In Safe Arms (6 page)

He looked nothing like the menacing bikie who’d run her off the road, and everything like the man who’d set her aside and told her in no uncertain terms she was too young, and too inebriated, to be coming onto him.

Blushing at the memory of being driven home legless by a detective, she watched as he sat on the couch and opened the notebook.

He glanced up when she didn’t move. ‘I want to see if anything’s been reported on the 24 hour news channel.’

She hesitated.

Choices, Jos. You always have choices
.

‘Me too.’ She perched gingerly on the opposite couch.

He shot her a wary look and switched on the flat screen. The notebook hadn’t even booted up when the network crossed to a news update.

‘A tattoo parlour has gone up in flames in the Sydney suburb of Ryde. Fire fighters were called to the scene shortly after 10:00 p.m. to find the building well alight. Believed to be owned by the Southern Cross Motorcycle gang, the property was destroyed, leaving fire fighters battling to prevent the blaze spreading to adjoining buildings. Police have confirmed one person perished in the fire. It is the latest incident in the ongoing turf war between Sydney’s rival bikie gangs.’

‘Nothing to worry about yet.’ Nate killed the reception as the news anchor moved onto the next story. ‘I’m not expecting your disappearance to be reported for at least twenty-four hours.’

A bone wearying tiredness came over Josie, and it took every bit of energy she possessed to push herself off the lounge. What he said made sense. The police would need to contact her parents before releasing details to the press.

In the bathroom, she stood under a showerhead the size of a dinner plate, aching all over, stomach discoloured from her fall across the handbrake, teeth tender from where Nate had dragged his hand from her mouth. When she turned, her shoulders and sternum hurt from the rough handling, her wrists burning from the zip ties.

Shampooing her hair became an exhausting exercise in contortion, and afterwards, she braced herself between the shower walls and let the cascade of warm water rinse her hair and soothe her muscles.

Nate believed her over privileged, and she’d never refute that, but like every other guy, he couldn’t see past the sparkly wrapping paper.

She turned off the taps, resolve strengthening with every droplet of water she squeezed from her hair. She was alive and she could do this. Terrifying as it might be, she
could
cope with being holed up here until he made an arrest.

It hands down beat dying.

Hands down beat either of them dying.

She dried herself with a fluffy towel and glanced at the “Boston Celtics” basketball singlet Nate had left on the vanity. He hadn’t said anything but it was clearly meant for her.

She pulled the garment over her head and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She could dispense with the leggings. The green and white singlet was nightdress length on her.

Head on straight for the first time since Mulvaney’s Skype call, Josie was using a new toothbrush she’d found in the cupboard, when Nate knocked on the door.

‘Just a second.’ Hastily she rinsed her mouth and opened the door.

‘I found these in the freezer.’ He handed her two gel packs. ‘They’ll help with the swelling on your wrists.’

‘Thanks.’ Yawning, she switched off the light and tried not to think about the way he’d rubbed her shoulders.

‘You should try and sleep.’ He tipped his head in a gesture she recognised. ‘My room’s the one at the end, take your choice of the other two. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.’

She nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. ‘Goodnight then.’

‘Oh, and thanks for the haircut.’ His eyes skimmed over the singlet she wore. ‘It doesn’t look half bad.’

Nate Hunter was a master of the ambiguous statement, and two years ago she would have laughed and asked if it were the haircut or her current state of dress he was referring to as “half bad”.

But that was back when they used to play. Now, all she could manage was a solemn nod.

Aware he was still watching, she turned away and headed for the bedroom.

‘Josie.’ He said from behind her.

And then the doorbell rang.

Josie’s mind came instantly alert; the harmonious sequence of notes an unbefitting announcement of what was sure to be an unwelcome guest.

Before she could physically react, Nate had shepherded her into the nearest bedroom, one large hand splayed in the centre of her back.

She dropped the gel packs on the bed as he pulled the revolver from the waistband of his jeans.

‘Do you think it’s Kennett?’

‘Unlikely.’ He flicked off the safety catch. ‘Kennett’s more a back door kind of guy.’

Jaw set in a brutal line, he grabbed her arm and steered her into a corner of the unlit room. ‘Get behind the door.’

She slipped into the space between the open door and the wall, legs shaky despite her earlier bravado that she could handle this.

‘Stay quiet.’ Nate’s eyes glittered in the dark, body a tense mass of sinew and muscle.

And then he was gone.

Josie wrapped her arms around her middle and stared through the gap between the door and the wall, fingers clutching the soft material of Nate’s singlet, heart labouring like a piston in her chest. They’d only arrived two and a half hours ago. Who could have found them in that time?

Seconds ticked by, and then she heard Nate call. ‘Who is it?’

Silence.

Then, ‘It’s Barry Simpson.’

Josie held her breath.

Keys rattled in the lock and she heard Nate open the door.

‘Barry. What’s up?’

Josie closed her eyes for a beat and expelled her pent up breath. Nate’s laid back tone suggested he knew this person.

‘Sorry, mate, I didn’t know you were back. I just closed up the pub and noticed your light on.’

Josie frowned. Surely he hadn’t called in to say hi at two thirty in the morning.

‘I got in around midnight,’ Nate replied, his voice neither rude nor overly friendly.

‘Still doing that job in Canberra?’

‘Yeah, mate, keeps me out of trouble.’

‘Sure does. Haven’t seen you in yonks.’

‘I haven’t been back in a while.’

‘Well, don’t be a stranger, call by and have a beer.’ Simpson’s voice grew softer, like a song going to fade out. ‘I thought you had a break in. Glad everything’s okay.’

‘Thanks, Barry, appreciate it.’

She heard the door close, and then the room grew darker as Nate extinguished the light in the foyer.

Josie’s body trembled. Apart from a few quiet creaks and groans, the house was silent, and in her mind’s eye she could see Nate standing at the window watching Barry Simpson depart.

Then from out on the street, a car door slammed, and an engine roared to life.

Moving on unsteady legs, Josie emerged from her hiding place and ran into Nate in the hallway. ‘Who’s he?’ she whispered.

Nate rubbed a hand over his face and around the back of his neck. ‘The local publican — lives down the end of this road.’

Josie clutched his arm, his skin warm and dangerously enticing beneath her fingers.

She removed her hand. ‘Do you trust him?’

They walked into the living room and if he noticed her hasty withdrawal, he didn’t say anything.

‘Well?’ Josie asked again. Getting information out of Nate was about as easy as coaxing knee cartilage to regrow.

He slanted a glance at her. ‘I don’t trust anyone.’

Knowing she was included in that sweeping statement, Josie sank onto the lounge he’d occupied earlier. ‘But do you believe him? I mean, who knocks on the door at two thirty in the morning because there’s a light on?’

His eyes softened, tired lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes. ‘It’s more countrified here in the mountains. People are friendlier. They look out for each other.’

‘Something you could do without in your line of work.’

He stood looking down at her, hands on hips as if mulling over what she’d said. Then he shook his head as if to clear it, gaze slanting towards the front door. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, urgent.

‘I need to change the plates on the ute, get the other car up and running. Word will get out now I’m back.’

He moved and turned off the lamp, clearly focused on what he had to do to complete his transition from Nate Jordan to Nate Hunter. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be in the garage if you need me. I’ll leave the connecting door open.’

Josie nodded and watched him go, and a few moments later the living room was bathed in the subdued light filtering in from the garage.

Josie glanced towards the hallway, the thought of sleeping in a dark and unfamiliar bedroom unappealing. She’d much prefer to lie here and listen to Nate’s tinkering.

She dragged a throw cushion beneath her head, closed her eyes and stretched out.

Maybe she’d stay here for a little while.

By three thirty, Nate had fitted new plates on the black WRX. He’d cleaned the spark plugs, changed the oil and water, and reconnected the battery. Apart from actually turning the engine over, the vehicle was good to go.

Wiping his hands on a clean cloth, he worked through the case in his head.

The Altar Boys held interests in various businesses across the city, including a scrap metal yard, a boxing gym and a few tattoo parlours. As well as these, there were nightclubs and strip joints in the Cross, a gambling establishment, plus the interest in the Hawkesbury pub.

On the surface, every business checked out, earnings receipted, money banked, and due taxes paid. But that’s where the bikies’ compliance with the Australian law ended.

Most were fronts for money laundering purposes, plus the earnings from those “legitimate” businesses provided capital for the club’s less legal activities. Drugs. Cooked up in hidden meth labs and distributed to suppliers across Sydney by a mobile network of bikies. The suppliers went on to cut the drugs with other substances, increasing the total quantity, which in turn, gave them their profit.

Nate threw the rag into a plastic bucket and switched off the garage light. From his observations, the bikies were having less to do with the crime at street level, and more to do with manufacturing the drugs and cleaning the dirty money.

And a small criminal faction within the Altar Boys took care of that.

Nate pulled the garage door closed and went to clean up, excitement rippling through his body. He was so close he could almost taste it. If he could reassure Kennett he’d carried out the hit on Josie, he’d use that valuable bargaining chip for a position in the inner circle, a job dealing directly with the businesses laundering the money.

His thoughts turned to the mountain of research he’d done. He’d ask for the fitness centre and the dry cleaners, both located in the maze of underground arcades, linking Sydney’s CBD with the inner city rail line.

Millions of people passed the dry cleaners and gym every day, and the plethora of surrounding shops and cafes provided the perfect vantage point for easy surveillance, something impossible to accomplish in a pub, club or scrap metal yard.

Yes, he’d lean on Kennett to dump Grassy and give him the job. The Altar Boys were already nervous about Grassy’s heavy dependence. It wouldn’t take much to convince Kennett that the bikie’s drug-fucked brain was a serious risk to their lucrative business interests.

In the bathroom, he gave his hands a thorough wash. Once he got the job, he’d get a sighting of the collector — then he’d get a name. And that would lead to another name. No doubt, there’d be a complex set of shelf companies and trust deeds set up for the purpose of concealing the overseer’s identity, but he’d flush the bastard out in the end.

He washed his face and thought of Barry Simpson’s visit tonight. There was an element of risk being here in the mountains, among acquaintances. On the other hand, slotting back in as a member of the community could provide him with a temporary shield from the Altar Boys.

He dried his face then plugged in a text message to his controller.

‘I have a joke.
Where do you find a one-legged deer?’

Code for “Operation cut off at the knees, hold tight”.

Within seconds, the reply from Dickson Cross beeped on Nate’s phone. ‘
Dunno
?’

Nate keyed in,
‘Exactly where you left it’
.

Code for “I made it to the safe house”.

Nate pocketed the phone and turned off the light. In his mind’s eye, he could see Dickson searching his phone for the news bulletins. In minutes, he’d be up to speed on the fire and Mulvaney’s suspected death. And in less than twenty-four hours, he should know about Josie.

Nate stepped into the hallway and headed for the master bedroom. As he passed by, he couldn’t help noticing the first guest room was vacant and undisturbed.

A little further on, he faltered outside the second guest room. The door was wide open, left in the same position as when Josie had hidden behind it.

Strange.

Nate stuck his head in the door. He’d be in for a spray from her potty mouth if he scared the living daylights out of her.

He froze. The gel packs were right where she’d tossed them on the bed.

‘Josie?’ He hit the light switch.

Nate’s blood turned to ice, heart a weighty thud in his chest. The room was empty.

She
wouldn’t
have. She couldn’t be so irresponsible as to make a run for it while he was in the garage.

‘Josie!’ He barked out her name and strode down the hallway to the foyer. The first thing he saw was her handbag lying open on the side table.

Fear lodged at the back of Nate’s throat and his temples pounded in time with his heartbeat. He’d fastened that bag himself, after he’d confiscated her wallet and phone. Now there was a perfume bottle protruding from the open flap.

Why hadn’t she taken the bag with her?

‘
JOSIE
!’

He wheeled around and stopped mid-stride.

She was there.

Curled up on the lounge.

In the dark.

Relief coursed through him, the emotion so strong it prevented him moving for an instant, stopped him running over and shaking her as punishment for scaring the bejesus out of him.