by Jaye Ford
And up a fucking hill.
If she stopped, she might not be able to start again, so she didn’t even pause. Just slowed her pace for the incline, keeping close to the scrub as she forced herself forward. The barn was about twenty metres up, another ten in from the tree line, the rutted track approaching it from the other side. The slope felt like Everest.
Lungs heaving, pain slicing her ribs, she dropped to a walk as she reached the building, remembering Hugh’s excuse of making a stop. He’d lied about letting her go, about going to Sydney, probably about the stop, too, but she wasn’t taking any chances. If someone was waiting, she didn’t want to be caught out.
There were no windows or doors on the sides she could see, no car at the rear. She checked down the hill. Hugh hadn’t reached the paddock yet. Maybe his injuries had pulled him up. Maybe he’d ducked into the trees and was approaching out of sight.
She eyed the bush for a moment, took a couple of deep, painful breaths, and ran for the corner of the barn.
The sun was in the west, casting a solid block of dark shadow on the barn’s high side, and it was cooler there after the full force of the afternoon blaze. Smooth greying timber ran in long horizontal lines, the earth at its base more rubble than grass, as though the spot was used as a parking pad. She pulled the phone from her pocket.
‘Jax, talk to me.’ Aiden’s words were hard-edged but she heard the relief in them, glad he didn’t waste time with it.
Eyes searching the trees, she spoke quickly, quietly between gasps for air. ‘I’m in a paddock. Cuts into the bush. Road runs right past. There’s a shed. I’m behind it.’
‘Hold on.’ Her legs trembled as she listened to muffled words, a muffled siren. ‘Okay. The chopper’s almost there. Stay where you are.’
‘Can’t promise that. Hugh was behind me. I can’t see him now.’
‘Then stay out of sight. I’ll find you.’
She hoped to God he did before Hugh. Her head snapped to the right. Something moved in the bush. ‘Don’t take too long.’
She hung up, stuffed the phone away, moved along the side of the shed, keeping her eyes on the bush. The barn cut her view of the downward slope but she wanted the doorway. She needed a weapon.
One almost tripped her up before she got to the front. It wasn’t a rifle and a box of bullets, nothing as helpful as that. A shovel lay on the ground as though it had been propped against the wall and toppled over, maybe forgotten as someone packed up and left. It must have happened a while ago because the metal blade was crusty with the start of rust, the timber handle rough and splintering. She picked it up, weighed it in bloodied hands. She could swing it, it would hurt. She’d killed a snake with something similar once. She didn’t want to get that close to Hugh, but it’d do if she found nothing else.
She rounded the corner, stepping into the sun on the rutted track, squinting towards the single barn door. It was wide, hinged to one side and locked in place with a large steel padlock and hasp. She looked longingly at the barn, considered her injuries and exhaustion and the old shovel in her hand, and knew it was a waste of time to try to break in.
So what now? Wait for the chopper and hope Hugh was unconscious on the road?
A quiet scatter of small stones made her scalp tingle … told her Hugh was moving and close.
53
Jax listened. Where had it come from: the gravel on the parking pad? She hadn’t seen the other side of the shed up close – maybe there was gravel there, too.
She took three fast steps to the door, aware of the scuffle of dirt under her own shoes, pressed her back to the timber, glanced both ways – saw her shadow. Black on the ground and stretching towards the shaded side of the barn. If she went that way, he’d see it before she got to the corner. If she went for the other side and he was waiting, he could shoot before she could swing the shovel. Where was the fucking chopper?
Then she heard the sound again. Shaded side. Small stones shuffling. He was limping before, maybe it was worse. Treading carefully, she moved away, across the front of the shed, around the corner, pausing, straining to hear. Then it wasn’t a limp she heard. It was the distant rumble of a helicopter.
The chopper was coming. So was Hugh.
The grass was thicker this side of the barn, the western sun blinding, scorching. She moved along the timber, stopped at the far corner, ducked her head around before making the turn. She assumed Hugh was doing the same as her – hiding and walking around. Now what? Round and round until the chopper arrived? Make a run for the bush?
She gripped the shovel in both hands and made a lunging start for the trees.
Five steps. The shot came from behind, close enough for her to hear the fzzzt as it passed her ear. She turned and bolted back to the western side of the shed. Hit the wall with a thud, more concerned about not getting shot than letting him know where she was.
The rumble from the chopper engine was louder now. She looked up, saw it high above the bush on the opposite side of the paddock, guessed it was still minutes away. Hugh was closer. He had a gun, she had a spade. She wiped at blood under her nose, licked dry lips, cleared her throat.
‘Hey, Talbotson. It’s the police,’ she shouted, louder than she thought she could, the sound carrying into the open field.
There was no answer.
‘They know we’re here. I told them where to go.’
Silence.
‘There’ll be cars here, too. We’ll hear the sirens soon.’ She glanced both ways, checked she was still alone. She could hear the beat of rotor blades over the engine rumble now. ‘I’m not going to die out here, Talbotson. Not for a fucking phone.’
The chopper was beyond the clearing further down the slope, dropping, turning, its front window looking back at the barn. Would they see her against mottled lines of timber? From that angle, they wouldn’t have a view of Hugh on the other side. She wanted to run out, wave her arms, knew it might get her shot. From that angle, Hugh could do it unseen, slip back into the bush and disappear.
‘That’s them, Talbotson,’ she yelled. ‘They’ve found us. You’re not going to shoot me in front of the cops. This is over. I’m walking out to them.’
But she turned the other way, headed down the length of the barn and along it short, rear end.
With a quick out and back with her head, she saw the block of shade that marked the parking pad. Hugh was where she’d hoped – at the far corner, not watching helplessly while the chopper found a place to land, not preparing to make a run for it. He had the gun gripped in both hands, held high and ready to aim.
They won’t stop, Brendan had shouted. They’re trained for it, it’s their job.
Hugh had stabbed Nina and tossed her body off a cliff. He’d hounded and threatened Brendan to his death, then played nice with Kate and Scotty. He’d spun lies for Jax with a smile on his face. Forced her here at gunpoint without a hint of remorse about killing her.
It was more than a job now, though. She’d put the pieces together – him and Nina and Brendan. He wasn’t just cleaning up for ‘the boss’, he was making sure Jax couldn’t tell anyone. Possibly it was even more personal than that. She was a civilian and she’d driven him into a tree, made him come after her – it had to piss him off. How long would he wait for her to appear? How long before he realised she’d gone the other way?
Not long, was her guess.
A wind had picked up from the force of the rotors, the engine noise too loud for anything but raised voices. Not that she wanted to talk anymore. She wanted to live – and she was dead if she stayed where she was. She had to move fast, act without hesitation.
Gripping the shovel like a baseball bat, she ran at Hugh. Was still paces away when he heard her, started to turn, gun coming with him.
She lunged, swinging hard, pain rocketing through her chest. The shovel blade caught him across the side of his face as he dodged. His head hit the timber with a sickening thump. His body followed and dropped to the gravel.
&n
bsp; For a second, Jax was held to the spot by panic and shock. Horror at the blood streaming from his nose, at what she’d done. Then he moved. A knee curling up, dazed, protective. The gun was still in his hand. She stepped forward, kicked it so hard she almost lost balance. The weapon skittered into the sunlight.
Then he was swearing, spitting gobs of blood, rolling onto his back. Not dead. Not even unconscious.
She stumbled more than ran for the pistol. Slid as she reached for it, landed on her arse as she closed her fist around its grip. Hugh was standing when she lifted her eyes. His face and shirt were streaked with blood, one hand on the shed for support – and he was smiling.
‘You’re something else, Miranda,’ he called. ‘Who the fuck would’ve picked it?’
It was her turn to keep quiet and point the gun.
‘What are you going to do now?’ He left the barn and the shade, took a few faltering steps towards her. ‘Shoot me?’
She straightened her arms. ‘If I have to.’
He spat blood, chuckled. ‘It’s not like the movies. You don’t just point and shoot and the bad guy dies.’
She’d fired rifles and her dad’s shotgun. She’d aimed first. There was recoil and noise. And the information bank in her head told her the target needed to be close for a pistol to hit its marks. Ten metres might be okay. Five would be better. She tightened her trembling hands. ‘Thanks for the advice.’
He lifted a hand to his brow, shielding the glare, checking for the chopper. Jax had her back to it, could hear it was still in the air. Not so loud now. It was leaving?
‘We could come to an arrangement,’ he called. ‘You give me the gun now and I won’t shoot you.’
‘You can’t shoot me if I keep it.’
‘You won’t keep it. You’ll miss and I’ll take it from you and if it happens like that, I’ll shoot you in the head and spread your brains around this fucking paddock. So what do you say?’ He smiled, like he had in the car. Amused, entertained.
She wanted to be sick. ‘Fuck you.’
‘You’ve been interesting, Miranda. It’ll be a shame to kill you.’
Her heart pounded like a gong, blood thumped in her ears. She took her eyes off his grin as he limped forward, fixed them on his torso. Powerful, broad, muscular – a bigger target than his head.
‘Don’t wait to shoot,’ he called. ‘You’ll need a few goes.’
But she did. Until he was almost on her. ‘Stop!’
He laughed.
She pulled the trigger. Recoil hammered through her arms, swinging them upwards. He pitched sideways, rocked back, kept coming. She fired again. He went down this time. Howling, grabbing at his thigh, bright blood running through his fingers. Another blast. And another – her hands shaking too hard to hit anything but clean air.
Then, scrambling in the dirt, clambering to her feet, she staggered, stumbled. Getting away, tripping, gasping, on the ground again. Swung her head. Hugh was on his side, writhing, pulling at his leg. Christ, she shot him.
Bile rushed to her throat, making her gag. Get up, Jax. He’s not dead. Move! She got to her haunches, searched the sky. The chopper was skirting away over the trees, its back to her like it’d seen enough. Behind her, Hugh rolled to his side, hoisted himself up. No. No.
She was on the rutted track, sobbing now, bent over to stop the rushing dizziness. If she fell and didn’t get up, if he got to her … She stopped, swayed, hurled the weapon high and wide, out into the field. The momentum unbalanced her. The bare earth hit her shoulder hard. Rattled in her head.
Something gave in her chest. Small sips of air were all she could manage. Her vision swam, blurred. There was hissing in her ears.
God, no, not like this. Not with the answers locked in her head.
Rushing, thudding foot-beats.
Movement beside her. She wanted to flinch. Nothing happened.
A word hissed – hard, urgent: ‘Jax!’
Hot fingers jammed hard under her jaw, cutting off her breath.
Same voice, shouting, ‘I’ve got a pulse.’ A hand covered her forehead – a lighter touch, a little shaky. ‘Jax, hold on.’
She forced an eye open, saw Aiden above her. He was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on his face, and something in his eyes she’d never seen before – fear. It made panic tighten to a fist in her chest. She gasped, wanted to run.
A palm on her shoulder held her in place. ‘Don’t move.’
‘Where is he?’
Aiden didn’t try to shield her. He patted her down, searching for injuries.
‘I shot him,’ she said.
‘It’s okay. He’s down.’ But Aiden’s eyes were still frantic.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Keep still, Jax. The ambulance is two minutes away.’
Her chest hurt. Her shoulder, her head. ‘Is it bad? Am I …?’
‘No, Jax. No, it’s okay. You’re okay. I got here. I found you. You’re going to be …’ He didn’t finish, just swung his face away, a muscle flexing in the side of his jaw.
It wasn’t Hugh, it was Aiden. He’d thought he was too late. She stretched fingers towards him, caught his sleeve. ‘I found the field. I got here.’
Something softer was in his gaze when he looked back. ‘You did great, Jax.’
‘The chopper left.’
‘It couldn’t land in the field. It’s down on the road.’
She swallowed. ‘I didn’t miss him.’
‘Yeah, you made a real mess of him.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘No, but he’s not going anywhere.’
‘Good. He killed Nina Torrence.’
The muscle in Aiden’s jaw flexed again. ‘I know that now. I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner.’
She should’ve trusted him. She should’ve called him back. ‘Kate? Is Kate okay?’
‘She thought Talbotson was collecting the mobile from you. I assumed he was planning to come back without you or the phone.’
‘He didn’t hurt her?’
‘No.’
Jax licked her lips, swallowed at the dryness in her throat. ‘Brendan wrote a note. I found it.’
‘Your friend told me.’
Deanne. He’d been to the house. ‘It’s gone. Hugh tore it up, threw it away, but I took a photo. I saved it.’ On her phone, to the internet, with passwords only she knew. ‘It’s on my phone. In my pocket. You need to see it.’ She tried to reach around, winced at the pain.
He cupped a hand to her cheek. ‘Shhh, it’s okay.’
‘No, it’s not. Kate has to see it.’ Jax tugged on his wrist. ‘It’s in my pocket.’
His head lifted as footsteps approached.
‘Please, Aiden.’
He watched her as two ambulance officers walked into her view. ‘We’ve got this now,’ one said.
‘Two seconds,’ Aiden told them. He reached around Jax, found her pocket and pulled the phone.
‘Brendan knew,’ Jax said. ‘He left Nina with Hugh. He thought it was his fault.’ Her voice was little more than air. ‘It’s what was in his head. It makes sense now. I have to tell you …’ She followed Aiden with her eyes as he moved to one side.
‘You’re going to be okay, Jax. You can tell me later.’
‘No, I need to tell you now. No more questions, just the answers.’
An ambulance officer felt for her pulse. Her head wound was inspected, equipment was retrieved from somewhere, Aiden was shoved out of the way. She couldn’t see him. ‘Are you still there?’
His voice was in her ear. ‘Right here.’
She tried to look at him. Someone stopped her with a hand to her cheek. ‘You need to hold your head still, Miranda.’
She needed to say it, all of it, before concussion or drugs wiped it from her memory. ‘Aiden, it was real.’ She held out a hand. ‘I have to tell you. For Kate. Don’t go. You have to make sure she knows.’
A hand closed around hers. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Jax. I just found you.’
Jax stood at the railing, looked out at the beach and took a deep breath of the humid, salt-laced breeze, enjoying a moment away from the noise in the bar.
She thought Brendan Walsh would be okay with the glasses being raised at The Beach House in his memory. He’d wanted his family to be proud of him – and today, his wife and son were here with his friends, remembering the man he was, not the one Jax met on the motorway.
Brendan had been ready to use a gun so Jax figured he’d be okay with the two bullet holes she’d put in Hugh Talbotson. Possibly more okay if she’d killed him, considering the threats to Kate and Scotty, but then she’d have to live with that.
‘Miranda?’
She turned to the voice at the door, smiled. Brendan’s army friend Marty had organised the wake. With Brendan’s last photo in mind – he and Scotty at the beach – Jax had suggested The Beach House with its deck overlooking the surf.
‘I’m heading off now,’ Marty said. ‘Just wanted to say it was good to meet you. Brendan picked the right car to get into.’
Jax made a face as she touched the tender skin in her hairline. ‘I might debate that point.’
‘You did a good thing.’ Marty kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll email you those names for your article. And don’t hide the bruises, they make you look tough. I’d think twice before I took you on.’
‘Thanks, I think.’
He grinned, turned to leave, then paused. ‘By the way, your cop friend just arrived. He was looking for you.’
She nodded and watched through the windows as Aiden and Detective Constable Suzanne May made their way through the group to Kate. It was nice they managed to get here.
Jax hadn’t seen Aiden since leaving hospital a week ago. It wasn’t avoidance on her part – after two brushes with death, a couple of days with head-reeling concussion, cracked ribs, five stiches in her hairline, a face like a bruised balloon and a dozen minor scrapes, she was more than ready to stay home and out of sight for a while. And Aiden had plenty of work to keep him going. It was why he didn’t make it to the funeral.
