Blood Secret (19 page)

‘Jesus, Katrina. Are you sure you want to find this guy? Not exactly what you were looking for in happy Haven Bay, is it?'

She clenched her jaw. ‘I need to make sure.'

‘Have you still got the Glock?'

‘Yes.'

‘Keep it with you. And don't let some sucker in a fairy­tale make decisions for you.'

 

 

26

‘How'd you get the scar?' Max wasn't sure if he was conscious or out again, whether he'd said the words aloud or just remembered them. He was sprawled in the dirt again, dreaming about lying in a puddle and soaking up water through his pores like a human sponge. But he'd turned the corner in the tunnel and it felt like progress.

‘It's a demarcation line,' Rennie answered him. It was in his mind, he knew it was, but the moment played like a movie across the darkness in front of
his eyes.

It was the second time she'd been in his bed. Two days after the first, the afternoon sun streaming through the curtains, both of them naked and a little breathless. She was on her side, a hand resting at her hip, the bent arm framing the fine, pink curve of scar that resembled an upside-down smile on her
rib cage.

‘What does it demarcate?'
he asked.

‘The end of one chapter and the beginning of another.'

‘Was it a good new chapter?'

‘The one after it is better. So far.'

Him? Here? This was a better chapter? ‘What kind of book is it?'

A cynical half-smile. ‘A horror story.'

Grit scratched at the pads of his fingers as they shifted across the fabric of his shirt, imitating the way he'd caressed the slight bump of her healed tissue, feeling the ladder of her ribs underneath.

‘Was it surgery?' Maybe she'd been sick and the chapter before his
was rehab.

‘No.'

He made another pass over it, enjoying the warmth of her flesh, the soft swell of her breast, trying to imagine how someone got sliced there. ‘Was it an accident?'

‘No.' She lifted his
hand away.

In the darkness of the tunnel, his fingers fell slack. Like he had then, he wanted to know what happened but sensed a full-on assault might make her pick up her clothes and leave. ‘It must've hurt,' he heard
himself say.

‘It wasn't as bad as it could've been.'

‘How many stitches?'

‘Thirteen.'

He raised his eyebrows, impressed – one stitched-up survivor to another.

She gave a brief, grim smile of agreement, reached down and pulled the sheet to
her breast.

It was a big hint but he couldn't resist. ‘What happened?'

He saw her again, rolling onto her back, watching the ceiling as she spoke. ‘Please don't ask. I don't like to think about it.' She'd turned her head on the pillow and her face was so close he could feel the breath from her lips as she talked. He wished he could feel
it again.

‘We're the same, Max,' she told him. ‘We both survived, we both want to find something better. Telling our ugly stories won't change them; it'll only bring them into the present with us. If you want to talk about yours, I'll listen but you need to know I won't tell you mine. I don't want you thinking about it when you see me naked. I don't want to see it in your eyes when I'm in your bed. All you need to know is that if the scar wasn't there, I wouldn't be here. I would've made different choices, been a different person. That's what I want you to think about when you run your hand over it.'

It didn't explain anything, only added more question marks to the ones already floating around her like an aura. But it had let him off the hook. She knew about the mine accident and that his wife and son had left him. He hadn't told her he'd been an arsehole, that he was reckless and thoughtless, that he hurt people and damaged himself.

He tugged at the sheet, pressed his lips to the pink ridge on her ribs then rested his cheek on her breast. ‘I'm glad you came here.'

‘I want a different life, Max, a chance to live better stories. Can we just tell each other those?' She pushed fingers into his hair, pulled a little, making him lift his face. ‘Is that enough for you? I need to know if it isn't.'

Enough? She was already more than he'd hoped for. ‘Yes.'

Her pupils moved back and forth between his for a moment, her bullshit detector switched to high. She must have found what she was looking for because the corners of her mouth turned up just a smidge – approval, relief, empathy.

‘What would you do if it wasn't okay?'
he asked.

‘Leave.'

At least he knew she wasn't going to beat around the bush. ‘Now?'

‘I told you when I took the flat I wouldn't stay. I never stay. There'd be no reason to stay if it wasn't enough for you.'

‘But
now
? Immediately? With me naked and kissing you?'

Amusement joined the mix in her smile. ‘You think that'd be enough to make me stay a few minutes more?'

‘I was thinking it'd take more than a few minutes.' A lot more. Months. Years.

‘Again? Already?'

‘I'm ready when you are.'

They were talking about different things but it didn't matter. He remembered now that she'd eventually stayed all night, moved in some­time after that. Win-win for Max.

And the intriguing mystery of her had never dulled. The more he knew of her, the more she seemed like a different species of person, someone who'd grown up in another culture – or planet. She was obsessively tidy, she never cried, she didn't yell when she was mad. She'd never grown a plant or dug in a garden, sleeping in was a concept she didn't understand, she made decisions like there was only one option and she didn't like owning stuff. When she moved into the house, she brought all her belongings in one small bag.

‘Where's the rest of it?' he'
d asked.

‘This is it,' she said as though there were other people who carried their entire lives
in backpacks.

She'd eventually put on a little weight, filling the spaces between her ribs, and conceded to owning a few more possessions: three pairs of shoes, a dress, the painting gear. Layers of her were slowly eased away to reveal new, delicate ones underneath – and he'd been fascinated and intrigued by
each one.

Not now, though. As he leaned against the wall, trying to gather his strength to crawl again, he wasn't charmed or captivated or entertained by her mystery.

He was fearful of it.

*

Rennie threw the phone at the bed, angry with her sister. Maybe Joanne was right, maybe she was a sucker. Maybe this whole thing was going to turn out badly whichever version proved right. But she was wrong about the fairytale. Rennie hadn't come to Haven Bay pretty and defenceless, Max wasn't a rich prince and he wasn't here to
save her.

And surviving her father wasn't
enough anymore.

She needed to find Max for her own sake, possibly for his sake – whatever it meant, whatever the outcome. If he'd left her, then she'd mark it up as another shit chapter in her life and move on. If it was Anthony . . . 

She stalked to the window and stared angrily into the street. If her father had killed Max, she'd embrace her DNA, turn the tables on Anthony and hunt him down – and this time, she wouldn'
t miss.

 

 

27

The priority now was to
find
Max. Rennie had kept secrets to protect herself and now it was possible those secrets had hurt him. It was time she 'fessed up so James and Detective Duncan started looking in a few
more places.

Rennie took a couple of seconds to down some of the coffee Naomi had delivered, listening to the sounds in the house as she fortified herself. The TV was on, which meant Hayden was more than just awake. At least she could count on him to be preoccupied while she prostrated herself before Naomi
and James.

Hayden graced her with a silent glance when she passed between him and the telly. Naomi was on her own at the window, two fists kneading the small of her back.

‘Are you okay?'
Rennie asked.

‘My back's a bit achy today, that's all. What about you? Is your sister coming to stay?'

‘No. She's not the staying kind. Where's James?'

‘In the study having another go at Max's password.'

The spark of irritation she usually felt for James flared but she wasn't entirely sure he deserved it this morning. He'd accused Max of fraud yet he'd also found Hayden and he was trying
to help.

He was shutting a drawer in the desk when she stepped into the study and he looked up at her as though he was running out of ideas. ‘Still no luck. Have you had any thoughts on the password?'

‘I'm not sure you need a password. I think it could be something else.'

His mouth made a quick, downwards curl of doubt. ‘I know you don't want to believe me but the money
is
missing.'

‘It's possible this isn't about him. It's possible his disappearance is about
me
.'

James's pupils found hers, the eyelids tensing as though he was attempting to read her subtext before deciding how
to respond.

‘We need to talk,' she told him. ‘Naomi, too.'

‘I'm coming,' Naomi called quietly from the hallway. She appeared with a steaming mug that she passed to James. ‘Here, James. I made you some tea.'

Without a glance at Naomi, James set the mug on the mousepad, swung the desk chair to face Rennie and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for
an explanation.

She wasn't sure how to start. It was a long story and she didn't want to take all day about it or tell more than they needed to know. And she didn't want Hayden hearing it. She reached around Naomi, swung the door and shut the three of them into the tiny room. Naomi leaned against the jamb and Rennie backed up against a filing cabinet but with James's shoes overhanging the base of the swivel chair, there was barely a metre of floor space between them. The atmosphere felt instantly close
and tense.

‘What is it we need to talk about?' James asked, more impatient
than curious.

It was brutal and shocking however she told it; there was no point trying to soften it. ‘My father murdered my mother when I was fifteen. His goal was to kill my sister and me, too. He almost achieved it when I was twenty-three. He's been in prison since then. I've just found out he was released five months ago. It's possible he came here looking for me and found Max first.'

While James watched her with a flat, unreadable expression, Naomi's hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, God, Rennie. I'm so sorry about your mother. Oh, Rennie, I . . .' Her voice trailed off, not finishing the sentence. Or maybe it was the thought she didn't want to
follow through.

‘Why would your father be looking for you now?'
James asked.

‘Obsession. Revenge. I shot him twice. He promised he'd find me.'

‘Oh, Rennie. Your own father.' Naomi reached out and clasped her arm.

‘It wasn't your average family, Naomi. Nothing like what you have here.' She glanced at Naomi's swollen belly and wondered if she'd have a chance to see the child inside.

James bypassed the sentiment. ‘What do you mean
found
Max?'

Rennie swallowed hard, aware of the closeness of the bodies in the room and the family ties that bound them. ‘I don't know. The blood in the car park . . . it's possible my father hurt Max. Maybe he saw him with me and wanted him out of the way or . . . or he spoke to him, asked about me and they got into a fight.'

His pupils did tiny side-to-side flicks as he thought. ‘Wouldn't Max know not to talk to him?'

‘No.'

‘But if he knew your father might turn up one day?'

‘He didn't. He doesn't know anything about my family.'

His eyebrows came together in reproach. ‘Jesus, Rennie. Don't you think he had a right to know?'

Yeah, in hindsight. ‘I changed my name. The whole point of that is not to tell anyone. And my father wasn't due out for another four years. I thought I had plenty of time to break the news about my screwed-up gene pool.' Or leave before it
showed up.

Silence filled the room, sucking the oxygen out of it. Rennie wished she could open the door, let a draught in, do something other than stand and stare
James down.

Naomi shifted her feet and pushed fists into the small of
her back.

Rennie held out a supporting arm. ‘Do you need to sit down?'

‘It might help.'

Rennie shuffled sideways to let her closer to the desk. James rolled the chair back a tad, clearing a space on the desk. Hadn't he noticed the size
of her?

‘It might work better if you gave her your seat,' Rennie suggested pointedly.

He stared at her a moment, then stood and made way. Geez, what would he be like after the
baby arrived?

‘Is it just the blood?' James asked as Naomi was still lowering herself into the chair. ‘Because Phil Duncan seemed satisfied the fight at the pub would explain that.'

Of course he wouldn't take her word for it. ‘If it was just the blood, I wouldn't be telling you any of this.' She held up a thumb to start counting off the other elements. ‘I heard someone behind the back fence after you left on Saturday night.' She raised her index finger. ‘There was a man in the main street yesterday taking photos of the cafe. I haven't seen my father for a long time but the age and size seemed about right.' Middle finger. ‘And our car was searched yesterday when it was sitting in the carport. I discovered it last night after Pav and Trish left.'

James angled his face away, running his eyes across the shelves above Max's desk as though the connection between the pieces might be up there. ‘What are the police saying?' he
finally asked.

‘I haven't spoken to Detective Duncan about my father yet. Like I said, I just heard about his release myself. That's who I intend to speak to next.'

‘So you didn't hear it from the cops?'

‘No.'

He waited a couple of seconds, maybe hoping she'd fill the silence with details but she figured he had enough. When she didn't, he moved on. ‘What did your father do exactly?'

‘He'd find us and watch us. Sometimes he'd break in and search our stuff. Sometimes he'd let us know he was there, make threats.'

‘So if most of what he did was watch and make threats, it's a bit of a stretch to think he's done something to Max.
If
he's here.' He was searching for rationality, as though Anthony Hendelsen's behaviour
made sense.

‘He murdered my mother with a large knife. A fair clue that watching and threatening wasn't his main game. He beat people up, he trashed places. He sliced me open before I shot him and promised he'd find me and make me pay. And he's just spent more than a decade in maximum security. He's not going to come out of a place like that all nice and reformed.
If
he's here.'

He patted at the air with both hands like he was tamping down her sudden anger. ‘I'm just trying to understand, Rennie. We're both on the same side here.'

‘Are we, James? You've been trying to prove Max did the dirty on both of us.'

‘Okay, you're right, I'm sorry. We should consider every possibility at this stage. So, if I can ask a question without upsetting you, how do you think he would he find you if he's been in prison for years?'

She ignored the condescension – arguing wasn't going to find Max. ‘There are plenty of ways to locate someone if you've got time and you know how to look.'

Anthony watched them long enough as kids to learn their mother's habits. It was difficult to be unpredictable when she had two young daughters who needed to be fed and educated, and most people are happy to answer questions when you show a photo of two little girls and say you just want to see them. The second time around, he got good at calculating where'd they'd go to find work – when your skills are limited to pulling beers and serving coffee, it cuts down the search area. He'd enlisted some prison mates and used private investigators, too, still spinning the missing
daughters tale.

James's eyes slid away from Rennie to the shelves again, maybe deciding how plausible it was. ‘So if your father's here, you're at risk, too,' he said, his attention back
on her.

‘Yes.'

Naomi's hand flew to her lips. ‘Oh, Rennie, I didn't think of that.'

‘You should leave for a while. At least until Max turns up,' James said as though the decision was made. ‘Naomi said you were talking to your sister before. Could you stay with her for a while?'

Rennie felt one side of her mouth curl up at the con­cept that Joanne and James had something in common. ‘No. I'm not leaving until I know where he is.'

‘There are other people looking for him, Renée.'

But they might look in the wrong places. ‘No, I think you're right about the “if”, James. I don't
know
that my father is here. So I'm . . .'

The door jerked against Rennie's back as Hayden called from the other side. ‘Uncle James? Are you in there?'

She pulled the door and the sight of him felt like a replay of yesterday, except his face when he saw the three of them turned to apprehension instead of resentment.

‘Have you found Dad?'

‘No, honey,' Naomi told him.

‘Then why are you all in here?'

‘We've been talking,'
Rennie said.

He eyed her suspiciously. ‘So I wouldn't hear?'

‘Yes, so you wouldn't hear.'

Hayden looked about to demand to be told what was being said but his attitude faltered as he moved his eyes between their faces. When he looked back at Rennie, there was uneasiness and determination in them. ‘When are we going to look for Dad? You said last night we'd go look for him.'

She'd forgotten but he obviously hadn't. He'd changed out of his PJs, put on shoes and had a cap in his hand. Right now, she needed to talk to Detective Duncan and she didn't plan to wait for the cop to take his time coming to the house – and Hayden in tow wasn't going to work. She glanced across the room, saw Naomi with a fist pushed into her spine again. She needed a hot water bottle not a sullen teenager. ‘James, can you . . .?'

He shook his head before she'd finished, directing his words at Hayden. ‘Sorry, mate, I've got to go into the office and hunt down some stuff that might help find your dad.'

Or the money he'd taken. James was right – Hayden didn't need to have anything to do with
that process.

Could she leave him here, with the doors locked and instructions to stay put? Would Hayden do what he was told? She hesitated on the edge of asking him. There was surliness and a little fear in the way he waited for an answer – and a plea. Not the supplication of a spoilt kid wanting his fourteen-year-old needs met. It was something new. A plea to let him
do
something, to give him a job and a chance to help his father.

Well, shit, Rennie understood that kind of thinking. She understood, too, about being fourteen and frightened – and that moving and acting and making decisions burned off the adrenaline that fear poured into your system. And maybe she was a sucker for a kid with sad eyes. ‘Okay. But I have to talk to the cops first.'

‘Then we look for him after that?'

She wasn't letting him do any searching if Anthony was here. ‘Yes.'