Eric’s myopic gaze seemed to gobble her up. Regardless of what she believed, the guy had it bad. How bad, was the question.
She barrelled on, her only acknowledgement of Seth’s hand on her elbow a shake to dislodge it. ‘How much do you know about hacking?’
Eric jabbed at the bridge of his glasses, blinking rapidly as his face reddened. ‘How much do you need me to know?’
She bit her lip, her mouth tight with that restrained impatience he recognised so well. It didn’t preclude her obstinacy, or the fact he had to stop her before she did something stupid.
‘Jayda—’
‘If someone hacked into my bank account and emptied it, how easy would it be to find them?’
Like that.
Eric blinked at her through his thick lenses, and Seth couldn’t figure out if it was his myopia or the fact he was riddled with nerves.
‘It would depend on how many routers they used, their method for disabling the action logging capabilities, whether they’ve installed a RAT into your system.’ He paused, whether for a breath or because he’d noticed the lost look on their faces, Seth hadn’t a clue.
Amendment. Jayda’s face. Eric had hardly acknowledged Seth. Perhaps he was invisible, after all.
‘What’s a RAT?’
‘A Random Access Trojan. The hacker may have installed it on your computer so he can easily access it in the future.’
‘Can you find him?’
Eric blinked. ‘Trace him back to his IP address? S–sure.’
‘That’s great! What do you need from me?’
‘Your computer and passwords.’
Jayda didn’t even blink. ‘I’ll drop them round this afternoon.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Is three-thirty okay?’
He nodded, jabbed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued his amble up the stairs.
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’
She pulled the heavy door open and left him standing in the stairwell. When he caught up, she was opening the fluoro-pink car door.
He grabbed her arm and the door fell shut. ‘Dammit, Jayda! Will you listen to me?’
‘No.’ She wrenched free and stepped away, smacking her back against the side of the car.
Her lips drew tight, the flints in her eyes razor-sharp and uncompromising. He couldn’t help wanting to kiss that confounded obstinacy from her. Until she forgot about every other man in her life but him. His fingers jerked through his hair as he drew much-needed oxygen into his brain. ‘How do you know Eric didn’t steal your money?’
‘Because he wouldn’t.’
‘You can’t possibly be that naïve. For god’s sake, Jayda, the man knows computers. He’s obsessed with you, even to the point of being jealous of me. If he wanted your attention, to ride in on a white stallion and rescue you from some faceless hacker, he’s just succeeded. You’re giving him exactly what he wants.’
‘Eric is not the hacker.’
‘How the hell do you know?’
She seemed intent on nibbling the hell out of her bottom lip as she stared at his feet, or hers, he couldn’t tell which.
When she finally looked up, the green of her gaze was steeled in decision. Air whooshed from her lungs and her eyes darted to either side before returning to him.
‘Because he’s former ASIS.’
30
Seth felt his mouth gaping and slammed it shut. ‘Australian Secret Intelligence Service? Eric? No way!’
‘Shh.’ Jayda’s head jerked left then right, scouring the area around them. Ridiculous when she could clearly see they were alone in a deserted parking garage. ‘Yes way. Satisfied?’
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled the door open again. By the time he reached the passenger side, she’d unlocked his door and the engine was spluttering impatiently.
He waited until she’d negotiated through the car park and out onto the street.
‘How could Eric possibly be ASIS?’
‘Because of his sight?’
‘That, and he doesn’t exactly fit what I know to be the ASIS profile.’
She crunched the gears, and the car juddered before increasing speed. ‘A year ago he was caught in the periphery of a bomb blast in Afghanistan. Neither his vision or nerves have been the same since.’
‘Damn!’
‘Mmm. Can we move on now?’ She braked at a red light, but her eyes remained fastened on the car in front.
‘What’s the story with Juz and Garry?’
‘There is no story. They’re friends.’ The light turned green and she switched gears.
‘You seem to have a lot of friends who are men.’
‘I have a lot of friends.’
‘Who are men.’
Lip locked between her teeth, she switched on the radio, catching Freddy Mercury in the midst of breaking free. She turned up the volume. He turned it down.
‘He’s gay, isn’t he?’
‘Who?’
‘Juz.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘What did Chase say about the murder?’
‘Just that there was one.’
‘Anything to set this one apart?’
‘Like a note saying it’s my fault?’
Air hissed through his teeth. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’
She shook her head, her fingers wrapped with iron-clad tightness around the wheel.
‘I’m not a mind-reader, Jayda. If something’s up, rather than constantly shoving me in front of a firing squad, just tell me.’
‘There’s nothing to tell.’
‘That’s it.’ His heart wrenched even as he realised the implications of what he was about to do. His fingers fumbled with the seatbelt clip, before it finally clicked free. The car skidded to a stop at another set of lights. ‘This isn’t working.’
‘What do you mean?’ She turned to him, eyes wide, skin robbed of colour. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was scared.
‘I mean, this.’ He waved a hand between them. ‘We agreed to call it quits if things didn’t work out.’ He checked for traffic before opening the car door and stepping outside. ‘That time is now. I can’t work like this.’
A car edged past, the driver less than impressed with his invasion of her lane.
‘Goodbye, Jayda.’
He slammed the door, heard her call his name but refused to turn. At the pavement, he pivoted back towards the way they’d come, a churn in his stomach he didn’t dare identify.
Car horns chorused, and with a crunch of gears he knew the lights had changed and she was gone.
Before he could think about what he’d done, or why, he dug his mobile from his pocket and pressed speed dial.
‘Huh! So the celebrity still remembers his old friends.’
‘Richie, turn on your police scanner. There’s been another murder and I need an address.’
‘And you can’t ask your girlfriend because . . .?’
‘She’s not my girlfriend and we’re no longer working the case together.’ He waved at a passing taxi, dropping his hand when it flew past with a carload of passengers.
‘Hell, Seth. Are you sure that’s wise?’
‘Discussion closed.’
‘Just tell me you have a story.’
‘We’ve identified the man who was the Night Terror twenty-five years ago. That copy’s with Carson as we speak. But he wants a story on “today”, and that’s what I intend to give him. I’m going to find the present-day Night Terror before the cops.’
He raised his hand, and this time the yellow-and-black sedan skidded to a stop beside him. ‘Do you have a location?’
His friend rattled off the central city address as Seth slid into the back seat and repeated it to the driver.
‘Thanks, man. I owe you one.’
‘Five, to be precise. But, hey, who’s counting?’ Seth was still chuckling when his friend coughed and asked, ‘So, how are you going to get the inside scoop from the outside?�
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‘I don’t need Jayda for the story.’ Rather, he didn’t need the constant battling, but Richie didn’t need to know that. ‘It’s called reporting. You should try it sometime.’
The second the words were out he realised what he’d said, and hated himself for it. He was treating Richie the same way she’d treated him. Unacceptable.
‘Damn! I’m sorry, man.’
‘You should be. Lucky for you, I don’t bruise easy. Plus, I’ve known you long enough to get where you’re coming from, and I’m with you. Frustration’s a killer.’
Seth knew better than to open that can of worms.
Up ahead he spotted the lines of blue-and-white tape, the sprawl of police vehicles and uniforms that indicated a crime scene. He ended the call, paid the driver and jumped out of the car.
Chase stood beyond the tape, but Seth continued to scour the area. No sign of a pink Beetle anywhere.
That was no longer his concern.
Striding towards the scene, he shoved at pictures of Jayda amid flat tyres and car crashes and muggings and too much crunching of gears resulting in mechanical breakdowns. She was a big girl, well able to take care of herself. Hadn’t she told him so, on every occasion possible?
He checked right, then left, and crossed the road.
There was still a barrel of work to be done. He had a career to forge, a name to make. That was where his priorities lay. Not with fiery locks and lush rainforest eyes and a smile that made everything in the world seem brighter.
He shook his head, almost snorting as the irony hit. Funny that he never got to share with her the coup of all coups. The inconceivable news that explained why Roan Madden hadn’t existed until a year before he was married.
Jayda slammed her palm against the steering wheel.
And the moment she did it, she regretted it. The wheel shuddered and wobbled, and the action didn’t do a damn thing towards making her feel better.
Anger blazed all the way from her stomach to her throat, until every part of her burned with it.
The instant she’d pulled up at the crime scene and cut the engine, Hackett had rapped against her window, done that stern, no-nonsense thing of his, then directed her back out the way she’d come.
It galled that she had zip idea what was happening with her case. If she didn’t know better, she’d claim conspiracy; what with her boss’s damned unreasonableness and her father’s overprotective concern.
Grabbing her purse from the empty passenger seat, she made for the stairs to her apartment. It wasn’t until she felt the squelch beneath her feet that she noticed the pool of oil seeping out over the concrete floor. Great! Someone had dropped an entire can of the stuff and not bothered to clean up. She’d never been particularly fatalistic, but there was a part of her that couldn’t help wondering, what the hell next?
She approached the door, scraping at the soles of her shoes until there was no more grease to scrape off.
Something furry brushed against her ankle and she jerked her leg backwards, forcing herself to check before she kicked out and yelled ‘rat!’ Lucky she did.
Tension whooshed from her lungs. ‘Hey, boy. What are you doing here?’
In answer, Tumbles hobbled around her ankle, rubbing the length of his body against her calf, his purr the sound of a well-oiled coffee grinder.
Jayda curled her arm under his stomach and lifted him up. His entire body rumbled and vibrated against her chest as he bucked his head to rub her chin. The strain of the past few hours seeped from her body as she rubbed back, breathing in his warm, fresh scent. A scent of cat and fresh grass.
‘How’d you get outside, buddy? Juz’ll have a fit if he knows you’ve been wandering the streets.’
She twisted the handle and pushed at the door with her hip, cradling the cat to her chest as she attacked the stairs. About time someone fixed the elevator. The novelty of traipsing up and down two flights every day was wearing mighty thin.
At the top, she managed to manoeuvre the door open without too much difficulty and headed straight for Juz’s door. After two rounds of knocking it was obvious both he and Garry were out.
‘What are we going to do with you now, old boy?’
She turned back towards her apartment. Tumbles pawed her cheek and she rubbed her face in his warm, shuddering fur.
‘Coffee for me and a treat of milk for you.’
She took his continued purring as agreement and managed to find the lock and twist the key one-handed.
With the door closed behind her, she shucked her shoes onto the mat, somehow smudging grease onto her top. Great! Again!
Tossing her purse and keys onto the hall table, she fell back into the couch with Tumbles on her lap. A club thumped against the inside of her skull, sending ripples of tension out over her shoulders and down her spine.
Silence echoed loudly around her. This wasn’t how’d she seen the day, or week, ending.
The soft, purring bundle moulded into her lap and she ran her hand over his fur in long, soothing, therapeutic strokes. Her breathing relaxed, the knots in her shoulders and back unfurling. Even the pounding inside her head slowed enough for her mind to move on.
What next?
No thinking about ‘before’, because if she did, she’d crumble into a thousand pieces, and this time there was no one around to put her back together.
She tugged her notebook from her pocket. The cat mewed, clearly unimpressed with being bumped and shuffled and displaced.
‘Sorry, old boy.’
He yawned, stood, arching his back before kneading her lap into an acceptable state of comfort again, the awkwardness of his useless leg causing not even the slightest hindrance.
Jayda opened the pad and started to write.
To do:
Drop computer and passwords to Eric
Contact Births, Deaths and Marriages re. Roan Madden
Research RM online—murder and trial
Contact State Library—check newspaper archives on RM murder and trial
Contact Chase re. latest Night Terror murder and visitor log for RM
Staring at the page, lingering nerves calmed. There was a strange kind of comfort in knowing what she was going to do next.
‘But first, old boy, we’d better let Juz know you’re safe.’
It took her a matter of seconds to text that Tumbles was with her. As a precaution, she texted Garry, too. Texting Juz didn’t guarantee he’d get the message. Much as he loved gossip, modern technology confounded the crap out of him. If Garry hadn’t talked him into upgrading, she had no doubt he’d still use the clunky old relic mobile he’d owned since before they’d met.
Dropping her mobile onto the coffee table, she gave Tumbles one last scratch before standing and placing him back on the couch.
‘Time for a coffee.’ The cat blinked wide amber eyes as it pawed the cushions into submission. ‘None for you. How does a bowl of milk sound?’ He blinked again, before plopping down into a round, furry heap. Undoubtedly a ‘yes’.
She turned. Seth’s computer still perched on her dining table where he’d left it. She continued past and into the kitchen, not nearly ready enough to go there. No doubt he’d be back for it. And when he begged her to allow them to continue working together . . .
Her pride told her to throw his pleading back in his face.
But pride be damned, it had been a week since he’d pushed his way into her life, into her apartment. She’d lived alone here for the past three years, and never before this moment had she felt so lonely in it.
That didn’t even take into consideration the help he’d given to the case, or her. And her appalling behaviour towards him in return.
The microwave whirred as the milk warmed, and as her hand reached for the percolator, she stalled. An empty weariness filled her chest, calling for something stronger. Like the Moscato sitting open in her fridge right now. Light. Bubbly. Sweet. Uplifting.
Tonic for the soul.
At the ding, she
tossed the milk down the sink, then opened a small carton of cat-friendly ‘milk’ she kept for visits just like this one. She poured the contents into Tumbles’ bowl-away-from-home and placed it just outside the kitchen door. Then, wine glass in hand, she grabbed her purse and headed for the bedroom.
A change of top was in order. And a soak for the one she was currently wearing if there was even a chance of saving it. Then she’d take her computer to Eric and he’d find her money. The man was a whizz with anything technology related.
The wine fizzed over her tongue and down her throat, and she took a deep sip before leaving it and her purse on her dressing table and moving into the en suite.
Her white tee went into a sink of hot, sudsy water, then she pulled on another in black.
Splashing her face, she peered at the woman in the mirror. Deep lines rimmed eyes underscored with a smudge of over-weary black.
When had she last slept? Not the fitful, restless sleep of the past week, but a peaceful, satisfying slumber, the kind you woke from feeling refreshed and invigorated and glad to be alive. The kind you woke from on a day when the biggest decision before you was whether to have toast or cereal for breakfast, or whether your coffee should be drink-in or take-out.
With the Night Terror’s identity so close now, those days couldn’t be far away. They would return, and soon, after the killer was behind bars and she was back working in the job she loved. She had to believe it, if only to retain a semblance of sanity.
She dried her face and looped the towel over the rail, moving back towards the bedroom. The sooner she saw Eric, the sooner she could recover her savings and solve at least one puzzle out of the many vying for her attention. Then she could move onto Roan Madden, and any links or associates who could have stepped into his grubby, bloodstained shoes four weeks ago.
As she reached for the Moscato, her gaze took in the copper frame on her dressing table. Her body jerked. Hand and glass collided, toppling the glass from its perch. It bounced and rolled over the carpet, the fizzy pink liquid spreading and seeping into the spotless cream fibres.
Her gut clenched. Her mind screamed. No!
Once the burnished copper had contained a photo much like the one in Bec’s bedroom.
Lethal in Love Page 22