It was dark by the time Ryan arrived home. The quote was in, Tom was happy and Kent was booked in to go out to the house the next day to put in the cameras. So far it was simply to record film, not to be monitored by Wells Security, but knowing the cameras were there would put a lot of crooks off, especially when they saw the Wells Security sticker in the corner of the window.
To say seeing Ella had been a shock was an understatement. He’d never expected to meet her again. Sure, he’d kept track of her for awhile from afar until he was sure she was getting on okay, but then he’d cut ties, not wanting anyone to track him back to her. After what had happened, he’d made sure to do it in time to save her.
Plus during those years he’d drifted further away from his original nature.
It was long ago, he should have been immune to her.
Surprise, surprise, looked like he wasn’t as immune as he believed. Seeing her again had raised old feelings, he could feel it churning inside him like…well, heartburn? Too mild, because it sure as hell hu- he shied away from that thought.
The house was quiet, blinds pulled against the night when he wandered barefoot into the lounge and stood at the big glass doors, sipping on the fragrant hot coffee as he looked out into the small courtyard with the neatly boxed plants. His own private oasis. He liked courtyards, the privacy they provided, the freedom for him to do what he wanted without prying eyes to see.
Flicking on the soft outside lighting, he slid open the glass door to allow the cool breeze to flow inside through the security screen along with the sound of the small fountain tinkling in the corner. The scent of gardenias was heavy in the air. Not one weed dared grow between the flagstone pavers.
Sipping slowly on the hot coffee, he angled his head from side to side, easing the tension in his neck, rolling his shoulders before turning away and setting the cup on the low coffee table. Only then did he sit at the piano that stood against the wall. Sitting side-on to the courtyard allowed him to hear the fountain and see the plants out of the corner of his eye if he wanted.
Running his fingers across the keys, he let his mind drift, his fingers smoothing across the ivory as he played softly.
The music flowed through him, flowed through his fingertips, everything he felt, everything he was, his emotions that he didn’t show to the world coming forth in the music.
Tonight his music was whimsical, a little regretful, the songs more sad. The theme song from “Beauty and the Beast”, “Dona Nobis Pacem 2” from the TV series ‘The Leftovers’, and ‘Roads’ by Portishead. It was when he found himself playing Johnny Farnham’s ‘Burn for You’ that he stopped abruptly, his fingertips resting on the keys as he gazed at the unopened music book on the music rack.
No denying it, seeing her again had really rattled him.
Turning to straddle the stool, he looked out at the softly lit courtyard.
It was no use.
Picking up the now cold coffee, he walked out into the courtyard to sit in one of the two comfortable chairs bracketing the small metal table. Draining the contents of the coffee cup, he set it down, rested his ankle on the opposite knee and leaned back in the chair to gaze unseeingly at the water cascading gently down the fountain.
Breathing deeply, he allowed his thoughts to ebb away and flow back, this time carrying the image of Ella’s face to his mind.
Ella Attwood. Beautiful, golden-haired Ella Attwood. God, he’d loved her. Loved her so much. Loved her laughter, her bubbly nature, her enjoyment of life, those big grey eyes that had gazed into his so lovingly.
That was a long time ago. A lot of water under that bridge he’d well and truly torched. Today those big grey eyes hadn’t shone with love. Today they’d been cold, angry. His plan of keeping her at arms length had certainly worked.
He should be glad. So why wasn’t he?
Idly he traced his fingertips around the rim of the empty cup.
One thing he never did was lie to himself, sure as hell wasn’t starting now. Yes, her reaction to him had hurt. Shit, had it ever. Yet he’d no right to feel that way.
But there was something different, he just knew it. His leaving her would have broken her heart - did break her heart, he’d known that, watched from afar while keeping tabs on her, but when she’d appeared to recover and started dating another man, he’d closed the door on that chapter of his life once and for all. Locked it and thrown away the key.
All this time he’d imagined her happy, getting married, having a family. The kids, dog, cat, picket fence and steady husband.
While she’d been showering it had been easy to take in the inside appearance of the small house. Not much in it - basic furniture, a photo of her parents and grandparents, some prints on the wall, DVDs and CDs on a small shelf, TV, stereo, a stack of books in another small library, a couple of small statues. The basics. No husband, no kids, no dog.
Had a cat, though, and he wasn’t surprised that it was a mangy looking thing. She’d always had a soft spot for the strays.
Tipping back his head, Ryan looked up at the night sky. Beyond the courtyard wall cars sounded, voices of people as they walked past before quiet descended once again, the distant noise of the city a familiar background sound.
The years had been kind to Ella. Still golden-haired, still beautiful, still deliciously plump. The shorts she’d worn had skimmed shapely legs and curvy hips, the t-shirt clinging to that bountiful bosom. But there was a faint bracketing of lines at the corners of her eyes, hardness in the once gentle grey irises, and more firmness in the lush lips.
And a whole world of pain that had shown fleetingly before disappearing again, so fast that a less observant person would never have noticed. Her pain had hit him deep down, maybe that was why he reacted to it. To her. He’d always reacted to her moods, been so attuned to her.
They’d been so attuned to each other.
Long time ago, mate. Too long ago, too late. Do you really want to go down that pathway even if she’d let you?
No, he’d made his choice, forced her to accept it, and it was done. Regrets didn’t lead down a good pathway.
Pushing to his feet, Ryan took the coffee cup inside, dropping it into the sink and pulling a light beer from the fridge. He meant to turn on the TV, try to divert his thoughts with some mindless drivel, but instead of picking up the remote his hand hovered over it before moving up to draw out a photo album from the shelf above.
Dropping onto the sofa, he regarded the album for a long minute before placing it on the coffee table, leaning forward as he opened it. His parents as kids and then grown up, their wedding photo, his christening, his first day of school. Laughing, bright eyed, so excited in his little shorts, socks, shoes and shirt, holding a bag almost as big as himself. Helping his Dad fix the car, more of a nuisance because he kept dropping the tools while his Dad laughed and kept tinkering. His first dog, his second dog, the family cat.
Flipping through the pages, he remembered how happy they’d all been.
He stilled, his hand hovering over the page before he picked up the beer and took a pull without removing his gaze from the photo of himself and Ella as teenagers. So many memories.
He and Ella meeting the first year in high school, almost instantly becoming friends, best friends within a month. She’d been curvy, he’d been skinny, they’d both laughed a lot and they’d fit together like a hand in a glove. Everyone knew it, everyone accepted it. Their first date, the day they’d become more than friends, more than best friends. Romance in the air, their first kiss.
The first time they’d made love.
Closing his eyes, he could remember it so clearly, unlocking that treasure chest of precious memories.
The scent of her perfume, the flush in her cheeks, his fumbling attempts to don a condom that had made her laugh, their nerves getting the better of them both. Two virgins with only their friends’ boasted experiences to go by - plus a lot of R rated movies that Ryan had rented when his parents were out of town to ‘teach’ himself what to do.
Man knew the basics, but a man had to show his girl a good time, too. Especially when it was her first time - and his - and he loved her so much his heart felt like it jumped in his chest every time she smiled at him.
One of his friends had loaned him some porn but that had turned him right off, so he eventually decided to hell with it. He knew the rudimentariness, he wasn’t an idiot, and a female’s anatomy didn’t really change, right?
So he’d fumbled, she’d giggled, they’d both ended up laughing, but then they’d grown so serious.
God, he could see her eyes even now, the expression in them as they’d leaned their foreheads together. The love, the caring, the exact mirror of what he felt.
A kiss, soft, tentative, more, another, their breaths quickening, mingling, and then he’d lowered her to the old mattress in the back of his beloved old Holden van and it had all come so naturally, so sweetly.
He’d been eighteen, she’d been seventeen, and the world was theirs.
Every time they’d made love was better than the last, they lived and breathed each other.
Another photo. There he was, smiling and proud in his spanking new Army uniform, all spit and polish with Ella beside him just as proud. He knew he was going to marry her, had given her a promise ring the night he left for the Army. She’d cried but she knew he’d come back and they’d marry. It was a foregone conclusion.
Everyone knew.
They just hadn’t seen what was coming.
Abruptly snapping the photo album shut, Ryan pushed it back onto the table. Dropping back against the sofa, he took several pulls of the beer. The past was the past.
What had happened to them both? A lot, obviously. He knew the shit that had happened to him, every last, bloody detail, every kill seared into his brain, every mission. He knew each and every one down to the finest detail.
He’d been damned good at his job. Too good.
Enough of that.
Closing off that particular train of thought, he grabbed the photo album and replaced it back on the shelf before locking the security screen and heading for the shower. He had jobs to do, and thinking about the past wasn’t going to help the present.
Refocussing, he showered, cooked, ate, read, went to bed. Pushed aside every thought of Ella, every thought of the past.
It was two in the morning before he finally gave in with a curse and rolled out of bed.
“Damn it.” Shoving a hand through his hair, he strode into the kitchen for a bottle of water before going to his office to rev up the computer.
Bringing up the search engine, he typed in Ella’s name, wanting to know if he could find out what she’d been doing all these years. At first there were a few social media sites where she briefly chatted then closed her accounts, and a news article on an award she got for volunteer work at an animal shelter. No mention of marriage or kids.
He knew he was being stupid, if not a little stalkerish, but he did a search of Births, Marriages & Deaths, forgoing the usual submission email and using his own program and ways to get into the site. No marriage dates, no children. Looked like she’d remained single. Her birth date came up, her parents births and deaths, her grandparent’s deaths.
He remembered her grandmother whom Ella had lived with since her parents had died when she was six years old. She was pretty much all Ella had had in the world.
Another search on-line took a turn for the worst. What he found stunned him like a fist to the abdomen, a punch deep down in his gut. Shock was followed hard by fury that had his jaw clenching, his fists white-knuckling. “Goddamn, Ella. Why didn’t you tell me?” Shoving up from the desk, he started to move away only to whirl back to glare down at the news article on the screen. His heart felt shredded, fury beat in his temples. “Goddamn it!”
~*~
By the time the sun rose, Ryan’s anger had settled to a simmer. Once he estimated Ella would be home from work he went around to her place, but there was no sign of her car, everything was locked and Boof was sitting in the other side of the window giving him a one-eyed glare, his head looking a little lop-sided with only one ear.
That cat had been through his own personal wars.
He dialled her mobile but it went straight to voice mail. She still hadn’t turned up by the time he was due to go to work so he made one last, terse phone call as he got into his car. “Call me.”
Pulling into the eight car garage, he found Kent loading up the camera equipment in preparation for Ella’s place.
“She’s not home,” Ryan stated. “Did she give you a time?”
“She dropped the key off early this morning,” Kent replied, “along with instructions to let Boof in and out of the house as he chooses.”
That fixed that.
Entering the office right on time, he was immediately waylaid by Raymond. “You need to sort out that damned woman!”
No need to guess. “Marietta.”
“Did you see what she did?” Livid, Raymond pointed to his computer monitor. “Did you?”
Yes. Yes, he had, but it was still a welcome diversion as any friction between the irrepressible Marietta and straight-laced Raymond always was, so Ryan obligingly walked around to peer at the computer screen.
Yep, there it was in all its glory, a blow-up photo of Raymond’s Shag Wagon. As an email attachment. Which meant everyone in Wells Security had gotten it. Which in turn meant there was a lot of laughing going on at Raymond’s expense.
“I’ve been getting these emails all night!” Reducing the photo, Raymond pointed at the email inbox. “Here, this is from Kent - ‘book me in’. And this is from Richie - ‘I want a hot blonde with big knockers’. Even Frankie, who is in Belgium on bodyguard duty, emailed me saying he was impressed with my after-hours job and could he get some action?”
Inwardly amused, outwardly stoic, Ryan nodded slightly.
“As for Kelly…” Seething, Raymond jabbed an email to bring it up on screen. “She says it’s discriminating if I don’t have a tanned, sexy bloke with a big donger for her!”
“Uh huh.”
“A man’s car is his treasure, Ryan. Did you see what she did to my car?”
“Its photo shopped.”
“That’s beside the point!” Practically breathing fire, Raymond started deleting the emails from his delighted colleagues. “A man’s reputation is not to be mocked!”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“I’ll fix her.”
Ah. Here it came.
“I’ll sort her out.” Teeth bared in a grin, Raymond promised darkly, “She will learn not to fool with me.”
Never going to happen. Marietta lived to push Raymond’s buttons, and the whole team scattered over the world lived to see what explosion was going to happen next between them. It was practically a tradition to have a button-pushing retaliation at least once a fortnight.
Pushing away, Ryan walked through to Aaron’s office to get briefed on any news.
Already sitting behind the desk, his boss looked up as Ryan sat in the chair opposite. Ryan gave him a small nod as he placed his palms on his thighs and waited.
Sitting back in his chair, Aaron studied Ryan.
Ryan returned his regard calmly.
After several seconds, Aaron said, “I see Ella Attwood is getting cameras installed today.”
Ryan nodded.
“Her landlord rang not long ago to check that she hadn’t tried to interfere.”
Wise move on Tom’s part.
“You didn’t change her mind when you saw her, did you?”
“She argued, but Tom owns the house, so his choice.”
“Mmm.” Thoughtfully, Aaron continued studying Ryan.
Not in the least bit discomforted, Ryan just continued to steadily regard him in turn.
With a nod, Aaron switched topics. “You heard the news about the lawyer getting caught with underage girls.”
Hard not to, it was all over the news. Ryan nodded.
“Edward contacted me.”
Not surprising that the Federal Police were interested in the case, it promised to be a big operation.
“States that they got an anonymous tip about another member of the club.”
“Anonymous.”
“They even tried to track it, but it was a burner phone.”
Someone didn’t want to be identified as the dobber.
“It’s their second tip-off.”
“Someone in the know.”
“Yes.”
“Man or woman?”
“Woman.” Aaron tapped the side of his finger against his lips thoughtfully.
“Could be one of the underage girls.”
“Didn’t sound young, he says.”
“What does Edward want?”
“He wants us to keep an eye out for any gossip concerning this club and other members.”
“And the informer.”
“The informer would be a great asset.”
“I’ll put the word out.”
“Good.” Aaron dropped his hand to the desk top. “We’ve another new client coming in, an agent for a celebrity by the name of Whitney Joseph. She’s intent on going to Africa to do charity work.”
“Bodyguards.”
“Yes. Apparently she’s known more for her publicity shots than actually keeping her promises, so her visit isn’t going to be that welcome. The place she has chosen is right in the middle of a trouble spot. Agent can’t talk her out of it.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
They discussed a few of the reports that came in that morning before Ryan left to carry out his tasks and Aaron returned to his computer.
As much as he wanted to follow-up with Ella, Ryan prided himself on a job well done, and he had a job to do.
The morning passed swiftly, the agent and his request for bodyguards taking time to sort out. Ryan met him, wrote up the request, got history, did a detailed background search of the celebrity and where she planned to go, and then proceeded to start matching up suitable bodyguards and what they’d need before dealing with the quote and emailing it to the agent.
He was just finishing up when Kent entered.
“All done.” Kent placed the van key in key cabinet. “Man, that cat is a little scary.”
Ryan watched him crack open a can of Coke.
Kent paused. “Something wrong?”
“You put Ella’s house key on your desk.”
“Oh, yeah. She’ll pick it up sometime today, apparently.”
“She wasn’t home?”
“Nope.”
“When did you leave?”
“About two hours ago, I went to gather the surveillance recordings from Gail. But I swung by Ella’s place right before coming back here.” Kent took a swig of drink. “She wasn’t home.”
“She worked last night.”
Kent shrugged. “Maybe she stayed over at a boyfriend’s place or something.”
Okay, that had his jaw firming. He had to remind himself that she had a life without him. “Maybe.”
The email inbox pinged. Turning his attention to it, he brought it up. It was from Raymond and addressed to everyone. Opening the attachment, Ryan studied it. Ah, revenge time.
Kent flicked open his own email and choked. “Hells bells! Marietta will kill him!”
Very possibly. In all her glory stood Marietta in a bikini from a beach party. God knew where Raymond had found it, the man had some serious high-tech expertise. Probably hacked her account - again. Raymond had done a bit of artistic photo-shopping. Her boobs sagged down to her knees, her normally pert arse drooped badly, her hair spiralled out of control, she was scratching her bum, her short and curlies were dangling out each side of the bikini bottom crutch, and there was a cigar hanging out of the side of her mouth. In the other hand she held a box of condoms with the word expired and an arrow pointing to it. Emblazoned on the top of the photo was printed in bright red ‘Broke? Needing a *cough* woman? Don’t worry, we have the discounted version! Can’t guarantee a good time, but you can bet you won’t forget it. Book your session today before this offer expires.’ Next to this was Marietta’s email address.
A loud guffaw came down the stairwell from Control Centre. A pinging came from the computer email inbox Marietta had been using earlier, followed by several more emails, no doubt from the various team members who’d already seen it.
It was starting.
With a shake of his head, Ryan logged off the computer. Let them all have some fun before he reined them in. Meanwhile, he had a few things to take care of. Speaking of which, he checked his mobile messages. Not surprisingly, there was no answer from Ella.
She might refuse to return his call, but he wanted answers and he was going to get them.
However, she still wasn’t home when he called past. Sitting in the driveway, his thumb rapping on the steering-wheel, Ryan studied the house. The wall was white with fresh paint, no sign of the red beneath. Tom had obviously been out and fixed it.
But where was Ella? She’d worked the previous night, she had to sleep sometime. Or maybe she was asleep. At a boyfriend’s house? His jaw clenched. Not your business where she sleeps. But he still wanted answers. He’d just have to come back after work and corner her. It gave him time to cool down some of the anger still simmering deep inside.
After work he returned to the house. She still hadn’t returned. Her mobile flicked to voice mail when he rang again. Avoiding him? Possible.
But she couldn’t avoid him forever.
~*~
Walking into the pub, Ella glanced around. The usual patrons filled the place - drunks, down-and-outs, some young thugs looking for excitement, steely-eyed bouncers, and hogging the tables in the middle of the smoky room - yeah, like anyone took notice of the ‘No Smoking’ sign on the door and wall, the last of which was peppered with darts - the men she’d come to see.
Big, burly, some muscular and some running to fat, they wore typical bikie gear - leather vests, scruffy jeans, bike boots, some sported bandannas around their heads. Some had short hair, some had long hair, all looked mean, all had ‘trouble’ stamped over their hard features.
Crossing to the bar, she rested her forearms on it.
“Hey, darl,” the barmaid greeted her.
“Hey, Yolanda. Can I have a beer, please? And a shot of Johnny Walker.”
“Coming right up.”
The man sitting on the stool beside her turned and smiled. “Hi, sweet thing.”
She ignored him.
“Looking for some company?” He reached out, rested a hand on the back of her waist.
“Looking to lose a hand?”
“Oohh, feisty.” He leered. “I like them feisty.”
“Remove your hand.”
“Aw now, tell ol’ Bill what your name is, pretty thing -” He choked to a stop at the snick sound, the press of something hard against his stomach as she leaned close, placing her mouth against his ear.
“How about I don’t and your guts stays inside its nice little packaging?”
Obviously the words and sharp pressure against his stomach helped clear some of the alcohol fog. He blinked, paled, pulled back.
Just as swiftly Ella drew back, closed the switch with one hand before he could get a good look.
Sliding off his stool, he mumbled, “Bitch” and staggered off.
Yolanda was waiting on the other side, one eyebrow raised in partial boredom.
With a nod, Ella handed over the money, got the change which she pocketed in her jeans and picking up the glasses of beer and Johnny Walker, moved through the crowd to the tables in the middle. The occupants watched her in amusement.
“Hey, Snake.” She placed the glass of beer in front of the big, burley bloke before sliding the Johnny Walker across the table to his second-in-command. “Vin.”
“Got me the good stuff this time.” Vin waggled the glass of whisky.
“I’m hoping you have some for me, too.”
“I’m guessing you don’t mean booze.”
Ella met Snake’s amused eyes.
Amused, but hard. Snake by name, snake by nature. Loyal for a friend, really bad news for an enemy. She kind of hovered in-between, an unknown quantity that amused and intrigued him enough to make him help her, but not enough to trust her.
Went both ways. He didn’t have to know her gut was cramping just sitting here amongst them, definitely a rabbit in a snake’s pit. Nope, no need for them to know a damn thing. They probably knew some already, but neither Snake nor Vin had ever broached it with her.
“Tough bitch,” Snake said pleasantly.
“I can be when I want to be.”
“Like your switchblade.”
She could feel the outline pressing against her backside through the jeans. “It works.”
“Meanest comb in the west.” He gave a loud, booming laugh while Vin chuckled.
Before she could move, someone was at her back, a hard arm snaking around her waist to partially lift her. “What the hell-” A hand slid down the back of her jeans to pluck the switch from her pocket, then she was dumped unceremoniously back into the chair while the big bikie behind her tossed it across to Snake, who caught it and flicked it open.
The silver comb was there for all to see. Shut, it looked like a switchblade. Open, it was harmless.
Vin and Snake roared with laughter, the other bikies surrounding them joining in, even the hard-eyed women laughing.
Nothing to do but play along. Ella shrugged and leaned back in the chair, folding her arms and watching them all laugh. Just had to brazen this out.
“Shit.” Snake wiped his eyes. “You’re good value, Ella. Good value for a laugh.”
Probably why he helped her, though it was for a price more than just the giggles. “You finished?”
Folding the comb back into the handle, he tossed it at her, smirking when she fumbled at the catch.
Nonchalantly, she dropped it into the top pocket of her jacket. “Girl has to be prepared.”
“For what? A comb-over?”
That produced another round of guffaws which Ella waited out patiently.
Hilarity fading, Snake took a mouthful of beer, sloshed it around his mouth before swallowing.
Vin waved the other bikies at the table away, and without a word they got up, their women sliding off their laps, retreating to the pool table and other tables leaving Ella, Snake and Vin alone at the middle table. In their own way, the bikies cleared a section around them, an invisible but definite arc of space, ensuring privacy for the three occupants of the table.
Dangling the glass of whisky from one hand, Vin eyed her.
Man, he was creepy. A scar cut through his eyebrow, ran along his cheek. His hair was greasy, his skin shining with sweat. Maybe she should offer him the switch comb to go with a bottle of shampoo. An industrial size bottle. In comparison to the burly bulk of Snake, Vin was lean, strong. Treacherous.
Snake was just as treacherous, she had no doubt. He eyed her like he was dissecting her slowly, bit by bit, peeling back invisible layers of skin to see inside her.
Fighting the urge to shudder, she met his gaze straight on. “Going to tell me?”
“Lucky you amuse me, Ella, else I’d be doing something about your smart mouth.”
“It’s a simple question.”
Leaning back in the chair, the wood groaned under his bulk as he picked his teeth with his thumb nail.
She refused to look away.
Finally, he tossed back another mouthful of beer and set the glass on the table with a bang that had several people nearby look over, only to glance away when a couple of the bikies shot them mean looks.
“All right.” From his pocket he took a grimy piece of paper, set it on the table, smoothed out the crumples. “Got this for you.”
Her pulse leaped. Reaching out to take it, she was stopped by Vin’s hand locking around her wrist. Now her pulse jumped for a different reason - fear.
Show no fear she reminded herself. Coolly, she arched an eyebrow.
Vin stared at her for a few taut seconds before releasing her wrist and sitting back.
Picking up the paper, Ella hoped they’d not notice her slightly trembling fingers. Without looking at it, she folded it and tucked it into her pocket, fastening the button securely. She didn’t know what was going on tonight, but there was a sense in the air, a foreboding that grew as Vin watched her.
“You want to tell us what you’re up to?” Snake drawled.
“My business.” She started to push upright.
“Park your arse, girlie, I’m not finished.”
Slowly, she resumed her seat, keeping her expression blank.
Folding his arms, muscles and fat combining to bunch up, he studied her. “You’re dipping in a shit pool.”
“It’s my shit pool.”
“Is it.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t intend to swim in the shit pool with you.”
“You won’t.”
Placing those meaty forearms on the table, he beckoned her closer with one finger.
Mentally swallowing, she leaned forward, half prepared to get a warning smack to the chops, so very aware of Vin watching and the covert glances sent their way from the surrounding bikies.
“I don’t know what you’re up to,” Snake said softly, “but if this comes back to bite me on the arse, I will make sure you will unravel. I will take you down with me in a heartbeat. Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear.”
“Good. Then business is finished for the night.” He sat back, waiting expectantly.
Fishing in her pocket, she withdrew the brooch, handing it to him with a pang. She’d thought it’d be easy to part with, but… Forget it. Just forget it.
Vin clicked his fingers, a skinny bikie approached. Taking the brooch, he angled it under the light, took a loupe from somewhere on his person to study it closely. After several seconds he gave a grunt and handed it back to Snake. “Genuine. Gold, some diamonds, a pure sapphire.”
“Nice.” He rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. “Real nice.”
“So we’re good?” She waited.
“Yeah, we’re good.” As she stood with relief, he held up a finger. “For a few more meets, but then you need to bring me something else. Information doesn’t come cheap.”
She nodded, swung on her heel and threaded her way through the bikies, intently conscious of their eyes on her right up until she walked through the front door.
The paper safe in her pocket, her jewellery box lighter by yet another piece of valuable jewellery, she hailed a taxi. Sliding into the back seat, she gave the address, exhaling a sigh of relief as the taxi pulled out into the traffic.
It was stupid to think Snake didn’t know where she lived, who she was, it was why she hadn’t bothered to give him a false first name. But precautions were still good, because you never knew…
Twenty minutes later the taxi pulled up in the busy supermarket car park. Thankful for the late night shopping, she got out, paid the taxi driver and went inside, going straight to the ladies toilets which was blessedly empty at that moment.
Bracing her hands each side of one of the porcelain sinks, she blew out a long breath, puffing up her thick fringe with the upward direction. “Jesus, Ella.” Leaning back, stretching, she took several breaths, seeking to still the jittery nerves she’d had to hide. Slowly she relaxed as the busy, non-threatening atmosphere of the shops filtered through the doorway. She was safe. Straightening, she looked at her mirrored reflection, taking in the paleness of her face. “Okay. You got it. Take that step first.”
The door swung open to emit an elderly woman and what appeared to be her granddaughter. Their bright chatter swept over Ella, and she turned on the tap, washed her hands, took another deep, decisive breath before walking out of the toilets.
Grabbing a magazine from the newsagent, she made her way to the coffee shop, ordered a slice of quiche, some chips and an iced chocolate and took a seat in the corner well away from the windows.
Opening the magazine, she flicked idly through the pages until the meal arrived, then ate while she read.
The whole time she was aware of the paper in her pocket but she didn’t take it out. The last thing she wanted was to risk losing it. Not likely, but she wasn’t taking risks, not after what she’d gone through to get it.
It was eight thirty before she left, getting into her car that was parked halfway down the parking bays and pulling out into the traffic.
As the lull of the road seeped into her, so did tiredness. Man, she was beat. Not much sleep yesterday, worked all night, was out all day checking a few things and to avoid meeting up with Tom and Wells Security. Which reminded her, she had to swing by and pick up the key. Not that it mattered, she had a spare, but if she went in the morning she ran the risk of running into Ryan. But would anyone be at Wells Security this time of the night? Maybe. Mulling over the time and distance, she sighed at the realisation that she was now well past the inner city. Bugger it, she’d get it when she knocked off one of her night shifts, he wouldn’t be at the office then anyway. And even if he was? So what. She was a client picking up her key, nothing more.
Ten minutes later she was home, Boof greeting her at the back door with a complaining meow.
“Okay, okay.” Opening the door, she let him in first.
Boof walked straight over to the pantry, parked his furry bum, and stared at the door as though he could open it through sheer will alone.
Tossing her jacket onto the kitchen bench, she opened a tin of cat food, tipped the fishy lot into a clean bowl and placed it beside his water bowl in the corner out of the way. Only then did she take a Diet Coke from the ‘fridge, pop the tab and take the paper from the jacket pocket. Turning to lean her hips back against the bench, she flicked the paper open and studied it.
Satisfaction flowed through her. One step closer, another one down. And a new man to fake some documents. “Mmm, mm.” Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back. “Not long now, you bastard.”
A knock from the front of the house had her stiffening. Dropping the paper on the table as she passed it, she walked down the short hallway to the front door. Peeking through the peep hole, she stiffened. Shit. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against the door.
More knocking, the firm tattoo short but authorative.
The man dressed in Wells Security uniform standing on her veranda could kiss her rounded rear.
Turning on her heel, she returned to the kitchen, picking up the Diet Coke and taking a fortifying mouthful. He could knock until the cows came home, she wasn’t letting him in. The only way he was gaining entrance was if he broke a window.
A click from the front had her groaning.
Or used her door key. The one she should have bloody picked up after all.
Frustrated, ignoring the faint tingle, she kept her gaze on the doorway. Sure enough, he walked right into her kitchen like he owned it, dropped the key atop the open paper on the table after a brief glance, then stood there, arms loose by his sides, legs slightly spread, boots planted firmly on the floor, exuding authority and subtle ruthlessness, his brown gaze travelling over her from the top of her head to the tips of her sneakers before tracking back up to lock onto her eyes.
“Thanks for returning the key,” she said shortly. “You can get out now.”
“Not happening.”
“Does your boss know you’re a stalker?”
Ryan just stood there, the shadows of the dark hall behind him seeming to almost curl around his shoulders, which just went to show how tired she was.
With an exasperated sigh, she slammed the can onto the bench. “What the hell do you want, Ryan? Sweet talk? Me begging you? Or how about me forgiving you? How does that sound?” She snapped her fingers. “Wait, are you here for an old-times-sake nookie? Sorry, mate, that door closed after the horse bolted. Literally bolted.”
His mouth tightened, a glitter starting in those dark brown eyes.
“Come on, you’re here now, don’t waste the moment. I’m sure it’ll be good,” she added bitterly. “The last time was a real doozy.”
For a second the danger in the air was almost choking, but then he seemed to haul it back, gathering all that darkness inside him, tamping it down. “I did what I had to do.”
“Well bully for you.”
“You didn’t sprain your ankle.”
The switch of topic caught her off guard. “What?”
“Your leg was broken in two places.”
“How did you find out?” She glared at him. “Have you been snooping into my past?”
He took a step forward. “Broken when your car stopped on a lonely road on your way home.”
Like she could ever forget that. She stared at him for several long seconds before shoving away from the bench. “I’m not doing this.”
“You were badly hurt.”
“A broken leg isn’t that bad.”
“Bad enough that it couldn’t quite heal properly.”
She shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”
“Can you honestly say that?”
“I just did.” Crossing to the ‘fridge, she placed the soft drink can inside. “Go home, Ryan.” When he didn’t answer, she looked over her shoulder at him.
He’d gotten closer, his gaze searing into her. “It wasn’t just your leg, though, was it?”
“I’m not doing this with you.”
Another step forward, his head angled slightly, eyes locked on her face, expression unreadable though she could almost feel the constrained fury in his tightly controlled, muscular body. “I saw it. Your photo.”
“I’m sure it brought tears to your eyes,” she replied sarcastically. “Besides, it was only a few knocks around the face and a broken leg.”
“Don’t lie to me.” The edge underlying his tone sharpened. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
Exasperated, she strode right up to him, grabbed his upper arm, ignored the feel of the muscled bicep flexing under her hand, and tried to shift him. “Look, Ryan, just go. I’ve looked after myself for a long time now, and I don’t have to answer to you or anyone else. Take your pity and go.”
He moved all right, but not the way she’d intended. Before she knew it he’d grabbed her t-shirt and started to raise it. Immediately she let go of him, struggled when his hands grabbed her wrists, kicking out at him as panic surged inside her. “Let go! Ryan, stop!”
Her wrists in his hands, he towered over her to look down out of a face that reflected nothing but merciless determination. “You’ll show me.”
“You don’t have that right!”
“Show me.”
Instead, she aimed a kick at him.
Bastard had always been quick, but whereas once before they’d tussle in hilarious competition, this time he moved with a deft swiftness that was almost frightening in its silent intensity.
Before she knew it he had her pinned up against the wall, her hands above her head in a firm grip, his other hand taking the bottom of her t-shirt.
“Ryan! No! No!”
But then it was too late, her shirt rucked up beneath her bra with the hem beneath the band to hold it up.
“Don’t…” She was almost horrified to hear the unsteadiness of her voice. “Please, Ryan.”
He gazed into her eyes for several long seconds, she couldn’t even begin to know what he was thinking, but then he stepped back, his fingers trailing down her belly, fingertips tracing over the ridges of scar tissue.
Swallowing, she met him stare for stare.
Keeping her wrists in one hand, he moved further back, his gaze dropping to her belly to where his fingertips still traced the scars.
Defeated, she slumped against the wall, closing her eyes. Silence filled the kitchen, the only sound that of the ticking of the kitchen clock on the wall and her own unsteady breathing.
She couldn’t see him, but she sure as hell could feel him and not just the delicious sensation of his fingers smoothing over her skin, but a danger that throbbed in the very air.
Slowly, his fingers spread wide against her, then his palm, the heat of the skin, the calluses, flat against her, partially covering the scars.
“Why?” His voice was low, a harsh grating.
She shook her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Not wanting to look at him, she refused to open her eyes, shook her head again.
“You should have told me.”
That statement made her draw in a deep breath, the feel of his palm so hard yet oddly reassuring against her belly.
A touch as familiar as though he’d last touched her yesterday instead of all those long, lonely years ago.
“Ella?” She felt his body shift, the warmth as he leaned closer though his palm remained on her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you?” With a sigh, she opened her eyes. “Apart from the fact that I didn’t even know where to begin looking, why would I tell you?”
“Because…”
“You weren’t there, Ryan. You left, remember?” Resting her head back against the wall, Ella allowed the tiredness to wash over her, the lack of sleep and drop from the adrenaline of her earlier visit to the pub, combined with the struggle with Ryan, sapping her strength. “You left me. You walked away. You never again made contact.”
His handsome face, so hard and ungiving, didn’t so much as twitch, but he released her wrists. However, rather than step back he leaned forward to rest his hand on the wall above her head.
Staying so close that she could feel every breath he took, the aura of danger and strength seeming to seep into her. Surround her.
It was disturbing. Pride made her stay where she was.
Or was it? Right now she felt so…protected.
Shaking away that disconcerting thought, Ella tugged her t-shirt back down - or tried to, because his palm was still on her belly. “Do you mind?”
Wordlessly, he took the hem from her fingers and smoothed it down, making something long-forgotten curl deep, deep inside the recesses of her loins. Unnerved, she started to slide away only to have his hand settle on her opposite hip to keep her in place. Automatically, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tugged.
Why was she not surprised when he didn’t move?
So very aware of those watchful eyes, she sighed. “What do you want, Ryan?”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said quietly.
Giving up on fighting him, she rested against the wall, the feel of his hand on her hip so disturbingly welcome. No, familiar. Just familiar. “Why?”
“They’d never have touched you if I’d been there.”
“But you weren’t, were you? You were God knows where, and you’d been at that particular place for a long time.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw, genuine regret showing briefly in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ella.”
“Sorry for leaving me? Or sorry that you weren’t there to be my hero?”
“Both.”
“Well then, that makes everything hunky-dorey, doesn’t it?” God, he actually flinched, and a stab of regret shot through her. She hardened her heart almost immediately. “You know, nice as this catch-up and all has been, I’m tired and need to go to bed. So if you don’t mind…?” She gestured to where his hand rested on her hip.
“Ella-”
“No. No, Ryan. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk back into my life and demand answers. Because, you see, that works both ways. Only you never gave me an answer, you made the decision to walk away. You have no right to walk back in and think that I owe you anything.” Lips firm, she looked him right in the eyes. “You want to do something for me, Ryan? Go out that door and never come back. Ever.”
He looked down at her, seconds ticking past, before giving a short nod. “Right.” Pushing back, he straightened.
Unexpectedly, she almost immediately missed his warmth and nearness.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Turning, he strode across the kitchen.
All she could do was watch him, not game to move from the wall when her knees were trembling.
At the doorway he turned to give her a fathomless look. “Be careful when you go out to pubs and clubs at night.” With that cryptic comment, he disappeared down the hallway, the front door clicking shut behind him.
Only then did she push away from the wall, going into the hallway to listen as his car started, the headlights spilling through the curtains across the lounge room walls as he reversed out onto the road. Only once he’d gone did she lock the security screen and wooden door, turning to place her back against it.
Only then did she let her trembling knees give out, sliding down the door to sit on the floor.
Only then did she allow herself to start crying.
Crying when she’d promised herself she’d never cry over Ryan Hargreaves again.
Stupid stupid stupid. Even as she thought it, she sobbed. Stupid to cry over a man who’d left her years before.
Stupid to have regrets.
Stupid to feel bad for deliberately hurting him in turn.
Stupid to feel so sad over emotions, sensations and feelings that echoed in her heart no matter how much time had passed.
Boof’s big head nudged her arm, his nose poking under her elbow as he demanded a pat. When she obliged with a half laugh, he licked her hand and sat looking up at her out of his one eye.
“Yeah, matey.” She stroked his head, sniffed. “We make a pair, don’t we?”
He blinked slowly, nudged her hand again.
“I’m just tired,” she assured him. “Good sleep and I’ll be right as rain. Got things to do, people to see.” Lifting her other arm, she wiped her face on the sleeve of her t-shirt, only to draw back with a scrunched-up nose at the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol that permeated the material. “No wonder he knew where I’d been.” Giving Boof a last stroke, she pushed to her feet. “Time for a shower and bed, kitty. Got a busy couple of days coming up.”
Firmly pushing Ryan from her mind, she sought the shower before flopping into bed with Boof a comforting, heavy, purring weight curled up against her knees.
Cracking open the book from the TBR pile on the bedside table, she commenced reading.
Horror seemed a perfect choice under the circumstances.