by Juanita Kees
Fen’s heart stalled. A selfish part of her didn’t want to know about Diane. ‘Did she, mate?’
‘I was very naughty. That’s why my mummy died.’ He pressed the toy broom flat with his boot.
Fen dropped the broom and went down on her haunches to his height. ‘That’s not true, mate. Your mum died because she was sick. It’s not your fault.’
‘It was!’ He stamped his foot down on the broom head.
Tension brought a thumping ache to her frontal lobe. Was this the trigger for his tantrums? Wearing blame on his shoulders the way she had every time Antoinette had turned on her. The same guilt she’d worn feeling responsible for Antoinette’s death. That somehow her mother’s life being taken that night had been her fault. That there’d been more to it than the overdose Martha Wallace and later, the police reports, had told her it had been.
She reached for Liam’s hand. ‘Why do you think it’s your fault?’
‘Because she told me all the time. Naughty, naughty Liam.’ He twisted the handle of the broom.
Fen frowned. ‘You’re just a boy doing boy stuff. Sometimes mums get angry and say things they don’t mean. I’m sure she loved you, Liam.’
He shook his head and screwed up his face. ‘No. Woolley didn’t want to go in the car. Woolley was scared. Mummy said she wished I’d never been borned.’
‘Oh, sweetheart!’ Fen pulled him into her arms and hugged him close as he cried into her shoulder. ‘I’m sure your mummy didn’t mean that.’
Cruel words Liam had been old enough to understand, words that revealed too much about the day the accident happened. Barbs that stung her as hard as they had him because they echoed words uttered by another mother in a drug-induced hatred a long time ago.
She soothed the curly head against her shoulder and pressed a kiss to his silky hair, cuddling him until his cries eased and his shoulders stopped shaking. Over the top of Liam’s head, she caught sight of the pain in Kieran’s eyes.
* * *
Kieran turned and walked back inside. It hurt to watch, to hear Diane’s careless words repeated from his son’s lips. He bit back on the anger the memories raised. He was done being angry. That wouldn’t help Liam at all. He busied himself packing away glasses, getting ready for the next round of guests.
‘Come on, mate, let’s go and have a Grumpy Lizard together. I think we’ve both earned one. You’ve done a great job helping me out,’ he heard Fen say before she appeared in the doorway with Liam in her arms.
Not once in all Liam’s four years had Diane ever picked him up to comfort him. Not even as a baby. He shouldn’t have agreed to the IVF. He could have tried harder to talk her out of it, realised that a child could never fix what was broken inside her. But damn it, Liam was here, and he had to find a way to make it up to his son because he loved him.
He reached for his child, but Liam clung to Fen. She cast him an apologetic glance and he tried not to let the rejection hurt. He should be happy that his son had reached out to someone else who cared. The same way he’d reached out to Marge and her friends. His boy was making progress already.
‘How do I make a Grumpy Lizard?’ he asked around the lump in his throat.
Fen gave him instructions as she sat at the bar with Liam on her lap. She kept her eyes on his hands, refusing to meet his gaze. In a way, he was glad. He didn’t want her to see his thoughts. Fen had always been too damn good at reading them and interpreting them correctly. Instead he listened to Fen talk Liam down.
Kieran handed the Grumpy Lizard to Liam, shrugging off the warmth of the picture they made, reminding himself that Fen was out of bounds. He had to put Liam first. Fen was damaged goods, just like Diane, and he’d be putting his son at risk again if he ventured down a road that led to more than friendship. Liam had to be his focus. Healing, forgetting, making new, happier memories together.
‘Daddy? Can I go play in the playground now?’
Kieran looked up from polishing a wine glass to see Fen allow Liam to slide off her lap. ‘Of course. Stay where I can see you, okay, mate?’
‘Yes, Daddy.’ Liam turned to hand Fen his cup and straw. ‘Thank you.’
Fen ruffled his hair. ‘You’re welcome.’
They watched Liam scamper off before Fen slipped off the chair. ‘I’ll finish up here. Go and spend some time with Liam. You’re still off duty until Monday.’
‘I need to keep busy.’
‘Then be busy with your son, Kieran. Next week you’ll be busy enough with the vineyard. He needs you.’
‘He didn’t need me then.’ And now he was torn between thankful and disappointed.
Fen sighed. ‘I was there. I took care of it. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t need his father.’ She reached over the bar counter to touch his hand. ‘Please tell me Diane didn’t really tell him she wished he’d never been born?’
Kieran turned his hand palm up and closed his fingers around hers. ‘I wish I could.’ And God knows, he knew the world of hurt it would have caused Fen to hear those words spoken. Words her own mother had used on her. Words he’d thought himself at times about Liam for reasons so different from Diane’s.
‘Jesus, Kieran. How is it grown-ups can do so much damage to their children?’
He squeezed her fingers and let her hand slip from his. ‘I don’t know.’ He turned away from her. She didn’t need to see the pain the memory caused, or the helplessness it kept alive in his gut. ‘I’m hoping he’ll grow and forget those awful words.’
As long as he didn’t let those words slip from his tongue ever. The last thing he wanted was for his son to be the lost boy Kieran had been. No matter how hard single-parenting had been to date, no matter what challenges it provided in the future, his life had to be for his son. So, the feel of Fen’s hand under his, the care in her eyes and her perfume that enveloped him when she was near—none of that could mean anything. Friendship was all he had to offer.
‘It must have been hard for you.’
Fen walked around the bar to stand in front of him, making him take his eyes off the view of the vineyard through the window and bring his gaze to her face. The smile in her eyes had been replaced with sadness, turning the grey stormy. Her lips pinched closed, the chance of laughter silenced by the weight of his confession.
He lifted a hand to brush away the fringe of hair that fell over her face and let his fingers run through the silky softness of her hair, the feel of it soothing. ‘As hard as it was for you.’
And it felt like the most natural yet dangerous thing in the world to place his hands on her hips and draw her closer, to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. Just for a minute. Just for comfort.
‘You should go.’ The curl of her arms around his waist negated her words, her voice muffled against his heart, the movement of her lips against his chest sending his thoughts in an unwanted direction.
He’d let her go. In a minute. They stood, the sounds of the vineyard around them, Liam’s chatter as he played filtering through the doorway and the quiet beat of their hearts keeping track with their thoughts, neither speaking, only feeling. And when he felt too much, he stepped away.
‘I’ll see you later at the cottage tonight for that chat.’
Her hands slid away to her sides and she widened the gap between them. ‘Yes. I’ll be there.’
He tipped up her chin, the urge to lean in and kiss her almost too strong to resist. But he would. ‘Thanks. For taking care of Liam.’
She nodded, avoiding his eyes, an elastic band of tension keeping them together. He broke it and walked away while he still had resistance left in him.
Outside, Liam played captain of the pirate ship on the platform, his spyglass aimed at the horizon. Excitement rippled through his voice as he turned to Kieran, hurtful words, salty tears and ugly memories forgotten. ‘Look, Daddy! I see pirates. Over there!’
Kieran climbed the kid-sized ladder onto the deck. ‘Load the canons.’
While Liam made all the sounds of read
ying the imaginary canons for firing, Kieran looked through the spyglass, having only a moment to register it was a genuine one before the reality of what his son had seen struck.
A pack of Harleys buzzed into sight like an angry swarm of wasps in the distance, a plume of dust kicked up by thick tyres spinning circles in the back block, churning up sand, soil, turf and crop. A flash of orange and a river of fire ran down the rows between the vines, catching quickly. Sickening fear gripped Kieran’s gut as a wall of fire cut his line of vision on the herd of bikers. He left the spyglass spinning as he jumped off the platform, swept Liam up in his arms and ran inside with him.
‘We’ve got a fire in the back block.’
Fen looked up from polishing glasses, caught the look on his face and reached for her phone, calling and running all at once. She flew out the door, her boots hitting the ground hard.
‘What’s happening, Daddy?’ Liam’s eyes grew round and fearful. ‘Are they real pirates?’
‘Something close, Liam. Liv!’ He rushed through to the café as the sprinklers outside activated in the blocks closest to the buildings. He doubted it would stop the inferno from building if the bastards had fuelled it.
Liv came running, her arms already out. ‘I’ll take Liam. You help Fen. There’s a water tanker full of recycled water in Muzz’s shed. Keys are in the ignition. Kevlar jackets and breathing apparatus on the hook behind the front seats.’
‘Stay with Liv, okay?’ He leaned his son towards Liv’s arms.
Liam resisted. ‘No! I want to come with you, Daddy.’
Oh God, Liam, please not now. The words rolled through his mind and tore at his heart. His boy would be confused, terrified. ‘It’s safe here with Liv, I promise.’
And he would be if those bastards on the bikes had left. He doubted they’d stay around to watch. Their message had been delivered. Mission accomplished. The next bank of irrigation initiated, sending a mist of water into the air.
Liv lifted Liam’s weight from his arms and dealt with the resistance, screams and tears, hugging him close and whispering soothing words. She looked at Kieran. Go, she mouthed, turning away to provide a distraction. Torn, he hesitated. But Fen couldn’t fight a fire alone.
Outside the flames caught the draft, fingers of fire licking the sky above the vines. With one last touch to his son’s curls, he took off towards the shed. Fen was there, jackets out, the engine running. She handed him one before climbing into the driver’s seat.
‘Get in,’ she urged, her hand already releasing the park brake and slamming the tanker into gear. ‘I’ve got Fire and Rescue on the way.’
Kieran hauled himself into the tanker, slamming the door and dragging on his seatbelt only seconds before she took off over the uneven terrain into the vineyard blocks. His kidneys protested each bone-cracking bump and dip as she negotiated the way down the fire break as fast as she could without rolling the truck. She rattled off instructions he already knew by heart, but listened to again anyway, and when they arrived at the fire front, he had to take a step back at the fierceness of its heat.
‘We won’t make much difference with the tanker, but we can keep it wet until the firies get here,’ Fen shouted over the roar, coughing against a lungful of acrid smoke.
She hooked her oxygen mask on over her head and tightened the strap. He did the same, making his way to the back of the tanker and opening the valves as Fen unravelled the hose. The force of the water pumping through the hose had her taking a step back under the pressure. He steadied her until she got her balance before grabbing the second hose. Together they battled against the roar of dragon-fire, water and ash raining down on them, until the wail of sirens brought relief.
Chapter 7
Filthy, exhausted and reeking of smoke, Fen leaned her back against the backboard on the tanker. Beside her, Kieran’s eyes were closed.
Riggs’ bulk cast a shadow across them, blocking out the sun that lay low in the sky, veiled in a cloak of smoke. ‘Ready to make a statement?’
Fen looked at Kieran’s profile, his jaw set tight as his eyes flickered open to meet hers. Doubt edged into her thoughts. Would making a report of arson only make it worse? What if they targeted the house or the cellar next?
Riggs sighed and scratched his head under his police issue cap. ‘The empty fuel containers thrown around between the vines tell their own story.’ He waved a hand towards where firefighters trailed spot fires in the wake of the beast. ‘That and the body in the garbage bag.’
Beside her, alert now, Kieran shot to his feet. ‘Say what?’
‘Female, age to be determined. Not much left to go on. We’re keeping it quiet until we know what we’re dealing with.’
Horror kept Fen’s back glued to the truck, bile burning her already dry throat. ‘Jesus.’ How had this escalated from fraud to murder on the eve of a wedding where the bride and groom had both dealt with losses from fire?
Her mind spun through the months of planning for the Baker-Chalmers wedding, most of which Luke had been present for. He’d known about that, about the body in the suitcase … but, no, she was reaching for a connection between those incidents and this one. Trying to make sense of something that made no sense at all. But there’d been so much happening that was wrong since Luke had taken off.
She pushed to her feet, her muscles beginning to ache. She’d give her left arm for a soak in the tub and peace in her head from the turmoil. They’d been so busy beating back the fire front that she hadn’t had time to ask Kieran if he’d seen how it started.
She listened to the deep baritone of his voice, his account of what happened surreal when, only a handful of hours ago, peace had rested in the valley of vines and the only trauma they’d had to deal with was making a little boy feel loved. And now a woman was dead. She could be a wife, a mother, a friend, a girlfriend. Instead, she was a stranger, dumped in a fire like discarded trash.
Trash. The shadows crept in from the corners of her mind, pushing her towards the door in her nightmares and the angry voice shouting behind it. You’re trash. Common kitchen garbage. And we like to take out the trash. Hadn’t Luke said something similar? Or was it the man who’d come to the tasting session?
She swayed against exhaustion and fought off the monster that forced its way to the front of her memories, her mind stepping on the brakes to cut it off before it opened that door to reveal the horrors behind it. Her seven-year-old self scurrying back to the dark corner under the table like an abused puppy.
Her shoulder bumped against Kieran’s bicep, and his arm came around her, holding her close. She let her head rest against the wall of his chest under the bulk of his Kevlar jacket and tried hard to shut out reality. It touched her on the shoulder.
Riggs squeezed her arm. ‘Fen, you need to know.’
She turned to look at him, her skin tight under the soot and grime. ‘Know what?’
‘They’ve reopened your mother’s case. The cold case squad got a tip-off from an anonymous source and they’re re-examining evidence and reports.’
She shook her head to clear the fuzz. ‘It was suicide. A drug overdose.’
Riggs stood, feet apart, hands on his hips, notepad and pen clutched in his fingers. ‘A recent department crime and corruption investigation has turned up evidence that there might have been a cover-up by a handful of cops on the take at the time. Seems they were in the bikies’ pockets. I can tell you that because it’s no secret in the city. The media are all over it.’
‘What if I don’t want her case reopened? Can I stop it?’
Riggs scratched an itch between his shoulder blades with his pen. ‘The Department of Child Protection and Family Support spent a lot of time and effort making sure you didn’t exist. If you try to stop this, the wrong people will start asking questions. If you let it happen quietly, there’s a good chance your whereabouts and identity can remain confidential.’
Confusion furrowed her brow. ‘I don’t understand. I was an orphan in foster care. Why woul
d that need to be a secret?’
‘You were placed in witness protection, given a new identity and lost in the system. Martha Wallace made sure of it when someone started threatening your carers and she realised the police report didn’t quite match your case.’
A small piece of the puzzle fell into place. ‘You knew. That’s why she brought me here.’
‘I knew your name and that you were in witness protection. I knew she’d brought you here because she could trust me, the town, and the Watermans.’ He blew out a long breath. ‘Fen, the owner of the brothel your mother worked in was the president of Beyond Hell’s Reach.’
Coincidence. It had to be. Still, the little girl in her hid from the crack in the door. Her scars itched, bared to the rough seams of the Kevlar jacket, the protection of her wristbands removed to fight the fire.
Kieran’s hold tightened around her shoulders. ‘That doesn’t make sense, Sarge. Why would they place Fen in witness protection if it was suicide?’
She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, drown out the shouts of the firefighters, the drone of truck engines and the noise of the pump as it spewed water over the remains of their livelihood. Fen curled her hands to catch a lump of Kieran’s jacket in her fist. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the visions to recede, but she couldn’t block out Riggs’ next words.
‘Because there is new conflicting evidence on the case that suggests it was more than an overdose that killed Antoinette.’
Memories came crashing in on an unwelcome tide. Jumbled, mixed up, terrifying visions of shadows dancing on walls and screams that blistered and tore at her mind. Terror so cold it froze her spine, chilled her belly and closed her throat. Still, she couldn’t look into the face of the man in the room, nor watch the morph of the silhouettes on the wall. Fear clawing at her, she slammed shut the door and retreated to darkness.
The smell of damp ash, soil and scorched earth drifted in over the coppery taste of blood, and reality returned. ‘I want to go home. To Liv.’ She pulled out of Kieran’s hold.