by Helene Young
And that was precisely the problem, she thought, summoning her own smile. Those hands sent a misplaced surge of lust through her every time she thought about them.
9
Conor hummed as he walked home. He would have settled for a cup of tea, but dinner and a glimpse into Kristy and Abby’s house was so much better. He’d expected them to live in something modern, on one of the expensive streets. Instead their home was eclectic and busy and welcoming. The red couch was about the only thing that looked new. A country doctor probably didn’t earn anything like a city specialist did.
Watching Kristy laugh with her head back, the light catching hints of copper in her hair as she turned, made him ache. He knew her hair was as silky as it looked and he wanted to wrap it around his hand and draw her close. He wanted to touch his lips to hers and capture her breath as she sighed. He wanted to kiss the wariness from her eyes and tell her life wasn’t always that cruel.
But he also knew ultimately he might well have to sail away to keep her safe. Was it fair to start something he knew he’d have to finish? Maybe it was possible to be upfront, lay down the rules before they started. The attraction between them was real. He knew he hadn’t imagined the sidelong glances, the merest of touches as they washed the dishes while Mary regaled them with stories from her early days of policing.
She’d caught him looking at the way her shirt clung to her breasts when she reached up to a cupboard. He’d smiled and shrugged as if to say, ‘Sorry, but what’s a guy to do?’ She’d almost giggled, before tugging her shirt down and turning pink. It wasn’t as though either of them didn’t know where it could lead. So all he had to do now was wait out a week of frustration and hope the weather was still perfect.
In the meantime he had some more digging to do on Danny and Debbie Parnell. According to Mary, with Sergeant Miller away on annual leave, no further leads had come to light. She’d confirmed that Danny had died from a single gunshot wound to the head. The bullet had been recovered from the wall of the house. The young neighbour confirmed hearing a car pull up about ten minutes before he heard one accelerate away. Debbie said she’d been woken by her husband talking on the phone. He’d hung up and said he was going downstairs to make a coffee. The next thing she’d heard was Conor calling out and the dog barking. While her testimony helped, it didn’t completely exonerate Conor.
When he’d walked away from witness protection he’d retained the last identity they’d set up for him. All he had to do was keep his nose clean and he would stay Conor Woods for the rest of his life. Would there ever be a time when he didn’t look over his shoulder? The odds had improved with a phone call from Noah only this morning.
‘I have some good news, my friend,’ Noah had said. ‘That rumour about Rod Reeves having pancreatic cancer is true. He’s got six months at the most. His boys are wrapping everything up and heading overseas, apparently. Now the heat’s been turned up Australia’s not such a good place to do business.’
‘So they’ll have more reason to hate me.’
‘Probably not. Apparently Rod always expected you to retaliate, take revenge on his family for Annabel and Lily.’
‘Why did that never occur to me?’ Conor replied, feeling the bitterness welling up. ‘As if I’d know where to start looking for a fucking hit man.’
‘Yeah, well. I think the boys in blue planted that seed. I’d milk it for all it was worth.’
‘Thanks, I think. I just hope the leads pay off and one day I find the bastard who pulled the trigger.’
Would any of the Reeves family take one last shot at him before they left Australia? he wondered as he hung up.
His thoughts turned back to Danny and Debbie. Was there any clue in her actions that morning that suggested she was anything but a distraught wife? Nothing had jagged in his subconscious. She’d seemed genuinely afraid, angry and devastated.
Car lights swung down the road behind him and he moved further off the hard shoulder. No kerb and guttering in Cooktown. When it rained it would overflow anyway. The car cruised past, the engine purring despite the throaty signature of a diesel. He glanced at it and did a double take. Was it the same car?
‘Shit.’ He started to run, pelting down the hill after it, but it turned left at the corner and accelerated away, the streetlight shining on its glossy paint. ‘WAT 856,’ he muttered, repeating it over and over as he slowed to a jog. In the dark he couldn’t be sure, but it had the same curved back to it. A substantial car but nothing like the oversized utes and Toyotas that were everywhere in the north.
Half an hour later he scrambled aboard the Veritas and wrote the number down. The effect of the wine had worn off and he opened the lid of his computer. A mosquito buzzed in his ear and he slapped at it, waiting for the internet to connect. When it did he typed ‘Porsche’, then hit enter. He selected a Brisbane dealership, clicked on ‘Cayenne’ and sat back.
‘Yes! How many of those can be floating around up here?’ He wrote the details down next to the registration. It had sounded like a diesel so even if he’d only got the registration partially correct in the poor light, surely there was enough to go on? Should he take it to Joyce? The prospect of dealing with the senior constable didn’t fill him with any great joy, and according to Mary the team from Cairns had left town. Maybe he could talk to them tomorrow.
Part of the compulsion to find the killer was tied up with his own loss; he understood that. He’d felt so impotent in the face of the anonymity of Annabel and Lily’s killer. How could the police not be able to identify him? How, in an era of CCTV, outside an exclusive girls’ school, was there no evidence apart from a grainy photograph of a man in a car that was later found burnt out? How could the police identify a pattern, but be no closer to finding the killer? He was sure that this wasn’t in any way related, but it still felt personal. Debbie Parnell needed to be able to look that man, or woman, in the face and understand why they’d killed her husband.
He typed out a quick email and addressed it to Miller and Joyce. Better someone start looking now rather than later. Whoever was driving the car could leave town.
He opened the file where he’d recorded everything he could remember of that morning. Every car, every person he’d passed on his run. He added the description of the car he saw tonight. He stared into space. Had there been a scent in the air after the car sped away this evening? Aftershave or perfume? Something he’d smelt before? He’d always had a nose for women’s perfume.
He sat back in the chair. Nope, it was eluding him. What else? One head in the car only, but could someone have been lying down? How had the car moved? Was it rocking? He’d filled a page with random thoughts after the shooting. He scanned down the list again, sifting through everyone who’d made it into gossip over the last few weeks. There’d been several mentions of an out-of-town girlfriend. Was it a local from one of the communities or one of the teaching or nursing staff stationed there? Or was it someone from a station nearby? He ran a weary hand over his face and flicked on the little fan above his bunk. It only muddied the humid air. He ripped his shirt over his head and the trickle of sweat between his shoulder blades reached the waistband of his shorts.
‘Was always going to be hard to sleep tonight, mate,’ he muttered. He dropped his pants to the floor and walked to the tiny shower. His body had been in a constant state of arousal since Kristy Dark had opened the door wearing clothes that clung to every luscious curve. Standing beside her at the barbecue, it wasn’t the smell of the cooking steaks that had his blood thundering. She smelt of lilies and soap and woman. And that infrequent but killer smile of hers stole his breath every time. It was eight parts laughter and two parts surprise, as if she was amazed that there was something to laugh about at all. He’d parried with Mary all night, the old lady’s razor-sharp tongue providing plenty of opportunities for laughs. Kristy had sipped her wine, relaxing as the night went on to the point where she’d met his gaze square on as he was leaving. ‘I’ll see you next week,’ she’d mur
mured as he brushed past her and out the door. Mary was already halfway down the path, unsteady after a bottle of wine.
‘You will.’ He’d hesitated for a moment, then leant in and pressed the lightest of kisses to her cheek. She didn’t pull back, but he felt her intake of breath and the quiver in her hand as she touched his shoulder. When he turned at the gate she was standing there, backlit in the doorway, tall and statuesque. A healer who’d lost her courage. And was it any wonder . . .
He’d snuck a look at the photos. Kristy’s husband had been much older than her. In one group photo, taken in front of a rambling farmhouse, she was cradling a dark-haired boy, with a young Abby at her shoulder. Behind them was the older guy, hands on Kristy’s shoulders. There was a space between them and the other couple in the photo. Hard to tell who was older, the man he assumed was her husband or her father. He didn’t think he would have liked Lily to bring home a man as old as himself. Academic, anyway, as that was never going to happen. His own parents had been horrified when they realised Annabel was almost seven years older than him. He’d never felt the age gap, but his father had predicted it wouldn’t last.
He finished showering, bemused to realise that the ache in his heart at the thought of Lily had subtly altered. It hadn’t gone, but the pain wasn’t so sharp, so barbed. He frowned and reached for his towel, trying to assemble a picture of Annabel. Instead, Kristy’s steady gaze, crystal-blue eyes and mahogany hair swirled around in his mind, and a flick of misplaced anger that she’d replaced his Annabel arrowed through him. The towel scratched as he hauled it between his shoulder blades, the anger dissipating as fast as it rose. The memories had to fade some time. Is this what they meant by moving on?
He draped his towel over the piece of rope strung across the cabin and crawled into bed. Sleep came swiftly and deeply, bringing with it erotic dreams of a nude woman, glowing in the lamplight as she came to his bed, her nipples rosy and taut, her hips and thighs rounded and lush, her hair like feathers on his chest. His raging erection woke him and he lay there dazed and alone, tangled in the flimsy sheet.
The grey of dawn was visible through the tiny porthole above his head. The fan still whirred and the water tinkled against the hull as the tide ran. Sweat filmed his skin and he ran a hand over his chest, sensitive nipples hardening again. The dream was so real he could taste her on his lips, feel the touch of her hand on his skin, on his cock. He groaned and closed his eyes. He wanted Kristy Dark in a way he’d never wanted anyone before. Next time he woke it was to the sound of Bill rapping on his hull.
‘You still asleep, young fella?’ he called. ‘Conor? You there, mate?’
Conor scrambled into a pair of shorts and shot up on deck. ‘Bill? What’s up? Something wrong?’
‘Nuthin’s wrong, but I’ve changed me mind. I’ll give the fishing a miss tonight. They reckon they aren’t catching anything so I’m not going to waste me diesel. Moon and tide are better tomorrow. That all right with you? You weren’t here last night. Thought you might have gone away for a few days.’
‘No, no, I was out last night. But that’s fine with me.’
‘Righto. I’ll see you at five tomorrow arvo then. Happy new year.’ Bill pulled his starter and with a wave of his hand puttered away.
‘Happy new year to you too,’ he called. Day off and the start of a new year. He felt like a ten-year-old let out of school.
Twenty minutes later he was loping up the hill to Kristy’s house. A thin column of smoke rose from behind the house next door. Was that cherrywood? Mary wasn’t wasting any time smoking the slab of meat she’d carried home last night.
He slowed to a walk before he turned in through Kristy’s gate. In the daylight the house looked more weathered. The garden was in surprisingly good condition; he suspected Mary had more to do with that than Kristy. The stairs creaked under his weight and his courage faltered. Why did he think he could just turn up on her doorstep unannounced and she’d come running?
The door opened before he reached it.
‘Conor? What’s wrong?’
It said so much about her that she always assumed there was something wrong. Her hair still looked sleep-tousled.
‘Whoa, nothing’s wrong. Change of plans for me and I remembered you said you had a day off today. It’s a perfect day for sailing.’
‘Oh.’ She looked flustered. ‘Now?’
‘Not necessarily right now. What time would work for you?’ He leant against the railing, trying not to crowd her. She ran her tongue over her lips.
‘Um, give me an hour?’
‘Sure. Know where the public boat ramp is?’
She jerked her head in a yes, her cheeks still flushed. The pink was spreading down her neck and disappearing into the loose neck of the T-shirt that hung to her knees. He straightened up. Time to go. He was in danger of making a fool of himself. ‘Right, so see you there in an hour. Bring a hat and swimmers. I’ve got everything else.’
‘Okay.’
He took the stairs two at a time. He now felt like a star-struck ten-year-old with a crush on his teacher. Nuts. He walked down the hill towards the supermarket. Ten minutes later he stood dithering at the cheese display. Soft cheese, hard cheese, blue cheese.
‘You can’t go past this one.’ Mary appeared at his elbow and picked up a wedge of double brie. ‘Impresses every time.’
‘Impresses?’
‘If I’d known you were coming to the shops I would have called out when I saw you leaving.’ She grinned at him. ‘And yes, I’m an interfering busybody, get used to it. Everyone else has.’ She swayed away then tossed one last comment over her shoulder. ‘And she likes olives as well.’
‘Does she indeed,’ Connor said, smiling despite himself. He dropped the wedge into his basket and added a block of cheddar. By the time he reached the checkout he could see Mary outside talking to some other locals. He grinned at the girl behind the counter. ‘Hey, Maddie, working all day?’
She pulled a face. ‘Just until two. That’s enough.’
‘Good on you. The pocket money always comes in handy.’
‘Yeah.’ She brightened. ‘I’ve ordered a new pair of runners. You won’t catch me soon.’
‘Great. See you on the weekend, then.’
‘Yeah.’ She flashed him a brilliant smile as he waved his credit card over the machine. ‘See you.’
He skirted around Mary as he left the air-conditioning. She nodded at him and the group stopped talking and turned to greet him.
‘Morning, Conor,’ they chorused.
‘Morning, ladies. Happy new year. Committee meeting? Or council meeting?’
‘Happy new year,’ they all replied with laughter. A woman he vaguely recognised added, ‘I doubt the council meetings are as productive as this group.’
‘Or as dedicated,’ Mary added. ‘They reckon that young Danny was knocking off someone from a property up towards the head of the Endeavour.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Certain of it.’
‘So you’ve told the police?’
Mary snorted. ‘When Miller comes back I will, but Joyce? Fool couldn’t find his head, it’s so far up his arse.’ The women all laughed and broke up the gathering. ‘You need a lift somewhere, Conor?’
‘Thanks, but I’m heading back to the boat. I’m used to walking.’
‘Oh.’ Mary looked disappointed. ‘Right. See you round.’
‘You will,’ he said as he turned and strode towards the ramp. Surely it would be fairly easy to narrow down the list of suspects if Danny was having an affair with someone from a property. There couldn’t be too many people living on properties on the headwaters of the Endeavour, could there?
He sat down on the grass in the shade of one of the old fig trees whose roots were reaching for the ground like skinny fingers dangling off the branches. He only had to wait fifteen minutes before he saw a car pull into the car park. Nothing happened for a couple of minutes and he wondered if she was going to change her m
ind. The driver’s door finally opened and she stood up. An akubra wasn’t usual wear on a boat, but with the brim pulled low over her eyes it suited her. The denim shorts and a blue-and-white striped shirt made him think of wholesome, but there was an edginess in her eyes as she walked towards him.
The shopping bags rustled as he hefted them. ‘You came.’
Her eyebrows arched. ‘You didn’t think I would?’
‘I hoped you would. Otherwise I’ll be eating cheese and olives for the week.’
Those extraordinary eyes lit up, but the smile didn’t make it to her lips. ‘You didn’t mention olives as well as sailing.’
‘And chocolate because I distinctly remember you saying you ate chocolate when you’re stressed.’
‘This is going to be stressful?’
‘No, but a good sailor is always prepared. Shall we?’ He gestured to where the dinghy rested on the shore.
Kristy perched on the inflatable side, her long legs stretched across to the other side. She looked relaxed as the breeze lifted her hair and flattened her shirt to her body.
He looked away, checking up and down the river for other traffic. A few tinnies were heading out to sea. The tour boat was loading passengers.
‘Which one’s yours?’ Kristy asked, turning to him with one hand clamped on her hat now. The curve of her breast was clearly visible through the light fabric of her shirt. He swallowed before he answered.
‘The white one ahead. The monohull. Veritas.’
‘Truth?’ she said with a quizzical look.
‘Truth.’
Overhead a flock of shags straggled by in a line. The sky looked parched, with no sign of clouds. The wind from the north was forecast to be light as the cyclone spinning out towards Papua New Guinea sucked the weather into it.
He bumped into the side of the boat, cutting the motor on the dinghy before slinging a line around the cleat. Once it was secure he turned to her.
