Beneath the Skin

by Melissa James

  So she’d made the connection to Jeremiah as well. ‘I’m taking you to the hospital,’ he said to distract her. When she would have refused, he added, ‘I’d like Zoe checked out as well.’

  As he’d expected, it stopped her argument. The fear in her eyes proved that the love between the two people he cared about most was already mutual.

  Then Elly looked around at the picnic ground one final time, and gasped. ‘Oh, no!’ She ran from the car. ‘Get a towel, or a blanket, quickly!’

  He knew that tone too well, and it rocketed him back fifteen years in time. As he reached for the spare blanket, he smiled to reassure Zoe, who looked scared. ‘It’s okay, Zoe. Remember Aunt Elly told you we had play-names for each other?’ Zoe nodded, eyes solemn. ‘I named her Elly-May after a girl on TV, because she was always rescuing animals and bringing them home. I think she’s found one for us to take home and look after.’

  Zoe’s eyes grew enormous with excitement. ‘Can we, Daddy? Can we have a pet?’

  With a pang, he realised that, in avoiding the more poignant of his childhood memories and honouring Sharon’s beliefs about animals belonging outdoors, he had let Zoe miss out on one of life’s greatest joys. ‘If we can’t keep this one, we’ll get you one soon. Would you like a puppy, or a kitten?’

  ‘Claudius! I need you!’

  He undid the straps and swung Zoe back up on his hip. ‘We can talk about it later.’ And, blanket slung over his shoulder, he strode to where Elly was struggling to reassure an injured, panicking bird—a mallee fowl, he thought.

  ‘Quickly, put the blanket over her head. She’s hysterical—her nest was crushed with the branch fall. No eggs survived. The poor thing will grieve. Is there a local WIRES house, or a representative vet in town?’

  He nodded. ‘Lorne Wallace is the best.’ He gently put the blanket over the bird’s head, the way she’d taught him years ago.

  Elly didn’t even look at him, her attention on the bird. ‘There’s an empty box in the boot. She needs to be calm on the trip in, or she could die of shock. She won’t be calm if someone’s holding her.’ She frowned at him. ‘Why are you still here? Hurry, Claudius!’

  Despite the lingering danger, he felt a little thrill as he ran back to the car. Catapulted to another time, another life, when he lived half the summer in the wild with her, in the northern part of Sutton Forest, always Elly’s helper, never angry or embarrassed to be the little girl’s gofer, and never happier than when, dirty and bedraggled, they brought the injured creatures to the farm to tend.

  Despite the fear and the peril she’d brought with her, he was happier, more alive than he’d been in years. This couldn’t be the end for them. He wouldn’t let it be.

  It took a while to get the terrified bird into the box, and calm the poor creature enough for it to rest. Elly sat in the back seat beside Zoe, holding the box.

  He strapped Zoe, who was all wide-eyed interest and excitement, back into her seat.

  Adam struggled to hide his thoughts as he started the car without a problem. Whoever had attacked them wanted them to get back in one piece. Whoever this nutcase was, they had one goal in mind: to make Elly leave town.

  But this prank had gone too far. The fallen branch could have killed them both. Spencer wouldn’t be happy with that—and neither would Sydney. The casings were definitely from a pistol this time.

  He flicked a glance at Elly as he drove off. Zoe was firing soft questions at her about the bird’s care, and she answered with unending patience. When his eyes met hers in the rear-vision mirror, she mouthed, A future vet? Even with the little joke, she looked so stressed, so tired—and so resolute. How long had it been since she’d had a day when she didn’t look behind her, move on in the night, run for her life?

  ‘We need to talk.’

  She gave a swift glance to a wide-eyed Zoe. ‘Not now.’

  It was long past nightfall by the time they turned into their street. They’d all been checked out by the local doctor, and Lorne Wallace had taken in the wild bird. By the time he’d pulled into his driveway, Adam could almost see the bags packed in Elly’s head.

  But when they walked inside the front door, Zoe said, in a voice that shook, ‘Annelly, can you sleep wif me tonight? I think I’m gonna have a bad dream.’

  After a moment Elly answered, tender and loving. ‘You know what, Zoe? I think I might have a bad dream, too. I’d love to sleep with you.’

  Relief flooded him, even as Zoe’s eyes grew wide. ‘Do grownups have bad dreams?’

  ‘I do, when I have a sore head.’ Elly touched the back of her head. ‘How about we try to put nice thoughts in our minds, so the bad dreams go away? I’ve got some special happy bathtime stories to tell.’ At Zoe’s eager assent, she led his daughter to the bathroom. ‘A long, long time ago, before most people walked on the earth, in a time called the Dreaming …’

  During bath, dinner and bed, she told Zoe the happiest stories from the Dreamtime to distract her from the terror behind them. Was it also to remind him of the differences between them, as he’d done to her with his talk of Rick?

  Glancing into the bedroom, he saw Zoe snuggled into Elly, listening to every word of yet another story, her eyes fixed on the warm, mysterious face with the uncomplicated adoration only a child can give—and sharp lumps filled his throat again. Elly’s eyes were full of love as she gazed at Sharon’s child. Such an easy image, seeing them as mother and daughter, and a house filled with dogs and cats and other damaged critters, laughter, singing, dancing and pea boats.

  Then Elly’s eyes met his, and the image, delicate as porcelain, shattered. The blossom of trust, always tenuous, had been annihilated with the crushed picnic basket. Their minds held the same question: What if that branch had fallen on Zoe?

  If he’d lost his precious little girl—

  What if I’d lost Elly?

  His body turned hot and cold, imagining the world—his world—without Elly. A rush of sourness filled his throat. Not again. Never again. Not having her in his life at all was better than knowing he could only visit her grave. He had to know she was alive, somewhere—even if she was with another man. He couldn’t contemplate the thought of no laughing, giving Elly-May in the world.

  He heard Zoe’s last words as she drifted into sleep: ‘Annelly, can we make banana pancakes in the morning? The ones with smiley faces you promised me?’

  The hesitation was telling before she answered, her eyes meeting Adam’s. ‘Of course, sweetie.’ The look was a plea, asking him to take Zoe away after breakfast, leaving her free to run.

  He shook his head. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, do it. He’d never leave her alone again—not ever, not if he could stop it. He’d take a bullet before leaving her to Spencer’s questionable mercies.

  But she closed her eyes, shutting him out.

  Grimly, he called Sarge to tell him of the day’s events, and the loss of the satellite phone. Sarge said he’d be around in half an hour.

  While he waited, Adam secured the house. To save her from Spencer, or whoever this nutcase was, he had to remain one hundred per cent cop. No more touching her. No making love. Only God knew how he would manage it, but her life might depend on his skills as a detective—and on his keeping whatever shreds of objectivity he had left.

  When he returned to the bedroom, Zoe was sound asleep. Elly’s eyes were also closed, but her lashes fluttered too fast. It was a ploy to avoid the talk he’d threatened—he knew it just as he’d known it the first day. He murmured, ‘Sarge is on his way.’

  With a little sigh, she opened her eyes and climbed out of bed, obviously stiff and sore. ‘I can’t leave Zoe for long. I promised.’

  ‘You need more painkillers, and a whole night’s sleep,’ he said quietly, touching the lump at the back of her head. ‘You were unconscious for almost four minutes.’

  ‘Ow. Back off, Claudius. Even bandaged, that hurts.’ She managed a weak smile. ‘You worry too much, my long-lost friend. You forget—I’d barely
slept all night. My body was just catching up on shut-eye.’

  Yes, she was distancing him in a dozen subtle ways. Now wasn’t the time to push her. She was staying until tomorrow. At this point, it was all he could expect.

  Broken Hill, Far West New South Wales

  ‘There’s still no word as to the whereabouts of prison escapee Danny Spencer, who has allegedly killed three men and wounded four others on an outback rampage from the Gibson Desert to the Nullarbor Plain. Until now, the police have concentrated their efforts on Alice Springs and Kalgoorlie, where there have been scattered sightings of Spencer. Police Superintendent Graves reiterates that, should you see Spencer, do not approach him, but call the police hotline. He is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.’

  They gave a description of Danny, including his education.

  So the cops had found T–trevor’s body.

  Thanks, Granddad, he thought, smiling. His current driver wouldn’t connect him to any rampage, given his complete change of looks—including the re-breaking and setting of his nose, and the chemical peel he’d had done after Charleville, thanks to the deregistered surgeon Granddad had sent to him on an isolated property he’d bought outside of Cobar. The professional makeup job covered the bruising beautifully, now the swelling had gone down. And he’d been quiet the entire trip, allowing no erratic behaviour from Monster. He hadn’t answered any of Monster’s accusations or taunts. He was quite proud of himself.

  ‘That guy sounds like a real worry,’ his lift, Darren, said.

  ‘I reckon,’ Danny replied, in a broad outback accent. ‘Nut-job should be in lockup.’

  Why are you letting him talk about us like that? Why are you talking about us like that?

  Shut up, you idiot, he answered. Do you want us to be caught?

  So far Granddad was texting him with every move the cops made, and what Granddad didn’t know he made sure all Australia could hear on the radio, thanks to the press releases he sent to the media. Wily old bastard would pull out all the stops to keep him safe—at least until he’d got Janie pregnant, and there was another heir to carry on the Spencer name.

  He knew Granddad’s plans for him afterward, too.

  Granddad would free him from one place after another, until Janie gave Granddad a boy. No way was he telling the crazy old money-grubber, so proud of the bloody Spencer name, that his last and only heir had had a vasectomy last year—not until he had Janie, and was safe.

  It ought to be fun torturing him for years with his only hope.

  Yeah, he’d learned to play the game from the best. With half a dozen words, he’d destroy the crazy old bastard. As if he’d hand old Jeremiah another child for him to isolate and turn into a replica of himself.

  At a roadhouse on the Silver City Highway outside Broken Hill, Danny thanked Darren for the lift and said he was heading southeast now. He hopped out of the car and, in the bathroom, pulled out his last change of clothing. He’d message Granddad via his third lawyer, the shady one, for more clothes, hair dye and contact lenses. Now he wore respectable jeans and a long-sleeved checked shirt. He had fair skin from the chemical peel, an almost straight nose, brown eyes behind thick glasses shaded by a battered Akubra, and red hair. He’d even dusted his whiskers with henna. No cop would give him more than a cursory glance now.

  He’d find an internet café in town first thing. He never used the 4G on his burner phones. It was too easy to trace. Granddad’s coded emails sent to an anonymous email address via another anonymous address would tell him what to do next to avoid capture. He’d be long gone before anyone could trace him. From the chat among truckers and farmers in the roadhouse for a drink, he learned about the roadblocks set up on every entry to Broken Hill, the outback town made famous by iron ore and silver mines.

  I told you we had to keep this lift alive, he told Monster, with some smugness, struggling to remember the guy’s name. We’re too close now to kill anyone.

  You don’t think she’s under police protection by now? You don’t think she’s running from us the way Alix did, and Michelle did before her?

  Shut up! She’s not like them!

  Isn’t she?

  You sound just like him. Like Granddad!

  Take that back!

  I won’t. You hate everyone, just like he does. You want to kill everyone!

  That shut Monster up for a little while, long enough for him to hop on the back of a sheep transporter and ride the last mile into town hiding amid the sheep. He knew Janie had been here. He could feel even the ghost of her presence fill him with light and hope and love. She was smart enough to vanish without trace if she wanted to. That she left a trail for him to follow told him she loved him, even if she didn’t know it yet. She was too smart to not know how to hide her traces, if she really wanted to be rid of him.

  So innocent. How she needed him to protect her.

  You think she’s still innocent?

  Shut up, you stupid idiot! You are Granddad, trying to get us put in an asylum!

  Yeah, it worked again. He knew the way to shut Monster’s stupid mouth now.

  His plan hinged on the tradition of trust prevailing in country towns … and luck was with him again. Acting on the information he’d gleaned from the local paper, he headed for the Catholic church.

  It was open, still and silent, dark but for a hundred lit candles representing the prayers of the faithful for their recently deceased priest. Nauseous, a little fearful of all this spiritual stuff, he rushed through to the presbytery. A quick twist with a piece of wire and he was inside. ‘Goodbye Danny Spencer, refugee from the law.’ He chuckled as he slipped into the late Father McGillicuddy’s spare robes. ‘G’day Father O’Dowd, who’s come early from Armidale to take confession from the faithful in the area, including the Aboriginal towns and settlements.’

  So, back to the same question: north or south? Which way did Janie go?

  Skirting the town on a tourist minibus, he noticed the roadblocks were heavier on the road south. Excellent. He hopped off the bus at the next stop, and headed south. The cops that hailed him to chat accepted easily that he was doing a little tour before conducting the service for Father McGillicuddy.

  Peter, a garrulous Catholic, stopped to pick up Father O’Dowd from the side of the road heading south. He didn’t even question why the good father had no car, but Danny was soon half-crazy trying to answer questions about confession, Mass and Catholic funeral arrangements.

  Ten minutes later, after stopping on the pretence of needing a toilet break, Peter was knocked out, tied, gagged and in the trunk.

  Two minutes. That’s all we need, Monster whispered. You know you want to.

  Danny sighed in regret. The twitch—Monster’s lust to kill—was a heartbeat beginning to pulse inside him, too. Janie would like Peter. But Janie wasn’t here, and her tenderness couldn’t hold him back, not with Monster creeping closer all the time, growing bigger—

  We can’t kill him with so many cops around. They’ll know it’s us.

  That held Monster back, but for how long, he didn’t know.

  Given no choice but to hurry, he took the massive risk of using the net on his phone to look up Catholic confessions, and the rituals expected by the flock. All the way to the next town, he practised the words. Somehow that soothed Monster, too. He even began chanting with him, harmony to his symphony. It felt good, like he wasn’t alone.

  So why do we need Janie? Remind me, Monster whispered.

  He drove on with dogged determination, but he was beginning to wonder himself.

  All the Aboriginal towns on the southern road had cops at their entry and were closed to everyone, even ministers of religion. And beneath his smiling acceptance of the necessary precautions, his blood grew hot and thick, his mind pounding. So Janie had been and gone—again. She had to be with cops somewhere—some bigger town—for these cops to be so bloody-minded about letting even priests in.

  He drove off sedately enough, but Monster was a slow
scream in his head.

  Faithless harlot … she did this to us.

  He was coming closer and closer, bigger and stronger, chaining them together, in their mind. When was the last time he’d disagreed with Monster, really, not just yelling to shut him up?

  Janie! I need you!

  ‘Where would she go on this godforsaken road?’ He pulled out a road map, scanning the names of towns in the local area, which, here, was a thousand-kilometre radius. ‘Griffith. Mildura. Hay. Moama. Macks Lake—’

  Hold on, Danny. Where have we heard that name?

  He crashed his head against the wheel, but no answer came.

  So he called Granddad. ‘What’s in Macks Lake? What have I forgotten?’

  A slow, almost purring sound of approval. ‘Good lad, Daniel. I knew you’d work it out, given time. Dr Larkins’ foster cousin moved there, a widower with a child. He was with the federal police, but is now in the regulars. A Detective Sergeant Adam Jepson with the Macks Lake police service. She’s staying with him—in a separate room, of course.’

  That was it! Of course! ‘Thanks, Granddad. I’m grateful for your faith,’ he said humbly.

  ‘Everything is already in place for you, Daniel. I’ll text you the numbers of the people I have placed in town. They’re waiting for your call. Write them down—’

  ‘And destroy the phone, yes, I know, thank you Granddad,’ he said, returning to the meek tone Granddad liked from everyone. Any hint of attitude and Granddad would turn off the tap of money and information.

  ‘Just marry the girl, and get her pregnant,’ Granddad snapped.

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Danny thanked him again, played the good, subservient grandson, grateful for the opportunity to be clever, instead of having everything handed to him. Then his face broke into a disbelieving grin. He’d found Janie at last.

  About time, Monster grumbled. Now let’s go to Macks Lake, and we’ll see who’s right, and who’s a slut.

  CHAPTER

  14

  Adam jerked awake with the first soft tap at his window. He padded over and pulled the curtain back a crack. The face he saw in the muted hues of sunrise didn’t surprise him. With a nod toward the kitchen door, he exchanged pyjamas for shorts and a T-shirt. Strange how he’d missed Elly’s presence in his bed, though she’d only slept with him once.