‘I thought you were angry because I spoke to that woman.’
‘I was. What did she say?’
‘She liked my boots.’
‘That’s not good.’
‘I know.’
The highway patrol officer was checking the license of the guy in front.
‘Try not to look nervous. We’re just an ordinary couple, enjoying each other’s company.’ His tone turned dry. ‘Shouldn’t be hard, considering my personality.’
‘Yeah right.’
Josie searched her mind, eye on the stocky highway patrol officer waving off the driver in front of them. ‘Um, er, okay, let’s see. Ah, you know what really annoys me?’
‘Besides me?’
‘Apart from you, yes. Those inane customer service enquiries they dole out, you know, “thank you for your patience”, or “how has your day been so far”. I mean, why bother, everyone knows it’s an empty enquiry, that the person really doesn’t give a shit.’
‘Keep going potty mouth, you’re doing well.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘Never mind.’
‘Well, what if one day you answered truthfully?’ Josie turned towards Nate, watching the approaching officer from behind the shield of her sunglasses. ‘What if you said, “well it’s only nine am, and frankly, if my day gets any crappier, I’d be tempted to throw myself off one of the Three Sisters?”’
The highway patrol officer was at the driver’s door, his face at the open window. Unfortunately, he’d caught the last few words of her sentence.
His gaze moved between Josie and Nate.
‘Everything alright here?’
Shit!
She had to fix this. Fast. Nate had risked everything to hide her identity from the Altar Boys. They couldn’t be brought down by the booze bus.
‘Yes, Officer. She leaned across the gear stick and smiled at him, sliding her hand onto Nate’s thigh and giving it a rub. ‘Nate’s a base jumper. We were discussing the Three Sisters.’
The patrol officer peered at her hand on Nate’s leg, and then at Nate. ‘Can I have your licence, sir?’
‘Sure.’ Nate lifted a hand, holding the card like a cigarette, between his index and middle fingers.
The officer took his time studying the licence. ‘Had any alcohol in the last twenty-four hours?’
Nate shook his head, and the officer passed the Breathalyser through the window.
‘Count to ten, sir.’
Josie silently counted along with Nate, and though he looked bored by the whole procedure, she could feel his quadriceps tensing beneath her fingertips.
He got to five when the police officer stopped him.
‘That’s fine, sir.’
The two men swapped test kit and licence.
‘You’re good to go.’ The officer peered at Josie again. ‘Take care, miss.’
He stepped away and moved onto the next car.
Nate closed the window and started the engine. ‘Base jumper?’
Josie dragged her hand away, palm tingling from the heat of his hard thigh, hot from the flush she could feel creeping up her face.
‘I couldn’t think of anything else, and I remembered the climbing equipment in your garage. Sorry for the grope. I thought it might distract him.’
‘It worked — distracted me.’
Josie shifted in her seat, face burning as Nate got the car up to speed again. Just her luck he’d think she was making another pass at him. And she so wasn’t. Granted, she’d snogged him once in a dark corner, but she’d been winging it just now. And yesterday’s faux pas in the garage had been an accident.
‘I thought you’d make a run for it.’
Surprised, she turned to study his profile, only then noticing the light sheen of perspiration on his neck and forehead.
He turned and caught her eye. ‘It would have been your best chance you know, with the police right there.’
‘I know.’
A pause. ‘It must have crossed your mind.’
‘It crossed my mind. But I have a detective right here who knows more about the Altar Boys and what they’re capable of, than a highway patrol officer with a beer gut.’
When he didn’t reply, she returned to admiring the scenery, breathing a little easier, relieved he wasn’t thinking about how she’d rubbed his thigh.
Chapter 7
10:30 a.m. Monday
Nate couldn’t stop thinking of how Josie had rubbed his thigh, the firm stroke of her fingers through his denim shorts, her manicured, pale pink nails sweeping close to his…
Shit!
He’d gone rock hard and broken out in a sweat. And it had nothing to do with the highway patrol officer at the window, or fear she’d leap from the car.
Somehow, he’d known she wouldn’t run.
The remainder of the journey to Echo Point passed in silence, and while he now had his body under control, he decided not to press Josie about her conversation with the woman in the supermarket.
It was enough she’d chosen to stay.
She trusted him.
For now.
But would all that change once her parents arrived back in the country?
He turned into the driveway, pondering his decision to bring her to his home town. There was no doubt it was in his best interest. He was Nate Hunter again, and if he were careful, there was nothing stopping him going after “O” from here. And he could morph back into Nate Jordan if the Altar Boys summoned him to church.
When they summoned him to church.
But was it best for Josie?
The alternative was to take her further away, somewhere far removed from Sydney, like Darwin or Perth. She’d be safer there, they both would, but the operation would be abandoned. Kennett would learn he was a fraud. And the Altar Boys wouldn’t forget he’d double crossed them.
Neither he, nor Josie, would ever be safe in Sydney again.
Back at the house, he put a frozen dinner in the microwave and set two places at the island bench, while Josie put her things in one of the bedrooms. He was unpacking the food purchases when a movement in the doorway caught his attention. She’d changed into green shorts and a black singlet, and with her hair pulled into a high ponytail, looked about seventeen.
A jolt of awareness caught Nate by surprise for the third time in twelve hours. He’d have to be a monk not to notice how attractive she was.
And he was no monk.
He swung around and pointed to the meat pie, potato, peas and gravy rotating in the microwave. ‘Pull up a pew. Lunch is almost ready.’
She padded across to the island bench and slid onto a stool, lifted her bare feet onto the rung. ‘I’m starving.’
‘I know.’ The microwave beeped, and he transferred the meal onto a square white dinner plate. ‘Usually I can do better than this, but it’s an emergency.’
‘It’s fine.’
He set the plate in front of her. ‘Eat.’
Obediently she picked up her knife and fork. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m not the one white as a ghost and shaking.’ He held up a cardboard box containing an identical meal. ‘Mine’s going in now.’
She began eating, and by the time the microwave beeped again six minutes later, she’d polished off about two thirds of the meal.
Nate filled two glasses with orange juice, and smiled at her near empty plate. ‘You sure can eat, princess, for someone so small.’
Right away he knew he’d hit a nerve. She laid down her cutlery and the quick retort he’d been expecting didn’t form on her lips.
‘Hey, don’t stop eating because I said that.’ He searched his mind for a light hearted remark that would wipe the uncomfortable expression off her face. ‘I like a woman who can give her food a good nudge — as well as the alcopops.’
To his surprise, she blushed to the roots of her hair, wouldn’t meet his eyes.
Okay.
This was strange.
So unlike her.
A troubling thought took root in his mind. Did she have food issues, some kind of eating disorder maybe?
‘When I was little, my mother would scold me for eating too much.’ She reached for her glass and took a small sip. ‘She lives by the creed, “You can never be too rich or too slim.”’
‘I see.’
‘She was paranoid I’d gain a whole lot of weight. Dad didn’t care.’
Nate gave a slow nod. So that was it.
No eating disorder.
Just the product of a mother with high expectations.
‘Well you didn’t, and I’m paranoid you’re going to pass out.’
He watched her take another sip of juice and thought back to the night he’d driven her home. There was no question Marilyn Valenti was a very attractive woman, though a little too over-groomed in his opinion.
Her daughter was much more natural.
And a healthy appetite was obviously a sore point between mother and daughter.
He nodded at the remaining food on Josie’s plate. ‘Come on, eat up, you’re looking better already.’
Christ, he sounded like a parent, and his feelings for Josie were, well — he wasn’t quite sure what his feelings were, but they sure as hell weren’t fatherly.
She picked up her cutlery and began squashing peas onto the end of her fork. ‘Since I moved to Pyrmont, I rarely think of those things anymore.’
Those things? ‘You moved out?’
‘Eighteen months ago.’
A chill slithered down Nate’s spine, and it wasn’t the swig of cold juice he’d just taken. If Josie had been at her place last night, he wouldn’t have known where to find her. She would have made it to the police station, and with daddy’s money and influence, would most likely be winging her way to some exotic safe haven in the northern hemisphere by now.
Instead, she was in his kitchen, eating a microwave meal, and he was still in with a chance of arresting both Kennett and the overseer.
They ate the remainder of the meal in silence, then tossed the containers in the bin and stacked the dishwasher.
‘I might try and catch up on some sleep,’ she said. ‘Thanks for lunch.’
She turned away and Nate stood in the kitchen watching her go. Josie was a dark horse, more mature than he’d given her credit for. He could understand now why Allegra Greenwood thought so highly of her. She was quick thinking, brave and feisty, and for that he was grateful. She’d need to be, to get through this. Hell, she’d been straight enough to point out in no uncertain terms that he should get a life.
Like he needed to be told.
Nate worked at the table in the living room for most of the afternoon, retrieving data from the biometric thumb drive he’d attached to a magnet and hidden inside the spare wheel of the ute. With its double password, fingerprint scanner and metal anti-tamper waterproof casing, the thumb drive was the best portable storage device on the market, more secure than an easily hackable “storage cloud”.
While Josie slept, he copied the information onto the electronic notebook he’d taken from the floor safe, and printed out the mountain of information he’d collected.
He’d shadowed every one of the Altar Boys’ inner circle on more than one occasion, and in the clubhouse, he’d hung with those who suffered loose lips after sinking a skinful, while saying nothing himself. At night, he filled databases and spreadsheets with details of known associates, and collated information on the bikies’ everyday movements.
The next few hours were spent studying Google Maps at street level, particularly the area surrounding the dry cleaners and the gym. He memorised every cafe, shop and office until the images swam in front of his eyes. Eventually, he shut down the notebook and rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. No use getting ahead of himself. It could be weeks, even months, before he landed the job of couriering the dirty money.
He glanced at the mobile phone issued in the name of Nate Jordan. No calls. No messages.
It seemed the bikies had gone to ground.
Growing more and more edgy as the news bulletin approached, Nate thought through the police procedure in his head. The arson squad would pick through the remains of the tattoo parlour, but Mulvaney’s computer was ash and Josie’s was locked in his safe. Even if the police commissioned Skype for their server records, they would only get the date, time and duration of Mulvaney’s call to Josie.
‘Hey.’
Nate looked up. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t heard her get up. She was standing in the doorway, face still pink with sleep.
‘Hey.’
Josie ran her hands up and down her bare arms and glanced at the TV. ‘Any news this afternoon?’
Nate pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Lizard Mulvaney’s body has been formally identified. Nothing on you so far. The news is just about to start.’
Josie perched on the edge of the lounge and folded her arms across her stomach, aware of Nate’s scrutiny. She’d stayed in her room until the last possible moment, imagining the media frenzy that was sure to accompany her disappearance. And now, her legs trembled and the blood pounded in her head, so even the familiar programming music coming through Nate’s Bose speakers seemed muted.
And then her face appeared on screen, the photograph taken at her Year 12 formal, nearly four years ago.
‘Ahead in the news. Fears held for the daughter of prominent Sydney businessman, Silvano Valenti. The Prime Minister assures the Australian public the government will turn in a surplus budget, and the NRL footy season kicks off tonight with a rematch between last year’s grand finalists.’
Josie wiped her clammy palms on her shorts, nausea churning her stomach as the network logo disappeared from screen and the cameras panned to the news anchors in the studio.
‘Grave fears are held tonight for the safety of Josephine Valenti, daughter of prominent property tycoon, Silvano Valenti, and his wife, Marilyn. Josephine Valenti’s damaged car was found abandoned in the Kur-ring-Gai Chase National Park in the early hours of this morning, not far from the Valenti home. The high profile couple flew in from Singapore this afternoon. We now cross to Channel Nine reporter, Melissa Manning, who was at Kingsford Smith Airport, when the Valenti’s chartered Gulfstream touched down minutes ago.’
Josie sucked in her breath as her parents came on screen, mother dressed in a smart white suit, shoulder length blonde hair perfectly styled. She kept her face averted, and didn’t once look at the camera.
But her father, as dark as her mother was fair, spoke to the huddle of reporters, his voice accompanied by the constant click of camera shutters. ‘As I’m sure you can appreciate, both Marilyn and I are shocked and distraught to learn our only daughter, Josephine, is missing.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ The whispered words escaped Josie’s lips as at least a dozen microphones were thrust into her father’s face.
‘At this point, I can only say police are doing everything they can to get to the bottom of this matter, and I ask that you respect our family’s privacy during this difficult and trying time. Thank you.’
He gave reporters a brief nod and then handed her mother into the rear seat of a waiting sedan. All around them, police were on hand fending off more questions from the media.
‘Melissa,’ the anchor asked, ‘what do police think happened last night?’
‘Police believe Josephine Valenti’s car was forced off the road sometime between 10:00 p.m. and midnight as she left her parents’ home in Cottage Point. She is the only child and sole beneficiary of the Valenti family fortune. From the moment she was born, fears have been held for her safety, and now the family’s worst fears have been realised. Tonight, they anxiously await communication from the kidnappers, re their ransom demand.’
Kidnappers? Surely the police would have known from her phone call that that wasn’t the case.
And then the picture changed and another photograph appeared on screen. Tears pricked Josie’s eyes and her throat ached with the effort not to
break down. It was a picture of her mother, holding her at some social function when she was about eighteen months old.
Beside her, Nate could have been a statue.
Josie blinked, trying to clear her rapidly blurring vision, heart pounding so hard it was starting to make her feel sick. But she would not cry in front of Nate Hunter. Even now, it hurt when she recalled his words from that earlier time.
‘It’s not your fault you’re young and stupid. But you’re putting yourself in a vulnerable situation drinking like this.’
Clinging to that memory, Josie sniffed and swallowed her salty tears. No matter how bad things got, Nate would never see her cry.
‘What do we know of the Valenti family, Melissa?’ the anchor was asking.
‘Yes, Marilyn Valenti is known in social circles as the queen of Sydney fundraising, helping to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars annually for a variety of hospitals and needy causes. The socialite created headlines once, describing Josephine as her “must have accessory” which raised eyebrows and caused quite a stir at the time. Josie, as she’s known, was highly visible in her early years, but spent most of her young life out of the public eye at the exclusive Ascham School for Girls in Edgecliff. Due to celebrate her twenty-first birthday this Thursday, Josephine keeps a low profile, working as assistant to prominent lawyer, Allegra Greenwood, at the Sydney office of Grace and Poole, and running an early childhood music school on weekends. We ask anyone with information to call…’
The reporter read out the number which flashed on the bottom on the screen, and then the anchor thanked her for the report and moved onto the next story.
Nate muted the sound and glanced across at Josie. She sat lifeless as a shop mannequin, back rigid as she stared blindly at the carpet.
Fighting against a natural instinct to reach out and comfort her, Nate settled for shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘Hey, this is good…’
She moved so quickly, she took him by surprise, jumping to her feet and running from the room.
Nate stared after her.
Okay.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and started to follow, halting when the sliding door in her bedroom banged closed. She’d stepped out onto the enclosed verandah.
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