The bus was departing in ten minutes. I sat in the back, looking out the window as passengers slowly boarded, their muted conversations filling the bus interior.
Luc’s mobile buzzed.
I slid my finger across the screen, entering his pin.
Unknown number: It’s Luc, are you safe?
My fingers hovered over the screen, uncertainty and fear warring with my need to reassure him.
Me: Yes.
Luc: Why are you running?
Me: You know why.
Luc: You promised I could come.
Me: I won’t be responsible for you leaving your family. It’s time to let me go.
The bus rumbled to life under me. The driver hit the lever, shutting the door and we were off, swaying down the road. The phone vibrated, lighting with another text.
Luc: I’m your Pikachu. Where you go, I follow.
I closed my eyes, choking back a strangled sob.
Me: Lucien, we’re done.
Luc: We’re getting married.
I fought a hysterical laugh.
Me: I never said yes.
Luc: You never said no either.
Me: I did. Twice. No.
Luc: I don’t believe you. Say it to my face.
My fingers hovered. I needed to remove the SIM card, stop them from tracking me. I had no doubt Sawyer was calling in favours right at this moment.
Me: I’m sorry. This is my battle. I can’t be yours when I’m already theirs.
I hesitated. My fingers typed out the words I wanted to say.
I love you.
I hit delete, erasing the text.
Luc: I’ll find you. I won’t stop.
Me: Goodbye, Lucien.
I turned the mobile off, pulling the back open to reach the battery and SIM inside.
I had no plans to go to Wollongong. This bus made two stops along the way, at Goulburn and Moss Vale. I’d be getting off at Goulburn.
The trip dragged, and every moment felt like a million as the bus travelled down the highway, taking me far from the people I loved, the things I owned and the man who made me feel.
I swiped angrily at tears as they fell. Today, on this bus, I would cry. Once I stepped off, I’d be a new person. No tears. No regrets. No thinking of the past. Not even Luc. It would be too tempting.
Numb. I needed to fall back into numbness. It was the only way to survive.
The bus rocked to a stop, the door opening. I followed the flow, stepping off and down the street. The storage facility was a fifteen-minute walk. I tucked my hands into the pockets of the hoodie, keeping my head down.
Years ago, I’d learned three truths:
One, always have an exit plan.
Two, prepare for the worst.
Three, always have a Plan B through Z.
Goulburn was my Plan D. When I’d settled in Canberra, I’d planned backup options. I’d purchased a crappy car that ran well, forged a bunch of documents, and collected cash. Every three months I’d take a drive out to Goulburn, check the car was still running, swap out clothes if needed and pay up storage for the next four months.
When I stepped off the bus, Emmie no longer existed. I was now Lauren O’Connor.
The lot sat empty as I entered the storage facility. Yet another reason I chose this place −no cameras, no website, just a guy renting out sheds. Mine had two padlocks, both with number combinations rather than key locks. I’d planned for this exact scenario.
I rounded the end of the first row and froze.
“No.”
Luc pulled out a phone lifting it to his ear.
“Got her.” He tucked it back in his pocket, walking towards me.
“No.” I shook my head, hands up warding him off. “You’re not meant to be here!”
“Baby,” he coaxed, slowing his approach. “Come here.”
“No!” I backed up, desperately hoping he was an apparition.
“Emmie…” He approached, hands out, face gentle.
I couldn’t. I was doing this to protect him. I’d made peace with my decision. I was determined. He couldn’t be here. I couldn’t have my efforts undermined like this.
I twisted, turning to run. I made it three steps before arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight against a hard chest. I thrashed, lashing out at him, screaming my frustration, anger and fear. He held me tight, letting me beat him. I drew on my training, an elbow ramming into his stomach. He doubled over, his grip loosening. I followed up with a kick to his shin. He grunted, losing his grip.
I sprinted, running two, three, four metres before a hand caught my arm, jerking me back into him. My fists pounded his chest in my struggle. Luc spoke reassurances, trapping me tight in his arms, making no attempt to stop the abuse.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t focus on anything but the swirl of emotions– anger, fear, confusion.
Relief.
I screamed abuse, pounding while he absorbed every hit, every word. An impenetrable wall.
“Calm, Emmie. Breathe. I’m here. It’s okay.”
Finally, slowly, I calmed. Or perhaps I gave up. Either way, I stopped struggling, just leaned against him, his jumper fisted in my hands, my head pressed tight to his chest.
He continued to whisper fierce words while the wind whipped our clothing, the cold penetrating deep in my bones. Eventually, I withdrew enough to look at his face.
“Okay,” I whispered, resigned.
Luc tucked me into his arm, and together we walked down the rows of storage containers out to the carpark. He helped me into the passenger side, rounding the bonnet and sliding into the driver’s. Inside the vehicle he turned on the car, then sat watching me.
“Home or run?” he asked, gaze solemn. “Your call.”
I hesitated, torn. I could take us home, but the risk… We could disappear, but I’d be taking him from everyone he loved and everyone who loved him. Either decision was selfish. There were no winners today.
“Home,” I decided, feeling my gut clenching.
He backed us out of the facility, navigating the streets towards the highway. We were silent for half of the journey, his hand resting periodically on my knee, warm and comforting.
“How did you find me?” I asked as we passed Lake George, my gaze focussed on the waterless flatland.
“Sawyer. He already had a list of places you might use.”
I grunted, leaning my head against the cool glass of the window. “And you just happened to choose that one?”
There was a beat of silence.
“Luc?” I turned in my seat.
“I may have done something bad one weekend. Inadvertently.”
I crossed my arms, waiting. He ran a hand over his beard, swearing softly under his breath.
“Last summer, I did a bike ride. I’d just finished breakfast with some mates at one of the wineries. I saw your car heading this way. I decided to follow, thought it would be amusing to catch you, see if you wanted lunch or something.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “When you got to the storage facility, I gave up. I’d already tracked you for thirty minutes. It would have been too stalkerish to follow you further.”
I intellectually understood this was a funny story. Emotionally this was devastating. I’d put in place so many precautions. Worked so hard to make sure I was never followed. And Luc had done it without my noticing. He hadn’t even been trying to hide.
I turned back to the window, tears burning.
You got complacent.
I was an idiot. An absolutely ridiculous idiot. I should have left years ago. Instead I’d been seduced by friends, familiarity, and recognition.
When you belonged somewhere, people saw you, they recognised you, they smiled and asked how your day was, and were genuinely interested. When you were transitory, you were just another face passing through. No one invested in you. No one cared.
I had to admit I’d ached for someone to care. I’d wanted someone to see me. And as more people did, I fell into the daydream of s
taying. I had convinced myself that my precautions were enough. The joy of being recognised and appreciated had overrode my rationale. I was a ridiculous idiot.
The self-recriminations continued up until we arrived at Luc’s. He pulled into the garage and turned off the engine. Neither of us made a move to get out.
He shifted to look at me. “I’m laying this out now. We walk in this door, and you’re stuck with me. You’re in my bed, you’re in my life, we seal this deal. I’m talking the whole shebang. House, mortgage, marriage, holidays, pets, kids if we want ’em. We have each other’s back. I’m in this, Emmie. Hundred percent.” He reached over, thumb stroking across my cheek. “That’s where my head’s at. My heart too.” He offered me a tight smile. “If you’re not ready, I’ll take you to Pax.”
I swallowed, wetting dry lips. My hands trembled as I wiped damp palms on my jeans. “I… It’s hard.”
“I know.” His eyes never left mine.
“I want…” My chin quivered. I blinked rapidly to stem the tears. “I want that. I want this. I want you. Luc, I–” I cut myself off.
“What?” he whispered, head tilting closer. “What do you want, beautiful?”
“I love you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. Those words were a seal, a wish, a plea. They were everything I wanted, and everything I knew I should never have. Could never have.
“I love you too.” He smiled, I expected him to kiss me, but his hand shifted, cupping the nape of my neck as he withdrew, forehead pressed to mine. “Are you in?”
I shuddered out a breath.
Was I? Could this beautiful man give me all I wanted? Am I brave enough to take it?
“Yes.” No tears. No uncertainty, no regrets. I wanted a beautiful life with this beautiful man.
“Okay.” He let go of my head, shifting back. We left the car, moving inside. The house stood silent.
“No one’s here?”
“No. Someone will be on patrol, but they get it.”
“Get what?” We reached the hall, and he crowded in, gently pushing me against the wall, his big, gorgeous body pressed against mine.
I wasn’t fearful, this wasn’t aggressive. It was seductive. His hands roamed down my sides and curled around my arse.
“This.” His lips met mine in a greedy kiss. He devoured me, marked me. Hours earlier, I’d been convinced I’d never have this again. I threw myself into our reunion, grasping at his shirt, licking and sucking at the salt of his skin. I wanted him to bury himself in me. I wanted to mark him as mine. I wanted.
We stumbled through the house, a trail of clothing in our wake. Luc pressed me against his kitchen bench, boosting me up. He stepped between my thighs and drove home, both of us gasping.
He whispered filthy promises, raining kisses down my neck, my collarbone as he kept a steady rhythm.
“Love your pussy. Milk my cock, Emmie. You like this? You want more? Come for me.”
He surged in, breaking the last of my walls. I didn’t need him. I wanted him. I chose him.
Luc is worth it.
“Fuck!” he groaned into my neck as he came, my pussy clenching around him, milking his release. My arse was cold, his chest warm as it remained plastered to my front. Our hands slowly roamed, gently stroking, fingertips grazing overly sensitive skin. We built back the need. This time, less desperate but no less hot.
He whispered demands, pulling from me what he needed, promises, declarations, apologies. I gave him everything, all of me.
We collapsed, breath harsh, bodies hot. Luc reached for me, pulling me close.
“Mon coeur t’appartient,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I didn’t know what the words meant, but I felt the fierce way he said them bury deep. My life wasn’t perfect, but I felt stronger, braver, maybe even a little less fearful tonight.
Hope, that dangerous emotion, bloomed.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Emmie
We were back in the war room. The state leads were a bust. No one knew much, or if they did, they weren’t talking.
Fierce eyes, short silver hair, immaculately pressed uniform, Annabelle Norris intimidated the beejeezus out of me. An AFP veteran, her hawklike eyes caught everything, her brain that much more evolved than the rest of us. It wouldn’t surprise me if she could read thoughts.
The handful of times I’d been in her presence while handing over cases, I’d always felt like a bug under a microscope, much too visible for my liking. She led the AFP’s transnational and organised crime division. Her word was law.
Pax stood at the top of the table briefing her team on my situation. As he wrapped up, her eyes came to me, her face impassive.
“And you’re sure they’re after you?”
I fought the urge to glance at Luc for reassurance. “The signs say yes, but…”
“It’s an excessive response for one person,” she agreed. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the conference table. No one spoke as she stared at a spot on the back wall, a small frown on her face. She nodded to herself.
“Here’s what we know.” She leaned forward, eyes on Pax. “Our cyber division has known about God’s Patriots for the last twenty years. They’ve been a fringe group we’re monitoring. They’re good, damn good. We had nothing on them. Though we suspected the parliament house incident was them, we had nothing to tie it back.” Her gaze settled on me. “Until now.”
I swallowed, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.
“Ms Franklin’s information has given us some significant leads.” She narrowed her eyes on me. “It would have been useful to have this years ago.”
“You did,” Luc interrupted. “Em went to the police when she first got out.”
It was true. The first time they found me I tried to get help; that ended in the suicide of a cop and me running again. Emmie Franklin was one in a long line of aliases.
“We’re aware of that situation.” Annabelle’s mouth pursed. “We’ve had words with that state.”
“The leads?” Sawyer prompted from where he sat at the far end of the table. He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, a fidget of movement as he twisted the chair from one side to the other.
“My team have worked backwards, using the time line Ms Franklin provided. It’s been time consuming and data intensive, but we now have concrete links to at least three of the group.” Annabelle frowned. “If we can find them.”
“Do you have anything on that front?” Brean asked.
“Nothing. They’ve hidden themselves well.”
“So your best lead is Emmie,” Sawyer said, halting his chair.
Annabelle nodded. “It’s only a matter of time before they make a move. We just need to be ready to go when they do.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, thinking. “What –” I coughed, clearing my throat. “What is the… the child abuse statute of limitation in Western Australia?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “There no longer is one.”
I hesitated. “If I have proof of-of my abuse, can it be used?”
“Of course.” The room went wired, the air surprisingly heavy. Annabelle didn’t look away, her face didn’t shift. I was grateful to see not one ounce of pity, just calm understanding.
“You have proof?”
“I took pictures,” I whispered. “And I kept the clothes.”
Luc stiffened beside me.
“They have DNA?” Annabelle clarified.
I nodded, my eyes determinedly on hers. “Blood.”
“His or yours?”
“Both. I bit his hand, and he smeared it on me when he…”
“Anything else?”
“No. I didn’t have time to wash or collect a swab of semen or anything. I had to leave in a hurry.”
“But you took pictures?”
I nodded. “They’re dated. I have backups as well.”
Annabelle gave me a nod. I think I caught a glint of respect before she looked down, making notes. “We’ll need the evidence.�
�
“It’s in a storage box. I can get it.”
“Today.” Luc reached over, giving my hand a squeeze. “We’ll drop it off today.”
“That handles one matter, as for the rest” −Annabelle’s sharp eyes moved around the group− “we’re going to lay a trap.” She leaned forward, knitting her hands on the table, gaze finally settling on Paxton. “And Ms Franklin will be our bait.”
“Absolutely not,” Luc barked. “We’re not–”
She lifted her hand, halting Luc’s protests. “Ms Franklin has insight into their operating practices.”
I frowned, a wisp of something tickling at the edge of my conscience. It whisked away as I tried to grasp it.
“I haven’t been a part of the group for a long time. They’ve likely changed.”
“I find people to be creatures of habit. While they think they’ve innovated, people revert to what works best. In this instance, they’ve operated without any interference, without any risk of prosecution for so long I’m tempted to say they’ve gotten cocky. That’s their weakness.”
She reached for her folder, pulling out three sheets of paper, passing them across to me. “Tell me about this.”
I flicked through the papers, frowning. “Where did you get this?”
“We have our ways. Tell me what you think it is.”
They were financial reports. The pages showed transfers from an account, I couldn’t see the account number or the banking institution. The account had money coming in and small amounts being transferred out regularly.
“It’s an account. The amounts transferring in are huge though.” Upwards of tens of thousands of dollars.
“Does anything about it look familiar?” Annabelle watched me closely.
“Should it?” I handed the sheets to Sawyer.
“This is an account we set up in a small bank. They’d reported thefts to us, and we saw an opportunity to track. The money out, we believe, is being filtered by the Patriots.”
I frowned. “You could trace it?”
“We traced the money to an offshore. The only way we could connect back to them was through matching financial transfers into Australian accounts held by members.”
Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) Page 20
