by K T Bowes
Chapter 45
Hana set off for Achilles Rise after Bodie left for Northland. She took the cat cage and vacuum cleaner, planning to have a couple of hours of serious cleaning before the letting agent arrived to take an inventory. Any damage after Saturday would be the responsibility of the tenant.
It seemed familiar pulling into the driveway, a comforting reflex action. Safety enveloped her as she raised the garage door with the remote and Hana decided she should use the garage more at her new property.
A mixture of nostalgia and fear overcame her as she walked through the empty house, her happy memories tainted by the recent attack. The sun shone and the house looked bright and cheerful. Hana cleaned, wearing her yellow rubber gloves and pushed the vacuum around afterwards. With no furniture in the property, it took little time and she surveyed the mountain range through the front windows. “I never thought I’d leave,” she sighed, pinpointing Culver’s Cottage in the far distance through the geography of the landscape. “I suppose it’s time for a change.”
Hana dreaded the final walk through. She moved around the property remembering another time when it lay empty, awaiting furniture and occupants. In her mind, she saw Izzie and Bodie choosing bedrooms and laughing as they explored the garden. Vik planned where to hang the tumble dryer in the laundry and grabbed her around the waist for a celebratory kiss. His death pulled at her heartstrings, as though afraid he’d be forgotten in the excitement of her life changes. Hana stroked the kitchen bench top, her memories sharp. “We went through a lifetime of hurt, change and love together,” she said to the empty house. “I don’t know if I have the energy to do it all again. How do you justify your stretch marks to someone who wasn’t there when they became part of your body?” She thought of exposing herself to Logan and cringed. Caroline’s face misted into view, perfect, unlined and untainted by the rigors of motherhood.
Hana found walking around the empty Achilles Rise house depressing. Any expected psychological benefits failed to kick in. The blonde man’s attack marred her memories of laughter and happiness, bringing the aftermath of Vik’s death to the fore. “No!” she pleaded with herself. “This is a happy house. Stop letting him spoil it!”
She admitted defeat whilst wiping the last of the kitchen counter tops. Her fingers shook as she dialled the agent’s number. “Hi, it’s Hana Johal.” She breathed in through her nose but the air didn’t help her nerves. “Something’s come up,” she lied. “I can’t wait here for our walk through. Yes, I’m happy to sign off if you want to post the contract to my new address. I’ve cleaned. Yes. Thanks.”
Longing for the isolation of Culver’s Cottage and the promised gates due to shore up her security, Hana let go of her former home’s hold on her emotions. The sound of the cat-flap made her jump and she let out a scream. A huffy Tiger stalked into the family room, his wide eyes searching for danger. He peered around Hana, looking for the thing which made her cry out. Hana hunkered down and called him, but he demonstrated his irritation by skirting the room and sticking close to the walls. “Come on boy,” Hana pleaded. “I know you don’t like change and there’s been heaps lately. But we’re going to our new home. You’ll love it. No dogs, no neighbours, just abundant mice to catch whenever you like.”
Tiger approached with reluctance, listening to the soothing tone of her voice. He softened, whipping her with his tail as he circled and wound his body around her legs. Hana reached for her handbag and produced his favourite treats, letting him eat far too many before picking him up. “Come on old man,” she cooed. “Time to leave.” She cradled his furry body into her chest, feeling him stiffen and start to wriggle. She moved towards the cat cage, open and ready on the carpet. Sensing her purpose, Tiger employed the claws on all four feet, but Hana held on for dear life. “You’re coming home with me, so get over it!” she hissed, wrestling with his wriggling, dangerous form. She won the battle and squeezed the reluctant Tiger into a cage he hated with a passion. The twelve-year-old male sat on a sheaf of newspaper in the bottom of the cage, glowering at Hana through the bars. “Sorry, old man,” Hana sighed. “Believe it or not, this is for your own good! Those children would be far too athletic for you.” She examined the scratches up her arms and winced. “Like I didn’t have enough damage to my hands,” she complained.
Hana bumped the vacuum cleaner down the stairs one-handed, not wanting to stress her wrist further. Her heart felt torn. With two ruined hands, she cradled the cat cage and carried it to the garage, Tiger’s claws swiping at her chest through the bars. “Goodbye,” she said, her voice wobbling as she pressed the remote and watched the garage door close behind her. It felt like scant consolation that she still owned the property.
Pulling up to the intersection, Hana felt numbness invade her body. She rested her forearms on the steering wheel and closed her eyes at a loud mewl from the cat cage next to her. The cat turned around and around in distress and Hana wiped her eyes and steeled herself for the drive home.
Her face looked blotchy and red-rimmed eyes peered back at her from the rear view mirror. She sighed at herself as a car drew up behind her and she pressed the gas pedal to move up to the junction. A gasp caught in her throat at the sight of the olive face staring through the windscreen behind her. “Oh no, oh no. Not again!” Hana turned her whole body to look, the colour draining from her cheeks at the victorious expression on her attackers’ faces. The blonde man in the passenger seat waved and Hana watched his door swing open.
She fumbled for the central locking, shooting the switch with shaking fingers. Tiger chose that moment to yowl an objection at his prisoner status. Already signalling left towards River Road and home, Hana made a split decision and turned right instead. Panic made her pull out without looking. “Sorry, sorry!” she wailed as she narrowly missed a collision with a car moving along Discovery Drive. She flew down the road, driving far too fast. Every junction and roundabout presented her with decisions she couldn’t think through in time. Resolution Drive loomed to her right, the speed of the highway inviting her to put her foot down. Glancing in her mirror, Hana saw the black BMW only two cars behind. When the other vehicles between them indicated left and peeled off, Hana knew the quicker road would allow them to speed up. The driver put his foot down, moving swifter than she dared travel in the built up residential area. Making another split decision, Hana went straight on at the roundabout and flew into the small estate along Farringdon Avenue, twisting and turning in the maze of streets. She drove too fast for the road conditions and prayed for the intervention of a police officer, the only thing which could put an end to the chase.
Hana turned so many times she almost lost her bearings, almost but not quite. Other cars pulled out behind and around her as rush hour traffic increased, separating her from her pursuers for moments at a time. She rounded another corner and didn’t see the BMW in her rear view mirror, but sensed it still pursued her. The Honda nipped through the turns at Hana’s bidding, following a route familiar to her, but a rabbit warren to anyone else. She spotted her salvation, a brick bungalow at the end of a cul-de-sac. The garage door rose to admit the owner’s small Nissan Micra, which she eased into place between a tumble dryer and single chest freezer. The empty space beside it waited for her husband’s station wagon, but he wasn’t due home for another hour.
Hana sped onto the drive, braking at the last possible moment as she shot into the vacant space in the double garage. Ramming on the foot brake, she killed the engine. The Honda lurched as she spun from the driver’s seat, rolling forward until the bumper touched the wall. Tiger’s frantic yowling communicated his angst as the homeowner screamed and Hana slammed her hand over the door release button. The roller door crunched and creaked closed, shutting out the daylight and the black BMW, which cruised around the roundabout in the distance.
“Hana?” The woman from her church recognised her and Hana groaned and bent double. The Honda clicked as the engine cooled, its nose resting against the wall. Hana vomited on Cilla
’s garage floor.
Cilla phoned the police while Hana cleaned herself up in the bathroom. Her knees wobbled like jelly and her clean-up operation halted at the continual need to retch over the toilet. The sobs caught in her throat as she sat on the pedestal mat, her back against the side of the bath.
“Hana.” Cilla knocked on the door. “The police are on their way.” She tried the door handle and stepped inside. “You poor girl. Why are those men chasing you?”
Hana’s answer sounded like the paranoid ramblings of a lunatic and she silenced herself, hearing her words flow in a chaotic mess. “Please can you shut the curtains?” she begged, refusing to leave the bathroom until Cilla complied.
“I’ve done it.” The white haired woman returned looking frightened and Hana rubbed her eyes with sore fingers. Cilla noticed the stitches in her palm and the wrist bandage. “Hana, you’re scaring me. Did they do that?”
Hana nodded. “Yes. Please can you make sure you closed the blinds in the garage? I don’t want them looking through windows and seeing my car. They’ll find me!” She panicked. “You can’t let them find me. Please don’t let them find me.”
Cilla disappeared and returned with news of Tiger. “Should I let him out, dear? He’s howling.”
“No.” Hana shook her head and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I won’t catch him again.” She pulled her phone from her jeans pocket, wincing at the pain in her wrist. “I’ll ring Bo.”
Bodie groaned in frustration. “I’ll talk to someone at the station, Mum,” he promised. “I just reached Whangarei. I’m so sorry, I can’t come back again. Not yet. I only just got home. I’ll make some calls, we’ll get this sorted.”
“You’re late. Did something happen on your way home?” She reverted to type, the concerned mother overriding fearful victim.
“I’m fine. I stopped off for coffee,” Bodie replied, relaying a partial truth. He gritted his teeth, running through a list of people he could send in his stead. Only one fitted the criteria she needed and the realisation stuck in his craw. “I’ll send someone,” he said, his voice wooden.
“Okay.” Hana rang off and sank her head onto her knees. Cilla shuffled her feet in discomfort.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked. “Bill’s gonna open the garage when he gets home. I hope he doesn’t ding your car. What shall I do to stop him?”
Hana swallowed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”
She visited Tiger and he hissed and spat from his cage, baring his teeth in anger. “He’s a ferocious little thing, isn’t he?” Cilla commented, stepping back as the black and white demon launched himself at the cage bars.
Hana wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “He hates the cage. I can’t let him out though, not while he’s this upset. He’ll run away.”
They formulated a plan and Cilla wheeled a wheelbarrow in front of the garage door, to stop her tired husband opening it and driving straight in. Hana hid around the corner of the house, checking the road as Cilla treated the episode like a detective novel. “Bill’s on autopilot after a long shift,” she called. “Oh, I should shut up. The neighbours will think I’m talking to myself.” Her face coloured at the sight of the long, sleek vehicle pulling onto the drive. “Someone’s here!” she hissed, sending Hana fleeing back to the safety of the bathroom.
“It’s the cops.” Cilla knocked on the locked door. “And another man.” She stepped back at the sound of running water and shrugged at the handsome male at her shoulder.
Logan knocked. “Hana, open the door,” he insisted.
She dried her face on her shirt, mascara streaking her cheeks and making her reluctant to dirty Cilla’s neat towel. She sniffed and cursed as the water aggravated her stitches. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Bodie shouldn’t have called you.” She leaned her bum against the sink, making no move towards giving him entry.
The lock resounded with a click and Logan stepped through the door, dipping his head to clear the frame above. Hana gaped in surprise at the ease with which he invaded. His arms felt safe and Hana closed her eyes against the wave of relief which shook her body. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered and he stroked her hair.
“I’m exactly where I should be,” he replied. “Come and talk to the cops.”
“Did they hide their car?” Hana demanded, pulling back and staring up into his face. “What about your truck?”
Logan rubbed her shoulders in a calming, rhythmic motion. “My bike’s hidden down the side of the house and the cops came in an unmarked vehicle.” His crows’ feet showed at the corners of his eyes as he winced. “They look like teenagers though.”
“No!” Hana wailed. “They won’t believe me. They’ll think I imagined it.”
“I believe you.” Logan pressed her cheek into his chest. “Bodie believes you.” He smoothed his thumb beneath her eye and wiped the dark mascara on his jeans. “Come and speak to them. Let’s get this over with.”
Hana ran through her story while the cops made notes. “A BMW followed me out of Achilles Rise and chased me here.”
“So what?” the younger of the two replied. “How can you be sure they followed you and weren’t driving in the same direction?”
Hana heard Logan give an exaggerated sigh. “I saw the driver’s face,” she implored. “It’s the same man who dinged the back of my car and broke into my home. The passenger did this.” She lifted both hands to show the wrist bandage and stitches. “You’re supposed to have caught them by now.”
Both cops looked sceptical but heard her out, scribbling in their pocketbooks as she explained the reason for her sudden, uninvited entrance into poor Cilla’s garage. “They’ll kill me next time,” she asserted, her eyes widening in fear.
Logan reached for her shaking right hand, stroking the inside of her wrist to avoid the stitches. She clung to the lifeline he offered as the cops gave platitudes and promises of increased vigilance.
After the cops left, Logan excused himself. “I need to call Bodie back,” he said, releasing Hana’s hand. “I promised.” He walked outside into the darkening garden, accepting the coffee Cilla pushed into his hand. Bodie answered the call straight away. “They don’t believe her, mate. They think she imagined it. They’ve logged it, but aren’t taking her seriously. You need to go back to that detective, the one who visited the house after the attack. Odering.” He said the name through gritted teeth.
“Okay. I’ll do it now.” Bodie gritted his teeth, sounding livid. He outranked both of the detectives who sat in Cilla’s lounge for an hour, drinking her coffee and dispelling Hana’s fears with empty clichés. “Put me onto Aunty Cilla,” he demanded. “She knows me. I’ll ask her to swap cars with Mum for the weekend until we can sort something else out.”
“This has gone on for too long,” Logan said, lowering his voice as Hana wandered into the garden and heaved in gulps of night air. “I think someone’s using her as bait.”
Bodie denied the claim with an immediacy that only heightened Logan’s suspicions. Cilla agreed to the swap as Bill arrived home and assured them they wouldn’t need the tiny car until Monday. Logan loaded Hana’s possessions into the Micra and put the spitting cat on the back seat next to the vacuum. Tiger spat at him and took a swipe at his fingers through the bars. “Don’t start, buster,” Logan threatened from between gritted teeth. He pulled his hand back in time. “You’ve no idea what problems cutting me will cause.”
Hana handed the Honda keys over to her friend with great reluctance and followed Logan to the Gordonton house. He rode his bike ahead of her at a steady pace.
Logan locked his bike in the garage, picked up some clothes and drove Hana home to Culver’s Cottage. He struggled with the driver’s seat, his legs so long he had to push the seat right back. “The truck’s not a good idea,” he said. “If they’ve watched you, they’ll know the registration number. I don’t want them to follow you to Culver’s Cottage otherwise it’s game over.” He pulled a black baseball cap dow
n over his face and Hana covered her distinctive red hair with a hooded fleece Cilla lent her. Darkness shrouded her house and Logan made her lock herself in the car. “Stay here,” he insisted. “I’ll check the property. Any trouble, just dial the cops and drive.” He waited until she’d clambered across into the driver’s seat.
His knock on the window made her start and her wide, green eyes glinted in the moonlight. She unlocked the door and Logan squatted down next to her. “It looks undisturbed,” he said, his lips curving upwards into a smile. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I wish the gates were already installed.” Hana rubbed her hand over her eyes, frustrated when she caught the stitches in her palm for the millionth time. “Ow-er!” she complained, flashing her beautiful redheaded temper.
Logan pursed his lips in response. “You’re gorgeous when you’re mad,” he said, his admiration lightening the mood.
Hana raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t say that if you had to live with me,” she said, her sentence tailing off as awkwardness overcame her.
“Would too.” Logan pulled her from the car and kissed the top of her head. “You’re gorgeous. Mad or not mad. I like both.”
“Idiot!” Hana slapped his chest and then swore, stamping her foot as the stitches smarted. “Take them out!” She waved her hand in his face. “Please, take them out for me.”
“No.” Logan caught her by the wrist and turned her hand over. He pulled her into the house so he could look under the hall light. “Not tonight.”
“But they hurt and itch.” Hana tried to drag her hand back and he raised an eyebrow and looked closer.
“Did you already have a go at these?” The suspicion in his tone made her blush.
“No.”
“Liar!” Logan smirked. “What did you use? Garden shears.”
“Kitchen scissors.” Hana pouted. “I felt desperate.”
Logan shook his head. “Tomorrow. I’ll look at them tomorrow but I want decent scissors, wahine.”
Tiger yowled from the car and Hana steeled herself to brave his fury. Logan used the handle to carry the cage in and Hana opened the grate. The angry cat sprang through the gap in a single fluid leap. He shot her a filthy look and ran towards the back of the house, his fur standing on end in warning. Hana found him sitting in the middle of her bed with a cross look on his face, conflict licking his paws until they were soaked and shiny. She put down bowls of kibbles and water and set out the litter tray near the front door. “I should keep him indoors for a while,” she said to Logan as he watched her activity. “What if he tries to find his way back to Hamilton?”
“No idea, sorry,” Logan replied, nosing around in the fridge. The door sounded its warning beep when he kept it open too long. “Sorry.” Logan appeared with a packet of chocolate biscuits. “I guess this is dinner.” He pushed the fridge door closed with his heel, leaning across to fill the kettle.
Hana rested her spine against the pantry door, looking around the newly painted kitchen. “What a bloody mess,” she sighed, her eyes blank as she contemplated her tumultuous life.
“I thought it looked ok,” Logan replied, looking in surprise at the clean walls and shiny floor.
“My life!” Hana exploded. “My stupid, messy life!”
Logan set the kettle to boil, wiped his hands on his trousers and walked across to Hana, wrapping his arms around her. She felt rigid, unyielding and shock iced her bones. “You’re freezing,” he breathed into her neck, rubbing her arms to warm her. “I’ll make a hot drink and you need to eat something. Fancy a biscuit?”
Hana shook her head. “I can’t. There’s a hard lump in my chest that won’t go away.”
“It’s okay.” He rocked her with a gentle motion and she closed her eyes and enjoyed the comfort and security his arms offered. When he broke the contact, Hana felt the lack of it.
Logan made her a hot tea, dunking the tea bag into the mug and adding milk before it stewed. Hana winced, but kept her British criticism of his tea making skills to herself. “How about a hot bath?” he offered, putting the mug down in front of her. “It might help.”
Hana shrugged. “I can’t think straight.”
He disappeared into the bathroom and Hana picked at a blob of paint on the table. She heard the sound of running water and the pipes set up their awful screechy song. “You stupid, stupid woman!” she berated herself, squeezing her fists into her eyes. “Why did you wish for excitement and love? You know it all comes at a cost!”
After ten minutes, Logan reappeared with her dressing gown and a clean towel. “Come on, a nice bath will help you relax. I’ll open a bottle of wine and bring you some.” He jerked towards the table. “You didn’t touch your tea.”
Hana allowed herself a smile as she saw the candles around the side of the old bath. A soft light flickered in the room, changing the atmosphere and obscuring the peeled wallpaper and stains on the ceiling. Foam covered the surface of the water and the floral scent calmed her. She dipped her hand in the bubbles and sniffed them. Orchid and lily went up her nose and she coughed. Logan cleared his throat. “I’ll bring you wine and then leave you to enjoy it,” he said, turning away.
Hana spoke to his retreating back. “I’m sick of feeling like this. When will it end? When they kill me?”
Logan chewed on his bottom lip, his fingers holding the door handle. “I don’t know, Hana. Do you want me to help?”
“How?” Her eyes widened.
Logan licked his lips and took a step forward. “I know people.” A dark shadow crossed his face. “They can help but it’s best I don’t involve you.”
Hana’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Illegal people?” Her question sent darts of pain into Logan’s heart and his nod looked slowed down in time.
“Yeah. People who operate outside the law. But if you want it sorted that’s how.”
She thought for a moment, frightened by how tempting his offer seemed. She inhaled. “Could people die?”
He looked at the floor and then back at her face. His nonchalant shrug seemed forced. “It’s not our problem, Hana.”
She sighed. “But it is, Logan. Who are these people? Hitmen?” She laughed and he smiled.
“No. Just business men who know things.”
Hana worried at her bottom lip. “Should I be scared of you?”
“No.” He snorted. “No, I promise.” He smiled and Hana’s fears evaporated like the bubbles on her hand. “I just know people who know people who know people.” He stepped into her personal space and his hands held her waist in a gentle caress. “It doesn’t matter, Hana. We’ll let the cops sort it out.”
“Okay.” She cocked her head and stared into his mesmerising eyes. “You’re not what you seem, are you, Logan Du Rose?” Bodie’s words came back as a warning and Hana pushed them away, no longer heeding the advice of others who weren’t there in the dark, lonely hours of the night. She ran her hands up Logan’s strong forearms and ignored the jab from her stitches. “I rather like your air of mystery.” Her lips quirked upwards in amusement and Logan stirred beneath her hands.
“Twenty-six years,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her neck. “That’s how long I’ve wanted to be this close to you.” His lips against her flesh sent tingles down Hana’s spine and she exhaled a ragged breath. He kissed her jaw, cheek and then coasted his lips across hers. “I love you, Hana McIntyre,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“How can you love me?” she asked. “You don’t know me.”
“Yeah, I do.” Logan’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “You’re everything I dreamed you would be.”
Hana shook her head, the attraction between them hiking. “Twelve weeks you’ve known me. It’s not much to base a relationship on.”
“It’s more than enough,” Logan breathed into her ear. “Let me show you how much you can trust me.”
Hana let the idea sink into her brain. He offered more than companionship. Adoration laced every sentence he uttered to her and loneliness dro
ve her into his arms.
“There are things you don’t know,” she whispered, lifting her hand to stroke his rough cheek. “I don’t know if I can tell you.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” He sounded certain and Hana inhaled, desperate to trust him.
“How do you know that? You don’t know what it is.”
Logan’s lips increased their pressure, driving her negative words away. Hana put her palms against his chest. “You’re not listening to me, are you?”
“Nope.” His lips quirked upwards and she laughed. “I’ve done nothing to betray you, Hana. And I won’t. I promise.” He bent his head and kissed her face before moving to the soft, sensitive skin of her neck. A series of hypnotic prickles tingled through her nerve endings and she felt her stomach go into free fall.
Logan Du Rose offered a yawning chasm of temptation. She’d been there before and it didn’t end well. Logan felt the glimmer of hesitation morph into fear and stopped himself exerting his selfish impulses. To his own surprise, he heard himself utter two words he promised he’d never speak again. “Marry me.”