by Helene Young
Kait was still fuming over that little number when a white four-wheel drive coming the other way slid to halt next to her. Red dust shrouded its shiny paint. The dark window rolled down. A young guy with a cap, wrap-around sunglasses and a beard leant out.
‘Need a hand there?’
Chapter 6
RYAN did what he always did when he took on a new identity. He got a haircut.
He’d driven into Cairns the night before and camped out in a private room at a backpacker’s hostel on Grafton St. Some trendy place with cashed-up grunge travellers. The girl behind the counter had cast an appraising eye over him, hitched her short skirt a little higher and pulled her plunging neckline a little lower. Damn fine cleavage too, but sex wasn’t on his agenda.
With a rueful shake of his head he’d lifted the keys from her glossy fingertips, slung his backpack over his shoulder and asked for directions to the fire stairs. ‘Know your exits’ was basic stuff.
The designer walls of his room had closed in on him, so he tucked his gun in its ankle holster, locked his papers in the safe and headed down the fire stairs again, staying well clear of reception.
He walked for three hours, burning restless energy and taking in the glitzy waterfront along the Esplanade. At one end, the wooden boardwalks and bike paths meandered past spreading fig trees. They skirted along the rock wall that kept the Coral Sea at bay as it swelled in over sandy mudflats, glistening in the reflected lights.
At the other end drunken revellers sprawled around barbeques by the giant lagoon pool. Standing at its apex he could see that the designers had nailed the shape of Queensland. To the west, the high-rise apartments and hotels were glittering towers of light against the dark backdrop of soaring mountains, which were more felt than seen.
Families played tag under park lights; couples in the first flush of love ambled along, sharing secrets and passionate kisses. It washed over him, through him, past him. It didn’t help his frame of mind.
At one in the morning he crawled into bed. The noises from the room next door left nothing to his imagination. He kind of wished he’d taken up the receptionist’s earlier offer. At least now he would be stretched out asleep, rather than rock-hard and lonely.
Breakfast was a welcome distraction from himself. The waitress stopped for a chat, her demure white T-shirt covering a fit body. She had none of the overt sexuality of yesterday’s offering, and a hell of a lot more appeal. He laughed at her jokes, enjoying her quick wit and shy intelligence. She was about fifteen years too young, and safe from him. Maybe she knew that. Trying out her fledging sexuality on a target that didn’t scream ‘danger’.
An hour later he was comfortably nestled against a motherly shelf, as an amiable older woman styled his hair and gossiped. It was one of those delicious moments that only a man could enjoy. She chatted to the rhythmic click of her scissors, the rasp and slide of the cut-throat as she shaved his neck smooth. Then the fluffy brush drifted across his skin like a caress.
He caught the speculative look the hairdresser shot at him as she angled the mirror so he could see the back of his head.
‘Good-looking guy like you should have no problem finding a date in Cairns,’ she said with a quick flick of her wrist, the cape swirling around him. ‘Mind you, I don’t think beards are all the rage. Maybe you could lose that.’
He grinned. ‘Who said I’m looking for a date?’
‘I know a man who’s been on rations when I see one. Try the Pier Tavern. It’s better than the nightclubs. Different kind of girl. You Navy or a miner?’
He shook his head. ‘Neither. Just here on holidays.’
‘Right.’ She smiled at him. No malice, just curiosity. ‘My husband got shot once. Left a crease on his head too. The hair never did grow back.’ Her heels clacked across the floor, her hips swaying. ‘Twenty, thanks.’
As she rang it up he checked out his new haircut in the mirror. She was right, he did need to lose the beard, but he’d do that in private when no one would see. The haircut hid the scar on his head, but the hair around it had grown back silver. Most hair-dressers had no idea what it was. The occasional barber would pick it.
He drove out of Cairns, his elbow resting on the windowsill, his shirt stuck to him. The city sprawl had reached the sugar cane. Hopscotch fields, most cut already and neatly replanted, a few waving high stalks with fluffy tails of flower spikes, lay cheek by jowl with houses and shopping centres. He passed the turn-off into the estate where Jack Coglan had once rented a house. The guilt, the regret, sat heavily.
Jack Coglan, retired soldier, bush-tucker expert, devoted father and husband who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. Jack had mortgaged his soul to hell to pay for his wife’s cancer treatments and lost her in the end anyway.
Ryan had met him during the two years he was undercover inside the Nemesis outlaw motorcycle gang, doing things no sane man should do. Jack had looked out for him in a way no one else ever had. Sure, Jack might have been up to his neck in the gang’s filth, but he was different. Ryan had already worked out how to get the older man out with minimal jail time.
Instead, the hard men of Nemesis had shot Jack’s dog, and then in a hail of bullets they’d taken Jack’s life. Ryan hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. If he’d intervened to save Jack it would have blown two years of hard work out of the water. Not just Ryan’s hard work, but that of the team who supported him.
He knew he’d done the right thing by his masters, but he doubted the sense of having betrayed a friend would ever leave him. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to. A man needed to be reminded that the difference between good and evil could be a matter of who employed you.
An hour and a half later, still lost in his thoughts, he was going too fast as he came around a bend. A silver sedan was parked on the side of the road, hazard lights flashing, and a curvy woman was in the process of rolling a tyre into position. He stamped on the brakes and rolled down his window.
‘Need a hand there?’
The woman straightened up. She looked pissed off. ‘Almost done, but thanks for the offer.’ Her voice was crisp, educated, used to giving orders.
‘Looks like the hard part’s still to come.’ He flicked on his vehicle’s hazard lights. ‘I’m not going anywhere in a hurry.’
He didn’t miss the flash of relief in her eyes as she lowered her gaze to the tyre. Pretty eyes they were too, and he bet she had a great smile when she wasn’t frowning. Humming a tune, he parked the car and walked down the dusty road. Crusoe, his partner in the AFP, would be proud of his rescuing a damsel in distress. And what better way to fit into a community, he decided. He could do this. Being undercover was the easy part.
‘Ryan,’ he said, holding out one hand and removing his sunglasses with the other. ‘Brad Ryan, but everyone calls me Ryan.’
And so it always began. A new name, a new undercover role. Which Ryan this time? he thought, as he gripped the woman’s long slender hand and smiled directly into her brown eyes.
Chapter 7
IT was impossible not to smile back at him. A good-looking guy, a bit younger than her, wearing faded denims and a T-shirt that fitted in all the right places was hard to go past.
‘Kaitlyn.’ She found her hand in a warm clasp that made her conscious of her own dirty, sweaty grip. ‘Sorry.’ She wiped her hands down her pants. ‘I’m a bit mucky.’
‘Understandable. You’ve done well.’ He sat down next to the axle, without any regard for his clothes, and looked up from under dark lashes. ‘In fact, better than well. I’d give you ten out of ten so far.’
Kait felt warmth flood up from her toes, a tingling rush at his compliment. ‘Thanks,’ was all she managed to say as he turned back to the task.
In what seemed like seconds he had the wheel positioned on the studs and the first nut in place. She almost groaned. It would have taken her a hell of a lot longer. She had to say something, but his masculine competence made her feel like a star-struck teenager.
‘T
hanks for stopping to help. You’re going to end up covered in dust as well.’
‘Hey, my pleasure. Can’t have a lady who looks like she’s on her way to work changing tyres in the dirt. Live near here?’
He had a low drawl that was easy on the ear, and he was exceptionally easy on the eye, even with the scruffy beard. His dark brown hair wasn’t quite long enough to curl at the back of his cap. She caught the tail end of his gaze as it wandered over her and didn’t miss the lazy grin of approval. She knew she’d gone pink, and with her pale skin it would be obvious. It wasn’t every day an attractive guy with friendly hazel eyes sat at her feet checking her out.
‘Up the road a bit. I probably should have turned around instead of stopping here.’
‘No, it’s never safe to drive on a flat. It could roll off the rim.’
‘I guess so. And you? You live around here?’
He laughed. ‘First time back in over twenty years. I’ve moved up from Sydney. I’m renting up the road for a bit until I get a feel for the place and work out where I want to buy.’
‘Really? Bit of a change of pace from Sydney. You’ve brought work with you? Not much around apart from fruit picking at this time of year.’ She looked across at his car. She’d missed the New South Wales registration plates when he pulled up.
‘Sort of. Taking some time out for a while.’ He didn’t elaborate, but his eyebrows lowered for an instant. She knew what it was like to keep secrets. Ryan was entitled to his. In a country area like this she knew how easy it was to reinvent yourself and your history. Who you were in the community was more important than who you used to be.
He carried on threading nuts onto studs. ‘Can you reach the wheel wrench?’
She handed it over and for a split second wished she wasn’t still wearing her wedding band. The moment of vanity almost made her laugh. Ridiculous woman. He wouldn’t even notice.
‘Social life’s a bit limited around here.’ Kaitlyn didn’t want to pry, but she was intrigued enough to wonder if there was a wife and associated children.
‘That wasn’t on the list of desirable attributes I gave the real estate agent.’ A hint of laughter touched his voice.
Kait felt the heat in her cheeks again. He made renting a house sound sexy. She tried for offhand again. ‘Plenty of bushwalks in the area and some great bird-watching hides. The limestone caves out at Chillagoe are spectacular and then there’s always Tinaroo Dam if you’re into water sports.’
‘I’m sure I’ll find plenty to do.’ He slotted the final nut on the wheel and cocked his head in inquiry. ‘A bit rough, working on a Saturday.’
‘Yes, it is, but duty calls, apparently. For me, anyway.’
‘So, how far have you got to go?’
‘I’m headed down to Cairns.’ She looked at her watch and grimaced. ‘Do you mind if I make a quick call while you do that? I should let them know I’ll be late.’
Tanned forearms flexed as he rotated the wheel brace, giving each nut an extra nip. He glanced up at her with those cat eyes and a nod of his head. ‘Go for it. I’ve almost finished. You’d done most of the work.’
By the time she’d made the call he had the car off the jack and everything stowed in the boot.
He dusted off his hands as she rejoined him. ‘Good to go. Get them to check the nuts when you take the tyre in. Just in case. I couldn’t find anything obviously wrong, but maybe you’ve got a faulty valve.’
‘Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it, Ryan.’
‘No worries. Happy to help in any way I can, Kaitie.’ He cracked another grin and Kaitlyn felt her heart skitter. I bet he is, she thought. He’d be happy to help any number of women, from the look of all that charm.
‘Safe drive.’ He held out his hand again and this time she took it in both of hers. His skin was smooth under her fingers. No calluses pressed into her palm. His nails were square, neatly cut. Not used to manual labour, she decided, risking a direct smile.
‘And you. See you round.’
Ryan held her gaze for a fraction of a second then grinned at her. ‘You can be sure of that.’ He loped across the road to his car and didn’t look back as he drove away.
She sat for a moment once she’d buckled up. In the rear-vision mirror she saw Ryan’s four-wheel drive indicate for a right turn just before it vanished around the bend.
She frowned. Ryan was headed up Happy Jack Road? It was a dead-end, 12 kilometres of barely sealed dirt with the grass verge creeping closer every week. There was nowhere to go down that road, just her house and old Jerry O’Donnell’s place, right around the other side of the rim.
Was he renting the high-set house? Jerry had been packed off to a nursing home nine months ago, but she knew it was still full of the elderly man’s possessions. She checked on it occasionally and ran the ride-on mower over the grounds.
She did have a contact number somewhere for Jerry’s son, or maybe he was the son-in-law. Hard to remember – his self-important grandstanding had kind of scared her off. He was some bigwig in Defence. She’d left several messages inquiring about Jerry’s health and never got a reply. Perhaps she should try again. They all missed their elderly neighbour, Dan particularly. She shied away from examining just why the thought of Ryan living up the street had sent a shiver through her body. It would be good not to have to worry about mowing his block in future.
The highway skirted around her property, then dropped past the forestry block. She eased off the accelerator, risking a glance at the low, undulating structure that appeared to float in the distance. It wasn’t for sale at any price. The real estate agents could knock on her door all day and she still wouldn’t accept their increasingly generous offers. Maybe she was the only one who thought it was beautiful, but she knew its beauty was in its clever design and immense strength. It would withstand severe weather like cyclones and, more importantly, firestorms.
Built to rigorous standards, she trusted it to protect her family. Never again would she lose her house to the violence of nature. She swallowed, forcing the edge of nausea back down as the old grief, the visceral fear, welled up and threatened to swamp her.
Never again would she be complacent or trusting of anyone.
Chapter 8
RYAN hummed an old Billy Joel song as he drove – the one that went ‘if that’s moving up, then I’m moving out’. It suited his optimistic mood. Who knew changing a tyre could lift his spirits like that? He needed to get out more. The sexy married lady with the flat tyre had the sort of colouring that belonged in an English rose garden, not up in North Queensland. The logo on her shirt said she worked for Border Watch.
He searched through his memory for what he knew about the organisation. He’d worked with them on the last operation. If he remembered correctly, there were two flight crew on every flight, plus an observer and a mission commander. Which one was she?
Up ahead he could see the first house on the road. He left the window rolled down. A whiff of something rich and spicy tangled with his tastebuds. He slowed to get a better look.
They’d torn down the shack and built a new house since his last visit. City folk, he’d bet. No one else would put up such an ugly cement and corrugated-iron monstrosity. At least they’d had the good sense to face the fantastic view from their perch, high on the edge of the escarpment. Of course that meant Jerry’s house and theirs were looking at each other like a couple of prize-fighters, all pumped up and ready to brawl. Jerry’s was the old timer in bovver boots. The other was the brash new kid on the block with designer sneakers.
For the next five kilometres the road followed the ridgeline. There was nothing but sloping grass and open forest to Ryan’s right and a steep drop down to an old plantation on his left. The road was starting to show sign of neglect. He had no idea who was responsible for it. Main Roads or Council? If it got much worse he’d need to find out.
Finally he got a good look at the old place. Someone had mowed the grass – straight lines, neatly overlappi
ng. It looked like a country cricket ground. He crossed mowing off his long to-do list.
Ryan was pretty sure his father wouldn’t have organised it. His dad was too ticked off about the contents of Jerry’s will to do anything useful with the house. Unfortunate that Rear Admiral O’Donnell had taken early retirement from the Navy. Meant he had too much time to stick his nose into his son’s business. Bit late for paternal pride now, Ryan thought, pulling the keys from the ignition. It was not a case of better late than never. Never suited Ryan fine.
He eased himself out of the car, stretching his shoulders back as the full force of the warmth hit him. The house was smaller than he remembered. High-set colonial with boxy verandas, crazy crooked stump caps and wide weatherboards begging for a coat of paint. Great Uncle Jerry had been a retired train driver. The pile of scrap metal, spare parts and scavenged goods stretching along the back fence seemed to have grown to match the size of the old fella’s heart. He must have been collecting right up until they carted him off in an ambulance.
Had Jerry laughed out loud when he signed his will, handing everything bar the house over to a charity for homeless boys? Ryan was wryly amused. Jerry’s comment, perhaps, on the lack of parenting in Ryan’s life? The old man had never hidden his contempt for Ryan’s parents.
Jerry had left the house to Ryan with a string of conditions requiring him to work with the charity to turn it into a facility to house some of those boys. Perhaps that was an attempt to prod Ryan into doing something else for a career. Fat chance. Policing was Ryan’s life and he had no intention of taking on a charity for juvenile males in any capacity.
Fortuitously, though, Jerry’s will gave Ryan somewhere to stay without too many questions to be answered. Ryan had had no intention of staying in the house again, but when this job investigating an arsonist on the Tablelands had come up it was the logical solution. A fictitious real estate agent was easy for the Feds to organise. All inquiries would be answered appropriately and the details of anyone poking around would be recorded. Ryan was just a single man renting a house in the country.
