She heard swearing and the garbage bin being moved, and dropped down flat to the hot road and rolled under a car, some large family van that belonged at soccer parks and ballet classes and not in the middle of a hit. The road underneath was cooler, but she still found herself trying to hold her skin away from the surface, pulling her fingers back repeatedly until she got used to the heat, and could press them gently down. She turned her head slowly, the undercarriage of the car brushing against the back of her hair as she tried to get an idea of where the killer was.
Red and blue colours swirled briefly on the road as a police squad car raced down the street, and she held her breath, waiting for them to stop, to question a lone man brandishing a gun out on the street. She closed her eyes in frustration as the car sped away. If she tried to signal it, that Terminator wannabe would spot her, and pick her off before the police saw her – if they saw her at all.
The quiet after the car turned the corner was eerie, and she tried to calm her breathing, taking quick puffs to quieten her pants.
The soft thud of a shoe made her eyes widen and her breath freeze in her lungs. Oh hell. She watched as feet encased in black sneakers ran by, then halted a metre away. The black shoes turned one way, took a few steps, turned the other.
He was looking for her.
She bit her lip, the tension making her want to scream, or pee, or both.
The black shoes jumped a little. Peering over fences. He started to walk away, his step hesitant. He’d lost her.
Darcy kept her eyes on the shoes, grimacing as he crossed onto the road and started walking back in her direction.
Oh, please, no. Just go.
The steps padded closer.
Don’t look under the cars, please.
He walked closer, hesitated at the driver’s door of the vehicle she was hiding under.
No, no, no, damn it.
The shoes shifted. One pointed in one direction, then away. Tyres screeched, and he sidled up to the side of the van, and her eyes bugged when she realised they were both using the same vehicle to take cover. You have got to be kidding.
What would she do if he looked under the car? What could she do?
Slowly, silently, she bent her knee, bringing her left leg up, trying not to let the fabric of her jeans or the side of her boot slide along the ground.
She reached down with trembling fingers and dug between the boot and her jean-clad leg. There. Her fingers grasped the cool handle of the killer’s blade she carried around with her, wincing at the soft slide as she pulled it out of the boot.
She held her breath as she saw the shoes shift and one dark knee touch the ground.
Oh God.
A hand lowered to the road, the fingers long and slender, and the muscles in the wrist flexed as he bent over and looked under the car. Her appearance must have taken him by surprise. She saw the drop of the jaw, the relaxing of the muscles around his eyes. He brought his other arm around, and she reacted, screaming as she brought her hand up, clutching the knife in a white-knuckle grip.
The gun fired, deafening in the confined space as he tried to roll out of the way.
Her arm moved in an arc as she ducked, hearing the bullet lodge somewhere in the car above her, feeling a slight resistance as her arm sliced through the air. She heard a cry of pain, like the high-pitched squeal of a wounded pig as she slid out from under the car, wriggling up to the footpath and trying to get to her feet as quickly as possible but feeling as graceful and athletic as a rhino in mud.
Two more shots were fired, and she yelped, kicking her legs up out of the line of fire and still trying to run at the same time.
Tyres screamed at the end of the road, and she bolted. There were no red and blue lights, but she didn’t care. It was a car, and it was speeding up the road to her, its headlights nearly blinding her. She waved her arms, yelling as she ran, a sick feeling rising in her gut at the exposure, waiting for another bullet to fire, to catch her in the back, or the legs – or the head.
She dashed out onto the road as the car screeched to a halt, rocking on its wheels as it stopped so close she could put her hands on the hood.
Two car doors opened. ‘Darcy!’
She ran around the bonnet, beginning to cry as she recognised Dom’s voice. ‘Get back in, he’s right behind me,’ she sobbed, trying to push him back into the car.
‘Freeze!’ a deep voice bellowed from the other side of the vehicle. Dom hustled her around to the boot of the car as Bern held his gun up in a two-handed grip and stalked down the road. ‘Put your gun down! NOW!’
Alex stepped out of the car, talking rapidly into his phone, and drawing his weapon, his gaze focused down the road.
Dom halted, pulling her close to his side as they watched the two men advance on the fallen figure writhing on the bitumen.
The man put his hands up, one palm red, glistening and trembling, the other holding his weapon. Doors started to open, and lights up and down the street flicked on as people ventured into their front yards to see what was going on. As soon as they saw the guns, though, most hurried back inside. A teenager across the street held up his mobile phone to film the incident until his father cuffed him across the head and dragged him back inside.
‘Drop your weapon,’ Bern bellowed, holding his own in a position to fire.
‘Drop it!’ Alex yelled, running in side-on to minimise his body as a target, holding his gun up, prepared to fire.
‘Don’t shoot,’ the man on the ground yelled back, and he dropped the gun.
‘Keep your hands up,’ Bern yelled, pulling handcuffs off his belt loop. ‘Cover me,’ he said, not bothering to look at his brother.
‘I’ve got your back,’ Alex said quietly. ‘If he so much as blinks, he’s dead.’
Darcy stepped in close behind Dom, watching the whole incident play out, despite Dom’s best efforts to completely shield her from it. He turned and grasped her hand, and it took her a moment to realise he was removing the bloodied knife from her, gently prying her fingers from the hilt, one by one. She watched with a cool detachment. She couldn’t relax her hand, doubted she would have been capable of letting go of it on her own.
Bern cuffed the man and patted him down, ignoring the man’s pitiful cries. Alex helped his brother haul the man to his feet, and they watched with a calm indifference as he collapsed back onto the road, screaming.
Sirens wailed as more police cars screeched down the street, and soon the neighbourhood looked like a major crime scene. An ambulance inched its way through the gathering crowd. Someone, a paramedic, an officer, she wasn’t sure, flashed a torch beam into her eyes, and surveyed her hands, taking photos. She wasn’t quite sure of the details after that, everything just seemed to pass in a blur. The one constant was Dominic by her side.
Someone patched up the minor cuts and grazes on her face and neck, tested her shoulder – that hurt, she remembered that. She remembered someone mentioning a hospital, and her instinctive reaction to fight and flee. Yeah, she couldn’t remember so much after that. Only a brief impression of Dom’s home, warm water and white sheets.
Like a dream, really. A nice, warm, fuzzy dream.
Dom followed Alex into the Harbourside LAC. It was early the following morning, and everyone was still in bed. He’d looked in on Darcy, and smiled when he’d seen both Julia and Jonah snuggled in the bed next to her. Roland was going to drive Gertrude back to Bowral that day. They wanted to go see their son, Patrick. Gertrude said that soaking up the tranquillity at Jirralee was what she needed right now; rest and tranquillity and the yellow-tailed black cockatoos dancing in the fountain. She was shaken, she’d admitted, but if she could manage to work through the St James murders, then she could cope with this latest situation. Dom knew his tiny housekeeper was pragmatic, but he still regretted that she’d endured that experience, and was prepared to give her whatever she needed to get through it.
He sighed. He wished it were that easy for Darcy: a cup of tea out on the veranda
h at sunrise, a quiet chat. He was surprised how much he missed that interaction with her. Now, though, Darcy needed time. Physically she was fine. She’d taken a sedative, although he doubted she’d remember doing it. He’d had to help her change, digging out an old T-shirt for her to sleep in. Her clothes had been stained with dirt, grease and blood, and she’d had to hand her garments over to the police. She’d been exhausted, though, and was virtually asleep before her head had touched the pillow.
She’d point-blank refused to go to a hospital. Actually she’d raised her fists and snarled at everyone before she’d tried to bolt again when someone suggested it. He couldn’t blame her. Bad things tended to happen to her when she entered any kind of system. Still, she needed time to heal. He couldn’t help it, especially not after hearing about her first experience in a safe house – he was worried about her. She was burying herself under a profound sense of guilt – anyone could see that. The officer driving her to the latest safe house had received three bullets during his efforts to protect her. He was in a critical condition, and Darcy had been shocked to hear of his injuries. Now she blamed herself for that, too.
Maybe it was too soon, maybe it was too simplistic, but he wanted her to be happy, to stop taking responsibility for the actions of her boss and his associates. He wanted her to get to a point where she could greet each day with a smile, to find a place in her world, in her mind, where she could be content – and he wanted that to happen with him.
God knew why. Bern would call him a crazy-chick magnet. First his ex-wife, Ava, God rest her soul, had had her own share of neuroses, and now Darcy, who showed a disturbing disregard for her own life when it came to helping others. Of course, those she was helping were his own kids, so she might be crazy, but she was his kind of crazy. She had a strong moral centre, and she was prepared to endure the worst circumstances to ensure her moral compass always pointed north. She’d lied to him, she’d stolen from him, but after hearing the details of her case, of her experiences, he had to admit he’d never met a person with more integrity, or with a greater sense of honour, than Darcy Montgomery. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, worrying about her. Wondering about her. If anything happened to her— He wanted to get his hands on the men who’d so endangered her life. Just as he wanted to get his hands on the man who’d killed his ex-wife, nearly killed his kids, and given his assistant a heart attack.
He kept his expression calm, neutral, although he wanted to barge down the hall to the interview rooms, find Tony Blewitt, and beat the crap out of him.
Alex turned to him briefly. ‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’
Dom smiled. Oh, he was definitely up for this. The man had killed the mother of his children. ‘I’m fine.’
Detective Fuller beckoned them to walk through. ‘He’s admitted he sent the letter bomb,’ the man said, then shuddered. ‘He’s sustained some injuries that are quite hard to hide. We can’t figure out if he’s lucky or stupid.’
‘Well, he knows enough to be dangerous, but not enough to avoid getting caught,’ Alex said. ‘It didn’t take us long to figure out what he was up to and fire him. A simple embezzlement scheme.’
‘We’ve had the evidence analysed, and we’re still awaiting some results, but we have some preliminary findings – hey, how is your assistant doing?’
‘Judy’s been moved to a rehab clinic,’ Dom responded. He’d made sure she was comfortable, and that she was receiving the best medical care available. ‘She’s already showing signs of improvement.’
The detective nodded. ‘Great. Well, like I said, he’s copped to the bomb, he’s going away for a while. Do you know he used ground-up magnesium tablets in the bomb?’
Alex stopped, frowning in confusion. ‘Sorry? He did what?’
The older man gestured to the coffee vending machine, but both Dom and Alex declined. Fuller placed coins in the slot and made his selection. ‘Well, just like any other nut job out there, he went to the best source for bomb building information – the internet.’
‘Magnesium and aluminium are often used in bombs, particularly letter bombs,’ Alex informed Dom. ‘You get a nice spark, some considerable flash and burn.’ Alex turned back to the detective. ‘Magnesium tablets? Are you serious? Does he know the difference between the element and a digestible health product?’
Fuller shook his head. ‘Nope. Saw he needed powdered magnesium, and ground himself up a bottle of tablets.’
Alex snorted. ‘Next you’ll tell me he ground up alfoil for the aluminium.’
‘Bingo. Just enough to give a little spark, which is what gave your secretary her heart attack. If he’d done it properly, using the right kind of magnesium, you would have had a bigger bang.’
‘Okay, not psychopathic, just stupid.’ Alex shook his head in disbelief.
‘Real stupid. We even found a notebook in his apartment with instructions for building the bomb, along with your receptionist’s signature, and the time and date of delivery.’
Fuller waved them over to a door, and Dom was disappointed Blewitt wasn’t inside the small meeting room. ‘I was hoping to see him.’
Fuller snorted. ‘You’re not getting within arm’s length of him, Mr St James. Blewitt might be stupid, but we’re not.’ He took a seat at the table.
Dom leaned against the door, not wanting to sit. He was too keyed up, too tense, knowing the man responsible for Ava’s death, for Judy’s heart attack, and for his kids’ nightmares, was just down the hall. Alex sat in the chair nearest the door.
‘There is one thing, though,’ Fuller said, as he leaned back. ‘He’s not admitting to sabotaging your wife’s car.’
Dom’s lips tightened in frustration. ‘Of course he wouldn’t admit it. That would be a murder charge.’
Fuller nodded. ‘True, but the forensics have finished the report on your wife’s car. We’ve been able to retrace the earlier journey, thanks to the GPS tracking system. Your man Blewitt has an alibi for that day, and we’ve been able to corroborate it.’
Dom glanced at Alex, who frowned. ‘Are you sure? There’s no unaccounted windows of time? Perhaps he had a partner?’
Fuller grimaced. ‘The man locked his keys inside a car, and spent a lot of time waiting for roadside assistance to turn up. We have him on CCTV in a shopping centre car park at the time your wife’s car would have been tampered with.’ The detective shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’s guilty of a letter-writing campaign, he’s guilty of building an explosive device and delivering it to your office, and for being an idiot, but we can’t link him to your wife’s car accident.’
‘And you believe him? What about an accomplice?’
The detective shook his head. ‘From what I’ve seen, he doesn’t seem to make friends, colleagues or even associates, easily. Hell, it was his flatmate, a friend, who turned the guy in.’
Dom started to pace. ‘So if it wasn’t him, who?’
‘That’s a very good question. We’ve been doing a background search on your wife, trying to ascertain whether she had any enemies.’
‘Not really,’ Dom said, frowning. ‘She had some problems, but I don’t think anyone hated her for them.’
‘What about the man who went after Darcy? Is it possible he had anything to do with it?’ Alex queried, although Dom noticed he looked doubtful.
‘Ah, now that’s an interesting guy. Once the Fire Investigation and Research Unit knew what had happened, they knew where to look. The forensics squad were able to lift a partial print off the light mechanism in Ms Montgomery’s van, and we believe we’ll be able to match it to the man who was apprehended last night.’
‘Where is the bastard?’ Dom wouldn’t mind some alone time with him, too.
‘Oh, he’s in hospital.’ Fuller shuddered. ‘A severed Achilles tendon, apparently. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Your Ms Montgomery did a great job, there.’
‘It’s still not enough, not after what he’s done,’ Dom muttered. He didn’t care that the man had tried to
make the kidnapping seem like a holiday for his kids, the man was a psychopath, and had killed several people, and had come so close to killing Darcy. He’d seen her boot, seen just how close she’d come to being hit. The bastard.
‘Trust me, we’ve got him dead to rights. But we don’t think he had anything to do with your ex-wife’s accident. The fact that Darcy Montgomery was on that road at the same time was a fluke, a coincidence.’
Dom folded his arms, the muscles in his jaw tightening. ‘So where does that leave us?’
‘It means that someone out there wanted your wife dead, St James, and we have no idea who, why or where they are.’
CHAPTER
34
Darcy opened her eyes and jerked when she saw a cherubic face with blue eyes staring right back at her. She blinked, moving her head so she could see without going cross-eyed.
She smiled. ‘Hey, Jonah.’
‘Hey, Darcy.’
‘Darcy,’ Julia mumbled as she snuggled closer, and Darcy wrapped her arms around the two children, pulling them close, tears burning beneath her eyelids. Having them here with her was like a salve to her heart. They were so accepting, so welcoming. She may have lied to the family about her name, about her circumstances, but her feelings for these two little beings had always been genuine. Warmth swept over her, and she held on to them until Jonah started to wriggle.
‘Wanna play?’
‘Play what? And what about breakfast?’ She glanced at the clock on the bedside table, eyes widening. It was past nine o’clock. When was the last time she’d slept in that long?
‘I want ice-cream,’ Julia stated emphatically.
Darcy arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh, you do, do you? Let’s have some toast, instead.’
‘And then ice-cream.’
‘No.’
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