Blood Secret (29 page)

44

His eyes clung to her torchlight until the darkness returned, sudden and complete. After the frantic, breathless urgency since she'd found him, the silent, solid black felt like a shroud. He gritted his teeth, forced the air to move slowly through his nostrils. And the crack in his memory opened like a crevasse.

Walking through the car park, the music from the pub, surrounded by cars. The cussing, the finger jammed in his chest, a scuffle, the shock as Max hit the chassis.

‘It's
my
turn.'

‘You don't get turns. You work hard and do the right thing and be grateful for every day you're not dead in a hole.'

‘I told you I'd give you half.'

‘It's not yours to give. And I don't want
half
. I want you to fix it.'
The door thrown open.
‘So get in the damn car and make it happen before I do it for you.'

Hand fisted around a fat set of keys.
‘You arsehole. You got Gran's house. You owe me.'

Max saw the last of it in slow motion. The arm coming from out wide, the brief surprise, the thunder in his head, the crunch of his nose as it tore sideways, the edge of the doorframe in
his vision.

He jerked as though it'd hit him again. ‘Rennie. Wait!'

*

Rennie saw James half a second before the gun. It wasn't aimed at her, it was swinging through the air towards her.

‘You bastard!' she yelled as she dived. She wasn't fast enough and hard metal clipped her low on the skull with a loud crack. Not as bad as the blow he'd intended but it still made stars explode behind her eyes as she hit the earth, her brain swinging like
a pendulum.

She rolled, hoping it was away from him, and as she rose warily to a crouch, she saw the torch on the ground out of reach and the mallet in the triangle of light that stretched away to the bush beyond. She thought briefly of Hayden, kept her eyes moving upwards
for James.

He was a couple of metres away, hands at his sides, the pistol held loosely in one. A black Glock. Hers. He wasn't following through and coming at her with more. He seemed startled that she hadn't dropped at his feet with the
first blow.

‘You fucking bastard,' she spat
at him.

He licked his lips and shuffled his feet. ‘Jesus, Renée. Sorry. You scared the shit out of me.' He said it with an apologetic grin, as though he'd bopped her on the head without realising who
it was.

She didn't answer, just watched him as she got to her feet, looking for warning signs in his body language.

‘What are you doing here?' He sounded puzzled and concerned, like he had since Max disappeared and, for fraction of a second, the doubt that had descended listening to Max's fractured memory made her wonder again if she had it wrong – but her gun was in his hand. More than enough reason to hold back the torrent of abuse and accusation that was on her tongue.

‘What are
you
doing here?' she growled back at him.

‘Hayden said you were at the point. I thought you might've found something.'

Had Hayden spoken to him after he'd left her? ‘Is that why you brought the gun?'

He lifted it, loose in his hand. ‘It seemed wise, after all your talk about your father. You never know who might be around.'

She watched the way he handled it: the grip nestled into his palm, the fingers tentative, as though he'd hefted it before but was nervous about the trigger. More than likely he'd never held a gun before this afternoon but YouTube could teach you to cook and kill. There were plenty of demonstrations on loading and firing. In ten minutes, he'd know the Glock had no safety, that all it needed was a strong, steady finger.

She glanced quickly around. Running was her first instinct and, if she was fast, chances were the recoil and panic would make him miss but she had no idea where Hayden was and didn't want him hit by strays. And Max was in the bunker, just a few metres below James.

‘Who were you expecting?' she asked, wondering if Pav was on
his way.

‘Not Max, that's for sure. He's long gone, Renée. He's taken the money and left with another woman.' He cocked his head, pity in his smile. ‘Yeah, that's right. I didn't tell you before. I thought it was too much for you to take in but it's true. Max's been having an affair for months, screwing around behind your back. Now he and his fuck buddy have screwed us both.'

Fuck buddy? Did he think a cruder picture would make her more inclined to believe it? She was tempted to shout that she'd found Max, that she'd seen the file and knew it was all bullshit. But she wasn't sure what she knew.

Max said there'd been an argument, it had turned to shit, there was no way to fix it. Was it Max or James trying to fix it? Was it even James who was in the car park? Did it matter now? He was here with her gun, trying to convince her Max was gone. That in itself said plenty. And however Max got here, whether James dragged him into the tunnel, put on the lock or just left him in there to die, Max didn't deserve it – whatever he'd done.

‘Then why did you come?' she
asked him.

‘It's not safe at the point in the dark, Renée. With Max out of the picture, someone needs to look out for you now.'

She was torn between laughing at him and smashing a fist into his face, then she saw it from James's perspective. He must have watched her climb from the bunker on her own. He didn't know she'd found Max, didn't know she'd got past the padlock. Maybe he thought Max was dead and rotting, instead of living, breathing proof. He'd brought the gun in case he needed to shut her up, probably had the key to the gate in his pocket so he could lock her in the tunnel with Max. But maybe he figured he didn't have to. He wasn't her father – murder wasn't his sport. Perhaps it was only a
last resort.

She decided to follow his lead. ‘If you want to look out for me, you can put the damn gun away and help me search up here.' She pointed towards the path and the emplacement on the other side of it. ‘You take the one over there and I'll try that one.' She swung her arm, aiming at Number Five, the bunker closest to the road.

‘Sure.' He didn'
t move.

Almost behind him, at the edge of the torch's triangle of light, there was a movement. If it was Pav, she didn't want to let on she'd seen him. Making a show of looking around the clearing, she skimmed her eyes across the beam on the ground and a pulse of fear shot through her. It was Hayden. Out of the bush – still, silent and watching them.

She'd told him to hide, she'd told him to trust no one. But she was the bitch who slept with his father, James was the uncle he loved and Hayden didn't know about the blood already spilt.

‘I've already looked here,' she prompted James. ‘We need to check the others.' And get him the hell away
from Max.

He still didn't move. ‘What exactly are we looking for, Renée? I searched up here yesterday. All the gates are locked. Max isn't here.'

Hayden's shadow shifted in the light and from the corner of her eye she saw his head lift. Did he think she'd got it wrong? That she was on her own because she hadn't found Max? She needed to remind him of
the facts.

‘You searched a lot of places, didn't you? You didn't find him at the house, either. You got the USB thumb drive, though. And my pistol.'

A brief, lopsided sneer passed over James's mouth, as though now that she'd mentioned the gun, he may as well give up the concerned-cousin act. ‘The gun was a bonus, I'll admit. Certainly gave me a new perspective on you.' He took a second to glance at the weapon in his hand, huffing a short, nasty laugh. Rennie wanted to let him know his perspective was a complete screw-up but hesitated as the shape in the torchlight moved.

‘And all this time, I thought you were some worn-out, hard-luck case Max felt sorry for.' As James continued, Hayden slipped quietly back into the bushes. ‘You got that silent, wary thing down pat. I figured you were a fragile rape victim or beaten down by some abusive husband. Figured you must've been a good fuck for Max to keep you around for so long. Then today I find out you're a criminal. Phil Duncan said you shot your own father. Now that was a surprise. Is it any wonder I took your gun? Didn't want you getting pissed off and pointing it at me.'

Rennie let the insults ride – she didn't give a shit what James thought of her. She was more interested in where this new version of him had come from. His standard poker-faced arrogance was still in place but there was something edgy and spiteful in it. She didn't think it was a performance, not like the feigned innocence – and it seemed closer to real emotion than anything she'd ever seen from him. Had it always been there, hidden behind his mask of impassiveness, emerging in the stress of the moment? Or had he found it when he left his cousin
to die?

And was that deed his worst or just the lid
coming off?

Whatever the answer, she wasn't taking any chances. She wanted to get Max out of the bunker, out of the bush and to medical help – and James sure as hell wasn't going to step aside and let her do it. ‘Yeah, well, you don't need to point a gun at me. I just want to look for Max. Are you helping or not?'

‘Sure. You go over there, I'll check here.'

‘I told you, I've been down there.'

‘I'll check again. Have you got a problem with that?'

‘It's a waste of time. The gate's locked.'

He pulled a small torch from the back pocket of his jeans, flicked open a bright, narrow beam of light that he aimed towards the edge of the gun emplacement like a lightsabre. ‘I'd like to see for myself.'

Alarm pitched her closer to him. ‘
No
.'

James hesitated, eyes narrowed. She wanted to take it back, say something that would draw him away but it was too late. He shone the light along the perimeter of the sunken circle and, as it hit the opening, fear bloomed inside her.

She'd left Max in the tunnel but he was scared of the dark and as good at following instructions as Hayden. Had he found his way to the steps? Had he heard, or was he waiting, deafened by thick concrete, half-a-dozen steps from the cousin who wanted him out of
the way?

She moved closer, a hand outstretched, hoping her voice was loud enough to carry to the bunker. ‘James, come on. You're wasting time.'

He looked back at her, the lightsabre illuminating the entrance, the gun firm in his fist and pointing at her. ‘Come with me, Renée. We can check it together.'

Down there, with Max, where he could shoot
them both?

 

 

45

Rennie had spent most of her life running. Every instinct was telling her to do it now. Her legs were twitching, her lungs were sucking in oxygen, her brain was calculating the shortest route to cover. She'd been trained to stay out of sight, to avoid attention, evade the confrontation. It had kept her alive. Now she needed to keep someone
else alive.

‘I found Max, you bastard!' She shouted the words, letting anger give it volume – a warning to Max, the truth to Hayden.

James's head swung to the steps that led underground and for a moment he was stalled, staring open-mouthed at the narrow, downwards passage. Rennie didn't know if it was realisation or indecision or a lack of any kind of training to act fast. But she seized on his hesitation, trying to redirect his attention, making each word an indictment.

‘He's
dead.
You killed him. For money. You fucking bastard.'

It snapped him out of his shock and he met her glare, fury and fear barely contained behind the taut expression on his face. ‘You should've left, Renée. It would've been okay if you'd just left.' He lifted the gun – no wavering, no apprehension. A
decision made.

And as she eyed the barrel of her own weapon, realising she was too close for the recoil to keep her safe, a massive wave of stored-up, deep-seated, enraged energy crashed through her. She'd spent years keeping out of reach of her blood-lusting father and now she was free of him, she'd walked into the sights of an arrogant, egotistical, greedy beginner. He'd committed a crime and he was holding a gun as though that was all it took to be a killer. She'd seen him in action, though, knew he was slow to react, was making decisions on the run, was still stunned by what he'd done – and he'd underestimated her. Which was more than she'd ever had on her side. She knew more about decision-making and calculating risks and acting on instinct than he could ever imagine. And she was not getting shot by a
fucking amateur.

She smiled as though she had something contemptuous to add, then ran. Fast, hard, in a wide angle away from him, putting distance between them, tracking sideways through his vision, making it harder for him to take aim.

The cover of bush was ten metres away across unlit, uneven dirt that was underlayed with tree roots and rocks, strewn with stones and fallen branches. Unable to see any detail in the dark, she stepped high, pumped her arms, hoping she didn't fall before he
shot her.

The blast roared in her ears, vibrated through her chest, made her legs reach further, faster. As she hit the bush, sharp foliage tearing at her face and arms, another explosion thundered around her. She heard the bawl of her voice without feeling it leave her throat, the thud of her hip as it hit the earth, the crunch of teeth as her jaw met the ground. It seemed like seconds before the pain arrived, spearing through her leg.

She didn't stop. Gasping, panicking, no idea how far she was from the clearing, she scrabbled backwards on her butt, dragging herself through the scrub, left leg like a dead weight, memories of other gunshots filling her with terror. Her spine thumped a tree trunk. A huge, old gum that she scuttled around, pressing herself into, breath fast and erratic, body shuddering, eyes squeezed tight. She shouldn't be here. He was too close. Close was bad. It was
all bad.

Fingers shaking, she felt along the length of her jeans for the damage, unable to see in the dark. No slick wetness, no tear in the fabric. The arsehole hadn't shot her. She'd done something, though. Reaching underneath, she felt the stinging tear in the flesh down her shin, the blood starting to ooze, the hard knot of swelling already starting to form on the bone. Christ, had she
broken it?

‘Renée!' James's voice rose in the darkness. ‘You can't get far in the dark.'

Squeezing her eyes on the pain, pulling air in through her nose, she moved her toes, her foot, rotated the ankle, flexed the knee. It hurt like hell and she'd probably need stitches but everything was working and that was all that counted.

‘Renée,' James called again. ‘I don't want to hurt you. It's not what you think. It was an accident and I panicked.'

Yeah, but a padlock on a gate was calculated. And he'd just fired two shots at her. However it'd started in the car park, it was now premeditated and lethal. She rolled the cuff of her jeans down, listened to the sound of James's feet thudding on the dirt in the clearing, wondering where Hayden was.

Then light filled the night, glowing upwards into the sky and shining through the bush, making sharp, black shadows of the scrub. She ducked, tipped her head around the tree trunk, searching for the source. James's dual cab was on the path, its headlights on high beam. Instinct sounded like the barked voice of her sister, telling her she had a chance if she ran now, if she just kept crashing through the bush until she'
d disappeared.

‘We had a fight, Renée. Max took the money. I was trying to stop him leaving,' James called. He was moving around the clearing, not heading for the gun emplacement but searching the perimeter. He thought Max was dead. He hadn't seen Hayden. He
wanted her.

‘He was having an affair, Renée.'

No. She didn't believe that.

‘We can work this out.'

Nothing ever worked out. It was always screwed up. Screwed up
and brutal.

‘He didn't love you. He was leaving you.'

Why the fuck are you
still there?

Using the tree for support, she pushed herself to her feet, tested the strength of her injured leg, wincing at the sting as the wound opened.

‘Renée!' It was a bellow this time, the reasoning replaced by frustration
and impatience.

The next words she heard made her run.

*

Max gritted his teeth, straightened his legs and rose up out of the bunker into clean night air, tasting the sweetness of it, squinting in harsh light, blinded by two days of darkness. He could hear James but couldn't see a damn thing. He was somewhere close – not close enough to spit in his face. The bastard was shouting for Rennie. He hoped to God he hadn't
shot her.

She had run, Max guessed that much. He'd got sick of waiting in the dark, had dragged himself to the turn in the stairs when she'd cried,
No
. He took it as a warning and ducked back around the wall. A second later, torchlight flashed across the narrow passageway and she was shouting and the stairwell was alight and James's voice was above him, speaking then swearing then the gun shots booming inside the bunker, rolling around the
concrete walls.

It knocked the air from his lungs. Not the noise but the image in his head of Rennie bleeding, shot, dead. Here to find him, killed because she had. Her gun, James's hand, Max'
s fault.

Then James was yelling her name and Max hauled himself up, holding his ribs, clinging to the walls, listening to the lies being bawled into the bush. Part of him wanted to shout the truth so she'd know. Part of him wanted her to believe it so she'd run for
her life.

His eyes finally found James in the glare. He was standing on the other side of the clearing, head down as though listening for her. He seemed larger, aggressive, menacing in the light from the car. Maybe it was the eerie, elongated shadow that stretched from his feet. Maybe it was the gun in his hand. Max's legs were trembling and his heart raced from just climbing a few steps but it didn't lessen the urge to beat the crap out
of him.

The snap from the bush was loud enough to carry all the way to him. James heard it too, lifted his head, turned his face. It came from the south, closer to the gun emplacement. Rennie and Hayden were both out there.

‘Renée!'
James bellowed.

Without thinking, without any idea how to play it, Max ground out the first words that came to him. ‘Don't. Go. Near. Her.'

James stopped as though he'd hit a post. He stared across the clearing like a man watching his life pass before his eyes. ‘Max?'

‘Yeah, you fuck.' The effort to raise his voice tore at
his ribs.

‘Jesus, Max, are you okay?'

‘I'm still breathing, no thanks to you.'

‘Oh, man. I thought you were dead.' He made it sound like relief but he stayed where he was, keeping his distance, one hand upturned in appeal, the other still gripping Rennie'
s gun.

‘Bullshit. You dragged me into the tunnels and locked me in.'

‘No, I came back to get you and the locks were there. Somebody else put them on. The rangers must have done it.'

‘It's too late, James. You took the money and you left me to die. You just shot at Rennie.'

His elongated shadow made an exaggeration of the shrug. ‘What are you going do about it, Max? You going to wrestle the gun off me? You can hardly stand. I won't need to shoot you. I can just push you down the stairs.'

Maybe that's what he was planning. ‘It won't get you what you want. Rennie knows everything. She found me, she knows about the fraud, your affair with Sondra, leaving Naomi, the fight in the car park.' She didn't but if she was still in the bush, he wanted her to. ‘And she's gone. She's probably down at the street already, phoning the cops.' Where Max hoped she was, running for her life.

James swung the gun in a stiff-armed arc, not to fire a shot but with some kind of pent-up, frustrated fury. ‘This is
your
fault, Max. You should've let it go.' Walking now with a jolting, angry pace, the volume of his voice rose with each step. ‘I told you I'd give you half. But you had to be a righteous prick, didn't you? Had to pretend like you've never done anything wrong in your whole fucking life. And you got Gran's house. You owe me.'

Max sensed the hollow air of the bunker at his back, remembered his feet were planted on the top stair and moved two steps into the clearing, trying to hide the fact he could barely
support himself.

Still metres away, James raised the gun, aimed it at Max. The sight made his brain recoil. It was James, the cousin he'd rushed to defend his entire life, ready to kill him in cold blood. Shock and fear and fatigue made his legs threaten to give out but he thought of Rennie and Hayden and managed to keep upright and focused. If James killed him now, he wouldn't let them go home and fix dinner. There wasn't much Max could do; he was too weak to charge him. Buying time was all he had – and thirty-five years' experience of James trying to best him. He injected as much scepticism and scorn into his tone as he could. ‘You going to kill me?'

A sneer pulled James's mouth into an upturned curve and his stalking became a swagger. ‘You think I won't?'

It was just like when they were kids, except this time it was James with the strength and Max using his brains. ‘You haven't got the guts to do it like this.' It was a taunt, not
a challenge.

And James bought it. ‘You think you're so fucking . . .'

Max heard the same soft rustle that halted James mid-sentence. He turned and his heart stopped.

‘Leave him alone!'
Hayden cried.

His son, his
lovely son.