by Evie Snow
Jo climbed out of bed and stifled a groan. She’d been waiting for this; she’d dodged this conversation for days, but here it was. It was a pity because she’d just spent a wonderful ten minutes watching Stephen parade naked around her bedroom, and this note of seriousness wasn’t welcome.
“Really?” she asked, pulling a pair of red boy-short briefs and matching bra out of her underwear drawer.
“Really. I’ve had enough of you putting me off. Are you sure this psycho can’t hurt you?” Stephen asked, facing her dresser mirror while buttoning up a white Oxford shirt. She noticed his eyes straying to her underwear. She’d learned by accident the day before that he had a thing about watching a woman get dressed, and she used that knowledge now to distract him.
“Definitely,” Jo said emphatically and bent down to shimmy the briefs slowly up her legs.
“You absolutely positive?” Stephen asked, dragging his eyes away from her crotch to meet hers in the mirror. “He was making death threats, Jo. This isn’t something I want to make light of or joke about.” He let that sit in the air for a while.
Jo continued to get dressed while doing her best to look unconcerned, slowly pulling her bra on and pushing out her chest while she reached behind her to do up the clasp. Her actions were rewarded when Stephen closed the gap between them and rested his hands on her waist, running them up and down over her bare skin.
“And he left you pretty shaken up that first night.” He moved his hands around to her back, slowly stroking down her spine.
“Oh, that? Yeah. Well, that was before I knew he was going to be locked away,” Jo said, avoiding his eyes and sticking to her fabricated story.
“I don’t know,” Stephen said, skeptical. He moved his hands further down her back to grip her backside.
Jo squirmed. She’d never enjoyed telling lies, and lying to cover up how screwed-up her family was left her feeling sick. The thought of her parents was enough to kill her mood, and she twisted away from him.
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing,” she said, making a move to walk out the room.
Stephen caught her arm as she passed, his grip firm enough to tell her he meant business. “Jo, I know something’s going on. Something doesn’t add up here. I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but there’s something you’re not telling me.”
Jo set her shoulders and jerked up her chin, ready to defend herself. But the moment she made eye contact and saw the concern in Stephen’s expression, she buckled.
“Yeah, there is.”
“Want to tell me what’s up?” He pulled her back into his arms, one hand smoothing down over the long pink scar on her thigh where the bullet had grazed her. She shivered from both the over-sensitization of her newly healed wound and the memory of how she’d gotten it.
Jo felt trapped. On one hand, she couldn’t tell him the truth in case he did something stupid like get his dad or brother to fire Ken. On the other, she didn’t want him worrying. And he’d have to be blind not to see how wound up she’d been since she’d returned.
“It’s nothing, Stephen. Really nothing that you need to worry about.”
His arms tightened around her. “You know you can trust me, right?”
“I trust you with my life.” She finally met his gaze and gave him a small, gentle smile. It was the truth. She just didn’t trust him with her mother’s. “Stephen, don’t stress. There is seriously nothing you need to worry about.”
He held her gaze for a few long seconds as Boomba circled them, making chirruping noises to remind them that he wasn’t to be forgotten.
“Thanks,” Stephen said finally, his relief clear. “How do you feel about me taking you out tonight?”
Jo laughed, glad to have the tension broken. “Where?”
“How about somewhere stupidly expensive and pretentious?”
“Do I get to laugh and point at people if they seem too full of themselves?”
“Ye-e-e-a-ah.” He smiled with her. “But not if they’re me.”
“Oh, I’d never laugh at you. Well, not much.” Jo amended, belying her words with a husky chuckle.
* * *
“You’re an idiot for lying to Stephen, you know.”
Scott spoke while facing his massive widescreen computer monitor, scanning through photographs he’d taken during his recent assignment in the Middle East. He’d flown in that afternoon, and Amy and Jo had picked him up from the airport. Amy, as usual, came prepared with the lunch he’d missed and a sinfully rich chocolate cake.
It was now late afternoon, and Jo had finished filling the two of them in on what had happened over the past few months.
“Gee, thanks, Scott. You’re encouraging as always,” Jo replied from where she sprawled on her back on the ancient and very beautiful Persian rug spanning Scott’s study. In contrast to her sister’s black-and-white polka-dot dress and French stockings, she was wearing an ancient pair of soft black jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. Her white gym socks had holes in them.
“You don’t need encouragement. You need a kick in the pants,” Scott muttered as he kept scanning through photos of an attractive Middle Eastern woman dressed in a severe business suit.
“She looks tough,” Amy said, looking over his shoulder and attempting to change the topic.
“She pretends to be. Like someone else I know,” Scott's tone caused both Jo and Amy to raise an eyebrow at each other. “But right now, we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about your dad trying to kill you. Which the both of you are treating like it’s all just a walk in the fucking park," he snapped, spinning around in his leather office chair to face them, jaw tense.
“Hey!” Amy yelped. “Where did that come from? I’m on your side here.”
Scott ignored her, glaring at Jo.
Jo held back a whistle. Scott’s normally soft brown eyes were narrowed to furious slits, and his tawny cheeks were flushed with anger. He was pissed. Really pissed. A rare occurrence but always memorable.
Always the peacemaker, Amy tried to diffuse the mood. She reached over and put a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Calm down. We’ve talked about this before, m’love.”
“Talked about what?” Jo demanded.
“You.” Scott shrugged off Amy’s hand. “And how you’re not telling Stephen anything. It’s going to backfire on you, both of you. What if Rachael works out that the screaming psycho on the phone was your dad? What happens if Stephen works things out all by himself? You’ll be up shit creek, and you”—he pointed at Amy—“will be stuck in the middle dealing with it all, because Jo’ll be out of touch somewhere in the middle of nowhere.” His voice rose with every word, so by the end of it he was yelling.
Both Amy and Jo stared in stunned silence.
“Whoa.” Jo blinked. “Bit worked up there?”
“Fuck yes. And I’ve had two months to get to this level. No. Fuck that. I’ve had almost twenty years. Your dad’s a psycho and your mum’s never going to leave him despite what you both might think. I was fine with all that when you two were safe here in Perth, even though I was stupid to let you talk me out of showing the cops those photos I took after he pummeled the shit out of you.” He took a deep breath and gestured to Jo’s leg. “But this is different. He could have killed you, Jo. Can’t you two get that through your thick heads?” He looked from Jo to Amy and then to Jo again, face gaunt with anger and frustration.
Seeing Amy’s eyes tear up, Jo knew it was up to her to defuse the explosive man in the room. Amy had never been good at handling angry men.
Bracing herself for an argument, fighting the sense of futility that always came with talking about her parents, Jo straightened her spine and looked Scott straight in the eye. “I know you’re upset, but give me a break, alright? Stephen and I have only really been together a few weeks. I’m still feeling my way here, and I don’t want to screw it up. What’s he going to think if I start talking to him about the mess our family is? How do you think he’s going to feel? I can’t cope with it. Amy can’t cope with i
t. You sure as hell aren’t coping with it, and as you say, you’ve had twenty years to get used to the whole screwed-up situation. If you can’t cope, how’s he going to? Tell me that.”
“He’ll cope better if he hears it from you instead of finding out the hard way.” Scott made a loud, frustrated sound. “And it hasn’t been weeks, you idiot. You’ve been together now a few months. Long enough.”
“I was out of contact for two of those, so they don’t count. So it’s only been about three weeks. Not nearly enough to be bringing this mess up. Anyway, you know full well he’ll probably want to try and fix things, just like you want to. Won’t he?”
“Well, someone has to do something!” Scott’s voice rose. “This has gone on too long.”
Jo’s voice rose to match his. “And what if the old man loses it and does something stupid? How do you think he’ll react if he finds out Stephen’s the reason he’s gotten fired, or the reason the cops have turned up? He could try and kill him. That’s after he’s done Mum in first. You know that’s what he threatened last time.”
“Bullshit! If you take the photos down to the cops in George Creek and tell them you know it was him behind the shooting, they’ll have him in custody in no time. For the illegal gun for a start. I’ll go down there with you. We’ll make it work, Jo. Can’t you see this is a ridiculous situation that’s just getting worse? That both of you are letting him literally get away with attempted murder.”
“He wasn’t really trying to kill Jo,” Amy interjected, her voice breaking. “He wouldn’t do something like that. He’s all about appearances, Scott. We’ve explained this to you. You saw it yourself that day we left home. He only got violent because he thought he’d lost face in front of the Hardys. He thought they knew he was too drunk to bring us that night.”
The unspoken implication that Scott was the one who had asked them to go to the party hung in the air, and Jo wished like hell she could vaporize it, knowing Amy hadn’t meant things to come out that way.
If possible, Scott looked even more furious, launching himself out of his chair and looming over Amy. “Don’t you dare put that on me, Amy. Don’t you dare. If it weren’t for me, the both of you’d be dead now, and you know it. He would have goddamn killed you if I hadn’t followed you home that night. I’ve got the fucking evidence to prove what he did to you, and I’m not sitting by and watching this shit anymore.” He twisted away and stalked across the room.
Amy started crying in earnest, made all the worse because her tears were silent. Black mascara began to trickle down her face, but Scott didn’t notice. He was too busy pacing.
Watching two people she loved get so upset, Jo made a decision, even if it left her with a gut-level dread.
“Scott. I’ll do you a deal,” she said softly, hoping to distract him while Amy fumbled with a tissue.
“What?”
“You’re right. This can’t go on. Give us another two months to try and get Mum out of the house, then, whether she agrees or not, I’ll go down to George Creek with you and we’ll go talk to the police about the shooting. That way, I’ll have done my final shift out at work and I’ll be home for good to help Amy with Mum.”
Scott stopped his pacing abruptly, his expression distrustful. “Serious?”
“Serious.”
“You’ll tell Stephen what’s going on too?” he asked warily. “I can’t deal with all these fucking secrets. It’s messing with my head and I know it’s screwing with his. It’s unfair and you have no idea how messed up he’s going to be if he finds out you’ve been lying to him.”
Jo drew a shuddering breath. “No more secrets. Just give us a few more stress-free weeks together, and I’ll tell him before we take care of the old man.”
Scott stood rigidly in front of her with his jaw ticking, hands bunched into fists at his sides. “I can’t take this if you’re lying, Jo,” he said, his voice cracking. “I love you both. This shit keeps me up at night worrying. You’re family to me. Don’t you mess me around on this.”
Feeling her own eyes tearing up at the catch in his voice, Jo stood up and pulled him into a fierce hug. “I love you too. I can’t thank you enough for being there for us, Scott. You’re the annoying brother I never got to have.”
When he crushed her against him, her eyes began leaking in earnest. Then Amy let out a watery sob, and he abruptly released Jo and spun around to her sister.
“God, Ames. Oh, Jesus. Don’t cry,” he pleaded, pulling Amy into a gentle hug.
“I’m not crying,” Amy blubbered.
“Sure? Because if you’re not, your makeup’s defective.” Scott leaned back and wiped his thumbs under her eyes. “I’m sorry, squirt. Didn’t mean to get angry at you. I was just worried, okay?”
Amy drew in a shuddering breath and nodded. “Okay.”
“You alright with the deal Jo and I just made?” Scott asked softly. “It’ll be for the best. I know how much you worry about your mum getting hurt.”
“Yeah. I know it’s the right thing.” Amy looked past Scott to Jo.
“It is,” Jo agreed, giving her own eyes a brisk wipe with the back of her hands. “I know how hard this is for you, Ames.”
Amy’s eyes began to water again, and Scott gave Jo a do-something look.
“We’ll work out a way to get Mum out of there,” Jo said, trying to inject a certainty she didn’t feel into her voice.
“I’ll get her away.” Amy stuck her chin out. “She’ll leave him.”
“Only if she wants to, Ames,” Scott corrected.
Seeing Amy’s face crumple in distress, he pulled her towards him for another hug. “In the meantime, do you want to hear about my trip to Bahrain and the iron lady in the photos?” That was enough to capture the attention of both of them.
“You actually want to tell us about someone you’re involved with?” Amy asked, visibly relieved that they’d stopped talking about Ken and Shirley Blaine.
“Maybe. If it’ll make you smile.”
Amy’s lips curved up at the corners. “It might, but only if you give us all the details.”
Scott’s expression relaxed. He looked at Jo over Amy’s head and faked a shiver. “I’m scared now.”
“You should be. Come on, we’ll ply you with cake and make you talk.” She took Scott’s hand then grabbed Jo’s. “To the kitchen!” she commanded dictatorially, dragging them behind her like a tiny tugboat between two large tankers, all three laughing with relief that their friendship was strong enough to weather any storm.
Chapter 14
“So tell me, what do you actually do out there every day? I know we’ve talked about the guys you work with and the stupid stuff they do, but you never say much about the small stuff. You know, the everyday stuff like getting to and from work. What it’s like to fly in and out of Mauritania . . . the safety stuff you have to do. You always change the subject every time I bring it up and it’s about time you coughed up the details.”
Stephen took a sip of his brilliant, crisp sauvignon blanc and leaned back in his chair.
Jo pretended to mishear him. “Pardon? What was that? Who do I do? You, last I checked.”
Stephen smiled widely for a minute, eyes running over the emerald-green silk shirt she’d worn on their date. It complemented her newly colored flaming red hair and matched the smoky green eyeshadow that brought out her eyes, which were the color of caramel in the candlelight.
“Yeah, you do me pretty well.” He waggled his brows. “But seriously, I want to know more about you. I know you’ve told me bits and pieces, but I want the big picture.”
“The big picture? What do you mean?”
“I want to know all the stuff you don’t tell me about your job, about you, everything.”
Jo’s expression flickered for a moment before she pulled a cheeky smile. “Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m going out with you and want to make sure you’re not hiding bodies under the bed. Why do you think?”
&n
bsp; Jo regarded him with obvious surprise and something else. Wariness? He couldn’t be sure. “Oh? Well. What exactly do you want to know?”
He shrugged. “Start with the basics. Like I said, I want the small stuff. How do you get out to the rig you work on? Where do you sleep? What do you eat out there? What do you talk about? That kind of thing.”
“It’s pretty boring.”
“No, it’s not.” He reached across the table and stroked the back of her hand with his finger. “Come on. Start talking.”
“Okay. Well, you asked for it.” Jo turned her palm upwards and clasped his hand in hers. Her fingers were cold. “Where to start? You know, I’m at a bit of a loss.”
“Hmm. How about we start really broadly? Why did you decide to be an engineer?” Stephen prompted and was rewarded with a wide smile.
“That’s easy. During my last year of high school—after Amy and I moved up to Perth to stay with my aunt—I met this guy who’d gotten a job as a roughneck on the rigs up north. It was really good money, fly in fly out, two weeks on the job, two weeks home. So I applied and got a job.”
“As a roughneck?” Stephen asked, incredulous.
Jo waved her spare hand dismissively. “Yeah. It’s not like I wasn’t used to hard work, and I’m not exactly fragile.” She looked down at herself with a wry smile.
“Weren’t they hard on you since you were probably one of the only women out there?”
“Yeah. But it isn’t like I wasn’t used to being bullied,” Jo replied airily.
Stephen winced at that but kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt. This was the first time Jo had ever referred to their past history in George Creek and he didn’t want to ruin it.
Luckily, she continued, “It didn’t take long to earn respect as long as I worked hard. But the only problem was that it got boring. I knew I wanted to go to university but didn’t know what to do until I talked to an engineer. I decided his job sounded pretty good and paid really well, so the rest is history. I was really lucky. My lecturers let me do half my coursework correspondence because I was already working in the industry.” She paused to take a sip of her wine, watching Stephen for his reaction.
