. And I need to be available in case Chelsea, or any other prick, calls about Rowan.”
As soon as he’d put the old sim into the phone, there was a musical chorus of e-mails, texts, and missed messages, and then it started ringing.
“Crap,” he said. “Never a moment’s peace. Kincaid. No, I’m not. My mobile was damaged, but it’s all sorted. You won’t have any more trouble contacting me. You’ll see it in your bank by the end of the weekend. Can I—”
“You look pale. Who was that?”
“Boiler wanted an updated,” he said. “Thought I was trying to avoid him.”
“You should’ve asked to talk to Rowan again.”
“He didn’t give me a chance.”
“Don’t worry,” Neve said, “we’ve got time. We’ll find them.”
“Speaking of hunting bad guys, I’m curious about what exactly Tony and Jack did in Vietnam.”
She shrugged. “They don’t like to talk about it, but Jack was a sniper . . .”
That explained his calm, patient approach to everything.
“... and Tony led covert operations.”
What sort of covert, though? When the old man was calm, he had an air of authority. He stood with a ramrod straight back, his eyes pinched at the corners as they bored into you, and when he spoke it was a command. A natural leader. Information to file away for later.
They headed into the Organic Market, found an alfresco table, and ordered. When the quiche arrived, they ate in silence.
“Neve, is everything all right?”
She shrugged. Not a good sign. People never did anything unless there was something in it for them, and despite the tragic tale she’d told about Rowan reminding her of her brother, she was going way out on a limb, putting herself in danger, inviting him into her home, and causing rifts with her father and her best friend. There must be something Neve wanted out of this deal.
The delivery of enormous slices of carrot and walnut cake followed by frothy hot chocolates with pink marshmallows bobbing on the surface interrupted his train of thought. He dug in and groaned his appreciation.
“This is the best carrot cake I’ve ever had.”
“It’s made with love, and all the ingredients are organic.”
“You’re more environmentally conscious than most people I meet. It’s refreshing.”
“I guess I don’t have much choice, living with Tony.”
“So, what are your views if they’re not the same as Tony’s?”
She swiped at a chocolate moustache. “No, that’s not what I meant. I care about how things are produced. I wouldn’t waste my time making my own body products if I didn’t believe in them.”
He licked thick cream cheese icing from the back of his spoon, unsure if he should voice his current thought. To hell with it. “What do you want for your future?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you see a future away from Tony?”
As her lips skimmed the rim of her mug, she mumbled, “That’s not possible.”
“Explain it to me. I understand why he’s so important to you, but not why you feel duty bound to take care of him forever.”
“That’s out of line. You’ve known me for a matter of days. I would have thought someone in your situation would understand life is never that simple.”
“Touché. I didn’t mean to drill you. It’s gallant that you think his welfare is more important than yours.”
“Gallant, yeah that’s me.”
“Well, do you think he’s more important than you?”
She shook her head and crossed her arms. “Of course I don’t, but Tony needs me.”
“Are you sure?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, he seems pretty self-reliant to me.”
“I’m not using his illness as an excuse not to live my life, if that’s what you’re implying. I like the tranquillity of the bush and simple pleasures. We can’t all afford the high life.”
His nostrils flared. She’d barely taken an interest in his life and certainly didn’t know him. “It always comes back to money with you, doesn’t it? You’re a money bigot. Or is it just an excuse to avoid facing what’s going on between us?”
“There’s nothing but finding Rowan between us.”
He huffed. “You know what I mean, Neve. You kissed me back, remember?”
If looks could wound, he’d need a medic right about now. Pushing her out of her comfort zone was hurting her, and it brought a tight, panicky sensation to his chest. Maybe it was time to take this down a notch. There wasn’t any way to force her to see that living in Tony’s shadow wasn’t any kind of life at all.
“Look, all I’m saying is that you are beautiful and smart. You deserve someone your own age to have fun with. When’s the last time you went on a date?”
“We had dinner at the pub on Friday.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t count. Going Dutch with the bill isn’t a real date. You deserve someone to spoil you.”
“Being independent doesn’t mean I don’t want someone to care for me.”
“You’re dead right. Everyone has different personal priorities. It doesn’t mean that two very different people can’t meet halfway. Compromise isn’t a sign of weakness, Neve. When I woo a woman, I want to make sure she knows she’s the centre of my universe.”
She pushed her plate away with a corner of cake still intact and leant forward.
“Reeeally. And what other stipulations do you have for a real date?”
Despite the overdone sarcasm, her previous ire seemed to have passed, so he worked to keep the mood upbeat. He leaned closer too. God, her hair smelt fabulous, like honey drizzled on pancakes.
“There might be dancing or walking in the moonlight. I’d hold your hand and spoon-feed you a decadent dessert. Like a gentleman, I’d drive you home and escort you to your door. But that’s where the chivalry would end, because I’d steal a kiss.”
He grinned, and it drew a smile from her too, which softened her features.
“You wouldn’t have to steal
it,” she whispered.
Ha! She’d wanted those kisses all right. There was something inexplicable and powerful developing between them—two people who were quite unsuited and should never have met. It was thrilling and frightening at the same time.
He reached hesitantly across the table and her eyes darted to his hand, so he rested his fingers on the corner of her plate.
“Do you want that?” He nodded at her leftover cake.
She giggled. “You have it. It never ceases to amaze me how men can eat like horses and look like that.” She waved a hand in his general direction.
“And how exactly do I look, plump and cuddly?”
After a brief appraisal, she smirked. “Ripped and intense.”
He nodded. “Nice descriptive words.”
The gravitational force of her lips was dragging him in, and he knew she felt it too. Her dark gaze dropped from his eyes to his lips and lingered. She swallowed, and the tip of her tongue darted out, leaving those lips glistening. There was no way he could keep his distance when she was so unfairly alluring.
The shrill ring of her mobile phone made them both jerk upright.
“Hi, Bron. What’s up?”
Micah feigned interest in the other diners while listening intently.
“Really? . . .I see. What did you tell them? . . .Good one. Thanks for the heads-up.”
He studied the puckered skin between Neve’s brows as she tucked the phone away.
“What did Miss Travaglia want?”
“Apparently a couple of reporters lobbed on her doorstep looking for you.”
“Great.” His mind went immediately to the teenagers who’d snapped a photo of him at the shopping centre. With that on social media, it wouldn’t take the bloodhounds long to track him down.
Having a roving media contingent on his tail wasn’t unusual, but right now it was more unwelcome than ever before. He didn’t need to be stalked while he was involved in this delicate situation with Rowan. If they published anything saying he was in Turners Gully, it could quickly turn into a disaster. Worse still, the reporters might actually find out what he was doing there.
“Did they want anything specific?” he asked.
“Bron said they were just sniffing around. They wanted her to confirm that you were staying there and whether you were in town on business or a personal matter.”
“I’ll bet they did. What did she say?”
“Used the “no comment” and “client confidentiality” retorts. Apparently they didn’t buy it, because they’ve set up camp in a van down the road.”
“Damn. I’m sorry the Travaglias had to deal with that. Doesn’t matter what paper or TV station they’re from, they’ll be well researched and familiar with all of my vehicles, so I won’t be able to come and go in the Bentley or return to the cabin. I’m sure they’ll get bored in a couple of days though.”
“Does this sort of thing happen to you often?” Her eyes were intent on his face.
No point in sugarcoating it. “Yes. They can be devious too. I guess I’ll organise another hire car.”
“Don’t bother. You can borrow my car, if you don’t mind driving a heap.”
“That’s very kind. I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Bad timing though. It seemed like since he’d arrived in Turners Gully, his stench had lured all kinds of trouble to the township. Prying paparazzi was just another one to add to the list.
Not to mention the intimacy of a few moments ago was lost, which left him feeling hollow.
Chapter 27
Micah glanced across at Neve on the passenger seat, her eyes intent on the roadside vegetation, wind tugging at stray coils of hair around her face. He could stare at that face for hours. All of a sudden, she drew her head back and coughed, her tongue out in distaste.
“Good God, that was disgusting.”
And then he copped the stench too: roadkill. It was the kind of pong that soaked into your nasal passages and needed to be scoured out. He held his breath until they were past, and then sucked in a huge lungful of clean air.
“I don’t know why you need the window open,” he complained. There was going to be a layer of road dust all over the leather interior.
Neve raised an eyebrow. “You can’t hunt by watching through glass.”
Hunting. That’s what we’re doing? It felt like the lions had the guns and he and Neve were the stupid meerkats darting in and out of holes. He rubbed his sternum.
So far, they’d traipsed up and down every minor road and dirt track from Mylor to Scott Creek. From the thick scrub abutting Mount Bold Reservoir and providing countless places to hide, to the tiny township of Bradbury, where many of the houses were set so far back he couldn’t catch more than a glimpse of the rooves. The sun was starting its descent, and right now they were on some poor excuse for a dirt road that made the tires skate on the loose surface every time he avoided a pothole.
“This has been a disappointing search.” Neve sighed. “Let’s head home for now . . .hang on, do you hear that?”
Micah slowed the car until it was stationary in the middle of the road, put his window down, and stuck his head out. An unmistakeable engine rumble bounced off the hills and trees, seeming to come from first one direction and then the other.
“Sounds like a motorbike,” Neve said.
They waited another minute, as the sound grew louder and various pitches became discernible.
“That’s more than one motorbike,” he said.
The unique, throaty pop, pop of Harley Davidson pistons firing was familiar. “I’d swear they are V-twin engines.” His pulse sprinted.
Neve’s expression was alert. “Pull off the road just in case.”
He knocked the car into drive again and the wheels spun as he wrenched the heavy car up a fire track. Fifty metres ahead was a wire gate with a sign on it that said Emergency Entrance: Scott Creek Conservation Park. He glanced around at the small clearing, where keen bushwalkers obviously parked to enter the recreational scrub via a stile in the fence.
The rumbling sounds were almost upon them.
“What if it’s them? They’ll see us here,” Neve squeaked.
“Give me a minute.”
He did a three-point turn and reversed as close to the permapine fencing as he could get. The car was pressed under the overhang of a wattle in full flower, and when he cut the engine, the hum of hundreds of bees filled the air. Powder-fine dust hung all around them.
Neve leant out the window. “It’s hard to tell which direction they’re coming from.” She pulled back inside. “Why am I whispering?”
He shrugged. The snarl of multiple large cc engines was thunderous now and throbbed up through the floor of the car. Part of him hoped it was the Mutts, and another part prayed it wasn’t.
“They’re close.”
A bike streaked past, chrome glinting in the sun, and a cloud of silt hanging in the air behind it. Micah slouched lower in his seat. A poor attempt at concealment. Neve’s mouth made a silent O.
“That’s a Fat Boy.” He knew his Harleys, like any keen rev-head would. As each bike rumbled past, his heart pounded faster and faster.
Neve counted off beside him. “One, two, three, four. That’s five bikes. I didn’t see the backs of their jackets, did you?”
He shrugged. “I thought I saw the insignia, but . . .”
“Are we gonna follow them?”
“Hell yes.”
He turned the ignition key and planted his foot on the accelerator, skidding onto Scott Creek Road and retracing the path they had just driven. It was a struggle to keep the dust plume of the last bike in sight on the winding road, without getting so close that they’d be seen.
This was the break they needed, and he wasn’t going to lose them or any chance at finding Chelsea and Rowan. It took every ounce of willpower not to just floor it. Roaring up behind them and maybe tapping the rear end of a Harley was a pretty tempting idea right now, but it wouldn’t get him what he neede
d. It wouldn’t keep his family safe.
The bush encroached on the roadside and dropped steeply on the left. Soon the gravel turned to bitumen. Apparently they had arrived amongst sufficient population density to justify a centre line, although he couldn’t see any difference, and they hadn’t seen another car since they’d given chase. The road was still too narrow for two vehicles to pass without one putting its wheels off the side.
Without the dust, Micah had to rely on the engine noise to maintain the tail, but it was deceptive. The drone reverberated around the hills, and he couldn’t be sure where the bikes were. He pushed the car faster and noticed Neve clutch the edge of her seat. They hauled up a long hill, with a clear view for several hundred metres. No Harleys.
They’re getting away from me.
His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, and Neve glanced at him. On the crest, a side road curved to the left. He hit the skids and they were thrown against their seat belts.
“Shit, which way did they go?”
Neve listened through the open window. “Sounds to me like they’re on our left.”
Micah nodded and swung the car up Yallunga Road, which quickly turned to dirt. They were far off the beaten track now, but the road base was solid⎯nothing that would put off the Harleys.
They climbed higher. At one point, the road was cut into the hill and the cliff face was held together by wire to prevent rock falls. They passed a gate and a couple of driveways but didn’t spot any houses. Instead of lot numbers, many of the properties displayed names like Falcon’s Nest and Eagle Croft.
“It’s impossible to tell if they’ve turned off.” He slapped the steering wheel.
“Stay the course,” she insisted. “I can still hear them.”
Adrenaline must be pumping through her veins the same as his, and yet she remained calm. In fact, she had an eerie focus.
The road wound through the bush, flattened out at the top of the hill, and . . .
“Aw, hell.” He took his foot off the accelerator. “It’s a dead end.”
“Let’s backtrack to where we last had eyes on them.”
“Do you suggest we just drive back and forth until we spot them?”
Neve narrowed her eyes. “No. I suggest that our search area is between here and when we last had eyes on them. Let’s go on foot.”