‘Don’t be too late in,’ his father called. ‘We have training in the morning, remember?’
‘Sure Dad. Don’t stress.’
I glanced back. Michael Eisen stared steadily at me, with just the faintest hint of satisfaction lingering about his mouth.
As we closed the front door Paul let out an exaggerated “whew” and swiped the back of his hand over his forehead. Opening the Porsche door for me, he climbed in his own side and threw me a grin.
‘Sorry about that.’
I shrugged. How could I diplomatically ask what I wanted to know? I decided to just go ahead and ask.
‘Was your mum home, too?’
Paul grimaced. ‘She and Dad split up about ten years ago. Usual crap. She thought his obsession with the whole martial arts thing was a bit weird. She lives in Sydney now.’
‘Martial arts thing?’ I asked warily. ‘What sort of martial arts? Is that what he meant by training?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He grinned. ‘Forgot you’re new in town. Everyone knows he’s a nut for it. He likes to train in the old European martial arts styles – boxing, swordfighting and such. I didn’t mind so much when I was a kid. Y’know how kids like to hang with their dad. But it’s a bit old now. I do it just to humour him.’
I gave a sympathetic grin. ‘Parents, what can you do? They all have their hangups, I guess. So is that what got him into owning gyms?’
An MJE emblem, emblazoned on a brochure on the floor of the car, caught my eye. The M and E were in a flowing font, separated by a sharp, straight J that looked more like a sword or a T. Glossy and professional, with a picture of a gleaming blue-and-brushed-steel gym, and two muscular, oiled, grinning models on the front, the brochure presented the ideal everyone supposedly needed to be.
Paul slipped the car into gear and planted his foot. ‘Guess so. He’s got about a hundred around the world. He’s buying a couple more next year.’
‘Is that how he makes his money?’ I asked. ‘Sorry. That was rude. I meant, I thought MJE was more about science r-and-d stuff?’
‘Yeah, that was how he got started. Not sure why he got into gyms. Guess it’s the health-trend. A lot of his research is about health.’ He curled a lip. ‘Which is why he wants me to get into genetics – so I can take over the business. I s’pose gyms were sort of a natural next step. He bought his first one about five years ago and he travels a lot buying others. Off to Italy next week. I’m thinking I might go too.’
‘Italy...That’d be cool. I haven’t been there yet.’ I put the thought aside. Maybe next year, when I was free. ‘So where are we going?’
‘Thought we’d meet some of the guys at that new Thai place down on the Esplanade.’
‘Sounds good,’ I replied, resigning myself to an evening of testosterone.
7
Where is she now?>
Out, with Paul Eisen and his friends. I’m following.
I’m just going to keep an eye on her. There’s something very strange about her. Whatever happens, you need to see her.
If they’re that good, which I doubt, they probably already have. I can take care of myself. She can’t. She doesn’t know what she’s up against.
As it turned out, the “guys” weren’t too bad. Sure, they were full of themselves and their girlfriends were a bit stand-offish to start with but they all loosened up as the night went on. Paul kept them in a ripple of laughter with a series of off-colour comments about people. It was hard not to laugh along, even though the inherent snobbery in his observations made me cringe.
It was pleasant to almost feel part of a group, though. They were all perfectly nice to me, even the girls. Paul also behaved like an absolute gentleman the whole evening, treating me with easy camaraderie in front of his friends; never mentioning the whole headache incident, as promised. I kept the sarcasm to a minimum, listened and smiled encouragingly a lot.
After dinner and a movie we gravitated to a coffee shop. The group broke up around midnight when the girls pestered their boyfriends to take them to a nightclub catering to the under eighteen crowd. I opted out, so Paul drove me home.
He pulled up outside my place, leapt out and opened the door for me again with a sweeping bow. High overhead, our windows were dark. Anna must be either still out, or in bed. I smiled politely at Paul, hoping he would get the message without making too much of a fuss.
‘Thanks, Paul. I had a good time.’
He hesitated, then stepped closer, sliding one arm around my waist. His other hand feathered its way up my arm, leaving goosepimples in its wake. My heart sped and my cheeks burned as his gaze fell to my lips.
‘Do I at least get a goodnight kiss?’
For a heady moment I was tempted. Just a taste. Just one hiatus in my crazy life. Then I broke free from his embrace and stepped back. I must be mad. Bloody teenage hormones. He might not be trying to influence my mother for his father’s job, but I still knew better than to get involved with someone as high-profile as Paul Eisen. There was no way I could slide through six months unnoticed on his arm.
‘I’m sorry, Paul. I just can’t.’ Tonight’s normality made the ache of reality all that much worse. But I couldn’t keep torturing myself. At least, if I ended it now, it would hurt less.
‘What’s wrong with a kiss?’ He reached for me again.
I stepped back again, hunching my shoulders and half turning away. He gripped my arm. The first inklings of old fear rose up in my throat and I pulled my bag across in front of me. My heart thudded in my ears, my breath harsh and quick. Memories of Japan flickered: flesh-on-flesh, humiliation, fear; life slipping away beneath my hands. Darkness raised its head.
That galvanised me. Fear was just stories. Stories that wouldn’t happen this time. I was older, better disciplined. I could control it. I had to.
But if I refused Paul, what would he do? I didn’t want to have to hurt him. That would ruin my plan to stay faster than anything. And the collateral damage to Anna’s business and her relationship with Michael would be awkward, to say the least. Breaking a guy’s arm didn’t usually go down well with his dad.
Deliberately, I pressed my palm to Paul’s wrist, concentrating on the next few minutes, steeling myself against the flash-images. Pinpricks shifted under my skin. Flickering and jumping like an old film it played out in my head. Warm relief surged. He wasn’t the sort to force himself on me. I released his arm.
‘I’m not going to sleep with you, so it’s not fair to start something – that’s what’s wrong,’ I said.
He stepped closer. I held a fist firm against his chest. He pushed forward then blinked in surprise when he couldn’t close the gap between us.
‘No one said we had to sleep together tonight. I can wait ‘til our next date.’
That effectively doused what remained of my ambivalence. ‘Saintly of you, but nope. Not in the market for a boyfriend, Paul, and there won’t be any more dates. The deal was one, remember?’
His jaw dropped. ‘Seriously? You really don’t want to go out with me anymore? Why not? I thought we had a pretty good time and I reckon we’d be good together.’
‘It’s complicated,’ I said. ‘I told you I can’t get involved with anyone right now. I want to concentrate on senior year. You’re a great guy and I’m sure there’s heaps of girls at school who’d be happy to hook up with you.’ Catching a glimpse of irritation in his expression, I eased off, annoyed to have to placate him at all. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you, Paul. I did have a good time.’
‘Wow.’ He moved back. ‘You know I think that’s the first time any girl’s ever said “no” to me. Man! That friggin’ blows.’
I bit my tongue, holding in a sharp retort that would do nothing to calm the situation. I waited for his reaction. I’d se
en only that he wouldn’t resort to violence right now, not what he’d say and not what he’d do tomorrow. He could still make my life miserable at school, and possibly my mother’s life at work, if he wanted.
The irony of the reversal of situation wasn’t lost on me. It tasted bitter in my mouth.
There was a long silence. I couldn’t see his face in the shadows. A motorbike growled past, then a busload of partygoers screaming their drunken delight to the tropical darkness.
‘Y’know.’ Paul’s thoughtful voice made me jump. ‘Dad told me you guys were new in town and asked me to make friends with you. I didn’t want to because I thought you weren’t my type.’
‘Ah.’ I tried to ignore the flash of hurt. ‘That explains a lot.’
He continued. ‘When you blew me off at the gym I was pretty pissed. Then I found you at the beach and you were so miserable I couldn’t stay mad at you. Then, tonight, you’ve been one of the coolest girls I’ve ever talked with, so I thought we could be, y’know, an item. Now you tell me you don’t want me? Man, that’s harsh. Didn’t tonight mean anything to you?’
‘Of course it did,’ I lied. Amusement flashed, easing my internal tension. He thought I was cool to talk with but I’d barely said a word. I smiled with just the right amount of friendly distance and regret. ‘I’m sorry Paul. I don’t want to get close to anyone. It would just make leaving too hard. Please understand.’
There was enough truth in that to sound sincere.
‘Wow.’ He huffed, but at least he didn’t seem angry. ‘And I thought I was messed up. No, no.’ He backed away as I stuttered another apology. ‘I get it. Well, friendzone it is, then. I guess I’ll get over the blow to my ego with about five years of therapy.’ He grinned and the worst was over.
‘Thanks, Paul. I’ll see you at school on Monday.’ I turned to go into the unit complex.
‘Hey!’ Paul called me back. ‘Just so you know... I’ll keep my word. I won’t tell.’ He tapped his forehead significantly.
I smiled and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks. G’night.’
He saluted and strode jauntily away. ‘Later.’
His Porsche sped off and I gritted my teeth against the unexpected ache in my chest. It just wasn’t fair. What if I’d just rejected the one person who might be able to accept me and love me anyway? How would I ever know who I could trust?
The roar of a motorbike startled me out of childish resentment.
On the rider’s back, a silver, Celtic tree glittered in the streetlights.
‘Dammit!’
What was Fynn doing checking up on me? I did not need these stupid, soap opera complications. Was he stalking me? Well, time he learned not to.
A quick check showed Paul was well out of sight. I pulled keys out of my bag and headed for my car, parked beneath the apartment building. I skipped down the stairs two at a time, determined to catch up with Fynn. If I was quick I could follow him and have it out.
My hasty footsteps echoed back in slaps off the concrete walls. Two of the lights in the garage were out, leaving my car in a pool of darkness. Luckily, I’d always had good night vision and found the door handle without difficulty.
Something touched my shoulder.
A muscular arm slid across my collarbone, going for the rear choke hold. I tucked in my chin, dropped into a half-crouch and grabbed his wrist and elbow. My attacker gave a grunt and tightened his hold. He tried to counter; tried to pull me upright and back.
I spun to the right, opening his arm and twisting his hand. Yanking his bent elbow forward, I dragged the hand forcibly towards the ground. His shoulder dislocated with a sickening crunch. I dropped his head onto the concrete and his scream cut off into a choked gargle. His eyes rolled back. He twitched once and relaxed.
I scanned the carpark, heart thumping. It couldn’t be an attempted robbery. Twice in as many days wasn’t co-incidence, it was planning. Where was his partner? There must be another. My cover was definitely blown. By who? Fynn? He was the only suspect at the moment. He’d just been here. Had he pointed me out?
Something pressed into my back.
‘Hands behind your head,’ a low voice ordered.
I pivoted to one side and smashed my forearm into his. The gun flew free and skittered across concrete. It vanished under my car. I latched onto his wrist and turned back. Folding and twisting dislocated elbow and shoulder. Ligaments popped in his wrist. He screamed and collapsed, swearing. I kicked him in the temple and he sagged to the concrete.
In my head, the blackness threatened, eating at my self-control. I dug my nails into my palms and focussed on that pain. The darkness was so close to the surface. So close. I just had to hang on. The exit was only a few steps away. My phone was in my pocket. A quick call and we’d be packed and gone within the hour.
I hesitated.
If I left, I’d lose my chance to talk with Fynn about what he knew. I’d be forever running, forever afraid of these people, whoever they were. We’d been running since I was four and the gaps between them finding us were shorter each time. And each time they caught me, the results were more horrific. Soon it would come to the point where I lost all control. And I had no idea what would happen.
It had to stop. I had to stop running. I had to find out what the ocair was so I could give it to them. Then maybe, just maybe, I could live a close approximation to a normal life. This was my first and only opportunity. I couldn’t run this time. Not if I could fix everything.
I glanced down at the two figures at my feet. Here was my chance to find out who they were. Perhaps what, exactly, this ocair thing was they wanted.
Patting down the unconscious man turned up nothing of use. No identification in his black cargo pants and plain blue polo shirt. Nothing. The second man woke, groaned and blinked reddened eyes at me as I approached. This carpark was too public. I’d have to take them upstairs to interrogate them further.
A flicker of movement caught my eye. Another man. This one stepped out of the deep shadows, holding some sort of gun. It didn’t appear to be a normal pistol. Dart gun? Dammit. That meant he wanted me alive, but sedated. Who were these people? Who had these sort of resources?
I raised my arms slowly. If he just came a little bit closer... No, he wasn’t going to. He’d seen what I did and wasn’t risking himself. A thug with a brain.
He squeezed the trigger.
I twisted, trying to get out of the way…and misjudged. The dart landed in the thickest part of my thigh muscle. I swore, yanked it out and flung it away. It tinkled onto the concrete. Warm lassitude spread like honey through my leg muscle.
The man stayed where he was, watching.
I slid along my car to the driver door, feet numb and steps uncertain. The keys were random lumps of metal in my thick fingers. I drove an elbow through the window. Glass sprayed into the car. The alarm blared, deafening in the concrete carpark. Maybe someone would come. I hauled the door open.
Close behind, my attacker chuckled. ‘That won’t help. You’ll be unconscious in a few seconds. You can’t drive.’ His voice was mild and cultured. Australian with overtones of English boarding schools and a hint of sinus trouble.
I ignored him and scrabbled beneath the seat, trying to focus through the distortion creeping into my brain. The urge to close my eyes almost overpowered the adrenalin pumping through my blood. At last I came up with what I wanted. Slewing around in the seat I dragged myself upright using the steering wheel.
The gunman moved closer, watching me. Perfect. His face was half-lit, shadowed, angular, deep eyesockets, short, buzzcut, dark hair. I committed it to memory as best I could.
No. It was already there. I’d seen that face five years before. In the ruined square outside the cathedral, after the earthquake.
He’d found me.
The smugness about his thin mouth spoke of amused superiority.
‘Laugh at this.’ I squeezed and watched in fogged satisfaction as he dropped to the ground, twitching in time wi
th the taser cords sticking out of his chest.
Now I really was done with running. If I woke up alive I’d get Anna to safety, then I’d come back and show these guys who they were dealing with. Enough. I’d had more than enough. I couldn’t live in fear like this any longer.
Darkness roared deep in the drugged bonds of my mind.
Too late. The drug took me, and it, into oblivion.
Lights flashed overhead. Voices surged and retreated like waves on the beach. I liked the beach. Maybe I should go again. Maybe I could try parasailing. Or diving. I could use a good rush. Life was way too tense. Wasn’t it meant to be at least a bit of fun?
‘Meghan?’ Something slapped my face gently, chasing away idyllic, forest-rimmed beaches and cold mountain streams overhung by sharp basalt cliffs.
‘Meghan, can you hear me?’
I groaned, pushing the hand away feebly, my arm so heavy I could barely move it. ‘Hate that name.’
More lights flickered, steadily, rhythmically. Squinting, I twisted my head to try and make sense of it. Not the beach, then. Ah, right: streetlights. Their orange glare flashed and vanished and flashed again, leaving no space for recovery.
I closed my eyes, willing myself not to throw up. This was my car by the sound of it and I would not throw up in it. Why was I lying down in it? Who was driving?
‘You ok? Open your eyes,’ a vaguely familiar male voice ordered in a tone I found difficult to disobey for some reason. It had no-nonsense harmonics.
I opened my eyes and squinted against the lights at the driver, trying to bring him into focus.
‘You? You are behind this?’
It was Fynn - all sarcasm and anti-hero dark good looks. Wind from the open driver’s window ruffled his hair.
‘No. I just happened by at about the time you passed out. Figured you could use a hand.’ He checked the rear view mirror, his expression calm, with just a hint of a frown. Did he find young women sedated in the basement carpark, presumably still surrounded by twitching casualties of war, perfectly ordinary?
I closed my eyes again, turning his blithe explanation over in my sluggish brain. Nope. Still didn’t make a great deal of sense. There was something about him I had to remember. Something connected to the attack on me. What was it?
Relics and Runes Anthology Page 66
