The Predator (25 page)

Her mother sounded so confident. Alex wished she felt the same.

CHAPTER TWENTY

James glanced around the detritus of his bedroom and checked to see that he had everything he needed. He’d set up the video camera ahead of time and made sure it had plenty of charge.

Unlike the rest of the room, the sheets were clean and the bedspread had been carefully folded back, out of the way.

He picked up the small gym bag off the floor and checked its contents again. He’d already prepared the cocktail of drugs needed to immobilize and disorientate his next victim. It wouldn’t render her unconscious, but, like the others before her, it would make her sleepy, distort her thoughts and cloud her memories until she couldn’t be certain what was real and what she’d imagined.

The syringe lay in its plastic wrapper in the side of the bag—left unzipped for easy access. He would put it in the pocket of his jacket when he arrived at the netball courts. The hardest part of the whole thing was to convince her to come with him to his car. After that, she was his.

Tugging his phone out of his shirt pocket, he composed a text and sent it to the girl who called herself Lady G. Anticipation surged through him. Tingles shivered up his spine. His cock twitched. In less than an hour, it would begin.

* * *

Cassie drew in a lungful of air and did her best to contain the bundle of nerves and excitement that threatened to derail her. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep her attention on the game playing out in front of her. She’d already missed the ball twice and had only scored one goal. It wasn’t even halftime.

She risked another glance around the court at the crowd who had gathered to watch the game, her gaze skipping off the faces of the people she knew. He said he’d be here. He
had
to be here.

“Cassie!”

She turned just as the ball landed hard against her chest. Her hands came around it instinctively, clutching it tightly. With a quick look around, she passed it to the Goal Shooter and breathed a sigh of relief when the girl scored.

The whistle blew and Cassie returned to her position, her thoughts still on Justin.

“Hey, Cass, what’s the matter?”

Cassie looked around and shrugged as their Center, Marcie Richards, came up to her.

“Nothing. What do you mean?”

Marcie frowned. “You seem a little distracted, like you’re here, but you’re not.”

Cassie shook her head. “I’m fine. I was thinking about something else.”

“It must be pretty important. It’s not like you to miss so many goals.”

“No, no. It’s not. I’m… I’m meeting someone after the game, that’s all. He’s supposed to be here already.”

Marcie smiled knowingly and gave Cassie a nudge. “
He
?”

Cassie blushed and averted her face. “Yes,
he
. And it’s nothing. Well, not yet, anyway.”

“
Ooh,
do tell!”

“Girls! We don’t have all day!”

Both girls jumped guiltily as the referee scolded them from the sideline. Marcie took her place in the center of the court. She gave Cassie a quick conspiratorial wink seconds before the whistle blew again.

By halftime, they were leading by two. Cassie jogged over to her gym bag and pulled out her water bottle. Drinking greedily, she re-capped it and tossed it back into her bag. Swiping at the sweat that had gathered on her forehead, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and took a good look around the court.

She still couldn’t see him. She grimaced. Disappointment flooded through her and took the edge off her excitement. She hoped he hadn’t lied about the photograph he’d posted. She’d have no way of recognizing him, if he did. At least she had his number.

She immediately brightened at the thought. Unzipping her bag, she dug out her phone and noticed she had a new message. Opening it up, her heart leaped in relief. It was from him.

Not feeling too good. Home in bed. Dad has offered to pick you up after the game. He knows how disappointed I was the last time I missed seeing you. Hope you don’t mind. I showed him your picture so he knows what you look like. Can’t wait to see you.

PS. I’m not infectious…

Happiness surged through her, warming her to her toes. She couldn’t contain her smile. It was a shame he was going to miss seeing her play, especially now they were winning, but at least she was going to meet him. Finally. Face to face. With Justin.

Nerves and excitement warred in her belly. The second half was going to drag on forever, especially now that she had something to look forward to. The end of the game couldn’t come quickly enough.

* * *

James found a spot set a little apart from the rest of the cars that surrounded the playing fields and parked his vehicle. Pulling out a pair of binoculars, he surveyed the netball courts until he found the one he was looking for. His gaze zeroed in on the girl playing Goal Attack and he smiled.

That was more like it. She was tall for her age, her body lithe and athletic. Her blond ponytail bobbed with the movements of her body, teasing him. Desire kindled inside him.

He lifted the binoculars and focused on her face. His breath caught. The photograph she’d posted hadn’t done her justice. Even from a distance, she was stunning. Her eyes flashed with excitement and adrenaline, bathing her face in a golden glow. She moved with the grace of a ballerina.

Something nudged at his memory and he spent a few moments trying to work out what it was. He’d learned it was important to listen to the inner workings of his mind. It had saved him from certain disaster on more than one occasion.

Frowning, he lowered the binoculars. It wouldn’t do to be caught with them, even if that was unlikely because he was surrounded by empty vehicles. He reached in the gym bag and pulled out the beard that he sometimes wore during a hunt. It was an excellent imitation and had cost him a fortune, but it paid to be careful.

A game had just finished on a court across from hers and people were gathering up folding chairs, picnic blankets and other equipment and heading for the car park. He fixed the beard in place and glanced in the mirror.

His memory continued to prod him, but when a group of girls and a woman came closer, he pushed the thoughts aside and packed the binoculars away. Tugging his baseball cap down lower, he collected the syringe out of the bag and carefully slipped it into his jacket before opening the car door. Keeping his back to the group of women, he headed toward Lady G.

He stood a little apart from the scattered crowd of onlookers and took up a position not far from where she was playing. Up close, she was even more delicious. She turned to smile at a team mate and he froze in shock.

Fuck.

It was Lily’s daughter. His stepniece. He hadn’t seen her for more than twelve months and he couldn’t remember her name, but it was her. She’d grown a few inches and had lost the baby fat that had plagued her earlier, but he was sure it was her.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck
. Of all the rotten luck. He’d spent so much time grooming her. He’d been anticipating tasting her for weeks. Everything was ready. Everything was perfect. She was perfect.

He watched her move back and forth across the court, her short skirt bouncing high, and his cock grew hard. Even knowing she was his stepsister’s daughter couldn’t stop the rush of blood to his groin.

They were always someone’s daughter. Did it really matter that she was Lily’s? Besides, it would serve that prick of a husband of hers right. Always looking down on him. The irony would be orgasmic. Tom Munro, hotshot detective, sworn to serve and protect, couldn’t even protect his own daughter.

James chuckled and then laughed outright. He glanced around and noticed a few curious stares from some of the onlookers. His laughter faded. Anger ignited.
How could he be so stupid?
It wasn’t good to draw attention. Someone might remember.

The final whistle blew and the winning team sent up a cheer of triumph. His gut tightened in anticipation. He stared at his stepniece, willing her to look in his direction.

It didn’t take him long to be rewarded. As if sensing his presence, the girl looked up at him and offered a tentative smile. He smiled back, keeping it nice, keeping it friendly. She picked up a gym bag and zipped it closed before tossing it over her shoulder and then took a couple of hesitant steps in his direction.

“Are you…?”

He strode forward, his hand extended. “I’m Frank Baron. David’s dad. And you’re Lady G, right?”

He grinned and she laughed and looked away, a blush stealing across her cheeks.

Shyly meeting his gaze, she shook his proffered hand and introduced herself.

“It’s Cassie, actually. Cassie Munro.”

* * *

They crossed the playing fields in the direction of the car park. Cassie snuck a sideways peak at Justin’s father. No, not Justin
. David
. His name was David. It wasn’t hard to see where David got his looks. Mr Baron looked a bit older than her dad, but he dressed with stylish flair and Cassie could tell his leather jacket had cost a ton. He looked vaguely familiar, a bit like the old guy on
ER
. The one her mom was wild about. George someone. Except David’s dad had a beard and wore glasses. They were cute round ones, like Harry Potter’s, and really suited his face.

“I’m sorry David’s not been able to meet you himself. He’s so disappointed not to be here.” Mr Baron offered her a sheepish grin. “I understand I had a part to play in him missing you the first time. I’m sorry about that.”

Cassie smiled and waved off his apology. “It’s okay. I’m sorry to hear he’s unwell.”

“Oh, it’s nothing much. Just a virus, I think. He’s dosed up on Panadol. I think a visit from you might be just what he needs. Nothing like spending time with a pretty girl to lift your spirits.”

He smiled again and Cassie couldn’t help but return it, her instinctive unease at being with a stranger dissipating.

“I’m parked over here,” he said, indicating a white pickup truck. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, he pressed the remote and unlocked the car.

“How far away do you live?” she asked, walking around to the passenger side and opening the door.

He flashed another grin. “Hornsby. We’ll take the freeway. It won’t take us long. David’s going to be so excited.”

* * *

Constable Michael Kennedy took a bite out of his hotdog, mindful of the ketchup that threatened to drip onto his shirt.

“Shit, this is hot,” he complained to the AFP officer he’d been partnered with and who now sat beside him in the passenger seat of the unmarked police vehicle.

“Yeah, you’d better wait for it to cool down. I took the roof of my mouth off with the one I just ate.”

Michael threw him a grin. “You could have told me that before I took a bite.”

Federal Agent Jack Nelson grinned back. “Now why would I do that? It would have spoiled all my fun.” He turned his attention back to the drab apartment block they were watching. “How long do we have to be here, anyway?”

Michael took a more cautious bite of his lunch and chewed slowly. He checked his watch. “Mate, it’s one o’clock. We’ve only been here a little over an hour. Quit your complaining. Besides, you guys are calling the shots and it could be worse. You could be sitting at a desk filling in paperwork.”

Jack grimaced. “Yeah, you’re right, but I don’t know why I was so eager to get here. It’s nothing like I imagined. Not a sign of action. Nothing’s moved since we arrived. I don’t think I’ve even seen a bird fly past.”

Wadding up the paper bag and the remnants of his lunch, he tossed the rubbish onto the floor where it joined the other detritus of stale food and empty Coca Cola cans.

Michael shook his head in disgust. “You so didn’t just do that, Nelson. Just because you’re a hotshot Fed doesn’t mean you can treat a State patrol car with such disrespect.”

Nelson grinned unapologetically. “Right, I can see how well you take care of it.”

Michael turned away and stared out of the window toward the building they had under surveillance. At least they knew their suspect was home. The rear and one side of the white Ford pickup registered to James Gibbons was just visible, poking out of his garage. It had been there when they arrived.

Michael wasn’t exactly sure what they were looking for, but Declan Munro had requested the surveillance after speaking with his brother, another hotshot AFP agent. Declan hinted that the man might have ties to a pedophile ring, but nobody had enough to arrest him.

A quiver of excitement ran through him. This could be his lucky break. If he managed to get something on the bloke, something that would stick, he’d be in line for a promotion, for sure. All he had to do was hope the guy was crooked after all, and that he’d do something illegal or worthy of an arrest.

Pushing the half-eaten hotdog to one side, he sat up straighter and reached for his binoculars.

* * *

Brandon took another swig from the half-empty bottle of beer and gazed distractedly out at the clear winter afternoon unfolding outside his balcony, suddenly wishing he’d declined Patrick’s offer to take a day off. He’d been working his butt off—they all had—but the boss was aware of the additional stress he’d been under ever since Sam’s accident and had insisted Brandon take a break.

The sky was crystal blue, so bright it hurt his eyes. Weekend crowds were taking advantage of the fine weather, filling the cafes and shops along the esplanade. A few game souls had even braved the water. The sun that had already passed overhead left a languid warmth in its path.

He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over one of the deck chairs. Picking up his phone from where he’d left it on the wrought iron table outside, he dialed his voicemail and listened to Alex’s message.
Again.
His gut tightened, as it had every time he’d heard her tearful account that his son was going to recover.

His son.

He hadn’t seen Sam since the day he’d found out he was his father. Even so, the wonder of it warmed him anew. He was a
father.
He had a
son
. A beautiful son who was the image of his boy’s mother.