He’d done it though.
He was in.
Tomorrow morning, the couriers were pushing into Southern Cross territory, distributing drugs to the known suppliers. They’d collect the cash and bring it here, where it would be split into separate bundles to be laundered.
The following morning, he was charged with the task of delivering bundles of the dirty cash to both the drycleaners and the gym.
Grassy was so pissed off he’d split early and gone home.
Home.
Six hours until the deadline, when Dickson would take Josie into Police Headquarters.
Six hours, until they presumed him dead.
It would be unlikely for them to leave at four in the morning though, and he could probably count on Dickson giving him another few hours, til seven at least.
But he couldn’t bank on it.
He needed to get an urgent text to Dickson Cross.
Nate patted his pockets.
Where the hell was his phone?
He’d put it in the cardboard box earlier this morning.
Nate raised his hands and slipped them around the redhead’s waist, pulled her close and held her long enough for the group of Altar Boys to notice and start making a noise.
She began dancing in his lap again.
His “get out of gaol card”.
Nate lifted the girl off his lap and dragged himself to his feet.
If he wanted to get home, his only choice was to go out back — with the scantily dressed redhead.
Ten minutes later, after retrieving his phone and sharing a goodnight joke with the bikies still throwing back the grog, Nate stepped into a bedroom at the back of the compound, right arm draped across the redhead’s shoulder.
He closed the door, pulled his wallet from his pocket and watched the redhead jump on the bed and begin unzipping one knee high black boot.
‘You can stop now. Nothing’s going to happen here tonight.’
The girl stilled, pouted, but then her eyes widened as he began taking fifty dollar bills from his wallet.
Nate pushed himself off the door, crossed the room and sat down beside the girl. ‘Here’s what you’ll do. Go out to the bar and get me a jug of water and three of the portable breath testing kits they keep out there. We use them all the time, so no one will think it odd. Come straight back here. I’m going to sleep for three hours, and then split. You’ll lock the door behind me and stay here until daylight. Get it?’
She nodded, eyes moving from his face to the money, and back again.
Nate raised his hand, the folded currency secured between his middle and index fingers. ‘Two fifty for your trouble now, another two fifty when I leave. In the morning, if anyone asks where I am, tell them you fell asleep and don’t know what time I left.’
‘Okay.’
‘Take the money.’
Nate watched as the girl took the money, stuffed it inside her boot and zipped it up.
He reached out a hand and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb. ‘You’re very pretty, but — girls don’t do it for me — you understand?’
Realisation dawned on the girl’s face, and then she closed her eyes for a second and wailed. ‘This is so depressing. Why are the good looking ones always gay?’
Nate gave her a rueful smile. ‘Just keep it to yourself will you?’
‘For sure.’ The girl tipped her head in the direction of the door. ‘There’s a few out there who won’t like what you are, but I’ll keep your secret.’
The girl pecked him on the cheek and stood up. ‘It would have been a pleasure doing you, gorgeous, and I’m bummed that of all the seedy punters I’ve got, you’re the one paying me to have a good night’s sleep.’
She leaned down and patted her boot where she’d stowed the money. ‘Not that I’m complaining. Any time you need a cover, call me.’
Nate smiled and pushed himself up, staggered a little as the room tilted, though he was sobering up with every passing minute.
‘I’ll remember, sweetheart.’ He nodded at the door. ‘Off you go.’
The instant she closed the door, he pulled his iPhone from his pocket and pressed the button.
The screen remained black.
Panic surged through Nate’s hung over body.
No, not now.
He pressed the button a second time, and a third.
Fuck!
The phone was dead.
Shoving the device back into his pocket, he went into the adjoining bathroom, ran the tap and splashed his face with cold water. He couldn’t risk using the girl’s phone, or anyone else’s, couldn’t leave a trail that could potentially bring the operation undone.
What were the alternatives?
Buy a cheap pre-paid? Finding one in the early hours of the morning would burn time. Time he didn’t have.
He checked his watch.
Five and a half hours until 4:00 a.m. He’d need to sleep at least three to get under .05, possibly longer. Once on the bike, he’d head back to the house in Surry Hills, leave the Harley and walk the few blocks to where he’d parked the car. Not the best thing to be doing in the early hours of the morning when trying to stay under the radar.
Once he reached the WRX, he’d plug his phone into the car charger and send a message to Dickson.
It was his best shot.
His only shot.
Desperate to get some water into him, he drank from the tap, wondering whether the police had got him on camera last Sunday night. If so, they’d be going through the plate numbers of all the cars of interest to them, and it was only a matter of time until they turned up at James Street wanting to speak to him. The missing ute and shorter hair would raise a red flag, but it was critical he protect his cover. He couldn’t risk crossing paths with a corrupt police officer benefiting from an association with the bikies.
Nate clenched his teeth until they ground together, steeled himself as he pressed his fingertips into the tender flesh surrounding the tattoo.
Pain shot down his arm and his vision blurred.
He closed his eyes, dragged in a breath, did it again, harder.
This time, his stomach shifted, spasmed.
He leaned over the cistern and stuck two fingers down his throat.
Short of a stomach pump, it was the fastest way to rid his body of the alcohol.
Chapter 16
3:00 a.m. Wednesday
Josie stared at the flashing numerals on the clock radio and tried to quell the restless anticipation inside her. She shivered despite the warm bedclothes.
Nate had to come back.
Through the wall, she could hear Dickson tossing and turning, and she imagined him lying awake as she was, glancing at the clock, ears straining for the first sounds of a car, or the automatic roller door being raised.
Every hour Dickson did a sweep of the house, and in between sweeps, she tensed every time his bed creaked. She’d hold her breath, waiting, hoping he’d knock on her door and say he’d received a text from Nate.
But so far — nothing.
She closed her eyes, thoughts turning to her mother and father. In her mind, she saw them dealing with the police investigation, besieged with media attention, overrun with calls from concerned friends and business associates. Cancelling plans for the extravagant party she’d never wanted.
While she hated protracting her parents’ grief, even by a few hours, she’d made up her mind prior to midnight. If Dickson came in at 4:00 a.m. to take her to the city, he’d have to arrest her. She wasn’t leaving until daybreak. Surely it couldn’t hurt to wait until six, just to give Nate that extra time to get back.
After all, anything could have happened.
Dickson had spoken out of turn by telling her Nate had been on probation when he’d worked for Luke. But she couldn’t be angry with him. He’d only been letting her know about the woman and child, warning her there was someone else.
She’d kind of suspected it, at least around the time of the engagement par
ty.
And now?
Josie closed her eyes and relived that kiss for the umpteenth time, relived Nate’s body hardening against hers, his groan of pleasure as his arms tightened around her in a crushing embrace. Nate had wanted her last night. There was no way she’d imagined his desire, though she was surprised he’d acted on it, considering the earlier reprimand, and their history.
Or had he merely been craving a woman?
Any woman?
Josie turned over quietly and stared at the strips of moonlight filtering in through the plantation shutters. It seemed unimportant now, when her only wish was for his safe return.
He didn’t know it, but his rejection two years ago had armed her with valuable knowledge. She would have slept with him that night — God knows, she’d been drunk enough and willing enough. But he’d acted with integrity, and in the process set a benchmark for her. From that moment, she knew the kind of man she wanted, and she’d hung onto that, unwilling to settle for second best. Not that she’d compared every man to Nate and found them lacking, but she’d hoped when she settled down in the future, it would be with someone like him, a man in his mould.
Someone strong.
Someone unwilling to take advantage, just because he could.
And then on Sunday night, the real deal had burst back into her life, an undercover cop dressed as a bikie. And she realised she didn’t know Nate Hunter very well at all.
That didn’t mean she believed Dickson.
Nate would never have kissed her if there was someone else in his life, no matter how far away they were.
Suddenly, the quiet hum of an engine fractured the stillness of the night.
Josie sat up and threw off the bedclothes, energy flowing through her veins, heart leaping in her chest. She heard Dickson moving in the next room, and by the time she stepped into the hallway he was already heading for the foyer, gun held close against his shoulder.
He placed a finger to his lips as she joined him, and they stood on the cold tiles, listening as a car came slowly up the road. A sweep of headlights illuminated the foyer through the stained glass panels on either side of the front door, and Josie held her breath, waiting to see if the car turned into the driveway or continued along the road.
It did neither.
The engine cut out, and everything went silent again.
In the shadows, Josie stared at Dickson’s worried face, his gaze on the front door, listening for any sound coming from the road.
‘Go into the living room, Josie,’ he said, a minute or so later when they still hadn’t heard so much as a door closing. ‘I’ll take a look out the front windows.’
She did as he asked, hurrying down the steps. She wouldn’t earn herself any brownie points by insisting she go with him.
Too keyed up to sit, Josie took one of Nate’s trophies off the mantelpiece. Unable to read the engraving in the gloomy light, she wrapped her hands around the shiny gold cup, feeling better for holding one of his personal possessions in her hands, especially one awarded for his strength and endurance. Traits she knew him to possess. Traits he relied on for his survival among the Altar Boys.
‘There’s a car across the road,’ Dickson said a few minutes later when he came back into the room. ‘I can’t make out the colour or model, but from the general outline, it could be Nate.’
Josie tightened her grip on the cup, fear weighing down her limbs. ‘Why wouldn’t he come into the garage?’
‘Don’t know. He could be waiting, making sure he wasn’t followed.’
‘Wouldn’t he have messaged you?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Dickson checked his watch. ‘It’s only three fifteen. He’s still within the time frame. If there was a problem in town, I’d expect to hear from him closer to the deadline.’
Josie breathed a little easier.
‘I should check it out though. Will you be okay here?’
She nodded.
‘Stay in your room, so I know where to find you.’
For the second time that morning, Josie did as he asked, returning to her room and slipping into the corner between the door and wall, just as she’d done the night Barry Simpson turned up.
Trophy still clutched in her hands, she tried to remain positive, despite an almost psychic feeling something was wrong. It was almost twenty-four hours since Nate had left, more than enough time for the thirsty iPhone battery to run down. She’d noticed a phone charger in the WRX the morning they’d gone to get food supplies, so the phone would have been fully charged by the time he reached the city. After that, he was on the bike, and she had no idea whether he had access to a charger in the interim.
And who knew what plans the Altar Boys were making, and how long they’d require him to be there?
There were so many variables, and with no communication, it was all guess work.
But one thing she was certain of. If Nate was in the clear, he wouldn’t be sitting in the WRX outside. He’d want to get the car off the road and into the garage as soon as possible. And he’d know she and Dickson would be worried.
Five minutes later, she was still waiting, trying to hold back the wave of uneasiness threatening to swamp her. Shivering, she peered through the narrow gap, heart thumping so hard she could see the ladybeetles on the front of her pyjama top moving.
Where the hell was Dickson?
Just then, there came a footfall, and the front doorknob turned.
Josie listened, throat like sandpaper from breathing through an open mouth.
Slowly, stealthily, the door swung open.
Outside, the breeze had picked up a little, whispering through the valley like a soft breath, sending cool fingers of air wafting into the bedroom.
And then the door closed with a quiet snick.
Silence.
Nothing.
Josie swallowed the lump of fear wedged at the back of her throat.
Then a man’s voice cut through the silence. ‘Hello?’
Josie’s legs almost gave way beneath her. The man had to be standing in the foyer, listening, just like her.
A shoe squeaked on the tiles, then, ‘Can you come out, girl?’
Josie jumped, as if he’d whispered the words in her ear. It sounded like the same man who’d knocked on the door the other night — Barry Simpson.
Maybe.
She slammed her eyes closed, suddenly four years old again and hiding under her bed, Nanny Kate’s kind voice coaxing her out, the soundtrack to her early life.
Come out, Josie, hiding won’t make them stay, and you’ll miss your chance to say goodbye. Your parents have to go away and you need to be brave. Come on, lead with your best foot.
Josie wanted to scream, and she wanted to curl up on the floor. She wanted to go to sleep so it all melted away.
But it wasn’t her nature to give in like that.
Especially not now.
Not with Nate missing.
And Dickson.
God, where was Dickson?
Come on, Jos. Best foot forward.
She was twenty-one tomorrow, not a four-year-old child consumed by a separation anxiety so severe it delayed her speech, turned kindergarten into its own special kind of hell.
Lips trembling, she stared at the trophy until her eyes stung, finger tracing its sharp edge. She’d learned — until she could speak like the rest of them. She’d learned, until she could swear with the best of them.
A huge relief.
Being able to express herself.
Another squeak on the tiles as the man moved further inside the house.
‘No use hiding, girl. I’ll find you.’
Blood surged through Josie’s arteries, temples aching from the pressure, muscles in her legs turning weak.
‘I need that reward.’
Reward? What reward?
‘I saw your old man on TV, and my son saw you in the car park with Nate.’
Josie stilled. From the carry of his voice, Barry Simpson had gone the other w
ay, towards the kitchen.
This is your safe house. It’s crucial you learn the layout.
Nate’s voice in her head brought strength to Josie’s limbs, and she slipped from her hiding place and glanced at the sliding door. If only she could go over the railing and flee to the air raid shelter, but there was no way off the enclosed verandah.
‘The guy outside. I knew he was bad news.’
Josie’s blood went cold in her veins.
What had the bastard done to Dickson?
‘I need that money. I’ll be good to get you to the police station.’
He was taking a conversational tone, trying to entice her out, desperate enough to gamble on coming into Nate’s house, when he couldn’t possibly be sure of the facts.
The house is a mirror image. Three bedrooms and a bathroom this side. Kitchen, garage and laundry on the other.
Gathering her courage and grateful of her bare feet, Josie tiptoed to the door and listened. The hallway was in darkness, the only light coming from the foyer up ahead. If Barry Simpson went far enough in the other direction, she’d have a chance of making it outside. She counted along in her head as he opened and closed doors along the opposite passageway. The laundry. The garage.
The linen closet?
Praying he was near the kitchen, Josie stepped into the hallway, treading lightly, carpet soft beneath her soles and muffling her footsteps. Eyes trained ahead, she clung to the shadows, creeping closer to the foyer and ignoring every female instinct to run away from Barry Simpson and not towards him. But only the bathroom and bedrooms lay behind her, windows locked, trapping her inside the house.
Arms extended, she gripped the heavy trophy, the need to escape infusing strength into her legs. The landing was ahead, where the carpet met the white tiles, living room to the left, entry foyer to the right.
Two doors.
One leading into the garage.
The other, out the front door.
And then a man stepped into the hallway opposite. He looked straight at her, older, broader than she’d imagined him.
They moved as if a starting pistol had been fired in the fifty metre dash, Josie hurtling towards him, anger propelling her forward. He was thick set, barrel-chested and deceptively fast, and by the time she reached the living room she knew she wasn’t going to make it.
Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection Page 33