The Deception

by Chris Taylor

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Home.”

  “You can’t just walk out of here. Vince might still be—”

  “I don’t care. I need to go home. I managed to get out of here undetected the first time, I’m sure I can do it again.”

  “But—”

  “Goodnight, Will.” Opening the door quietly, Savannah snuck a glance left and right. The corridor was clear. With relief, she slipped into the darkened hall and left without a backward glance.

  * * *

  It was well after midnight when Savannah arrived back at her condominium. She opened her front door and the stench of vomit hit her like a physical force. Her heart pounded in sudden fear. The only person she’d let into her condo was Dylan. Surely he hadn’t been sick in the moments he’d been there? For her to have spied him at the Black Opal, he would have had to leave shortly after she had.

  With a trembling hand, she switched on the lamp that stood on a side table in the hall and spied a large wet patch on the carpet a little further down. Stains marked the wall above it.

  Cautiously, she stepped into the darkened living room and made out the sleeping figure of her brother spread-eagled across the couch. Her breath rushed out on a gasp of relief.

  She must have been mistaken. He wasn’t at the brothel. He was at home. Asleep. And he’d been sick.

  She moved closer to him and put her hand on his forehead. It was warm, but not hot. His breathing was deep and even. Whatever had made him ill seemed to have passed. At least he’d had the decency to clean it up. She’d deal with the smell in the morning.

  With a sigh that was equal parts relief and confusion, she left the room and headed toward her bedroom. Tossing the wig onto her dresser, she kicked off her shoes and went into the bathroom to remove her makeup. She switched on the light over the mirror and stared at her reflection.

  Eyes wide with uncertainty stared back at her. Smudged mascara made her look as if she’d gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson.

  During her drive home, she’d replayed the events of the night over and over in her mind, but still hadn’t come to terms with it. She’d learned Will wasn’t a criminal, but had almost convinced herself that maybe her brother was. Now those concerns seemed ludicrous. Dylan was asleep on her couch. There was no way he could have made it home before her. Could he?

  She frowned. She’d spent time in the main bar and then later, with Will, long after she’d seen the man she believed was her brother. But what if she’d been wrong? What if it hadn’t been Dylan at all, but someone who merely looked like him?

  And sounded like him. She suddenly recalled the voice she’d heard outside the bedroom shouting for the girls. Had it been her brother, or was she mistaken on both counts? It wasn’t the first time…

  She couldn’t deny the knowledge that Will wasn’t a criminal lightened her heart. What weighed her down now was how long it had taken him to tell her. She accepted his explanation, but the fact was, there had been more than ample opportunity for him to call her and not only apologize for not believing her, but to tell her he was in law enforcement.

  Pulling off her clothes, she dropped them onto the floor and stepped into the shower. Setting the water to as hot as she could stand it, she scrubbed her body clean of the night’s events.

  Long moments later, she shut off the faucets and briskly toweled dry. Slipping on a short nightgown, she turned off the light and climbed into bed, grateful for the cool cotton sheets that enveloped her in their softness. Despite her best efforts, her thoughts returned once again to the quandary of her brother.

  Almost immediately, the tension returned to her body. She wondered briefly if Will had made it out and was confident he had. It was easy for a man like him to pass himself off as a patron of the exclusive brothel. He was exactly the kind of clientele they catered to.

  She glanced at the clock. It was past one. In a few short hours, she’d be back behind her desk, doing her best to convince Max to run another story on the Black Opal. One thing was for sure, she was going to speak with her brother first thing in the morning. The very next person in line would be Pete. That man also had some explaining to do.

  Talking to Pete would also solve her problem about going to the homicide guys. She’d tell Pete everything she knew. Now that protecting Will’s identity was no longer a consideration, it was the most sensible course of action. The police would know where to direct their investigation into Malee’s death and could then make plans to rescue the girls, like she’d promised Angel.

  Savannah turned onto her side and tugged the bedclothes up around her shoulders. She was exhausted, emotionally drained and sore. Her feeble attempts on the stainless steel pole had rubbed skin off the inside of her thighs and she hadn’t yet done anything about treating it. She needed to dab antiseptic ointment on the wounds and she needed to get some sleep.

  She closed her eyes and as it did so often, an image of Will filled her mind. She bit her lip against the surge of emotion that burned behind her eyelids. It was a good thing to discover he was on her side—it was. She just had to come to terms with the not-so-good fact that he’d lied to her about it for so long. Delaying the truth was as good as a lie.

  Or could be just as bad…

  CHAPTER 16

  Wednesday morning

  The Daily Mirror office buzzed with the usual morning activity of ringing phones and coworkers who hammered away on keyboards. Low-grade anger and an ever-present anxiety stirred in Savannah’s belly.

  She’d woken that morning intending to have it out with Dylan, but by the time she’d showered and dressed, the couch in the living room was empty and her brother was nowhere to be seen. She’d called his cell phone a number of times, but each time, the call had rung out to voicemail. She’d lost count of the number of messages she’d left, each one more terse than its predecessor.

  What was adding to her tension was that she also hadn’t spoken to Pete. She’d called him an hour ago, but had only been able to leave him a message. Waiting for both men was eating away at her peace of mind.

  The jarring ring of the telephone on her desk made her flinch, reminding her how edgy she was. Snatching up the receiver, she took a deep breath and answered.

  “Daily Mirror.”

  “Savannah, it’s Pete. Before you say anything, I want you to know I’ve spoken to Will. He told me everything.”

  And just like that, her anger resurfaced.

  “How could you, Pete? How could you keep the fact that he was a detective from me? I’ve been investigating the Black Opal. I was knee-deep in it. I thought he was working with Vince Maranoa. I nearly printed a story in the paper about the illustrious Will Rutledge and his double life. I-I could have destroyed him.”

  “I’m sorry, Savannah. I had no idea. The night of the ball, Will gave me some lame excuse about not wanting you to know about his occupation because you didn’t like coppers. He told me he liked you and he wanted you to get a chance to know him before you judged him by his job. I didn’t know until later that he thought you were a prostitute with an active role in Maranoa’s activities.”

  Heat stole up Savannah’s neck and spread across her cheeks. She bit her lip and tried to think of a suitable reply. Before she could do so, Pete spoke again, his voice as dry as the Sahara.

  “Don’t worry, I know all about your forays into the Black Opal, including your attempts to participate in the live entertainment.” He swore succinctly. “I can’t believe you’d be that stupid. Savannah. Who the hell knows what might have happened if your cover had been blown? I think I aged ten years when Will told me.”

  Savannah was flooded with remorse. “I’m sorry, Pete. I didn’t think. The first time I went in there, I didn’t know anything about Maranoa or his reputation. Once I discovered what was happening… I-I had to go back.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police? It would have been a hell-of-a-lot-safer option.”

  “Well, I’m calling you now. I need your h
elp.”

  “Is this about the illegal immigrants?”

  “Yes! I’m so glad Will told you. Oh Pete, it’s just awful! You have to do something about it. I promised Malee and Angel I’d help them. I promised you’d get them out of there.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  Savannah relayed what she’d seen and learned. After she’d finished, Pete was silent. Eventually, he spoke again.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yes! I spoke to those girls, Pete. They’re so young and scared stiff of Maranoa. They didn’t want me to go to the police. I did my best to convince them it’s their only hope.”

  “Leave it with me, Savannah. I assure you, there’s a taskforce already on it. Immigration has been watching the brothel for months. I’m sure it will only be a matter of time before arrests are made and the girls released.”

  “Oh, thank God!” she breathed in relief. “I’ve been so worried! Ever since I saw that photo in the paper…”

  Pete’s tone sharpened. “What photo?”

  “The one of the girl they dragged out of the harbor. I’m sure it was Malee.”

  “Are you telling me we’re not only dealing with kidnapping and the supply of prohibited drugs, we’re also talking murder?”

  Savannah’s heart was heavy. “I-I think so.”

  Pete cursed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this before? I need you to meet with the homicide guys who are working that investigation as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, of course. Let me know where and when. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

  “I’ll get a number for you. In the meantime, stay out of that goddamned brothel before you get yourself killed.”

  Savannah flushed again, but sighed softly. “Thanks, Pete. And thanks for listening. I really appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Wednesday afternoon

  Vince drew deeply on his cigarette and crushed it out against the overflowing ashtray that sat on his desk. Dylan watched him in silence and wondered with more than a little nervousness why he’d been summoned. Eventually, his boss spoke.

  “William Rutledge was here last night.”

  Dylan frowned. Of all the luck… He’d only been gone an hour, two at the most. The asshole must have turned up while Dylan had been at Savannah’s. Watching Vince’s narrow-eyed gaze, he latched onto the first excuse he could find.

  “I-I wasn’t feeling so well last night. I went out for a while to get some fresh air. I-I must have passed out. I woke up this morning in some girl’s bed on the other side of town.”

  It sounded believable and it was mostly true. After failing in his mission to rid himself of his sister and then being sick all over her carpet, he’d hightailed it back to the brothel in time to complete his shift. He’d kept an eye out for her, but he hadn’t seen her and was relieved that perhaps his guess that she’d returned there was off the mark. It was sheer luck he’d made it back to her condo before she’d arrived home again.

  To Dylan’s relief, Vince appeared to buy his excuse. “I hope you showed her a good time beforehand?” he smirked.

  Dylan allowed a knowing grin. “Oh, yeah. I know how to show them a good time, all right. Everything I know, I learned from you.”

  Vince grinned back and then straightened in his chair. “Well, anyway, what I was sayin’ was I spoke to Robert Rutledge and his young whelp last night. I wanted to get a take on him. You know, see if he was legit.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “It’s just as I thought. He’s a rich, spoiled brat who likes to party. He asked me again for some shit and took one of the girls out the back, although I gotta give it to him, he’s got manners.”

  “Manners?” Dylan smirked. “Who the fuck cares about manners?”

  “Hey, Kid, that’s no way to talk to your superiors,” Vince admonished with another grin. “You could learn a lesson or two off young Rutledge. He even bought me a drink.”

  Dylan shook his head, his grin widening. “He bought you a drink? What the hell?”

  “As I said, he’s got good manners. He knows how to show respect. It was good. I got a kick out of it.”

  Dylan nodded, pleased his absence hadn’t caused a problem. “Do you still want me to watch him?”

  Vince shook his head. “Nah, I think he’s good. If he finds out we’ve been keepin’ an eye on him, there’ll be hell to pay. No sense in antagonizin’ a potential long-term customer, especially one as well-heeled as young Rutledge.”

  * * *

  Savannah glanced at her watch. It was lunchtime and she was starving. Although she still hadn’t heard from Dylan, now that she’d spoken to Pete, she felt much better about most of what had been tearing her up inside and was well on the way to feeling normal again.

  Bending low, she collected her handbag from beneath her desk and headed toward the elevator. Minutes later, she strode out of the lobby and into the bright sunshine. Being outdoors always lifted her spirits. The sky was a brilliant blue with only wispy strips of cloud scattered across its vastness. The hot summer air was offset by a faint breeze that blew up from Circular Quay, bringing with it the salty scent of the ocean.

  She crossed the street and entered Hyde Park and the outdoor café on the corner. Pigeons wandered with brazen confidence amongst the tables, pausing occasionally to snatch pieces of fallen bread and other crumbs from beneath the feet of the lunchtime diners.

  Her stomach growled. She moved over to the counter and ordered a chicken and mayo roll and a latte´. A short time later, her lunch was handed to her in a paper bag. With the story she still hadn’t written looming in her mind, she headed back to the office.

  Rounding the corner of Castlereagh Street, she clattered up the flight of steps in front of her building and entered the foyer that housed the bank of elevators. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the security guard who stood watch near the entrance. It was Carlo, the man she’d seen speaking with the bouncer at the brothel.

  No crime in that. They were living in a free country. The man was entitled to work wherever he pleased. She probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it if she hadn’t been aware of the illegal activities going on at the Black Opal.

  The elevator chimed its arrival and she stepped in and hit her number. Moments later, it reached her floor. Stowing her handbag beneath her desk, she seated herself and stared at the computer screen in front of her, mentally deciding what angle she’d take for the story that was due the next day.

  Vince Maranoa deserved to be exposed. Despite Max’s opposition, she was sure he’d support her once he read her story. Even without the celebrity slant, it was dynamite and hopefully would yield another sellout.

  She drew her keyboard toward her and hammered out the first line and then the next. A paragraph quickly followed. She thought about how she’d seen Maranoa and Will deep in friendly conversation and marveled again how much she’d misread the scene. It just went to show how deceiving appearances could be. She was beyond relieved she hadn’t included him in her earlier story. She couldn’t imagine how terrible she’d feel knowing she’d gotten it so wrong.

  Relieved she no longer had to contemplate that possibility, she once again turned her thoughts to the story unfolding on her screen…

  Will, as he’d been the last time she’d seen him, staring at her with concern and uncertainty right before she’d left the brothel, filled her mind. Her fingers slowed and then halted.

  She realized she’d never been in love before. She’d thought she was with Jonathan, but it wasn’t until she met Will that she realized what she’d felt for her ex fiancé hadn’t come anywhere close. Every time she thought of Will, her belly tied in knots. She could barely string two words together when he was near. She didn’t know if it was love, but she was old enough to know what she felt seemed very much like the real thing.

  Did she dare tell him how she felt?

  She sighed. It was times like this she
missed her parents most—as a sounding board for her problems with Dylan; the distressing things she’d discovered at the brothel; her feelings for Will. The familiar tightening in her chest made breathing difficult and a wave of longing washed over her. What she wouldn’t give to be able to call them.

  As busy as her parents’ lives had been, she’d always known they would offer a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen to her problems. But, suddenly they were gone and she’d been left to pick up the pieces. And what a mess she’d made of it. She thought of Dylan and the guilt of her failure weighed her down.

  With an impatient sound in the back of her throat, she continued typing. She’d never been the kind of person to sit around feeling sorry for herself and she wasn’t about to start now. There were plenty of other people in the world worse off than she was—she only had to look at Angel and the rest of the girls. They had everything to feel sorry about.

  Determination surged through her. As soon as Pete provided her with the contact details for the homicide guys, she’d call them. It was way past time she did something constructive to help. Then, when she was finished writing her story, she’d think about finding the courage to call Will.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Savannah, how are you going with the article for Friday’s paper?” Max’s unkempt gray hair bobbed wildly above the partition as he neared her desk. A second later, he peered down at her.

  “I-I’m not quite finished. Give me another hour or so and it should be good to go.”

  “Good. In the meantime, I’ve come to tell you I need you to cover a movie premiere tonight. It’s the new Hugh Jackman movie. Prisoners, I think it’s called. It’s playing tonight at the Greater Union in George Street.”

  “You want me to go? What about Roz?” she replied, referring to the flamboyant journalist who usually covered the social pages.