Nick’s calm voice sounded in her head, soothing and reassuring. Nothing rattled him. He assessed and acted without fuss. He’d assessed Branko, correctly, and scooped her off the street like a knight on a white charger. In a white charger. She almost smiled at the image.
‘He said as far as the police go she’s a law-abiding person. I think she’s a frightened young girl whose family have disowned her and with no friends to help her. She can’t remember anything much yet. It must be terrifying. I’m the only certain thing in her life at the moment and if I turn my back…’
‘There are options the hospital can use. They’ll see she’s cared for.’
‘I know.’
‘But you feel obliged.’ Ellie placed a brimming mug of tea before her.
Lara nodded. ‘Sort of.’ She began rolling all the playdough into a single lump. Ellie wiped Petey’s hands with a damp cloth and gave him a piece of shortbread.
‘The Chinese reckon if you save someone’s life you’re responsible for them forever.’
‘I didn’t save her life and this won’t be forever.’ She picked up the tea. ‘There was no-one for me. I’m sure his friends knew but people don’t interfere. Especially his friends.’
‘Your family?’
Lara shook her head once. Ellie didn’t press.
‘I said you were a kind girl, Lara. If you feel so strongly and your gut instinct is telling you this is right, then you should try to help her. I’ll be here to back you up if anything goes wrong.’
‘Thank you.’
She drank her tea and swung the conversation to Petey. Ellie didn’t revert to her original question, deflected by the Brooke issue and Lara’s subsequent revelation. Confiding wasn’t easy, didn’t come naturally, but revealing the secret about Tony was surprisingly cathartic. Ellie took things in her stride and said what she thought. In her world men who bashed women deserved whatever punishment was meted out to them, divine or otherwise, and their victims deserved unqualified support and assistance. No question, no argument. Black and white.
Learning to live in this world was a completely new experience.
***
Nick stood on Lara’s front porch waiting for her to answer his knock. He should have phoned first. She’d naturally be wary about opening the door to unexpected visitors after today’s episode. He shouldn’t be here at all tonight, but his car steered itself on automatic, with Nick powerless to prevent it turning down her street and into her driveway. Now a lump was tightening in his belly. Nerves.
He pulled his phone from his pocket ready to dial and warn her but the light came on and the door opened abruptly. She stood before him with a tentative expression, making her look fragile and unbearably vulnerable. His arms almost reached for her to hug that gorgeous body to his, soothe away the fears, assure her that he’d protect her no matter what.
‘Hi,’ he said. Every excuse he’d invented for dropping in like this on his way home from work drained from his head.
‘Hello.’ She clutched the door, half obscured behind it.
‘Are you all right?’ he blurted. ‘I was worried.’ Was she pleased to see him or annoyed? Impossible to tell. His judgement was haywire. She confused his incoming signals like flak on radar. Never very good at picking up on female vibes on a personal level, with Lara he was adrift in a vast featureless ocean. He was way out of practice.
She stepped back without a word, holding the door wide. He walked in and she closed it behind him, briefly crowding against his body in the narrow entryway so her perfume rushed in and swamped his brain again, removing most of the functioning cells.
‘Go in.’ She gestured to the living room on the right. It was well after eight. The baby would be asleep. Two table lamps bathed the room in a soft yellowish light. People danced on the television but she picked up the remote and flicked them off. A nest of cushions piled on one end of the leather sofa indicated where she’d been curled up watching her non-crime show.
‘Sit down. Would you like a drink?’ How different from his first visit when she’d been terse and suspicious. The reason for that was beginning to make sense now, given she had a Branko in her past. Nasty piece of work.
‘I wouldn’t mind a beer if you have one.’ He sat on the matching easy chair next to the sofa. An enticing smell of baking food wafted in the air, reminding him he’d have to pick up takeaway yet again on his way home.
She smiled. ‘I do. I bought some when John next door helped me with the garden. He enjoys a beer.’
She disappeared and returned a few minutes later with a stubbie and a glass of red wine.
‘Cheers.’ He raised the bottle, meeting her eyes. A spark of something crackled but she looked away and sat down on the sofa, rearranging the cushions behind her back.
He sat forward and placed the bottle on the table between them. ‘Lara — Maja. Are you in trouble?’
A steely edge entered her voice. ‘Lara. And no I’m not in trouble. Not with the law. I never have been.’
He held her gaze for a moment. She didn’t blink or look away. Why would she assume he meant with the law? Trouble came in all forms.
‘Are you a widow?’
‘Yes. He died when Petey was about a month old.’
‘Was it a happy marriage?’
‘I told you before. No.’ She hesitated then, the steely resolve wavering as her eyes slid to the wine in her hand. Then they flashed back to his. ‘He beat me.’ She threw it at him like a grenade.
‘Aaahh.’ He slumped back in the chair, absorbing the blast, the information filtering into his mind. ‘I’m sorry.’ What sort of monster does that to the woman he supposedly loves? How could a man raise a fist to such a beautiful, wondrous person?
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘I’m sorry for prying, making you remember.’ And Branko was clearly from that part of her life. No wonder she wanted to run, leave it all behind.
‘I changed my name. And Petey’s last name,’ she said.
‘Why did you choose Lara?’
‘I love Dr Zhivago, it’s one of my favourite movies.’
‘Fair enough.’
She added with a tiny smile, ‘And Lara Croft from the Tomb Raider movies seemed like a good role model, too.’
‘She’s one tough woman. Lara is a pretty name. It suits you.’ He let the implication sit there. She swallowed some wine. Had he gone too far? Wouldn’t do to come on to her if she wasn’t amenable, not after what she’d endured. The last thing he wanted was to upset her.
‘Thanks.’
Was that a little tinge of pink in her cheeks? She put her glass down and rearranged the cushion behind her back. The tight lump in Nick’s stomach began to dissolve as he watched her fiddling unnecessarily, incapable of meeting his eye.
‘You’ll run into people occasionally. From before.’
She released a long slow sigh. ‘I know. This was the first and it threw me. I panicked.’
‘Is that guy a friend?’
‘Not mine, one of my brothers. He lived with us for a while. And he knew my husband. I never liked him much.’
‘Will he cause trouble?’
‘I don’t know. He won’t be able to find me, will he?’ Those big brown eyes opened wide. He almost moved to sit next to her, close enough to throw his arm around and draw her into his embrace.
‘It depends how hard he wants to. Lara, what can he do to you?’
‘Nothing. I…I just don’t want anything to do with that life.’ She sipped wine. ‘He said he always liked me. I think he wants…’ Her face twisted in disgust.
An unfamiliar feeling rose inside Nick, choking at his throat, tightening his lungs, an all-male feeling, strong and pulsing through his veins threatening to drive rational thought into the dust. Jealousy. Protectiveness. Sensations he’d never felt before swamping his brain and his body.
‘If he calls you or turns up here, phone me immediately. Any time.’ He leaned forward. ‘I mean it. Any time, Lara. I can be
here in minutes. I live in Balmain.’
Her tongue ran across her lower lip as she looked at him, unconsciously teasing and tormenting with the promise of a touch more intimate, more passionate than the brief graze of her mouth on his cheek. His fingers tightened on the cold glass bottle.
‘Why?’ The question was no less unexpected coming as it did in a low voice, her meaning clear by the bewilderment in her tone. He couldn’t conjure up an answer fast enough. She continued, ‘Why would you bother? Why are you bothering? Surely you have other, more important things to do.’
‘Part of my job description is to protect the community.’ The glib reply didn’t satisfy her. He knew it wouldn’t. She sat back against her cushions with a tiny frown creasing her brow. He said, ‘You’re a woman living alone. There’s a nutter out there attacking women.’
‘Branko’s not the man who attacked Brooke,’ she interrupted. ‘You don’t think that, do you?’
‘I don’t think anything. I have an open mind.’
Not good enough. Her expression hardened. ‘He has his faults but drugging girls and bashing them isn’t one of them.’
Faults? He’d bet those faults weren’t things like eating with his mouth open or snoring. She was scared of the man. Why defend him? No point letting this drag on. ‘Okay. I agree. I have no reason to think he’s the attacker.’
She snorted her disapproval. ‘Typical police response.’
‘Police work is based on evidence, hard work and instinct.’
‘You have no evidence that Branko did this.’
‘Didn’t I say that?’
‘Not exactly. I think your instinct is telling you he could have.’ She sat upright, sparks flashing from her eyes. ‘My instinct is telling me and I’m telling you, he couldn’t. I’ve known him for nearly nine years, I knew the girls he dated. None of them had a black eye, none of them said anything like that. I know he couldn’t do this. I know when a woman hides something like that.’
‘Okay.’
She sat there glowering at him for a few moments longer. He drained the stubbie. Her wine was still half drunk. He should leave, but despite the little eruption just now she was completely and utterly fascinating. Irresistible. The fact she so staunchly defended a man she detested was proof of a deep well of integrity. It would have been easy for her to cast aspersions on Branko, implying he could be a suspect purely out of malice. Not Lara. The thought warmed him and made it even harder to push himself to his feet.
A gentle ping, ping, ping sounded from somewhere in the house. Lara stood up. Nick took the hint and heaved himself upright.
‘That’s the timer,’ she said. ‘I’d better turn the rice off.’
‘I should go.’
She paused in the hallway, frowning that little frown again as she considered something. He waited with his hand on the latch.
‘Goodnight,’ he said. ‘Sorry to have dropped in unannounced. I’ll phone in future.’
‘That’s all right. Thank you for…for…’ She stopped then restarted in a rush. ‘Would you like to stay and have dinner with me? You’ve probably eaten already. I haven’t. I know it’s late but sometimes I cook something Petey doesn’t like but I have a sudden craving for so I eat later. But you probably have to go. It’s Cajun baked chicken. Maybe you don’t like spicy food. I cooked heaps too much for just me.’
He smiled as the torrent of words trickled to a halt. The urge to kiss her was almost unbearable and the invitation unrefusable. ‘I eat anything.’ Even if he didn’t he’d lie about it to stay with her. ‘Thank you. I was going to stop off at the pizza shop on the way home. This sounds and smells much better.’
That sunshine smile spread across her face. ‘Really? I hope so. I haven’t cooked it before.’
‘Better turn the rice off or it’ll boil dry,’ he prompted gently when she stood immobile and silent, locked in place.
‘Gosh, yes!’ She darted away down the hall to the kitchen. Nick followed, wearing his own widening smile. The pinging stopped.
In the kitchen she was pulling a dish from the oven with a frown of concentration. The lid came off and a waft of spicy fragrance tantalised his taste buds.
‘Wow, that smells fantastic.’
‘Hope it’s not too hot. Chilli hot, I mean.’ Rice was bubbling on the cooktop. She poked at it with a fork and tasted a few grains. ‘A couple more minutes.’
‘Anything I can do?’ Hot chilli? How hot? Not his favourite.
‘Plates are in that cupboard, cutlery in that drawer.’ She indicated with her head as she opened the fridge. ‘We can use the table. Just dump that stuff on a chair.’
Nick moved a newspaper, a couple of children’s books and a box of coloured pencils. A sketch of Petey lay underneath on a piece of scrap paper. Light strokes and delicate shading caught the little boy’s face in deep concentration. A perfect likeness suffused with a mother’s love.
‘Did you do this?’ He held it up.
She turned to look. ‘Oh yes. I doodle a bit.’ Colour, which may or may not have come from the steaming rice, stained her cheeks pink.
‘It’s excellent. You’re really talented.’
‘No it’s not and no I’m not.’ She swung her head away.
‘You should do more than doodle. Have you taken any classes or anything?’
‘Only at school. Art was my favourite. After I married…well…he didn’t like me to draw.’
‘Well, I reckon you should go to art school,’ he said to her turned back. What a miserable bastard that husband was.
She didn’t reply. He set two places then went to the living room to retrieve Lara’s wine glass and his empty beer bottle.
‘Like a refill?’
She shook her head. ‘You?’
‘No thanks, I’m driving.’
She ripped a few lettuce leaves and added them to a green salad.
‘You’ll be able to use your own home grown lettuce soon,’ he said.
A smile lit her face and his heart. ‘Wow. Do you think they’ll grow?’
‘Don’t see why not.’ Such childlike delight in something so simple amazed him. What sort of life had she had? Was Branko a sample of the type of man her male family members hung out with? Her late husband? Was he a criminal as well as a wife basher and a man who stifled the woman he supposedly loved? Not the type of question he could ask a woman who’d invited him to dinner.
This evening was unexpectedly shaping up to be relaxed, friendly and, with any luck, relatively intimate, no way would he spoil it by delving into a past she obviously wanted to forget.
She served a generous portion of rice and chicken and handed him the plate.
‘Is that all right?’ If she kept looking at him like that he’d do something he’d regret. Unwelcome advances weren’t something he wanted her to associate with him. She’d had enough trouble with men sniffing about, especially after her run-in with Branko. The expression on her face had shown only too clearly what she thought of a man’s unwanted attention. He had no reason to suppose she’d think of him any differently.
‘Looks fine.’ He took his plate and the salad to the table.
Lara followed with a pitcher of water and glasses then returned with her own plate. ‘We may need water.’ She sat across the small pine table and picked up her knife and fork. ‘Here goes.’
Nick scooped some rice and juices onto his fork. It smelled delicious. Lara was cutting chicken. He took a bite. The flavours exploded in his mouth like a nail bomb. Cripes it was hot! His tongue went numb. Thank goodness she’d brought water. He poured a glass and swallowed, washing the burning spices down into his stomach.
‘Phwaw.’
Lara hesitated with her forkful in midair, dismay melting her face. ‘Oh dear. Is it awful?’
‘Definitely hot.’
She took a tentative nibble, chewed, swallowed. ‘It’s not too bad, is it? I like it.’ The rest disappeared and she loaded her fork once more.
Nick sliced some chi
cken, carefully avoiding the pools of juice. He took a smaller bite this time. Much better. Tasty without the searing of his tongue and mouth, although maybe his tongue had lost all sensation after that first mouthful.
‘We went to Thailand once,’ she said. ‘I loved the food there. Very hot.’
A shadow flitted across her face. A memory she hadn’t meant to raise. ‘We’ meant her husband, of course. The bastard. Anger churned. He clamped it down. The man was dead. She was here with him. Relaxed, smiling. Safe.
‘I’ve never been out of Australia.’
‘Really?’
Why was that surprising? He wasn’t a jetsetter, he was a cop. ‘Really. I’m basically a country boy. I moved from Goolabri to Sydney and that’s pretty much it.’
‘Where is Goolabri exactly?’
‘West. A bit north of Tamworth.’
‘Are you a country music fan?’
‘Yep. More or less have to be if you grow up out there.’ He smiled into her eyes, happy to tell her about himself if she wanted to know. The information went into that beautiful head but she didn’t offer much about herself. He didn’t expect it. She was still wary underneath the sociable exterior. Tread carefully.
‘What sort of music do you like?’ he asked.
‘I listen to anything. I love music, it…it…’ She looked at her plate, licked her lips then those extraordinary, soulful brown eyes met his. ‘It was my escape.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Mine too. Still is. When things become too difficult at work. People do terrible things to each other.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. Her hand trembled as she picked up her water glass.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’ He cut another piece of chicken and choked when a burst of chilli nearly closed off his throat. ‘Cripes!’ He groped for his own water and downed most of the glass.
‘I’m sorry. Don’t eat it.’
He recovered enough to splutter, ‘I’m fine.’
‘No.’ She stood up and scooped his plate away before he could stop her. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her voice trembled and he caught a hint of tears.
‘Lara, it’s okay. Don’t worry.’
Evidence of Love Page 7