Palmerston House was a picture as Martin drove Thomas’ old four wheel drive along the driveway. The first sprinkle of rain had begun as he’d left his house, so he’d gone back for the car keys and thankfully it started first time. It occurred to him that having something other than his motorcycle would be a likely addition in the future. Christie’s Lotus was all very well for her needs, but once they had a family, they’d need a second car.
Soon, Thomas and Martha would be home, and Christie was only going to be away for a fortnight. He’d use the time to finish his painting and make a plan for them both. Then they could work out the details and decide a date to marry. For the first time in his life, Martin had purpose beyond his art.
No more days and nights that drifted into weeks and months, with him rarely leaving the property, except to shop or give George a chance to attend his council meetings. Randall was an amazing companion, but now there was more. Light and life, love and passion filling him with a yearning to begin.
He drove around the fountain and parked facing back to the road. The rain stopped. As he got out, he saw Angus come through the open front door. By the time Martin reached the steps, Angus was at the bottom, worry in his eyes.
“You look concerned.” Martin shook his hand.
“It’s just that...” Angus glanced down the driveway. “We thought Christie must be with you.”
“Angus? Is she not here?”
“No.”
Martin turned to leave, but Angus put a hand on his arm. “Come inside. We need to show you something.” Angus dropped his hand and went back up the steps.
Martin followed. “When did she leave?”
“We’ve not seen her since this morning.”
Elizabeth was just inside the door, her smile dropping when only Angus and Martin came in. “Oh. She’s not with you.”
“No. I’ve got to find her.”
“Martin, what about the note though?” Elizabeth hurried to the roses and extracted the note. “I wouldn’t pry, but Christie dropped by earlier and left these. We didn’t see her, just heard the car, but we got concerned with the storm coming and tried to call her.”
“She let her battery go flat.” Martin forced the words out. Where is she? “I don’t understand.”
“The note, dear. To meet you on the yacht.”
“I didn’t send a note. Or roses.”
“It says ‘meet you on the boat at five p.m.’ but if you didn’t send it, then who did?”
All the colour drained from Martin’s face. “No. No, this can’t be happening.”
Chapter Forty-four
With no moon to light the way, Christie kept Jasmine Sea under tight control, preventing her from skimming across the water as fast as she wanted to. Once she’d rounded the headland, keeping a fair distance from the cliff, it took all of her strength and strategy to haul the yacht toward land again.
The further she got from Derek, the more Christie worried. Taking the yacht into open sea at night was fraught with danger and she was painfully aware of the risks. With no radio or phone, any miscalculation could be fatal. The idea of sinking the yacht made her ill. But what choice had there been? Derek would have found a way to catch her if she’d tried to row to shore. He was crazy. Something in his mind had snapped and she no longer believed he would listen to her.
What if he got to Martin first? Christie cried out in fear. But Martin was strong, fast, and not exhausted. Even if Derek attacked him, surely Martin could fend him off? What if he caught him off guard, as he had done with her? What if he hurt Randall? Round and round, one question led to another, until she buried her head in her hands. Stop it. Get to the jetty.
She dropped the spinnaker as she closed in on River’s End. The wind buffeted Jasmine Sea from the side, pitching her about in high seas. To her left, the light at Martin’s house was a beacon of hope. There was no way Derek would get there before her. He was injured and might not even be back on land yet. This nightmare was almost over. But she had to get to Martin.
Christie started the motor, sails down, as the jetty came into view. Although the stormy conditions increased the swell, the jetty was as safe a place as any to tie up. She kept the wheel aligned and slowly eased the yacht against the end of the jetty. The side of the boat scraped along the timber, sending a shudder through the deck. Before it could move away, Christie was at the stern, throwing the rope over an exposed pylon and pulling with all her might. It wasn’t perfect, but she was here.
She turned off the motor. She’d done it. The elation vanished as her body remembered it was exhausted. Soon. Just find Martin. From yacht, to jetty, to sand, she forced her legs forward.
***
Rain beat down on the windscreen. Thomas’ patchy wipers were next to useless at clearing it. Protesting at the speed Martin forced it to do, the old car rattled but responded up the hill to Willow Bay.
How had he missed this? He’d spoken to Christie a few hours ago and her plans were to go to the hairdressers and then the cottage for a while. That must be where the roses were delivered. And of course she would think he’d sent them, after she’d asked him to go sailing today. My God, she must have been so happy, thinking he’d changed his mind and wanted to steal an hour with her. Instead of painting, he could have prevented this.
If Derek laid one finger on her... his fingers tightened on the steering wheel until they turned white.
His phone rang as he reached the narrow road to Willow Bay. “Christie?”
“Trev. Sorry, mate.”
Martin accelerated. “Angus told you?”
“Yup. I’ve got dispatch on it and we’ll have the bastard before anything happens. Where are you?”
“Just pulling into the car park. Her car is here. I’ll call you back.” Martin leapt out, leaving the door open. “Christie!” The Lotus’ top was up and the car was locked and empty. He reached back into Thomas’ car for the phone, then ran toward the beach.
Thunder rumbled from the other side of the cliffs. The storm was almost upon him. Wind whipped up the tide. A dinghy floated in and out with the waves. Martin waded in, hauling it onto the sand. The oars were in the bottom. Something else. He flashed his phone’s torch below the seat. It was blood.
“No, no, no.” He dialled Trev and scanned the bay. A flash of lightning. “I need you here. There’s blood in a dinghy.” Another flash and this time, he was sure. Icy fingers of despair expanded from his stomach, until his whole body froze in this hot, humid night.
“Martin? Are you there?” Trev yelled. “I can’t hear you.”
She was gone. His whole world was gone in an instant. The light and love, life and passion lost. Derek had Christie and it was his fault. He was helpless and alone.
“We’re almost there.”
“Trevor. Jasmine Sea is gone.”
***
The moment Christie left the jetty, Derek emerged from the shadows. He’d find her in a while, but his priority was to make sure Martin Blake was never a problem again.
There was no way the artist would leave the boat here and besides, he’d want to make sure Derek wasn’t around. This beach was no place to drop anchor and in spite of Christie’s claim of ownership, Derek knew the artist was its true master.
Derek swung the crowbar around like a sword as he hobbled across the sand. His foot was killing him and he was short on time. When this was over, Christie could look after him. Answer his every call and spend a lot of time making up for what she’d done. Once she remembered her place with him, she would never, ever leave him again.
The jetty creaked, sea spray soaking his legs again. Getting aboard was tricky with the movement of the yacht and his muscles screamed every time he moved. He could have drowned out there, even with the lifebuoy so reluctantly provided. God, I’m forgiving. He used the crowbar to steady himself as he clambered over the rail.
He retrieved his shoes. It was agony getting his damaged foot in and laces tied. Back in the galley, the ice had melted, leavi
ng puddles soaking into the timber. He’d left blood behind on the leg of the table. Good DNA there so just as well there’d be no way to get it soon.
Christie’s handbag was on the table near the radio, her phone half out. It was dead, but he pocketed it and went through her bag, taking her car and house keys. Her credit cards and drivers licence were replaceable, along with bits of make-up. That was it, except... in the front pocket, her ring.
Triumphant, Derek held it aloft. A diamond and four emeralds. Not nearly as impressive or expensive as the one he’d bought her in London. Maybe he’d get the stones removed and turned into something else. She’d never be able to say he’d thrown it away, much as he wanted to toss it overboard. No, this was a bonus. In case she stayed defiant.
He opened the hatch to the so-called engine room, a space barely big enough to stand in. This was the lowest part of the yacht, with just a couple of layers of timber between him and the ocean. There was a rubber mallet hanging on a hook. Inserting the sharp, flat end of the crowbar between two boards, he hit the end with the mallet. And again, and again, twisting it until, with a slight ‘pop’, it moved. He pulled it back out and a tiny spring of sea water bubbled up.
It had to be enough. Any faster and Martin would get into a half sunk boat. He had to hope, between the storm, the damage he’d done to the lifejackets, and the distance back to Willow Bay, Jasmine Sea and Martin Blake would find themselves submerged.
***
Trev ran to the beach waving a massive torch. Martin stood ankle deep in the water.
“Martin. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He took the torch, pausing the powerful light on each yacht. “She’s gone.”
“Well, we’re going to find her. Coast Guard is on their way.”
“I asked you if Derek was coming here.” Martin’s voice was flat, completely devoid of emotion.
Trev took his torch back. “Come on, we’re going to find her, but not by standing here.” He put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Is there any chance she simply went for a sail?”
“Do you think it’s possible? That Derek isn’t even involved?” Trev’s expression gave away his thoughts and Martin stalked across to the dinghy he’d retrieved. “Whose blood is it then?”
Trev turned the light on the dinghy. “No way of knowing. Maybe she cut herself. Maybe it’s his. But speculating isn’t finding her so I’d suggest we get going.”
Both men jogged up the slope to the carpark, the wind at their backs.
“What the hell?” Trev spotted a trail of blood leading into the bushland. Just a few drops here and there, and washing away as the rain intensified, but a trail nonetheless.
“Whoa. Stop. Look there.” Trev focused the torch on a dark spot in the bushes.
“What is it?”
“Balaclava. As in, the one used by Rupert. Whoever the blood belongs to, they’ve stumbled on Rupert’s stash.”
“Stash?”
“He threw away his balaclava. And a crowbar.”
Martin was quiet. Trev glanced at him. “What?”
“The wind is coming from the south-west. Christie knows to go with the wind. We need to leave.” Galvanised, Martin rushed to Thomas’ car. The motor turned, groaned, and spluttered.
“You know, I have these things called siren and lights. Wanna lift?” Trev grinned as Martin slammed the door on the old car.
***
Thunder rumbled across the bay as Christie staggered to the top of the cliff. She struggled with every breath, her vision blurry. Thirst racked her body. I made it.
At last on the deck, her hope disappeared. The door was closed and the lights off inside. He’d already left. She put her hand on the glass and rested her forehead beside it. Eyes closed, her heartbeat slowed and she drew her breath in deeply, feeling it circulate.
From the other side of the door, Randall whined and Christie opened her eyes. She slid the door across and he threw himself at her. “Hey, it’s okay, doggie.” Before he got wet, Christie stepped inside and when Randall joined her, closed the door.
“Martin?” It was a hopeful call. He wouldn’t be here in the dark. She needed to plug her phone in and call him. And Trev and anyone else who would help.
But, her phone wasn’t in her pocket.
Her handbag wasn’t around her neck. It was where she’d abandoned it to follow the power cord. Her car and house keys were in it. My engagement ring! She knelt down to put her arms around Randall’s neck.
“What do I do?” His tail thumped the ground and he licked her face. “I’m so tired, Randall.” She needed the keys to the Lotus and the cottage. And she was not leaving her ring behind.
Palmerston House was a kilometre away. The yacht was half that distance. Running back down the cliff would only take a few moments and then she would cut inland beside the river. She’d go to the first house she found and get help.
Chapter Forty-five
The patrol car only got to end of the track before pulling over when a second unit turned in. Trev got out to speak with Jacqui and Gareth.
Flashing lights, rain, night time. The terror of some incomprehensible event. Martin pressed his fingers against his temple. He barely remembered the night his parents and grandmother died. Such a little boy, secure in a booster seat. Uniformed police milled around, that he recalled. Concerned voices. Panic. Thomas arriving. His beloved, strong grandfather weeping at a funeral for three.
Christie promised she’d never leave him. Outside the cottage, under starlight, she’d taken his hands and assured him she would always return if she needed to work. She understood his childhood loss. Two of a kind, yet so different in the way they managed the pain. And somehow, they’d found each other.
Trev slid back behind the wheel. “We’re going.” He glanced at Martin as he started the motor. “You right?”
“We need to get to the jetty.”
“Yup. Going now.” He eased the car onto the main road and put the siren on. “Those two will dig around in the bush and keep an eye out, in case she comes back in.”
“What if he has her?”
“Coast Guard isn’t far away.”
“We need more people looking.”
“More are coming. What you need to do is stay calm, and as your friend, I know that’s hard. Focus on what we know. There’s a KALOF out on the car that Derek Hobbs hired.”
“A what?”
“Shorthand for don’t miss it going past.”
“I need to update Angus.”
“Call him.”
Trev’s radio crackled. The conversation made little sense to Martin, but a few words from dispatch and Trev accelerated. “There’s been a sighting of a car that might be his.”
“Where?”
“Heading to the cottage.”
“Drop me near the jetty.”
“Best I can do is the bridge, mate. Take my torch and follow the river. Phone me as soon as you get there. Right?”
Martin nodded, dialling Palmerston House. In a few minutes he’d be on his feet and one way or another, he’d find his girl.
***
Derek squatted in a protected alcove near the stone steps, ready to watch Martin Blake leave on the yacht and disappear into the storm. Then, he’d find Chris. She’d be upset about the artist, but accidents happen, and after all she’d left the yacht there in dangerous weather.
Lightning flashed into the ocean nearby. Someone jogged toward the jetty, their head down against the wind. Thunder boomed and Derek backed into his shelter a bit more. He was right, the artist would never leave his precious boat tied to a jetty that soon would be under water. He laughed. Served him right for stealing another man’s woman.
The figure stopped at the end of the jetty, looking back as a dog ran into view. The person leaned down to talk to the dog, then straightened. As they stepped onto the jetty, the sky lit up. Not Martin Blake. With long hair plastered to her shoulders, it was Christie.
***
The gusts of
wind and rain worked against Christie, but refreshed by water and a few moments of rest, she found the strength to jog to the jetty. There was a bark behind her and Randall galloped across the sand, tail wagging furiously.
“Oh, you naughty boy.” Christie was dismayed. “How did you get out? Now we’ll both be in trouble.”
A flash of lightning startled her. It was so close, going straight into the ocean. One minute and they would be on their way to the river. Just one more minute. Randall on her heels, she got to Jasmine Sea.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She climbed onto the deck. The boat had a life of its own, moving erratically with the wind and the waves and she realised she should have tied it from two points, not one. Christie gripped the rail until she reached the bottom of the steps. With a sigh of relief, she saw her bag.
The front pocket was empty. No! It has to be here. She turned the bag upside down. Her keys were gone. So was her phone. She had to get off the yacht.
Back on deck, she couldn’t see Randall on the jetty. But then there was a cold nose on her leg and she almost cried. “I told you to stay.”
Derek might be on the yacht, or lurking nearby. “Come on, doggie, we’re going to find dad.” Through the wind, she heard her name called.
“Martin! I’m here!” She shouted, peering through the rain toward his house. Nobody was there. Stop imagining things. She checked the rope, afraid Jasmine Sea would break loose.
Again, her name. This time, she looked toward the other end of the beach, where the stone steps led to the graveyard. There was a person running toward her. Not running. Hobbling.
Hand still on the rope, Christie watched in horror as Derek drew closer. He waved and yelled. There was no way to get off the boat and then the jetty. Terror froze her in place.
Randall barked. It wasn’t just about her any longer. She undid the rope with a quick tug. Before she could change her mind, Christie threw herself to the wheel and wrenched it away from the jetty.
Derek was on the jetty. He screamed at her, over and over. “Stop. You have to stop.”
He was going to kill her. And Martin. She realised she’d started the engine and just as Derek got close enough to grab the side of the yacht, she widened the distance.
Jasmine Sea Page 24
