Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  ‘Unknown Caller’.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “All—”

  “Don’t keep saying my name,” she snapped.

  “Alleg-ra!”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth, smothering a cry, a band of pressure tightening around her head as the voice broke.

  “Give me the phone.” She started violently as a hand came down on her shoulder as Luke plucked the phone from her grasp. She hadn’t heard him come in.

  “Who is this?” he barked into the phone.

  The nuisance caller must have disconnected immediately, because she could hear Luke going through the phone at lightning speed, but he kept one hand planted on her shoulder, anchoring her, fingers warm on her bare skin.

  “Settle down.” He was right behind her, his voice calm and reassuring.

  Reaching up, she grasped his hand, thankful when his fingers closed around hers.

  “I’m here, and I’m not an easy person to get past.”

  His words calmed her, damping down her sense of panic. “I believe it.”

  Reluctantly she lowered her hand and turned to face him. It would be so easy to step forward, to rest her head on his shoulder in the hope his arms would come around her. But she couldn’t do it. She’d rebuked him that night and it would make her the worst form of hypocrite.

  He held up the phone. “I need to call Tom. Sit down and kick back for a minute.”

  She did as he suggested, perching on the lounge, listening, stunned, while he gave instructions to Tom to hack into the service providers and see if he could trace the call to her number. The whole conversation lasted less than a minute, then he pocketed her phone and went over to the table.

  “He’s here, watching.” He unfastened the leather holster, took out his gun. “He rang when I was outside.”

  A sudden burst of energy propelled Allegra to her feet. “What are you doing?”

  He released the safety catch and moved past her. “I’m going after him.”

  Luke!” She grabbed his free arm, jerking him to a stop. She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll come with you.”

  His eyes burned into her, then silently, and deliberately, he took her hand from his arm. “Don’t move.”

  She swallowed. Here was the SAS Commander she’d read about in his tender document. A man forged from the same steel as her father and brother. A man not used to being argued with. A man they would have approved of.

  The type you swore never to get involved with.

  He grabbed hold of Astro’s leash, which he must have dropped when he came in. “Hold onto the dog and put the chain on the door.”

  Throat tightening, Allegra took the leash and slipped it over her wrist, only moving into the hallway and sliding the chain into position when she heard the door close behind him. Then she hurried to the French doors, Astro trotting at her side.

  Opening the curtain a crack, she looked out onto the quiet street lined with jacaranda trees. After a while, Luke came into view, holding the Maglite. He cut an intimidating figure, striding up and down in front of the building and checking every parked car. He even shone the high powered torch towards the half constructed house across the street.

  Then he turned and stared up at the apartment building, before walking down the driveway and disappearing from her line of sight, presumably to check the rear of the property.

  Muscles taut with tension, Allegra straightened the curtain, and with Astro still on the leash, hurried back to the front door to wait for Luke’s return.

  Maybe he was wrong, she thought, pressing her eye to the peephole. What actual proof did he have that the caller was outside, watching, and not ringing from a public phone booth miles away at some railway station?

  And then something beeped—and the lights went out.

  Allegra backed away from the door, staring at the darkness, throat constricting with a sudden alarm that had nothing to do with her own safety.

  He has a gun, and a Maglite torch, a weapon in itself.

  Dread lodged like a stone in the back of her throat as she felt her way along the wall, following the white glow of Astro’s fur until she was back in the living room. This room was better lit than the hallway, and she dropped Astro’s lead and ran her fingers behind the cushions of the lounge, searching for the free weight. When cold, hard steel touched her fingertips, she grasped it like a lifeline and moved to the French doors for the second time that night.

  She pulled aside the curtain, heart sinking as streetlights blazed, and across the road, in the house next to the partially constructed mansion, light shone from behind the plantation shutters.

  Neither of them had anticipated the power being cut, and she stood there, frozen, torn between racing outside and searching for Luke, or staying put as he’d instructed. He’d taken her phone, presumably in case the stalker called again, so ringing him wasn’t an option.

  She was still standing there two minutes later when the power came back on. Coaxing her wooden legs to move, she hurried down the hallway and pressed an eye to the peephole. Moments later, relief flooded through her as Luke appeared at the top of the stairs and tapped on the door.

  “Ally, open up.”

  For one overwhelming second Allegra felt like bursting into tears. But giving in to her emotions wouldn’t get Luke back inside the apartment, and she could already hear him putting his key into the lock.

  She reached up and took the chain off its catch. One second later he was inside, filling the hallway and locking the door behind him.

  “Everything okay?” He turned around, eyes moving from her face to the weight in her hand and back again.

  Allegra’s mouth trembled and it was all she could do to stop her teeth from chattering. He looked so damn capable, so larger than life that her relief turned to a livid anger. Reaching up with her free hand she pushed him hard in the chest.

  “What do you think? Some creep calls, you leave and then there’s a blackout. You fucking scared the living daylights out of me. I thought you were lying out there dead somewhere.”

  Completely on the verge of losing it, she turned away, clapped a hand to her head and winced, eyes watering as she accidentally hit the lump on her forehead. “Shit.”

  He didn’t say anything as she went and sat on the couch, just took the weight from her hand and laid it on the table next to the Maglite and gun. Then he unhooked Astro from the leash.

  The little dog came over and sat on her feet, and Allegra closed her eyes, still too freaked out to enquire what had happened out there. It was enough that he was here.

  She heard him go into the kitchen and rummage around in a drawer, and when he came back into the room he sat beside her. She felt him press a glass into her hand, and when she opened her eyes he was holding a bottle of bourbon.

  “I don’t drink bourbon.”

  “Good time to start.” Eyes watchful, he poured a shot into her glass and an equal measure into his own. Sliding the bottle onto the coffee table, he clinked his glass to hers and threw back the shot, wiping a hand across the back of his mouth and nodding at her glass.

  “Hit it up, counsellor.”

  Allegra didn’t hesitate, just threw back the shot and swallowed in one go, needing something, anything to stop the damn quaking. Bourbon seemed as good an idea as any.

  Until she tasted it.

  Fiery hot liquid took her breath and burned all the way down her oesophagus. She gasped, grimaced, eyes streaming as she swiped a hand across her mouth.

  “Yuk! I hate bourbon.” Yet she could feel its effects straight way, probably because she never drank anything stronger than white wine and champagne.

  He grinned and refilled both their glasses. “Hit it up again, counsellor. You’ve got some damn fine spirits in that drinks cabinet of yours.”

  She stared down at the liquid, swirling the contents of the glass. “Clients give it to me for Christmas. I never drink it.”

  He sho
ok his head and threw back another shot, and she followed suit, and this time it wasn’t nearly as bad. Even better, the shaking had stopped, replaced by a gentle lethargy that warmed her body, seeping through her bones and taking away her fear.

  “Better?” He screwed the top back on the bottle.

  “Luke—?”

  “No need, counsellor.” He got to his feet and carried the bottle and glasses into the kitchen.

  “Tell me,” she said as he came back into the living room. “I looked out the window. The rest of the area had power.”

  “Someone flicked the switch in the meter box, probably the prowler from the garage yesterday. Dark hoodie, dark pants, obscured face. He was gone when I got there, but I caught him on the back camera. I’d say it’s your phantom caller. What did he say by the way?”

  Allegra shuddered. “Just my name, over and over. It was distorted somehow.”

  “Any background noise?”

  “No, just his voice.”

  She wanted to ask if he still thought it was the bikies, but she refrained, knowing he wouldn’t rule anything out.

  “Come on,” he said suddenly, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet, “you look done in. You need to go to bed.”

  Heat skittered along Allegra’s veins, desire burning low in her body as his words conjured up all kinds of carnal images. Right now, sleep was the last thing on her mind. She was alive! He was alive! Bring on more bourbon!

  She swayed.

  “Whoa.” He grabbed her shoulders, laughing, holding her steady. “You’re a bit of a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, counsellor.”

  “Well it’s not much fun drinking alone.” To her embarrassment her voice dropped to a whisper. “I apologise for losing it when you came in. It’s just—I’m cursed that way.”

  “What way?” He frowned, looking totally clueless. Hell, the alcohol was messing with her mind, and she wasn’t sure what she was trying to say either.

  “It’s the story of my life.” She stared at the dark stubble on his chin, remembering the feel of it against her cheek. “Without fail, every goddamn man I ever cared about ended up dead.”

  “I see.” His eyes studied her face, and Allegra caught her breath as he slid one hand under her hair and stroked her cheek with the soft pad of his thumb. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s worried about my safety.”

  Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to her forehead and she closed her eyes, heart ballooning in her chest.

  It’s a real kiss this time.

  But he pulled back and turned her towards the bedroom. “I should get an Order of Australia for this,” she heard him mutter. “Now go to bed, counsellor, before you do something you regret.”

  Chapter Seven

  At eight am the next morning, Luke stepped into the George Street office of ‘On Your Bike Couriers’, the monorail humming overhead carrying tourists from the city to Darling Harbour.

  A balding, middle aged man wearing a harassed expression looked up from behind the counter. Further back, a girl sat answering the telephone and working the two way radio.

  “G’day mate. What can I do for you?”

  “Luke Neilson, Neilson’s Security.” He slid a business card across the counter. “I’m working a case that involves a package sent to the Supreme Court, Criminal Division yesterday. I understand the courier worked for this company. I need to speak to him.”

  “Yeah?” The slightly built man reclined in the chair, gesturing for the girl to lower the radio volume.

  Luke extracted his wallet, flicking it open to reveal his investigator’s licence. “I have an Authority signed by my client asking you to release any information which might pertain to the case, to me.” He produced the sheet. “You can phone her if you need verbal approval.”

  The guy studied the signed Authority. “I’ll run a search on her name.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  “I’ll photocopy this too.”

  As he turned away, Luke scanned the gallery of photographs hanging on the wall, searching for the courier who matched the clerk’s description.

  “Righto.” The guy handed him back the original and sat down at his computer.

  A while later he looked up. “Nothing delivered to an Allegra Greenwood from this office.”

  It was hardly news to Luke. He pointed to a photograph on the wall. “What’s this guy’s name?” It matched the clerk’s description of a tall, lanky red haired guy with pale skin.

  “He’s a pecker.”

  “A what?”

  “A pecker, a newbie. A Scottish backpacker…Grant McGregor.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  The guy swung around and spoke to the girl. “Hey, where’s McGregor at?”

  The girl stared at her screen. “In transit to Kent Street.”

  The guy turned to Luke again. “If McGregor delivered it, he probably hawked the job on the street. It happens all the time. Nothin’ we can do about it.”

  “You got a mobile number?”

  This time the guy gave an adamant shake of his head. “Sorry, we can’t hand out that kind of personal information.”

  The girl gave Luke a friendly smile. “The boys usually gather down at Farrer Place in between jobs. It’s central, near the Department of Education building and a government office tower. You’ll find him down there at some point.”

  Luke returned the smile. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  The bicycle couriers sat on the edge of the garden bed, messenger bags slung diagonally across their chests. They ate fast food and drank from water bottles, phones within easy reach.

  From his position across the plaza, Luke watched as McGregor rounded the corner with speed and pulled up next the others.

  Hell on wheels for the city’s pedestrians.

  Luke tossed his coffee cup into a bin and made his way over to the Lycra-clad cyclists. “Morning fellas.”

  The group looked up as he joined them.

  He pointed to McGregor. “Can I have a word mate, about a job?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Bingo. Scottish Accent.

  The courier jumped to his feet, his look of anticipation confirming Luke’s suspicions. The guy thought he’d scored another cash job.

  “In private.” Luke took him aside, aware some members of the group were watching.

  “McGregor, you delivered a package to a Ms. Allegra Greenwood at the Supreme Court Criminal Division yesterday?”

  The courier’s expression changed from expectant to wary. “Er, I don’t think so. How do you know my name? Are you a cop?”

  Luke shook his head. “Look buddy.” He let his voice sink to a low drawl. “You’re not in any trouble, but my client is.”

  He pulled out a business card and shoved it at the courier. “I’m investigating a personal problem for Ms. Greenwood. The package you delivered forms an integral part of my case. I need to find the guy who gave it to you.”

  “Ah man.” McGregor looked around, uneasy with the situation. “I’ve got work to do. Time’s money you know.”

  Luke withdrew a hundred dollar bill from his wallet. “I’m buying your time.”

  McGregor pocketed the money, looking around again, but the others had lost interest. He looked at the ground. “Yeah, I remember the job.”

  “And doesn’t money talk? Where did you pick up the package?”

  “Bottom end of Pitt Street, near the Basement nightclub. I’d just made a delivery when the guy stopped me in the street.”

  Luke’s heart rate increased, a rush of adrenaline surging through his system. He could almost smell the guy. “Tell me everything.”

  McGregor unclipped his bike helmet and ran a hand through his longish hair. “He needed something taken to the Court. Said it was a surprise. That’s not unusual. He, well, he gave me the impression she was his girlfriend, or his wife.”

  Luke’s stomach recoiled. “How old?”

  “Forty, forty five maybe.�
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  “What’d he look like?” Luke damped down his impatience. “Think McGregor. A woman’s well-being’s at stake here.”

  “No shit.” McGregor’s eyes widened. “I had no idea man. I went to the Court House and gave it to the clerk. He said he’d make sure she got it. That’s it.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Medium height, about five ten I’d say, around eighty kilos, normal kind of face …”

  “Thin, chubby, round, square, rock jaw? Details McGregor.”

  “Round.” The courier wiped the sweat off his brow. “No definition. Pale skin. I couldn’t see his hair colour, he wore a cap.”

  “What kind?”

  “The Australia ones, you know, the kind every souvenir shop sells.”

  “The green and gold ones?”

  The courier swallowed, unnerved at the rapid fire questions. “Yeah, with the kangaroo on the side and ‘Australia’ on the brim.

  “A tourist?”

  “Yeah, and he wore sunglasses.”

  “Clothes?”

  “Jeans I think, or trousers, joggers and a colourless shirt with a collar.”

  “What about his voice?”

  “Umm,”

  “Come on man think. Accent?”

  “Australian.”

  Maybe not a tourist after all. “Pitch?”

  “Normal. Look, there was nothing unusual about the dude. He looked like your average punter.”

  “Except he was dressed more like a tourist than say—an office worker?”

  McGregor nodded. “For sure.”

  Luke slapped the courier on the shoulder. “You see this guy again, or remember anything else you ring me, okay? And ask around. Find out if any of the other guys delivered a package to her at her workplace at Grace & Poole, Lawyers. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll spread the word, for sure.” McGregor ran his hands down his thighs, clearly relieved the interrogation was over.

  Luke pointed to the business card still clutched in the courier’s hand. “Ring my office and ask for Natalie Slater. She’ll make an appointment for you.”

  McGregor’s eyes widened. “What for?”