Zamira googled Blackbridge, her chest tight. Her family blamed her for Annisa running away. She’d met her cousin six years ago when she’d gone to Malaysia with her grandmother to meet family and explore her heritage. Annisa had been twelve at the time with big dreams of what she’d wanted to do with her life. Zamira had kept in touch with her, encouraging her to study and expect more from life than being a wife. When Annisa had spoken about coming to Australia, Zamira had sent her books to help her learn English and Annisa’s parents had put a stop to their correspondence. They hadn’t wanted Annisa to leave. That had been over a year ago.
The search results appeared. Blackbridge was a coastal town in the south of Western Australia. The other side of the country. She rang the number back and it went straight to message bank. “Hi, you’ve called Fleur. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Zamira hesitated. She didn’t know who Fleur was or whether leaving a message would get Annisa into trouble. She hung up and called the hospital number instead. “Can you please put me through to Annisa Ramanan’s room?”
“I’m sorry, she was discharged this afternoon.”
Zamira’s heart sank. “Thank you.” She hung up. Think. At least she knew what town Annisa was in. She walked to her supervisor’s office, nerves fluttering in her stomach. Just outside she stopped, took a deep breath and then tapped on the door frame. “Vince, I just got a message from Annisa.”
He didn’t look up from his computer. “Later, I’m busy.”
She swallowed her nerves and her frustration, took a deep breath. She’d catch more flies with honey, even if she wanted to swat him. “I’m so sorry for interrupting, but it’s urgent. I told you my cousin is missing after she left a note saying she was going to Australia.”
He scowled, glancing at her and gesturing for her to continue.
“She’s in a WA town called Blackbridge. The man she works for won’t let her go.”
“How do you know?”
“She left me a phone message. There was a fire and she was in hospital, but she’s been discharged.”
Vince typed a few things into his computer, his frown deepening. “You said Blackbridge?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll make some calls.” He gestured towards the door.
Dismissed. She bit her tongue and returned to her desk, playing with the silver pendant around her neck to calm the annoyance. She had a bunch of emails to respond to before she left, but after each one she glanced towards his office. Finally, her phone rang.
“My office.”
She hurried in, wrapping her necklace around her finger as she entered.
“Close the door.” His tone was grim.
Her muscles tensed as she did as he asked.
“What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential — got it?”
“Of course.” She had the appropriate security clearances and had signed a confidentiality agreement when she’d started.
“Someone in Blackbridge has been identified as a person of interest by the Task Force. They’re watching him and gathering evidence. I’ve got to assume it’s the guy your cousin is with.”
“Can they get her out?”
“Eventually. If they go in now, it will ruin the whole investigation and they’ve been working months on this.”
“But she might not be safe.”
Vince swore. “I’m sorry, Zamira. It’s out of my hands.”
Not good enough. “Vince—”
“I’ve done all I can.”
“What about the police? Can’t we call them?”
“Not without tipping off the guy.” He stared at her. “Don’t even think about calling them. This is Border Force business. It’s confidential.”
Her chest squeezed, and she slowly breathed out before she said something that would get her into trouble. “Thank you for trying.” She kept her back straight as she walked out of the room. She’d lose her job if she called the police, but she couldn’t leave Annisa there alone. Annisa had been a sweet, optimistic girl full of enthusiasm and the wonder of life. She had little experience beyond her small village and must be frantic and afraid. And it was Zamira’s fault she’d decided to run away.
Zamira checked the time. Five o’clock. The desire to walk out without finishing her emails was strong, but it wasn’t fair to take her dissatisfaction out on her colleagues. Tension settled onto her shoulders as she responded, answering questions about policies, procedures, and legalities of certain actions, but all the while, the image of Annisa, a teenager who was a little too bony, but still with a wide grin, hovered in her mind.
What could she do?
She knew no one in Western Australia, but she needed to talk to Annisa, reassure her help was coming.
Zamira sat straighter. That was it. She was going on leave. She could change her flight from Cairns to Perth. No one here needed to know.
The idea hummed through her along with fear. She googled the town again — small, right on the south coast not far from the regional port of Albany. It wouldn’t be hard to find Annisa in such a small place. Zamira could talk to her, and then report her situation to Border Force and they could intervene sooner.
And by using her initiative, perhaps she’d finally attract the attention of the Task Force.
It felt right. It was time for her to act.
She shut down her computer and picked up her bag, flicking through her phone to find the airline number as she walked to the exit.
“Have a great holiday, Zamira,” someone called.
She smiled and waved. “I will.” Stepping outside the building, she dialled the number she’d found. “I’d like to change my flight.”
***
Zamira’s headlights illuminated the big green sign declaring, Welcome to Blackbridge. She sighed. Finally, after a four-hour flight and a five-hour drive, she had arrived. Heaviness hung around her eyes. She’d barely slept on the flight and twenty-four-hour service stations were almost non-existent on the drive down. Now at just after six in the morning, coffee was high on her list, but her first stop had to be the hospital. She might be able to get some more information about Annisa there. She parked in the small carpark and followed the winding well-lit path past the lovely hedged gardens, to the building and the unmanned reception desk. She pressed the bell and waited. A nurse appeared wearing blue scrubs and smiled at her. “Can I help you?” Her name tag read Fleur.
Zamira blinked rapidly. Was this the woman whose phone Annisa had borrowed? “I’m looking for Annisa Ramanan. She was in a house fire Thursday night.”
“I’m sorry, she was discharged yesterday afternoon.”
Zamira frowned. “She told me she was being discharged today.” She crossed her fingers behind her back as she lied. “Do you know who picked her up?”
“Henk took her home.”
Henk. That was the name Annisa had mentioned. Her tired brain tried to process what to do next. She needed an address. Zamira ran a hand through her hair. “It’s been a long night. I’ve been travelling since she called me, and I’ve forgotten her address. Could you give it to me?”
The nurse looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. We can’t give out patients’ personal details.”
She was so close. “Annisa used your phone to call me, didn’t she? I could call your number and prove it.”
Fleur shook her head. “I still can’t give you the address.”
Damn. It had been worth a try. “I’ll call her later,” she lied. If only she had a phone number for Annisa. She walked outside, closing her eyes against the frustration threatening to overwhelm her. Stupid to think it would be that simple. At least she had the right town. Time to regroup and find coffee, sugar and somewhere to stay.
She drove back into the centre of town and pulled into a small carpark surrounded on three sides by little shops. The sun peeked above the horizon, changing everything from black to grey. The lights inside On The Way bakery caught her attention. A bunch of bikes took up a parkin
g bay outside and a group of cyclists sat at a table inside chatting and cupping their mugs of coffee. Perfect. She pulled her jacket tighter against the chill and hurried to the door.
Zamira inhaled deeply as she walked inside and the aroma of fresh bread, hot coffee and sugary baked goodness assailed her.
Praise be to Allah.
Aside from the cyclists recovering from their early Saturday morning ride, a couple of parents looking as tired as she felt bought hot chocolates and croissants for their young children. As she waited for her turn, she scanned the cafe. Over two dozen round wooden tables spread out across the wooden floor, windows made up three of the walls and two doors allowed easy access from both the carpark and the street. The large display cabinets had wide, round sheets of glass to reveal the delectable treats and powder blue name tags identified each treat. On the wall behind, baskets hung with a range of breads and there was a small stack of white boxes ready for takeaway treats. The whole place had a comforting, homely vibe. Several staff served customers and a short Asian woman with her long black hair tied back in a bun came out from the kitchen carrying a large tray of fresh croissants. She added them to the display cabinet and replaced the tray in the kitchen before approaching Zamira with a smile. “What can I get you?”
“I need the biggest mug of coffee you’ve got and whatever sugary pastry you recommend.”
“Tough night?” the woman asked. “My fiancé’s favourite is Mai’s Delight and I made a batch this morning. It’s part pastry, part custard and all good.” She pointed to it.
“Sounds perfect.” Zamira opened her purse as the woman plated up the dessert and gave her coffee order to the teenager behind the coffee machine. Zamira handed over a twenty. “Does that make you Mai?”
“That’s right.” She smiled and handed over the change. “This is my bakery. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll bring out the coffee when it’s ready?” Mai returned to the kitchen.
Zamira settled in a seat by the window. Sunlight gradually illuminated the wide street and mismatched buildings. A couple of people braved the cold rugged up in thick jackets and beanies and walked their dogs.
She closed her eyes, resisting the temptation to lean her head on the table.
“Here you go.” Mai placed an enormous mug of coffee – more soup container than coffee cup – on the table.
“Wow.”
Mai glanced around and lowered her voice. “I got a mug from my personal collection because you look like you need all the caffeine you can get.”
“Thank you.” She curled her hands around the mug and took a long sip of the glorious nectar. “I had a late flight last night.”
“Where from?”
“Melbourne.”
“And you drove to Blackbridge this morning?” Mai frowned.
She nodded.
“You must be exhausted. If you’re too tired to drive, I can call a friend and we can drive you and your car to wherever you’re staying.”
Zamira blinked and warmth spread through her. “That’s really nice of you.”
Mai shrugged and slid into the seat opposite her with a sigh. “It’s part ulterior motive — I don’t want any of my crew called out when you crash your car.”
“Crew?”
“I’m second in charge at the volunteer Fire and Rescue.”
Zamira’s eyes widened. “My friend mentioned a fire somewhere here a couple of nights ago.”
Mai nodded. “Out at Henk Jennings’ place.”
A surname. She was getting somewhere. “I hope no one was hurt.”
“No one badly, but the building might have to be knocked down.”
Zamira’s brain clamoured with questions. “Were you at the fire?”
“No, I was here baking, but my fiancé responded. They rescued a woman trapped inside.” Mai shook her head. “Jeremy went in without the proper gear to save her. He was lucky he didn’t kill himself.”
Excitement stirred. Was she talking about Annisa? “Why?”
“He lives next door to Henk. Smelled the smoke and called it in so he was on site before the rest of the crew. He didn’t think he had time to wait for the truck to arrive.” She sighed. “He was probably right. The floor collapsed as he was climbing out.”
Zamira’s breath caught in her throat. This Jeremy had saved Annisa’s life.
A large group of people walked into the bakery, talking and laughing. “There goes my break.” Mai stood up. “If you need a lift, I’ll be in the kitchen until around ten.”
“Thank you.”
Mai greeted the new group, squatting to talk to a couple of the young children who stared wide-eyed at the cabinet.
With such friendly people in town, how could Annisa be trapped here?
Taking a long sip of coffee, she searched the white pages. A couple of Jennings in the area. She clicked on the one that said H Jennings and swiped the map out to get her bearings. He had a property out of town. That would explain why people didn’t know about Annisa. Zamira bit into her pastry and the custard, creamy goodness momentarily distracted her. The flaky outside texture combined with a soft inside with a bite of citrus — divine. She closed her eyes and savoured it, as a burst of energy hit her system.
Using her thumb, she panned the map around. Too isolated for her to stroll by and see if she could spot Annisa. A pin not far away stated Hideaway Retreat. She clicked on the link. A collection of cute, short-term accommodation cabins which blended into the native bush. Maybe she could stay there. She checked the website — fully booked all week.
Well at least she could pretend to get lost looking for it.
After finishing her coffee and pastry, energy surged through her. She’d scope the place and then find somewhere to stay. She stood and looked for Mai to thank her, but she was busy in the kitchen.
Zamira headed for her car, the carpark almost full now.
The icy air through her open window kept her alert as she drove. She followed her phone’s directions as she turned off the highway onto a smaller bitumen road and then onto a gravel road. Peppermint trees and bushes lined the road, blocking the properties from view. Occasionally a mailbox or driveway indicated a new place and she’d glimpse a roof. It would take a long time to walk into town.
“You have arrived,” her phone proclaimed.
Zamira stopped. A driveway twenty metres in front of her and another twenty metres behind her. Which was it?
Both had letterboxes, one shaped like a wooden cottage, and the other a simple metal one you could buy for under a hundred dollars from the local hardware store. The driveway with the metal mailbox also had a large metal security gate which currently stood open.
She drove forward but the metal mailbox had no name or number on it. Shifting into reverse, she checked the wooden letterbox. Nothing.
Decision time. Which road should she take?
The wooden mailbox had a much safer feel. The person who lived there cared about aesthetics and appearance. Her mother would approve. A neat yard denoted a neat mind. Zamira drove down the well-graded drive hedged by peppermint trees. It opened into a large gravel yard and her mouth dropped open. The centrepiece was the house. A dark wooden cabin much like the letterbox, but it had wide verandahs and a dirt path leading up to the front door. A smattering of flowers grew in the small garden beds either side of the path, as if the owner had shaken a mixed packet of seeds into the bed and waited to see which ones grew. Gorgeous.
Behind the house was a large wooden shed almost the same size. The wood was more faded, greying from age and the big double doors stood open. A large water tank sat at the side of the shed and next to it a fire hose and generator. This person was prepared. A truck and a ute were parked outside. No sign of any burnt building. This couldn’t be the right place.
As she circled the open gravel yard, a man appeared at the shed door.
She stared.
Cave man. He had to be over six foot, with scruffy blond-brown hair that hadn’t been brushed this morn
ing, and a thick, full beard. Despite the cold morning, he wore only a black T-shirt and jeans, the cut of the top defining his firm biceps and broad chest. He frowned but lifted a hand in a wave.
Her muscles tensed. Mai had said something about the neighbour calling in the fire, saving Annisa. This could be him. But she was hopeless at speaking to men around her own age. Too little practice.
This wasn’t for her, it was for Annisa.
Besides, it would look suspicious if she drove away, and she didn’t want him to call the cops on her.
She parked, made sure her mobile was in her pocket and got out. Her mother would be horrified she was out here alone with a strange man.
“Can I help you?” The man wandered over. He was at least a half foot taller than her with muscles in his arms and chest that could easily overpower her.
She forced a smile and shifted closer to her car, keeping the open door between her and the man. “I think I’m lost.”
His smile lit up his rich, hazel eyes and it took his whole appearance from Neanderthal to hunk. Wow. Her heart raced as he said, “Where are you going?”
Her mind went completely blank. “Ah… something retreat.”
“You mean Hideaway?”
She nodded.
“You took a right when you should have taken a left. Hannah’s place is over that way.” He pointed. “If you turn right out of my place, drive to the T-junction, turn right again and then take the next left you’ll find it.”
His words barely registered, she was still reeling from the punch his smile had packed. She was obviously too tired. Blinking rapidly, she said, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”
Concern crossed his face. “Are you all right? You look exhausted.”
She ran a hand through her short hair. “Long drive.”
SHELTER Page 2
