The woman was trouble. In blazing capitals with a trail of exclamation marks a mile long. He should have realised it at their first meeting, and run.
If it wasn’t for the story . . .
Richie’s words rapped loudly from somewhere inside his subconscious. Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve wanted out of features and into reporting.
She’s a source, Seth. Anything more and she’ll hold you back.
He had a story. Several, in fact. Every one headline-worthy.
Detective’s sister latest Night Terror victim. Killer’s vendetta against cop family. Celebrated cop accused of crooked dealings.
No need to wait for the Night Terror’s capture. He already had what he needed to cement himself as a serious contender for the soon-to-be-announced vacancy at the Melbourne Telegraph.
If he had any manner of balls, he’d head for his apartment right now and write the reports. He’d forget about Jayda and the churning unease in his gut, and continue investigating the Night Terror alone.
He stared at the blank screen of his mobile, and swore, even as he swiped and hit redial once more.
‘Can you try again?’
Jayda slid her credit card back across the cluttered glass counter and leaned forward. The spiral of unreality that had mushroomed since she left the forensics lab smacked her square in the gut.
The woman, wrapped head-to-toe in red Indian silk with a matching bindi on her forehead, placed her forefinger on the useless piece of plastic and pushed it back. ‘The machine is saying I must confiscate the card and contact your bank.’ Her gaze darted to the growing queue behind Jayda. ‘Do you have another card to use, please?’
‘You’ve already tried my savings account and my credit card. I don’t have anything else.’ Her hand clenched her wallet. ‘You must have pressed the wrong button or something. I know there’s money in my account, and my credit card should be clear.’
‘I’m sorry. You need to take up that matter with the bank.’ The woman indicated to the man beside her. ‘If you can step to the side and wait with Nadir, I must serve these people. In the time waiting, is there someone you can call to pay for your petrol?’
‘I can pay. If you’d just call the bank.’
‘I’m very sorry, Madam, I cannot do that.’ Her voice had hardened, her head performing a signature side-to-side bob.
The last thing she needed was a scene in the middle of a crowded petrol station.
The woman waved her hand. ‘Please step to the side with Nadir.’
Nadir was tall and wide and would have been enormously intimidating had Jayda not wrestled and subdued men doubly as large, and determined, before. He wasn’t a thug so much as massive. And her black belt in taekwondo aside, she could have decked him in five. Or flashed her badge and escaped the stickiness of the situation.
She was loath to do either.
‘Do you have a mobile to call someone?’ The tone in his voice proclaimed teddy bear rather than villain. She scrambled mentally to regain reason. After all, it wasn’t Nadir’s fault that her bank had stuffed up.
She just needed to find someone to call.
First she tried the bank, clicking through every red hoop their telephone banking system threw at her until she reached the queue to speak to a customer service officer. She was sixteenth—estimated wait time, forty-five minutes. She hung up.
Juz’s mobile clicked straight to voicemail each of the three times she tried. No doubt he was taking a class. Or maybe not. Wasn’t the gym closed for renovations? Either way, he wasn’t answering.
Neither did Georgie, after two tries.
Garry was working, and telemarketers were banned from taking private calls during their shift. Something she knew firsthand after suffering more than enough of Juz’s bitching on the subject.
There was her father, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Darren was still in Queensland, and not due back until the weekend.
She even considered Eric. The thought made her uncomfortable. Damn Seth for that!
There it was. One person remained. And even as she dialled his number, the misgivings refused to subside.
He picked up first ring. ‘Where the hell are you?’
She yanked the phone from her ear and her finger wavered over ‘end’ on the screen. But what choice did she have? There was no one else to call, and no sense angering Seth further. Her absence at her apartment this morning had obviously fuelled his looming tirade, and rightfully so.
Guilt nibbled at the borders of her conscience. She should have phoned. Regardless of how she felt after her foolish late-night call, leaving him to wait for over an hour was thoughtless and inconsiderate and so not like her. What was with his knack of dragging out the very worst in her?
Take stock, Thomasz.
Another serve of humble pie was about to hit her menu, this time with Seth.
Deep breath.
‘I’m at a service station in Macleod.’
‘What the blazes are you doing there when I’ve been waiting on your doorstep for the past twenty bloody minutes?’
‘It’s a long story, but I need you to come and meet me.’
‘And why should I do that?’
Closing her eyes, her hand clutched the cellotaped screen to her ear when all she wanted to do was fling it at that beautiful, infuriating face of his. ‘Because the news I have will be well worth the trip.’
She could hear his exasperated harrumph, then a hefty sigh. A loud bang that sounded suspiciously like a fist slamming against a hard surface.
‘What’s the address?’
She gave it to him before adding, ‘Oh, and Seth, make sure you bring your wallet.’
‘Were you planning on telling me the DNA results were in?’
‘When I knew there was something worthwhile to tell.’
Seth shoved his wallet inside his jacket. ‘And you have doubts regarding my honesty.’
Her gaze darted round the petrol station interior, noting the growing interest—evident and otherwise—of nearby customers. So much for avoiding a scene.
She tugged at his sleeve and tried to guide him towards the exit. ‘That’s unfair, Seth.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ He pulled back, carving rigid fingers through hair already spiked from too much attention. ‘Want to know what’s unfair? A night of tossing and turning because I couldn’t get you and bath bubbles out of my mind. Watching the clock slowly tick towards nine, when all I wanted was to see you again. Then turning up to your apartment with coffee and croissants, which are now staring at the inside of a rubbish bin.’
For a moment he appeared as surprised as she did at his outburst. Then determination replaced the daze. He yanked at the door, striding through so fast she had to jump forwards and grab it before it slammed in her face.
Her heart skipped in her chest. He’d thought about her. Still wanted her. Gripping her purse at her side, she shook her head at the irrationality of such thoughts. And their timing.
Don’t forget his less-than-available status.
Regardless, he’d taken a taxi across town to meet her. She owed him an apology for that at least. ‘I’m sorry, Seth. I’ll make it up to you.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jayda.’ His voice barked back at her, even as he continued his stalk toward Bec’s car.
‘I meant the coffee part.’
She almost bowled into him as he spun round, his gaze raking hers. ‘Of course you did.’
‘You have every right to be angry with me for not calling this morning. But not about the rest of it. You had a date last night.’
His lips twitched, his almost thunderous expression softening. ‘Which made you jealous.’
She scoffed. ‘Don’t kid yourself, buddy.’
‘I’m not the one here suffering delusions.’
God, she hated that he read her so well. Damn that reporter instinct of his.
‘Think whatever you like, we’ve got work to do.’ She jabbed t
he key into the lock and pulled the door open before sliding behind the wheel. Then she reached across to unlock the passenger door.
He said nothing as he got in beside her.
Her fingers toyed with the key ring and its array of charms, as girlie as they could be and Bec all over. At a time when she and Seth should be celebrating steps forward in the case, they were once again at odds. And it was all her fault.
Get a grip! She bit her lip. Time to stop with the verbal and emotional sparring, the constant anger. It was wearing her to the point of madness.
She shook the key ring to find the car key, wishing it were as easy to shake off the strain of the past week.
‘Thanks for meeting me and settling the bill. I’ll pay you back as soon as I’ve sorted things out with the bank.’
He sighed, his hand once more spiking his hair. The urge to reach over and smooth it back, to cup his cheek, lean in and kiss his irritation away, was overwhelming.
She slotted the key into the ignition and wiggled until it twisted and the car revved to life.
He turned to her, lines on his face indicating a weariness she’d never seen in him before. ‘I don’t need your money, Jayda. We agreed to share info and investigate the Night Terror together, and I’m trying my damnedest to make it work. But for that to happen, we need to trust each other.’
She wanted that, too. More than anything. And it wasn’t only about the case, although that was all she could extend to Seth. She wouldn’t step into another woman’s territory, no matter how much she wanted the man. And she did want Seth. She’d lied to herself long enough, and there was no point clinging to the charade any longer.
It was time to face her weakness, and get over it. Suck it up, Thomasz, and move on!
They were closer than ever to catching the Night Terror. Now that Roan Madden had come to light, using him as the link could mean solving the case in a matter of weeks rather than months.
When that happened, Seth would take his story and run. All she had to do was bite her lip and steel her senses until then.
She grabbed her seatbelt and dragged it across her body, clicking it into place. He’d said he wanted her to trust him, and in regards to the case he’d given her no reason to do otherwise. Her fingers wrapped round the handbrake and she nodded.
‘I’ll try.’
The stone in his expression softened.
‘That’s all I ask.’ She felt the warmth of his palm on the back of her hand, and before she could lose herself in the sensation, she released the handbrake and slid her hand out and onto the gear shift.
‘We have a DNA match for the earlier Night Terror murders, but the man who killed twenty-five years ago isn’t the same man who’s killing today.’
‘Damn!’
‘Yeah.’ They shared a grin, and her heart lolloped in her chest.
She dragged her gaze from his. No matter that she’d decided nothing would happen between them, her body was determined to resist.
And it was up to her head to ignore it.
28
She had no money, no credit, and no way of proving she didn’t love the Lost Dogs Home so much that she’d donated her entire life savings to its cause.
Jayda tried to breathe past the hulking rock in her throat. Her mind whirled every which way as she stared at the online banking screen and what she now knew to be the truth—a large, mocking zero where the final balance of her old account used to be.
Not only was she on the hunt for some psycho killer, but now she had a hacker to find. Assuming she wanted to see a single cent of her savings again, that was.
She clicked on the ‘x’ and dragged her eyes from the screen.
As if this little gem wasn’t bad enough, she’d finally spoken to her father and come up worse than empty. Something in his reaction rang bells—an entire concerto of shrill, echoing chimes—leading her to broach the topic of his actions undercover. His answers were evasive, stilted. In effect, he’d said jack-shit.
She’d had no energy left to push and had ended the call without trying. He’d tell her when and if he was ready, and she’d just have to accept there was nothing she could do to change that.
One thing he had done was wire money into her new account, an early birthday present to tide her over until next Thursday, payday. He’d also promised to ask a friend to look into what happened; trace the hacker’s footprints, discover their IP address. All actions she knew pretty much zip about. Sure, the bank’s fraud department would handle it, but it didn’t hurt to get a second party to take a look. Either way, she had little choice but to leave that portion of the investigation to the experts.
A hangman’s noose squeezed at her throat, every move a scramble for safety, as though the ground beneath her feet was crumbling. And she had no idea how to snatch the stability back.
The chair across from her creaked.
Snap out of it, Thomasz! You’re not this person.
She didn’t wallow. She’d never done it before, and would be damned if she’d start now.
Seth bent over his keyboard, a stray lock of black hugging his left eyebrow and the jagged skin she’d never thought to ask about. His bad boy look. Only, he wasn’t the bad boy she’d first thought. He was good. Very, very good.
Quivers flared in her tummy, fanning out into each and every portion of her hyper-aware body, parts tingling in reminder of just how good he was.
His earlier admission hadn’t helped. Since telling her how much he wanted her, the thought had lodged in her mind, never quite forefront, but there, idling in the background, a constant reminder of what could be hers if she threw everything she believed to hell and said yes.
No.
There was too much to do, with a clock ticking until the Night Terror’s next victim. Her body’s urges were the least pressing item on her to-deal-with list. Some things were still in the realm of her control.
She flipped open her pocketbook, clicked her pen and pressed it to the paper.
The story is the most important thing to him.
She stared at the page and her first dot-point in a list that would see her take back control and resist every one of Seth’s charms.
No distractions until you solve the Night Terror case.
If she straightened her mind and what she was supposed to feel, she could return to the job of finding out who the hell had taken over from Roan Madden four weeks ago.
You’re not looking for romance. Love is a lie.
Not that either had anything to do with Seth.
Men can’t be trusted. No exceptions.
That one’s for you, Liam.
Her mind didn’t stop there, much as she hated the thought of placing her father in that same, seedy boat.
He already has a girlfriend.
The clincher.
Six points. More than enough to see her through. She tore out the page, folded it into four and slid it into her jeans pocket.
Now to attack stuff that mattered—the flickering computer screen and the case. Not so much at a dead end; rather, she’d hit a snag. But not one that couldn’t be budged with a little push.
They had a note constructed by someone skilled in paper-making, someone who had access to the kind of glue used in antique book restoration. And a convicted killer in prison, his crimes recurring.
Who was continuing his legacy? Everything revolved around Roan Madden. He was the answer, or someone close to him. Close enough to learn the tiniest details of the case.
She closed her laptop, her gaze meeting Seth’s as it lifted from his computer screen.
‘I’m contacting the prison.’ She stood, scrolling through the list of contacts in her mobile until she found the number. ‘I need to know who’s visited Madden over the past twenty-five years. And I want to see him.’
‘Will they let you?’
Flinted silver jumpstarted the beat of her heart. She pushed her hand into her pocket, fingertips seeking the comfort of the folded page. ‘I won’t give them a choic
e.’
It was bravado of the worst kind. Hopeless. Because without a 464B application and a magistrate’s signature she had Buckley’s chance of an interview.
Unless she found some way around it.
Appreciation filled Seth’s gaze at what was, to her, obvious blustering. The paper scrunched beneath her fingers. ‘My battery’s almost dead. I need to plug it in to recharge.’
‘If you’re seeing Madden, I’m coming.’
‘The only way you can do that is if he adds you to his approved visitor list.’
Bingo! It was like someone had struck a match in a long, dark tunnel. All she needed was Madden’s agreement, which meant she needed to lodge a request. The outcome could go either way, unless she managed somehow to pique his curiosity . . .
‘Jayda?’
Her gaze refocused on Seth. Too early to let him in on her plan, particularly when its success was far from guaranteed. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
She heard the same evasiveness in her voice that she’d heard in her father’s earlier. Like father, like daughter.
No! The word reverberated through her skull and she flinched, shaking her head as if the action could shake the notion which had once given her pride.
Those all-seeing gun-metal eyes squinted. She moved towards the study and away from Seth’s scrutiny. He saw way too much. Plus, she needed to get onto the application now for there to be any chance of seeing Madden this weekend.
‘After your call, we need to talk.’ He regarded her over his laptop. It didn’t matter what sense murmured in her ear, her heart still had the idiocy to jump . . .
‘I’ve been doing some digging into Madden and something doesn’t add up.’
And then, crumple.
Idiot! He’s only doing what you wanted. What you should be doing. Focus on the case, not him.
‘Juliana Madden’s murder was nothing like the Night Terror killings. He used a knife, three stabs to the chest, then one fatal slash across the throat.’
What?
The disparate crimes made no sense. Killers who used their bare—or gloved—hands to kill seldom resorted to knife attack. Strangulation was close-up, personal, leaving the body untouched, virginal, like his victims. She swallowed. His victims, bar one.
Lethal in Love Page 20