Hero Duty (18 page)

‘A hot shower will help,’ he said.

‘Later.’

‘Now, if you’re hurting.’ Taking care of her again.

‘All right.’ She didn’t move.

He kissed her nose and swung out of bed. He went into the bathroom and came back with a hotel robe, holding it for her.

She stood slowly and let him wrap her in it and his arms. ‘Thank you.’

‘We’ll shower together when your muscles don’t hurt.’

The promise of those words added magic to the morning after an incredible night.

‘Sounds good.’ She turned her head to kiss him. ‘Ow.’

‘Hot shower.’

She smiled and headed for her room, not because she wanted to leave him, but because it had her shampoo and moisturiser, and he’d want to shower, too. Maybe shave, though she liked his stubble.

Standing under a hot shower did improve her sore muscles, and she stood a while. There was a lot to remember and dream about. And for once she didn’t feel she had to hurry and snatch at happiness. She could enjoy the journey.

She dressed in a soft cotton-knit top in faded red and a white midi-skirt. Casual, relaxed, but feminine.

Brodie smiled when she hit the kitchenette.

‘You’ve been out.’ She investigated the selection of pastries he’d bought.

He snagged the bags away from her. ‘Kiss first.’

Happily, she complied.

His hands moved familiarly over her hips and back up to her waist. ‘Nice. I also bought papers. Do you mind?’

‘Coffee, pastries, Sunday papers and a sexy guy? I think I can live with it.’ She smiled. It felt great. It felt real.

‘Glad you see it that way.’ He opened the balcony door, letting the morning in, but sitting inside on the sofas where the wind wouldn’t whip the papers away. ‘A leisurely Sunday morning and then whatever you want to do.’

She didn’t want to leave the suite.

The papers were the usual mix of gossip, opinion and the old-news that the world was a mess. Jessica started with the comics, breaking herself in gently. The special report in the centre of the paper was on Afghanistan.

Brodie had served there. She read the hard struggle of ordinary Afghanis’ lives with new interest. He had seen this, and it haunted him.

The people needed so much. Not least, the dignity of deciding and doing things for themselves. Nor were they the only ones. Stab a pin in a map of the world and most places, there were people enduring the unendurable.

She had the money to help with that, but not the knowledge or experience.

‘Brodie, where did you serve in Afghanistan?’

He looked up from the sports pages to share that it was the same place written up in the newspaper report.

For Jessica it all came together with a sense of rightness and relief. ‘You can do it. You have the experience and training, and you’re a leader. People would do as you say. I’ll put my money in a charity trust fund and you can run it. It’ll be the perfect fit between…’

‘Enough.’ The snap of command. The raw power of his sergeant voice. He threw aside his newspaper. Muscles bunched under his T-shirt. Every line of his body spoke of violence, of anger barely contained. ‘I did not hear that. I cannot believe — ’ He jerked away, heading for the door. His boots thudded on the tiled floor.

‘Brodie?’ She scrambled up, newspapers sliding and falling.

‘It was an insult.’ He whirled, finger stabbing the air, accusing her.

‘No.’ She didn’t understand.

‘One night in your bed. I’m a good fuck. So you’re going to pay me.’

‘No!’ She retreated one step, two. Confrontation was so hard. It killed her. And this was Brodie. He was tearing her heart, ripping it into bleeding shreds.

‘I should have listened. You tried to buy me in the beginning.’

‘Brodie, no.’ But his rage pulsed on the air and she couldn’t move, couldn’t go to him. Couldn’t reach him.

Nor could she protect herself. As always, always, she stood powerless before the anger of someone she loved. The back of her thighs bumped the arm of the sofa and she half-collapsed onto it.

But Brodie wasn’t done. ‘I am stupid. You played me. Stupid, stupid me, sucked in by all that needing-a-hero bullshit. I stuck around and now you’re going to reward me. I asked about philanthropy last night for you. To give you something good to hold onto, to aim for. Now you’ve twisted it around and you think it’s a leash to tie me to you. Woman, I can’t be bought.’

The hotel door slammed behind him. A second later, the balcony door echoed it.

Jessica slid down the arm of the sofa onto the cushioned seat. She curled into a protective ball, breathing shallow with the boa constrictor crunching her stomach and chest, sinking fangs it shouldn’t have into her heart.

Pain and shock and her usual collapse in the face of fury shook her body as if she had a fever. Her dad had used rage to control her. She’d learned not to assert herself and provoke the storm.

She’d trusted that Brodie would never behave like that. She’d seen his kindness, felt his care, and believed it.

She pressed her cheekbone to the hardness of her knee, fighting to control the tremors shaking her apart.

Her money. The damn money. No matter what she did, it brought trouble.

‘I should have given it to Derek. Let him drown in it.’

Tears blurred her eyes. She squeezed them closed. Bad enough to hear the lonely sound of her voice in the empty room. She would not cry.

‘Hell.’ She jumped up from the sofa and fumbled open the balcony door. She gripped the railing, looking down at the yachts on the harbour and straining her ears to hear the sound of voices and traffic, of people living.

Loneliness was the sharpest pain, hurting with every breath. She had thought to do something good. How could he have so misunderstood?

Because he hadn’t trusted her.

The truth tore her wide open. She’d gone to Jardin Bay to hire a hero and met Brodie, the man. Nearly instantly he’d become so much more than an ex-soldier, a warrior, a hero. She’d seen his humour, his quiet calm, the compassion he balanced with justice. She had seen him.

He hadn’t seen her. She’d thought he had. She’d believed he had when she invited him to her bed. But he hadn’t. He still saw her as a spoilt rich girl. She hadn’t reached his heart.

‘He hasn’t broken mine.’ She whispered the lie. Sydney Harbour sparkled in the sunshine, uncaring.

She walked slowly back into the hotel suite, picking up the newspapers and stacking them any old how on the coffee table. She put the leftover pastries in the bin. Food nauseated her. The mug Brodie had used had a third of coffee in it. She poured it down the sink, watching it run away as if in a ritual of good-bye.

The mug slipped as her phone rang and her fingers spasmed. Shock. She was in shock. Habit had her checking the phone. Not Brodie. Vera.

She answered.

‘Jessica, I was wrong.’

From the punctilious Vera, the lack of greeting or apology for a Sunday morning call had to mean bad news.

Jessica dropped onto the sofa.

Vera continued. ‘I sent a request to Security to cancel Ian’s physical and systems access, but I didn’t check it was done.’

‘Derek got in,’ Jessica said dully. All of Friday night in her dad’s study, drinking whiskey and obsessing on getting what he felt he was owed. Derek could have done anything. ‘What has he done?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Vera sounded it, quiet and contrite where she was normally confident.

Jessica had used up her emotional energy. She had none to spare for Vera. ‘Tell me.’

The older woman took a deep breath, preparing herself. ‘I’m emailing you a link to a financial blog. It’s an independent site that repeats gossip and rumour. No one admits to visiting it. Everyone does. People use it to leak news they want to break. It reads to me that Derek’s used it. Do you remember the Indonesian project?’

‘Bridges to link the islands?’

‘A bit more than that,’ Vera chided. ‘The islands involved will become a special business zone. Numbat has been working on the proposal for two years. The financial viability, the physical challenges of construction, of building something to withstand the weather, geothermal shocks.’

‘I remember,’ Jessica cut in. ‘Was Derek involved in the project?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘But information about it has leaked?’

‘I’ll read it to you.’ Evidently sending the link wasn’t enough. Vera had outrage as well as contrition and information to share. ‘The blog has a coy tone.
Derek Amberly, stepbrother to billionaire heiress, Jessica Trove, and no longer heir-presumptive to the Numbat powerhouse, has a project to sell. Word is, Bigger Yet is interested. It seems Derek learned something in his years at Numbat. The project proposes an all-out development assault on some of Indonesia’s quieter, but still strategically placed, islands.
That weasel.’

‘Won’t the Indonesian government know that it’s Numbat’s work?’ Jessica recalled the outline of the project. It was the company’s secret, star project. It was its future. Derek had stolen Numbat’s treasure map. It was a betrayal as big as the billions of dollars involved.

Vera sighed, not pensive, but sharp and angry. ‘We kept the Indonesian government carefully at arm’s length. It’s not just about ethics and the appearance of good corporate behaviour. We wanted to avoid precisely this situation where the details of the project are out there and our tender proposal for it can be undercut.’

‘What do we do?’

‘You’re going to have to brace,’ Vera said.

‘Numbat can still fight for the project, can’t we? I don’t mind if the profit is less. What there is can cover people’s salaries and bonuses.’

‘Jessica.’

One word, but so full of warning and pity.

‘What have I missed?’ Dread shrivelled her small attempt to be positive and proactive.

‘Joe will be out for blood. The information is commercial in confidence. In essence, Derek stole it. Proving that won’t be difficult.’

‘Oh God, no.’ Jessica saw her family’s pain pulled out, displayed, intensified in the court system. The headlines would dominate the news.

‘To stop Bigger Yet using the information, Derek has to be convicted,’ Vera concluded.

‘He’ll fight,’ Jessica whispered.

Derek didn’t mind headlines. He thrived on attention. And he knew her. He was gambling on her lack of ruthlessness and need for privacy. He would gut Numbat and it would be his revenge.

Joe would be relentless in protecting his patch and pushing her to chase Derek through the courts, criminal and civil cases.

‘I can’t.’ It was less a whisper than a breath.

‘Is Brodie there?’ Vera was brisk.

‘No.’

There was a long moment of silence. Long enough for Jessica to wonder what her single syllable had revealed. She decided she didn’t care.

‘Jessica, Derek has made this a choice between him and the company.’

She couldn’t accept it. ‘Numbat can survive the loss of the Indonesian project.’

‘No, it can’t. Reputational damage that we can’t protect our information. Staff jumping ship. Loyalty cuts both ways. If you don’t defend Numbat against Derek, you’ve chosen him over them. Joe won’t stay. If Derek gets away with it, Numbat dies. It might be slow, but it’ll happen.’

‘Vera, I…it won’t just be about Numbat. It’ll be trial by media and I’ll be the one sacrificed on the altar of curiosity and envy.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Vera disconnected.

‘Are you?’ Jessica asked the silent phone.

She clicked the link Vera had sent her. The blog post’s snide enjoyment of the situation was a foretaste of the media feeding frenzy. People would be waiting in line to spin a story of how she, the billionairess, turned on her stepbrother. Derek would probably pay a public relations company to finesse it. Then Joe would order Numbat’s PR people to counter the campaign. She would be the tasty meat in the sandwich.

And for all of Vera’s sympathy, Jessica had been rich long enough to be cynical. Vera had phoned her early to pile on the pressure. For the good of Numbat she wanted Derek charged, and convicted of theft. For that to happen, she needed Jessica as the owner of Numbat to agree with her, and she’d carefully framed the discussion to make any other action unthinkable.

No wonder Portia had run away. Derek had just put them all in an impossible situation.

Now Jessica faced it alone.

Her phone rang.

‘Joe calling.’

***

Brodie drove for the airport, navigating the quieter Sunday traffic with the sort of focussed aggression that had other cars — even taxis — giving way. Fortunately, as he’d left the hotel suite, habit had made him grab wallet, phone and keys from the hall table. Everything else in the suite could rot as far as he was concerned — and that included Jessica. He was going home.

He checked the rental car at the airport and bought a ticket to Perth. From there, he’d make his way to Jardin Bay. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d caught the slow country bus. Only problem with that would be too much time to think.

Jessica had to be the cruellest trick fate had played on him. Blonde, beautiful and so selfish in her fear that she’d nearly sucked him in. She’d nearly locked him into a half-life as her security blanket. She hadn’t needed to invent a job for him. He was unemployed, not unemployable. He might not ever — no, never— be rich, but that was him. Money wasn’t the measure of a man.

He paced the airport lounge, then stood at the large glass window. Planes manoeuvred with massive ungainly grace on the ground. Baggage carts darted around them. He watched, but didn’t see.

If she’d left it at paying with her body, he’d probably still be there. Last night had been incredible, the sex shattering. The sense of connection he’d felt had been illusory. She’d been using him, playing him, wanting her own personal — what the hell had she called it? — emotional bodyguard.

Damn him for falling into that role. His fist clenched. Well, he’d woken up, gotten out. It wrenched his guts, but he was free.

First the army, then Jessica. When would he learn not to give his loyalty? His brother, grandfather, and that was it. He’d make a life in Jardin Bay. A good one.

No one would use him again. No one.