Dance with the Devil (15 page)

'Your mother will wonder where we are,' his voice was husky, and the blood pulsed in his groin with a fierce, deep ache.

For a moment Emma stared dazedly up at him, her sherry eyes soft and unfocused, and he almost gave in to the temptation she posed. But then she blinked, pulled herself ramrod stiff, and walked from the room.

Trish Farmer jabbed at a watermelon ball with her fork. It spun crazily to the other side of her dish and she wondered if the tension at the table had communicated itself to the fruit compote she'd made for breakfast.

On her phone call after the flood, Emma had explained everything that had happened in the previous six days. Well, Trish thought she had. But the strained looks passing between her daughter and the man who'd appeared so dramatically in her life, told another story. Trish might have married young, but after her divorce from Karl she'd spent two years at art school and broadened not only her artistic talent but her knowledge of relationships. And she'd fallen in love with a man with whom, finally, she could be herself.

Since they'd sat down to breakfast on the side veranda, with its sweeping vista towards the rugged green mountains, Emma had replied only in monosyllables to Trish's questions, so Trish had turned her attention to Drew. 'Did you lose much in the fire, Drew?' It seemed a fairly safe question.

Drew nodded, and she saw anguish in his deep blue eyes. 'It was my parents' house. The fire destroyed the main bedroom so all my gear was lost, but I'd stored a lot of their mementoes in the spare bedroom and it survived fairly well. The room I use as an office was partially destroyed. And the kitchen and part of the living room went up before the fire was brought under control.'

'I'm taking Drew in this morning to see what can be salvaged, Mum. That's if the police have finished their investigations.'

Trish looked at Emma in surprise, but she saw the sympathy in her daughter's eyes and understood. No matter what had happened between her and Drew, Emma would never turn her back on someone needing help. Trish just hoped that Emma would realise that she was just as much in need of help as anyone else. The kind of help that could only come from the dark-haired man with the sexy blue eyes who was calmly tucking into the sausages, eggs and hashbrowns Trish had cooked.

With her artist's instinct for seeing into the heart of a subject, Trish had sensed the turbulent passion that seethed beneath the calm exterior Drew projected. He had saved her daughter's life, but it was the vibes sizzling between them that gave Trish hope.

Hope that Drew could save her daughter from the closed, loveless life she had driven herself into.

'Just pull up a couple of blocks before my house, Emma.'

She shot Drew a startled look. 'What?'

'You're not taking me back there. For all we know, the killer could be watching, trying to see if I return. I don't want him to see you with me or find out anything that could connect us.'

The stubborn set of his jaw told Emma any protest would be useless. She'd been so tired last night that the shock of the fire had not fully impacted on her. Now she was beginning to realise how close she'd come to dying. In the war zones she'd worked in, the danger had been impersonal - she was simply a bystander who could be hurt because she'd been in the way of two opposing factions.

But if Drew was right, last night had been personal. If the killer
had
known she was in the bedroom, then
she
had been the intended victim too. It was a concept she had trouble coming to terms with.

'There will do.' Drew indicated a clear parking space. Emma slowed and stopped in almost reflexive action.

Drew got out. 'I'll make my own way back tonight,' he said and closed the door.

Emma nodded, switched on her indicator and eased back into the flow of traffic. In the rear-view mirror she saw Drew walking along the footpath. Her stepfather's clothing had been too small, so he still wore the baggy shorts and T-shirt given to him last night. He'd managed to squeeze into a pair of old sneakers, but she could tell they hurt his feet.

She drove automatically, instinctively braking and accelerating as needed, her mind reviewing the events of the previous twenty-four hours.

A horn blast jerked her attention back to the traffic. She gave herself a mental shake. If she continued like this, she'd cause an accident. But she needed to think, to work things out. Switching on the left-hand indicator, she turned at the next intersection and headed for the Esplanade.

Walking had always helped clarify her thoughts, so when she had parked the Land Cruiser, she walked across the park to where the waters of Trinity Bay glistened in the sunlight. Joggers, walkers, rollerbladers passed her, but didn't break her concentration. She was equally oblivious to the birdsong and sweet smell of newly mown grass as she meandered down the path that followed the shoreline.

Every minute of their time at Dario's and then afterwards at Drew's house replayed through her head. She dissected every action, every word, searching for a clue that could indicate the killer knew she was there in Drew's bedroom.

The image of Drew walking towards his fire-razed house, stoically accepting the pain of too-tight sneakers, kept flashing through her mind, interrupting her train of thought.

She thought of Dario's wife and son, their anguish at his death, and anger raged within her. Anger not only at the killer, but at herself. Drew was trying to protect her and she had meekly let him. Left him without even trying to help him. He'd risked his life for her, saved her from certain death when the crocodile had attacked, and she'd run off and left him when he most needed a friend.

She strode back to the Land Cruiser. Within five minutes she pulled up near the end of Drew's street, not too close to be obvious, but with a clear view of the house.

Crime scene tape had been erected around the house, but a phone call from Mick that morning had informed them that Forensic had already been out and found evidence that proved the arson attack. Emma's heart ached for him as Drew searched through the charred and water-battered remnants of his home. Wisps of ash drifted down onto his dark hair. The baggy T-shirt couldn't disguise the way his strongly muscled shoulders rippled as he bent to retrieve any belongings that weren't beyond salvage. Emma felt a familiar tightening in her chest as she watched.

Occasionally he would tense for a fraction of a second and she'd flinch, knowing one of the cuts on his back had re-opened. She tried not to look at him, but it was no use. He drew her like a magnet. She ached for him, but she steadfastly refused to even entertain the idea there could be a future for them together. At med school, she'd been renowned for never making the same mistake twice, and she'd be damned if she was going to choose the wrong man again. Or any man for that matter.

The insurance investigator turned up, consulted with Drew, then made a call on his mobile phone. Fifteen minutes later, a truck pulled up and men started boxing up what possessions remained.

Emma drove to park in front of the house. Drew looked across in amazement, then strode over to the Land Cruiser. Emma watched him, saw the fury in his eyes.

'What the hell are you doing here?' He ground out each word.

'I thought you might need a lift into your office.'

'You're not taking me. It's not safe.'

'If it's so unsafe, why are
you
going in?'

'If he's watching and sees me, I'll become the target - and not my friends.'

'Then you don't have to worry if he sees me, do you? I won't be the target.' It wasn't exactly a great argument, but it was the best she could think of on the spur of the moment.

'Why, Emma?'

'Typical lawyer, always wanting to know why,' Emma blazed at him. 'Can't you just accept that I want to help you?'

'No. Not if it puts you in danger. I'll find my own way.'

'Okay,' she shrugged. 'I'll just look you up in the phone book and find your office myself. Though I would prefer you to be with me so we can share this target responsibility thing.'

Drew seethed with anger and Emma could have been afraid, but she knew, deep inside, that he would never hurt her. He wrenched open the passenger door and got in, muttering under his breath. Emma caught words like 'stubborn' and 'pig-headed' but chose to ignore them.

Except for brief directions, Drew was silent on their drive to his office.

Two blocks back from the main shopping centre, they pulled up in front of a warehouse. Emma looked around at the wide street flanked by semi-industrial buildings, and next door to the warehouse where a group of five teenagers ambled out of a takeaway.

She turned to ask Drew where his office was, but he muttered 'Go home' at her and climbed out of the vehicle. Emma followed, in time to see two young Aboriginal men break away from the group and stride purposefully towards Drew, anger plain on their faces.

A sudden fierce protectiveness gripped her, and she stepped up beside Drew, ready to do battle with him if necessary. Drew glared at her, sighed in frustration, then put his arm around her shoulders. Although she tensed at the possessive gesture, she didn't move away. Her tension grew at the sudden flood of warmth through her body as Drew's fingers tightened.

The young men strode closer.

Emma's heartbeat accelerated.

They stopped; and a flash of strong white teeth broke the dark scowling faces.

'Hey, Mr J. We heard some shit burned your place down.' A pair of black eyes glanced at Emma, swiftly assessing, then lingered on the wound in Drew's hand. 'Was that the same shit who tried to kill you?'

'Who told you someone tried to kill me, Dale?'

A nervous giggle from one of the girls, who'd come up behind Dale, distracted Emma. She looked about sixteen, paler beside Dale's deep chocolate skin, her bike pants and T-shirt stretched across her swollen stomach.

'You know the walls at The Centre, Mr J. They don't have ears - they have mouths.'

At this everyone laughed, including Drew, and Emma felt the tension drain from her muscles.

'Do me a favour, Dale?' Drew's voice was serious, and the group quietened immediately.

'Just ask, Mr J.'

'Spread the word for everyone to be careful of anybody acting suspiciously, particularly if they're driving a white van with a blue stripe down the side. I don't want anyone getting hurt because they're friends of mine.' His voice was quiet and even, but Emma remembered the body of Dario lying in his own blood and sensed the pain behind his words.

'Sure, Mr J. You can count on it. And you need any help - just call.'

The group strolled into the warehouse. A coat of white paint had brightened its ageing timbers and a sign over the doorway read 'The Centre'. Drew took her hand.

'Come on.'

'Where are we going?'

'You wanted to see my office. You might as well be where I can keep an eye on you.'

'Your office? Where…'

He indicated the doorway where the young people had entered the warehouse. Emma frowned. Obviously the trauma of the night before had unsettled him more than she thought. Best to humour him. 'Lead on.'

It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the change from the bright sunlight. Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the basketball court, pool tables, and partially partitioned kitchen with its randomly grouped tables and chairs.

Dale and his friends had settled themselves at one of the tables and they were obviously passing on Drew's message to the occupants of the other tables. Some of the kids playing pool had stopped to listen too. The mix of races surprised Emma. White and indigenous Australian, South Sea Islander, Italian, Asian, and every shade in between. About twenty kids in all.

It was only when Drew led her to the left that Emma noticed a set of offices taking up the front left-hand corner of the building. On the wall next to the main door were two brass plaques. Before she could read them, Drew opened the door and led her inside. A buzzer sounded as they entered.

Air conditioning was the only concession to comfort Emma could see in the spartan office. The two desks were definitely utilitarian rather than fashionable in design, and the row of filing cabinets had to have been in use when Drew was still in high school.

A tall, fair-haired woman in casual blue slacks and white shirt unbent from filing something in the middle drawer of one of the cabinets, and with a cry of delight rushed around and embraced Drew.

The pang of jealousy that shot through Emma took her by surprise. She pulled her hand from Drew's.

'Emma, I'd like you to meet Diane Myers, the counsellor here. Diane studied psychology at uni when I struggled through law. Dr Emma Randall, who rescued me from the cyclone.'

Diane laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that made the sides of Emma's mouth curl up in response. 'Don't you believe him, Emma. He topped all his subjects in uni. Made Joe, that's my husband, hope he'd never have to cross legal swords with him.' Her face sobered. 'We were worried about you, Drew. When Joe brought your car and gear back from the cabin, the kids asked so many questions we had to tell them what had happened to you. I think there would have been a riot if we didn't.'

Drew nodded. 'We met Dale on the way in. Is he keeping up his community service?'

'Hasn't missed an hour. He's got the day off today because his supervisor's sick.' Diane caught Emma's enquiring look. 'Drew defended Dale a few months back and was able to keep him from going to prison. He got two hundred hours of community service and we didn't think he'd take well to that. But then he found out he's going to be a father and he's determined no child of his will have a jailbird for a dad.'

For the second time in as many minutes, Emma was assailed by jealousy. Diane shared a part of Drew's life that she, Emma, knew nothing about, and it irked her terribly. She remembered the horrible things she'd said to Drew that morning and felt ashamed. This certainly wasn't the privileged lifestyle she had envisaged him leading.

'Joe put your bags in your office, Drew. If you want to change,' and it was obvious by the look Diane gave Drew's clothing that she thought it was a darn good idea. 'I'll take Emma next door and grab some hamburgers for lunch.'