Only because she was watching did she see his nod, a quick, tight bounce of his chin, a flicker in the muscles around his mouth. She sat back around in her seat. A least he believed that. But there was nothing she could say in her own defence about why she lied or how she’d trashed his feelings. It made her stomach clench and no amount of bottled water washed the bad taste of it out of her mouth.
Sean picked a motel on the outskirts of the town and checked them in while she waited by the car. He handed her a key. “You’re in ten. I’m in eleven. There’s a connecting door. You’re to leave it unlocked.”
“I—”
“Don’t worry I won’t come in unless you scream. Try not to have a nightmare.” He went to the boot and pulled out their bags.
“Is all this really necessary?” Her first full sentence in hours and it wasn’t what she’d meant to say. She came across like a low rent diva stamping her foot over a broken fingernail. If the shuffle at the airport hadn’t convinced her she was in danger, the way Sean had driven out of the city would’ve clinched it. He’d driven like he thought they might be followed.
“Why don’t you tell me? Your fiancé is in business with the country’s most well organised, most ruthless and lawyered-up crime gang and you stole nearly half a million dollars from him.”
He put her bag down at her feet. He still had his sunglasses on but she didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was holding tight to his aggression. If the other side of love was hate, he was the flipped coin, and there was no split result like in a game of two-up to allow for an alternative outcome. And every nasty thought he had about her, she deserved in triplicate.
“Why did you volunteer to escort me, guard me, whatever this is?”
“I didn’t. I’m following orders. So are you. Don’t open your door till I knock in the morning. I’ll bring you meals. We leave at 8am.”
She picked up her bag. Stud said he hadn’t ordered Sean to do this, but maybe someone else in the chain of command had. Sean watched her open her door. He was still watching when she shut it. She dumped her bag and leaned against the door, then jumped when he said, “Lock it and use the chain.” When she didn’t, he barked. “Now.”
She flicked the latch and put the chain in place. She heard him enter his room. She went to the connecting door and checked the lock. She could hear him on the other side doing the same thing. She flattened her hand on the plywood. If she screamed now he’d open the door and he’d be on top of her in a second. She felt like screaming till her voice cracked, till her throat was raw and her lungs gave out. Instead she stifled a sob, and another and another until she was choking on them.
She ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She would have gotten under the water fully dressed but for Tracy’s boots. She sat on the toilet seat to pull them off. Her feet were sore, her calves stiff. She should’ve changed into her own shoes, but she’d not thought about it earlier and had been too proud to ask Sean to pull over so she could get to her bag in the boot. She stripped and got under the water, sitting to let it flow over her. It thundered down on her back and shoulders, it rinsed away the stench of the longest day of her life, and it masked the sound of her sobbing so Sean would never need to know how scared she was.
38: Mongrel
A sob was not the same as a scream.
But fuuck it hit him the same way. Made his internal organs seize up. Sean put both palms against the door and leaned his weight into it. He was not opening that door for a sob. He’d made it clear the door only opened for meal delivery and dire threat. And since he’d lay money in the fact she wouldn’t bother eating, and the ruse at the airport had done the trick of allowing them a clean escape from Perth, that door wasn’t opening.
So why was his hand on the latch?
She was standing right on the other side, right against the door; he could hear her trying not to break down. Well, probably what she needed was a good cry. She’d been so strong through all of last night and today, holding it together, not cracking up. So the fact that her trying not to cry felt like course sandpaper being rubbed all over his body was something he had to deal with, like how angry he was with her, with Stud, with Justin Cumberland, with Wacker and himself. Mostly himself. Shit.
He should never have allowed her to become bait. Bait when she drove for him in Sydney, then again last night, and bait now with the ever present reality of a gang member taking a shot at her because she knew things they’d want buried.
When he heard shower water running, he pushed off the door, went to the window and peered into the motel car park and the well-lit street beyond. All quiet. Thank Christ. The follow car, a Land Cruiser, was parked next to the Statesman. Tracy’s partner David Stolly would be on first watch. He still wasn’t sure about this idea of driving back. It was unexpected, for all the same reasons he’d chosen that way of getting out of Sydney after the stand-off at Milo Newberry’s house. But it was still a risk. Even though they’d have a follow car the whole way; a different team, co-ordinated by Stud, meeting them at various locations.
He probably should’ve let David or one of the others drive Cait. That would’ve been smart, might’ve been a more pleasant experience for her especially since he was intent on being such a shithead. Stud had suggested that, but he’d shut him down. He’d started this thing with Cait; he’d finish it. He didn’t trust protecting her to anyone else.
There was no sparing the irony of that. Now she was the one on the run and he was setting the rules. She was desperate for a kind word, a taste of normal, and he was putting up the barricades.
That would be the reason she was in the room next door, anxious, frightened and friendless, probably bawling her eyes out in the shower, and he was here, burning up with righteous indignation. If he wasn’t on duty, he’d be drunk. So totalled he couldn’t see straight.
Who was he kidding, he couldn’t see straight now.
All he could see was how he’d screwed this up. He’d known from the moment she agreed to his road trip it was more than greed, the simple cash economy of the opportunity that locked her in step with him. He knew she was running from something, but he’d been too complaisant, too wrapped up in his own issues: getting made, getting set-up, getting sacked, he hadn’t looked past the idea of a bad relationship break up and some creative but low level stalking. When she confessed to using the road trip as an excuse to move states it’d helped solidify that view. But finding the gun, then knowing her bank account had been hacked, he should’ve paid more attention. He’d been too stupidly love struck, leading with his dick instead of being smart about things. All that did was put her in danger.
What the fuck was he supposed to have done? He’d been so there for her and still she’d lied, shut him out. He was the one person she’d run into since she’d run out on Justin who could’ve helped her, yet she’d chosen to freeze him out.
It wasn’t simply a timing issue. He’d heard what she said about wanting to tell him in Kalgoorlie, about wanting to tell him the night they’d arrived in Perth before everything went mad. He just wasn’t sure he believed it.
Jesus, he needed a drink.
That story about her old man, hell that would’ve screwed up her childhood, fucked with her ability to trust anyone. Stud was looking into it. The timing of it was about right to fit with police corruption scandals that rocked the whole NSW force back then. What Justin did to her, given her history, must have ripped her to pieces. But she could’ve told him about the blonde being a cop. Detective Carolyn Martin was likely being questioned now. Assuming she was dumb enough not to have skipped the country. Cait should’ve told him so much she kept secret. Why the fuck had she done that?
And what was her deal giving money to Victims of Crime? Stud had let that drop but it seemed pretty obvious what she was trying to do was wash the money she’d stolen bit by bit through a charity set up to support the families of violent crime.
Christ. It tore him up to think about what her life before he’d jumped in
her car had been like. Shock, crippling hurt, fear, and the lonely work of trying to hide herself and her crime because she thought she’d been abandoned by anyone who could protect her. Then he’d come along and abandoned her too.
Abandoned her—he’d dressed her up as dinner and thrown her to the wolves.
She could so easily have been shot and killed out there in the park. She’d been so brave, when she could’ve been hysterical. He’d been the hysterical one. He could easily have killed Justin, if the shooting hadn’t started, if only for the way Cait’s face showed every fear she’d ever known. The guy was lucky it had. He’d had to use Justin as a shield so the killing didn’t visit Fetch instead, and that’d proved how important old Jussy was to Wacker’s plans.
Justin would be nursing more than a sore face after last night and Wacker would be calling a war council and his infamous legal team would already be on the clock. The whole sting would be characterised as entrapment. Stud was going to have to make a call on how they responded next. Used the information they already had to break the clubs up or continuing to go after the cyber crime expert, one Justin Cumberland.
Sean quit the window and sat on the end of the bed with the room service menu in his hands. He had a stunning headache. He’d snatched some sleep on a cot at the station, but had skipped lunch and his face ached where he’d caught a punch and a headbutt from Grumble before he could get away.
At least this meant he was out. No more Fetch. Not ever. Fetch died in the Bold Park showdown, despite coming out of the fray unscathed. Now, if he played any role in bringing down the gang it would be on the sidelines. He didn’t feel unhappy about that.
This trip had changed him. Cait had changed him. Shown him how precious normal could be. Not that they’d had run of the mill, eggs on toast, put the garbage out on Sunday nights, you never change the toilet roll, normal; but he’d glimpsed it, riding on the horizon, just near a vivid orange sunset.
But that made him a bigger fool than not seeing through her lies, because she had no intention of giving that sunset together that wished for suburban home with the picket fence or romantic tropical island holiday a chance. Sure as he knew anything, he’d known she was getting ready to scarper on him. He’d have finished his undercover stint only to have faced the mystery of where she’d disappeared to.
But at least then she’d most likely have been safe. She’d have relocated, started working again and continued to make her regular payments to VOC in her own version of reparation and twisted justice.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing as his thumb grazed the bruise on his cheekbone. There was nothing on the menu he wanted. What he wanted was rum or bourbon or vodka, something to take him out of his head for a night. Help him forget he should’ve tried harder with her, been different with her, so she trusted him enough to let him in, let him help her. What he wanted was something to help him forget she’d decided he wasn’t worth it.
He dumped the menu on the bed and went back to the connecting door. There was light shining underneath it. There was only dumb pride stopping him knocking on that door, then opening it and going through to ask her what she’d like to eat, to ask her if she was okay. To look in her eyes and know if she was. But then that was the problem—he’d thought he knew her, how to read her looks and moods, but in all the ways that counted he’d gotten that wrong. Fuck.
He knocked, called out to ask her what she wanted to eat. She came to the door and said she wasn’t hungry. He could appreciate that. He went to the phone and ordered a burger. Thought about ringing back and ordering Cait one as well. But then the light under the door went out and so did his incentive to try feeding her. He took a shower. He ate the burger when it arrived and flicked around the channels on the TV. He kept the sound low in case it bled through to her room. Nothing caught his attention. It kept wandering to the mirror image room next door. She’d be curled up in there exhausted and anxious while he was in here frustrated and restless.
Get used to it, mate. This is what you signed up for. Days of keeping her safe both from anyone who thought about hurting her, and your own warped desire to shake her to death and hug her to back to life.
He checked the window twice more before he tried to sleep and then it was stop-start till sunlight filtered in through the curtains. The further they got from Perth the better he’d feel about not being ambushed. Stud’s text indicated Wacker was still in the city and it made sense he’d stay to bail Johno and Grumble; still, it hadn’t make for a restful night.
He called room service and ordered them both breakfast. He had to sweet talk the kitchen staff because he’d forgotten to fill out one of those door hang things. When it arrived he knocked on the connecting door. He wouldn’t go in—he’d hand her the tray. When she didn’t answer he listened to see if she was under the shower again. Nope. Which meant she was ignoring him. He wrapped the toast in a serviette and packed the yoghurt and the apple with a teaspoon he stole. He didn’t want her passing out on him.
He checked out and packed the car before he knocked for her. The follow car team was ready to pull out a discreet distance behind them and then scout ahead. No answer. Now he was getting pissed off. He checked his watch. He’d said eight and it was only seven forty-five, so maybe she was deliberately making him wait. He cooled his heels another couple of minute before it dawned on him, he was angry with her, not the other way around. Why would she ignore him? Then he panicked. But before he could do anything with the flood of aggression David was tapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve got her.”
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“Look, she’s here.”
He followed David’s eye line. Cait was coming along the street front at a furious pace, running like she wanted to forget she was human.
He turned on David, furious. “You didn’t have her.”
“We did. Look.”
He swung back around and on the other side of the street clocked another runner. Obviously one of their crew.
“She nearly got away on us. You could’ve told us she ran, Sean.”
“I told her not to leave the room.” He’d be telling her a whole lot more than that. He broke away from David as she approached.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Her steps faltered and she stopped well back from him. She glanced at her watch. “I only need five minutes to shower. I’m not late. I won’t hold us up.”
“I told you not to leave the room. Do you have any idea how stupid what you just did was? We had this discussion. But since you still don’t seem to get it, let me spell it out to you in terms you can understand. You fucked with some very dangerous people. They will want to fuck with you. I can’t keep you safe—not even with help,” he gestured to the Land Cruiser, “if you don’t do exactly what I tell you.” The colour left her cheeks. He hoped he was scaring her, but he didn’t like how it made him feel—like shit. He didn’t like how he’d felt unplugged from the earth when he thought she was gone either. He ran his hand through his hair. “Christ, Cait, you can’t go off on your own.”
He couldn’t keep yelling at her in the middle of the car park. He turned his back on her and walked across to the Land Cruiser. He hadn’t intended to tell her they had an escort. He figured she’d been freaked out enough already. Obviously not if she thought it was no issue to ignore him and go wandering off. That wasn’t happening again and to make it clear he’d enforce it. He gave David’s team very fucking clear instructions and to punctuate his point they all heard the low down dirty, throaty rumble of a Harley. The rider was a grey nomad joyriding his grandkid. The collective out-breath when it passed was audible. Still it was enough to have Sean take a bite out of his own heart.
When Cait came out of her room he was waiting in the car. She was right on time, wet hair and eyes that wouldn’t meet his. She’d reverted to those crappy clothes she’d bought at Target, the shapeless jeans and baggy tee. He’d done that to her; made her retreat from him in every wa
y possible, right down to her choice of outfit. But if it made her listen to him and kept her safe it was worth it.
Then she opened the back door and got in and he swallowed that piece of heart. Not only had he frightened her and made her pull back inside herself, he’d done it deliberately, because he wanted to punish her for breaking something in him.
He didn’t trust himself to speak because there was no way his anger wasn’t going to come romping through. It was better to just drive. But then he remembered her breakfast.
“Cait.”
Her eyes came up, met his in the rear view. Her brow was pinched with tension.
“I saved you some breakfast.” He scooped up the yoghurt and spoon and held it out so she could reach between the seats and take it. “There’s cold toast and an apple too. We can stop on the other side of town and get you a coffee.”
When she didn’t reach for the yoghurt he waggled it. “You have to eat.” She still didn’t take it. He risked a quick look behind him. She was huddled into the seat, arms folded, eyes down. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”
“No, you’re not.”
He checked the mirror. Annoyed eyes looked back. He was sorry, but he could see why a simple apology might not cut it.
“You enjoyed that thoroughly. But it’s okay. I’ve got the message now. I won’t make your job any harder for you than it has to be. I knew about the other car. I figured they’d shadow me. I thought that’s what they were there for. I’ll defer to you for all instructions on how I should behave until we get to Sydney.”
Sean wasn’t sure what disturbed him more about what she said. That she’d picked up on the existence of the follow car, or the hard-edged sarcasm in her tone when she talked about deferring to him. Well, fuck. This was his show and she would need to defer to him. If she’d done that earlier and not fronted at Bold Park things would be different now. She’d be free and he’d be one step closer to bringing Wacker and the Pariah network down instead of worrying about being tracked by them.
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