Sting (26 page)

Wait, Gabs doesn’t know what happened? Why wouldn’t Willow tell her best friend something like this? Is she petrified to confide in anyone?

“What did she say?” I demand.

“That’s the problem. Nothing. I wish she’d just open up and tell me so I can get a handle on how much pain I need to inflict on you.”

I lift my open palms in exasperation, and try to take a peek at the kitchen entrance to see if I can get a glimpse of her.

She places a hand to either side of the doorframe, filling the space with her silent don’t-come-any-closer stance.

“Please. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

“She didn’t stop crying, from the minute we left the pub to when we arrived at her front door. She wouldn’t let me stay. Had to be alone. It killed me to leave her like that. I’ve never seen her so upset, so unravelled.”

“Fuck,” I growl. “She means the world to me, Gabby. I need to fix this.”

Her shoulders drop, just slightly, and she huffs at her purple straight-cut fringe.

“She’s not here, so you can quit fussing.”

“Where is she?”

“Not feeling well. She’ll be in a bit later, but maybe you need to give her some space.”

“Can’t do that,” I state emphatically. Knowing I’ve hurt her only hurts me more. The feeling is foreign. Guilt. I’ve betrayed her. I’ve been unfair to her.

Why did I have to start something? Why do it when I’m undercover and I knew, right from the get go, that I could never really give her all of me? Was I using my work as a safety guard? That deep down, I knew I couldn’t fully commit? That I had an out if things went awry?

That frightened look in her gaze shot me straight between the eyes. The way her voice wavered when she’d said that drugs had ruined her life cut me right to the bone.

There’s so much blackness in her past, I can feel it, breathe in its stench. No wonder she wants to leave history where it is. It seems it’s wherever she left little shatters of her once-broken heart. I’ve just succeeded in smashing what was left.

Gabby flicks her ponytail over her shoulder. “The purple-red thing you’ve got going on, suits you by the way,” I say, before turning to walk out the door.

“I’m not the one that needs buttering up, honey. Believe me when I say you’re gonna have to work your sweet arse off to get back in her good books. That’s if she ever lets you near the bookshelf again.”

I’m going to have to tell Willow about my job. It’s the only way I see this thing turning around. I need to straighten this shit out.

“Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out.”

****

WILLOW

The bathroom still reeks. Three freaking times I hurled this morning. Three! This is why I don’t binge drink. My body can’t handle it.

I crack open the small timber window and spray the room with a generous dose of vanilla air freshener. I dry heave again. Champagne is definitely off-limits for the foreseeable future.

A series of dull thuds land on my front door.

There are only three people that’d be coming around here unannounced, and two of them are working in the café right now. The other, I’m not interested in talking to. I hope there’s a Jehovah’s Witness at my door.
Will you listen to yourself?

I creep up the hallway towards the door, avoiding the squeaky spots where I know the floorboards will give me away. What I presume to be a fist, pounds again.

“I know you’re home, Blondie.”

God. I can’t do this.

“I need to talk to you. Please, open up.”

Talk? He wants to talk? I want answers, and if he wants to talk, I’ll let him, but I’d better get the truth.

I grit my teeth as I reef the door open. The handle bites into the wall. Plaster crumbles to the floor.

“You wanna talk?” I yell out.

Dark rings hang beneath Ryan’s bloodshot eyes, and his hair is wild. He’s still wearing the same T-shirt and jeans from yesterday. Did he even go to bed?

My stomach churns as an uneasy feeling eats away at me inside.
Don’t feel sorry for him.

“Yes, I do,” he says softly, as he moves into the doorframe.

I hold up one hand, halting him. “There is just fine.” He takes a step back.
“
Why were you talking with that guy in the alley?” I blurt out.

Might as well get straight to the heart of it.

“Work,” he says, clear conviction in his tone. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was telling the truth.

“Work, huh? Did you buy drugs from him?”

He scrapes his hand over his face. His red-tinged eyes glisten once they meet mine. “Willow …”

“It’s a simple question.”

“You need to listen to me. It’s not what it looks like.”

“You said that already. I know what I saw. Why can’t you just tell me the truth? Aren’t I worthy of that?”

He glances downwards. “Fuck, this whole thing … I can’t,” he says under his breath.

When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with sadness, and his cheeks are flushed. I won’t feel sorry for him. He’s the one in the wrong here.

My gentle giant was too good to be true. He can’t even come up with something believable.
Work
. What a joke. Do I really look that stupid?

“Let me tell you something, Ryan. I didn’t give up everything to make a fresh start to be back in this position again.”

“Please, Blondie. There’s something I need to tell
you
.” His shoulders sag as he sighs loudly. “I’m an—”

“Are you going to tell me you didn’t buy drugs?” I prompt, hands on my hips.

“No,” he growls and shakes his head.

“No?” So he admits he did? God! I can’t do this. It doesn’t matter what he has to say anymore.

“I’m trying to tell you that—“

“Drugs,” I bark out, with a stiff poke to his chest, “are the reason my brother is dead.”

His jaw drops open, and his glazed eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” The genuine look of remorse in his eyes hits me square in the heart, causing a deep pang in my chest.

Toby would have loved having a big brother like you.
But he’s dead.
Dead!

“I can’t be with someone who dances with the devil. I won’t.”

“Willow,” he pleads.

“You need to leave.”

I slam the door in his face and retreat to the lounge room. Angry at the sight of it, I pick up the cover to my favourite DVD and throw it against the wall. The cover cracks and falls with a bang to the floor.

His Ute roars off down the street. The tears start.

It’s over.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

RYAN

The fire in her eyes, the curtness of her words … I never thought Willow had that in her. Having it directed at me? It fucking hurt like a bitch. She looked ready to shove her hand down my throat and rip my lungs out.

If only she’d let me finish. I shouldn’t have left without telling her the truth. I was so taken aback when she told me about her brother, that I lost my voice. Fuck! What happened to him? Did some hopped-up junkie king-hit him in a pub brawl? Did he overdose? Whatever the fuck happened with her ex, I’d bet my last dollar this is all weaved together somehow.

No fucking wonder she lost her shit in the alleyway. Her emotions were so raw, so consuming. Drugs ruined her life.

If only I could tell her I’m on the other side of this. That my life’s work is to rid the streets of poison. To take out the germs of society. To protect the innocent.

I’m not supposed to take advantage of my position to get information on people, but I’ve gotta find out what I’m dealing with.

****

“Skipper, you’ve gotta help me with something. I need information. I’d never ask for something like this, but it’s … important.” Ever since the Stone takedown, Skipper has had my back.

“I’ll see what I can do. Email me the info.”

“Will do.”

I send through her name, address, birthdate, and what I know of her family—deceased brother, parents still alive.

Within an hour, Skipper calls back.

“You sound like you’re in a fucking wind tunnel, man. Where are you?”

“Long story,” Skipper says, and lets out an exasperated sigh. “I did a background check, as you asked. For starters, I have a different birthdate on her birth certificate and licence. I’ve got July nineteenth.”

But Willow told me her birthday was the other week?
In December.

“Right, anything else?”

“Not so much as a parking ticket or a speeding fine. Before two years ago, there’s nothing on her record. No previous addresses with the Motor Vehicle Registry.”

“Okay.” This just keeps getting weirder. She’s thirty. Surely she got her licence more than two years ago? Something’s wrong here.

“About ten minutes after I looked her up, I got a call.”

“From who?”

“Pete Duffy.”

Say what? Why the fuck would my controller get involved in a simple query like this?

“What did he say?”

“Well, after he dragged my arse into his office, he wanted to know why I was trying to access her records. He went ape-shit. I’ve never seen him so fired up.”

“Holy fuck.”

“I had to tell him I meant to type in another name, because I reckon he was about to call in someone higher up the chain.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry to have put you in that position, man.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t probe any further, and I think we both know why.”

“What are you thinking, Skip?” He’s gonna have to tell me fucking why.

“I’ll warn you. This is sensitive shit, Clark. I don’t know what you need it for, but you need to tread carefully.”

“Hit me with it.”

“Something about the two years stuck with me, so I did a bit of digging.”

“And?” I bark out.

“You remember the Ezekiel case?”

The biggest drug-bust case ever handled on the eastern seaboard? Oh, fuck. I don’t like where this is heading.

“Of course. That shit’s been all over the papers.”

“Pete played a major part in that case; you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“There was a young girl, Angelina or something, who was the main witness for the crown. She gave enough evidence to nail one of the kingpins of Kings Cross and a couple of dirty cops. Her testimony closed the case.”

My heart kicks in my chest, beating faster as I picture her sweet face. Her name was Angel?

“I’m guessing she’s in witness protection, and that she’s going by the name of Willow Asher.”

Well fuck me dead and trample on my lifeless body. Willow is in WITSEC.

It all starts to make sense. Her guarded demeanour; the lack of questions; the cop checking in on her.
The mention of testify in her nightmare.
I’d bet my last dollar that Detective Special Constable Lee is her contact within the program. She used to be brunette, the lack of anything personal in her place.
No hint of family.

No wonder she freaked out the day I called her Angel. I’d dragged her thoughts back to her past.

This is completely fucked up. This shit runs deeper than I could ever have imagined. No wonder Willow freaked the fuck out when she caught me in the alleyway. Drugs have ruined her life. She wasn’t wrong about that. It’s turned it completely upside-down. How she’s functioning day to day is beyond me.

“I trust you’ll treat this information with the discretion it deserves,” he says, reminding me he’s still on the line.

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ve worked with Pete for many years now, and I don’t need any blowback when I’m a couple of years from retirement.”

“This is the end of it, Skipper. You have my word.”

I end the call and slump back on the couch. I am fucking dumbfounded.

It slices my heart open, knowing the pain and upheaval she’s been through. The trial would have been a fucking nightmare. It’s no wonder she has trouble sleeping at night. I just had to go digging, didn’t I? It just raises more and more questions.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this information? Tell her that I think she’s in protection? If she knew I had this intel, she’d likely freak out and question her safety. Would she run? Would she tell her contact in the program, putting my entire career at risk?

“Urgh,” I grunt out, and slam my fist into the cushion beside me.

I am so out of my element here.
What the fuck do I do?
I need to get my head around this.
Fresh air and fucking perspective.

On my way out the door my phone rings.

“Palmer, get down here,” Mick grunts.
How about hi, dickhead?

“Fuck. Yeah, I’ll head down soon.”
I just need a fucking minute.

“I need you now. We’ve had word from the taps that big Kahuna is on his way.”

“Fuck! Righto, I’ll be there in five.”

I get in the car and drive in the opposite direction to where my heart is telling me to go.

****

Sitting in the driver’s seat of the boat, Mick’s knee is bouncing up and down and he’s chewing on his fingernail like it’s his next meal.

“Finally,” he says, and stands. He removes his navy cap and then fixes it back on, tucking his longer hair on the sides behind his ears.

“Where we at?” I ask, and move closer in.

“The big dog’s expected here shortly.”

About time we saw some action.

“I’d guess we’d better take a look at the motor then,” I say with a chin lift towards the back of the boat.

“Yup. Let’s do it.”

I remove the cover to the motor and pretend to tinker with it.

Half an hour later, all tinkered out, nothing. I put the cover back on and take a seat. Mick slumps in the chair beside me.

“I’m sure the info is golden,” Mick says and shakes his head. He scoffs, and gulps down a few mouthfuls of water from a bottle. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We just have to be patient,” I mutter.

I flip through my phone, scrolling through a couple of selfies Willow and I took the other day at the beach. The sunlight is bouncing off her skin, her blonde hair whipped to the side as waves roll in behind us. In the next picture I’m squinting with Willow kissing my cheek, most of her face cut out of frame. All I can really see of her is those delicious pink lips.