No Ocean Deep

by Cate Swannell

  “Oh, really? It will be lovely to finally get to meet you,” said Helena, oblivious to the dark thoughts running through the mind of her daughter’s lover. “I think Cadie’s missing you, really quite badly.”

  Jo smiled to herself. “Well, that’s mutual,” she replied. “Thanks for calling, Mrs. Jones. And I’ll see you in a couple of days, hopefully.”

  “Yes, hopefully. Goodbye, Jo. Safe travels.”

  “Bye.”

  Jo sat for several minutes after she hung up, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her, her elbows on her knees. She knew there was now only one way of getting herself to the US in short order.

  And that means resurrecting an old friend, she thought grimly. And finding one or two others as well. Somewhere in this god damned city.

  Finally she stood, her decisions made and nothing for it but to get it all done. Calmly she walked around the room, pulling on clothes and gathering together her money and her attitude. By the time the tall, black-clad, ice-chip-eyed figure strode out of the door, she was, more or less, her old self.

  Time to go a-hunting.

  It had been a very long night. Cadie rubbed her eyes wearily as she tried to focus on the vase she was wrapping in newspaper. She and Naomi had been hammering away at the same issues, all night long, talking around and around the fact that Cadie wasn’t coming back to the senator and that was that.

  Naomi’s emotions had ranged from depression to fury and back again, cycling several times through the night. The only constant had been the glass of bourbon Naomi had kept by her side. The alcohol had kept her by turns aggressive and blurry, but nothing had seemed to penetrate Naomi’s unwavering belief that Jo was the cause of all the world’s troubles and that eventually Cadie would see reason and come home for good.

  Eventually the politician had passed out in the same armchair Cadie had found her in. Cadie’s first thought had been to forget about salvaging her belongings and just get the hell back to Madison. But then fatigue, combined with a low-burning anger at the senator’s antics had convinced her to stick it out.

  Why the hell should I let her intimidate me out of the things that are rightfully mine, she had thought, setting her chin even as she watched the older woman snoring where she was slumped. God damn her.

  And so Cadie had spent the few hours since dawn quietly moving around the house gathering up her belongings. She felt anxious and exhausted, not the least of which was because the one chance she had had to call Jo, there had been no reply from either the Australian’s cell phone or the hotel room. Cadie knew it was now well into the wee hours of Tuesday morning, Sydney time, so she was loathe to try the numbers again, in case she interrupted her partner’s no doubt badly needed sleep. I wonder where she is.

  Cadie finished filling one of the packing boxes and she carried it, quietly, to the front door. She put the box down to open the door and breathed in the sweet, crisp spring air of early morning.

  Maybe I’m just being too stubborn for my own good, she thought as she picked the box up again and began the walk out to her car. I’ve got the essentials in this box – my business and personal documents, jewelry, clothes. Maybe I should just get out of here now while I have the chance.

  Before she could follow that train of thought to its logical conclusion, however, she rounded the large bushes that shielded the driveway from the house.

  Leaning against her car were two large men in black suits. One was reading a newspaper, the other watched Cadie as she came to an abrupt halt at the top of the driveway. She recognized the goons as members of the security team Naomi regularly used when she was campaigning.

  “Morning, Miss Jones,” said the man who had been watching her. His colleague folded his newspaper into neat sections and tucked it under his arm. “Going somewhere?”

  Shit. “If I said yes, would you let me?” Cadie asked.

  The goon shrugged. “You know how it is, Miss Jones,” he said wryly. “We’re just here to make sure you and the senator have all the privacy you need.”

  Riiiiight. “All I want to do right now, Mr., um, Smith, isn’t it?” The goon grinned and nodded at her. “All I want to do now, Mr. Smith, is put this box in that car.” Cadie nodded in the direction of their seat. “Would that be all right by you, do you think?” The sarcasm fairly oozed from every word, and she knew it probably wasn’t the smartest attitude to take, but now she was really pissed, and somewhat intimidated, but Cadie was goddamned if she was going to let them see that.

  “Certainly, Miss,” Smith said agreeably. He stood upright and watched as Cadie unlocked the trunk and dropped the box inside. She slammed the lid shut and walked back around to where the two bodyguards stood.

  “You won’t mind if I hang on to these,” Cadie said, dangling the car keys in front of them as she began to walk past the men back towards the house.

  “Not at all, Miss.”

  “Fuck you,” Cadie muttered as she climbed the driveway. Well, that’s just great. A house full of drunken bitches and a yard full of hit men. How much worse can this get?

  She walked back inside, following the trail of loud and destructive sounds into the kitchen. Naomi had come to with a vengeance and was throwing pots and pans around in a fit of temper. The stocky woman was bouncing off the counters and cupboards like an irate pinball, cursing a blue streak.

  It just got worse.

  The wind whipped around the dark figure as she strode silently along the grimy sidewalks of King’s Cross. Even though it was just after 3am there were still people on the streets, as the dance clubs and strip joints began spewing their drunken, happy clientele. There was, however, something about the woman that made them all get out of her way, with those that were too inebriated to notice pulled out of her path by their more sober, aware friends.

  Jo’s demeanor was every bit that of someone who ruled the streets and knew it. Cold, hard, pale blue eyes took in her environment, old landmarks tweaking her memories and her sense of direction. She glared balefully at anyone unfortunate enough to step across her path. And for the first time in over five years, she felt naked without her weapons.

  Jo walked through the eastern end of the nightclub district and into an even seedier part of town. Warehouses and adult entertainment dominated the scene here and the eyes that met her own were less inclined to be intimidated. More than one pair flashed surprised signs of recognition, but Jo ignored them all as she continued to search for her target.

  Finally one alleyway in particular caught her attention and she ducked into it, pacing down its length until she came to a darkened doorway. It was the quintessential gangster movie scene, and Jo would have smiled at the irony if she hadn’t felt quite so nauseous. Instead she pounded twice on the heavy door, unsurprised when the tiny sliding peephole at eye level snapped open almost instantaneously.

  Jo said nothing, just fixed the beady eyes peering out at her with an intense stare.

  “Holy fuck!” came the hoarse greeting and the sliding panel slammed shut again.

  “Open the door, Vincent,” Jo growled, letting her voice take on its most menacing timbre.

  “I’m not in that business anymore, okay?” came the muffled and vaguely tremulous response.

  Why do I find that hard to believe? Jo wondered. “Open the door, before I break it down and wring your silly neck,” she said aloud.

  There was a loud groan and another curse from behind the door and an obvious moment of hesitation in which Jo thought she was actually going to have to break down the door. But then she heard a sigh and a series of bolts being thrown.

  The door swung open just wide enough for her to slide through and it slammed behind her quickly.

  “Heard you were in town. Saw you on the telly. Didn’t expect to hear from you though.” The shadowy figure behind the door paused as if weighing up his own words. “Not since you turned rat.”

  Jo’s long, strong fingers were around his neck and she had him slammed against the wall almost before the
word was out of his mouth. She leaned close, ignoring his bad breath and oily skin, as she squeezed his throat steadily.

  “You’re a fine one to be calling someone rat, Vincent,” she snarled. “They don’t call you Vincent the Weasel for nothing.”

  The wizened little man ignored her words – it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d ever been insulted, let alone threatened – but his hands came up to hers, trying to break her grip.

  “You’re crazy for showing up on the streets, Madison,” he gasped. “They’re out for your hide, you know that, right?” His eyes widened as he realized something. “Jesus Christ, how did you get here? Tell me you didn’t just walk down here like some fucking tourist?” Jo’s feral grin answered that question for him. “Fuck, Madison, if they saw you, they’ll come right here to find you. Jesus!” Sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “Then you’d better get to work, hadn’t you?” Jo muttered. “Because the quicker you finish what I want done, the sooner I’ll be out of your way.” She let go of him. His feet hit the ground and he slumped against the wall, rubbing his neck ruefully.

  “I told you, I don’t..." He stopped catching her glare and deciding against any further prevarication. “What do you need?”

  “Passport, driver’s license, birth certificate.” Back in her criminal days she’d had a set of fake documents – hell, more than one set – but she had given them up when she had turned herself in to the police. She pointed a finger at him. “And nothing shoddy, Vincent. Your best work.”

  He grinned, regaining some of his confidence. “S’gonna cost ya, Madison.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” she snapped. “Get the work done the way I want it and this is yours.” Jo pulled a hefty roll of notes out of an inside pocket in her coat, long enough for him to absorb its size. She tucked it back out of sight and lifted an elegant dark brow at the man. “Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed. “When do you need them by?”

  Jo glanced at her watch. “You’ve got five hours,” she replied grimly.

  “You’re not serious?”

  Jo nailed him with her most intense and intimidating glare. “Do I look like someone who’s joking, Vincent?”

  “Okay, okay. Let me get my shit together here.”

  They had moved through to a dingy looking room at the end of the passage. Old, yellowed wallpaper was peeling from the walls, which were stained with damp. Jo sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the dank and slightly rotten smell. Nothing much had changed here, at least. Still the same grubby little weasel he always was, she thought.

  The man in question came back into the room, carrying a large camera and tripod, as well as a canvas bag, which he dumped on the large wooden table in the middle of the room.

  “Need to take your picture,” he grunted as he carefully set the photographic equipment down. He indicated the far wall which, although hardly clean, was at least free of dogs playing pool and not so tasteful nude pin-ups.

  Jo sat down on a battered wooden chair, trying not to think about her surroundings or what she was doing. Doesn’t pay to think, Jo-Jo. Not too much. Not right now. She forced down a lump of panic which threatened to send her running out on the streets. Just wish I could think of another way of doing this.

  It wasn’t that Jo was scared of getting caught, she realized. She had spent many years traveling all over Australia, and the world for that matter, as Tony’s bodyguard, and she had never done it under her own name. She knew how easy it was to do. It would scare Joe Public silly to know how easy it is, she thought wryly as she watched Vincent setting up his gear.

  No, what was freaking her out was, first and foremost, what Cadie was going through. Those possibilities were rattling through her brain at the rate of knots. And then there was what she might have to do once she had arrived in Chicago. And what that might do to me. And her. Hell, us.

  “Are you gonna smile for the camera, or are ya just gonna sit there scowlin’,” Vincent said, chancing his luck now that he was out of arm’s reach of the tall woman.

  “Just take the fucking picture,” Jo muttered.

  The counterfeiter didn’t waste any further time, taking her picture as soon as she turned square-on the camera. He immediately began pulling blank passport templates, licenses and certificates out of the canvas bag. Jo stayed where she was, content to grab what rest she could for the time being. God knows, I’m not gonna get much in the way of sleep for a while.

  “You gonna breathe down my neck, or give me some room to move?” Vincent asked testily, throwing a glance her way as he bent over his work.

  Jo crossed her legs at the ankles and clasped her hands in her lap. “You’ve just finished telling me how dangerous it is for me out there on the streets. Why would I go out there if I don’t need to?” she replied, letting a small, cold smile play across her lips. “Besides, I think you work better with supervision.” It had occurred to her that this particular weasel could easily turn rat for the right price.

  Vincent glared at her for a few long seconds, and then shrugged, turning back to the long night’s work he had ahead of him. “Suit yourself, Madison.”

  “Thanks. I will.”

  “Idiot,” Cadie muttered. “What the hell was I thinking?” She watched Naomi warily as the senator’s temper tantrum blew over, and she finally came to rest, leaning against the countertop. I should have known better than to think I could get away with just coming down here and quietly cleaning my stuff out. I should have come down here with three attorneys, a bodyguard, Mom and Dad and an attack dog. And Jo for good measure. Goddamn it.

  “I guess it’s pointless me asking what all that was about?” she said quietly, as Naomi sighed heavily and turned to face her.

  “I wanted some breakfast, but there’s nothing here to eat,” the senator said grumpily.

  Cadie folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “You didn’t really think this through, did you, Naomi?” she asked. “I guess you figured that by now I’d be happily back in your life and you could leave it to me to figure out how to feed you.”

  Naomi, for once, looked unhappy. Actually, she just looks hung-over, Cadie thought.

  “You’re right, I didn’t really think about it,” the politician admitted, rather surprisingly. “I just thought that once I had you away from that… from Jo… then I could convince you to stay.” She paused, running a hand through her closely-cropped salt and pepper hair. “I didn’t really know what else to do, to be honest.”

  Cadie looked at her suspiciously, not quite believing the senator’s vulnerable act hard on the heels of her temper tantrum.

  “It’s true,” Naomi said, seeing the look of disbelief on Cadie’s face. “You just left me there at Sydney Airport, looking like an idiot in front of the press, and since then you’ve refused to talk to me. So what choice did I have?” She broke out what Cadie was sure was supposed to be a charming smile, but it felt nothing but chilling to the blonde. “All I want is a chance to show you that we can fix our relationship and that it’s worth trying.”

  “Naomi, you have two goons out there stopping me from getting in my car to leave, you cut off the power to deliberately scare me, but somehow you expect me to believe that you didn’t really have a plan for this little confinement you’ve got going here.” Cadie snorted and pushed herself off the doorframe. Somewhere in here I know there’s got to be coffee, she decided. And God knows I need one. “What exactly do you think is going to happen now?”

  Cadie opened up the one cupboard Naomi hadn’t ransacked and found the coffee.

  “Let’s get real shall we?” She pulled down two mugs and began putting together beverages for herself and her ex-partner. “You’re acting like a criminal, Naomi, not someone who’s trying to win me over. Do you really think you’d get away with hurting me, or kidnapping me, or whatever it is you think is going to happen if I don’t agree to come back willingly?”

  “I’m not going to do either of those things,” Naomi
replied quietly.

  “Then why do you need the reinforcements out in the driveway?” Cadie asked as she scooped teaspoonfuls of coffee into the cups. The sudden presence of Naomi close behind her made the hairs on the back of Cadie’s neck stand on end, but before she could move away, the senator had a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

  “I just wanted some time alone with you, with no interruptions,” Naomi whispered, her breath hot and damp on the back of Cadie’s neck. “Is that so much to ask after 12 years of marriage? Don’t you think that history demands that we at least talk?”

  “Let go of me,” Cadie answered hoarsely, her hands frozen, wrapped around the coffee mugs.

  “Come on, Cadie, give me break here,” Naomi replied, not releasing Cadie for even a second. “Don’t you remember how good this used to be between us? I used to be able to do this …” She leaned forward and kissed the nape of Cadie’s neck. “And we’d spend hours in heaven, just enjoying each other.”

  Cadie swallowed. She did indeed remember how it had been, but the shivers of revulsion radiating out from the spot Naomi had kissed told her that those days were long gone.

  “I’m not that naïve young woman anymore, Naomi, and you’re certainly not the same woman I married 12 years ago.”

  Naomi moved even closer. “Give us a chance. How can you just walk away without giving us a chance? Don’t you miss this?” She kissed the same spot again and Cadie found herself hard-pressed not to laugh outright.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You have a very selective memory, Naomi. Things have been less than ideal between us for a very long time. Including the sex. Don’t kid yourself that you can do anything to me sexually that could change my mind about leaving you.”

  Cadie felt the mood change very quickly as Naomi tightened her grip around her waist. The sudden shift from sweet and vulnerable to pure menace was breathtaking and palpable. Damn, she’s all over the place. What the hell is coming next?