by Jennie Jones
The tags or drawings they’d found suggested the Baxters. It was the kind of irresponsible thing they’d do, like leaving gates open so stock wandered off. What concerned him, though, was why the Baxters were suddenly feeling brave enough to cause serious destruction and damage to others’ property. It was as though they’d changed overnight—or within the last five weeks and three days. That bullet that had hit Jack in the eye suddenly had a poison point. Roper’s nephew. Was it Bivic? But why the tags? What were they up to? Bivic was a professional criminal; the Baxter boys were idiots.
‘Did you see the drawing on the bull?’ he asked. ‘Before the Agatha Girls hosed it off?’
‘No. Why? Is that significant? Was it the same as the drawing at my place?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Amelia Arnold because she was out at the museum sorting things out for the reopening, while he was stuck at his desk sorting out snake and buckled pram-wheel issues.
‘What was the drawing at Mr Roper’s place after his goats were stolen?’ Jax asked. ‘Was there a square frame, like the drawing at my place? Because if there was, then that’s a connection.’
The drawing at Roper’s place was similar to the one on her property but he wasn’t going to tell her. ‘If you want to do a more thorough interrogation you’ll have to go through twenty-eight weeks at the Academy first.’
She eased down, and even smiled again.
He unfolded his arms, and pushed from the desk. He wasn’t supposed to front up to Bivic; the op had said to play it easy and maintain a watch on him from afar, keeping eyes and ears open. They needed hard evidence about the suspected drug trafficking before they could swoop in and grab him.
This was getting serious. He didn’t know what kind of danger Jax was in yet, or even if she was in danger, but he wasn’t about to take chances. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he’d have to ensure she was alert to the situation—and safe. ‘I’ll talk to the Agatha Girls, and to the Baxter parents. I’ll advise you of anything I think you need to know. But I do want to insist, officially and otherwise, that you get those three dogs in the house at night.’
She sighed. ‘I understand.’
He paused, but she didn’t say more. ‘Is it Frances you’re worried about?’
She nodded then looked up at him. ‘Can I say something?’
‘Of course.’ He braced, wondering what she wanted to say and whether it was going to be on a personal level. He hoped to God it was about Frances, and wasn’t going to be about Solomon.
‘Take it easy on Mr and Mrs Baxter, Jack. They’re not bad people; they’re probably sad and sorry people about now. They’ve basically lost all three sons.’
‘Will do.’ He pushed away disappointment that she wasn’t going to tell him about Frances. ‘So will you get those dogs in the house at night?’
She shook her head, not in denial but more as though she was in a quandary. ‘I have to tease Frances into liking them first.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask Billy Baxter over. He’s good with animals, believe it or not. Although Solomon says he doesn’t fully realise how much yet.’
‘Why Billy?’
‘Solomon said Frances was talking to him on the street just now.’
Solomon. Again.
She shot a look at the door behind her. ‘I’d better go find her.’
‘Jax.’
She halted, her face set with a determined expression but there was caution in her eyes. ‘No questions,’ she said.
She meant about Frances. ‘Don’t you think it natural I’d want to know?’
She considered this. ‘I haven’t got my head around having my daughter live with me yet. I still have so much to do. We’re not getting on; you were right about that. I haven’t seen her for …’ She swallowed. ‘We have a lot of getting-to-know-each-other stuff to sort out.’
‘I told you I’d help you. How about I pop over when I’m off duty? I like dogs—most of them like me. I could start up a conversation with her.’
‘To pry?’
He pulled his shoulders back, a rush of frustration filling him. ‘No.’ Is that what she thought he’d do? Ask the girl outright why she was here and what had happened to her father? ‘Do you really think I’d do that?’
‘I don’t know what you’ll do. I don’t know why you’re here.’
‘I told you why I was here.’
‘So why don’t I believe you?’
Because she was too bloody smart, but what could he say? He couldn’t tell her why he was here until all this was over. ‘From what I’ve seen of Frances so far, I get the impression she’s hurting and she’s hiding. I understand about all that stuff.’
This got a little interest from her.
He was more than prepared to tell her about his own childhood and what it had done to him—if she wanted to hear it. ‘Look, I didn’t have the best upbringing. In fact, I didn’t have any upbringing until I was about ten. I saw things going on in your daughter’s head. Things I don’t know about, but that I understand. She is hurting.’ So was Jax. ‘If you want my opinion, at this stage I’d say she’ll do well making new acquaintances with others first—before she feels easy with you.’
She pushed out a laugh. ‘Solomon said more or less the same thing.’
Solomon. Jesus, the man was pissing him off. ‘Is that why he kissed you?’
She threw a look to the barred window, where the blind was still down but the image of Solomon watching the bull was fairly clear.
‘He’s a friend,’ she said, looking back at Jack.
‘Is that all?’
‘Is this the cop asking, or the man?’
‘The man.’ He released the tightness in his expression and spoke softly. ‘We had something, you and me.’
She blew out a breath.
‘We did,’ he persisted.
She shook her head.
‘You and Solomon,’ he said. ‘Have you got a thing going on?’
‘No!’
He pushed on. ‘I admit that when I saw him kiss you, I—’
‘It was a kiss on the cheek!’
‘It was a long, drawn-out kiss on your cheek. I got jealous.’ Instantly. It had fired through him like the blast from a grenade launcher.
She didn’t answer, but she kept her eyes on his. Something was going on in her head but he didn’t know if it was about Solomon or Frances.
A deep compassion for her drowned the frustration about Solomon and concern took over. She was obviously out of her depth with her daughter, and she hated being unable to control herself or her situation. She was used to being the capable one, sorting people’s lives if they wanted or needed it. ‘Isabelle,’ he said softly, using the name he often used in his head. ‘We need to talk about the night I took you to dinner and you disappeared.’
She came out of her reverie with a single blink. ‘You were the one to disappear and we don’t need to talk about that night.’
‘Isabelle—’
‘Jax.’
‘Jax—I can explain.’ He took a small step forwards. She didn’t move. She looked like she was glued to the spot. ‘I was away from you longer than I’d expected and there was a reason for it.’
‘Jack. If I hadn’t left nearly thirty minutes after you took that telephone call, I’d still be sitting there!’
‘I was on a case.’
‘And I was having a really nice time, until you took …’
‘Took what? The call?’ He frowned his concern, understanding suddenly. It was as he’d thought. ‘Did you see me?’ He hoped not, but if she had he couldn’t blame her for shunning him. ‘Is that why you left? Did you come outside to look for me?’ Did you see me with my arms around another woman?
‘None of it matters, Jack.’
‘It does.’
‘I have to find Frances.’ She turned and left the office.
Jack drew himself up. It did
matter. It was the entire matter. But what could he say that she’d find believable? That it was a life or death situation? That he hadn’t wanted her drawn into it, because the woman he’d had his arms around had a homebuilt pistol in her shoulder bag and wouldn’t have been afraid to use it? On Jack, or his date.
Ten
The morning sunrise held a lot of promise for Jax. She inhaled the start of the day and made a pact with the world around her that she would keep going, and even increase the intensity of what she had to do: get Frances on her side, or at least make the girl feel easier and more comfortable. Others were doing it, without even trying as far as Jax could see. She could do it too. She’d been uptight around Frances; that’s what had been creating the gap on top of the gap they already had between them.
She wasn’t used to allowing herself to feel guilt, but that’s what had been holding her back. Guilt. Fear. Worry. Coping with the unknown instead of learning how to work through it. She’d never been the anxious sort who wandered between decisions, needing the backup of others to help her make a judgement. But with her daughter it was as though she’d been cast aside and wasn’t needed for the one thing she wanted most.
There was something else on her mind too, undulating like the swirling depths of an ocean in a storm. Pheromones.
It wasn’t a word she used. She read it in books, or maybe occasionally heard it on the television or radio. But her awareness of pheromones had been awoken yesterday morning. Surprisingly, by Solomon. What was that? Also by Jack. Always by Jack, but she hadn’t thought about it in depth until Solomon kissed her cheek in such a slow, drawn-out manner a second after telling her Jack was probably in love with her—which couldn’t be right. But it was as though by kissing her cheek in that unexpected way, Solomon had awakened her, and since then she hadn’t been able to hold on to the emotional rise of desire whenever she thought of Jack.
He was the first man she’d felt a deep connection with, sexually and mentally. She’d forgotten all the sensations of being desired by Jack, of desiring Jack. She’d pushed them away, until that moment Solomon kissed her cheek, and now all her feelings of desire and sensuality were flooding her.
She ought to be laughing. Two men in as many days had made her feminine responses curl like a puff of warm smoke, instead of no men. Although somewhere she knew she was nothing more than a friend to Solomon.
With Jack it had been electric from the moment they’d set eyes on each other. She’d known instantly that he was attracted to her. As soon as Luke introduced them, not knowing it was a life-changing moment for her, the look of reciprocal attraction in Jack’s eye had pierced her, body and soul. Tall, broad, steady, and handsome in the way a confident man with a sense of humour and a gun on his hip was handsome. Not too tanned, since he probably spent most of his time in offices or the back of vans, but built. Mostly natural, she thought, enhanced by running or weights. Her reactions to him had been stronger than to any other man she’d ever seen.
She’d hesitated, a little shy about having those reactions. He hadn’t. His eyes had darkened, his lips parted slightly—in surprise, surely? Because she’d known he felt it too. Those eyes had homed in on her, questioning her. Wow. Do you feel this?
It had been like meeting someone you’d known in a previous life. Like starting where you’d left off. Passion had filled her, in a wild, overwhelming way, along with tenderness, love and understanding. Crazy stuff she’d never expected and had only ever read about happening.
When Luke had turned his back to talk to someone, Jack had stepped closer and held out his hand. She’d taken it, feeling as though she was about to melt to the floor.
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ he’d said, eyes still fully focused on the depths of hers. ‘Luke talks about you often. I hadn’t expected you to be so lovely.’
It hadn’t been a silly pickup line. He’d meant it. He’d said it softly, as though he found it incredible. She’d almost responded with a ‘me neither’ but fortunately hadn’t been able to speak. She’d had no knowledge of the man and yet had felt bound to him. She’d been drawn to him. Every ounce of him, inside and out.
‘Will you have dinner with me?’ he’d asked. ‘Tonight?’
‘Yes.’ She couldn’t have said no if she’d tried. Her response came as quickly as his question. She knew then and there that she’d likely visit his hotel room that night too, if he wanted her to, and the thought had sent tingles down her spine.
They’d kissed. Just the once, and briefly, before they’d gone into the hotel restaurant. It had been a kiss Jax would likely remember for the rest of her life. The merest touch of mouths, but it had sealed something for her: that there was a man out there who might be a forever love.
How quickly that notion had been dispelled.
She hadn’t expected that he’d leave her in the restaurant while he took another woman up to his room. What a player. How well he’d covered it. And how trusting she’d been.
When she’d left the restaurant, fighting to retain her dignity as waiters glanced at her, probably feeling sorry for her—which she hated—she’d walked steadily out of the hotel. She hadn’t paid the bill either. Let Jack the woman-deserter do that. It would serve him right. She’d regretted not ordering an expensive bottle of champagne or sending a banquet up to his room.
Outside the hotel, her focus on finding the concierge to call her a taxi, or better still hailing one as it passed, her mind must have been more frazzled with hurt and disappointment than she’d thought because she didn’t recognise Jack at first. But she’d noticed the couple in a tight embrace; her gaze going back to them as she looked for a taxi.
She’d frozen as comprehension hit her.
He had his back to her, but she was already aware of him and how he held himself: that slightly sloped-shoulder look, which was only noticeable because he was tall and broad at the shoulder and in the chest.
She shook her head and pushed the mental image away, closing her eyes. But the morning sunrise now spreading across the verandah was still glowing orangey behind her closed lids and the memory of what had happened in the next few minutes was in full focus.
The woman, a skinny blonde, had been pressed against him, her arms around his neck, stroking the back of his head. He’d turned them, and taken her by the hand, talking to her intently as he led her towards the hotel entrance foyer.
Jax hadn’t even known she’d been holding her breath but she’d darted back inside and moved to the other side of the rotating doors so she wouldn’t be seen—unless he looked over his shoulder. Which he didn’t.
They’d walked through the foyer, Jack holding the woman’s hand more firmly than when they were outside. The blonde had been talking to him, but he hadn’t answered. He’d had a studious, almost ferocious expression on his face, eyes front, so intent had he been to get her to the lift.
She’d thought it must be his girlfriend because of the body language between them. It had been obvious they knew each other well, and he hadn’t pushed her off when she’d draped herself around him. Maybe the woman had seen them in the dining room. That could have been the reason for Jack’s scowl. He’d been caught. She really had expected to sleep with him that night. That’s how powerful her feelings had been. Full and sharp, like thunder waiting to crack. She was even filled with scary excitement about it. About what he’d do and how he’d be. About where he’d start. Kissing her probably, but his hands would have wandered her back, his fingers pressing into her spine as he inched his way to the hem of her blouse and ran the palms of his hands up her back. At that point she imagined her arms would be around his neck and she’d be showing him it was okay, that she wanted this and accepted it—and trusted him.
Perhaps it would have been a mistake, but she had no doubt, even with just the memory of how she’d felt in his presence, that she would have gone to bed with him.
Sex.
She sighed and blinked at the sunrise again. She longed to know that it was good and not ordinar
y or a disappointment. That someone, somewhere in the world, could—and would, one day—show her that sex was good. ‘He’d better hurry up,’ she muttered, ‘before I turn eighty-nine and lose all interest.’
It couldn’t be Jack. It could never be Jack. And whatever it was he’d been telling her yesterday in the office about needing a break, about mental stress and coming to Mt Maria for a change of pace—he was lying. All over again.
She turned. She’d better start the day. She had dogs to feed and breakfast to cook for a child who didn’t like her.
Jack watched from the doorway of his office, hands on hips, as Davidson and a first constable led a surly, bad-tempered looking offender into the charge room. The man had been caught driving without a licence and DUI to boot.
‘Davidson,’ he said as the young officer made a move to follow the offender into the room. ‘Take your kit off.’
The officer stalled, open-mouthed. ‘What?’
Jack sighed. ‘Not your clothes, mate, your weapons.’
Will laughed behind him, the first time Jack had heard him giving in to his usual good humour.
‘Put your Glock and your Taser back in the armoury,’ Will told Davidson. ‘We don’t want that nice young man in there getting the opportunity to grab your kit, do we?’
‘Oh, right.’ Davidson grinned and turned to Jack. ‘Thought for a second you were—you know.’
‘Eight, Davidson. Eight.’
‘Sarge.’
‘What’s that about?’ Will asked when Davidson locked the offender in the charge room and headed for the armoury. ‘Have you got him on a scale or something? One to ten on efficiency? Because if so, he seems to operate best around four.’
Jack blew out a laugh. ‘I’m aiming for eight.’
The front office door to the street opened then Jimmy called out, ‘Tea break!’
‘That’ll be Barbara,’ Will said, making his way to the front office. ‘Hello, love.’
Jack followed, checking over his shoulder when he heard the armoury door being locked. Davidson and the first constable headed into the charge room.