“Wow. That about covers it I think,” toasted BJ.
“Your turn,” she countered, holding eye contact.
Angel tilted his head at BJ, who responded with the merest of head shakes.
“Mine is a little more complicated I’m afraid…” BJ scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t really want to tell her. Not yet, anyway. He’d worked hard to keep his past shrouded in secrecy with only a select few in his inner sanctum of trust. Angel was one of them. He’d been instrumental in getting the drunk driver who killed Rachael and Tiffany sent to jail for a long time. Not long enough in BJ’s mind, but as long as the law permitted. As he contemplated what to say, Jessie’s phone trilled.
“Sorry,” she said, glancing down at the screen. “It’s Mum. I better get it. Dad’s been sick.” Standing up, she squeezed past them and trotted down the stairs into the back yard, out of earshot.
Taking advantage of the reprieve, BJ exchanged a look with Angel.
“She doesn’t know?” Angel arched a brow.
“No. All she knows is I do handyman jobs for Baker Builders and the same yoga class as she does.”
A thoughtful smile creased the crown prosecutor’s face. He leaned back and steepled his fingers together under his chin. “Are you going to tell her?”
“What do you think I should do?”
“Your call. But what do you want from her? Friendship or something more?” With the accuracy of a skilled surgeon, Angel cut to the heart of the matter.
BJ rubbed his knuckles against his jaw, his thoughts racing. “Friendship. I’ve got too much of my own shit to sort out. I’m not ready.” He gave a conclusive nod and seconded his decision with a slug of beer.
Angel fixed him in a cool stare. “Don’t wait too long. Sometimes it helps to have someone on your side to see it through.”
“I do. I have Ricky and you and…”
“That’s not what I mean. A woman’s love can work far more magic than mateship.”
“I know. But that’s what Rachael did for me.” The bitter taste of loss and longing filled his mouth. Even another mouthful of beer couldn’t wash it away.
Jessie hurried up the stairs, breaking the tension. “I’m sorry. Mum says Dad’s had a stroke. I’ve got to go. I’ll have to drive home to Yass tomorrow.”
“Is there anything I can do?” BJ snapped to attention as Angel rose elegantly to his feet.
“No. I’ll have to organise special leave from the company tomorrow. Then I’ll drive straight to Yass Hospital. Sorry about this.” She blinked up at him, her face a grimace of impending doom. It was an expression he’d seen on the rookies’ faces during their first desert night patrol. A gut instinct of serious shit about to go down and there was no way out of it.
“If you need anything, call me. Okay?”
“Thanks. I will.” She managed a half-smile at Angel. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Be safe, and I hope everything works out for your dad.” Reaching out, he clasped her hand in both of his.
“Bye, Whiskey.” She ruffled the top of the dog’s head as she sat beside her master.
“I’ll see you out,” said BJ, and they double-timed it to the door in silence. “Anything you need. I’m here.”
“Thanks.” As tears misted her eyes, she pivoted and departed in a whirlwind of emotion.
BJ let out a breath. He was disappointed she had to go. Her presence had reminded him of how simple and enjoyable life could be. On his return, Angel met him in the hall. “I’m going to head off too. You look like you could do with some R & R.”
Although he hadn’t acknowledged it, BJ was dead tired. Harbouring rage, resentment and revenge for all these years bankrupted him emotionally and physically. “Okay, Angel. Thanks for dropping by.” He locked eyes with him. “That drunk bastard is staying in jail, isn’t he? You didn’t come here to tell me he’s appealing or anything?” Unrequited revenge churned in his gut.
“No, BJ. No appeal. He’ll be there for a long time yet. I just dropped by to see how you were.”
“Good. I hope he dies in there with some bastard up his arse…”
“From what I know about our penal system, your wish might just come true. Try not to dwell on him, eh? It’s time to think about you and your future. Good night.”
The soft snoring of Whiskey as her head lay beside him on a pillow prompted an affectionate smile on BJ’s face. He knew he shouldn’t allow her on the bed, but it was a Sunday night treat—for both of them. Since moving into the house, they’d become staunch companions, and he figured she deserved to share his bed as much as any live-in partner.
Without a woman’s touch, his bedroom was decorated in an unembellished theme of grey, black and white. Due to his forces training, he never left his stuff lying around. He kept a kit packed and ready to go in his wardrobe. Just in case of what, he didn’t know. Aside from two black bedside tables and a couple of monochromatic abstracts on the walls, his bedroom appeared almost unlived in—except for the pictures. Framed photos of him and Rachael on their wedding day, of Tiffany cradled in their arms at the hospital, of them playing with Tiffany at the beach, of Rachael bathing Tiffany, feeding Tiffany, changing Tiffany. So many pictures, so little room on the bedside tables.
Lying next to Whiskey, he gazed at the frame in his hands. One of his favourites, it was a photo of Rachael and Tiffany taken just before Tiffany’s first birthday. She was perched in her highchair, with creamy sponge cake all over her tiny hands and cherubic lips, and she looked the essence of mischievous delight as Rachael leaned in, laughing. Rubbing his thumb over their framed faces, he relived the joy…a bittersweet memory.
Hot tears pooled in his eyes as he pressed the frame to his chest. God, he missed them. No matter how punishing the training had been to graduate as a SAS soldier, it didn’t compare to the endless torment he’d experienced since losing his girls. In the forces, they used to say the easy day was yesterday. And for him, now, it was true. Each yesterday was easier than the present day in which he lived. Try as he might to swallow down the burning emotion, to store its rage in his gut, tonight it defied his command. Short, sharp hiccupping sobs loosened his self-control. Like a fleet of long range patrol vehicles, the pain, loss and injustice rolled forth, gaining momentum. Low, desperate moans shuddered from deep within. Unable to withstand the emotional battle any longer, he surrendered and wailed into the night.
Chapter 6
Disjointed thoughts tumbled in Jessie’s mind like too many clothes in a dryer as she vaulted the stairs two at a time to her unit. Her father having a stroke couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Hopefully, the company would understand her predicament and grant her special leave tomorrow. In a couple more weeks, she would have been able to get away easily. But now, Tabitha Simpson would dance the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy for the entire season, giving her the edge to secure the role of principal dancer for next year. God, why me? Why now? Striding along the landing to her unit, she scrounged in her bag for her keys. Her lips suppressed a smile when she realised she still hadn’t followed BJ’s advice and got a key strap or changed bags. Just as her hand found her keys, a sense of foreboding crawled over her. The door to her unit was ajar. When she’d left this afternoon, she was sure she’d locked it.
She clutched the keys, so they wouldn’t jingle. Should she go in? No, that’s what all those stupid heroines in the movies do. That’s just asking for trouble. Should she call out? No, another stupid thought. Whoever broke into her unit could still be in there. Back up. Back up. Get away now. With the stealth and confidence of a cat, she stepped one foot behind the other, then slowly turned and sprinted down the stairs to where Penny was parked on the street. Slipping inside and slamming the door behind her, she gulped down big breaths of air as she rummaged in her bag. Bloody bag…Finally ripping the phone from its hiding place, she scrolled through her contacts and jabbed one. Ringing, ringing, ringing. Pick up, pick up.
“BJ?” She was strung tight. The p
ause at the end of the line signalled she’d disturbed him, but still she rushed on. “I’m sorry. But someone’s broken into my unit, and you’re the first person I thought of. Can you help me please?” The fright in her voice whined on the last word. She hated how desperate she sounded.
“Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in Penny on the street.”
“Who’s Penny?”
“Sorry. My VW. I call her Penny. When I got home after leaving your place, my unit door was open, so I just ran back down the stairs. And now I’ve locked myself in the car.”
“Good. Stay there. Have you called the police?
“Not yet.”
“I’m on my way. Call the police and wait for them to arrive. Do not get out of the car. You hear me.”
“Yes. Yes. I won’t get out of the car. Thanks.” But the connection had ended. He was already on his way. After a deep inhale, she dialled triple zero and gave them her details. There was nothing to do now, but wait. Jessie tipped her head back on the headrest and sighed. What the hell is going on in my life?
A gentle tap-tap-tap at the driver’s window startled her. Beside the car, BJ stood in all his towering glory. In that moment, she understood the whole thing about white knights on horses rescuing princesses. His quick response made the break-in episode less frightening, although no less real.
“Thank you so much for coming. I didn’t know who else to call. My friends are all dancers, and I doubt they’d be much help.” She climbed out of the car, locking it behind her.
“I’m pleased you did. I’ll go up and have a look around. Did you call the police?
“Yes. They should be here soon.”
“Good. I’ve brought my tools, so I can change your lock once they’ve finished.” He lifted his tool box as confirmation. “How about you stay here and wait for me?”
“No. I’m coming up with you.” Her mouth twisted in defiance.
“Okay then. But promise you will do everything I tell you? Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
He hefted his tool box, turned and led the way. She scurried behind trying to keep up. For a big guy, he sure moved fast and silent. Creeping up the stairs, she realised she still knew nothing about Brad Jordan. Yet, he’d been the first one she’d thought of to call. Probably because he was damn good at damage control. He certainly acted like he knew what he was doing. Setting his tool box down in the landing alcove, he placed a finger to his lips. “You wait here in the alcove. If anyone is in there, I don’t want them seeing you if they run out. Got it?”
“Got it.” She backed into the shadows.
He stepped up to her unit’s semi-closed door, eased it open and disappeared into the darkness of her unit. Jessie watched and waited. One, one thousand; two, one thousand; three, one thousand. Her ears strained, trying to catch any noise, but there was nothing. After ten seconds, she took a timid step out of the shadows and froze.
“What are you doing? I told you to wait in the alcove.” Disapproval growled in BJ’s voice as he paced over to collect his tool box. “It’s clear. You can come in.”
She gave him an apologetic grin and followed him into her unit, switching on the lights. Their bright blaze turned the dark, nightmarish event into something less sinister. On initial inspection, her neat little unit looked undisturbed. Miffed at overreacting to the entire incident, she shook her head in self-reproach. God, I’ve spent the best part of my life looking after myself without a man and the first thing I do at the scent of trouble is ring one I don’t even know that well. Seriously?
He interrupted her inner scolding, his voice serious. “It doesn’t look like anything’s been touched. But only you’ll know that once you’ve had a closer look. But I did find this.” He held up a sealed pink envelope that he’d skewered on the tip of one of Jessie’s kitchen forks. The wary expression on his face kindled a spark of fear in her.
She eyed it with suspicion. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but it was propped up on the pillows on your bed and it’s addressed to you. I haven’t touched it.” His flinty gaze riveted her to the spot. An icy shiver skidded down her spine and slammed into her stomach.
“You open it.” She rubbed her arms a little too fiercely.
“Do you have any gloves? If this has got fingerprints on it, I don’t want to contaminate evidence.”
“Yes. Under the sink in my bathroom. There’re disposable gloves in a box.” She cocked her head in the direction, indicating he should go and find them. Her legs felt like jelly, and she feared that if she tried to go and get the gloves herself, she’d fall flat on her face.
Within a minute or two, he returned with a pair of gloves that he offered to her. “You’ll have to put them on. They’re too small for me.”
Jessie rubbed her hands, stalling for time. She reached for the gloves and braced herself as if expecting them to send an electric shock up her arms. Doing her best to remain calm, she pushed her hands into the gloves, finishing each with a snap.
He stared at her with an expression of grim determination. “You have to open it, Jessie. If you don’t want to read it, leave it on the table and walk away. I’ll read it if you like.”
Her hands trembled as she plucked the envelope from the fork. The back of it peeled up effortlessly, and she imagined the person who had left it, licking it with their vile tongue and sealing it with just enough of their wetness, but not so much as to stick it tight. She swallowed down her revulsion before she gagged on it. Reluctantly, she opened the envelope and eased out an innocent piece of squarely folded pink paper. Flattening it out, she wrenched her gaze away, before she accidentally read its contents.
BJ leaned over and read the note. The silence stretched on until his gaze lifted, his expression intense.
“Well what does it say?” she asked, unwilling not to know.
“Once I read it, you can’t un-hear it. You understand?”
“Yes.” Jessie locked her arms across her chest, as if this small action would defend her against the letter’s message.
In a gentle, almost comforting voice he read aloud…
They say it takes a minute to find a special person
An hour to appreciate them
A day to love them
And an entire life to forget them.
Soon, we will be together for our entire lives
I’m coming for you soon
A love letter. In fact, a beautiful, romantic love letter which any woman would be thrilled to receive if it had come from her lover. Not from someone who broke into her unit and left it on her pillow. A stalker. God, someone is stalking me.
Jessie staggered and collapsed backwards onto her couch. Panic slammed into her, forcing her face downward as she clutched her stomach, rocking and moaning. Her mind blurred. Oh God, I’m going to faint, I’m going to faint. The sensation of dread drenching her body reminded her of the terror in her nightmares.
Beside her, the couch sank as BJ eased his weight down. “Jessie. Listen to me. Jessie.” He waited, but she continued spiralling. “Jessie. Look at me.” The force with which he spoke stopped her free fall. Uncoiling, she blinked at him and bit her lip. “Good. Now you have to pull yourself together. You’re going to go into your bedroom and bathroom to check if anything is missing. Keep the gloves on. Okay? I’ll wait here in case the police arrive. ”
Without a word, she nodded and rose to her feet. I can do this. I can do this.
On approaching her bedroom, she hesitated at the threshold. To think someone had been in there, touched her things, maybe smelled her clothes and fondled her underwear made her skin crawl. Another shudder gripped her body, but she forced herself onward. Inching into her inner sanctum, she noted the items on her dressing table were where she left them. Hair brush, a plastic basket with some lipsticks and eye shadows—though she couldn’t remember how many of each was there before she left tonight. Half a bottle of mineral water, assorted pens and writing pads, a postcard picture of Cood
ravale Homestead and a couple of James Patterson’s books. At least in his stories, the bad guy is caught. Maybe it was a good omen?
She reefed up the bed ruffle and peered into the sinister blackness under the bed. Resting peacefully lay her winter slippers and a lost sock she’d been searching for. Ignoring its lonely plight, she straightened and approached the wardrobe. Although certain BJ would have checked everywhere, she still slid open the doors with childish caution.
She inspected her clothes and everything seemed to be in order. As her fear dissipated, anger bubbled up to take its place. How dare someone break into my unit? With each drawer she opened in the wardrobe, her rising anger slammed it shut. Wait ’til I get my hands on this freak. Short- and long-sleeve T-shirts and tops were all accounted for. He’ll be sorry he messed with Jessie Hilton, that’s all I can say. Underwear. Check. No. Wait. Where were her apricot G-string and matching bra? Rifling through her knickers, bras and socks, she couldn’t find them. But she’d just washed them, so they should be there. She battled to dislodge the laminate drawer, swearing at its defiance. With a vicious tug and a grunt, she yanked it free, nearly toppling backwards. Spinning around, she upended the contents on the bed and scratched through them like a dog after a bone. “Where are they?” she yelled. “Where are they?”
“Jessie, what’s wrong?” BJ stood at the doorway.
With hands madly paddling on the bed, she wailed. “I can’t find them. I can’t find them.” Tears streamed down, burning her cheeks.
Retribution: Who would you kill to escape your past? Page 5
