by Chris Taylor
It was almost inevitable that he’d turn to drugs. She was horrified when she’d discovered he was using. He was sixteen and smoking pot. He’d laughed off her concern, telling her she was old fashioned, shouting at her that she wasn’t his mother and she had no right to tell him what to do.
Their relationship deteriorated. No matter what she tried to say and do, he refused to listen. His drug use escalated. He was moody and unpredictable; there were times when she barely recognized him.
Despite the turmoil in her personal life, her career had been slowly flourishing. She’d quickly climbed the ladder from a junior journalist on the Canberra Times to rubbing shoulders with senior staff members who more often than not found themselves walking the corridors of Parliament House.
The thought of covering the often-animated discussions that occurred in the most powerful building in the country excited her. She worked even harder and stayed back even longer, prepared to do whatever it took. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she’d existed for so long on sparse meals and snatched periods of sleep and through it all, she’d borne the stress of living with a drug addict.
But her efforts had paid off, at least where her career was concerned. Six months before her last birthday, she’d landed her dream job. That night, she’d gone by Jonathan’s condominium to celebrate and had found him getting naked with another girl. Two hours later, Dylan had landed in jail.
The reality of her brother’s situation had hit her hard and went a considerable way to distracting her from her heartbreak over her fiancé. Dylan was at crisis point and it was up to her to do something. He was now over eighteen. There would be no gentle raps across the knuckles from the courts. He would be dealt with by the full force of the law.
The judge said as much when he’d sentenced Dylan for being in possession of marijuana. Because it was his first conviction, he’d been given a choice: Go to a court-sanctioned rehabilitation center or do time in jail.
For Savannah, there had been no choice. The day after she’d walked down the aisle as Chloe Munro’s bridesmaid, she’d packed up her home. With her car loaded to the roof with their luggage, she and Dylan had returned to their hometown of Sydney where she’d immediately enrolled him in a rehabilitation program. Within a few weeks, she’d been fortunate to pick up a job at the Daily Mirror.
Six months down the track, she was beginning to question her decision. Despite the enormous bills she paid every month to the rehab center for his treatment, she had yet to see any proof that Dylan had reformed. On top of that, her job was getting her down.
It was a far cry from the excitement and action of Parliament House. Until she’d broken the story on the Black Opal, the majority of her stories had covered nothing more exciting than the occasional break and enter or a pile-up on the freeway. Not that those items weren’t newsworthy, but writing about them wasn’t quite the same as the make-and-break stories she’d covered in the parliamentary press gallery.
Once again, her thoughts returned to Will. She still couldn’t believe how quickly she’d become entangled with him. She’d hoped that by dumping Jonathan and moving to Sydney, the complications in her life would drift away. But Will had become “complication” personified. Was she mad to even contemplate trying to sort out what was going on with him? And did she really care?
She did. That was the problem.
There was nothing for it. She’d go back to the Black Opal. Only this time, she was going to have to do it without Malee’s help.
Determination surged through her. She wouldn’t rest until she had all the proof she needed to expose Maranoa for the criminal that he was. The stories Malee had told her hurt her head and her heart.
She vowed to see an end to it. She would make sure Malee’s brave escape attempt that had ended so tragically hadn’t been in vain and while she was at it, she’d determine once and for all the level of Will’s involvement.
CHAPTER 8
Will leaned back against his chair and enjoyed his first cup of coffee that morning. A few other uniforms and a couple of plain clothes detectives mingled in the tea room, trading idle chitchat and the usual off-color jokes as they prepared for the day ahead.
Pete strode into the squad room and the hum of conversation lowered momentarily, amongst casual morning greetings. Setting his cup back onto his desk, Will stood and followed Pete into his office, closing the door behind them.
Pete glanced at him and then turned to hang his jacket in the locker which stood in the corner of the room. His desk held the usual clutter of papers, files, photographs and endless piles of police statements. Will could relate to the mess.
“Will, how’s it going? What happened to you last night?
Heat flooded Will’s face and his gut churned with sudden nerves. “I-I was wondering if I could ask you a question?”
Pete nodded and took a seat. “Fire away.”
Now that the moment was upon him, Will wasn’t sure what to say. The truth was, he wanted to ask Pete about Savannah. Ever since he’d left her at the hotel, he hadn’t been able to get her off his mind. It was so unlike him. He’d been happily playing the field for years. Not once had he met a woman he’d wanted to spend more than a night or two with.
But with Savannah it was different. He wanted to know everything about her and at the top of the list was why she worked as a prostitute.
He didn’t believe her claim she was a journalist, but there was something not quite right about the picture of her as a call girl, either. Not that she hadn’t been sensational in bed, but there were times when she’d seemed a little shy and uncertain—almost surprised—by her responses. Not to mention her predilection for a number of very intriguing blushes. They weren’t the kind of things he expected from a woman who made a living taking money for sex.
“Come on, Will. Spit it out.” Pete’s brusque order jarred him out of his reverie. Swallowing hard against sudden nerves, he chose his words with care.
“The-the other night, when I was at the Black Opal, I saw a girl there.”
“Surely that’s not unusual.”
Heat stole up his neck. He briefly closed his eyes to avoid the other man’s sardonic gaze.
“What I mean is…um… I-I saw Savannah there.”
Pete frowned. “Savannah? You can’t mean Savannah O’Neill?”
Will glanced away. This was going to be more difficult than he’d imagined. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue. “Yeah, Savannah O’Neill. Of course, I didn’t know it was her at the time, but when you introduced us at the ball last night, I recognized her straight away. After I left with her, we got to ah—” He stopped abruptly, his face burning.
“Talking,” Pete supplied, deadpan.
“Talking, yeah… That’s right.” He cleared his throat noisily. “We got to talking about…things and she told me she was a journalist. Of course, I know that’s a load of shit.”
“Really?” A smile played around Pete’s lips. “What makes you say that?”
Will’s entire face was now on fire. He squirmed under Pete’s steady regard. If only the man hadn’t told him he regarded Savannah like a kid sister. Knowing he had to get it over with, he took a deep breath and met the other man’s amused gaze head-on. “How well do you know Savannah?”
Pete picked up the Styrofoam coffee cup he’d brought in with him and took a sip. “Better than you, I’d say. She’s been a friend of Lucy’s since high school. I’ve known her almost as long as I’ve known my wife. I think we clocked over five years last anniversary. Of course, Savannah’s only been back in Sydney six months, but the girls have always kept in touch.”
“So, you know she’s a prostitute?” Will blurted.
Pete almost choked on his laughter. “A prostitute? You’re kidding, right? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Will’s anger stirred. “Have you forgotten what I told you? This girl, the one who’s been your wife’s best friend for like, forever, was in the Black Opa
l on Saturday night.”
Pete waved his hand dismissively. “You must be mistaken, Will. Savannah wouldn’t even know how to find her way to the door of one of those establishments. It must have been someone else who looked a little like her.”
Will clenched his jaw. “I know what I saw. I was there doing surveillance, remember? I noticed everything. Believe me or not, but she was there.”
Pete sobered. His eyes drilled into Will’s. “Do you mean to tell me Savannah O’Neill, my wife’s best friend, was working in a city brothel? You can’t be serious!”
Refusing to mince words any longer, Will stepped closer. “She was working there, all right. She even performed in the live stage act.”
“What?” Pete exclaimed. “She was performing on stage? In a brothel?”
“Yeah. The Black Opal’s the only brothel in town that offers nightly live entertainment—kind of like a cabaret thing, but there’s no singing and a hell of a lot less clothing. I guess it’s supposed to draw the crowds in—which it does, by the way.
“Anyway, like I said, Savannah danced half naked on the stage with a group of other girls who were equally scantily clad, in front of an almost capacity crowd of blokes in Sydney’s most exclusive brothel.” He glared. “Any part of that you didn’t get?”
Pete appeared momentarily lost for words. Seconds later, he exploded. “Christ! I’m going to kill her! What the hell was she doing?”
“Earning a living, I guess.”
“Would you stop saying that? You don’t honestly think she’s a prostitute?” Pete’s face reflected his incredulity.
Will shrugged. Pete laughed in disbelief.
“She’s a journalist, you idiot! Just like she told you. If you’d been thinking with your head instead of your cock, you might have actually believed her.”
Comprehension slowly dawned, leaving Will speechless. He suddenly recalled the words he’d thrown at her, offensive, nasty words that he’d used with the intention of drawing blood, hurled in retaliation for the hurt and disappointment he’d felt at what he thought was her deception. She’d kneed him in the balls, after all… Fuck.
“I take it she’s a girl who goes to extreme measures for a front page,” Will muttered. “Very convincing measures. I certainly fell for it.”
Pete shook his head. “Are you telling me when I introduced you to her last night, you thought she was a prostitute?”
Will nodded, unable to meet his eyes.
“I don’t believe it! You thought I would introduce you to Lucy’s best friend, who, by the way, happens to be a prostitute?”
He flushed under Pete’s sarcasm. “I thought perhaps she was an escort or something and that maybe the Saturday night gig was a one-off.”
“Hell, this gets better and better.” Pete growled, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. “I guess that explains why you disappeared with her less than an hour after you met? You thought, what the hell, she takes money for sex, why not avail myself of her serv—”
“No.” Will’s cold retort stopped Pete short. “That’s not the reason I slept with her less than an hour after we met.”
“So you’re not denying you slept with her.” Pete glared at him, breathing heavily.
Will fought to bring his temper back under control. He understood why Pete was upset, but he refused to wear the tag his boss was trying to pin on him. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet but brooked no argument.
“The reason I went upstairs with her was because she had me so hard, I couldn’t think of anything else. Yes, at the time, I thought she was a prostitute, but that’s not why I slept with her.” His eyes drilled into Pete’s, almost defiantly. “I slept with her because I wanted to. And she wanted it, too.”
“Bloody hell!” Pete ran both of his hands through the short bristles of his hair. “How did it come to this? I send you in there to get information about the drug ring we’re trying to close down and you come out with this! What am I supposed to tell Lucy? Who, by the way, did not fail to notice your very conspicuous absence at our table. Couldn’t you have at least kept it in your pants until after the ball was over?”
Will grinned, shrugging unapologetically. “Apparently not. Besides, why do you need to tell Lucy anything?”
“Spoken like a man who’s never been married.”
“Tell her you couldn’t get a thing out of me.” Will grinned again. “Let her go and ask her best friend all about it. Isn’t that what girls do?”
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to stay well away from this one.” Pete glanced at him over the rim of his coffee cup. “By the way, what was that bullshit you fed me last night all about?”
“What do you mean?”
“At the bar, when you told me Savannah didn’t like coppers.”
Will shrugged, embarrassed now to reveal how off-base his assumptions had been.
Pete’s eyes narrowed. “She does know you’re a cop, doesn’t she?”
He shrugged again. “I’m not sure. I haven’t said anything to her.”
“What’s the big secret?”
Another flush warmed Will’s cheeks. “No big secret. It’s just… I just…” He stared at the certificates on Pete’s wall and scrounged around for the courage to tell his boss exactly what he’d thought.
“Come on, Will. Spit it out.” Pete’s voice held a tinge of impatience as he began sorting through the mess of papers on his desk.
Will took a deep breath and eyed his commander. “You have to remember I first met her at the brothel. At the time and even last night, I thought she might be involved in Maranoa’s operation.”
Pete’s head snapped up in surprise. “How the hell would you come up with an idea like that?” He shook his head slowly. “Will, I know you’re a good investigator. I read your file from top to bottom when you applied for the transfer out of homicide. I saw all the citations, your success rate, the letters of appreciation. I read it all.” He paused.
“But you’re starting to worry me. You’ve been putting in a lot of hours on this Maranoa thing and it hasn’t even been six months since your brother died. Something’s got to give, mate.” Pete’s gaze was steady on Will’s face. “You refused to take leave after Cole’s funeral, but I think you should reconsider. As much as I hate to suggest it, given how short staffed we are, you could do with a bit of time off.”
Will bit off an instinctive protest and forced himself to remain calm. “I’m fine, boss; I’m fine. You’re right, I have been working hard. I want to nail this bastard so badly I can taste it. And you’re right about Cole. I’m still struggling to come to terms with his suicide.”
He drew in a deep breath and appealed to Pete for understanding. “But I don’t need any time off. I need to be here, boss. I need to stay on the job. I need to stay on this investigation. We’re getting close; I’m sure of it.”
Pete’s nodded, but he continued to look troubled. “Okay, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, for now, but as soon as we’ve nailed this case, you’re taking leave. At least a month. No arguments.”
Will’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Absolutely. You have my word on it. As soon as we have Maranoa behind bars, I’ll hang up my boots—for a week or so.”
Pete offered a grudging smile and nodded his acceptance. Will smiled back.
“You know, whoever wrote that story might have done us a favor,” Will mused.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, to begin with, I was pissed that it might jeopardize the investigation. But now, I think it’s probably just what we need. Maranoa must be hopping mad to know someone’s infiltrated his domain. He’s bound to react in some way. He might get sloppy. This could be our chance.”
“Do we know who wrote it, yet?”
“No, but I’m meeting with the editor this afternoon.”
“Could the story have been written by Savannah?”
Will frowned and for the first time gave genuine consideration to the possibility. “I gue
ss so. That would explain why she was there and the article contained far too much detail to have been written by someone without intimate knowledge of the place.”
“I guess I could phone her and ask?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.” Will fidgeted under Pete’s scrutiny. “I probably need to apologize to her before she finds out we’ve been talking. I wasn’t exactly flattering when I told her I didn’t believe she had journalistic qualifications. Besides, I’m sure her editor will clarify it for us. As far as he knows, I’m merely a curious advertising executive. Whatever his initial reasons for withholding the byline, my casual enquiry as to the journalist’s identity will hardly rouse his suspicions.”
Pete frowned back at him. “Just you be careful with her—you understand? I’m sure you’re a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy.” He shrugged. “That’s your choice. But Savannah’s not like that. She’s a nice girl, a really nice girl. I don’t want you breaking her heart. She’s been down that road before.”
Will nodded, but remained silent. He couldn’t deny the relief he’d felt when Pete told him she wasn’t a prostitute, but he wasn’t ready to think of her as a “nice” girl or analyze his feelings for her yet.
“I won’t hurt her. I promise.”
Pete stared at him for a moment or two and then looked away. “Let me know how you go with the editor. If it is Savannah who wrote that story, she has some explaining to do.” Pete’s face darkened and he shook his head. “What am I saying? Story or no story, she already has some explaining to do and I’m just in the mood to get some answers.”
CHAPTER 9
Tuesday afternoon
“Savannah? Got a minute?” Max’s head appeared over the top of the partition that divided Savannah’s desk from her colleagues.
“Sure.” Savannah glanced up at the editor and then continued to type on her keyboard. “If it’s about the story, I haven’t—”