She sighed noisily and relaxed back into the seat a little. “With great reluctance.”
“So now I need to lay low, stay out of the way a while and preferably keep moving. And even though I think you’re perfectly safe, I don’t want to chance you being left alone.”
“Is this your nice, polite way of telling me I’m your hostage?”
He put both hands up and grimaced as pain ripped through his right arm. “No. You can walk away right now. If you decide you really want me gone. I’m outta here and you can go back to your life.”
“Finally you’ve read the market. That’s exactly what I want.”
“Are you sure? You see, I’m worried about you. It’s not just because you stood up to that ape. He could ID the Statesman, not that he’ll bother, and he’d have a hard time picking you without your uniform. It’s because you showed up this morning when you already knew I was trouble.”
She was looking out the front window at a brick wall, but she was riveted by what he was saying. “You’re a smart lady, a businesswoman, so I think to myself, why would she do that? Why would she want to drive little old arrest waiting to happen me around? The only reason I can come up with is because you need the money.” He might’ve imagined it, but he thought he heard her breath quicken.
“So the thing is, Driver, I think you’re already in some kind of trouble.” He watched her carefully. Without being able to see her face well, he had to rely on how her body reacted. “I think you owe money to someone you can’t pay. And I think you’ve been hiding out. But now they’ve found you.” She curled one hand in a fist; the other came up to grip the wheel, the veins on the back of her hand popping. Finally some progress on this deal. “By my reckoning, you and I have a good reason to partner up. I need to keep moving and you need protection.”
She’d dropped her head and yes, her breathing was unsteady. He’d scared her more with those words than with everything that came before them. He’d only been fishing, but he knew he’d caught her.
Head still down she said, “If I really needed protection why would I come to you?”
“Because I don’t care what trouble you’ve gotten yourself in. I won’t ask any awkward questions, and I have twenty-five G that says it’s a good idea.”
She looked over at him, wary as a cat.
“And you like my blue eyes.”
The light was fading and he’d have given up the contents of the cake tin to see her face properly, to work out just how much he’d scared her, and whether that’d been the right tactic. There wasn’t anything more he could say. If she wanted to be free and clear, he’d have to leave her here. He pulled the handle to release the door. He needed to get the cake tin, her voice stopped him.
“It’s a business deal. Half upfront. The rest when we get to Perth.”
He turned back to face her. “That’s right,” he said cautiously. This wasn’t in the bag yet, but it was looking doable.
“You get your own way back from Perth.”
“No problem.” He had no idea what would go down in Perth, but it was a sure bet he’d fly home.
“You pay all expenses.”
“Of course.”
“We keep it professional.”
“Strictly.”
She took her glasses off and lifted her head so he got his first look at enormous, anxious, navy blue eyes with orange flecks. “All right, you’ve got a deal.”
She held a hand out across the console. He took it and they shook, eyeing each other off. He still had one more condition he hadn’t laid on her. It could be a deal breaker.
“When do we start, Fetch?”
He grinned at her use of his adopted name. It didn’t sound quite so belittling coming from her mouth. He still didn’t know her name, but that could wait. He watched her face. With both lips and eyes to study he could read her better. He’d learned she was efficient, well-organised and level-headed. But she’d surprised him with her resilience. She’d had a rough afternoon, but despite her slender form, and her tendency to be reserved, even a little withdrawn, she was made of something sturdy and she hadn’t been intimidated. There was still time for that though.
“Right now. We leave right now.”
9: Naphthalene Dream
“You weasel.” Caitlyn gripped the steering wheel, a proxy for wanting to strangle the man. “You couldn’t have told me that before we shook?”
Fetch looked amused, if that’s what his expression meant. It was hard to tell through all the hair, but damn his laughing blue eyes. What did he think she was going to do, dump everything right now to go traipsing off without so much as packing a bag? Yep, look at him, that’s exactly what he expected. He was buckling his seatbelt.
“We’re not driving off tonight. You need medical attention and I have a life. For all you know I have a dog, kids, a husband to look after first.”
“You don’t have a husband or kids. Not sure about the dog.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I have a nose for these things. You just told me you didn’t.”
“I did no such thing, and just because I don’t have a ring, it doesn’t mean I’m not with someone.”
He sighed. “You mentioned the dog first. So am I wrong, do you have husband and two point five kids?”
It was incredibly tempting to lie. “No.” He was too smart for a delivery boy.
“Dog?”
“No.” He was also showing off a tightly muscled chest that really should be covered by more than blood splatter. He had an elaborate tattoo winding all around his good arm, a metal chain with roses and thorns twisted through it, and another over his chest that she could only see flashes of. She didn’t even want to be looking.
“Right then, like I said, we start now.”
“No we don’t. I have to go home, pack a bag, have a shower. You need to look after that arm.”
“My arm is fine. It’s stopped bleeding. And we buy everything we need.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is the all expenses paid part. I hand you money, you buy what you need for the trip.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘you’re not serious’, but she’d said that about pulling into McDonald’s and that’d left her eating pie in her car and agreeing to a deal that, on top of her previous crimes, probably made her more of a wanted criminal than the hairy beast beside her.
Good Lord. What had she done? But twenty-five grand and the chance to disappear in Perth, to start again with a very healthy amount of money in the bank and less reason to worry about Justin catching up with her—that was a stroke of brilliance. Exactly when she’d needed the inspiration. She looked across at Fetch, a lying, bleeding, bikie, scumbag, too old and too smart to be a messenger boy. Who’d have thought it would come from him?
And really, what was there to go home to—bad hot water and naphthalene dreams. She’d left everything she owned behind already. The few things she’d taken weren’t worth going back for. The only one who’d miss her was Neil and though he’d be annoyed she wasn’t available to drive for him, he’d deal with it. Two weeks off from bucks’ nights with just an open road. It felt like a holiday, an incredibly well paid holiday. So what the hell, if her delivery boy wanted to start tonight, she was up for it.
“All right.”
His brows jumped. He slapped the dashboard, mighty pleased with himself. “All right!”
“Do you care which hospital?”
“No hospital.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he gave her a stop sign hand. “It’s fine. You’ve got a first-aid kit?”
“Yes, but—”
“Trust me.”
Oh my God. He was a lunatic. A very calm, very commanding, certifiable madman. Maybe that accounted for why he didn’t feel pain, or blood loss. “I hope you have a plan that doesn’t include sleeping in the car tonight.”
He rubbed his hands together. “I always have a plan. Let’s get out of here.”
Caitlyn started the engine and manoeuvred out of the busy car park. Fetch had her drive, at the regulation speed, for about forty minutes to Wetherton and pull in to the Wetherton Court Motel. It was one of those brown brick two stars with pretension to three, but it had a well-maintained garden and she hoped that meant it was clean and serviceable. She didn’t think this was going to be a tour of luxury hotels, but she’d put her foot down if he tried anything less respectable than this. She might live in a dump by choice, but he didn’t know that. She was not doing camping sites and caravans. And they were not sleeping in the Statesman. Ever.
“I obviously get my own room.”
He grinned like he was on holiday too. “Obviously.”
“We have some rules to sort out.”
“I thought you might want that. Can we do it tomorrow? I really need a new shirt.”
He really did.
She parked the car. He put his vest back on, climbed out, and disappeared into the reception, came back with two keys and handed her one. “Next stop, late night shopping.”
He got back in the car and she found the shopping centre five minutes up the road. As she parked, he consulted his watch. “Meet you back here in, say, an hour?”
“Make it an hour and a half.” She could shop and eat in that time and then she wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him again before the morning.
He nodded and held out a roll of money. It could’ve been thousands of dollars. “That’s too much.”
He shrugged. “Get whatever you think you need. Bring me back the change.”
She must’ve looked dubious, because he said, “And receipts, bring me the receipts,” as if it made a difference to the legitimacy of it all.
At the entryway to the centre they parted. She didn’t see him leave. He was there one minute and nowhere in sight the next. She’d known he could be quiet. She’d seen he was fast on his feet today, but that thin air act—that was just plain spooky. And a huge relief. She felt like she could breathe properly again; like her shoulders weren’t wedged up under her ears.
She didn’t want Fetch to know he’d tossed her a rope ladder to a new life. She didn’t want Fetch to know anything about her. Bad enough he was a good guesser. Well, she wouldn’t be giving him any more information to go on from here. He was just her high paying passenger, her ticket to ride.
She found the food court and ordered grilled fish and chips. She should’ve got the vegetables but the chips called to her. Tomorrow before they got in the Statesman she’d lay down the ground rules. No more than seven hours of driving a day. A mandatory lunch stop and leg stretch. No more than four hours driving at any one stretch without a break. No driving at night. Definitely no overnight stays in the car. Appropriate accommodation was to be found. No eating in the car. Drinking: water, coffee, that was okay. No smoking, no loud music, no distracting the driver by not wearing a shirt. In fact, all clothing to stay firmly on at all times while in the vehicle. No more bleeding. No getting in the front seat. And he absolutely was not, at any stage, ever, to sit behind the wheel.
The route for the day was to be decided the night before. Fetch could determine the plan for the day, but she’d have final say. If she didn’t like it—it wasn’t on. Other than when driving together, or discussing the plan for the next day, there’d be no fraternising. The only meal they needed to eat together was lunch. And if talking could be kept to a minimum, that would be preferable.
She wanted twelve thousand five hundred dollars upfront, before they went anywhere. If he didn’t like any of the rules then she’d get in the Statesman alone and drive away.
When they called her number she went and collected her meal. What the hell was she thinking? There was no way this man was going to hand her twelve thousand five hundred dollars tomorrow morning. And if he did, and she took it, she was as culpable in whatever this was as he was.
She ate the fish, tasteless even doused in lemon, and the chips were soggy. Served her right for weakening for them. She made a shopping list. She needed clothing, shoes and more toiletries, and something to carry them in. This was a small shopping centre, she didn’t think she’d have much luck getting another pair of tailored trousers, and she couldn’t wear the ones she had on for two weeks. She could dress down a little, some jeans, a cap instead of her hat. It’s not like he was going to care. He wasn’t exactly on anyone’s best-dressed list. Luckily her gym bag was in the boot with her running gear, and some other stuff she toted around to keep safe.
She should go to the supermarket, the chemist. She should palm her keys, go back to the car park, get in the Statesman, drive home and forget she’d ever been stupid enough to consider this.
This wasn’t the dumbest thing she’d ever done. She could toss up for the dumbest; staying with Justin so long, or the way she left him. But it was fingernail on fingertip close.
That’s what she’d do. Leave now. She could go back via the motel and leave his cake tin with reception. He’d be annoyed, but what could he do about it. She’d be reneging on a deal, on a handshake, but it wasn’t like he was the kind of man you could trust anyway. He was the opposite of a man you could trust, and unlike with Justin, it was obvious he was hiding something, lots of things. She put her hand in her bag and ferreted for her keys. She stood up, she could hear them but not see them. She peered into the bag and then jumped like a spooked cat when he spoke.
“Glad I caught you. Here.” He was standing in front of her, still looking like a bloody wreck, holding out an envelope. Did he have a cloak of invisibility? Was he a stealth weapon? The food court was half empty, how did he get here without her seeing him?
“What’s that?” She looked at the envelope suspiciously. It couldn’t be.
“Deposit. I wanted you to have it before we started out. We can stop at your bank tomorrow.”
“There’s…” she didn’t want to say it out loud.
“Yes. Like we agreed. It’s all there. You can count it,” he looked about, “but maybe not here. The hotel has a safe if you want to keep it there overnight.”
“Where did you…” She sat back down. “Never mind.” He wouldn’t tell her where he got it from, and she didn’t want to know, though a cake tin would be good bet.
He stood there looking at her. He was still wearing his leather vest, his t-shirt tied around his arm, but he’d cleaned up some; his hands and chest weren’t bloody. He shook the envelope. “Are you going to take it?”
She looked up at his face, into those rich blue eyes.
“It’ll be fun.”
“It won’t be fun for me. It’s work.”
“Right.” He shook the envelope again. “You should take the money.”
It was just work. And a good chance at greater safety. One she’d been too short-sighted to take before. But if she took the money now, she couldn’t go through this torturing herself about the right and wrong of it every day for the next two weeks. If she took the money, she had to suck up the guilt, throttle it down and swallow it whole. That’s something she should be used to anyway. She knew the taste of guilt. It tasted oddly the same as freedom.
She held out her hand and he put the envelope in it. It felt like security.
10: Bolt
Caitlyn was determined to beat Fetch back to the car. But there he was, leaning on the boot waiting for her. He had a new grey t-shirt on under the vest, but there was dried blood splattered down the leg of his jeans that didn’t look like it would ever wash out. She wondered if your average suburban mall could suitably outfit a Black Pariah in new bikie scunge. He was surrounded by store bags: Athlete’s Foot, Lowes, Chemist Warehouse, a hardware store—she didn’t want to think about what he’d bought there—and Target, where she’d thankfully managed to avoid him; because running into Fetch with an armload of underwear was up there with embarrassing moments that could scar you for life.
He reached out to take her bags, but she stepped aside. She could manage without his help. He should know that fr
om the beginning. She popped the boot and he stood back while she dumped her bags in, and followed with his. When he closed the lid, she had the back door held open for him. He gave her a flash of those amused eyes and climbed in. She got in the driver’s seat and went for her belt. His phone was ringing. He put it to his ear but said nothing. He was back out of the car before she had a chance to click her belt in place.
Now he was talking, she could hear him through the open back door. She should get out and close it, but he was standing right there. “Wasn’ me. I didn’t do it.” He sounded whiney and thickheaded. He was talking to someone called Wacker and alternatively complaining and pleading. His voice sounded rougher, he was less articulate. He dropped his letters and stumbled over words. He said, “N-n-no. No. I didn’t, didn’t do it. It was done before I got there. I ain’t comin’ back. I don’t got the money. Red took it all.”
Caitlyn was mesmerised. She should’ve turned the radio on to block the sound of him out, but the sight of him stalled her. He’d wandered a little way into the next empty car space. Even his posture was different. He was hunched over; he looked smaller, shorter, more volatile. A man who’d hit you as easily as he looked at you. He was a different man to the cool-headed pseudo-gentleman she’d had riding in her car. The man she watched, almost cowering while he was on the phone, did look like someone’s scared to death messenger boy.
She turned the radio on. She didn’t know anything about Fetch and she didn’t want to—except he’d missed his true calling. He should’ve been an actor, because his performance was outstanding.
But when he got back in the car and said, “Sorry about that. Let’s get out of here,” and didn’t drop a letter or stutter, or look about furtively as though he thought someone might pounce on him any moment, she understood his routine.
He was an undercover cop.
She’d had the notion fleetingly when he’d been so knowledgeable about phone number blocking. It’d been a rogue thought then, now it was a fully-grown brainstorm. It fitted. His inability to explain himself—the whole ‘it’s complicated’ thing. His insistence on being a good guy. His want to protect her from unspecified danger. His complete composure in the face of being hurt, and the way he managed her own rising panic when they were under threat.
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