Hero Duty (14 page)

‘Stick with me,’ he said. ‘It’s about pace and knowledge. I’ll get you over, under or through it all.’

‘There’s mud.’ Sure, archaeologists dug, but she specialised in written records. Mud was not her favourite thing.

‘That’s what the camo gear is for.’

Apparently, Brodie was in sergeant mode. Today, no woman was going to be left behind – and that meant her.

She surrendered to the inevitable.

They lined up, and the man in charge of the madhouse shouted, ‘Go!’

The first obstacle was tyres.

‘Left, right, left, right,’ Brodie said. ‘On your toes.’

Leaping sideways and forward, aiming her feet in patches of churned up dirt within the rubber tyres, hitting the sides of her ankles on the rubber, she started panting.

Brodie jogged beside her, not even watching his feet.

‘Show off. Oof.’ Her own split-second inattention snagged her foot on a tyre and she dropped to her knees.

He dragged her up. ‘Five more.’

She concentrated, and left the tyre hell behind. Running uphill on a slight slope was heaven in comparison. They passed two of the other weekend warriors.

The woman smiled at them. ‘It’s good exercise.’

‘Dive,’ Brodie said.

‘Couldn’t we — ’

He put a hand at her neck and pushed her down and into a tube tunnel behind one of the teenagers. ‘Use your elbows. Boot in the face if you get too close to the kid in front.’

‘Great.’ The bottom of the tube tunnel was wet and the mud oozed under her hands and through the knees and elbows of her camo gear.

At least the tube tunnel was on level ground.

The teenager exited in front of her, and without him blocking it, light flooded in.

Jessica wriggled with new energy. Getting out of the tunnel was like being reborn.

‘Out of the way.’ Brodie didn’t allow her a moment to enjoy it. He pushed out behind her, leaping up immediately ‘Mud. Step high, long and light.’

‘Gross.’ Mud squelched into her boots and clammed her clothes to her body. The mud came to her knees — no, make that thighs.

Brodie yanked her forward. ‘Potholes. Look ahead. Track the others. Avoid where someone takes a dunking.’

The water that splashed and surged above the mud was freezing and waist high.

‘Is this meant to be fun?’

He still had her hand. His teeth gleamed in a quick grin. ‘Keep going.’

They passed a teenager and one of the would-be commandos who’d fallen into a pothole.

Jessica’s thigh muscles burned. Brodie hauled her onto dry land and kept her moving. Water sheeted down her legs and sloshed in her boots. In front of them, the cargo net moved awkwardly as the warriors crawled under it.

‘Crawling is leg power.’ Brodie held the net up for her. ‘Don’t drag yourself forward with your arms. Push off from your knees. Ass high in the air reduces the net weighing you down.’

It was probably all good advice, but she was too busy crawling to heed it. Babies crawled. How hard could it be?

Hard.

‘Stay close.’ Brodie grabbed her arm, straightening her when she veered sideways. ‘I’m bigger than you, so you stay close and I’ll keep some of the drag of the net off you.’

It helped.

They passed a woman, and the nearest teenager sped up, or tried to. He was panting nearly as loud as Jessica. They pulled even, and then, with Brodie taking the weight of the net, Jessica lunged free.

‘Run.’ Hand in hand, they pounded down the hill.

‘Wet boots. Blisters,’ she puffed.

Brodie ignored such a wussy protest.

And then an even bigger problem loomed before her. ‘I can’t climb that. It’s ginormous.’ The wooden wall was huge. She looked for cracks, ropes, anything.

One of the weekend warriors leapt at the wall, hooked the top and hauled himself up.

‘Ropes are too slow.’ Brodie put his hands at her hips and boosted her. ‘On your stomach, swing your legs over and land soft. Bend your knees. Roll.’

She was still turtling her way over the high fence when he jumped, gripped the top and lifted himself up. Not just up, but over.

‘I’ve got you. Let go.’

She let go of the fence.

He steadied her.

They literally hurdled the next few low fences. She’d never been so glad of her long legs. Or the high school sports teacher who’d insisted on track events.

‘Up. Swing.’

Monkey bars.

Tired, lungs burning, muscles aching and alive, Jessica went even further back in time to primary school playtime. She could do this. She swung, using her own momentum.

Brodie checked her progress, seemed satisfied and swung past her.

His speed showed her how much he was holding back, pacing her. She gritted her teeth, ignored her body’s demand to stop, curl in a foetal ball and whimper, and finished the monkey bars.

‘Good. Balance beam, then a run home. Hot shower and clean clothes.’

‘You sweet talker.’ She scampered across the balance beam and caught up with one of the weekend commandos.

The guy turned his head as Brodie crossed the log and all three of them set off for the final run. ‘You’re good, getting her through.’

‘She did it herself.’

Huh. Jessica knew she’d have given up halfway. No, without Brodie, she wouldn’t have attempted the course at all. ‘He used to be a sergeant.’

‘Yeah?’

The other guy was impressed. ‘See any service?’

‘Afghanistan.’

A faint and breathless whistle. ‘Good on yer, mate.’

They crossed the finish line.

‘Showers, toasted-cheese sandwiches for those who want ’em. Scenarios in an hour,’ the course leader said.

‘Scenarios?’ Jessica had her hands on her knees.

Brodie rubbed her back. ‘Paintball, but with lasers. Happens inside.’

The third, unintroduced member of their trio stuck his bit in. ‘She don’t want to shoot, I’ll partner you. No problem.’

‘I’ll shoot,’ Jessica said. She was Brodie’s partner.

***

The hot shower helped, but not enough. Bruises and sore muscles were stiffening as Jessica finished her mug of tea and toasted-cheese sandwich. She’d washed the mud out of her hair and plaited it so it lay like a wet snake along her spine.

The cast of weekend warriors had changed. There were three more teenagers, one a girl, and four other older guys. This time around, Jessica caught the course leader’s name: Keith.

They were eating and being briefed in an old red-brick house that was dwarfed by a monstrous warehouse beside it.

‘I rearranged the course during the week,’ Keith said. ‘The scenario is house-to-house fighting. You’ll be in teams of two. In this instance, there are no good guys or bad guys, just enemies. Shoot first, shoot to kill. The buzzer and light on your vests will show a kill shot. A disabling shot means you can’t run till the buzzer ceases. You can crawl, hide, whatever. No bipedal progress till the buzzer stops. Chances are you’ll be shot again while you wait. That’s life.’

Jessica suddenly had serious doubts.

‘The objective is to get the box hanging in the centre of the set. It’s in the blue house. Get it and get to the other side. There’ll be noise, lights, the usual. Cardboard pop-ups.’ Keith looked at Brodie and her. ‘You shoot a civilian. The box don’t mean anything. You’ve lost. Not every movement will be one of the opposing team. We’ve got dummies in there. Shoot one and you’re out. Hold your fire, and you risk it being an enemy who takes you out.’

Brodie nodded.

‘All right. Get your kit on.’

In the quick hustle of movement, Jessica went to the sink and rinsed her mug.

Brodie backed her into the corner, his body blocking everyone else from seeing her. ‘You don’t have to do this. It’s meant to be fun. I didn’t know they used dummies.’ He paused. ‘Made it real.’

She looked at him. The camo gear they’d bought and muddied was gone. He wore his own jeans and T-shirt, the sleeves hugging his biceps. He looked like a civilian, but a tough one. One with demons. ‘Forget about me. It’s like a live video game. Not my thing, but not real. But for you, does it feel wrong? I mean, you were there in the dust and the fear and the blood. Does this trivialise it?’

‘I trained with scenarios like this.’

She couldn’t read him. He had his battle face on again. She put her hand at his waist, snagging a loop of his jeans. ‘Once more for old times’ sake or should we go home?’

His battle face relaxed, and the demons in his eyes retreated. ‘Home.’

Despite the veiled taunts of the weekend warriors, who obviously wanted to test themselves against a real soldier, they went. Only Keith, the course leader, nodded his understanding. He ran the games, but he understood their reality.

Jessica waited till they were on the open road. ‘You were right.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Trying to work out how not to fall head-first off a seven-storey fence definitely stopped me thinking on things.’

He laughed.

‘Although I knew whatever happened, you’d catch me.’

He put a hand on her knee.

***

Jessica liked driving. No one could call her a rev-head. She had no idea what went on under the hood of a car. But she enjoyed a responsive car that accelerated away from the pack at traffic lights (okay, so maybe she had a small touch of ‘hoon’ in her), ate up long distances and tucked itself neatly into parking bays. It was one of the things she’d spent money on in the past: a good car.

So it took her a while on the drive back to the hotel to recognise how much she enjoyed being driven by Brodie. He was an assertive, safe driver, which freed her to simply relax and watch the scenery. She didn’t even care that the scenery was passing trucks and busy streets. She could trust herself to him and enjoy the snuggly feeling that trust brought her. They travelled in a friendly silence that was precious in itself.

Ten minutes from the hotel, she reluctantly picked up her responsibilities again. Rubbing her bruised knee with one hand, she phoned Portia’s mobile.

Her call went directly to voicemail.

‘Portia, it’s Jessica. I just wanted to check how you are.’ It sounded too blunt. ‘If there’s anything I can do. I hope…anyway, if there’s anything you need, call me. Bye.’

‘Not answering?’ Brodie asked.

‘Her mobile’s switched off.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I guess it’s fair turnabout. I wasn’t answering calls yesterday.’ She hesitated. ‘The social world Dad and Portia live…lived…in is harsh. There was some of it at boarding school. People protecting their status.’

‘So-called friends who drop you when you’re no longer of any use to them.’

She nodded and thumbed through the contacts on her phone. ‘Portia could have switched her phone off to avoid their curiosity. Gossip is currency. They’ll want to know why she’s cancelled the memorial weekend. I think…’ After three rings, the number she’d called answered. ‘Mae? Jessica. How is everything?’

***

Brodie listened to the conversation. Mae was soft spoken, so he couldn’t catch her side of things, but Jessica’s responses said everything.

‘Portia’s gone? Do you know where? No, no, I understand. She probably needed to get away. What? Yes, of course I can come to the house. We’re nearly back at the hotel. Ten minutes. Okay, thanks. Bye, Mae.’

Brodie ignored the turn off for the hotel and kept on driving. The Trove mansion was out on the headland.

‘Do you mind dropping me at the house?’ Jessica asked. ‘Mae sounded upset. Normally she’s serene. Portia can be — ’ She bit her lip. ‘You don’t have to stay if things get emotional.’

‘Nowhere else I have to be.’ His reply wasn’t as ungracious as it sounded. Jessica had the strength to get through whatever drama was underway at the mansion. Lives of the rich and useless. He wouldn’t undermine her self-confidence by implying she needed him there, but he’d be there.

‘Thanks.’

He figured she understood.

‘Mae’s going to leave the gates open for us.’

Sure enough, the large gates were swung wide, immediately giving the white house a far friendlier air. Or maybe that was from knowing Portia was gone. He didn’t like the thought of Jessica’s visits here through the years. Home ought to be the place that made you feel better about yourself. No one could accuse his granddad of softness, but returning to Jardin Bay gave Brodie peace.

Mae had the front door open and was waiting on the steps.

Jessica hurried out of the car. ‘You look tired.’ She put a hand on Mae’s arm.

‘I spent the morning cancelling the weekend and evading questions. I’ve put the phone through to the answering machine now.’

The main gates closed silently behind them, locking the world out.

‘We need to talk, Jessica.’ Mae’s faint frown in his direction indicated he wasn’t needed.

Since he’d judged her correctly — there was affection and respect between her and Jessica — he nodded. ‘I’ll be out on the terrace.’

‘There is a fridge there,’ Mae fussed a little, more the hostess than Portia had been, and wanting him to feel welcome. ‘I stocked it for the weekend. If you’d like food, press the intercom near it. Louis, the chef, is in the kitchen.’

He gave her a chin lift in acknowledgement and headed in the direction she’d pointed.

The harbour opened out in front of him. He could see the beginning of the bridge’s arch. That sort of view gave the house bragging rights, but he preferred the nearer sight of ferries and pleasure craft zipping along. He could hear kids calling to each other and laughing.

Mae hadn’t exaggerated the contents of the fridge. Who knew there were so many types of water? And that ignored the various sodas, juices and power drinks. A second fridge behind the bar held a range of alcohol.

He nabbed a bottle of water, dragged a chair to the railing, propped his legs up and settled back to take in the view. He could appreciate it, but the view would have been hell on earth for a teenager with a water phobia. He twisted the top off the bottle of water. He’d kept calm for Jessica’s sake last night. She needed to work through her stuff, not deal with his emotions. But damn, her dad had been a bastard. If he weren’t dead, Brodie would have gone for assault. Wouldn’t have been possible to refrain from punching him. It had taken all his self-control not to lay out Derek.