by Autumn Dawn
She began walking, slowly, giving herself as much time as possible to consider the options.
"Hurry, bitch!” Lord commanded. She felt cold metal dig into her back, and her feet stumbled over the rough ground.
"Where are we going?” She kept her voice calm, expressionless, refusing to let fear gain the upper hand.
"You'll find out when we get there. Just walk. And keep your mouth shut."
Little light permeated the thick canopy of trees and the forest seemed strangely silent. The air was hot and humid as though a great damp blanket had settled on the land. Occasionally a bush rustled as a small marsupial foraged for food, and once a bird called overhead, but for the most part she and Lord were the only life Camille could detect.
She glanced surreptitiously at her wristwatch. It was after two. Nathan would surely have discovered that she'd been lured from the station by the phoney message. But only if he'd returned to World's End or called in.
She sighed. She was going round in mental circles and she still had as many questions as answers. Worse, thinking made her head throb. She felt nauseous, too, partly from the pain in her head but she realized she hadn't had any lunch, either, which didn't help.
Through the trees she heard a faint sound of the sea breeze and realized they were heading toward the ocean. She frowned. She'd assumed initially that Lord would plan to hole up at the cottage. Mind you, that's probably what Nathan would think, too. Hold her hostage and negotiate or kill her and escape. Why the hell were they going to Bluey's Beach? It didn't make any sense.
"Move it!” Lord's voice cut through the heavy silence. “We haven't got all day."
Camille turned her head toward him, still moving forward. “Where are we going?” she asked again.
Lord smiled nastily. “You'll find out soon enough."
Chapter Fourteen
Nathan tried Lord's cell number for the sixth time. Still nothing. Cursing, he tossed his cell phone onto the Landcruiser's passenger seat just as it rang. Camille's name appeared on the screen.
"Hi, honey, I'm.... “he broke off as he heard static and then nothing. The line was dead. He must be in a dead zone. Well, anyway, he'd be back at the station in two minutes, he would update her then.
When he pulled up outside World's End Police Station, it took him a couple of seconds to realize that Camille's Honda wasn't parked where it had been this morning. Mind you, it was well after two, and there was little at the station to feed a young baby. She'd probably headed down the street to pick up a late lunch, but he wished she'd waited for him. Perhaps that's what the call had been about. Still, the entire main street took barely ten minutes to walk, end to end. He was surprised she'd taken her car.
He scanned the street, squinting in the strong early afternoon light, and a sliver of fear lodged deep in his belly. He couldn't see her car either in the parking lot or along the street. Unless she'd parked on a back street ... but why?
Nathan's face was like a menacing storm cloud as he strode into the station. He ignored the greeting of his constables and pushed open the door to his office. Empty. He picked up Elizabeth's plastic rattle from underneath a chair, turned and strode back into the main office brandishing it like a weapon. Michael Dawes was standing by his desk, frowning.
"Boss, she's not—"
"I can see that. Where the fuck is she?"
Michael and Jason looked at each other and then back at Nathan.
"What d'ya mean, boss?” Mike's face was a study in confusion. “She went to meet you at the cottage. Did you miss her?"
Nathan felt terror slice through him, freezing his body. He couldn't walk. Couldn't talk. Couldn't think. For a second he could do nothing, then all his years of training kicked in, forcing his fear to recede just enough for his brain to slowly crash into first gear.
He leant over Mike's desk, fists braced, feeling a muscle tick in the side of his jaw. “What do you mean, she went to the cottage?"
Mike stuttered, and Nathan realized that he'd probably never seen this side of his normally even-tempered boss before, his fury so powerful that it just about sucked the air from the room. “The message from you, you said—"
"What message?"
"Via the guys in Traffic. They said everything was fine, you had the guy and that she should meet you at the cottage. Why?"
Nathan just stared at him as things began to fall into place. Welch had been on the phone to someone when Nathan had found him. What was the betting it was Lord at the other end? Either Lord had placed the call to Traffic or Welch, but Nathan was pretty sure Welch was hightailing it back to Sydney right now. It had to be Lord.
Fear lodged freshly in his gut like a cold leftovers from the night before. God, he'd been so stupid, so certain he was in control, and that all his bases were covered. Taking a deep breath, he forced his shoulders to relax, knowing he couldn't allow fear to overwhelm him. He had to think like a cop, clearly and practically, if he was to be of any help to Camille and Elizabeth.
"What is it, boss?” said Jason urgently. “We thought it was all under control."
Nathan turned to him. “It's not okay. That call wasn't from me. It was a lure. The bastard's got her."
"But how?"
"Who knows,” he growled. “The bastard who made the call has friends in high places.” The shocked faces of his constables hardly registered. He glanced at his watch. “What time did she leave?"
"Uh, about half an hour ago.” Mike's pale, freckled face whitened even more. “Oh God!"
Nathan's phone rang and he flipped it open impatiently. He didn't want to answer it but he had to in case it was Camille. Or Lord. “Donnelly.” His voice was brusque.
"Nathan? It's Dave. Listen, mate. My guy's just got back from Malcolm Lord's office. We haven't been able to find him."
Nathan went still, one hand on the door. He was trying to listen to Dave but his head was whirling.
"...secretary told him that Lord was in a meeting but what she didn't tell him was that the meeting was in Sydney, and of course he didn't think to ask until he'd been hanging around for an hour. Stupid kid. I've had him on the phone to the hotel in Sydney where Lord's supposed to be staying. Apparently he checked out this morning. He's driving a black Merc, though. Some huge bloody tank, they said. Don't have a numberplate yet though. We're working on it.” He paused. “Nathan? You still there, mate?"
Nathan began breathing again. “Yeah. Listen, Dave, I gotta go. Things are turning to shit here. But thanks for the update."
Nathan shoved the phone in his pocket and swung the door open. He thought of that brief call from Camille and wondered if it had been a call for help. He could get a trace, but it would take time ... and that was something he suspected she didn't have.
"Boss, wait!” Mike called and turned back to the phone that he held. “Go on. I'm listening."
Nathan watched his constable's head drop into his free hand as he listened to the person at the other end, and wanted to throw up. Mike replaced the phone slowly and turned to face him, his face taut with strain.
"That was Traffic. There's been an accident, just off Emerald Road. Not far along the track to Bluey's Beach. A passing motorist saw a glimpse of a car that looked pretty banged up and stopped to take a look. They called it in. Some Traffic guys are out there now.” His voice wobbled. “One of the cars is a Honda. The other—"
"I know,” replied Nathan, already half out the door. He didn't want to hear what Traffic had found. He needed to be there himself. “It's a black Merc."
* * * *
Waves crashing against the rocks at either end of Bluey's Beach sent up misty spray into the overcast afternoon as Camille and Lord cleared the trees of the forest. They stood on the cliff looking down at the section of sand still visible ahead of the rising tide. Within the hour it would have disappeared as water smashed against the cliff face itself, boiling upward, wearing away at the soft sandstone in another day of endless conflict between land and water.
Camille could hear Lord panting behind her. She turned to look at him. He was still pointing the gun toward her but his hand wavered. He was pasty, sweating. He saw her watching him and his grip on the gun firmed.
"Whatever you're thinking, don't. Just do what I say."
"All right.” Camille kept her voice even, wondering if she could somehow work him tactically so that he stood in front of her. One shove in the back and it would be the end of him. She eyed the distance between them. Too far. He knew what he was doing. The moment she moved suddenly, he'd pull the trigger and it would be her in free fall. Patience, she told herself. Just wait. There was always a window of opportunity. It was just a matter of recognizing and seizing it when it came.
She had to believe she would get it right when the time came. Believe. She remembered what Rowan had said days before. As long as she believed in what she was doing, she could overcome him. When she'd been reading the little book of magicke earlier, it had said something similar in the section on spells.
The caster must believe fully in the spell's power to work its magicke. The stronger the belief, the more powerful the magicke and the greater the chance of success.
Almost unconsciously, Camille's lips began to move and she started to whisper Rowan's protective spell.
"Great Mother Goddess, hear us this night,
Please help us in our terrible plight,
The dark one has come amongst us once again,
To spend his lust for hate and pain.
Oh, Great One, protect us from his might,
Keep us safe throughout the fight,
Our loved ones, and all the innocents too,
Mother Goddess, we believe in you."
"What did you say?” said Lord. He looked shaken.
Camille looked at him and smiled.
* * * *
As he hurtled down the road toward Camille's cottage, Nathan saw Rowan's car speeding down the hill from Ravenswood House. She must have seen him and recognized the panic in his driving, because she fell into place behind him. He clenched his hands on the wheel. Please let them not be too late.
* * * *
Lord waved the gun to the left. “That way,” he said. “There's a path down to the beach. Take it. And don't lose your footing or you'll get a bullet in the back."
Camille thanked God she'd worn her running shoes. At least they had good grip and she was less likely to take a tumble than if she'd been wearing flipflops. “You must have planned this all,” she said. “How did you know the path was here?"
"Of course I planned it, Camille. A man doesn't reach the position I'm in without being able to plan and execute."
The word execute was like a dull thud in Camille's belly but she kept talking doggedly. “Just wondering when you had time to sort out the lie of the land, that's all. After all, it's not your part of the world."
"Preparation is the same whether your conflict is in the boardroom or out here, my dear. “I drove down from Sydney first thing this morning to see what had to be done."
"So you didn't trust Welch?"
He glanced up at her as if startled, then laughed. “Of course, your policeman would have told you about my private investigator. Pathetic, but his information was useful to a point. He's not a doer, though. Just an observer. I always knew I'd have to take care of you myself."
"Like you took care of Verity?” Camille was walking close to the cliff edge now as she approached the top of the path. She didn't dare to look down.
Lord made an exclamation and a seagull nesting nearby took off with a startled cry. “It was unfortunate but she was becoming too difficult. One moment she wanted to play happy family, the next, she wanted a divorce. Said she'd take the child.” He sighed. “Ridiculous. As if I'd let her take what belonged to me. I warned her but she wouldn't listen."
He made it seem as though it were all Verity's fault, something she had brought upon herself but Camille sensed a note of regret in his tone. Whether it was genuine sadness at Verity's death or distaste at having to get his blue-blood hands dirty, she wasn't sure.
Camille summoned up all her courage to ask, “So, how did you do it?” She glanced back at Lord as she reached the path that sloped steeply down to the beach.
"Hmm?” Lord looked as though he were miles away. Camille saw his hand seized by another faint tremor. “Oh, it wasn't hard. She'd been drinking. I found her in the nursery on the third floor, standing on the balcony looking out. It was just a gentle nudge. Nothing to leave a mark until she hit the ground. And she was gone."
"You'd left marks on her from that earlier beating, though.” Camille slowly began to inch down the path, careful not to stumble or slide on the loose gravel. “I saw her face."
"Oh, it was nothing. She made such a fuss, even when I apologized. You know, she made me very angry that day. She looked a mess but she refused to do anything about it. I had to teach her a lesson."
"By bruising her face? I think she had a broken rib, too."
"Well, it wasn't my fault!” he whined. “It was hers. She wouldn't sort herself out. I mean, she let her looks go, she didn't want to go out. Didn't want to go to parties. How do you think it looked to all my friends? It was humiliating!"
His foot skidded and the gun lurched up. Camille spun thinking it was her chance but he recovered before she could take a step.
"Keep walking and don't turn around,” he said.
"I want to know where we're going."
"For a swim,” he said. “Verity told me what a good swimmer you were as a girl. This should be a challenge for you."
Camille bit her lip. Was he planning to force her into the rising ocean?
"It's too cold for swimming.” Her kept her voice bland. She didn't want to inflame him. She reached the beach. “What now?"
"Left,” he said waving the gun, pointing to the far end of the sliver of beach. “Walk."
Only a strip of about ten feet wasn't yet underwater and Camille kept close to the cliff-face. Nevertheless, she could feel the mist from the water moistening her face, seeping into her bones. The sun had disappeared behind a bank of clouds and it was growing chillier by the minute.
"Malcolm,” she said with quiet urgency. “The tide's rising fast now. We must get off the beach."
* * * *
Nathan braked roughly beside the crumpled Honda. The black Merc, buckled on one side, was wedged against it. Fortunately, Elizabeth's car seat was not on the driver's side that had taken the impact.
He glanced quickly around the scene. There were relatively few people there, just the two Traffic cops and three people standing watching near a red Laser. He assumed they were the passers-by who reported the accident. The female Traffic cop was speaking into her walkie-talkie, while the male cop tried to wrap a blanket around the protesting Elizabeth. He couldn't see Camille.
"Here, let me,” he said, as Elizabeth turned up the volume. At the sound of his voice, the little girl turned and it was like the sunshine after rain, so vivid was her smile. He plucked her from the constable's arms and tucked the blanket around her. She didn't seem unduly cold. He murmured to her soothingly and put her back in her car seat with her soft toys.
"Thanks, mate.” The male constable was bright red. “I didn't know if I should leave her where she was but she was screaming so much."
"It's okay, mate. She's fine. Just scared."
Rowan hurried up, her face flushed with the heat of the day, her eyes anxious. She flicked open her phone. “I'll call Max to come and take a look at the baby. Where's Camille?"
Nathan shook his head and went over to the Merc. He heard Rowan talking urgently to Max, giving him directions.
He peered into the huge black car and then Camille's Honda. He froze when he saw the blood on the car door and driver's seat. Just a few drops but enough to make him want to throw up. He turned to the young cop. “We've got blood here. Can't see any bullet markings and there's no smell of cordite in the car. My guess is she hurt herself when the Merc hit her."
The constable nodded. “There's not much blood so it's probably not from a bullet wound."
"Good. Now have you seen anything that indicates the location of the drivers of the cars? The Honda driver is a young woman, about thirty, dark blonde hair. And a man. Older. Mid-forties. Any idea?"
The policeman shook his head. “The cars were deserted apart from the baby by the time we got here—and the people over there who called it in didn't see anyone either. The ground's too dry to leave much of an imprint but it looks like they went into the trees over here. The ground's disturbed and there's a few spots of blood."
Nathan frowned as he walked to the spot the constable indicated. He had assumed that Lord would head for the cottage, but there was nothing to say he even knew where it was. It was hard to tell how expertly Lord had planned this. Did he scope out the area or had he just tailed Camille's car and driven her off the road at a convenient point? Either way, Nathan suspected the guy was under extreme stress.
"How many parents would put their own child in danger like this?” Nathan murmured. He didn't realize he'd spoken out loud until the constable frowned at him.
"What do you mean?"
"The driver of the Merc is the child's father. I was just speculating that he might have a few kangaroos loose in his top paddock.” Nathan indicated the crushed Honda. “I mean what father would deliberately sideswipe a car his kid is a passenger in—even if he was angry?"
One thing he was pretty sure of was that Lord was armed, even if he hadn't yet used the weapon. He couldn't imagine Camille leaving the baby unattended even for a few minutes unless it had been under extreme duress. Or unless she'd wanted to get Lord away from the child.
He looked at the constable. “Listen mate, I'm assuming that he's armed and that he's not behaving rationally, which makes it a dicey proposition. I also don't know if he has help. Get on to State Protection—it's an abduction so it's their area—but tell them I've gone in."