by Leah Ashton
This phone call was likely it.
“Should I answer it?” Lou asked, hating herself for even pretending to respect his authority.
His smile stretched over his teeth and he nodded approvingly at her.
She kept her shudder on the inside. Ugh.
“Yes,” he said. “Please could the nosy bitch answer her phone.”
She’d moved her phone to her front pocket when she’d sat down, but she still had to stand to fish it out of the stiff denim. She swiped to accept the private phone number.
“Hello?” she asked.
But before she even heard the response, the gunman had ripped her phone from her hand. Even that brief touch of his skin against hers made Lou recoil, and she retreated automatically, falling back into her seat when the back of her legs hit the row of chairs behind her.
She met Nate’s gaze for a moment, but she couldn’t read much in it. Certainly, none of what she glimpsed when she’d been in her arms before. In that moment, he’d been the Nate who’d held her a million times before. Who’d gazed at her like that – with such intensity, such emotion …
Although the emotions years ago had been more about lust and, and … well, she’d later learnt it had only ever been lust. Nothing more. But the emotions in his arms on the train had been more along the lines of: thank fuck we’re both alive.
Which was pretty understandable.
“About time,” the gunman said into her phone, dragging her attention back to the rather more pressing life-threatening situation they were in. “You going to go get my kids for me?”
He stood back over his side of the train, tapping the barrel of his gun against his jean-clad thigh as he talked.
The whole train focused on the gunman as he listened to whatever the negotiator was saying. The guy in the suit, the lady with silver hair in a French roll, and the two teenagers still right at the back. And Fiona too, her gaze never wavering from the ugly angles of the man’s face.
Fiona had kind of, unfurled, now he wasn’t touching her. No longer were her spine curving her into the smallest space possible. She’d straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin. And that never-wavering gaze pointed at the gunman? It was filled with hate. With fury.
Suddenly the guy laughed, just a single bark of sound. He looked to Fiona, paying no attention to her hatred.
This was unsurprising. He didn’t give a shit what Fiona thought of him. He just wanted to control her. To have her fear him.
As if testing he still had both of those things: control and fear – he wagged the gun almost casually in Fiona’s direction.
She shrunk back against the wall.
Another disgusting bark of laughter.
But Fiona’s head didn’t drop this time.
“They wanna know my name, babe,” he said, talking to Fiona in an approximation of a jovial tone. “Can’t find our kids without my name! Would’ve thought they’d work that out themselves by now, you know, big brother watching and all that.” He surveyed the roof of the carriage, presumably searching for CCTV cameras. There were none. Many trains had them in Perth, but not all.
This, it would appear, was considered a low-risk train.
Ha ha.
“My name’s Brent,” the guy said into the phone, “Brent Carey.”
His name was so normal, but Lou wasn’t sure what she expected. “Violent Prick” probably didn’t appear in any baby name book.
“My kids are Tameka and Rex,” he continued. “But fuck knows what school they go to, this stupid bitch doesn’t let me know details like that. Like, I’m their fucking dad and she’s made it so I can’t even go to their assemblies and shit. Like, what the fuck?” He paused, and then shoved the phone at Fiona.
“Tell them what school they go to. And don’t make shit up, all right? You know I’ll shoot one of these hostages if you do, don’t you?”
Fiona’s gaze slid to Lou’s for a second. In her gaze was years of Brent’s abuse, and also an awful, resigned acceptance. Yes. Fiona absolutely believed he was capable of shooting someone.
Fiona took the phone. “South Fremantle Primary School,” she said, not much louder than a whisper.
Again, Carey’s awful smile stretched his lips. “Now isn’t that convenient,” he said. He grabbed the phone back.
“No excuse for them not to be at Fremantle station waiting for me, you got that?” his voice spat into the phone. “My kids better be on that platform when we arrive, or I’m gonna start shooting.” He turned his head to look right at Lou. Just as she had this whole time, she stared right back. Steady, and strong, even as fear slithered down her spine. “And I know exactly who I’ll shoot first.”
You know I’ll shoot one of the hostages.
Nate turned that sentence over in his brain.
Because Fiona did know. And not just ‘knew’ because Carey had probably hit her for years and he was a vicious bastard. She knew knew.
He’d killed someone before.
It was Oscar Shepherd in his ear now. His closest mate at Elite SWAT, and one of the sergeants. He was leading the E-SWAT team that would be waiting for them at Fremantle station, and was on the way there now, relaying information as he received it, the sirens on the E-SWAT SUVs a constant in the background.
“He’s on bail,” Oscar said. “Drug possession. Couple of kgs of meth. He’s got court this week, looking at a good stint in the bin.”
Carey had taken a few steps away from the hostages, still tapping that Glock against his thigh as he talked to the negotiator.
“He’s refused a deal, wouldn’t give the detectives anything, and the drug squad couldn’t even trace the ice to a known batch. Looks like everyone thinks he has bikie links, but no one’s ever heard of him, and there’s nothing linking him to a gang. So, a dead end there.”
Nate assessed Carey. Was he a member of one of Western Australia’s OMCGs - outlaw motorcycle gangs? Was that how he’d come to shoot someone? He certainly had the look of hired muscle, of a standover man. All grunt, no brains.
“His firearm’s not his – no registered gun license, never had one,” Oscar continued.
No surprises there.
“He’s subject to a VRO for a Fiona Carey, who we guess is the woman he’s got with him. There are years of call-outs to domestic violence incidents associated with her, but looks like nothing stuck. There’s a VRO for the two kids, too, they’re eleven and twelve, and they told the social workers during a custody hearing they’re scared of him and don’t want to see him.”
Again, no surprises there. In Nate’s experience, mothers who refused access to their kids generally had very good reasons. Usually just the one, actually: protecting their kids from getting hurt by their violent shit of an ex-partner.
“Nate, mate, are you able to tell us anything? How many in your carriage? What’s your take on the guy? What are we dealing with here?”
It was driving him insane not being able to communicate with his team. What he did – what Elite SWAT did – was all about teamwork, all about communication.
He couldn’t help them if he couldn’t speak to them.
Nate shifted the hand currently resting along the back of the seat headrests to squeeze Lou’s shoulder. She was stiff as a board, and her head immediately swung to meet his gaze. He reached up and scratched his shoulder, right up near his shirt collar – and right near the collar microphone of his comms.
He had no idea if she was familiar with this comms set-up, or if she’d have any idea what he was asking her to do.
She just looked at him for a moment, as if trying to interpret the message in his eyes. Her eyes were more green than blue in the sunlight that flooded through the windows, her gaze intense and her brow slightly furrowed.
Then she nodded, almost imperceptibly and turned away.
Another few moments later, she coughed.
Just a single cough, giving him a second.
Then, as she started coughing in earnest her hands covering her mouth, Nate
leaned towards her, resting a hand on her back as if comforting her, activated his microphone, and talked fast and low.
“Five hostages, plus me and Brayshaw. Nil injuries. Suspect is agitated, and I reckon he’s serious about this.”
That was all he had time for. Lou had only coughed long enough to give him time to relay a short message, not so long as to piss Carey off.
All Carey did was glare in their direction, then refocus on the phone. Still totally clueless he had a couple of cops as hostages.
He had to force himself to not crack a smile, with Carey looking right at them. But Carey couldn’t see Lou’s face as she turned towards Nate, and her lips quirked into a grin, her eyes sparkling.
Fuck, Nate thought.
He’d missed that smile.
Lou looked away.
It felt good to work with Nate, to work as a team, even on something as small as creating a distraction so he could send a message to E-SWAT. But she couldn’t grin at him like an idiot, and she definitely shouldn’t be enjoying just gazing at him.
Like, time and place, Luella. Time and place!
The stomp of Carey’s feet approaching behind her certainly refocused her on the seriousness of this situation.
Lou swivelled in her seat as he walked back to his side of the carriage, again crowding Fiona as he thumped down onto the seat closest to her. He then dropped Lou’s phone on the chair beside him.
Through the windows behind Carey and Fiona, Lou watched the century-old cream stone structure of Claremont station slide by – although not all that quickly. She imagined that driver had been asked to drive slower than normal, to give the E-SWAT team maximum time to get to the end of the line. If Carey had noticed, or even cared, he gave no indication.
How much longer until they made it to Fremantle? Ten minutes? Fifteen?
Lou glanced at the station map painted on the carriage wall above Carey and Fiona. Claremont station was around the half way point, so—
“What’s the deal with you two, then?” Carey said, interrupting her thoughts. His tone somehow both friendly and aggressive.
Lou blinked, glancing at Nate.
“How do you mean, mate?” replied Nate, all casual. His arm was still slung across the back of Lou’s seat, but she could feel the tension radiating from his body.
“You know,” Carey said. “What’s the trouble in paradise?”
Lou had no idea what he meant.
Carey tilted his head to look at Fiona. “At least I wasn’t dumb enough to marry this,” he said, and then laughed like he’d made a joke. Fiona held his gaze resentfully – she was clearly only giving him her attention because it was better than getting shot. Which was smart, but Lou could only begin to imagine how many times Fiona had done what Carey wanted just to placate him.
Lou didn’t need another reason to hate Carey, but imagining even a hint of what he’d put Fiona through certainly made the list even longer.
Carey’s attention flicked back to Lou, and she held her body stiffly as he stared at her, his gaze shifting down her body in a way that made her feel ill. “But!” Carey suddenly announced gleefully. “The nosy bitch isn’t wearing a ring! I got it all wrong. She’s not your missus then. Ha! What is she then? Just some slutty hook up piece of arse?”
Nate was up and a step across the carriage before Carey pointed the gun straight at him. He froze instantly.
“Probs not the time to defend her honour, dontcha think big guy?” Carey mocked. “Now sit the fuck down again, mate.”
For a moment, a moment that was way too long, Nate just stood there. Lou reached out and brushed her fingers against his arm, her heart hammering against her chest.
What are you doing, Nate?
“Nate …” she began, although she had no plan as to what to say next.
But she didn’t need to – because of her, or more likely because of the gun still pointed at him – Nate backed off, and dropped slowly back into his seat. He didn’t look at Lou at all, but his profile was hard, his jaw tense.
“So, you like her,” Carey continued, swinging the gun slightly to point briefly at Lou and then back to Nate. “That must be complicated. A wife and a girlfriend.” He shook his head. “You’re keen. So, what’s with the tension? You had a lover’s quarrel or somethin’?”
Lou barely acknowledged the question, her gaze immediately drawn to the only reason Carey would think Nate was married.
But, surely he wasn’t. Surely, she would’ve noticed before now?
Although to be fair, it’d been less than fifteen minutes, and they’d been held hostage for about thirteen of them. Whether Nate was wearing any jewellery hadn’t been a high priority.
But now it was.
And with a simple glance, she saw exactly what Carey had seen.
A simple band, in silver or titanium or white gold or something.
On the ring finger of his left hand.
Nate Rivers was married.
Chapter Five
No.
No.
No.
Lou was not going to be bothered by this.
She was not.
She still had a gun pointed at her. That should be all that mattered.
But Nate had gotten married. To someone else.
Lou attempted to swallow away the sudden vice-like grip on her throat, and wish away the lead that had sunk in her stomach.
Neither of those things worked.
She just kept staring at that damn ring, trying to manage her expression. She didn’t want Carey to see her shock, not that there was any chance of him guessing the truth.
Hey, I just realised you’re both cops who went out for a few months until one of you said you were in love, and that freaked out the other one who then disappeared forever. And you hadn’t seen each other for more than ten years until about fifteen minutes ago, and also – seems like the nosy bitch never really got over you, hey, big guy?
Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to happen.
But regardless, no way was the gunman seeing how Lou really felt right now. He was not going to see her shock, and hurt and, and …
Oh, damn, she didn’t even know how she felt. She just knew this felt bloody awful, and way too much like it had felt to wait for that text or phone call that never came. To feel so stupid, so naïve. So clueless.
To think she’d imagined all if it. The connection. The love.
All of it.
What had been – and even more humiliating still remained – the most intense relationship of her life, had been one-sided. There she was imagining a future with Nate, and he was imagining nothing more than how fast he could get her out of her clothes.
And look, she’d been totally into the getting out of the clothes part of their relationship too. Totally into it.
With Nate, sex had just been electric. Kissing him had been electric. All of it. His touch, his breath against her skin, his mouth against hers, his cock inside her.
He’d had such power over her, simply by how he made her feel.
And here she was all these years later, still under his spell. Still capable of being hurt by a man who’d never given a shit about her. And who’d clearly moved on with someone who he did give a shit about.
Who he loved.
Lou looked up at Carey.
She’d been planning to say: We’re tense because you’re holding us hostage, you arsehole (probably without the arsehole bit), when Nate spoke.
“She’s my ex,” Nate said. “It is complicated. You know, unfinished business.”
Lou’s gaze swung up to catch Nate’s.
Unfinished business?
What did that mean?
Something shifted in his gaze, and instantly she got it – and that totally unwarranted flame of … something. Hope? Ugh. Anyway – it was extinguished before it even had a chance to flicker.
Nate was back to trying to build a rapport with this guy. Keep him calm. Keep him relaxed.
Which was sensible. So sensible.
Much more sensible then her urge of only seconds ago to be a smart-arse. But, it appeared that even in the most dire of circumstances, Nate messed with her head.
She’d been wise to not allow herself to even think about him in all these years. To halt her fingers before she was tempted to type his name into the Facebook search bar, and to bite her tongue when she met anyone stationed in the district where Nate had worked and not ask about him. Although maybe if she had, she would’ve realised he was at Elite SWAT, and she wouldn’t have run away from him like an idiot at Perth train station.
“I know all about complicated exes, big guy,” Carey said, relaxing his arm so the gun no longer pointed straight at them but instead somewhere on the carpet. “What she do to you?”
Another station passed by through the carriage windows; Lou had no idea which one. How close were they to Fremantle? What would be waiting for them when they got there?
Nate cleared his throat, and Lou noticed his hands flex slightly against the tailored fabric of his trousers. After his lie about having three sisters, what story was he going to concoct now?
“Nothing,” Nate said, his tone flat. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Pardon me?” she said, before she could stop herself.
Nate looked down at her, the first time since the gun had appeared that it wasn’t in his line of sight. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he repeated. His gaze was strong, direct. Real.
She didn’t know what to do with those words, so she just turned them over in her brain.
“Yes, she did,” Carey suddenly said, his words sharp and loud. “They always do. Especially bitches like that one.”
Lou looked at Carey, and as she did, a cloud passed over the sun or something, and he was momentarily in shadow. But even when he was back in the generous sunlight, the darkness still remained – everything about this man was hard and dark. From his black boots to his dark hair, to the awful, hateful glint in his eyes.
The man beside her felt like a coiled spring of muscle, and so she pressed her knee against his, just for a second, trying to tell him: It’s okay. He’s not worth it.
