Engaging the Enemy

by Susanne Bellamy

  You’re as bad as your grandpa.

  A stone settled in his stomach. He was damned whichever way he chose to go. Either his mother lost the chance to live in the home that should have been hers, or Trouble and her little boy lost another roof over their heads, and any sense of security they might have found here. Tamping down the urge to tell her not to worry, his voice emerged more gruff than he meant it to.

  ‘Where’s the boy’s father?’

  Eyes wary, Trouble took a step back, watching him closely.

  Tone down the aggro, Mahoney. She doesn’t need that from you too.

  Forcing his tone to soften, he asked, ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Like I told you last night — this is The Shelter. Where women and kids come when there’s no other place for them. Like when some bastard of a husband or jackass of a father gets drunk or abusive or kicks them out—’ She broke off, crossed her arms over her chest and pressed her lips together as though she’d already said too much.

  His gut flipped at the scene she painted. This was personal. She was passionate about the place because she needed it. And suddenly he felt like a right bastard. Business was one thing but he’d never harass a woman in need.

  He gentled his tone further, encouraging her to share with him. ‘Which was it that happened to you?’

  She half-turned away and pulled in a shaky breath, her shoulders hunching. ‘None of your damned business.’

  Prickly and beautiful and needing help. His help?

  Are you a white knight or something now?

  What was he thinking? He shouldn’t get involved, not with her. Not personally. Not when this deal was the most important one of his life. He had to succeed to redress past wrongs. To redeem his family’s honour.

  But you can offer something. That property out Williamstown way? Not centrally located but, with a bit of work, usable.

  ‘I apologise. I didn’t mean to pry. But—’

  Hands on hips, eyes blazing, she swung around and confronted him. ‘Don’t you care about all the women and children here who need help? Don’t you think that some of us just want to make a difference?’

  ‘I can see that you do and I have nothing but admiration for people who roll up their sleeves and do the hard jobs. And I’d like to help but there is still this problem.’

  ‘You mean you’d like to help, so long as it doesn’t inconvenience you?’

  ‘No, I mean—’

  ‘So long as you don’t have to do any dirty work, or—’

  ‘I’m offering to listen while you tell me about The Shelter.’

  ‘Listen?’ Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her head to the side and examined him like a bug under the microscope.

  Sweat prickled under his collar and he nodded. He had to change her mind and still help her. Them.

  ‘Will it change your mind about kicking us out?’

  ‘I want this building.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘As you said before, that’s my business.’

  ‘Just — buy another one.’

  ‘I need this one.’

  ‘I — we need it.’

  Such a little verbal slip, but it confirmed his suspicion. This was personal for her. ‘Tell me. How many are here? How’s it run? Who’s in charge?’

  ‘You really want to know–’

  Footsteps clicked on the bare hall boards. Trouble’s attention flicked to the open doorway as the sound grew closer and she jerked her thumb toward it. ‘Ask the boss.’

  A tall, spiky-haired brunette stopped just inside the doorway, her self assurance and cool-eyed assessment leaving him in no doubt she was the boss. Confused, he tried to recall Dave’s comment. He’d given Matt the impression Trouble was in charge.

  The woman quirked an eyebrow at him. ‘What do you want, Mahoney?’

  ‘And good morning to you. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me. I was just asking your friend here about The Shelter.’

  ‘You can ask me. I’m in charge.’

  A suited figure moved into the room behind the woman. ‘Lexie! Thank goodness you’re here. We’ve got to talk—’

  Dave stepped around the woman and stopped. Open-mouthed, he stared at Matt and Trouble.

  So his second in charge did know Trouble — Lexie. And he was surprised? They were in this together, somehow. Anger surged through Matt. He’d deal with his manager later. Right now, he was about to give Trouble a piece of his mind.

  Damn it. This is business. I can’t go calling her Trouble, even if it suits. Use her name. Lexie Devlin. Hang on, not Devlin.

  Doesn’t matter. Just get on with it.

  Trouble had nearly duped him into thinking she was innocent and vulnerable. He’d been feeling sorry for her, had almost offered her free space elsewhere. More fool him.

  He took hold of Trouble’s elbow and glared at Lexie. ‘Yes. We do need to talk about why you’re in my building.’

  Trouble tugged her arm free and he turned back to look at her. ‘I told you, we’re a haven for abused women and kids. We provide the only roof they’ve got. And’ — she waved the wrench at him, emphasising her words — ‘we’re…not…leaving.’

  ‘Jeez, woman. What do you think you’re doing with that thing?’

  ‘I’m fixing the plumbing. You really should take better care of your tenants, Mr Mahoney.’

  ‘Tenants are you?’

  ‘Yes, tenants.’ She looked at the other woman who smirked and tilted her chin up at him.

  Never one to miss an opening, Matt pounced. He’d show Boss Lady, and Lexie, they’d taken on the wrong man in this fight. ‘In that case, where’s my rent?’

  Boss Lady’s smirk faded and Lexie lowered her chin and blinked up at him. ‘What?’

  He knew he should be talking with the woman in charge but Lexie seemed most invested in the building. He directed his words to her. ‘You’re staying in my building. You had an agreement with the previous owner that you could use this building until you found something else. You paid him rent—’

  ‘We had an arrangement.’ His little firebrand bit on her lower lip.

  In spite of his certainty she and Dave were working together, the sign of vulnerability tugged at his honour.

  Wrong time and place, boyo.

  Trouble was an inconvenient and unpursuable attraction.

  Railroading his errant thoughts back on track, he squared his shoulders. No more Mr Nice Guy. ‘Tell me about this arrangement you had.’

  Pink bloomed along her high cheekbones and a sprinkling of freckles stood out across her nose. ‘Why don’t you ask the owner — the previous owner? He granted us the use of this building for as long as we needed it.’

  She was a really terrible liar.

  Or unused to lying? Ridiculously, the thought appeased his anger.

  She’s playing you. The voices argued in his head.

  Shut it!

  ‘Really?’

  Touching her tongue to her lips, she glanced at the other woman who shrugged and then nodded. Trouble turned back, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘He’ll tell you. Ask him.’

  ‘I did.’

  Eyes widening, she sucked in a breath and held it.

  He played his trump card. ‘It seems you didn’t pay him any rent. Technically you’re squatters which kind of changes things, don’t you think? You’ve been living in my building and paid no rent since I took possession almost a month ago. If you can’t pay the back rent owing by tomorrow midday, then you’ll have an eviction order before dinner.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘You can’t evict us.’ Her cheeks were paler than a Donegal winter.

  ‘Oh but I can. Four weeks’ notice. I’m giving you that now.’ Let her try to talk her way out of this. But the triumph of finding a loophole in this whole sorry mess didn’t give him the high he expected.

  Dave stepped forward. ‘Boss, can’t we—?’

  Matt’s jaw muscles tightened so much they hurt. He glared and stopped Dave in his track
s with a single look. ‘What, Dave? If you’d done your job properly and not let personal feelings interfere, this situation wouldn’t have occurred. The project would be underway already. You’re on notice.’

  Dave blanched and his lips thinned as he closed them on the unfinished plea.

  Beside him, Trouble gasped.

  Instinctively he turned, his eyes seeking hers. Bad move.

  Twin pools of clear green shimmered, and then she blinked rapidly before she looked away.

  She was wrong and he was right, so why did he feel like the ogre?

  She swallowed and pressed her lips together, sniffed and met his gaze once more. Feet planted firmly in front of him, she gripped his lapel.

  ‘You can’t do that. It’s not his fault, Mr Mahoney.’

  ‘This is none of your concern—’ He reached to lift her hand off his suit.

  Cool slim fingers gripped the material more tightly. She shook her head and cut him off. ‘He told us the date we had to be out. But like I said, I’ve tried to see you…to beg you to reconsider. Can’t you give us just a little more time here? We don’t need long. Two months? Please?’

  Two months? The renovation needs six months and Ma might not be alive in six months.

  ‘One month? Just another four weeks? Please?’ She clung to his jacket.

  Stony dread weighed heavily in his stomach. Delay was impossible. Any delay, even for Trouble and her son, was too long. He needed the renovations started, preferably yesterday.

  The night before he’d moved to Melbourne, Ma had mentioned her father’s old home. I wonder if it’s still standing? Have a look for it, Matt. Please.

  Such a little request, but he’d heard the longing in her voice. Now it was within his power to give it back to her — her father’s home, returned to the family and restored to its former glory. Why did Trouble have to be here?

  ‘A shelter doesn’t have to be in the city centre.’

  ‘True, but it needs to have decent public transport nearby. Where better than here?’

  Like a bolt sliding home, a connection clicked into place. His Williamstown property was close to the rail lines. It would work. He’d make it work because he had to get Lexie and the others out now.

  Decision made, Matt steeled himself for the difficult negotiation.

  ‘Look, you’re worried about these mothers and their bairns, right?’

  Uncertainty clouded her expression. She had no idea of the furious race of ideas in his head as he tried to reconcile conflicting needs. Slowly, she nodded.

  ‘And I’m not about to turn them out into the cold.’

  Hope sprang into her eyes. ‘You won’t put us out on the street?’

  ‘Of course I won’t let them go without protection. I’ve got a solution. Lexie, I—’

  ‘I’m not Lexie.’

  ‘Pardon?’ Diverted by her bewildered frown, Matt automatically flicked a query to the man he’d all but fired. ‘Dave, you said it was Lexie at the ball?’

  The spiky-haired woman stepped between them. ‘Ooh, do tell. What did you say about the waitress?’

  Colour ran up Dave’s cheeks and he shuffled his feet, flicking a quick glance at the woman. ‘I said Lexie was in charge here. His description of the waitress sounded like she was ballsy and I thought it must have been you.’

  Her guffaw welled up from deep inside and erupted into the charged atmosphere.

  ‘Ballsy? Well you got that right, and don’t you forget it.’ She turned back and squared up to Matt. ‘I’m Lexie Hamilton-Smythe. The one who’s been writing to you.’

  ‘You’re Lexie?’

  Arms crossed, the tall woman grinned as though enjoying a secret joke at his expense. She was starting to annoy him, big time.

  He looked down at Trouble’s upturned face. ‘So, just who are you, Trouble?’

  ‘Nobody. Just — Andie. Andie Devlin.’

  Grin widening, Lexie strolled over and slung an arm around Andie’s shoulders. ‘He really should know, Andie. There’s no point not telling him.’

  ‘Lexie, no. Please?’

  ‘Allow me to introduce you. Matthew Mahoney — Andrea de Villiers.’

  Like a punch to his solar plexus, the air whooshed out of his lungs and for one disjointed moment, Matt swore the kitchen blurred as he slid into some alternate universe. It couldn’t be happening. Not now, please God. Teeth clenched, he gripped the edge of the counter until the bite of the metal trim hurt enough to know this nightmare was real.

  De Villiers! As in Gerald-I-just-sold-you-my-building-de Villiers?

  Brain reeling with the implications of Lexie’s oh-so-casual introduction, Matt fought to maintain his cool as white-hot anger burned inside him. Andrea’s father — as in grandson of the bastard who cheated my grandpa out of his home?

  Andie was his daughter.

  Even with repetition he struggled to make the unpalatable fact stick in his brain. Was there no good karma in the world?

  The floor beneath Matt’s feet might as well have been quicksand. De Villiers’ daughter had well and truly suckered him.

  I should have known a de Villiers can’t be trusted. Like father, like grandsire.

  Bile rose in his throat. Even if he won and evicted the women now, de Villiers would likely go to the media and drag out the whole ‘uncaring bully-boy developer’ angle until the council refused his planning permission. The renovations would be delayed while he sought his rights in court. What chance did his mother have of seeing the home finished now? Another de Villiers had done the dirty on another Mahoney.

  Cold determination rushed through him. His mother would not lose out a second time to a de Villiers. Not if it was in his power to prevent it. He had to find the right leverage to convince the women to move. Putting the pressure on was a good start.

  ‘Ms de Villiers, Ms Hamilton-Smythe — he turned to make eye contact with each of them — ‘your one month began the day after the sale was finalised. That means you have forty-eight hours to get off my property. I suggest you ask your father to find you another place. And another sucker to try out your wiles on.’

  His jaw tightened and tension snaked through his temples. ‘You, Dave, I’ll see back at my office.’ He turned to go.

  Andie stepped into his path. ‘Mr Mahoney, Dave has nothing to do with The Shelter other than trying to help us like any decent human being would. Our being here still is all my doing, no one else’s. So if you want to take out your anger on someone, then it’s me you should be directing it at.’

  ‘You — you’re not even in charge.’

  ‘But it’s because of me that we’re here in the first place. I wanted to make it work, to show—’

  Matt held up one hand to stem the flood of words pouring out of her mouth. ‘I’m not interested in whatever sad tale you’re offering. But I do think, Miss de Villiers, that you might have a care for Jordan. Why you would bring him into this sort of place when your father has a mansion in Toorak defies belief. Even if he doesn’t think much of Jordan’s father—’

  ‘Jordan’s father is a no-good, hopeless brute who—’

  ‘Spare me the details. Tell them to your father. Just be out of my building within two days.’

  ‘Please believe me when I say my father has no interest in me or this building.’

  ‘Believe you? After the lies you’ve spouted you have the gall to ask that? Do you think I’m away with the leprechauns? To be sure, if you said it was fine out I’d take my umbrella.’

  At least she had the good grace to blush at his riposte but before he could continue, Jordan ran into the kitchen holding one finger aloft, tears sliding down his cheeks.

  Andie scooped him into her arms, concentrating all her attention on the boy. ‘What’s the matter, pet? Have you hurt your finger?’ The boy nodded and held it up for her inspection. She examined it, then gently kissed his finger tip and patted his back. ‘We’ll put a plaster on it and it’ll be all better, won’t it?’

  Jordan solemnl
y nodded. A bairn needed to believe his mother. If only she wasn’t a liar, a beautiful, scheming liar. Still, Matt decided, it was obvious she loved the child and cared about him so there was some good in her.

  Even a lying mother was better than none at all.

  He strode to the door and paused to look back at Andie cradling the boy close.

  ‘You have two days.’

  Chapter Five

  Andie smoothed non-existent creases from her skirt and wiped the sweat from her palms before she pressed the security buzzer again. The white wrought-iron gates of her father’s Toorak mansion loomed over her as she peered through the bars at the half-open office window on the second floor.

  Was that a figure moving behind the billowing gauze curtain or just her over-anxiety kicking in?

  The sky was ablaze, streaks of pink and gold tipping the horizon beyond the roof line of her father’s house. She refused to call it home. Homes were places where families lived and loved.

  The office curtain fluttered again, drawing her attention. Surely he was home by now? Her father was nothing if not a creature of habit. But would he talk with her or was he still angry about her parting shot?

  ‘I hate you. I never want to talk to you again’.

  Horrible words. Had she really meant them? She cringed. Nobody deserved to be on the receiving end of that sort of vitriol.

  Not even when he just up and broke his promise to me. Maybe that’s why running The Shelter without his backing is so important to me.

  Her stepmother’s disembodied voice emanated from the speaker and brought her attention back to the present. ‘Oui? Who is it?’

  ‘Monique? It’s Andie. Can you buzz me in?’

  ‘Andie? Mon dieu. Oui, viens.’

  Two soft clicks preceded the controlled opening of the heavy gates which closed behind her as soon as she passed through. A barely audible whirring above her head reminded her that Monique was monitoring her entry on the latest CCTV security.

  Andie breathed a sigh of relief as she climbed the broad marble stairs and her stepmother pulled her into a tight embrace.

  ‘Andie, ma pauvre enfant! Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you.’

  Andie sank into the taller woman’s arms and closed her eyes. Breathing in Monique’s favourite perfume, Red, Andie felt some of her tension ease. At least there was one person who cared for her.