by Keziah Hill
“I know that.” Did he doubt her word? “I’m aware some women give photographs of themselves to their partners, but that’s not me.”
God, now she sounded like a prude. “I gave Chris permission to take the shots, but they were never a gift. They were taken purely for the purpose of making money.”
And that sounded worse, but she struggled on, determined to be straight with him. “Having said that, let me point out, I’m not ashamed of them.”
His look turned shrewd. “But you’d hate anyone else to see them.”
Allegra’s stomach clenched. “Exactly! I head up the criminal division of a very conservative law practice. If these turned up on the Internet, there’s no question I would lose my job.”
His eyes slanted towards the photograph and envelope. “But you’re the public face of the firm, somewhat of a celebrity in your own right. You really think the partners will hang you out to dry while the media crucify you?”
She watched as he tipped back his head and loosened his tie, long dexterous fingers working away at the knot. His cold summation of her situation hurt.
“Feeling a little—hot under the collar?” The words were out of her mouth before she could engage her brain.
His blowtorch stare said it all. “That would be foolish of me, Allegra. I’ve been frostbitten by you before.”
“Well that hurt,” she said, trying to deflect his stinging barb. God, she was better at verbal sparring than this.
She’d thought about that night on the terrace, even regretted running away from him. For a whole five minutes. No way would she get involved with a real life G.I. Joe. Not after what happened to her brother.
He gave her a steely look. “Your boyfriend took the photos, why?”
Shame washed over her in waves. “I was desperate for money. Chris was a commissioned photographer for a number of publications, among them a men’s magazine. I wasn’t thinking logically. How it might affect my future career didn’t even register on my radar.”
He didn’t comment, just waited her out.
She shifted in her seat. “Things were tight back then.”
“I’m listening.”
She closed her eyes for a long second. All these years later, the images were still imprinted in her mind. An Australian flag, draped over her brother’s coffin, a guard of honour in the shadow of a Royal Australian Air Force Hercules. The urgent wail of an ambulance.
She coughed, a lump forming in her throat. She hated recounting the horrible time where she’d moved like an automaton, overwhelmed with grief while the rest of the world went about its business.
“My brother, Martin, was killed in Afghanistan. My mother suffered a total breakdown on the tarmac when they brought his body home.”
He stilled, then slowly leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, waiting patiently for her to continue.
“I had university fees, rent and text books.” She didn’t want to sound defensive, but her words came out that way. “I became responsible for my mother’s care costs. They were extensive, continue to be.”
Suddenly weary, she leaned back in her chair and stared past him at the window. “After treatment, she needed a low care facility, so I put down a substantial bond. She deserves to be somewhere nice. I often have to travel, and when we’re running a big case, I can be at the office all night. Knowing she’s properly cared for gives me peace of mind.”
She paused, the room silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning.
“I’m sorry,” he said eventually.
The disquiet in his voice made her look at him. Did his empathy stem from her brother being a comrade in arms?
“I don’t need your sympathy, I need your help.”
He let go of a breath and looked away. “The photographs weren’t published. If they were you wouldn’t be sitting here now, they’d be on public record. What happened?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t go through with it. I sold my car and borrowed the rest from a money lender at an exorbitant interest rate.”
“So, what became of the negatives or digital files I guess, depending on what storage device he used?”
She’d been wondering the same thing. “I don’t know. Chris promised me he’d destroy them, and I trusted him to do it.”
His eyes widened in disbelief.
“I was young—I believed him.”
To her surprise he swivelled his chair around and stared out the window.
Allegra sat quietly. Silence didn’t come naturally to her. She thrived in the combative atmosphere of the Court, loved duelling with her opponent for the sympathies of the jury. But this was Luke’s domain—and he wasn’t big on feedback.
She bit her lip, impatience bubbling away inside her as she stared at the back of his fair head. Was he looking for flaws in her story?
“You have hard copies of these photographs at home?” he asked.
Oh no! Did he really need to see the others?
“Yes.” There was sentimental value attached to those photos, and she hadn’t wanted to destroy them. It had been Chris’s way of trying to help her.
“Have you had a break-in recently?”
She sucked in a breath, his question taking her by surprise. “No.”
He swivelled around to face her. “But you haven’t been home today?”
Allegra’s heart stuttered in her chest at the thought of someone breaking into her apartment. “No. I came straight from work. I bluffed my way in, hoping you’d think I wanted to discuss the contract.”
“I did think that.”
Allegra’s mouth went dry. “Will you help me, despite everything?”
It was as near as she could bring herself to plead with Luke Neilson. “I’ll pay good money. I want the best man you’ve got.”
“I’m the best man I’ve got.”
“Oh.” She jumped, nerves jangling. “I assumed you’d be too busy for such a small job. I thought you’d hand it on.”
He studied her through narrowed eyes, knuckles pressed against his mouth, an expensive dive watch strapped to his powerful wrist. “Never assume anything, Allegra. I fail to see what’s in it for me though, other than the money.”
She raised her eyebrows, not bothering to hide her surprise. “You normally get fringe benefits with the job?”
He gave an amused laugh, the corners of his mouth curling up, the smile softening his strong features. “Not the kind you’re implying, no. It’s just that I’m in a position to be selective about the work I take on.”
So her visit had been a waste of time. He only accepted clients where a mutual benefit was involved. Well, she couldn’t promise him the contract next time in exchange for taking her case. It would be unethical.
“I see,” she said finally. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.”
“No. I select clients I believe I can work with. And we don’t have a good track record.”
She bit back a retort and trailed a forefinger along the edge of the desk. She’d apologised for her knee jerk reaction to that kiss, but what about the part he’d played in the whole fiasco?
“Then why didn’t you put in a complaint about my decision?” She lifted her gaze to his. “I half expected you to.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Because I was equally to blame, and I’ll tender next time. I’m surprised to see you here though, asking for my help.”
His surprise could hardly match her humiliation. Having to front up here was one of the hardest things she’d had to do. But she was drowning in a sea of debt, with no time to waste on a second-rate investigator. If the photographs surfaced, she’d never work for a reputable law firm again.
She drew in a jagged breath. “So where does that leave us?”
His eyes narrowed to slits of silver. “I haven’t decided yet.”
From the expression on her face she didn’t much like the sound of that. Too bad, he needed to get his head around what he’d just learned.
&nb
sp; She was Martin Greenwood’s sister. How had he not made the connection?
Winning the contract next time was hardly a priority. Allegra was in serious trouble, her career on the line.
And his conscience left him no choice.
Luke studied her symmetrical face, the halo of golden blonde hair, the now obvious resemblance to her brother. The corporate suit she wore was well cut, clinging to her slim figure and showcasing a set of killer legs. She wore tasteful jewellery, nothing too blingy, and natural make-up. The impression was sexy ice maiden wearing a ‘don’t mess with me attitude.’
But the woman the press dubbed the ‘perfumed steamroller’ had a skeleton in her closet. Who knew?
She clicked her tongue, looking irritated all of a sudden. “Look, do you want the case or not?”
He dragged his thoughts away from her physical attributes and concentrated on the job at hand. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
“We?”
Luke sighed at the interruption. Sharp, she missed nothing.
“It feels good to have an ally, that’s all.” She smiled, her body almost sagging with relief. “And thank you.”
He ignored the way his heart shifted up a gear. “We, we’re a team until we catch this loser.”
He pushed a notepad and pen across the table. “Write down Chris Noble’s full name and his last known address in Melbourne. It’s logical to start there.”
As she scribbled down the details he noticed her absence of rings. He hadn’t got around to asking about partners and such, but it appeared from her bare hands she hadn’t succumbed to the last legal form of slavery.
She slid the notebook back to him.
“Go home and make sure the original photographs are where they should be. Phone me immediately if they’ve been disturbed. I want a list of every person who’s had access to your home since breaking up with Noble.”
“Okay.”
Strange, she didn’t seem at all phased by his request. Most people groaned and objected, daunted by the task. “I mean everyone you can think of Allegra. Family, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, work colleagues, tradesmen, landlords, cleaning staff, anyone who could conceivably have gained access to those photographs.”
“In Melbourne they were locked in a safety deposit box, but since moving to Sydney I’ve kept them hidden in my apartment.”
“Then I only need a list of people who’ve visited your Sydney residence.”
She nodded. “When do you want it?”
“Is seven in the morning too early?”
She shook her head, blonde highlights shining under the fluorescents. “I’m used to deadlines.”
“Then I’ll come by and pick it up, check out your security,” he said in an offhand manner, trying to give the impression it was standard procedure. It wasn’t. From cases he’d worked, extortionists were predictable, demanding money straight up. No demand for cash pointed to something more sinister.
He watched the colour drain from her face, his nonchalance not fooling her for a second.
“You think they could come to my home?”
Nothing to be gained by sugar coating it. “A photograph without a demand for cash smacks of a stalker or a psychological blackmailer.”
Her eyes widened, and for the briefest moment she looked truly frightened. He waited, letting his words sink in. She needed time to accept the ugly truth. A hidden enemy intended doing her harm.
“I hoped it might be a prank,” she said finally, her voice thick and shaken.
“Could be, but I doubt it. Having it delivered by bicycle courier shows it’s well thought out.”
She stared at him, a bemused expression on her face. “It doesn’t sound like Chris at all.”
A spurt of anger surfaced at her stoic defence of the photographer. Despite her position, she didn’t appear all that street smart, or men smart.
“Not the Chris you remember, but people change.”
Luke shifted in his seat, longing to undo the top button of his shirt but unwilling to draw another comment from the body language expert. Would he ever feel comfortable in business attire? Probably not, too many years spent in camouflage gear and paratrooper pants.
She blinked, drawing his attention to the amazing blue of her eyes. Not that he needed reminding. They were seared into his memory.
“So, what’s your take on it, Luke?”
An unexpected charge jolted through him at her use of his name. “There’s been no demand for cash or threats to expose you.”
“So they aren’t motivated by money?”
“I doubt it. They know you understand the harm they can do. They could be getting kicks from causing you mental anguish. But we won’t know for sure, until we get the next one.”
She swallowed, and in her eyes he saw helplessness and resignation. “That was my next question. You think we will?”
“I’m fairly certain. We know they have one photograph. If they’re in possession of the others, it’s more a matter of when.”
She nodded, then reached down with unsteady hands and slung the satchel diagonally across her body. “If we’re finished, I might go home and check the apartment.”
Luke pushed himself out of his chair. “That’s it for now.”
He strode to the door and held it open for her.
“Thank you for seeing me,” she murmured, brushing past him.
“No problem.”
He watched her walk towards the elevator, paying attention to the hip satchel slung across her body and the skyscraper heels she wore. Yes, if you looked hard enough, there were signs Allegra Greenwood had a non-conformist streak in her.
As she pushed the elevator button, she turned to look back at him, and he hurriedly closed his office door. He didn’t want to be caught spying. He slid the lock and moved back to his desk. Feeling a little guilty, he picked up the tweezers and shook out the folded sheet of paper still lying there. He felt his heartbeat crank up and the breath catch in his throat at the glorious image staring back at him.
Much as he hated to admit it, Noble had done a fine job. Allegra lay reclined on plush velvet, one long leg bent at the knee and crossed with the other in a manner that revealed nothing, though an arm thrown languidly above her head exposed the sloping outside curves of her breasts. Her blonde hair, so much longer then, swept over one shoulder and cleverly covered a nipple, while the other lay hidden behind a strand of expensive looking white pearls looped numerous times around her neck.
Stunning. Enough to make any red blooded man salivate.
Pushing it aside, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and stared through the window at the Opera House, its pearly sails poised on the water’s edge a masterpiece of human creativity.
He’d often thought about their first meeting, the day fresh in his mind for all the wrong reasons. A horror case involving children. A couple of drinks to ease the pain of the gruesome images he couldn’t wipe from his mind. Not the smartest move when trying to make a good impression. Then, as he stood on the terrace, wishing with all his heart he could just go home and avoid the Meet and Greet, a vision in blue walked up and introduced herself. They’d talked, and at some point he’d suffered an overwhelming urge to kiss her.
It was inappropriate, out of character, and far from his finest hour.
Still, he’d been angry when she’d blackballed him.
Luke sighed. His job required an extensive assortment of intuitive skills, and it wasn’t often someone left him astonished. But she had. Smart and alluring, never in a million years would he have put her name, together with the word centrefold, in the same sentence.
He shook his head in disbelief. Nude photos. Who would have guessed?
With another heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, blanking out the memories of a mission gone wrong. There was no way he could let anything bad happen to Allegra Greenwood.
He owed her brother that much.
He’d been Trooper Martin Greenwood’s Commanding Officer in Afghanist
an, and as such, the man ultimately responsible for his death.
Keep reading for an excerpt from Chaos Born by Rebekah Turner
As my eyes moved over Arthur Roper through the two-way mirror, it occurred to me the saying was true. It really was hard out there for a pimp.
Roper sat on a ratty bed in a ratty room in a ratty brothel in Bangkok, haggling with a bored looking woman for a discount on her services. The woman wore a dirty blonde wig and a white spandex cat suit several sizes too small. Her scarlet lips were pressed to thin lines, as if she’d gotten Roper’s measure and found him a quart short. Who could blame her? If my job required me to wear an outfit that gave me a painful looking camel-toe, I’d be unimpressed by life as well. Not to mention having to touch individuals like Roper. Personally, I’d need a flea bath after touching such a rodent. And touch him I knew I’d have to. Retrieval jobs were never easy. In my experience, no thief ever likes giving up their ill-gotten goods and they always need some encouragement.
Most of the time my jobs were security work, retrievals, sometimes even an exorcism or two. Here, in the Outlands, maybe I’d be called a mercenary. Back home, in The Weald, I was called a Runner. My work brought me into contact with all sorts of scum and Arthur Roper was no exception. Back home, past the tollbooths that guarded the entryway into the hidden world of The Weald, Roper ran a couple of low-budget brothels. Roper wasn’t a nice pimp; I’d seen his handiwork on a couple of women’s faces and it was the kind of hurt that never healed quite right. But now, this predator was my prey, and I was damned good at what I did.
I read the dirty blonde’s lips as they worked around what looked like imaginative profanities, and wished there was sound in the cramped viewing room. The click of a latch sounded behind me and a noxious vapour of cheap perfume filled the room. A thick voice spoke. “I don’t need this trouble. I want him gone.”
Turning my head, I saw Norma, the owner of the brothel leaning against the closed door. Her faced was scrunched as tight as her steel-blue perm and she wore a lemon-yellow velour tracksuit. Like Roper, she was otherkin: a crossbreed of the mystic races. Norma was lucky that she could pass for human, magic and glamour spells didn’t work for long beyond The Weald. From the uneven shape of her ears and the slope of her nose, I guessed that after mostly human blood, she had some elf and maybe a sprinkling of hobgoblin thrown in.
