Northern Heat

by Helene Young

  He’d believed that surviving the storm off Banksia Cove was the most difficult physical challenge he’d ever face, but he’d been wrong. Last time he’d been alone. Living or dying had been a toss of the coin. This time he was battling to live, to keep safe a woman who’d found a way into his heart, who’d given him reason to hope. And Abby. He wouldn’t let them down. Not now, not ever.

  The realisation burnt through him. He sat a little straighter. He had a reason to live again. Kristy lowered the torch, scrabbled in her pocket. ‘They can see a light!’ she screamed.

  ‘Okay.’ He nosed closer to the left bank, looking for a jetty. Was it a floating pontoon or would it be submerged in the floodwaters already?

  ‘I see something white ahead.’ Kristy was almost standing now, directing the beam. ‘There,’ she yelled. ‘It’s a walkway.’

  Conor slitted his eyes against the rain. The walkway to the jetty was partially submerged but the silver caught the beam of light.

  ‘Got it.’ It wasn’t going to be easy manoeuvring. They bumped something submerged. ‘Shit.’ Hopefully any ropes on the jetty had been removed when Jonno and his men cleared the boat away. He let the water swirl them backwards, then tried again. Same result. They were too far away to grab hold of the walkway. It must be the edge of the jetty. He let them slide backwards again, turned more sharply towards the bank.

  ‘Can you hear yelling?’ Kristy called, the torchlight flicking along the banking.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think I can.’ Her phone lit up again. ‘They can see us!’

  Conor’s jaw was hurting from the tension. He forced himself to relax, to feel the boat. He opened the throttle, let the stern swing behind him as he tried to visualise what a jetty might look like relative to the walkway. There was a scrape, then a bump and they were through into water that swirled rather than raced. He gunned it, forcing the bow up onto the bank. ‘Take the rope, find a tree, anything!’

  Kristy didn’t hesitate but she sank up to her knees as she hit the ground and pitched forward. ‘Kristy!’ he yelled, surging forward, but knowing he couldn’t leave the boat. ‘Kristy!’ She struggled up, the rope still in her hand. He caught a glimpse of her face in the torchlight, pain stamped all over it. She hobbled up the bank towards a tree that was bending before the wind. She’d barely started the attempt to wrap the rope around it when a dark shape threw itself on top of her.

  She screamed as they tumbled to the ground.

  31

  Kristy could hardly breathe from the pain in her chest as she lay on the ground, the rope slipping from her fingers. She screamed, trying to shield herself from the attack. She felt fur under her fingers. A wild animal? Something touched her face. Not a wild animal, a dog – and it was licking her, quivering and whimpering. She tried to sit up, but with her sore ribs she couldn’t shift the weight of the animal.

  ‘Kristy!’ She heard the fear in Conor’s voice and tried to wave, but figured she probably just looked like she was thrashing around.

  ‘Get off!’ she yelled at the dog, finally managing to move it. She grabbed the torch and scrambled to her feet, wheezing as the dog wove in and out of her legs. The rope was disappearing down the bank and she dived on it. She couldn’t stop her yelp. The pain gave her the strength she needed to wriggle back up to the tree, where the dog was crouched against the trunk.

  ‘Kristy!’ Conor yelled again.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she managed to croak, before realising she’d have to do better or he’d never hear her. ‘I’m okay!’ Just drawing in enough breath for that had stabbed into her lung. This time she got the rope around the tree and managed to tie several knots. She turned to Conor and waved two thumbs up at him. ‘It’s done!’ Standing straight was a whole lot easier than hunching over. She picked up the torch and waved it. This time he waved back. She heard the motor cut, but the storm still roared, the wind still howled and there was no sign of Abby or Sissy.

  She reached down and ruffled the dog’s ears. It looked like one of the working dogs. ‘Where are they, boy?’ she asked, sinking her hands into the sodden fur, finding it oddly comforting in the middle of hell.

  ‘You okay?’ Conor loomed beside her, his hands firm through her waterproof. She tilted her face to him, the rain blinding her. He tugged the hood further over her head and wiped the hair back from her forehead.

  ‘Nothing a good bath won’t fix,’ she replied, reminding herself to take shallow breaths. The dog pressed between them and Conor jumped back with a grunt. She put out a hand to him, feeling the tension in his arms. ‘It’s only a dog. I’ve been thoroughly licked.’

  There was a glimmer of a smile. ‘Who knew I’d be jealous of a dog?’ He took the torch and shone it up the banking. ‘Let’s find these girls.’ Kristy’s phone lit up, glowing through the jacket pocket. She was amazed it was still working.

  ‘Oh no!’ She grabbed at the torch. ‘Turn it off. Jonno’s here.’

  ‘Shit. He’s got the girls?’

  ‘No. Abby said they’re hiding, but Jonno’s here, and Steve too.’

  ‘Steve? Stay here.’

  ‘No bloody way.’

  He rounded on her, gripped her shoulders hard enough to make her wince. ‘Kristy. Stay here with the torch. Guard the boat. I’ll bring the girls back.’

  ‘But Jonno and Steve. You can’t take them both.’

  ‘Yes, I can.’ The intensity of his black gaze, the grim set of his mouth and the breadth of his shoulders said she had no other choice. ‘Trust me,’ he said again.

  She swallowed her fear, her heart racing in time to the frantic rainfall. She managed a nod. ‘I’ll be here.’

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead that was at once desperate but gentle. She reached out to him, grabbing his coat below his armpits, and felt something hard on one side. He drew away with a shake of his head before she could ask. As he melted into the darkness she saw him unzip his coat. A gun? Conor had a gun?

  Kristy’s knees were unsteady and she groped for the tree. Who carried concealed weapons, except law-enforcement people and criminals?

  She peered into the darkness, looking for a flash of the reflective strip on his coat. Nothing. No sign of movement. The rain had found its way into her coat and she shivered as water trickled down her spine. She pulled the hood high, tugging on the ties to bring it closer to her face. Her calves and ankles were running with water.

  A roaring noise made her turn her head. It sounded like a jet aircraft hurtling towards her and she cowered against the tree. The wind gust pushed the boat further up the bank and bent the tree so its branches touched the ground. The walkway groaned as it twisted under the strain. She heard the crack of branches giving way and the wind’s unearthly, screeching howl that went on and on. The dog tried to climb up her leg, whimpering. She crouched down to comfort it. Nearby she heard metal flogging as the wind tried to tear it loose. It couldn’t last much longer in this, surely? Was it the boatshed where Abby and Sissy were hiding? Or were they out in the bush now with two terrified horses? Something crashed close by. She thought she saw a glimmer of light. Was it Jonno? Definitely a torchlight.

  She stayed low, crept further along the bank. The dog followed. Her grip on the torch was painfully tight. The gust of wind trailed away and the rain poured down again in a solid curtain. A shadowy figure was making its way down from the walkway. It wasn’t Conor. It was someone big, burly. She could make out a torch in one hand and something else in the other. A gun or a stick?

  The dog pressed into her legs and she patted its head. It wasn’t trembling now, but she thought she could hear it growling. She slid her hand round to its throat. Yep, whoever was coming wasn’t a favourite with the dog. The torch came on and the beam swept the bank. Maybe it was because of the rain, but it skimmed right over the dinghy. Kristy held her breath as they were plunged into darkness again. Another gale-force blast was making its way towards her. As the first edges of it licked the trees she moved again, this time heading up th
e bank so she was level with the man. The loose piece of metal lost its battle and tore away, clattering as it went. Hopefully neither Conor nor the girls were in its path.

  She wiped the rain off her face, knowing it was futile. The figure was coming closer. It was only a matter of time before he saw the dinghy. She groped around on the banking for a weapon. Plenty of broken timber. She hefted a chunk in her hand. Too heavy. She’d never swing it. Finally she found a length that seemed strong but manageable although she’d still need both hands. The dog was on its feet now. Damn. It was a liability. The torch came on again, along with some heavy-duty swearing. It was definitely Jonno. He slithered down towards the boat, slipping on the wet bank. He grunted as he hit the ground but the torch stayed in his hand. Kristy caught a flash of reflection. He definitely had a gun.

  She was sure her heart was going to crack her already battered rib cage wide open. She didn’t want to dither, but a piece of branch against a gun? He was still cursing as he got to the boat.

  ‘I’ll fuckin’ kill them!’ he screamed to the sky. There was little doubt he was capable of it. He fired two shots into the boat. A fountain of water shot up into the air. Kristy held onto her scream, but the dog leapt down the bank, its bark menacing and sharp. ‘What the fuck?’ Jonno turned, aimed up the bank and fired again. How had he missed her and the dog at such close range?

  The dog charged and knocked him off balance towards the walkway. The torch bounced out of Jonno’s hand and it looked like he’d lost the gun as well. She hid her own torch at the base of the tree.

  There was a sharp yelp from the dog and it backed up, limping. Jonno scrabbled for his torch, trying to get to his feet. He was facing away from her, towards the river, the dog circling behind him.

  Kristy scrambled down the banking, knowing surprise was her biggest weapon. Her foot slipped on something hard. Was it the gun? Jonno was half standing when she hit him with the branch and the force of the blow on his shoulder knocked him forward. The torch that he’d managed to secure again shot in the air, and as it tumbled end over end she saw the look of disbelief in his face as he fell into the water. The light hit the bank close to her and she pounced on it.

  ‘You fuckin’ bitch!’ he roared. The weight of his clothes dragged him down, but he grabbed for the walkway. The creaking noises were loud enough to be audible above the storm. She heard the whinny of horses. Conor? The girls?

  ‘I’ll kill you all, you and your fuckin’ boyfriend.’ He was panting, trying to get out of his coat while the water tore at him. Frantic now, Kristy searched for the gun on the ground. The dog prowled the bank, barking. ‘Piss off, you stupid cur!’ Jonno yelled at it. He’d got rid of the jacket, but the water must have been too deep for him to get a foothold. He hung there, struggling to catch his breath. Kristy’s fingers touched something solid and smooth. It was heavier than she expected and she held it gingerly as she got to her feet. Shooting herself in the foot would cap off a great night.

  She directed the beam at Jonno. Blood mingled with the rain on his face. He snarled at her. ‘Don’t think for a moment Freya will ever get away. Evelyn won’t let her go. She’ll send Steve after them just like she sent him to fix fuckin’ Parnell.’

  ‘You’re insane.’ Her voice shook, almost as much as her hand holding the gun. Evelyn ordered Steve to shoot Danny Parnell? ‘You can’t just go around killing people!’

  His laugh was more of a snarl. ‘You think you can’t, but it’s not hard once you start.’

  ‘You’re mad.’ Kristy’s legs were quivering.

  ‘No, lady. I know the strong always win. The McDonalds haven’t got to where we are by giving into a piece of skirt who doesn’t want to play by the rules any more. I pulled fuckin’ Freya and her kid from the gutter. I made her, I own her and I can throw her away, but she’s not leaving. Go on, shoot me, pull the fuckin’ trigger. See how powerful it makes you feel. I got a hard-on the first time.’ He spat into the water. Another blast of wind was thrashing through the trees, forcing a cold wave in front of it. Kristy had lost track of time. How long until the cyclone crossed over them?

  She kept the torch trained on Jonno’s face. The dog was crouched down now, licking its hind leg. The horses whinnied again. Closer this time. She didn’t dare turn away, but she was conscious that Abby had said Jonno was with Steve. Holding the light made her a target. The noise of the wind pummelled her eardrums. She staggered as the gale hit, fighting to stay upright with gun and torch. In the water, Jonno was better protected and she saw him smile as he raised his hand from the water. She felt something tug at her jacket in the instant she heard a sharp crack above the roar. Dear God. He had a second gun. She threw herself onto the ground and tossed Jonno’s torch away from her. His next shot shattered it, plunging them back into darkness. As fast as she could, she scrambled to where she’d left her torch, fumbling before she could get a good grip. Jonno pumped another couple of bullets into the dinghy. How long before it sank?

  And where the hell was Conor?

  32

  Conor saw the boatshed ahead. By most people’s standards it was the size of a small house, with a massive four-car garage. One of the garage doors was half up. He crouched down next to a tree. Another gust was on its way. He used the noise to mask the pounding of his steps as he rushed across the deserted lawn, debris whirling past him and slamming into the building. The walls were plastered in torn leaves, like tiny mosaic tiles. Shutters on the windows and doors kept the structure sound, although the wind had lifted one corner of the awning at the front, and the solid sheet of roofing iron flapped like a piece of butcher’s paper. Only a matter of time before it went. He crept along the front towards the roller door, staying clear of the cement ramp that led to the river and most probably to the walkway and the jetty. He’d be a sitting duck. No sign of horses, girls or men.

  The wind eased again and he ducked under the door. The floor was slippery with debris and what smelt like horseshit, but nothing was moving. He covered the lens of the torch with his hand and risked a quick flash of light. Nothing. Not even a boat. It must be in one of the other lockups. He ducked back outside and crept around the building. There was a smaller structure to the right of it. A flash of silver caught his eye. The muffled clink of a bridle. Who was with them?

  He flattened himself to the ground, wishing he’d left the backpack with Kristy. Twigs and small branches littered the ground, digging into his knees and elbows as he belly-crawled. He thought he smelt sweet perfume, but didn’t stop to analyse it. He heard the clink again and a cough that was definitely masculine. Ahead, he could see something on the ground. A horse blanket, or a saddle maybe? As he crawled closer his gorge rose. Jeff. The old fella was curled in a foetal position, his hat crumpled beneath his head. Conor reached him, touched a cold hand and stared into wide eyes. Fuck. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. He slipped his hand inside the other man’s coat and his fingers found stickiness. Blood. He jerked his hand out. A bullet hole in Jeff’s chest probably made his death quick. Conor’s anger ratcheted up another notch.

  He kept going as a strong blast of wind rushed through. The roofing iron tore free and skidded away, clattering against the buildings and trees as it went. Whoever was ahead of him swore and the horses whinnied, pulling against their bridles. One of them must have trodden on the man’s foot, as he yelped. At least one horse pulled free and bolted, narrowly missing Conor as it fled towards the river.

  He heard a sound like a punch and then a snort from a horse. As the wind eased back he saw a big man struggling to contain a horse. Its head was up, high and wild, mane flying in the wind. The man punched it in the head and this time the horse lunged at him, white teeth snapping before pulling up, hooves flailing. One of the strong forelegs caught the man on the shoulder and he cried out, stumbling, still groping for the reins. The horse whirled away, lashing out with its hindquarters before it fled to follow its companion. The man took the full force and dropped like a sail bag.

  ‘Shit,�
� Conor muttered. He rose to a crouch. No one else moved, including the man. He flicked the torch on, shielding the beam with his fingers. ‘Fuckin’ hell!’ Conor forced himself to swallow the rush of bile, even as a mixture of regret and relief surged through him. It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the side of Steve’s face. Conor pressed his fingers to the slack neck and the man’s damaged head lolled to one side. Was that a flutter of a pulse? He plucked at Steve’s coat, found the zipper and pulled it down. The man’s broad chest was misshapen. The terrified horse had kicked him with both hooves, one in the face and one in the chest. Rough justice for the man who’d killed Annabel and Lily. He didn’t doubt that Steve was also responsible for Jeff’s death. He should have felt relief, but instead he felt cheated.

  He had to put that aside. Conor got to his feet. Where now? What sounded like a gunshot rang out from the direction of the river. Jonno! As he started to run in that direction he heard a faint cry from his left. Was it Abby and Sissy? Caution was discarded as he pounded across the slippery earth.

  He almost fell over the two girls, crouched beside a tree, arms wrapped around each other and sobbing quietly. ‘Abby?’

  A tear-streaked face peered up at him and he pushed the hood of his coat back. ‘It’s me, Conor.’

  ‘Conor? Oh my God. Conor!’ She scrambled to her feet and latched onto him with both arms. Sobs wracked her body. She was soaked to the skin without even a coat. She must have been freezing. ‘Conor.’

  He ran a soothing hand over her head, holding her safe in his arms. Sissy whimpered as she tried to stand.

  ‘Sissy? What’s wrong?’

  Abby pulled away. ‘Sissy got thrown. I think she’s busted her ankle and maybe her arm.’

  ‘Christ almighty. How long have you been out in this? Is there anyone else with Jonno? Any of the station hands?’