by Chris Taylor
In silence, she adjusted her clothing and he did the same. Her mind raced. She ought to feel embarrassed, ashamed of what she’d done. She’d never acted so wantonly in her life. He was almost a total stranger and she’d just had sex with him in a closet. At her sister’s wedding. Her mother would be appalled. Enid Wolfe had raised her children better than that. Ava had let her libido get away with her. She’d totally lost control. What would he think of her?
“Don’t overthink it, Ava and for Christ’s sake don’t go laying blame. We’re two consenting adults who just enjoyed some wild, uninhibited, mind-blowing sex. We both wanted it. Let’s just leave it at that.”
She nodded and wished she could match his cavalier attitude. She couldn’t help but wonder how often he engaged in fast and furious sex with almost strangers. As if reading her mind, he moved closer and cupped a hand around her cheek.
“That was amazing. You were amazing.”
“So were you. I… I take it you’ve had quite a bit of practice at this kind of thing?”
“If you mean do I make it a habit of sweeping beautiful women I barely know off their feet to fuck them mindless in a closet, the answer is, no. In fact, you’re the first woman I’ve ever fucked in a closet. I don’t know what came over me. It was like I just had to have you.”
His eyes had deepened to emerald green and his voice had lowered to a husky rasp. He stared at her, as if trying to see inside her, to work out what hold she had over him. And then he dropped his hand and half turned away and the moment was gone.
Ava drew in a shaky breath and bent down to retrieve her ruined underwear from the floor.
“Sorry about your panties,” he murmured with an unrepentant grin. “They were kind of in the way.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” she replied with an answering smile. “I… I guess we’d better go and re-join the party. Do you think we were missed?” Though it was a little late now to wonder, she couldn’t help but hope nobody had noticed their absence.
He gave her a lopsided grin and pressed a quick kiss against her lips. “By your ex, probably. As for anyone else, I’m not sure, but you’ll have more of a chance of getting away with it if you return via the restrooms. Your hair is a little…mussed.”
Heat spread across her cheeks and she hastily dropped her gaze. Patting her hair down with her hand, she looked around for her purse. Too late, she remembered they’d been dancing right before… Her purse was where she’d left it, under the table. She’d have to retire to the powder room and repair what damage she could without the aid of her hairbrush or lip gloss.
“Are you all right?” Lachlan’s voice was soft and low.
“Yes, I… I was hoping I had my purse with me. I need it to help repair the damage.”
“I’m happy to fetch it for you.”
“No, thank you. That’s fine. Go back to the party. I’ll be out in a little while.”
He stared at her. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, all of a sudden anxious to be left alone. “Yes.”
After a long inscrutable look, he turned away and opened the door. A moment later, he disappeared through the opening.
And, with that, he was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
One month later
In stark contrast to the balmy night air, heavy with the scent of flowers, Detective Constable Lachlan Coleridge stood still and silent, filled with nervous anticipation. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his face and slid inside his headgear. His heart thumped a steady staccato against his chest. The moments before a police raid were always tense and this time was no different.
He took comfort from the knowledge that the police intelligence was sound. Two officers had been conducting covert operations for the past fortnight. According to their information, behind the walls of the nondescript, California-style bungalow, situated off a quiet street in the small rural town of Moree, lay a drug lab the likes of which neither of them had ever seen.
The meth lab was supposed to be as sophisticated as they came. With state-of-the-art equipment and a seemingly endless supply of chemicals and other drug paraphernalia, the lab was producing enough crystal meth—or ice, as it was known on the streets—to supply most of New South Wales. As head of the taskforce, it was Lachlan’s job to ensure that the lab was shut down and anyone associated with its illegal activities hauled away in cuffs. He was on the cusp of having that goal realized.
A slight noise from inside the house snagged his attention and halted his breath. He glanced at his partner of five years. Detective Constable Martin Griffin looked back at him, his expression solemn behind the night vision goggles that obscured one half of his face.
“What was that?” Martin whispered.
“I’m not sure,” Lachlan replied, matching Martin’s tone. “It sounds like someone walking around.”
“Perhaps they got up for a glass of water, or maybe they need to take a piss.”
Lachlan considered Martin’s suggestions and compressed his lips. “We can’t take the risk they might have spotted us. We’re going to have to go in. Tell the others.”
Lachlan watched while Martin moved off. The thick, overgrown grass silenced his partner’s booted feet as he moved from one officer to another, motioning to alert them to the fact the time had come for them to enter the property.
Lachlan sent a silent text to his men gathered at the rear of the house. Any moment now they’d storm the building and pandemonium would break loose. A shiver of apprehension danced along his spine, like it always did just before a bust. He drew in a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows.
“Go! Go! Go! Police! Open up!” he screamed amidst the din of pounding on wood. The door gave way beneath the onslaught and Lachlan and his men poured in.
The front room was dark and musty. A couch with most of its stuffing missing stood in one corner of the room. Three dirty mattresses covered the floor. The officers were greeted with shouts of alarm and confusion as four men, dazed from sleep, faced a torrent of heavily armed policemen.
“Hands up!”
“On the floor!”
“Don’t even think about it!” Lachlan yelled, pointing his gun at one of the occupants who appeared to be looking around for an avenue of escape.
Ensuring that the four prisoners were properly secured, Lachlan left them in the company of some of his men and motioned with his head for Martin to follow him further down the hall. With guns drawn and ready, they proceeded forward, kicking open each closed door.
One room held nothing but chemicals, another held a table piled high with packets of ice. A thousand pounds of crystal meth, at least. They continued on down the darkened hallway. It appeared the rest of the house was empty of people. Lachlan’s tension subsided.
“What’s that smell?” Martin murmured.
Lachlan frowned and then it hit him. “Smoke.”
It was coming from beneath the closed door that stood at the end of the corridor. Lachlan had barely enough time to register its presence when there was an almighty roar. The force of the blast lifted him off his feet and threw him against the wall. He heard the snap of bone and winced at the pain in his shoulder. Fire licked at the wooden paneling and quickly spread into the hall. There had been some kind of explosion. They had to get out before it happened again.
With his eyes stinging from the smoke, he peered around for Martin and found him lying on the floor a few feet away. Scrambling toward him, Lachlan reached for him and gently turned him over. Blood poured from a gash on Martin’s head. He looked dazed, but otherwise unharmed. Lachlan shook him hard. He moaned and Lachlan shook him again.
“Martin, we have to get out of here. There’s a fire and it’s building steam. This whole shit box could blow any minute. Can you walk?”
Martin blinked and then struggled to sit. Wheezing and coughing, Lachlan helped him to his feet. “Are you all right?” he asked.
Martin nodded slowly and then winced, reaching up to touch the wound on his head. “Yeah, I think so. I
must have hit my head. I can’t see for shit.”
“It’s the smoke.” Lachlan hurried to reassure him, hoping to hell he was right.
Putting his uninjured arm around Martin’s shoulders, together they stumbled back the way they’d come. The flames, no longer confined, now licked at the corridor walls. The heat from the fire scorched Lachlan’s lungs, but still he stumbled forward.
Gasping and coughing, with his eyes streaming tears, Lachlan dragged his partner out of the house and collapsed with him on the front lawn. The sound of the half-panicked voices of Lachlan’s men around him reassured him they’d safely exited the building. Leaving Martin resting on the grass, he winced at the pain in his shoulder and awkwardly pushed himself to his feet.
“Is everyone out?” he rasped at the first officer he saw.
“Yes, Detective,” Constable David Jacobs replied. “Everyone has been accounted for.”
“Where are the prisoners?” Lachlan asked, his voice raw.
“They’re secured in the back of the police vans,” David answered.
Lachlan nodded, relieved that at least part of their operation had gone smoothly.
“Are you all right, Detective? Your arm looks weird.”
Lachlan frowned at David’s comment and then glanced at his injured left shoulder. It hung at an odd angle. All of a sudden, the pain intensified and he swore aloud.
“I think I’ve broken my collarbone. I was thrown hard against the wall in that explosion and I heard something snap.” Lachlan looked back at the burning building. “Has anyone called the fire brigade?”
“I’ll do it now,” David offered and tugged out his phone. “And I’ll get them to send an ambulance, too.”
“Good idea. Martin might need to be checked out.” Lachlan had barely completed the sentence when another explosion rocked the house. Everyone dove for cover.
“Jesus!” David whispered.
“The whole fucking place is going to blow,” Lachlan muttered. Keeping his head down and doing his best to protect his injured shoulder, he half-ran, half-crawled to where Martin lay, now still and silent on the ground.
The man’s eyes were closed and even in the dimness, Lachlan could see his partner was now deathly pale. With increasing panic, he shook him, then slapped him hard on the cheek.
“Martin! Wake up, mate! Shit, open your eyes! Talk to me!”
Martin remained unresponsive and a fresh wave of panic washed over him. With no time to waste, he bent and awkwardly heaved his partner’s bulky form against his chest, half-dragging him across the lawn and away from the inferno.
“David! Get that ambulance!” he screamed, oblivious to the agony in his shoulder. “I need a fucking ambulance! We have a man down!”
David appeared before him and Lachlan blinked to clear his vision.
“The ambulance is on its way, Detective. I—”
David’s words were drowned out by the sound of another almighty explosion. This time flames shot high into the night sky, bathing all of them in a hot, red glow. Screams could be heard coming from inside the house and the sound of them brought Lachlan up cold. Setting Martin down gently on the opposite side of the road, he spun on his heel and eyeballed the constable.
“I thought you told me the prisoners were safe.”
“They are, Detective. They’re in the back of the van.”
“Then why the fuck can I hear people screaming? There shouldn’t be anyone else in that house.”
David frowned. The sounds of the screams were fainter, but still audible. His face lost all color. “Jesus… We must have missed someone. I thought we’d cleared all the rooms, but it all happened so fast. We…”
Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Lachlan tore back toward the house. Flames leaped high around him and scorched his face as he readied himself to enter.
“Detective! Are you crazy! You can’t go back in there!” David reached for him and pulled him up short.
Lachlan struggled against his hold and cursed. “For fuck’s sake, David, let me go! There are people in there! We have to get them out!”
David stared at him, his face now flushed an angry red. “Look at the place, Detective! It’s consumed by the fire! It’s gone way beyond anything we can deal with. There’s nothing we can do. If you go inside, you’re asking for trouble. You’ll only go and get yourself killed and what good will that do? Think about your wife and kids and don’t be so fucking stupid. Besides, you’re injured.” David’s stare remained hard. “Leave it to the fire brigade. They’re the only ones who have any chance of helping them now.”
Lachlan continued to struggle against his colleague’s hold, biting down hard on the pain and staring with desperation into the billowing flames. Though it cut him into pieces to acknowledge the truth of David’s words, slowly his struggles ceased.
The sound of sirens in the distance brought with it a feeling of relief. The fire brigade would take over and do everything they could. He only hoped it would be enough.
* * *
Hours later, the mid-morning sun shone down on the white sling, applied to immobilize Lachlan’s shoulder, as he and his men picked their way carefully through what remained of the makeshift meth lab. The acrid smell of smoke and burned flesh scorched his nose. The rooms of the house they’d so recently stormed were barely recognizable.
“Jesus,” Martin whispered, slowly shaking his head.
Lachlan shot him a grim look of understanding, relieved his friend had recovered sufficiently from his head injury to accompany them into the ruins.
“It looks like a bomb went off,” David murmured. Lachlan silently agreed.
The house was a mess of charred wood and ashes. Remnants of smoke still rose from the floorboards. Lachlan picked his way over fallen debris and came to what used to be the room at the back of the house. Dread weighed heavy in his gut.
“I don’t know where the hell that screaming came from. The place looks deserted.” The words were no sooner out of David’s mouth when Lachlan spied them.
Two small charred bodies lay entwined, as if seeking comfort from one another. What was left of their faces were frozen into masks of terror and pain. Lachie kneeled down beside them and his stomach somersaulted from the sight. The smell of burning flesh sickened him.
“Oh, Jesus!” Martin breathed in horror. “They’re fucking children!”
Lachlan stared down at the bodies and nodded grimly. “Yeah, they are.”
“What the fuck were they doing here?” David exploded behind him.
Lachlan shrugged, though his mind rebelled against the knowledge that the children had been burned to death. “This is the remains of the cookhouse. They must have been working here, cooking meth. There’s no other explanation.”
“Fuck!” Martin cursed and then promptly turned and vomited a few feet away.
Lachlan was also struggling to keep his breakfast down. He forced himself closer to the bodies and went through what was left of their clothing, looking for some ID. He found nothing.
Standing, he cursed softly under his breath. “We’ll have to interview the assholes we took into custody early this morning. Someone must know who these kids are.”
Martin nodded. David looked grim. Together, they turned and left the room.
* * *
Ava packed the last of her things into her final suitcase and managed to tug the zipper closed.
“Are you sure you have everything, dear?” Mrs Christie enquired.
Though her tone was polite, Ava was almost certain she detected a gleam of wicked humor in her elderly neighbor’s gaze.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs Christie,” she replied, refusing to rise to the bait. Her neighbour wasn’t the first person to comment on the volume of her luggage when she traveled and no doubt, she wouldn’t be the last. Ava liked to be prepared for all occasions. That’s all it was.
“Thank you again for offering to keep an eye on my condominium,” she added, hefting her bulging toiletry bag off the bed.
>
“That’s no trouble at all, dear. How long did you say you’ll be away?”
“A month, Mrs Christie. I’ll be back by the end of April.”
“And where did you say you were going? Somewhere in the country?”
“Yes, Mrs Christie. I’m going to Moree. It’s a small rural town in north-west New South Wales, not far from the Queensland border. About a seven-hour drive from Sydney.”
The old woman shuddered, a look of horror on her face. “Seven hours! That’s forever away! It sounds positively dreadful! Why would you ever want to spend a month in a place so far away from home?”
Ava smiled. “First of all, Mrs Christie, I’m flying, which shouldn’t take too long at all. And secondly, I’m doing a favor for a friend of mine. She moved to Moree a few years ago from Grafton and has set up a private psychiatry practice. There’s been a family emergency—her younger sister isn’t well—and she’s had to return home. She’s asked me to cover for her. I’ve agreed to do a four-week locum. Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I’m not cut out for a permanent life in the country. My blood sings with the sounds of the city.”
Mrs Christie continued to study her doubtfully. “She must be an awfully good friend if you’re willing to spend so long away from here. I couldn’t imagine being away from the hustle and bustle for that long. How do you know this Moree place even has decent coffee?”
Ava laughed. “Oh, Mrs Christie, you’re so funny! We’re living in the twenty-first century. Everyone knows how to make decent coffee.” Ava hoped silently that it was true.
The elderly woman’s mouth tightened in disdain and she lifted her head. “You might scoff at me, young lady, but I’ve been around a time or two. Some of these backwater towns are plain…backward. You mark my words! You’ll see!”
Ava chuckled and shook her head, refusing to believe Phoebe would settle in such a place. Prior to moving to Grafton and then more recently, Moree, her friend had spent years living in Sydney. Ava couldn’t imagine Phoebe settling down in the kind of place Mrs Christie described, but instead of arguing with her neighbour, she simply smiled again and murmured, “You’re right. I guess I will.”
