The Negotiator

by Chris Taylor

  He leaned forward and picked up the trash can and went to hand it over to her. Their fingers brushed, eliciting a gasp from both of them. Heat sizzled up his arm. She pulled her fingers away as if she’d been burned.

  With her gaze averted, she stumbled away from his desk, reaching out blindly toward her son. “Come on, Jack. Let’s go.”

  She took the boy by the arm and dragged him with her out of the room, leaving Andy looking on, bemused. The overflowing wastepaper basket had been left in his hands, abandoned.

  What the hell had all that been about?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Fingers of morning sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains that hung across Cally’s bedroom window. She rolled over and squinted at the alarm clock: six forty-two. She groaned. Her eyes were gritty and tired and her body ached after four nights in a row tossing and turning over her dire financial circumstances and her unease that the man who’d broken into her home might return.

  She buried her head under the pillow in an effort to block out the arrival of the morning, but her heavy thoughts over the past few days refused to leave her. The problem was simple: She needed to earn more money. The difficulty came in how she was going to achieve it.

  While her teaching job paid well, it was only part time. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays she taught the third grade and no matter how hard she’d tried to secure teaching employment for the other two days, it hadn’t happened. A few months earlier, the Department of Education had offered her a fulltime job in an outer western Sydney suburb, but it was so far away from their home in Chatswood, she’d have to relocate for it to become viable. She needed to be close to Jack’s school so she could be there to collect him, or at least be at home when he arrived off the bus. Her only other option was to put him in before and after school care.

  She’d looked into the care option when they’d first moved to Sydney and had quickly discovered the cost was exorbitant. The child care fees would entirely negate the benefit of the extra income a fulltime job would provide. No matter which way she looked at it, she was stuck.

  The reality was, if her finances didn’t improve, she’d be forced to put her beloved cottage on the market and look for something cheaper. It would definitely mean a move from the northern suburbs and she grimaced at the thought of leaving the comfort and security she’d found in their cottage in Chatswood.

  “What to do; what to do?” she muttered under her breath. If only she had someone to talk to about it.

  Her thoughts shifted to her best friend from high school, Kate Collins. She was Kate Munro, now. Cally had reconnected with her nearly three years earlier when Kate returned to their hometown of Watervale to search for her missing mother. Cally had been devastated for her friend when Kate eventually called with the news her mother had been found murdered.

  The only bright light during the whole sad episode was that Kate had found true love in the form of the investigating police officer. Kate and Riley Munro were now happily married and had added twin girls to their family. It was the kind of happy ending fairytales were made of and Cally couldn’t help but wish her life had been so blessed.

  The low hum of the television came from the living room. She glanced at the clock again and sighed. It was almost seven. There was no time now for a leisurely phone catch up with her friend. Besides, with the twins not quite two, Kate probably wouldn’t appreciate an early morning call.

  Throwing off the bedclothes, Cally stood. Though it was Tuesday, one of her days off, she still had to drive Jack to school. It was too bad that what she felt like doing was turning her back on the day and going back to sleep.

  In between tossing and turning about her finances, she’d dreamed of a tall, blond stranger with melting chocolate eyes. A feeling of safety and security emanated from him and had drawn her inexorably closer. Just as she’d started to move toward him, the burglar had sped past her in a dark blue car and she’d been forced to jump away or risk being hit.

  She’d woken with her heart pounding and the sheets tangled around her legs. The familiar sound of the early morning trains rattling along the steel lines in the distance had brought her slowly back to reality.

  It was no surprise that the nightmares had started right after the home invasion. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they’d caught the man, but despite front page headlines, countless police hours and a decent shoe impression left in the dirt outside her back door, the perpetrator hadn’t been identified. He was still out there and Cally was more than worried he might return. It wasn’t any wonder she couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep.

  “Mom, are you awake? I think we’re out of Rice Bubbles.” Jack’s voice drifted to her from the direction of the kitchen.

  “You’ll have to eat Weet-Bix.” She sighed. Her choice of Weet-Bix over Rice Bubbles in last week’s grocery shop had been a purely financial decision. She braced herself for a whine or complaint, but there was nothing.

  He was such a good boy, most of the time. It certainly hadn’t been easy raising him on her own and if she hadn’t had Aunt Mary’s love and support, she was sure he wouldn’t have turned out as normal and grounded as he was.

  It worried her that he didn’t have any significant male influence in his life. With no father, grandfather or even an uncle in the picture, he rarely came into contact with men. Her aunt hadn’t considered it a problem when Cally had raised the subject with her. Jack had been five at the time and had asked Cally if he could play dress-ups in her closet.

  “You worry too much about that boy,” Aunt Mary had replied. “Things don’t always turn out good for kids just because they have a Mom and a Dad. Or bad if they only have one.”

  Cally, of all people, knew how true that was. But recently, her concern for Jack had intruded on her thoughts again, right when she had so many other issues vying to send her stress levels through the roof. With the money problems and her fears about the stalker in a dark-blue Toyota, she didn’t need to be weighed down by renewed feelings of guilt that she’d failed her son by not providing him with a positive male role model before he like…left home.

  Unbidden, the broad shoulders and long lean body of Andy Warwick filtered into her consciousness. It was much too early to trust him, but at the thought of his George Clooney eyes, heat spread through her limbs, leaving them heavy and limp. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself any sort of sexual feelings. Ten years ago, she’d had a new baby to take care of and her social life had been nonexistent. That was exactly how she’d wanted it. After her experience with Stewart Brady, she’d vowed to steer clear of men for the rest of her life.

  She’d been sixteen when Jack was born and “the rest of her life” hadn’t quite felt like the lengthy period of time she now knew (and hoped) it would be. At the ripe old age of twenty-six, she had a little more perspective on life and what she wanted from it, and if she were truly honest with herself, she’d admit over the last few years, she’d been lonely for male company.

  When Jack was younger, it had been impossible for her to contemplate devoting time to her own life. Later, when her aunt’s health had deteriorated, she’d spent every available spare moment at home by her aunt’s side. But on days like today, when she had a little time to herself, the needs she’d denied for over a decade were less easily suppressed. She didn’t know if she’d ever have the courage to act on them—things hadn’t turned out so well the last time she’d given in to her feelings—but they were there, just the same.

  Not that she’d ever regretted keeping Jack—he was the only good to come from the entire awful episode—but the pain and heartbreak and countless nights crying herself to sleep over the cold abandonment by everyone she thought loved her had taken some getting over.

  Irritated with the direction of her thoughts, she pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it onto her bed, intent on dressing for the day. She had more important things to worry about than her sex life—or lack thereof.

  Catching sight of her
body in the full length mirror affixed to the back of her door, she turned side-on and sucked in her stomach, pleased to see it was still almost-flat and her breasts were high and full, despite her advancing years. She grinned. Twenty-six wasn’t old—but it wasn’t exactly young, either.

  “Mom, do you need to use the bathroom? I want to brush my teeth.”

  She jumped guiltily at the sound of Jack’s voice on the other side of the door, suddenly feeling like she’d been caught doing something wrong. Hastily pulling underwear from her drawer, she called back to him. “That’s fine, sweetheart. You go ahead. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Selecting a worn pair of denim cut-off shorts, she teamed them with a faded yellow T-shirt that had seen more washes than she cared to remember. Like everything else, her wardrobe had been sadly neglected as she’d struggled to make ends meet. Every now and then, she wondered whether she’d be better off selling and moving back to Armidale—or even to her hometown of Watervale. With Kate now living there with Riley and their twins, perhaps things would be different?

  As quickly as the thought entered her head, she banished it. Straightening her spine, she firmed up her resolve. No, she wasn’t going back. There were too many memories. The country towns held some of the best memories of her life, but they also held the worst. Besides, her father still lived in Watervale and she’d be damned before she’d risk running into him again.

  With a grimace, Cally forced the melancholy aside. She didn’t have the luxury to waste time on memories. If she didn’t hurry, Jack would be late for school. With a small wistful sigh, she opened her bedroom door and headed toward the kitchen.

  * * *

  Cally turned onto the Pacific Highway, her thoughts still on Jack. He’d given her a cheery wave on his way into the schoolyard and she’d breathed a quiet sigh of relief that, despite her concerns, he appeared to be like any other normal, well-adjusted ten-year-old.

  Spying her driveway up ahead, she eased off the accelerator and flicked on her indicator to make the turn. Beyond, she saw a dark blue sedan parked a few yards from her driveway. Fingers of fear clutched at her belly. She picked up speed and took the turn faster than was safe. A minute later, she skidded to a halt outside her house.

  Scrabbling with the seatbelt, she leaped out of the car and tore across the yard. Her breath came fast. She reached the house and fumbled with her keys. At last, the lock turned and she slammed the back door closed behind her and slid the deadbolt home.

  She made her way to the front of the house with the blood still thundering in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the heavy damask curtain aside a couple of inches so she could peek out the window.

  The view afforded her a glimpse of the main road, about fifty yards away. Twisting to the left, she peered through the shrubbery and made out the car parked at the curb. It was the same as the one that had been following her. The figure of a man sat behind the wheel.

  Her stomach dropped. Panic threatened. She had to call the police. Dropping the curtain back in place, she strode across the living room to the telephone and picked up the hand piece. She dialed the number on the card the detective had given her after attending the scene of the break-in. To her relief, he answered on the second ring.

  “Detective Black, I’m so glad you answered.” Cally drew in a breath in an effort to still her racing heart then quickly explained the reason for her call.

  “I see,” the detective replied. “And you’ve seen this car how many times before?”

  “Um…at least twice parked in my street and I’m almost sure I saw it following me home on Friday.”

  “Almost sure?”

  Cally bit her lip. She could hear the skepticism in the officer’s voice. What could she tell him?

  “It was definitely the same color and I think it was the same make. A Toyota.”

  “Did you get a license plate?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t get close enough. The road was busy. It was really only a few moments…”

  Her excuses were met with silence. The detective eventually broke it.

  “Is the vehicle you think you saw on Friday still parked outside your house?”

  “Yes. At least, it was a few moments ago. I-I’ll go and check. She crossed the room and eased back the curtain and saw it. Her pulse leaped. Dropping the curtain and stepping back, she spoke quickly into the phone. “It’s still there.”

  “Okay, no problem. We’ll send a car around. Everyone is out at the moment, but as soon as I can I’ll have an officer swing by. Try not to worry. I’m sure it’s not the man who broke into your home. He discovered there was nothing much of value the first time and he’d hardly be keeping watch in plain sight outside your house. But, we’ll check it out. I promise you.”

  After thanking the detective, Cally ended the call. Her heart was still racing, but frustration and anger slowly replaced the fear.

  Was she being ridiculous? Jumping to wild conclusions? The detective was right. If the burglar planned to return, it would be more likely in the dead of night, like the first time, not during the day when he could be seen. She couldn’t even be certain it was the same car.

  She shook her head with annoyance. It wasn’t the man who’d invaded her home. It wasn’t a stalker. It was probably someone who lived nearby or, more than likely, this whole I’m-being-stalked feeling was a product of her overactive imagination. It wasn’t like there were men lining up to frighten her. Apart from the teachers at Jack’s school and some of the parents of her third grade class, she didn’t know anyone in Sydney.

  In every movie she’d ever seen with the stalker theme, it turned out to be someone the victim knew. Like a crazed ex-husband, or something.

  Her pulse hitched. Thoughts of Stewart Brady crowded her head, but she immediately dismissed them. It was ridiculous to think he would stalk her, after all these years. She hadn’t seen him since that awful day outside the abortion clinic. He hadn’t tried to contact her. As far as he knew, there was no reason to.

  Irritation surged through her. She’d never been the nervous and edgy type and over the years, she’d only become tougher and more resilient. She didn’t know what it was about this car that made her feel threatened. She ought to march straight up the driveway and confront the man and demand to know who he was and why he was following her.

  If it was someone who happened to be innocently pulled over on the side of the road, she could live with that embarrassment. If it wasn’t…

  What if it was someone she knew or someone with sinister intentions? What would she do then? Her screams would never be heard over the constant roar of the traffic, and knowing her luck, no one would even notice if she were suddenly bundled up into the Toyota and spirited away.

  It could be hours before anyone would realize she was missing. There was no guarantee what time Detective Black’s officers would drive by and she couldn’t be sure they’d even check on her if they discovered the blue car she’d complained about had moved on.

  Jack would be the only person in the whole world who would be concerned when she didn’t show up outside the school gates at three o’clock, and even then, he wouldn’t panic right away.

  Eventually the police would be called and someone might make the connection with her earlier phone call—or maybe not. Jack would probably be taken to one of his friends’ houses in the short term. She didn’t know how he would cope if she wasn’t there to say goodnight.

  What if they never found her? What if Jack was put into a foster home, never to know the love of his mother again?

  “Oh, for goodness sake! Would you stop already?” She shook her head in irritation, unable to believe how far she’d let her imagination run out of control. She was being ridiculous. From the time she’d been abandoned by those who loved her, she’d vowed never to allow anyone control over her life again. She was fiercely proud of the life she’d made for herself and her son and was even more proud that she’d done it largely on her own.

  Th
e terrifying moments after discovering an intruder had been in the house had left her more than a little jittery, particularly when the perpetrator was still at large, but as the detective had assured her, it was unlikely the man would make a second attempt in broad daylight.

  What she needed was to get the license plate. That way, if she saw the car again, she’d be certain it was the same one; she’d have something concrete to take to the police. Decision made, she took a fortifying breath and squared her shoulders.

  “Okay, let’s get this sorted out, once and for all.”

  Not wanting her new-found courage to desert her, she quickly slid the deadbolt open and stepped through the back doorway. Striding up the dirt driveway, she caught glimpses of the car through the branches of the huge fig trees that grew on either side.

  Her cottage had originally been built as a caretaker’s residence for the main house which still stood about forty yards from her front door. Although the larger house was almost completely hidden by the veritable jungle of fig trees, ivy and all manner of other plants and shrubbery, when she’d first moved in she’d taken comfort from the fact there was another home not too far away.

  As it turned out, the owners of the main house lived in Singapore and were very rarely in residence. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen lights shining from its windows, yet according to the police, they were one of the few houses in her street that hadn’t been burgled.

  “So much for neighbors,” she mumbled.

  She continued along the driveway, past the silent mansion that stood in front of her cottage. The closer she came to the Pacific Highway, the harder her heart thumped. It was one thing to be brave in the safety of her home, when the strange vehicle was fifty yards away, but now, when she was so close she could almost read the license plate, her courage faltered.

  Slowing her pace, she forced her feet forward until she was able to make out the figures. Too late, she realized she’d come out without a pen and a piece of paper and she gritted her teeth in frustration. Swallowing a groan, she did her best to commit the plate to memory.