by Rhyll Biest
Since there was no emotional equivalent of a Heimlich manoeuvre to help her breathe again, she turned on her heel and walked out the door without a backwards look. Really, this was for the best. She had a war to win and couldn’t afford any distractions.
Her car, lurking by the kerb, gave her a sympathetic look. She unlocked the door and climbed in, the familiar smell of dog soothing her.
I’m not meant to be with people.
That was it. She was too different. The rotten tooth of rage that always lurked just below the surface, waiting to erupt, didn’t allow her to relax around others or to feel safe. And that was only right since the animals of Walgarra weren’t safe either.
Luka’s comment had lanced the foul inner truth of her life, that doubt kept her from ever feeling safe enough to love, and she wanted to eat his face for wounding her with something so sharp—the truth.
Chapter 14
She arrived at Stacey’s early, just like she arrived everywhere too early. Curse her old man.
The temptation to wait in the car until the others arrived bit hard. She didn’t do girl talk, didn’t know how. The suspicious habits of a lifetime didn’t lend themselves to cosy gossip and baring her soul for others’ approval. But, then, maybe Stacey didn’t do girl talk either. Perhaps the military beat that sort of thing right out of you. They could always trade dog handler stories instead, that might take her mind off her man troubles.
She was still really pissed at Luka for going all Doctor Phil on her and psychoanalysing her shit. Like he could cast mental health stones. The guy still flinched every time he saw anything that looked like a dark puddle. She would give him such a shunning tonight he would wonder if he’d turned invisible.
But the man giving her the most trouble was Grinder. She’d staked out the place named after him all night—hence the bags under her eyes—and she’d yet to discover much about him, except that he was a spitter and tended not to visit the tattoo parlour until after ten. And when he did arrive, it was on his hog, some under-dressed dolly riding bitch behind him.
Interesting but not terribly useful information.
Which meant she would have to shake the biker tree a little harder and see what fell out. Luka would definitely not approve, which was an added bonus.
Hoping Stacey didn’t own a cat, she gathered Stumpy up and approached the white bungalow house built along lines as square and practical as its owner. She buzzed, breathed the perfume of the jasmine flowers as she waited, brushed a finger over the leafy vines strangling a wall trellis.
Stacey answered the door wearing jeans and t-shirt, validating Kat’s choice of linen drawstring pants and a soft blue t-shirt.
The vet ignored Kat to coo over Stumpy. ‘Who’s a handsome boy? You are, yes, you are.’
Stumpy squirmed in his baby sling, ecstatic.
Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Stacey smiled at Kat’s cheek. ‘Your shiner’s fading nicely.’
It was at the pale green stage. ‘Thanks.’
Stacey threw the door wide. ‘Come on in.’
Cool air enveloped Kat, the thick walls of the adobe style house and slate floor serving their purpose.
Stacey glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Do you mind helping me finish set the table?’
‘Not at all.’ She parked Stumpy in the corner before eyeing the linen table cloth, the silver cutlery arranged as precisely as land mines. What sort of wine tasting party was this? If she’d known about that dining table she’d have stayed at home.
Stacey caught her staring at the place settings. ‘Civilised wine tasting is best done during a meal.’ She fussed with the alignment of a napkin. ‘So, what are your intentions towards Luka?’
In the middle of straightening a fork Kat stiffened. ‘I don’t have any intentions.’
Stacey’s grin flashed as sharp as the knife she straightened. ‘You might want to develop some then, because I saw the way he was looking at you at training.’
‘Yeah, so you said. Choc centre.’ Like she could forget.
Stacey picked up a napkin ring and buffed it on her t-shirt. ‘You don’t sound very pleased about it. Luka not your type?’
Oh, he’s just my type, the equivalent of napalm and mustard gas, a messy disaster one hundred percent guaranteed. ‘How would I know? I’ve been in town for all of five seconds.’
Stacey’s hands went to her hips. ‘Well, I’ve been in town for two years, and I can tell you he’s as solid as they get. Doesn’t screw around, doesn’t cheat. And a lot of people look to him for guidance, safety and protection.’
‘Sounds like a school crossing somewhere is missing its lollipop lady.’ Had she just sneered at this woman’s friend in her house? She hadn’t meant to. Old habit. Doubt was easier than belief.
‘Selling him too hard, am I?’ Stacey hummed as she straightened a fork.
The woman had endless energy and no boundaries whatsoever. ‘Does he know you go around pimping him out?’
Stacey pursed her lips. ‘You wash your mouth, I only pimp my Luka to fellow detector dog handlers.’
‘Well, dial it back a notch, I’m not in the market. I’m off men at the moment.’
Stacey glanced up as she straightened a dessert spoon, blue eyes curious. ‘You look a little young to be bitter and twisted.’
Kat resisted pointing out that it was only because Stacey was in her late thirties or early forties that Kat looked ’young’. That might sound bitchy and she didn’t do bitchy. Snarky, yes, but not bitchy. ‘That’s why people go around saying shit like ’looks can be deceptive’.’
Stacey grinned. ‘Huh. Well, there you go. What can I get you to drink, Miss Haversham?’
The sly dig drew a half-smile from her. ‘Aren’t you the wine expert?’
‘Oh, no, we can’t start that until the others arrive. How about some mineral water to freshen your palate?’
So, wine tasting had rules. She could roll with that. ‘I’m not even sure I have a palate, but water sounds fine.’
Once Stacey disappeared Kat stared at the terrifying dining table with its fancy place settings laid as carefully as landmines. The Royal Doulton plates leered at her. She always ate on the sofa at home. A dining table only prompted flashbacks of family meals where combatants exchanged sniper fire and lobbed hand grenades between or during courses. Retreat by excusing oneself from the table was not an option, even if wounded by friendly fire. One had to wait until after dessert for triage.
She turned her back on the linen-covered battlefield and inspected the silver-framed photographs on the shelves instead. Stacey in uniform with various military dogs, pictures of her horse riding, some show jumping shots and wedding photos. Kat squinted at the bride and groom. Made-up and dressed in white, Stacey was a beauty, and looked years younger. The groom made Kat frown. He looked familiar and yet she couldn’t place him. She mentally added some grey hair and gasped.
Her brain buzzed with confusion.
Shit. That was Mark Fairly. He was Stacey’s husband. Had been. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone mentioned that?
The photographs and the room blurred into one another. Was Stacey reminded of her dead husband every time she looked at Kat, the new inspector? If so, she hid it awfully well.
And Nick. He’d been a friend as well as a colleague of Fairly’s. No wonder he and Stacey danced around each other, the memory of her slain husband must rest like a giant coffin between them, a steeplechase-sized hurdle.
Why hadn’t Luka said something? Evert?
Stacey returned with a glass of mineral water for each of them and Kat didn’t have time to feel uncomfortable with her new knowledge as Stacey launched into her ‘get Luka laid’ campaign as soon as she handed Kat her drink. ‘You and Luka seemed to hit it off at training.’
Kat arched a brow. ‘You’re so shameless I’m surprised you haven’t drawn a giant love heart on the table cloth with our names written in it.’
Stacey sipped her spritzer. ‘Hmm, great idea. Just let me g
o find a felt pen.’
Kat snorted. ‘I’m impressed that you’re prepared to go to all this trouble to just get us in the same room together.’
‘Not just in the same room but also tipsy.’ A dimple appeared in Stacey’s cheek. ‘I’ve been trying to find a suitable match for Luka for years.’
Kat gave her a sideways look. ‘And how would I be a suitable match?’
Stacey gave Kat a once over. ‘You’re both born regulators who don’t take shit from anyone. And you’re not intimidated by him, so you can see past the wall he puts up.’
Wrong. Kat was thoroughly intimidated by him most of the time. ‘And what makes him such a prize?’
‘Well, you’ve got eyes. And he’s heroic. He puts himself on the line for what he believes in. You two have that in common.’
They were sailing dangerously close to a reminder of what Kat’s job was—the one that used to belong to Stacey’s husband—and Kat wanted to correct Stacey. Unlike Luka, Kat wasn’t heroic at all. She just needed enemies because working against someone galvanised her, gave her aggression an outlet, discharged her anxiety. Without an external enemy she’d turn on herself just as savagely. Or on friends—if she had any left by then.
No, there was nothing heroic about her at all.
‘Thanks,’ she mumbled.
‘A warning, though.’ Stacey’s expression turned serious.
Kat stiffened. ‘Yes?’
‘Hurt him and I’ll pass on your contact details and a photoshopped picture of you in a bikini posing with a dead feral pig to Bacon Busters, and before you can say ‘oink’ you’ll find yourself the latest Piggin’ Princess.’
Jesus, Kat hadn’t even known a magazine for pig hunters existed, let alone the fact that they had a Piggin’ Princess. The oddly specific threat made her eye Stacey with new caution.
At the sound of the doorbell Stacey put her glass down on the buffet table. ‘That’ll be the guys.’ Her sandals slapped against the slate tiles as she disappeared.
***
Luka narrowed his eyes. The new girl looked like she wanted to escape the dinner table, would happily dive into a fox hole if there was one nearby. And she kept rubbing that forearm, stroking a thumb over the same spot until the skin flushed red and a pale scar stood out.
She caught him watching her and froze, slowly and deliberately stopped what she was doing and hid her hands under the table. But he caught her at it again ten minutes later.
Abusive parents. He had an intuition for such things. That her trust had been battered while she was young and vulnerable would explain a lot about her. Her wariness, her prickly side. Perhaps also her passion for protecting animals, who rarely turned on those they loved.
Given the way she was eyeing the table settings like landmines, family dinners had obviously been a trial. Her silent distress crept between his lungs like a wheeze. Even the way she chewed her roast chicken—tentatively, like there might be broken glass in it—hurt.
He’d never seen her look so unsure of herself.
Let me help you.
Stacey filled their glasses with the first drop of the evening, pouring from a bottle without a label, as was tradition.
‘How about a toast?’ Nick looked around the table.
Stacey raised her glass. ‘To Mark.’
Nick’s face fell but he quickly recovered. ‘To Mark.’
Had that really been necessary? Luka repeated the words but they tasted bad in his mouth. He didn’t need a reminder that this was their first wine tasting without Mark. His good friend who had cheated on his wife.
Who still didn’t know it.
Scenting trouble, the new girl kept her face as blank as possible, and he wanted to rub her back, her shoulders, and tell her to take several deep breaths. Or stick her head between her legs.
Strange that she was happy to take on a job where she risked assault on an almost daily basis but freaked out over a simple dinner. She needed to be held, reassured.
The urge was as strong as the pinot noir in his glass, the wine heating his veins. The t-shirt she wore only added to that heat. Powder blue, it hugged the curve of her breasts, emphasised her lean torso below. Best of all was the way the scooped out neckline accentuated her long, long neck, the graceful curve where it met her shoulders begging for his lips. Below her pale throat was a velvet expanse of skin with a smatter of freckles. He’d bet she considered those freckles a flaw but he found them endearing.
‘Luka, see anything you like?’ Stacey gestured at the finger food on the table.
He wasn’t fooled by the sweet tone. She’d known exactly where his attention was focused, between the new girl’s breasts rather than on the food.
‘I’ll help myself.’ He gave her a pleasant smile.
‘I bet you will,’ she muttered before excusing herself from the table. She reappeared with their main meal.
‘Lasagne,’ he murmured and glanced at the new girl. ‘All those layers. Delicious.’
She glared at him, not deaf to innuendo.
‘So.’ Stacey peered at them. ‘So, what do you think of the pinot noir?’
Nick’s gaze became distant, that of a professor explaining Keynesian economic theory. ‘Very young, I don’t think its balls have dropped yet.’
Kat looked from Evert to Stacey. ‘Is that a good or bad thing?’
Stacey sniffed. ‘He means it’s a little tight.’
‘Nope, I mean it’s tighter than a camel’s arse in a sand storm.’
‘Tight?’ Kat raised her brows.
Luka caught her eye. ‘Don’t worry, I don’t know what they’re talking about either.’
Stacey elaborated. ‘High tannins, hard to drink, unidentifiable fruit characteristics. Not ready to drink, in other words.’
‘Oh.’ The new girl’s brows drew together. ‘I feel like I need some basic starter terminology to help me out.’
She looked so lost that Luka wanted to offer her a seat on his lap to reassure her.
Nick pushed his chair back, dashed to the bookshelves and returned with a slim book. ‘Use this.’
She read the cover. ‘The Wine Snob’s Dictionary.’
‘Use it as a starting point and then ad lib. That’s what I do.’ Nick scratched his beard, a move Luka was pretty sure he practised in front of the mirror in the belief that it made him look piratical.
Stacey frowned. ‘Don’t listen to him, just say what you think.’ She looked around the table. ‘Okay, everyone, ready to rinse?’
They dutifully finished their wine and used a bit of water to rinse their glasses before drinking that too.
Stacey uncorked the next bottle without a label.
Nick pounced upon his as soon as it hit the glass. ‘Smoke, tobacco, leather. A rioja?’
All heads turned his way.
His ears reddened. ‘What?’
‘Been studying up, Nick?’ Luka knew what that was about, getting into Stacey’s pants. Cunning weasel.
‘Just a lucky guess.’
‘Sure.’
The new girl sipped and her mouth puckered, as if she’d sucked on gravel. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, an ear he’d like to lick.
‘Austere, like an apathetic doctor,’ she pronounced.
Luka nodded in approval. ‘Nice.’
‘Well said.’ Nick applauded.
She shot him a grateful look.
‘Luka?’ Stacey’s smile challenged him to do better.
‘Very structured, like a nun’s day planner.’
There was silence.
‘Nun’s have day planners?’ Stacey raised her brows.
‘I don’t know. What makes you think Nick knows how tight a camel’s arse is during a sand storm? Aside from his obvious fondness for camel behinds, that is.’
‘Oi, you leave my girlfriends out of this.’ Evert smirked.
Stacey sighed, as if disappointed in their behaviour. ‘Okay, everyone rinse your glass and cleanse your palate.’
They all obediently reached for their water.
‘Alright, time for the shiraz.’ Stacey poured it into their glasses before studying their faces as they sampled it.
Evert was first to speak. ‘Expensive nose …’
‘Jesus, you’re shameless.’ Luka shook his head.
Evert held up his hand to indicate he wasn’t finished. ‘Very approachable, like a stoned groupie.’
Stacey snorted. ‘Luka?’
It was overly sweet. ‘Should only be used as sheep dip.’
‘Controversial,’ Stacey murmured. ‘Kat?’
‘Flamboyant, like a man ballerina’s dog humping your leg.’
‘Oh, wow.’ Nick’s tone was envious.
Luka was proud of his girl. ‘Impressive, very impressive.’
She returned his grin with one of her own and for a moment they could have been friends.
***
‘It’s fruity, grassy, with just a hint of unicorn tears.’ Several bottles later, Kat realised the strategic error of getting inebriated in Luka’s presence—the wine had lowered her inhibitions, made her flirty. It would be all too easy for Galenka to take the helm and make Luka her next tasting.
She shouldn’t have come, but the alternatives—sitting alone at home or tailing Grinder—had been too depressing.
Her glance grazed Belovuk’s. She’d bet he never got depressed. A shame that his enormous willpower was too often directed at her, intent on calling her off those he considered too dangerous, like Grinder. That would never happen. Greyhounds were one of the gentlest breeds around and the man had brutalised one. Undoubtedly more than one. She wanted to ask Stacey what she thought about that but couldn’t, not now that she knew Mark had been Stacey’s husband. Why hadn’t anyone told her?
‘Bathroom?’ she asked Stacey.
‘End of the hallway to your left.’
Stacey’s eyes never left Evert as he recounted a work story and Kat asked when—rather than if—something would start between them. Who would make the first move, though? Evert would probably feel like a creep hitting on his friend’s widow, while Stacey might feel she was betraying her husband’s memory.
