by Nicky Webber
Under Hidden Skies - Book 3
Shadows Between Lies series
Nicky Webber
Media Publishers Ltd
Copyright © 2021 Nicky Webber
Under Hidden Skies – Book 3 in the Shadows Between Lies series is Copyright © 2021 Nicky Webber.
The right of Nicky Webber to be identified as the author of this work in terms of section 96 of the New Zealand Copyright Act 194 is hereby asserted.
Published by Media Publishers (2001) Ltd,
New Zealand
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
ISBN: 9780995134768
A catalogue record of
Under Hidden Skies
in the Shadows Between Lies series - Book 3, is available from the National Library of New Zealand.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
"Look like an innocent flower but be the serpent underneath."
Macbeth Act 1 Scene V
by William Shakespeare
Preface
Praise for UNDER HIDDEN SKIES
In the SHADOWS BETWEEN LIES Series BOOK 3
Another unique story about this extended family and their secrets. Good use of foreshadowing adding tension with cunning subplots to this great read. Tina Shaw, Editor.
Several themes run through this book that ebb and flow, keeping the reader intrigued. Sue Hall, Editor.
I couldn’t put this book down. It was so compelling, I can’t wait to read the next one! Sharon Morrison.
The emotional ride interwoven with the crime story makes for a gripping read. Loved the characters and how they’ve developed from Book One. Peter Marsden.
What a great read. I couldn't put it down, reading it all in a couple of hours! Can't wait for your next one. Larraine Pita.
Nicky has skillfully written a compelling story, which was hard to put down. The lives of the familiar characters took some surprising twists and turns, heart-felt moments are beautifully described Sonja Konings.
CHAPTER 1
The Escape
Hawke slams his foot down as he speeds out of the corner. He swings the steering wheel to the right, the wheels barely gripping the winding road along the treacherous precipice. The second-hand black Corvette hugs the tarred surface, its rear back tires fishtailing in the night, flicking loose gravel across the snaking road.
He doesn’t care. Nothing matters anymore. His fury out-matches his racing heart as he grits his teeth, shoving the gearstick backward into fourth and thrusting the accelerator to the floor. The engine roars as he spins the overheated vehicle into the next steep bend. The headlights scan back and forth as he swerves from one side to the other, powering up the vertical climb. They are the only car lights for miles as he drives to the pinnacle of the mountain. He slows, skidding to an abrupt halt in a rest area on the cliff-side of the road.
He checks his cell phone at 2.33am.
Hawke wishes he hadn’t given up smoking. This is the time to light up and calm down. His muscular forearms tense, clutching the steering wheel with both hands as he throws back his head and unleashes a loud groan. He could have killed himself driving like a maniac, but who cares? It’s a solution. He releases his grip and let’s go of the leather-clad steering wheel a few times, attempting to slow his agitated breathing.
After several minutes, he pushes himself back into the leather seat and glances outside towards the deep valley below. The dark, rugged, sharp surfaces of the cliff-side seem pitted against his will. Small silhouettes of low shrub and tussock grass cast ominous shadows which cling to the cliff face, taunting him, enticing him to leap over the verge and into the narrow gorge far below. Within seconds, he raises his tormented gaze upwards, focusing on the dark horizon.
Hawke sighs, reaches for the door handle, and moves out of the car. Hawke squints over the roof of the Corvette at the vast horizon, slams the door shut and walks to the cliff edge. Standing still for a few moments, he takes in the panoramic view, but it gives him no solace.
A low metal barrier with an obscure warning sign to his right cannot stop him from stepping over it and onto the open cliff edge. He takes another small step and leans forward into the oncoming breeze. Hawke looks down into the rocky gorge and sees the occasional glint of the river slithering its way over hard-edged boulders. Flashes of silver remind him of the overpowering force of the rapids below, waiting for him only a few steps away. The expansive fall downwards pulls him. Hawke fights the yearning to step out over the edge.
He exhales and steps back, the low metal guard-rail presses behind his knees. The rising wind blows his hair across his face as his cell phone vibrates in his jeans pocket. The sound shakes him back from the brink of insanity. Had he lost his mind? Has he lost his sense of reality? He shoves his hand into his pocket, withdrawing the phone. It’s Tracy. He hesitates, thrusting it back in his pans, and steps over the barrier before walking back to the waiting car.
He slumps into the comfort of the warm leather driver’s seat and exhales a deep breath. Pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes, Hawke rakes his fingers through his hair and releases a loud sigh of relief. The escaping breath eases the rising tension as he turns the key and starts the ignition.
CHAPTER 2
Close Call
He recalls arguing with Tracy. He can almost hear her shouting in his head while reversing the car and swinging back onto the mountain road. The previous day Hawke Davis had sat among the dry tussock grass, undulating like ocean waves along the California coastline. His gaze drifted along the exposed sand dunes, embracing the shore. It’s time to extricate himself from the relationship with his long-term girlfriend.
With bronzed skin, after basking in the last days of the Californian summer, his soft white cotton t-shirt flaps against his chest in the gentle breeze, weirdly comforting Hawke. He grabs the front, pulling it over his baggy khaki shorts. Hawke’s dark hair ruffles in the offshore gust of wind obscuring his blue eyes. The thrashing waves reach out and grasp the beach in a rhythm, mirroring the beat of his pounding heart. He re-lives the argument with his ex-girlfriend. She is immovable in her defiance. Hawke inhales the salty sea air through his nostrils and blows it out through his open mouth, attempting to ease his sense of remorse.
Tracy’s words still ring in his ears after the first time he tried to talk with her in their apartment. They were both seated on the pale gray designer sofa opposite a low flat chrome and glass coffee table. Their contemporary living room is minimalist, open, and uncluttered, with a compact modern kitchen at one end. They were both drinking a mid-morning coffee before heading out to the local shopping mall. Hawke hardened himself and started the conversation about the end of their shared living arrangement.
‘But we have been through so much together.’ Tracy’s plaintive voice pleads with him not to leave her. ‘How can you throw me away like this?’
‘I’ve tried to explain,’ Hawke says, brushing both hands down the sides of his cotton clad thighs. ‘There’s no one else, Tracy. It’s me. I want out. I don’t know what else I can say.’ Hawke’s voice overflows with frustration. He only has imperfect words to explain his need to be alone. The more he attempts to avoid hurting her, the more she impl
ores. He keeps his reasons to himself.
‘Yes,’ he agrees, ‘you helped me recover, and you were brilliant support over the past year. I wouldn’t be in full remission from lymphoma without you, Tracey.’
Back then, he clung onto her, sobbing with her, clutching onto every scrap of attention he could wring from her calm, healing words of reassurance. But now he’s a survivor and doesn’t need mothering. He wants to live a new life. His perspective has shifted dramatically. Marriage, white picket fences, and children are someone else’s dream.
He recognizes this is her fantasy and not his. ‘Life is terminal, Tracy,’ he states, watching her shoulders slump back and her sandy hair fall forward, partly concealing her face. ‘I want to live life, every moment, and I want to be free from all restraints. I’m sorry, but I don’t want any relationship with anyone.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Tracy asks again. ‘I’ve looked after you all this time, nursing you through the worst of your illness. I did everything I could to make you better.’
‘I know you did,’ he replies. ‘I’ll be thankful to you for the rest of my life, but I can’t handle being with anyone. It’s changed for me. I need something different. It’s been a wake-up call, and I’ve got places to go and a life to live.’ He shook his head, looking down at his feet as she fixed her eyes on him uncomprehendingly. ‘It’s over Tracy,’ he mumbles as an after-thought.
‘But can’t I share your new life? Can’t I be with you?’ she asks, her question tinged with bitterness and rising anger.
Hawke holds her anxious gaze in silence.
Unexpectedly, she shouts. ‘You’re unbelievable!’ Tracy’s face contorts with the fear of reality. ‘I hate you! You’re a pig! After everything I’ve done.’ He reaches his hand out to her waving arm, wanting to calm her growing fury.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ she screams, stepping away from him. ‘You talk of love, but you don’t know what love is!’ She reels around, about to storm out of the living room. ‘I’m not an idiot. I know there’s someone else. There must be!’ Tracy’s voice grows cold and calculating as she spits out the last words, she will ever say to him. ‘You were a useless lay, anyway!’
Hawke’s taken aback by her abrupt change of heart. He senses venom in her words but cannot resist stinging her back. ‘Why don’t you try being a lesbian? I think you’d enjoy yourself a lot more!’
She gasps in disbelief, turns, and storms from the room, slamming the door so hard the windows shudder in their timber frames.
Hawke shakes his head, eyes wide with surprise as her words knife him to shreds with his own broken promises. There’s no point in arguing, and her rage confirms he’s made the right decision. He is leaving California and has already announced he is returning to New Zealand to stay with his Uncle Logan’s good friends, who have a vacant bach outside Whangamata. It’s a small self-contained log cabin, surrounded by native and exotic forest which he can holiday in for free. It’s a simple decision, and he visualizes the small sea-side cottage he’s enjoyed during a few previous long Kiwi summer holidays.
Dense bush divided by dirt tracks, isolate the remote property from the tourist center of the small seaside town. A holiday haven of sea, sand, and solace enjoyed by cheerful crowds of locals and foreigners alike during the long summer months. This is another gold-plated escape-hatch, a lifeline thrown to him by his uncle again. After Tracy’s bitter exchange, there are only a few days left before Hawke is catching the long-haul flight. It’s no surprise she’s not at the airport to see him off.
CHAPTER 3
New Horizons
The humdrum bustle of LAX masks Hawke’s hesitancy. His parents, Fred and Maddy Davis, along with Uncle Logan, hug him close, all three adults equally relieved that Hawke has agreed to spend a year in New Zealand to help recover his health and hopefully his regular energetic fitness along with his excellent sense of humor.
‘No tears at my departure,’ jokes Hawke as his mother hugs her youngest son. ‘Remember this is only farewell and not goodbye.’
The two men grin and roll their eyes. ‘You know what mothers are like,’ Logan says. ‘They don’t like you out of radar range where they may lose sight of the antics you get up to.’
Fred snorts and looks closely at his son. ‘It’s a full-on free-rein! Try to do nothing I wouldn’t do.’
His words are barely out when the metallic voice of the call for Hawke’s flight to Auckland nearly 6,000 miles away interrupts the conversation. They all smile and take turns for one last hug. Maddy can’t help tears welling as Hawke turns and picks up his backpack before heading towards the departure gates.
Logan puts his arms around his best friend’s wife. ‘He’ll be back home before you know it,’ he says.
‘Do you think he will turn around for one last wave?’ Maddy asks in a broken, tearful voice.
‘Logan’s right,’ Fred says. ‘He’ll be back home in a heart-beat,’ and he hands Maddy a clean, folded tissue from his jeans pocket.
Nearly twelve hours later Hawke arrives at Auckland Airport, shattered by the long-haul flight, but exhilarated by the adventure of living his own independent life. Uncle Logan has already arranged for a tourist shuttle-van to drop him off at the owner’s house in the central North Island town of Hamilton. From there, Peter and Anna Swanson drive Hawke through the lush, beautiful Coromandel and on to the small holiday town of Whangamata. The local Kiwi couple, delighted to meet him, happily chat about local issues as they travel along the Pohutukawa lined edge of the Pacific Ocean towards their holiday bach.
The Swansons, retired dairy farmers, have lived in the Waikato all their lives. They met Uncle Logan years earlier at one of his marketing presentations in Auckland city. Over the years Logan Jones and his late wife, Mila, with their two daughters rented their Whangamata holiday house. Their friendship flourished during the five years the Jones family had previously lived in New Zealand.
As they drove towards the coastal town, Peter talks about Logan. ‘He’s been a great mate to us over the years,’ he says, watching Hawke in the rear vision mirror. ‘It devastated us when Mila died.’
‘So sad,’ Anne chips in, turning from the passenger seat to glance at Hawke. ‘You won’t remember. You were a young kid back then, but your parents, Fred and Maddy, being close friends of the Jones’ came with you and your older brother one summer. What’s his name again? Brian?
Hawke smiles. ‘Blake. He told me he loved it here. We all do. Such a magical place. A beautiful country. They will all want to come over.’
‘Yes, Blake, of course,’ Anne continues. ‘We all spent some wonderful summers down at the beach.’
Hawke is light-headed from exhaustion and the delight of being in the Kiwi countryside. ‘Can’t wait to get to the beach and see the surf.’
‘We’ve left an old, beat-up Toyota. It’s done over 300,000 k’s but still gets you from A to B,’ explains Peter. ‘We figured, at least, you could drive into town when you want to pick up supplies. I’ll check the petrol, but there are probably a couple of liters sloshing around in the old rust-bucket.’
‘We’ll start her up before we leave to make sure she’s going,’ Anne adds, her freckle-face beaming at Hawke in the back seat.
‘Wow. I don’t know what to say.’ Hawke fumbles, wondering if Uncle Logan is paying a minder’s fee for the privilege of him staying at the Whangamata cottage. ‘Thanks so much. I really appreciate your kindness.’
‘You know, mate,’ Peter says, looking up at the twenty-six-year-old American in the rear vision mirror. ‘Logan talks highly of you as if you’re the son he never had. He’s always rabbiting on about you. How brilliantly you passed in that mathematics degree too.’
‘God knows how you work with numbers,’ Anne interrupts. ‘I got twenty-nine for maths in School C, and twenty percent of that was for spelling my name right on the exam paper.’
They all laugh. Peter rubs his enormous hands across his chin and speaks in a more serious voice
. ‘You know, son. We were very sad to hear about that bloody cancer thing. So just saying, we want you to relax and enjoy your stay. You’re on the mend now and thank God for that, aye? I think your parents and Logan were beside themselves last year when they told us.’
Hawke silently shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk about sickness, chemo treatment, or recovering from lymphoma. He counts himself lucky and does his best to repress any fears about the disease. Hawke hopes he’s in the top tier of survivors and plans to live the rest of his days on a beach, a beach called Whangamata. He sighs to himself.
Both Anne and Peter pick up Hawke’s body language. They have been around the block a few times and now retired; they understand Hawke’s need for avoidance and seamlessly change the subject.
‘Logan told us you’ve broken up with your girlfriend,’ Ann tries another line of questioning and realizes, too late, that her words may cause more emotional upset. ‘Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.’
Peter came to the rescue. ‘Typical females, aye? They are always nosey about a young person’s love life.’
Anne rolls her right shoulder uneasily. ‘It’s not that, Pete. I thought if he wants to meet a nice Kiwi girl, well what about Larraine? She’s gorgeous, young, fun and intelligent.’
‘Okay,’ Peter says. ‘You’ve got your sales pitch in. The bloke’s hardly in the country for five minutes, and you’ve already got him set up with everything he needs!’
Anne swings around again to get the measure of the young man in the back seat. He’s grinning broadly, looking mildly amused at the pair in the front.
‘Yeah. So far, I’m pretty impressed with the five-star service you two are delivering,’ Hawke says in his broad American accent. ‘Keep this up, and I might stay forever!’
