by Elise Noble
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1 - Kylie
Chapter 2 - Kylie
Chapter 3 - Kylie
Chapter 4 - Kylie
Chapter 5 - Kylie
Chapter 6 - Kylie
Chapter 7 - Kylie
Chapter 8 - Kylie
Chapter 9 - Kylie
Chapter 10 - Kylie
Chapter 11 - Kylie
Chapter 12 - Kylie
Chapter 13 - Kylie
Chapter 14 - Kylie
Chapter 15 - Kylie
Chapter 16 - Kylie
Chapter 17 - Russ
Chapter 18 - Russ
Chapter 19 - Mimi
Chapter 20 - Mimi
Chapter 21 - Kylie
Chapter 22 - Kylie
What's next?
Want to stalk me?
End of book stuff
Other books by Elise Noble
BRONZE
Elise Noble
Published by Undercover Publishing Limited
Copyright © 2019 Elise Noble
v5
ISBN: 978-1-912888-09-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Edited by Amanda Ann Larson
Cover design by Abigail Sins
www.undercover-publishing.com
www.elise-noble.com
For Bella, my shadow of fourteen years.
CHAPTER 1 - KYLIE
“WELCOME BACK TO Australia, Mrs. Watson. Enjoy your trip.”
The immigration officer handed back my passport, and I fought to maintain the slightly aloof expression I’d been practising in front of the mirror for the past week, when what I really wanted to do was cry with relief.
Relief that I hadn’t been arrested on sight.
My heart hammered in my chest as “Mr. Watson” cleared passport control behind me then placed a hand on the small of my back to steer me out to the waiting limo. A freaking limo. How the other half lived.
The driver took my fancy leather luggage—monogrammed with my fake initials, KW, which was a nice touch—and it was only then that I noticed my hands were shaking, a definite tremble I tried to hide by shoving them into my pockets. Then I realised I didn’t have any pockets because I was wearing a designer dress that probably cost more than the monthly salary I used to earn as a police officer.
Back in those days, I never used to tremble.
“Good flight, ma’am?” the driver asked as I slid into the car.
“Very good, thank you.”
The driver wasn’t in on the secret. As far as the staff at the Black Diamond Hotel and Spa were concerned, I was just another rich bitch flying in for a quiet but luxurious holiday on the Queensland coast, a week or two of R & R at the secluded resort an hour or so north of Brisbane.
“There’s chilled champagne in the cooler. Traffic’s light, so we should have a smooth ride. If you’d like to order dinner ahead of your arrival, I can call through to the chef.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, then remembered my manners. “Russell? How about you?”
“Huh?”
He glanced up from his phone, where his nose had been buried for half of the flight from the US. For the other half, he’d been engrossed in his laptop.
“Do you want to order dinner?”
“Uh, right, I’m fine with whatever.”
So, that’d be one plate of nothing and one plate of anything, then.
“Could you just ask the chef to send some snacks?” I said to the driver.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Bodybuilder butterflies pounded my stomach, trying to batter their way out. Every time we rounded a bend, I looked for the police cruiser, waited for the siren, the flashing lights. The ink on my arrest warrant might have been dry, but the cops would never forget, especially since the person who’d framed me for murder was one of their own.
My ex-boss to be precise, who also happened to be my ex-boyfriend. Detective Sergeant Michael Brenner of the Brisbane City Tactical Crime Squad.
Every so often while I was on the run, I’d looked him up on the internet out of morbid curiosity. Had his deception been discovered yet? No, it hadn’t. Not only was he still in his job, he’d received a bloody medal late last year after saving a child from a burning building.
If I had to guess, I’d say he probably lit the fire himself. That was the kind of dirtbag he was.
Outside the car, everything was green. So much green. Such a difference from Egypt, where I’d been living until recently. I had to stop myself from pressing my nose to the window, from rolling the glass down to inhale the sweet, rain-soaked air as eucalyptus trees rustled above us in the breeze.
I’d grown up not too far from there in Rocky Ridge, a little town famous for having the best ice cream parlour in Queensland. The Ice House served over a hundred flavours, which was somewhat dangerous since the wait staff wore roller skates. But they’d had a lot of practice, and I’d never once seen them drop anything.
Back when I was free, I’d spent every holiday driving up and down this road, visiting the tourist attractions along the way, usually with my best friend, Chloe, sitting beside me rather than a half-stranger I was pretending to be married too. In those days, I’d dreamed of travelling the world, of seeing the exotic places from the TV in person, but once I left, all I wanted was to be back home.
Where was Chloe now? I’d sent one last email to her before I left town, explaining the situation, saying I was sorry and begging her not to believe the lies, but I hadn’t been in contact since. Did she hate me? I couldn’t blame her if she did. I’d missed her freaking wedding. For all I knew, she had a child now. Two children. Three. A family.
And speaking of family, I’d abandoned them too. My parents still lived in Rocky Ridge, in the house where I’d grown up, a compact white bungalow on a small plot just five minutes’ walk from The Ice House. Dad used to keep chickens in the yard. Did he still have chickens?
Would I ever find out?
I’d spent the past three years thinking I’d never set foot in my home country again. Three years when I’d travelled from Honduras to Russia to Costa Rica to Cape Verde to Tunisia to Algeria to Egypt, none of it through choice, heading anywhere without an extradition treaty with Australia. I thought I’d have to keep running forever, until one day in Egypt, I got two new neighbours whose arrival set off a chain of events that left over twenty people dead and me on a private jet fleeing yet another country. The same jet I’d just stepped off, in fact.
Russell has been in Egypt too, and for better or for worse, he’d volunteered to pose as my husband for this trip. The police would be looking for a fugitive travelling alone, not a happily married woman with an admittedly handsome spouse.
Russell hadn’t offered his services out of altruism, though. No, he’d offered them out of guilt. Guilt that an app he’d designed had played a part in both the trouble in Egypt and the shambles my life had become. This was his way of lightening the load, and I had no choice but to accept his help.
And I could have done worse, I suppose. From what I’d seen of Russell, he had two sides. The charming, gentlemanly side—the man who opened d
oors and offered you his seat and always said please and thank you. Then there was the workaholic side. Once he got his head down in front of his laptop, nothing short of a nuclear blast would distract him from his task. To him, computer programming wasn’t so much a job as an obsession. But like I said, it could have been worse. At least he wouldn’t hurt me the way Michael did, and he’d top up my wine at dinner.
But if Russell was my sidekick, the heavy lifting had been done by Emmy Black, a new acquaintance I’d met in Egypt. I had to call her an acquaintance because she didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who made friends easily. She part-owned the jet, and the Black Diamond Resort, and Blackwood Security, whose services she’d offered to fix my mess. Or at least, attempt to fix it. Personally. I couldn’t see a way out of the predicament, but I also couldn’t afford to pass up the opportunity to try.
Her parting gift to me had been a new passport in the name of Kyanna Watson. For the last three years, I’d been Tegan Wallace, and while I wasn’t yet able to call myself Kylie Nichols again, I was one step closer with the Ky part.
The car turned down a driveway and purred past a sign welcoming us to the Black Diamond. We meandered under spreading poinciana trees and lollipop-shaped tuckeroos lit up by strategically placed lights, their foliage reminding me again of the garden at home. Dad had loved his garden, and by the age of six, I’d been able to name every plant and tree in it. I gave in and opened the window, and the scent of frangipani drifted in. I’d missed my home so, so much.
The main lodge came into view, a single-storey building that sprawled in front of us. I knew from Emmy’s briefing that it contained a breakfast room, restaurant, spa, library, gym, and conference rooms. Accommodation was in luxury villas tucked away amongst the trees on the twenty-hectare estate. Russell and I would be staying in Emmy’s own villa, a three-bedroom affair just a stone’s throw from the beach. In separate bedrooms, of course.
Before the driver could get my door, a smaller man hurried out of the lodge and tugged it open.
“Mr. and Mrs. Watson? Welcome to the Black Diamond. I’m Akeem, your concierge for this evening.”
He beamed at us, waving a porter over as he stepped back to let us exit. Russell went first, holding out a hand for me. You’d think he’d been working undercover his whole life when in actual fact, that had been my job.
We followed Akeem inside, and he didn’t stop talking the whole way.
“So, you’ll be staying in Emmy and Black’s private villa. The master bedroom’s off-limits, but we’ve opened up everything else for you. Bradley called ahead and asked me to stock up on groceries for you in case you want to cook”—Bradley was Emmy’s assistant—“although of course we can deliver room service twenty-four-seven and the restaurant’s right through there.” He waved a hand to his left. “We’ve made tea for you. Would you like it here or at the villa?”
“I’m more of a coffee drinker,” Russell told him.
I couldn’t help giggling. “He means dinner.”
“Oh. Do people drink tea here?”
“Of course they do. It’s even grown here. Just ask for a cuppa if you want one.”
“I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine. And we’ll eat in the villa if it’s not too much trouble.”
Akeem clapped his hands together. “No trouble at all. Red, white, or rosé?”
I snorted a little at the idea of Russell drinking rosé, but he gave a polite smile.
“Red, please.”
“If you could just sign in, I’ll show you to the villa. George,” he called to the porter. “Take the luggage to villa 666.”
Six-six-six? Well, that was appropriate considering who it belonged to.
Named after the devil or not, the villa was beautiful. Each spacious double bedroom had its own bathroom complete with a giant tub, a walk-in shower, and a collection of toiletries in a basket by the sink. In the living room, three sofas clustered around an entertainment area on one side, next to an open-plan kitchen and dining area. Beyond, folding glass doors opened up to a terrace that came with half a dozen sun loungers and our own pool, all surrounded by palm trees, jacarandas, and a whole collection of tropical plants.
Under any other circumstances, I’d have been in heaven at the thought of spending a week or two there, but with things as they were, I couldn’t tamp down the gnawing feeling of apprehension.
“Can I book you any spa treatments? Arrange some excursions?” Akeem offered. “We have our own boat if you want to go scuba diving or snorkelling.”
I shook my head, then regretted aggravating my fledgling headache. “No, thank you. We already have plans for tomorrow. Did our hire car get delivered?”
Bradley had promised to arrange transport too.
“A hire car? No, no. He said you’d be using Emmy’s car. The keys are in the nightstand in the pink bedroom along with some other goodies.” He gave me a wink I wasn’t sure I liked. “The car’s parked in the carport at the side. Just turn right out of the lobby. Toodles.”
He backed out the door, closing it behind him with a quiet click.
“Goodies? What’s that supposed to mean?” Russell asked.
“Let’s take a look, shall we?”
I found the car key nestled in a pile of condoms of every conceivable colour, flavour, and texture. There were also three kinds of lube, a pair of handcuffs, and some toys I had no idea what to do with.
“Safe to say they’ve got completely the wrong idea about why we’re here.”
“Which is a good thing, yes?” Russell picked out a pink ostrich feather. “Not really my colour.”
I was more interested in the key. The little black fob had a silver pony running across the back of it.
“Holy shit. Emmy’s lent us a Mustang?”
“Is that good or bad? My type of car comes with a chauffeur.”
“Are you serious?”
“I live in London. If I need to go somewhere, I take the Tube or hire a town car.”
“I meant, you seriously don’t know what a Mustang is? Don’t you have a driver’s licence?”
I did, courtesy of Emmy. And a birth certificate and an Australian Medicare card too. She didn’t do things by halves. I just hoped I wouldn’t need to use Medicare when this was over.
“I learned to drive a decade ago, but I’ve never owned a vehicle. What’s the point? In London, I’d spend most of my time sitting in traffic.”
“Looks like I’ll be doing the driving, then.” Although in a Mustang, I couldn’t say I minded.
“Leyton’s coming here tomorrow, isn’t he?”
“Yes, at nine.”
Leyton was Leyton Rix, a senior investigator from Blackwood’s Brisbane office. He’d been assigned to help with my case, and boy did I feel sorry for the guy. I’d spoken to him on the phone last week, and he sounded far more positive than I felt. But we were asking him to do the impossible. Firstly, we had to prove my innocence in a case where the evidence was stacked against me, and secondly, we needed to get Michael put in jail where he belonged. And the Queensland Police Service’s shining star wouldn’t go quietly, of that I was sure.
CHAPTER 2 - KYLIE
THE NEXT MORNING, Russell was already sitting at the dining table when I got up, complete with two laptops and a carafe of coffee. When he saw me, he poured life-giving caffeine into an empty cup and held it out.
“You look as though you need this.”
I was too tired to be insulted. “Thanks.”
“Didn’t sleep well?”
“Every time I heard a noise outside, I thought someone was coming to arrest me.”
“They won’t. Not at the moment, anyway. Your case is more or less cold. Nobody spotted you at the airport, so they’re not going to suddenly turn up and break the door down.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“I do, actually.” Before I could ask how, he gestured towards the laptops in front of him. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the last month?”
/>
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
When we left Egypt, he’d flown to Virginia with the rest of us—me, Emmy, her colleague Logan, plus Tai and Ren, my former neighbours, and Ren’s boss Jed. But while everyone else had stayed in Virginia, Russell had flown back to London after two weeks, citing work commitments. I’d been too stressed to speak to him much at Riverley, Emmy’s home in the US, and I hadn’t seen him again until the day before yesterday. Yes, I probably should have paid more attention to him, but he was only meant to be a decoy, not an operational member of the team.
When I first met him, I’d assumed he was just another city boy, one of the dime-a-dozen suited clones that inhabited every business district from Brisbane to Brussels, but it turned out he was a hacker. White-hat by day, and—I suspected—black-hat by night. Seemed he’d just confirmed that.
“You got into the QPS’s network?”
“They really should update their anti-virus software. One of the little fishes took the bait a week ago.”
“Which fish? Do you know?”
“Arlo Clarke.”
“Superintendent Clarke? Oh my goodness. He was my supervisor. And he used to make us take this stupid cybersecurity test every three months, one with fake emails and cartoon fish, and if we were a day late, he’d threaten to put us on desk duty until we caught up.”
“Perhaps he should’ve practised what he preached.”
“What did you send him? Tell me it was a link to a porn site?”
The corner of Russell’s lip twitched. “Sorry to disappoint. It was a discount voucher for Domino’s pizza. No one can resist seventy-five percent off. I’m still going through his data, but there’s been no traffic mentioning your name in the last twenty-four hours. If someone had an inkling you were in the country, they’d most likely have contacted Clarke.”
Russell was right; they would. Which meant my stomach could stop flipping long enough for me to eat something.
