Under The Hood

by Juanita Kees

  “Thanks,” she said, taking it from him with shaky fingers.

  “No worries. Will you be okay here for a while?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Scott. For everything.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  His smile was soft and gentle. Not the heart-stopping, cheek-creasing smile, but a smile she wished he’d deliver against her lips. The smile she imagined he saved for warm, velvety nights and whispers in the dark. Whispers she would never hear.

  Tears stung her eyes as he turned and walked away. Oh, God! Since when did she start wearing her heart on her sleeve? With a visible effort, she sat up straighter and willed her backbone into place. Tiny was gone.

  Her role now was to fix the root cause of the problem for once and for all, to keep her promise to Marty and find out who was behind Tiny’s death … and why Serena Snow was friendly enough with Luke Bennetti’s father for him to be chauffeuring her around.

  Gino Bennetti was here with his son Luke and wife Lily, who appeared to be sporting another shiner. If she was asked about it, she’d say she’d walked into a door, or fell in the garden, but that never explained the fingerprints on her throat or around her wrists. To say Gino Bennetti was an unpleasant man would be putting it mildly. He was a mean bully who would go to untold lengths to win.

  TJ felt her spine crackle with tension as he made his way towards her. Talking to him was like engaging in verbal warfare. He crossed the floor with all the charm of a bull heading up a stampede, intent on a little trouble making.

  “This is the end of your project,” he said as he drew level with her. “I’ll make sure the mayor pulls the plug on it.”

  TJ stood and placed her cup on the table before answering him. “You can try.”

  “I’ll do more than try! I’ll make it happen. You watch your back, young lady. Nobody likes you or your stupid project.” He stood threateningly close.

  “Only because it gets the mules off the street and affects the trade.”

  “You’re in too deep. You have no idea what you’re up against. Back off now. Before someone else gets hurt.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “Consider it … friendly advice.” His tone sent unpleasant shivers up her spine.

  “I’m not good at taking advice. Especially when it comes to the welfare of the kids on the program.”

  “Then you really are just a pretty face. Keep your nose out of it and it might stay that way.” The words slipped through his thick lips in a sneer.

  “Intimidation is unlawful, Mr Bennetti, as I’m sure you’re aware. Excuse me, but I have a funeral to attend. The funeral of a young boy who was destroyed by the likes of the people you defend. Forgive me if I’m not keen on giving up on saving the rest of them.”

  She pushed her way around him, pausing for a split second when he said, “You’ve made a very big mistake.”

  Her nonchalant shrug was delivered with a confidence she didn’t feel as unease churned in her belly. She walked away towards where Scott stood talking to the workshop staff. She stood close to him, closer than she would normally, unsettled by Gino Bennetti’s threat.

  For the first time in a long time, she was scared. Her smile was grim as Scott looked down at her, his keen eyes slanting to the slight tremble of her hands. He placed his warm hand over her cold, clasped ones to separate the death grip she had on them that turned her knuckles white. With a reassuring squeeze, he anchored the hand closest to him to his side. His eyes promised that they would talk about it later.

  If there was one good thing that had come out of the tragedy of Tiny’s death, it was that Marty had made tentative peace with his mother. She’d attended the funeral and invited Marty home to stay for a couple of days.

  “She said the little ones miss me,” he said as he threw clothes into his backpack.

  “That’s a good start. Do you think she wants you to move back for good?” TJ picked up a hoodie out of the ironing basket and shook it out. Folding it neatly, she ran a hand over the comfortably worn polar fleece. The house would be empty without him, even with Scott and Sarge still there.

  “Dunno. I treated her pretty badly.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get along better if I don’t live with them. Would it be okay if I stayed on with you? I like being here, TJ. Among the trees. Down by the creek. Pottering around. I want to help you finish building the camp.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I’d be happy for you to stay.”

  “Awesome.” He hugged her with the awkwardness of teenage affection; a quick hug of the shoulders before pulling away to bounce on the balls of his feet.

  Scott appeared in the doorway of Marty’s room. The suit he’d worn to the funeral had been replaced by faded denims and a dark t-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and caressed his muscled chest.

  TJ swallowed past the lump in her throat. How long before he would leave now that Tiny was gone? She tore her eyes from him and looked down to where his dog lay guarding Marty’s discarded pile of laundry. They’d all become a part of her life so quickly and easily.

  “Ready, Champ?” Scott stepped into the room.

  “Yeah. Just need to get my toothbrush ‘n stuff.” Marty darted out of the room.

  “You okay?”

  TJ looked up. His eyes searched hers as she nodded tentatively.

  “Yep.” The words escaped on a strangled breath.

  In a single stride, he had her in his arms with her head resting against the firm pillow of his chest. Raw emotion raged through her as she inhaled his familiar, spicy scent. One strong arm hugged her close as his other hand cupped her head, fingers gently stroking the hair at her temple. Her arms stretched around him, palms flat against the warmth of his back as she burrowed deeper into the comfort of his hold. She felt his lips touch the top of her head as she turned her face into his chest.

  “Ready!” said Marty from the doorway.

  With a quick hug, Scott gently set her away from him. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

  She nodded and squeezed the big, strong hand that lingered on hers before his fingers trailed away down the pulse of her wrist and dropped to his side. Sarge abandoned the laundry to amble across and rub against her legs. She reached down to rub his ears before they followed Scott and Marty out onto the veranda and down the stairs to the car.

  TJ and Sarge watched as Bruce carried them down the drive. The cloud of dust they raised drifted up to mingle with the dying rays of the sun as it filtered through the rain clouds and trees. A gentle breeze whispered through the treetops and shivered across her bare arms. Cold crept in through the soles of her bare feet, reminding her that she’d kicked off her shoes as soon as they’d arrived home.

  She stood a while longer in the peacefulness of her surroundings, eyes closed as she absorbed the sounds of the running creek, the frantic call of the galahs and the odd laugh of a kookaburra. Beside her, Sarge pressed closer.

  “C’mon, Sarge, let’s go inside and light the fire.”

  The big dog was a comfort as he trailed behind her through the task of closing the house up for the night. TJ lit the fire, closed the curtains and turned on the soft lighting as the sun disappeared from the valley between the hills.

  With mechanical movements, she put a casserole in the oven to warm and prepared a bowl of food for Sarge. The evening chill crept along her skin as she placed Sarge’s bowl outside the kitchen door to the veranda. Goose flesh reminded her she still wore the sleeveless dress she’d worn to the funeral. Leaving the door ajar so Sarge could wander in when he was done, she turned to walk back through the lounge to her room.

  A pile of mail lay forgotten on the coffee table. When had Scott brought it in? Since he and Tiny had moved in, he’d gotten into the habit of picking it up from the post office box on his way home from work. Days had melded into one another since Tiny’s disappearance. Mail was a reminder of the need to return to normality. TJ picked up the envelopes and flicked through the advertising to find the bills. Her hand stille
d on a white envelope addressed to her in the spidery, immature handwriting she recognized as Tiny’s.

  Her heart pounded as she checked the date stamp. It had been mailed the day after he’d disappeared. She ripped the envelope open and took out the crumpled piece of lined paper torn from an exercise book. Hands shaking, she unfolded it and read:

  TJ, if u r reading this the writing is on the wall. Tell Scott I didn’t bail. I wanted to stay and make good but they came after me. I asked Connor to mail this if anything happened. I can’t trust anyone else. Marty and Connor will be safe. I’m worried about Luke. There’s more. The writing is on the wall. Terence B Watts

  Icy fingers crawled up TJ’s spine. What did he mean? Something hovered at the edge of her conscience but her mind was too tired and emotionally drained to capture it. Sarge pushed in through the back door and she walked into the kitchen to close it behind him. No point letting the heat of the fire out. As she dropped the roman blind down over the window, she thought she saw a flicker of light down the end of her driveway. She looked again but it was dark and nothing moved. A passing car making a turn? It didn’t matter. Scott would be home soon. The letter had made her antsy.

  “Come Sarge!”

  Sarge fell into step behind her as she walked up the corridor to her room. As she passed the closed door to Tiny’s room, a shiver of unease ran up her spine again. Why had Tiny signed his real name on the letter? Even on his apprenticeship application he’d signed it as ‘Tiny’. She retraced her steps and placed her hand on the cold brass door knob. Sarge whined.

  “It’s okay, boy. Stay close.”

  She took a deep breath before turning the knob and pushing the door open. No one had been in the room since Forensics had searched it for clues when Tiny had disappeared and again when his body had been found. Fingerprint dust still marked the edges of his chest of drawers.

  TJ picked her way over the scattered iPods, earphones, laptop and discarded laundry that littered the floor. She tossed a crumpled pile of shirts onto the unmade bed. It was exactly as he’d left it, except for the odd pieces the detectives had taken as evidence.

  What did he mean about the writing being on the wall? She looked around the dim room. There was no graffiti on the walls. Sarge sniffed around under the bed before moving across to the chest of drawers. He stood on his hind legs against it and sniffed at the jumble of things that lay on top. Distracted, TJ walked over to rub his ears and he dropped down to sit at her feet. Her eyes fell on the clutter. A couple of pens, an earring, a box of matches, his watch and a braided leather bracelet lay on top of a notebook.

  She snapped on the wax lamp that stood next to the collection. Its orange glow picked out a picture on the cover of the notebook. Tiny had graffitied the front of the notebook. Not just random scribbling, but a colourful mural with so much detail, you’d need to study it for a while to read it all. She’d had no idea Tiny was this creative. Terence B Watts sprawled across three coloured bricks in fat green writing.

  TJ sat down on the floor with her back against the bed clutching the notebook to her chest. A lump formed in her throat and tears stung her eyes, increasing to spill over onto her cheeks as Sarge flopped down beside and put his head on her lap. She lay down beside him and cried into his fur until she fell asleep, exhausted.

  The house was in darkness as Scott pulled up. Where was TJ? Had she gone over to Mum’s? He glanced at the illuminated clock on the dash. No, it was too late. And Sarge? Normally he came bounding down the stairs at the sound of a car. Unease gripped his stomach. He manoeuvred his long legs from out behind the wheel, got out and shut the door. Still nothing moved in the house. Maybe she’d fallen asleep before switching on the lights. The automatic sensor light switched on to illuminate the front door as he opened it and went inside. He really needed to remind her to lock it.

  “TJ?” he called. He smelt the warming casserole and walked into the kitchen. The oven light glowed dimly in the dark room, showing the casserole bubbling away. He snapped on the light and turned off the oven. As he walked up the corridor, he heard Sarge whine and followed the sound. The door to Tiny’s room stood open. As he stepped through it he saw TJ asleep on the carpet with her arm slung around Sarge’s body and her head resting on him like a fur pillow.

  He smiled. Her glorious hair had come loose and spread over Sarge like a fine gossamer curtain. One hand clutched his fur, the other hugged a book to her stomach. In the well created by her curled body and drawn up knees, lay a scribbled note.

  Sarge met his look with a sad, resigned one of his own as he yawned in greeting. Scott bent to scratch his ears.

  “I’ll move her in a minute,” he said and Sarge lay his big brown head back on his paws with a sigh.

  Asleep, TJ reminded him of a sleeping tiger with all the cuddly innocence of a kitten. Awake, she was fearless, ferocious and untameable. And he loved her.

  He’d expected that knowledge to slam into him. Instead it had grown around him over the last few months as he’d watched her throw everything she had into her work, into the project and into creating a stable home life for lost boys not much younger than herself. Then he’d watched her go to pieces when she lost one while trying to keep it together for those that remained.

  Yes, he loved her. He wanted to stay here in this little piece of paradise and grow old with her by his side. He wanted to be there when she filled the finished cabins with more lost children and made a difference, even a small one, to society.

  Scott knelt and brushed the hair from her cheeks. She mumbled, pushed her face into Sarge’s fur and stretched her legs out. The movement made the skirt of her black dress ride up her thigh and expose the lacy top of her tights attached to those bloody suspenders. For God’s sake! Did she think he was made of stone?

  His eyes followed the silk-covered length of her firm, shapely legs down past the slim ankles to her delicate feet.

  “C’mon, Sleeping Beauty. Time for bed.” He shook her shoulder gently.

  TJ lifted her head and muttered before laying it back down on the dog’s warm body. Scott grinned. “Okay, you’ve forced my hand. Now I’ll have to carry you to bed.”

  A slow, dreamy smile spread across her lips. “Mmmmm,” she purred and curled up again.

  Scott took several deep breaths and reminded himself that he was a gentleman who didn’t ravish sleeping princesses. He looped her arm around his neck and slid one arm under her shoulders and the other in the crook of her legs to hoist her into his arms.

  “Book,” she mumbled against his chest where he’d taken off his tie and loosened a few buttons.

  The graze of her lips against his skin sent white heat searing through him. “I’ll get it later.”

  Her free arm came up to join the other one around his neck as she sank against him. “‘Kay. Warm.” She pressed her face into his neck.

  Scott’s arms tightened. At this rate, he’d need more than a cold shower. He pushed open her door with his foot and laid her down on the bed before prying her arms from around his neck. She mumbled and shook her head.

  “You can’t sleep in that dress, love. You need to take it off. Where’s your PJs?”

  She protested as he tugged at the skirt. “No.”

  “It’s going to be uncomfortable and itchy in the morning,” he warned.

  She turned over on her stomach and exposed the zipper. “Off,” she mumbled.

  “That’s not a good idea, Tiger. I’ll help you with the stockings but you’re on your own with the dress.”

  He dug around under her pillow and came up with a T-shirt which he shoved into her hand and closed her fingers around. “Hang on to that while I take off your stockings.” The skirt had ridden almost to her waist exposing a very neat, tight bottom in a pair of lacy black, barely-there knickers. Scott groaned as he felt his body react. A long cold shower, he promised himself. He unsnapped the suspenders and rolled the stockings down her legs. The quicker the better, he thought as his fingers grazed the warm, silky skin o
f her thigh.

  A sigh escaped her curved lips. “Nice,” she murmured.

  “Hmmm,” agreed Scott as he slipped the stocking off her foot. He tossed it aside and went to work on the other leg. “You need to do the rest now.” He tickled the soles of her feet. “Wake up. When I come back I want you out of that dress and under the covers.”

  She stretched like a cat and the skirt hiked higher. Scott closed his eyes and willed himself not to look. Instead he walked to the door of the en suite.

  “S’ that an invitation?” Her sleepy voice stopped him in his tracks.

  He gripped the door frame to stop himself from turning around. “Not tonight.”

  Silence stretched and he thought she’d gone back to sleep until she said, “Scott?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  “Okay. Get into your PJs now. I’ll check on you after I’ve had my shower.”

  “Scott?”

  He bit his lip and gripped the door frame until his knuckles turned white. “Yes?” he hissed.

  “Can you undo my zipper?”

  Sarge echoed his groan from the floor at the foot of the bed.

  “Maybe later.” He closed the bathroom door with a little more force than necessary.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The gentle hiss of the shower and the groan of the pipes drew TJ out of her half slumber. With a sigh, she raised herself up off her stomach and rolled off the bed. Her hands searched for Tiny’s book. Unease crawled in the pit of her stomach. Sarge lifted his head with a short sharp bark. She leaned down to rub his head.

  “Yes, I know he’s home.” The comforting noises from the bathroom held the familiar sounds of Scott’s movements. “Stay here.”

  TJ padded out the door and down the corridor to Tiny’s room where she picked the book up off the floor. A flicker of orange light reflected off the window. In the silence, the crackle and pop of burning wood reached her ears at the same time as the smell of smoke curled towards her nose.