by Lilly Mirren
Neighbourhoods of small, square fibro houses flitted by the window. A dog barked up against a chain-link fence, straining at its tether to get at a trio of children who were riding past on their bicycles as fast as they could, standing on the pedals to pump past the animal with wide eyes and puffing chests.
She smiled at the sight, as it prompted a memory from her own childhood of sprinting past the neighbour's house every week to get to the local park, a dog nipping at her heels. It only ever followed her to the next intersection, then stopped to bark at her as she crossed the street. She'd spin back when she reached the other side, breath heaving in and out of her lungs, to study the animal with narrowed eyes. Then continue on her way, while it trotted back to its yard.
"When we get there, I want you to be particularly careful." Franklin interrupted her reverie and jolted her back to the present.
She nodded. "Okay."
"Domestic incidents are unpredictable, so be on your toes. Got it?"
"I've got it."
His mood seemed particularly curly today, his words almost a snarl from tight lips. She tried to think back over the morning to see if she'd done anything to trigger the foul temper he was in, but nothing sprang to mind. Apparently, her mere presence irritated him to no end. Well, there wasn't much she could do about that. Not yet, anyway. She had to be in Emerald Cove for now, had to keep her head down, do her time as a new recruit and stay out of trouble. Leaving wasn't an option.
She rested an elbow on the windowsill as the car jolted over a pothole, then pressed her hand to her forehead like a visor under which she could study her boss's profile without him knowing. She did it every now and then, trying to figure out the man she spent so many hours of each day seated beside. So far, she'd come up with next to nothing, other than a cryptic comment made by Steph - calling Franklin the Lone Ranger. Perhaps that’s all it was - he preferred to ride solo. But from what she'd been told at the state headquarters, they were intent on giving him a partner, whether it was her or someone else. Franklin Russell wouldn't be riding the beat alone.
So, why couldn't he simply accept that and give her a break?
She sighed against the window, dropping her arms to her side. The car pulled up to the curb. She checked herself in the mirror, felt her gun, taser, cuffs… Everything was accounted for, all in place. She was ready.
They crossed the road side by side, she followed him through a broken gate and up a set of rotting timber stairs to knock on a paint-chipped timber door.
"Maybe no one's home," she muttered.
He huffed. "Give it a minute. Jeesh. Got an appointment at the hair salon or something?"
Rebecca bit down on her lip and stared at the grubby half-circle window at the top of the door, anger burning in her gut. He had no respect for her; that was clear enough. She didn't ask for much, didn't expect him to like her, but had hoped he'd at least treat her with a little respect. Not that she'd ever won anyone's respect in her short life so far, but joining the force had been a new start for her. A chance to make something of herself. And she'd foolishly believed being a recruit, having done her Associate Degree in Policing Practice, and being placed in a New South Wales police station as a new recruit meant she was someone. That she deserved a little respect. It seemed Franklin was intent on proving those hopes wrong.
A shadow passed by the window, completely obscured by grime and dust, only darkening it for a moment, and her entire body tensed.
"Someone's home," she whispered.
"Go around back, Constable,” Franklin ordered. "I don't want anyone leaving this house without my say-so."
With one hand on her gun holster, Rebecca jogged down the stairs and through the yard. Tufts of grass decorated the dirt here and there; a kid's bike lay on its side, rusted with both tyres flat. There was just enough space between the house and the fence for her to pass through, and she soon found herself in a backyard littered with trash and dotted with clusters of tall weeds.
Rebecca tripped on a fallen rubbish bin, announcing her presence with a loud clatter. She swore beneath her breath and caught herself, just as the screen door flung open. A man rushed down the stairs, glanced in her direction and ran in the other.
"Stop! Police!" she shouted, regaining her balance in time to sprint after him.
He was at least six feet tall, which meant he had almost a foot of height on her, and at least fifty kilograms. He wore a stained, white singlet over the top of a pair of football shorts. A beer belly protruded above the waistband of the green shorts, and a long, dark blue tattoo of a dragon with a red eye curled over his shoulder and down his forearm.
When he found himself facing the chain-link fence, with no option but to leap over it, he stopped and spun on his heel to face her with a sneer.
"There's no way out. Just stay where you are, and link your hands together behind your head," she said as she undid the snap on her holster, ready to draw her weapon, her eyes fixed on the man's face.
He barely hesitated before charging, knocking her flat on her back before she'd had a chance to react.
The wind whooshed from her lungs, and she lay on her back in the dirt, her hand still on her holster, her eyes blinking in the glare of sunlight overhead.
Memories pecked at her like a flock of angry seagulls. A punch to the face, a kick to the gut, seeing her own blood spurt from a burst lip, hearing the crack of her bones breaking. Panic flooded her, eyes widening as her hands fluttered in front of her face as if trying to grab at something that wasn't there.
No, no, it was happening again. But it couldn't, she wasn't there any longer, she'd moved, she was in Emerald Cove. Safe. It was okay. She'd only had the wind knocked out of her, nothing she couldn't handle.
She talked to herself, ran words through her mind, all the usual ways of calming herself down, reassuring herself she was okay. She'd learned them over the years; it was the only way she'd been able to survive until she could get away, finally, and start again - a new life, a new home, a new chance at finding peace if there was any to be had in this world, something she still wasn't entirely convinced of.
She gasped for air but couldn't fill her lungs. In the distance, she heard a muffled shout, then the sound of footsteps running away, a door slamming, crying from inside the house.
Still, she couldn't breathe. She sat up, her lips fish-like, as slowly her lungs filled with oxygen.
She leaned forward, gulping in great, big breaths, as dizziness sent a wave of nausea through her gut. She hadn't expected that. For some reason, she'd thought he'd listen to her, do as she asked. It was her first real confrontation with a perpetrator on the job, and she'd failed.
With a grunt, she scrambled to her feet, then stood with her hands on her hips for a moment to get her bearings as her head swam. Sobbing from the house caught her ear, reminding her of the possible victims inside, and she hurried in, her gun out of its holster and pointed down.
When she was sure the house was clear, she knelt beside a woman on the floor. Two boys huddled in a corner, one sobbing and the other sucking his thumb. The woman cried silently now, her legs tucked up beneath her chin, tears streaking her cheeks.
"Are you okay?" Rebecca asked, returning the gun to her holster.
The woman didn't respond.
"Are you hurt?"
Rebecca used her radio to call for an ambulance, then checked on the boys. By the time she'd done that, she was about to try again with the woman when she heard footsteps outside. She peered through the window by the front door and saw Franklin bent at the waist, puffing hard. The man wasn't with him.
He straightened, saw her and pushed through the front door.
"Have you secured the premises?"
She nodded. "Yes, sir. A woman and two boys inside, she appears to be injured but I'm not sure how badly. I've called for an ambulance, should be here in fifteen."
She watched with surprise as Franklin squatted beside the woman, talking gently to her until she stopped sobbing and answered
his questions. Rebecca did what she could to draw the boys out of the corner and, when the ambulance arrived, helped them into the vehicle beside their mother, who the paramedics laid out on a stretcher.
By now, the woman's face was swollen and purple, with large, angry lumps on her lower lip and above one eye.
The ambulance pulled away from the curb, lights flashing but without the siren. Rebecca watched it go, then headed for the house to help Franklin lock it up.
She found him out the back, studying the fence line, hands pressed to his narrow hips. A muscle in his jaw clenched when he saw her, and his nostrils flared.
"Something wrong, Sarge?”
His lips pursed. "You tell me, Constable Mair."
"I let him get away, I know that…"
"You're darn right you did. I can't begin to tell you how dangerous your actions were today, to the victims, to me and to yourself. Do you know what might've happened if things had run a different course?"
She swallowed. She hadn't thought about that, had simply been grateful her injuries weren't any worse.
"No, sir."
"If he'd had a weapon of some kind, you'd be dead, and the rest of us might be as well."
Her heart fell. "I'm sorry, Sarge… He caught me by surprise."
"Exactly. That's what happened, you were caught off guard. Because you aren't ready for this. I'm sorry to be the one to have to break it to you, Constable, but you're not cut out for this job. You're not police material, that's a simple fact. And because of that, we could've had a tragic situation on our hands today."
Her eyes widened. She swallowed around a lump growing in her throat.
"I'm sorry… I'm doing my best, but I'll improve, get better…"
He shook his head, glowering. "No, you won't. Because as I said, you're not cop material. And besides, I don't need a partner, I don't want one either. I had a partner, he's gone, and he can't be replaced. It's as simple as that." The fire dimmed in his eyes as fast as it had sparked.
He looked away, sighed, then strode for the side of the house and disappeared from view. She heard his voice echo back to her. "Well, are you coming or do you need an embossed invitation, Mair?"
Chapter 24
Sarah
"I'm happy to run through the schedule with you," Sarah said.
Across from her, a trio of young, up-and-coming editors nodded almost in unison.
"Thanks, that would be great. We'll have to transition the memoir you're holding onto as well…" One of the firm's top editors, Pauline Gates, didn't look up from the notes she was scratching out on her iPad.
Sarah frowned. "What? I’m only one third of the way through that manuscript."
Pauline eyed her. "I thought you were going on some sort of sabbatical. A sea change, getting away from it all?" A titter spread throughout the room.
"No. I'm working from home. I'm keeping the same workload as I had, you know that." Anger boiled in Sarah's gut. She'd always had a problem with Pauline's jealousy; she should have expected her to take the opportunity to dig the knife in.
Pauline raised her hands, as if in surrender. She offered a warm smile. "Never mind then, I must have misunderstood. Although we never hear from you, so you can't really blame us."
It was true. She'd been missing in action lately, and it wasn't like her. But there were so many things in the Cove to distract her from her work. She'd have to focus more on her career if she was going to keep hold of it.
As soon as the meeting was over, Sarah gathered her papers together, folded her laptop beneath her arm and strode through the office. Greenmount Publishing hummed with activity and buzzed with excitement. She'd always loved working there, and she missed being there physically, as much as she hated to admit it.
Katrina Rousseau fell into step beside her, a manila folder clutched to her chest.
"You showed her," Katrina said, grinning.
Sarah shrugged. "I don't know about that, I'm not very good at confrontation. I always think of a killer retort hours after the fact." She chuckled. "Anyway, she's harmless enough. Beverley won't let her have too long a leash."
Sarah took a seat at her desk, setting her laptop back into place beside the large monitor. A potted plant sat on the end of the desk. Its leaves had shrivelled to a dark brown and lay dead over the edges of the black pot. It'd been her plant, and obviously no one had watered it after she left.
"What happened to my plant?"
Katrina pressed one hand to a hip and studied Sarah with pursed lips. "Forget about the plant, Sarah. You've got bigger things to worry about. Since you left, Pauline has taken over everything you were a part of. She has more influence than ever. And she's been telling everyone that you're stepping away, that you aren't coming back and you're transitioning to a more manageable workload." Katrina used her hands to make air quotes around the last, emphasising the words with a bob of her head.
Sarah's brow furrowed. She hadn't realised things had gotten so bad in the office. She should have anticipated that Pauline would move to fill the space she created when she relocated to the Cove.
"I haven't left," she said.
Katrina shrugged. "You know what I mean."
"I haven't left, I'm still part of the company, I’m in the same role, and I'm not going anywhere."
Beverley's head appeared above the cubicle partition where Sarah sat. Sarah pressed a hand to her chest, startled. "Oh, hi, Beverley. You surprised me. When did you get in?"
Beverly tipped her head back and laughed. Her laugh always sounded like a waterfall trickling over smooth rocks. "I'm sorry about that. I wanted to pop by and tell you that I'd love to catch up before you leave. Okay?"
Sarah nodded. "Yes, of course."
Beverley came around the end of the cubicle and perched on the edge of Sarah's desk, a charcoal skirt pulled taut across her narrow hips. "Have I told you I've taken up horse riding?" she asked.
Sarah blinked. "No. Horse riding? Really?"
Beverley was always taking on new hobbies, almost as if on a quest to discover the meaning of life. Inevitably she ended up getting hurt, overextending or simply giving up. Her career had been a driving force in her life; she'd never married or had children. And if asked, she'd say she made the right choice. Sarah admired her for knowing what she wanted. Still, there was a manic quality to the way Beverley lived her life that Sarah couldn't quite appreciate.
"Oh yes, I love it. It's my passion. I go three mornings a week. Don't I, Katrina?"
Katrina's lips widened into a smile. "Yes, of course, you love it."
Katrina and Sarah exchanged a look behind Beverley's back that almost made Sarah laugh out loud. She loved Beverley, loved her boss's enthusiasm for life. But it was a well-played joke around the office that she changed hobbies as often as she did boyfriends. And she was passionately dedicated to both, for as long as they lasted.
"Just this morning, I took Alpine for a ride, and we made it over a jump that I have been too scared to try for months. It was a huge victory, we all celebrated." Beverley's eyes sparked. "We had coffee at this darling little place just down the road from the riding club, and I splurged on a scone."
Sarah arched an eyebrow. "It must have been a big celebration, for you to eat carbohydrates."
Beverley laughed. "You know it."
"I'm considering getting back into surfing," Sarah said.
Beverley clapped her hands together once. "Surfing, oh, that would be marvellous. I've always wanted to try that."
"Maybe it can be your next hobby?” Katrina interjected.
Beverley's brow furrowed. "Next? You think I'll give up horse riding, don't you? Well, not this time. I think horse riding is what I've been searching for all along. I have finally found a relationship I can commit to." She chuckled. "Anyway, Sarah, make sure you come to my office for a chat before you leave today. We have a few things we need to talk about. And I feel like I never see you anymore. It's crazy."
Sarah swallowed. This wasn't going as wel
l as she hoped it would. "Yes, of course, Beverley. I won't forget. And you know I’m only a phone call away."
Beverley stood, straightened her skirt and smoothed it into place with perfectly manicured hands. "Of course you are, I seem to forget that. Out of sight, out of mind, you know how it is."
As Beverley walked away, Sarah's heart fell. She had spent her twenties building a career, forgoing a social life, turning down the chance to build a solid personal life, believing that one day the time would come that her career would be rock solid and she'd find the man of her dreams, settle down and start a family. She'd never imagined that the career she had worked so hard to develop could so easily be undermined. Although, perhaps she'd been naïve, walking away from the epicentre of publishing to live in a small beachside town.
Her friends had warned it wouldn't work, but she hadn't listened to them. She believed she could manage it, that she could be the one person who'd prove everyone else wrong. The technology existed to work remotely, so why not use it? Now she wasn't so sure…about anything.
"That went well," Katrina said.
Sarah sighed. "Did you hear that?"
Katrina shook her head. "What?"
"I think it was the sound of my career dying."
Later, on her way to Beverley's office to talk to her boss about a breakout book series by an up-and-coming author she wanted to sign, she was so focused on the task ahead of her that at first she didn't notice the group of junior editors clustered around a table in the conference room. With the first manuscript of the series pressed to her chest, arms wrapped protectively around it, she studied the group.