Black Ice (24 page)

'Okay. Is it all right if I sit with her for a little while?'

'Of course. But take some time to look after yourself too. Your grandmother will need you when she's ready to go home.'

 

'Damn!' Frustration nearly jerked Brett out of character. Kirri had emerged from the hospital, but she had walked up the street in the opposite direction to where Brett had parked his car.

He watched her walk another block, then get into a grey Nissan Patrol four wheel drive. He noted the number plate, then scurried back to his car, making sure to glance occasionally at his watch as though he'd just remembered an extremely important engagement.

By the time he drove to where she had been parked, the Nissan was nowhere to be seen. He took a guess that she must have turned right, and did the same. Shit! Wrong choice. Again no Nissan. He came to the next intersection and glanced to his left. There, one block further up, the Nissan was turning into Lake Street and heading south.

Once he caught up, he kept two cars behind her. When she reached the main shopping centre she parked in a loading zone. Luck was with him, and he pulled into a vacant parking space just past the loading zone. The meter had expired, but he sat in the car, watching as Kirri hurried into a shop. From his position he couldn't read the shop name, but from the paintings and craft work in the window he guessed it was the other gallery in which she was a partner. He tried to remember the name he'd read in the brochure, and eventually it came to him. The Boutique Gallery.

Five minutes later Kirri walked out, carrying a child who appeared to be asleep. An older woman with short, toffee-brown hair followed, her arms filled with bags. Kirri opened the back door of the Nissan, placed the child in a safety seat and strapped her in. Then she took the bags from the other woman and put them in the seat and closed the door. The two women embraced, then Kirri got into the driver's seat.

Brett allowed two cars to come between them as he followed her out of the central business district. He was sure she hadn't realised she was being followed - she drove straight to a lowset cream brick house only one street back from the esplanade.

He drove past, parked four houses up, and waited while she took the child, then the bags, inside. A lowset house - good. The highset ones were a shit to get out of in a hurry. A covered patio ran the length of the house, but he'd seen the security screens on the windows as he'd driven past. They didn't bother him, he preferred to use the door, and locks usually only caused him a small delay.

He was about to drive away when a police car turned into the street. A split second of panic struck him, then he remembered he was still wearing his disguise. Besides, driving away now could draw attention to himself. He turned off the engine and pulled a magazine from his camera case and pretended to read it.

In the rear view mirror he watched the police car turn into the driveway behind Kirri's vehicle. Two uniformed officers, both big men, got out of the front seats. A tall, balding man, white shirt crumpled with sweat, emerged from the back seat with a large box in his arms, and all three walked up to the front door. The door was opened within seconds, and they disappeared inside.

Brett thought he'd stretched his luck far enough. He started the engine and drove away.

If he had waited another five minutes, he would have been intrigued to see only one uniformed officer and the balding man emerge from the house and drive away in the police car.

As he drove to the end of the block, he decided that going in through the front was a bad idea. The house and gardens looked so new they were almost out of place in their older surroundings, and there were not enough trees and shrubs to provide him with adequate cover.

He turned at the corner, then again at the next corner, until he came to the house directly behind the one Kirri had gone into. It appeared not to be lived in. All the windows were closed, and the grass needed mowing. Junk mail had spilled out of the letterbox and littered the unkempt garden.

He pulled over to the kerb, but didn't turn off the engine. With swiftness born of experience, he assessed his potential route. Dogs were always a possible problem, but he watched a young couple walk down the street, and noted which houses had dogs that came out and barked.

 

'Daniel, there's no point feeling guilty about Gran.' Kirri tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. 'When she woke up this evening the first thing she asked was if you were all right. She sensed something was going to happen to you, that's why she tried to warn you.'

'If I'd stayed in Sydney, and sent you and Catelyn home on the plane, none of this would have happened.' Daniel wiped vigorously at the plate in his hand before placing it in the cupboard and returning to the sink for another one.

Kirri reached up and dabbed suds on his nose. 'We wouldn't have gone.' She tried to scowl at him, but her smile slipped through. 'If you're not careful I'll give you a beard and moustache to match.'

'This is one argument you're not winning by making me laugh, Kirri.' His words were a growl, but Kirri saw the faint uplift at the corners of his mouth. She washed the remaining dishes, pulled the plug and dried her hands. 'I'll check on Catelyn before we go to bed.'

 

'I can't keep putting your lives at risk,' Daniel said quietly as he watched Kirri tuck the sheet around Catelyn, 'I'm flying back to Sydney as soon as possible.' His daughter looked so small and vulnerable lying in the single bed, her curls spread over the pale blue pillowcase. He fought down the urge to snatch her up and fold her in his protective embrace.

Kirri whispered something to him, but he only caught a few words. The doctor had said his partial hearing loss was only temporary, but he found it very frustrating. He shrugged his uninjured shoulder to indicate he hadn't heard, and Kirri nodded her understanding. She kissed Catelyn gently on the forehead, then walked over to Daniel.

Although it was a hot night, Kirri had drawn the curtains, and a slight breeze fluttered the fabric against the security screens. Apart from the bed and a built-in wardrobe, there was only a chest of drawers and a cushion-covered cane chair in the room. Like the rest of the house, pale blue walls enhanced the cool feel of the tiles. Paintings and furnishings brought colour that enlivened and brightened. The painting above Catelyn's bed was one of Kirri's, but different to the ones he'd seen in the gallery. It took him a minute to realise it was the homestead where Emma and Drew had been married. It didn't look in the aged condition he'd seen the other day, but as it must have been not long after it had been built.

Kirri took his arm as they walked to the door. She used the dimmer switch to turn the light down so that just a soft glow suffused the room.

The main bedroom was next to Catelyn's, and as they walked in Kirri turned to Daniel. 'I said that whoever is trying to kill you will think you're still in hospital. Mick made sure that's how the media is reporting it. And he's having a patrol car come past here every hour or so. The police and J.D. are the only ones who know we're here, so we should be safe.'

Daniel nodded. He knew Kirri was trying to reassure herself as much as him, but nothing could alleviate the dread that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

'You looked great in that uniform,' Kirri smiled seductively as she slipped into bed beside Daniel, 'I might have to persuade Mick to let me borrow one for our honeymoon.' Her hand moved over his backside, teased down to the tops of his legs as he lay on his stomach. The muscles in his buttocks clenched with each soft caress.

'Do you
remember
?' he asked.

'Remember what?' Her hand slipped between his legs, touched crisp curls and silky smooth skin. She ran her fingers down the growing length.

It was a while before he replied. 'You used to do that, in New Orleans.'

'Do what?' she whispered, but so close to his ear he felt her breath warm against his cheek. Her hand moved again over his buttocks.

'That.' The word was a croak.

'Why don't you roll on your side,' she suggested, 'and you can refresh my memory about other things.'

'We can't make love, Kirri.'

In the soft light from the bedside lamp, Kirri could see he wasn't joking. 'It's all right,' she hastened to assure him. 'If you don't feel up to it, we'll just cuddle instead.'

He rolled onto his right side, and it became extremely obvious that he
was
up to it. 'I want to make love with you, Kirri, but either you didn't pack the condoms, or Mick lost them when he put my gear in that box.'

'I didn't pack them.'

'Then we can't -'

'Deliberately.'

The word hung in the air between them. Finally Daniel spoke. 'Why?'

'Yesterday, when I ran into the shed and saw you and Gran lying there, not moving, I thought you were dead. And apart from all the other terrible feelings that ran through me, I regretted using protection our last night in Sydney.'

From her half-lying position, she looked down at him, at the thick lashes fringing his golden-brown eyes, and the strong outline of his jaw. She almost couldn't speak for the love that engulfed her. 'I'd thought … in Sydney … ' she cleared her throat, 'that I wouldn't want to fall pregnant while the risk of losing you was so great. Yesterday, I learned that I wanted your child so badly I could have cried at the lost opportunity.'

She moved so that she was lying full length beside him, her breasts barely touching his chest, his erection a gentle intruder at the junction of her thighs. 'I love you, Daniel, and I want to have your baby,' she smiled. 'I always thought my painting fulfilled my creative desires, but when I see you with Catelyn I know it's not enough. I want us to create another child together.'

The thought of Kirri pregnant with his child was a powerful aphrodisiac. Although he loved Catelyn, Daniel regretted missing the first fifteen months of her life. Having another child wouldn't make up for that, but having a family with Kirri had been part of his hopes when he'd asked her to marry him. But now … 'I don't want to take the risk, Kirri. If anything happens -'

'We're not going to let it happen, Daniel.' She moved her leg over his. His erection slid partly into her warmth. She asked a question with her eyes, saw the answer in his, and thrust her hips forward.

Daniel sighed with pleasure as he filled her. It felt like he'd always imagined it would if there was no barrier between them, tight, velvet soft, and sleek with her arousal. He thrust slowly, savouring each long, smooth movement.

With infinite tenderness, his lips caressed hers, his tongue conducting a subtle invasion.

Kirri slipped her arm around his waist, careful not to touch the dressings on his arm and shoulder. The slowness of their lovemaking was amazingly erotic. It heightened all her senses. She could feel every ridged vein, every contour, as he slid slowly in, slowly out, his hand on her bottom, controlling her rhythm.

It was like a dance, a sensual, leisurely waltz. Kirri floated in bliss, colours drifting through her mind. She touched him in gentle exploration, feeling the textures of him, the softness of skin, the hardness of muscle, the crispness of hair at his groin, and the rich silkiness as her fingers twined in the hair at his temples.

Unlike a dance that ends and then there is nothing, Kirri's orgasm swept over her like a wave on a long, flat beach, then rippled slowly away. As Daniel shuddered his release, the wave peaked again.

Then, and only then, did she break their kiss and open her eyes. The sheer wonder and joy on Daniel's face made her want to weep with happiness.

No matter what happened, Kirri decided, she would never regret her decision.

 

Stella rolled off the almost sleeping form of the big Russian she'd picked up in a nightclub, and laughed. She'd thought for a while that she might have misjudged this one, but in the end she'd won. Every time she'd increased the pain, he'd threatened her with violence, so she'd given him pleasure, pleasure beyond any he'd experienced with any other woman.

In the end he'd learned to play the game. The bastards always did. If they wanted the pleasure, they had to submit to the pain. And in the end she would walk away, knowing that she had, as usual, won.

Winning was what it was all about. Conquering, taking the prize, grinding the loser down. To win against a formidable opponent was a heady triumph, and she savoured the sense of power it brought.

The hotel was cheap, but the towels were clean, and as she showered off the excesses of the night, her thoughts turned to Philip Weyburn. She despised his weakness, but delighted in using it to manipulate him. She was in no position to engage him in an open struggle for power. Her smile curved maliciously. Yet.

 

Philip turned off his bedroom light and fell into bed. For four hours he had worked on the plans for the Dinnegan Project, but for only two of those hours had he been able to keep his mind on the work.

The seeds of his deception had sprouted in his own guts. He was trapped by the lies he'd told and the truths he'd hidden, and he was beginning to wonder if he would be able to stop.

 

Brett checked his watch. Two o'clock in the morning. It was always the best time.

In the afternoon he'd caught up on the sleep he'd lost in the haze of drugs and sex the night before.

Now, as he drove to the apparently deserted house behind the one Kirri had entered, Brett checked his planned movements. He parked as far from the street lights as he could, and strolled casually to the house.

After he walked into the back yard, he took a balaclava from a pocket of his dark jeans and pulled it on. He slipped on surgical gloves. In a few seconds he was inside, and found a vantage point at a window to observe the house where Kirri was staying. Although all the furniture had gone, a packing crate with a broken top lay on the floor, and he propped himself on the undamaged part. At least, he grimaced, he was clear of the insects he could hear scuttling over the floor.