by Rhyll Biest
Her second mistake had been to push Luka into a corner. His struggle had not been lost on her—the shadows under his eyes, the skin pulled too tight across his cheekbones. The odd things that stopped him in his tracks, like puddles, dark stains and caps. He had his demons and yet she’d downplayed them, told herself he’d cope.
Her behaviour—hers—had pushed him to the point that he’d made what had to be a painfully embarrassing confession—that he watched her die every night.
Unsettling.
But even more unsettling was the way she wanted to wrap herself around him and reassure him that everything would be alright, that she had no intention of dying, that Mark Fairly’s fate would not be hers.
This was the kind of power struggle she’d feared all along, and yet instead of focusing on how to win, all she could think about was how sharp and how pale his face had looked. Like she was the one making him bleed out.
She had done that. Her and her stupid need to be safe.
Mean girl, Galenka whispered, you gut-shot nice, sexy officer.
***
At one in the morning she was still wide awake, trying not to scratch the scabbing wounds from her dance with blackberry and a certain hot Serb cop.
But why was she thinking about that when she had greyhounds to rescue?
She sat up in bed.
There were so many things to do. A proper stakeout required a rental car, preferably one with tinted windows. If there was nothing like that available for rent, she would have to steal one as there was nothing worse than being caught watching people in a recognisable vehicle, or so her dad had always said.
Well, smuggled ivory being worse, of course.
The next thing to do was conduct a spot check of the surveillance location by driving by once or twice to get a perspective of the area before permanently setting up her position. She’d parked outside the tattoo parlour during the day, but at night she’d be more noticeable as a lone car in a street of closed shops. Her preference would be to park on the opposite side of the street from Grinder’s so that she’d be less noticeable, but she couldn’t remember if that was possible. Plus, she would need to work out the best escape routes, on foot and by car, if fleeing was required.
She would also need some snacks, a pair of binoculars, a good excuse for being there—in case she got caught—a water bottle and something to pee in. Only once she had everything ready could she sit in the back seat of her rented car and wait for Grinder to show up so she could identify his wheels and his pals. Information always led to more information, and eventually she’d find out where he lived and what he did day to day, and then the real fun could start.
Her mother used to say that one didn’t really know oneself until one waged war. Waging war against her husband was when she’d found out who she was and what she was prepared to do to defeat her enemy. There was, in fact, nothing she wasn’t prepared to do, including using her own child as a bargaining chip.
Kat now understood what her mother meant.
There really wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do to put an end to Grinder’s reign. No more live baiting, no more pulling the tails off greyhounds, no more bald cockatoos poisoned by meth cooks.
As a child she’d responded to her parents’ violence with fear, but she was no longer a coward.
She had Galenka, and her job had given her a new purpose in life. And if that purpose bothered Officer Belovuk, that was his problem, not hers.
Chapter 17
Luka pulled up outside the rental property. The owner, a friend of Sharon’s, suspected that the tenants had abandoned it. Given the foot-high grass threatening to devour the Old Queenslander home, Luka suspected she was right.
As he walked from the car to the mail box, the grass gave an urgent rustle in several spots.
He squinted at the thick overgrowth.
Snakes?
Just perfect.
The mailbox contained a thick wad of sodden junk mail and what looked like several overdue bill notices. And a large Huntsman spider missing a leg.
‘You’ve got it easy, mate, you had eight and you’re only missing one. Imagine only having two left.’
How was Stumpy doing?
And his owner?
He thought he would feel better once he’d called things off with her, but if what he felt now was ‘better’ then it was just as bad as ‘worse’. The constant ache at the back of his head not a migraine but something else, more like a dark cloud of disappointment.
Christ, he was pathetic.
The only bright spot in his otherwise shit-tastic week had been questioning Grinder about the flammable materials piled up outside the tattoo studio. Grinder had seemed genuinely shocked when fined for violating council by-laws, a shock which had quickly turned to anger.
Luka had savoured it. It wasn’t the jail sentence Grinder deserved but it was sweet nonetheless.
Luka closed the mail box and approached the gently decaying house. The sun coaxed sweat from his brow and when he wiped it away with a hand the residual scratches from his wrestle with the blackberry stung.
How were Kat’s scratches? Knowing her, she probably refused to acknowledge them, just like she refused to acknowledge fear, doubt and other feelings.
As he approached the house broken glass crunched under his boot. A broken beer bottle. The perfect fire hazard near all that dry grass. He’d have to give his firey mate Dave a heads up.
A knock on the front and back doors yielded no response but given the absence of cars parked out the front he’d expected as much. He walked back around the side of the house. Shattered glass ground underfoot on the cement pavers, the sound perfectly matching the feeling in his gut.
That feeling had crept in after his talk with Kat at the shelter, when he’d told her they couldn’t be anything more than friends. He’d also chatted to Sharon and Beth but he couldn’t remember a word of that conversation. In fact, he’d been in such a zombie state that he’d left without talking to Stacey, and she’d rung him to give him an earful about it, only asking at the end of her tirade what the hell was wrong.
Of course he didn’t tell her but he got the feeling that she knew anyway. As some kind of higher order demon with matchmaking skills, she’d always been supernaturally perceptive to romantic developments—except when it came to her own cheating husband.
A thin whimper escaped him.
What?
No, that hadn’t been him.
He halted, scanned the house for the source of the noise. Where had it come from? His hand went to his holster.
Another whimper, longer and louder.
He frowned, stepped closer to the side of the house where thick latticework with peeling white paint screened the storage space below it.
A small, black nose pressed against the wood.
***
One last job and she could go home. As Kat checked the job sheet on her mini iPad for the address, her phone buzzed on the car seat. She hit speaker phone. ‘Daily,’ she answered.
‘It’s me.’
She recognised the voice but the fact that it was Luka calling her was more difficult to process. Galenka assumed it was a booty call and had to be slapped down. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m at an abandoned house and there’s a dog here, someone’s pet, not feral. It’s locked in a storage area under the house. Can we use your RSPCA powers to get it out?’
If it galled him that only she could legally break in and seize an animal his tone didn’t reveal it. She gave him points for that. And the fact that he was willing to work with her despite friend-zoning her. She looked at her watch. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in Beecham, off Pelton.’
She consulted her shiny new internal map of Walgarra. ‘I’m about ten minutes away, see you there.’
With little traffic about, she easily flipped a U-turn. A very safe one, far away from traffic lights, as the U-turn counted as one of the most dangerous driver manoeuvres on roads. As she turned the
wheel her arms protested, still aching from wrestling with the blackberry.
She pulled up at a distressed Old Queenslander, the peeling paint resembling sunburned skin. It was going to be weird—make that weird and uncomfortable—sharing air with Luka.
Her stomach gave a nervous jiggle.
Man up, Daily.
She tugged on her necklace, slid the ring up and down the chain with one hand as she delayed getting out of the car.
She tucked the ring away. All she had to do was play it cool, focus on the job, and everything would be fine. Surely. It was very unlikely her feelings would run amok like a three-year-old high on Ribena.
She locked the car, cautiously waded through the tall grass over to Luka. He was in uniform, and despite their recent differences, he remained mighty hot.
Dammit, now was not the time for her lady garden to wave at him while shouting that she had fond memories of their time spent together.
Play it cool.
But that was easier said than done when facing a man who knew for a fact she kept hand sanitiser in her bra, and that she liked things slightly kinky in the bedroom.
A soft, heart-shattering whine grabbed her attention, putting a halt to her reminiscing.
She frowned. ‘Where’s the sound coming from?’
He pointed at the lattice.
After a brief search, she located a tiny, black, button-like nose.
She pressed her face against the lattice for a closer look, the peeling paint scratching her cheek. The white Maltese, its fur matted, eyes mistrustful, gave a shivering yodel that wrapped razor wire around her heart.
Aware of Luka’s gaze as he waited for her to speak, she put aside emotion and assumed her professional voice. ‘How did you find her?’
‘The landlord reported the property as abandoned. From what I can tell she’s right because there’s a couple of weeks’ worth of mail in the letter box. The family skipped town owing about a grand in rent and left the dog behind at the same time.’
Another sharp whine, almost a howl, at the sound of their voices. One of relief or anxiety?
‘Why do you think they left her behind?’
‘Because they don’t give a fuck.’
It was the most pissed off she’d heard him yet. And it was kind of thrilling, the thought that while routine domestic violence couldn’t get under his skin, a tiny abandoned Maltese terrier could. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up thinking her job was important and crazy stuff like that. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d end up thinking he was the man for her.
Her gaze strayed to his massive forearms, the ones she kept having saucy dreams about, and the scratches covering them. If only she could make as much a mark on him as the bramble had.
Galenka raised her head. Sexy times, yes?
Don’t even think about it.
‘Any ideas on how we’re going to get her out?’ She eyed the heavy padlock on the latticework gate. She hadn’t brought bolt cutters.
Luka grasped the wood lattice and tugged at it. It didn’t budge despite the bunching of his muscles. ‘This stuff is sturdier than it looks.’ His gaze landed on her. ‘If I smash the wood the owner will be pissed. Plus, I’m worried I might accidentally hurt the dog, and I’ll definitely scare the shit out of her.’
He was worried about scaring the dog. Her ovaries melted a tiny bit more. ‘So what are you thinking?’
He crouched and unearthed a handful of dirt around the base of the lattice. ‘The soil is surprisingly soft. We dig.’
A cursory study of the ground confirmed he was right about the soil. But it would still be a shit fight to dig a hole big enough to crawl through.
The Maltese terrier whined.
She pulled her ponytail tighter. ‘I’ve got a shovel in the boot.’
‘Me too.’
Kismet. Their eyes met. His gaze said, you can’t fight this, don’t even try.
Watch me. ‘Let’s get to it, then.’
Chapter 18
One step out of the shade and the sun sucker-punched her. Jesus, were they really going to dig in this heat?
Luka strode past, had the back of his police vehicle open before she could even voice the question.
Okay, fine, looked like they really were going to dig in this heat. Who was she to worry about a little thing like heat stroke?
Then sexy cop can give you mouth to mouth, Galenka whispered.
Oh, shut up.
She retrieved the shovel, its wood handle smooth beneath her palm. As an afterthought she grabbed a pair of work gloves. It might just be fun not reducing her hands to blistered lumps of raw meat.
When she closed the boot she got a surprise.
Luka stood waiting, shirt discarded, shovel slung over his shoulder. The white singlet he wore was reminiscent of what competitive axemen wore at demonstration wood chops and, just like it did for those men, it emphasised the flare of powerful shoulders above his narrow hips. Under the sun his olive skin gleamed.
Lust so heavy and thick it was a physical thing detached itself from her and lumbered after him—arms outstretched like a zombie hungry for brains—as he headed off to take on the latticework.
Shit, how hard up was she, creaming herself at the sight of a guy in a singlet? Time to think thoughts of Jesus doing his laundry to calm her ovaries the fuck down. She joined Luka and did her level best not to watch him work.
Would be better without singlet, Galenka purred.
Shut up and dig, whore.
But even putting her back into it, digging like there were gold nuggets beneath the house along with an abandoned dog, she couldn’t ignore what was going on right next to her. She wanted to, she really did, but how did one not look at that kind of physicality? Each thud of steel against dirt, each play of taut muscles as he laboured landed like a punch in her mid-region. He didn’t just use his arms, he swung into the earth with his whole body, legs braced to take the impact. With a jolt it hit her. He was furious with the owners, and taking it out on the dirt.
His shovel hit a rock and he swore, the filthy Serb word so thick and heavy with threat that it practically orbited them like a small planet. Where was the oh-so cool and controlled officer now? Where had that man gone?
His anger vibrated through her, ended up coiled tight inside her gut. Arms shaking, she paused to wipe away the rivulets of sweat tickling her face.
But Luka never stopped digging. He ploughed, dug and shovelled with relentless intensity, nostrils flaring as his breath turned sharp, striking rattling blow after blow against the soil.
It was like working next to a cocked rifle and soon tension buzzed and brewed in her own muscles. The faint whiff of masculine deodorant and male sweat teased her senses and
the stillness grew thick as Luka paused to wipe sweat from his brow, smearing dirt over his face in the process. No gloves for him, he was obviously determined to pry the dog from the teeth of the house with his bare fucking hands.
Something scaly stirred within her at the thought—and an image of him approaching sex in the same way. He wouldn’t fuck around, he wouldn’t even crack a smile before plunging into her, his stark, possessive gaze locked with hers while he owned her, gave her a horizontal trouncing she’d never forget.
Her insides fluttered and the world dipped around her for a second.
How had that happened? That just like that she was hungry, hungry for lightning rods and poison again?
His sideways look nearly knocked her over.
Had he caught her staring?
She dug harder, tried to also dig her wildly inappropriate thoughts about him out of her brain. As she continued to dig, each shovel-load of dirt took its toll until—her arms reduced to trembling, dust-coated jelly—she drew a rattling breath. ‘Sorry, I can’t do anymore.’
He gave a grunt of acknowledgement, corded arms working as he kept spearing the ground. Was it her imagination or had his shovelling sped up?
‘Wait.’
‘What?’ He ra
ised a hand to wipe sweat from his brow, exposing a dark triangle at his armpit.
‘Maybe she’ll come through the gap on her own if we encourage her.’
He nodded, took a step back from the latticework.
She made coaxing sounds, happy noises, waved around some of the dry dog food she always kept in her pocket, did everything she could to lure the terrier into crawling through the gap. But the frightened dog wriggled back, anxious and confused, dark eyes filled with mistrust.
Kat couldn’t blame the terrier. She’d hardly had a grand experience with people so far. Kat could relate.
‘No go?’
She was going to have to do things the hard way. ‘Nope, looks like I’ll have to wriggle through and grab her.’
He opened his mouth but shut it again.
She flicked a glance up and down his frame. ‘It’d take us a year to dig a hole big enough for you.’
He didn’t look happy about the decision but nodded, put his back into digging once more. The deeper he dug, the more the terrier whined. Kat took off her gloves as the heat grew unbearable.
After a few more minutes of digging that sprung a fresh fountain of sweat from her, Kat assessed the gap under the lattice. ‘I think I can get through that.’ Adrenaline rebooted her system, gave her a new surge of energy. This was the best part of rescue, the moment of pay off.
Luka nodded but a frown slashed his brow. ‘She’s gone quiet.’
‘Probably too dehydrated to keep whimpering.’ The words rasped her dry throat. She really needed a drink of water. But first things first.
She looked down at her shirt. It was going to be cactus after she’d crawled through the dirt, but she couldn’t take it off, she needed it.
Dirt could hold all kinds of nasties.
First there was the bacteria it could contain. Tetanus, botulism, anthrax, listeria, Streptomyces, legionella, clostridium perfringens. And then there were the fungi. Sporotrichosis, coccidioides.
Oh, yeah, she was keeping her shirt on alright.
She sat by the hollow they’d dug out and lay down on her back, preferring to go in that way and have the ground press there rather than her boobs. She used her heels and legs to slide in, down and under the base of the latticework. Her head was the easiest part, she simply turned it sideways. But things were a tight fit around her boobs and rib cage. Just as well she was no D cup delight or she’d be going nowhere. There was a bad moment when the teeth of the wood dug deep into her sternum and it seemed she was stuck, unable to wriggle either backwards or forwards.
