Hero Duty (4 page)

Granddad had nodded his abrupt agreement. ‘True enough. Just don’t go sticking your neck out.’

‘I don’t know.’ Brodie had grinned ruefully. ‘It’s what I do best.’

And it had gotten him into all sorts of trouble in the past. Now here he boarding the plane to Sydney with Jessica. ‘I’ve not travelled first class before.’

‘I don’t usually.’ She ducked her head, colour flushing her face. ‘I thought, with your long legs, it would be more comfortable.’

She’d bought first-class tickets for his sake.

‘Thanks, Jessica.’

‘Would you like the window seat?’ There was something endearing in the awkward way she ignored his thanks.

‘You can have it.’

That brought a small smile. ‘I thought you’d say that.’ She sat in the window seat and glanced up at him. ‘I read once that men prefer aisle seats.’

‘More room.’ She’d think he meant legroom; really he meant room to manoeuvre. Plus, the aisle seat put him between Jessica and any threat. He allowed himself a grim smile. You could take a soldier out of a combat zone; you couldn’t always take combat-readiness out of the soldier. He’d always see the world as containing threats, and he’d act to neutralise them.

The silences between them were relaxed enough, but it was a four-hour flight to Sydney. Brodie waited till the steward had served them. He had accepted a breakfast tray. Jessica just wanted a cup of tea. ‘So, you’re an archaeologist?’

‘How did you…oh, you ran a search. Yes. I don’t dig, though.’

‘Just teach?’ He cut into bacon that had never been crisp. Fortunately, the army taught a man to take the bad with the good, and the meal included a grilled tomato.

‘Well, yes, but what I meant was that not all archaeologists go out into the field armed with trowels to dig up the past.’

‘Ah. I sense that people generally make that assumption.’

‘Do I sound defensive?’ A hint of laughter lightened her voice.

‘A bit bored with the same old questions.’

She smiled. ‘Archaeologists like the old questions best.’

‘So what is it you do exactly?’

‘I read the old languages. Egyptian hieroglyphs.’

‘You can read those? Really?’

‘You needn’t look so impressed. They’re probably simpler than military codes.’ But she smiled, pleased. ‘My real interest is the Hittites.’

‘They were from Turkey, weren’t they?’

She stared. ‘Wow. Not many people know about the Hittites, although they are mentioned in the Bible.’

He grinned. ‘No, that’s not where I read about them. I read the title of your doctoral thesis, then looked up who the Hittites were.’

‘Sneaky.’ She toasted him with her teacup.

‘Any particular reason you focussed on the Hittites?’

‘I went on a dig in Anatolia in my second year as an undergraduate. The mystery of these people who’d controlled such a large area of the eastern Mediterranean fascinated me. What motivated them? What did they believe in? How did they live?’

‘But you didn’t continue with digging, field work?’

She put the teacup on the fold-down tray and twisted it back and forth by the handle. ‘It would have been too difficult. Dad had to explain the financials of it to me. I didn’t get it in the beginning, but archaeological digs take a bit of funding, and there are never enough funds to go around. As a second-year student, I was ridiculously pleased when my professor invited me to join the dig. I knew I’d just be free, unskilled labour, but I’d be part of something.’

Her head was bent, her attention focussed on the tiny movement of the teacup, back and forth. ‘I had a great time. I got dirty, sunburnt, and my muscles ached. I came home absolutely determined to be an archaeologist. I told Dad.’ She took a deep breath and looked at Brodie. ‘He pointed out that my professor knew that I was his daughter and was undoubtedly looking for funding from Numbat.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I do. Oh, my prof never said anything, but I’ve been around archaeologists enough years now to know they’d sell their grandmothers for funding. Using a student’s personal connections would be instinctive.’

‘But your professor never did.’

Her mouth twisted in an unhappy smile. ‘I made it clear that I wouldn’t be focusing on fieldwork and that Dad wasn’t interested in furthering my career.’

‘Was that true?’

‘Yeah,’ she said softly. ‘He made it clear that he wouldn’t buy a life for his daughter, and that I should have more self-respect than to consider it.’

And all the time, the money had been hers. That had to eat at her.

‘Do you still agree with him?’ Brodie asked.

The steward took away his tray and Jessica’s empty cup.

She stared at him. ‘I haven’t considered it.’

‘Fair enough.’ It had only been six weeks since she’d lost her father.

‘I could, couldn’t I?’ She kicked off her sandals and curled her feet under her. The movement brought her shoulder fractionally closer to his. ‘That’s exactly why I need you.’

‘To point out the obvious?’

She laughed. ‘No, to help me defend enough mental breathing space to think.’

‘I’ll make sure you get it,’ he vowed. Her laughter was a gift of happiness. It lifted his own sombre spirits, lit that dark place inside him that still bled from his mates’ betrayal.

‘Thank you.’ She touched his wrist.

He turned his hand and caught hers. Their eyes met. ‘You’re not alone, Jessica. In this battle, you just got re-enforcements.’

The skin around her eyes crinkled in the beginning of a smile. ‘A sergeant, no less.’

‘And what do you know about sergeants?’

She truly smiled. ‘According to Sonia, sergeants are the rhinos of the army.’

‘Rhinos?’ He blinked.

‘Unstoppable, uninfluencable, and downright terrifying.’

It surprised a laugh from him. It felt good to be holding hands with her. There was a sense of connection. Her perfume was subtle, spicy and warm. ‘I would have thought that described Lieutenant Dwyer.’

‘Sonia’s always been focussed.’

‘How do you know her?’

‘We went to boarding school together. No matter how different you are or the lives you build are, that bond remains.’

He nodded. ‘I still catch up with friends from high school when I’m back in Jardin Bay.’ He was silent for a beat. ‘Is that why you came looking for me? Because Sonia said I was a rhinoceros? Would any sergeant have done?’

She pulled her hand away. ‘I thought…you probably don’t want to hear this.’

‘Go on.’

‘I thought you’d understand my problem because you’d lived it. The tug of loyalty versus your principles. Belonging versus standing alone.’ She looked out the window and her chest moved in a deep, almost gasping breath.

‘I don’t know what my principles are. Maybe I’m being petty. Maybe I should let Derek control Numbat as Dad must have wanted. Maybe I should give Portia money. But I need to make these decisions myself and not be bullied into them, not trade my inheritance for a sense of finally belonging to the family.’

Their eyes met and held.

‘You’re right. I do understand,’ he said. This was about self-respect.

***

The plane landed ten minutes early. Not that it mattered. Jessica hadn’t told anyone when she’d be returning to Sydney. For the last six weeks she’d been living mostly at the family home, taking unpaid leave from her university. There was just so much to do with the lawyers and at Numbat. Her old bedroom was scattered with papers she had to read.

But this time she wouldn’t be returning home alone.

She hugged the knowledge to herself as Brodie opened the taxi door.

After their talk on the plane had gotten uncomfortably deep and philosophical, she and Brodie had retreated into silence. He’d read a newspaper. She’d called up some of the documents she had to read on her computer and skimmed through them.

The warmth of his hand holding hers had lingered. Comfort, connection.

Now he lightly touched her back where her T-shirt met her jeans, guiding her into the taxi, while placing himself between her and the group of tourists stampeding towards their bus.

It was old-fashioned but sweet. Sexy, too. Nothing was sexier than a man who used his strength to protect.

She slid along the taxi’s back seat as she gave the driver the address, aware of Brodie folding himself into the car.

‘Is there a hotel I can stay at, maybe a B&B close by?’ he asked as the taxi driver jerked out into traffic.

His question distracted her from the terrifying ways of taxi drivers. People who drove all day, every day, took risks she’d never consider. ‘You’ll stay at the house.’

Silence, and not the good kind.

‘What?’

‘I can’t land myself on your stepmother. She lost your dad only a few weeks ago.’

‘Do you think she misses him?’ Jessica asked grimly.

‘Excuse me?’ He definitely sounded disapproving. It was a low growl.

‘Dad cheated. He wasn’t even discreet about it. Girls my age or younger. I think he found them cheaper than sports cars for his midlife crisis.’

‘Whew.’ Brodie whistled under his breath. ‘That’s harsh.’

She tucked her trembling hands under her thighs, rocking forward in her seat. ‘I guess. I’ve never said that before. Never even thought it. Portia had her own affairs.’

‘Messed up. Would you ever…?’

‘Cheat? No.’ She sat up straight. ‘Never.’

‘A hot button issue.’ He was watching her carefully. ‘Did you have a boyfriend cheat on you?’

‘I thought guys hated heart-to-heart conversations.’

‘Our situation isn’t quite normal. You hired me to walk into an emotional minefield. I want to learn where some of the bombs are.’

‘I guess for a million dollars, a guy could talk about feelings.’ She hated feeling hurt that his concern was professional. She wasn’t so stupid as to think she could buy friendship, not true friendship.

‘Not fair.’

She shrugged one shoulder, knowing he was right but not willing to admit it. ‘As far as I know, no boyfriend ever cheated on me. That wasn’t what I was reacting to. I hate the idea that you think I’m weak enough to cheat. I might give in to emotional bullying, but I know right from wrong. I’d never hurt someone that way. How about you?’

‘When I make a commitment, I keep it.’

She hesitated. ‘Do you have a current girlfriend? It’s none of my business, except do you have to explain about…about working for me?’

‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’ He tilted his head. ‘How are you going to introduce me to your family?’

‘Not as my boyfriend.’ She could see where he was going with the question.

‘What other role is there that would make it right to crash at your stepmother’s home?’

‘I own the house,’ Jessica said bluntly. ‘That’s one of the things the lawyers made clear. Dad bought it using my money, in my name. Learning that was when Portia tried to scratch my eyes out.’

More of Sydney passed by the taxi windows. The boa constrictor in her tummy awoke and started to tighten its coils. She practiced controlled breathing.

The route to the family home was familiar. Soon she’d see harbour glimpses. By the time they reached the Point Piper mansion, the sea would surround them.

‘So you’re going to insist on hosting me in your stepmother’s home to prove a point? I don’t appreciate being used.’

‘No!’ She forgot the approaching ordeal. ‘I need you to be with me in the house. That’s when I’ll be vulnerable. Breakfast chats, late-night dinners, catching me at odd hours through the day. And there are so many bad memories in that house. I always feel out of place there, vulnerable, awkward — and Derek knows that. He’ll take advantage of it. You have to be there.’

‘All right. Okay. Are you okay?’

‘I hate coming here,’ she said tightly. She’d just glimpsed the sea.

At fifteen it had been torture to move into the harbour-side mansion and hear the lap of the waves. Even worse had been the storms, when the waves beat the foreshore, anchored yachts tossing and the wind howling with the voices of the drowned.

She shivered.

Boarding school hadn’t just been about escaping Portia. It had gotten her inland, away from the treacherous sea.

‘You know your stepmother can’t eat you?’

She heard the teasing in his voice. It took a huge effort, but she responded. ‘Too many calories.’

‘Right.’ He squeezed her shoulder, a comradely pat of encouragement. ‘And she definitely can’t eat me. Ex-sergeants are all gristle and sinew.’

‘Yuk.’

He looked around. ‘It’s a nice area.’

That was an understatement. Expensive apartment blocks and mansions screamed of their wealth. If they had it, they flaunted it. Some of the older houses attempted a more subtle display. The house Portia had chosen, and redecorated yearly, was like that. She tried to fake old-money style.

‘We’re nearly there.’ Gaps in the streetscape showed glimpses of Sydney’s skyline and even the iconic bridge. Late spring, early summer was the perfect time to visit the city. The trees were glossy green, roses bloomed profusely and residents were out in their bright, fashionable summer-wear. Sydney was an attractive city in every sense.

Jessica longed for the security of Canberra. ‘We’re here.’

The taxi stopped outside the wrought-iron gates of the mansion. The house might legally be hers, but Portia hadn’t given her a security card, and Jessica hadn’t pushed for it.

‘Just a tick.’ She got out of the taxi and spoke into the security panel. She’d expected to get one of the staff, but Derek answered. The boa constrictor in her tummy tightened painfully.

‘You should have phoned me. I could have given you a lift from the airport,’ he said as the gates swung open slowly to reveal the white rendered walls of the house and the square boxiness of 1950s design that no amount of renovations and extensions could quite disguise.

‘I’ll see you at the house,’ she said instead of answering, and hopped back into the taxi. ‘Derek’s here. I thought he’d be at work.’

Mid-afternoon on a Thursday, he ought to be. And he had never, ever offered to drive her to or from the airport. The thought of being his captive audience for the journey added a sick feeling to her tension. She was barely aware of the thoughtful way Brodie studied her huddled posture.