Another sound came. A queer metallic scratching.
"He's trying to break the lock!"
"It's not Beller, Tess."
"You want to stake your life on it?" She unlocked the safety on the gun. "I'm going to shoot."
"Don't be stupid," he hissed. "Stay here. Don't use the gun yet. I'll see what's going on."
"Take the gun," she muttered through stiff lips. "Keep it. If it's him and he takes me out, you'll need it." Lifting the tailgate with as much care as he could, he crawled toward the little scrubby mass beside the van.
Tessa watched and waited as Jirrah moved toward the scrub, her hands on the gun and her gaze glued to him. If Cameron was here…
Stop it! Get a grip on yourself. You've got to master this paralyzing fear!
But—if it was Cameron outside … and if he knocked Jirrah out—
A hand touched hers. She scrambled against the wall of the van, by some miracle holding the gun hard and straight. "Get away from me. Don't touch me!"
"Tess, it's me. It's all right now. It was just a wombat checking out our tires. We're almost right over its burrow."
"Jirrah…" She sagged against the wall. "Oh, God, Jirrah, I kept thinking if he hurt you, and got to me—"
His face, dark and mysterious in the moonlight, softened with something more tender, more abiding than pity alone. "Oh, what that sick bastard's done to my gentle wild swan." He reached for her, and she flew into his arms. "Never again," he whispered, burying his face in her hair. "Not while I'm here to stop him."
Her body snuggled against him, quivering. "You were right. I can't live like this, waiting for him to get me." She spoke scratchily, as if Cameron were there to hear her. "We have to stop him, lock him up where he can't hurt anyone any more!"
"We will, mulgu. We will."
"I need you," she whispered. "I don't want to, but I do."
"I know. It's okay. Shh." He caressed her cheek. "Trust me, Tess. I'm here for you. I won't hurt you."
She looked up at him then; and Jirrah's heart jerked at the searing emptiness, the hollow, hunted look just thinking of Beller brought out in her. "I know you'll go. I'm not enough for any man now. Just stay until we find Emily—a day, a week. Just until he's gone, and—" She quivered.
He nodded against her hair, fighting the hate for her sake. He had to be strong for her, to accept the words she couldn't bear to say. "I'll be here, Tess. You won't face them alone."
"Hold me," she whispered. "Just hold me."
He drew her more securely into his arms, knowing this was a major breakthrough in her trust. "I'm here, Tess. I'm here." He rocked her shivering form, murmuring soft nonsense until her softened breathing told him she slept. He laid her down on the flattened seat, covering her well, and made the same vow to himself, with the same fervor of two nights before.
If he got his hands around Beller's neck he'd squeeze the life out of him for what he's done to Tess … and as for her father and brother, he'd—
Tess stirred in her sleep. "No … don't. Please…"
He glanced at her, startled. Then he quietly shut the tailgate, locking them in. He crawled onto the makeshift double bed with her. He lay next to her, just watching her sleep. God, he could do that forever. His pagan goddess; his black-haired wild swan. Still so beautiful. And so sad.
Yet just touching her made him feel so strong, so sure: the man he'd once been—with her. Only Tess had ever brought this protective tenderness out in him; only Tess made him ache with a fierce need to hold her, touch her, slay dragons for her. Hold her close against his heart for the rest of his life.
"All right, mulgu," he whispered. "I won't. For you." He smiled at her dreaming face—incandescent porcelain in the light of the rising moon. "And maybe for me, too."
He closed his eyes. Tess snuggled against him in her sleep, and with her whispered words, and in her unconscious touch, Jirrah felt his own healing begin.
* * *
Tessa clutched her bag in both fists. She couldn't move, staring at the building before her. The butterflies in her stomach swelled to the size of eagles. This was it. She was about to find out if her only child had lived or died.
Burragawang Hospital, where she'd given birth, was a pile of dark bricks and old wooden windows built on a tiny hill, ugly even in its garden setting, bathed in soft morning light.
A touch on her shoulder made her stiffen. "Are you clear on what you need to say?"
She nodded, knowing he was watching her for signs of stress. "I've got my driver's license for ID. I ask for the midwife or doctor who delivered her. If there's no staff working here from that time, we ask for the hospital administrator, and explain the circumstances. They'll have records still, I hope."
"There'll he something. Either a person who remembers what happened, or records." He squeezed her shoulder. "Trust me. We'll get through this. We'll find Emily."
She pressed her lips together, bard. "Don't make promises you can't keep. I've heard enough broken vows to last a lifetime."
"Tess, stop doing this to yourself," he said quietly.
"No, you stop." She turned on him like a flash. "Stop trying to save me. I'm a grown woman. I don't need your pity!"
"Good, because it's not what I feel."
She stepped back, gritting her teeth to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. "I know you want to be kind to me—"
"Stop it!" he hissed. "Stop misinterpreting everything I say. Don't tell me what I'm thinking. Damn it, Emily is my child, too! Do you think because I couldn't be with you when you were pregnant and gave birth that she means nothing to me? This is my kid we're talking about. My only daughter! So cut psycho-bloody-analyzing me and remember I might need a bit of support, as well."
She recoiled. Even though his voice remained quiet, totally in control, the memories overwhelmed her and she—
He must have seen her face change, for he softened. "I didn't mean to frighten you." He didn't move; he kept his voice low. "But I'm not just here for moral support. It's not only you who's been affected by this. I never got to see my daughter, to touch or hold her. I'm a father who hasn't been allowed to act like one. We're both her parents. You and me."
After a long moment, she whispered, "Okay." She turned back toward the building. "I'd better get in there."
"We'd better go in."
"Right." She turned her head, giving him a rueful half smile.
Something—a tiny frisson of indefinable emotion—crossed his face as be looked at her. His hand lifted; a tender finger traced the path of her lips with exquisite care, warm and erotic on her skin. "Tess," he whispered, "when you smile at me like that, the last thing on my mind is pity."
Her smile disappeared. Everything in her tensed.
He picked up her fisted hand, scraping his mouth along her scraped knuckles. "I'm not him, mulgu." His voice was low, husky with reassurance. "And don't think I'm here out of pity, or that I don't want you. Not a minute's passed in the last twelve hours that I don't remember what happened in the car yesterday, and think of us making love again." He smiled wryly. "I didn't get much sleep last night. I think I watched you sleep for hours."
Jirrah, telling her he still wanted her. Was it all her life's wishes coming true, or her worst nightmare rearing its ugly head?
She turned and fled inside the swinging glass doors.
He caught up with her inside the reception area, where she was asking a woman whether any doctors or midwives from the time of Emily's birth still worked at the hospital.
"Why?" the receptionist asked, a slight frown on her face. Tessa made herself smile back. "I haven't been back here since my daughter's birth. But we were passing through and thought we'd catch up with them if they're still here, and say thanks. Jean Whitlow in particular looked after me."
The woman's face lit. "Jean's still here—she's been a local for thirty years. My daughter's a midwife on the ward with her. She'll be pleased to see you. Did you bring your daughter?"
Oh, dear Go
d: the one inquiry she should have expected, but couldn't handle.
"We couldn't this trip. Next time we'll bring her, won't we, Tess?" Jirrah put his arm casually around her shoulders.
Tessa forced herself to nod and smile but moved out from under his hand the moment the receptionist looked away.
Finally, the sound of footsteps approaching alerted them to another presence. "Hello, I'm Jean Whitlow. I hear I helped bring…" But the plump, creased face of the midwife whitened as Tessa stood up. "Oh, my God." The woman's eyes flicked to Jirrah, and widened in quick horror. "M-Mrs. Beller, isn't it?"
"Yes." She held out a hand. "I'm sorry if we asked for you under what must seem like false pretences, but I assure you I'm not here to make trouble for you or this hospital."
Mrs. Whitlow didn't take the proffered hand. "I didn't do it. I didn't know I was doing anything wrong. I just wanted to help!"
"I know, Jean. May I still call you Jean?" The woman nodded, looking as if she dared not say no. "I swear to you we're only here for the truth—whatever that is. There'll be no complaints or lawsuits against the hospital or its staff."
The woman's faded brown eyes lowered. "That day haunts me. I've felt so guilty since it happened. I knew something was wrong, but they talked us into it—me and Dr. Mahali both."
Tessa's eyes met Jirrah's for a fleeting moment, hardly daring to believe it could possibly be this easy for them. "My family can be very persuasive when they think they're right."
The midwife's face suddenly crumpled. "I can't do this. I'm sorry. I have to go." She got to her feet.
"No! Please." Without thinking, Tessa grabbed the older woman's arm. "This is my only child. We know you're not to blame in whatever happened. Please," she begged. "If you're a mother, you understand how I feel. I have to find my daughter. Please!"
Jean hesitated, looking deep into Tessa's eyes, flicking frightened glances at Jirrah. "I didn't do this. I didn't do anything. I just followed orders. You understand that?"
"I know that. None of it was your fault. Please, just tell us what happened."
Jean sighed. "I felt so sorry for you. Poor little thing you were, so white and silent—just a baby to have gone through so much." Again her gaze flicked to Jirrah's face, battered and bruised from the car bombing, with a strange incomprehension in her eyes. "That's why we agreed to keep the details quiet."
"About the adoption, you mean?" She held her breath—
The woman nodded. "Normally there must be a professional witness to sign adoption papers—but we allowed the lawyer your family brought with them to sign them. After what happened to you, we could understand your fear and distrust of strangers."
For the third time, the midwife gave that puzzled glance at
Jirrah: searching, wondering, unsure.
Tessa said, "This is the baby's natural father—"
The woman gasped and stepped back, her face convulsed with terror. "He's out of prison?"
They jerked backward in shock. Tessa tripped over a metal ashtray on the floor and landed hard on the thinly padded seats. Jirrah helped her up. "You okay, Tess?"
"What are you doing with him? Why are you letting him touch you? I can't believe you're here with him!" Mrs. Whitlow's cry attracted the curious gaze of the receptionist and a volunteer worker in the reception area. "That man raped you!"
Tessa didn't notice the interested looks from the staff; she stared at the midwife in half-stunned horror. "Is that what they told you?" she asked, in a slow, shocked whisper.
The woman sat abruptly, taking deep, harsh breaths. "Oh,
Lord. Oh, Lord." She dropped her head between her knees, and spoke in a mumble. "I knew something was wrong with those people—but they were so kind and loving with you, I didn't trust my instincts." She dragged in a breath and lifted her face. "Your family said you were pack-raped by four Aboriginal boys who beat you and left you for dead."
Tessa gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, half afraid she'd he sick.
"What else did they tell you?" Jirrah asked quietly. Mrs. Whitlow sighed. "They said abortion was against your religion, being Catholics, so you and your husband had decided to adopt the baby out. They told us you wouldn't go to the police—understandable, we thought. They said you didn't want to talk about it, or see the baby. It tied in for us, because you never made a sound all the way through labor, but afterward you became hysterical. Thinking it was the baby's dark skin upsetting you, we got her out, but you only got worse, screaming for someone—David—over and over. The doctor diagnosed you as catatonic and injected you with a strong sedative. Then we left you with your family."
"And they gave me the adoption papers to sign." She looked at the shaking midwife. "They told me my baby died."
The woman's eyes closed. "Oh, dear God in heaven." Flicking a glance at Jirrah, she added in a voice heavy with irony, "I guess it doesn't take a fool to work out why they did all this."
But Tessa wasn't listening. She all but fell into the seat, tears falling down her cheeks. She rocked back and forth, racked with grief, anger, and at last, a sweet, blessed joy.
"Tess?" Jirrah crouched before her, his face creased with concern.
"I couldn't let myself believe—even when I'd seen the papers," she whispered. "I didn't dare let myself hope for too much. But Emily's alive. My baby's alive!"
"I know. I feel the same." His hand lifted, and stopped halfway. "Our daughter's out there. We just have to find her."
Caught in the magic of the moment she lifted her hand, twining her fingers through his. "I'm so glad we found out together." She whispered, scared that loud speech might shatter the moment.
"Me, too." He smiled at her, and, lost in sweet wonder, she lifted their linked hands to her mouth, cradling the scraped knuckles of his calloused carpenter's hand against her cheek.
Then she looked at the midwife, her chin high, filled with pride. "This is my husband, David Jirrah McLaren, the baby's father. We came for proof that our daughter's alive. Are there any records at all of our baby's adoption?"
Jean Whitlow met Tessa's eyes, a weary apology in hers. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Bel—McLaren. Because the adoption was legal, it's private. Unless your daughter puts her name on a list to find you on either the JigSaw program or the LinkUp program for Aboriginal adopted children, you have very little chance of finding her."
The truth hit her like a physical blow. She felt the blood drain from her face as she turned her head to look at him.
But to her surprise, Jirrah nodded. "I expected that. I've already called the JigSaw and LinkUp offices in Sydney. We have appointments on Monday." He looked at her and smiled, gently squeezing the hand he still held. "Our daughter's alive, Tess, and that's more than we've known or hoped for the past five years. Don't give up now. Emily's alive, and we'll find her."
Tessa felt the warmth of a long-dead hope touch her heart. After six years alone in cold darkness, she had a miracle she'd never dared hope for. Emily was alive. No matter where she was, her daughter was alive.
Even if she could never be her mother, she knew her child lived; and she knew, deep inside, that she and Jirrah would see Emily at least once before Cameron found them.
And looking into Jirrah's eyes, seeing the deep, heated need he tried to hide for her sake, she knew they'd be lovers soon. They'd make love at least one more time before they said their final goodbye.
He might even want to stay with her—for a little while.
She couldn't let that happen. She'd met him, loved and lost him once before, and it turned her into a coldhearted zombie, unable to love. This time, it had to be different. She didn't need love and promises and rings. Lovers for a day, a week, was all she wanted, to wash away the bitterness of her time with Cameron. Then Jirrah would leave to find the life he deserved, with the woman who would give him what she no longer could.
As she turned away, Jirrah turned to the midwife, allowing Tess her moment of private pain. "Are you willing to sign an affidavit about this, Mrs.
Whitlow? Do you think Dr. Mahali will?"
"I don't know about Dr. Mahali, but I will." The woman's eyes glittered with determination. "What happened to you isn't right. You've been cheated of your child." She bit her lip. "But I can't give information on her adoption. Her adoptive parents seemed like nice people, and so happy to have—the baby."
Jirrah watched the midwife stumble over the word, and realized she knew Emily's new name. But asking speculative questions was pointless, because she was right If Emily's adoptive parents hadn't told her the truth, they'd have to back off—for their daughter's sake.
Flicking a glance at Tess's strained face and determined eyes, he doubted she'd give up without a strong fight Emily was her only child—and until Beller was out of her life for good, she wouldn't risk a relationship with a man to have another baby.
That man could never be him—even if he put Beller in prison—because it meant the exposure and possible criminal charges against Duncan and Keith Earldon. For them to be together, she'd have to lose her entire family.
He faced the facts without flinching. He and Tess were still as doomed as they'd been when they first saw each other.
He turned to the counter. "You don't need to have a legal form, Mrs. Whitlow. If you write a letter stating the facts, it's enough to start an investigation into what happened."
The woman slanted a strange, frowning glance at Tessa. He could see the woman's thoughts as clearly as Tess must. What sort of woman has her own family criminally prosecuted, even after what they'd done to her?
Tess drew herself erect. Her eyes glittered. She made no plea, gave no reasons. "I'll meet you outside, Jirrah."
He nodded, and stood before the embarrassed, apologetic woman, waiting, holding out a pen.
He met her outside within ten minutes. He jumped into the van ten minutes later, and handed her three thin sheets of paper. "Her conscience must have been working overtime from the start. She wrote this a week after Emily's birth, with times, dates and names—including the drug Cameron requested Dr. Mahali give you. It was a sedative with a possible hallucinogenic side reaction. They could have told you anything and you'd have believed it, and signed anything."
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