by Autumn Dawn
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New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Copyright ©2003 by Autumn Beaudreault
First published in 2003, 2003
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES
By
JC Grey
© copyright May 2006, JC Grey
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright May 2006
ISBN 1-58608-903-x
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Prologue
Melbourne, Australia, 2006
She closed her eyes and turned her face to the night sky, letting the skipping wind sting her cheeks with pink. The wine she'd drunk, nearly a full bottle, settled warmly in her stomach as her mind rolled and swayed. When she opened her eyes, she realized it wasn't just her mind rolling and swaying. Her hips were moving to the muffled, sensual sound of Sade's Smooth Operator on the stereo a floor below.
She remembered the song from her adolescence. It had been her theme song in a way. She'd always been a smooth operator too, knowing when to flash her baby blues or coquettishly flick her blonde hair over her shoulder. When to smile and when to pout to get her own way. It was a game she'd excelled at, a tactic she'd perfected.
And it had brought her this incredible house in Toorak, Melbourne's swankiest suburb. All this concrete and steel and glass, and the vast security gates at the end of the sweeping drive that clearly stated the house was beyond the dreams of most ordinary people.
But she was no ordinary woman. No. She had made it. She had snared one of Australia's richest men and now she—they—had a baby. She stumbled at the thought, unsteady on her five-inch heels. A baby. She frowned, then remembered and smiled.
Elizabeth.
They had Elizabeth and their lives would be perfect. She'd given him a baby, now he would love her again.
The door onto the balcony clicked open behind her and she turned to see him step out. His shirt was open at the neck and he held a cigar between the fingers of his right hand. He raised the other hand to the back of her neck, stroked along it, raising the fine hairs. She shivered.
"So,” he said softly. “Where is she?"
She turned to him and smiled pleadingly, her lips trembling just a little.
"Darling, I thought we needed some time to ourselves."
"Where is she?” The pressure on her neck was stronger now and she knew she would have bruises in the morning.
"I—"
"I said.... “His voice was very soft now. Insistent. Frighteningly so. “Where is she?” His face pushed into hers so she could see the pale flaky skin, the thin lips. She could see the madness in his icy eyes.
She frowned. She was sure Elizabeth was safe but she couldn't quite remember where her daughter was, or why her husband held her in such a hurtful grip. She was warm, hazy from the wine and the painkillers she'd taken earlier but the reality of his savage grasp intruded into her dreamy mood. She twisted to relieve the pressure and gasped as she went over on her ankle. She grasped the top of the balcony to hold her balance. But the sleek silver bar at waist height wasn't enough to stop the force that propelled her over the top and into the air.
For a moment, she felt she was suspended in the air and she stopped breathing. Then she was spinning, swooping like a bird. She tried to spread her wings and fly away to that safe warm place she'd been in before, but the wind tugged sharply at her clothes and the hard, black ground was rushing up to meet her. Faster and faster. Her eyes bugged wide in terror ... and then she felt no more.
And a thousand miles away in the harbor city of Sydney, another woman turned glazed eyes to the south and dropped the plate she was putting away. And as it smashed into a thousand pieces, she screamed.
Chapter One
Two hundred miles south of Sydney, February 2006
World's End 13km.
Camille Aston felt like whooping for joy when she saw the road sign but she settled for pushing limp strands of short tawny hair from her sweaty face where they'd escaped her brief ponytail, and gave the gas an extra nudge. Nearly there.
She glanced in her rearview mirror at four-month-old Elizabeth, squirming crankily in her baby capsule. Camille murmured soothing sounds to her. Usually the baby quieted when she heard Camille's voice but not this time. She was hot, probably wet, definitely angry and she wanted everyone to know it. Her intermittent squalls quickly rose in volume, becoming cries of rage within seconds. For a minute or two Camille ignored it, but the child's shrieks were piercing and she knew she wasn't going to make it into town without stopping.
"Damn.” She sighed and pulled up on the scrubby verge, unfolding her aching body from behind the wheel of the newish SUV. Even with power steering it was heavy work when you were used to a compact VW. Easing out the kinks in her back vertebra by vertebra, she opened the back door, unstrapped the baby from her seat and folded her close for a few minutes, nuzzling her damp curls and kissing her hot, sweet-smelling skin. The crying eased to hiccupping gasps at the body contact and stopped completely when Camille drew a prepared bottle from the baby bag on the back seat. She had no way of warming the formula but, as hungry as Elizabeth was, she wouldn't care.
Sinking down against the trunk of a gum tree that provided only limited shade, the baby slurping contentedly at the bottle, Camille turned her tired eyes to her surroundings. It was a typical parched landscape. Eucalyptus still wore the scorched, peeling bark from last summer's bushfires, and elsewhere, new foliage hung limply in the heat of late summer. Dainty bush flowers of yellow, pink and white colored the landscape and their scent was fresh in the late afternoon air.
The scenery, wild and untamed was neither beautiful nor ugly to Camille. It was just Australia. It was a long time since she'd trodden this path but she knew that the thick fringe of trees alongside the road hid one of the most stunning coastal landscapes in the continent. The Sapphire Coast. It was rightly named, a sparkling jewel-like expanse of coastline that stretched right down to a sliver of land jutting awkwardly into the Tasman Sea—and World's End.
Camille hadn't spent any real time here since her teenage years—university, a career and a business had seen to that—but in her mind's eye it remained an undimmed memory of endless beaches, clear water, sharp breezes and not a soul as far as the eye could see.
Sure, there had been the occasional flying visits to see her grandmother until two years ago when Millie Jessop had passed on. But somehow there had always been a pressing reason to return to Sydney, and visiting her old haunts had been way down on the list of priorities.
Now her only priority was lying in her arms.
The thought forced her mind back to the here and now and she looked down at the drowsy child, full as a boot and eyelids at half-mast. The baby's lips turned up in a sleepy, milky smile of contentment and instantly Camille was filled with love for the little person she'd barely known until three weeks before.
A graphic artist just establishing her own consultancy in Sydney, s
he had set eyes on her newborn niece just once—when she was a day and a half old—before the shocking evening Verity and the baby turned up on her doorstep. Since Verity's second marriage to Malcolm Lord, Camille had found herself all but shut out of her sister's life. She had been surprised when Verity phoned her to let her know she had just become an aunt, and to invite her to the hospital to see tiny, squalling Elizabeth. But that was nothing to the shock she'd had three months later when she opened the door to find the pair of them standing there, while a taxi driver unloaded bags and baby gear from the trunk of his cab. Camille had been so shocked, she'd simply gaped at her sister's battered face for several seconds before silently standing back and letting them into her apartment.
Verity had been so scared that Camille suggested she stay for a while. But she wouldn't listen, pleading with her older sister to take care of Elizabeth while she was gone. At the time, Camille hadn't realized the finality of her words. She'd simply gathered that Verity needed some time to sort herself out, work out her marriage—or work her way out of it—and had reluctantly agreed to care for her tiny niece.
Two days later Verity was dead. And Camille had been left, quite literally, holding the baby.
Camille rubbed her temple wearily. It still seemed unreal to her. The last three weeks were, if not like a nightmare, then a very bad soap opera. The only way she had of dealing with it was to take each day as it came, and trust instinct and luck to guide her. But acting on instinct was easier said than done with a baby in tow—especially when it involved long days burning up the highways, criss-crossing the east coast, regularly retracing her steps and looking over her shoulder, evading shadows that might or might not be on her tail.
Not that she had any option. When it came to Elizabeth, she would drive to hell and beyond if need be.
Lifting the baby gently onto her shoulder, she rubbed her back until the child gave a soft burp. Camille carried her to the car and laid her on the flat shelf of the trunk where she quickly stripped off her cotton tee-shirt and soaking diaper. The baby was too tired to even kick her legs as she ran a baby wipe over her hot little body and snapped her into a fresh diaper and top. Before Camille even had her strapped back into her car seat, Elizabeth was giving the snuffling little snore that indicated she was out to the world.
Funny, how quickly a baby's sounds became imprinted on your subconscious, she thought. She'd never had much to do with children before. In fact, when Verity had first left the baby with her, she had been terrified. She didn't have a clue about feeding, burping, changing or cuddling, and Verity had been out the door before she could ask what to do. Thank God for the Internet and practical instincts. She'd discovered a new mothers’ hotline in the Yellow Pages and had spent the first forty-eight hours with phone in one hand, Elizabeth in the other. In just three weeks she had come to know what every twitch and every cry meant. Her mouth quirked up in a self-deprecating smile. It—
"G'day, ma'am. You okay?"
Lazily drawled words cut into Camille's solitary musings and she whipped her head around, barely missing a nasty collision with the trunk door. She glared at him, or at least in his general direction, for the sun at his back was midway through its meandering descent to the west and she couldn't see much of anything except a solid male silhouette surrounded by glare. She settled for an irritated squint instead.
Still, her other senses weren't compromised and she picked up on the authority in his voice. Something about him yelled “police” before she even made out the badge he was holding up to her.
Police! Camille thought, feeling panic rise within her. She'd particularly wanted to avoid the cops. Had he been sent after her or had he stumbled across her by accident?
She moved to her left and put her hand up to shade her eyes, seeing him clearly for the first time. He was solidly built, maybe a fraction under six feet tall and stood casually enough, one hip resting against the front of a standard police four-wheel drive. Behind his dark glasses, she got the impression his eyes were alert and curious, sizing her up.
While she was no stunner, her willowy figure, expressive hazel eyes and tender mouth had brought her plenty of second glances over the years, but this wasn't a guy summing up an attractive woman. He was a policeman, accustomed to peering beneath the surface, and Camille was uncomfortably aware of the intensity of his scrutiny. She pushed back the sweaty tendrils of dark blonde hair, letting her hand obscure her features from him.
Act natural. A refrain from countless TV crime series, the thought came unbidden to Camille's mind and nearly made her laugh out loud. She had no idea what natural was in this situation but she'd have a crack at it.
"We're fine, Officer. I was just stretching my legs. Been cramped up too long.” Camille gave him what she hoped was an easy smile but inside she was kicking herself for the “we". He would have had no reason to suspect she had anyone with her unless he came close enough to peer inside the open back door of the car. Which he was about to do right now. Damn him.
Out of the shadows and close-up, he was muscular, powerful. His dark brown hair was cut with military precision around the ears and at his nape. He removed his sunglasses and Camille could see that his eyes were a no-nonsense blue but his lashes were to die for—thick, dark and tipped with gold at the end, softening his square-jawed, male looks. His cool expression said that he tolerated no bullshit.
Camille took a step back as he peered in at the sleeping child, watching him closely. Most people, she reckoned—even hard-bitten police officers—would have been charmed by the cherubic blonde and pink baby snorting and snuffling in her sleep, but not this one. His eyes didn't even flicker as he straightened and arrowed his gaze once more on Camille.
"Where you headed for, ma'am?"
"Uh, World's End ... well, just outside World's End.” Camille nodded down the road and wished she could find something to say to make him relax, put him off any scent he might have picked up.
She didn't really know if anyone was searching for a woman and baby. The newspaper headlines had been full of everything except child abductions but that didn't stop a nagging worry in her gut that she was being followed. Her instincts told her to give him as little information as possible, but her head warned her not to appear to be defensive. This man would surely pick up any reticence, and in any case, assuming he was local, she wouldn't be able to keep her whereabouts hidden.
"We're staying at the old house at Bluey's Beach,” she said, meeting his eyes. “But I have to collect the keys first from Noelene.” She threw in the name of the realtor at World's End. Let him think you're just a holidaymaker, she thought.
The policeman nodded. “Mind if I follow you into town and then out to Bluey's? It's a rough road, and once the sun sets it's pretty hairy. I don't want you getting into any trouble on your first night.” Or anytime on my patch, was his unspoken message.
Camille visibly gulped, which wasn't good. She gave herself a mental gee-up to get her act together. She was usually good at getting people to see her point of view—in her profession, she had to be to explain the purpose behind her designs—but somehow coming up with the right words to put a policeman off the scent was different to explaining the concept for confectionary packaging or the logo for a start-up business. Still, coming unravelled the first time she was confronted by a uniform didn't bode well for her future, or Elizabeth's. The last thing she wanted was a policeman on her tail.
Camille gritted her teeth and decided to try the smile again.
"Thanks but I know my way around. I'm sure we'll make it to the cottage without help. And you must have far more important things to do."
"Nothing's more important than the wellbeing of the community.” The tone of his voice said he didn't consider her part of the community, but a threat to it, at least until he was convinced otherwise. Camille let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding as he nodded.
"As you prefer, ma'am but please call the station if you have any problems. I'm off duty right now and
heading home but there's a constable there tonight if you need anyone. He knows how to contact me if necessary."
His words made it clear he was in charge. He reached into his front pocket and pulled out a business card. His fingers touched Camille's as he handed the card to her and she pulled her hand back as if burnt, looking at the card to avoid those sharp blue eyes.
Detective Sergeant N. Donnelly, World's End Local Command, said the card. Camille wondered what the N stood for. Nosy, maybe.
"Thanks, uh, Detective. I'm sure we won't need to disturb your off-duty time.” Camille nodded, hoping he would take it as a dismissal, and drive off and leave her alone. He turned and headed to his four-wheel drive Landcruiser, but then just sat there in the front seat looking at her.
Flustered, she made a bit of a deal of checking the baby's restraints, then the trunk. Finally, in desperation, she kicked the car tires. She wasn't sure why but she had seen people do it and it used up another few seconds. Still he sat there. Exasperated, she got back into the car and turned on the ignition. Sure enough, as she pulled onto the road, the Landcruiser's engine grunted to life and he pulled out on her tail.
"Great,” she muttered. “Well, then. See how you like staying right on the speed limit all the way to World's End.” Irritated, she kept the speed right on 55kph, just a fraction under the speed limit for the last stretch into the township. Not that it seemed to worry him at all. He maintained the leisurely pace until she parked in front of the realtor's shopfront before giving her a salute and continuing down the street to a clear spot where he did a U-turn and headed back out of town. His arrogance made Camille want to hurl a brick at him, but a glance at the still sleeping baby calmed her immediately. Elizabeth was depending on her clarity of thought, her decision-making. Right now, she couldn't afford to lose her temper or show her irritation, especially not to someone in authority. She needed to be as ordinary, as anonymous, as invisible, as possible.
