In Safe Arms (7 page)

Instead, he took a long, slow breath and moved towards the couch, frowning at her slim outline, covered in his Celtics top. He had no problem with her sleeping wherever she liked, but did she have to sleep like she was anaesthetised? Surely she would have woken up when he began shouting?

He raked an unsteady hand through his hair and squatted beside her, resting his forearms on his knees. She’d surprised him tonight. After the initial panic, shock and anger, she’d settled down and listened to him. And when bloody Barry Simpson turned up, she
had
followed his instructions.

Nate’s heartbeat settled into its normal steady rhythm. Oblivious to his panic, Josie was lying on her side, curled up into a tight little ball as if to protect herself from the cold. And in her right hand, she held a portable music player the size of a matchbox, the attached cord disappearing under her hair.

Noise cancelling earphones.

The device must have been stored in an inside zipper of her handbag and he’d missed it.

Nate swallowed. He had to get it off her, couldn’t take the chance it had an activated “Find my iPod” option on it. The local police would be all over that.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, trying not to notice how she filled out the singlet in places he never had.

She lifted her lids, fright registering in her eyes when she saw him hovering over her.

‘Stay there.’ He slid his hands under the still damp, silky curls and pulled the buds from her ears. ‘I just need these.’

She didn’t come fully awake, but she lifted her head so he could free the cord from where it had caught beneath her shoulder.

‘Don’t get up,’ he murmured, watching as she sank back onto the cushion, dark lashes sliding over those spirited eyes that constantly challenged him. Up this close, she smelled like some exotic flower, her skin more Scandinavian white than bronzed Aussie. Like it had seen more of the northern lights than the sun.

Taken with a sudden urge to know what she was listening to, he lifted a bud to his ear. Ah, Maroon 5. That wasn’t too bad. He’d been expecting a boy band, though he didn’t know upon what he’d based that assumption.

Listening to the lyrics for a few moments, he stared at Josie’s pink, heart shaped mouth.

Jesus, she’s beautiful
.

He rocked back on his haunches, turning off the device and looping the cord around his trembling fingers. He couldn’t start thinking of Josie in those terms when he never had before. True, he’d been flattered by her attention when he’d worked for Neilson, had enjoyed their innocent flirting. But when she began reading more into it, he backed right off for a multitude of reasons. She was too young to know her own mind yet, and the timing wasn’t right. And if he were honest, he didn’t want her finding out the real reason he was working for Neilson, how he’d been stood down, reprimanded for getting involved with a woman while undercover in the States.

And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

A mistake?

Nate shook his head. The reprimand still rankled. Try as he might, he would never be of the opinion that being stepfather to three-year-old Jonathan constituted anything close to a mistake.

Shoving the device in his pocket, he stood up and went to fetch blankets from the bedroom, remembering how Josie had enquired about the photograph. What answer could he have given her? That he’d lived with Jonathan’s mother for a while. That he hadn’t been able to speak to the child the entire time he’d been undercover.

That he wasn’t even sure the boy would remember him now.

Back in the living room, he covered her with blankets and stretched out on the other couch.

His momentary fantasy starring Josie was just that — momentary. It was nothing, just the close proximity after two years in chauvinism central with scant female company, none of which had even remotely tempted him.

She moaned in her sleep.

Nate’s body tensed and he closed his eyes, rolled over and prayed for sleep.

It was nothing.

Just a long time between drinks.

9:00 a.m. Monday

Josie pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose and walked into Coles, eyes trained ahead, conscious of the CCTV camera Nate had warned her about.

The supermarket was a hive of activity following school drop off, the store bustling with mothers replenishing supplies after the weekend.

Just as Nate assured her it would be.

She wore leggings, and Nate’s smallest tee-shirt, knotted at the waist. Her hair was dragged back in a ponytail and pulled through a hole in the back of a red and white Swans cap. Only the flowery patterned Doc Martens set her apart.

The thought of venturing into town had filled her with fear, but Nate wouldn’t hear of her staying at the house. Her face was yet to appear in the media, and according to him, she could be disguised easily enough. Together, they would halve the exposure time spent in the village, halve the chance of Nate running into someone he knew. And while she needed clothes and toiletries, they both needed food.

Even so, she suspected there was more behind his insistence that she accompany him.

He didn’t trust her not to run.

Aware of him a step behind, Josie pulled a trolley from the rack, recalling his earlier words. ‘Don’t freak out if someone spots me. To them, I’m a federal government security guy who drives a black Subaru and mostly lives in Canberra. The Altar Boys know me as Nate Jordan, mechanic by day, lock picker by night. I live in a miners cottage in inner city Surry Hills, and drive the ute when I’m not on the bike. I have two completely separate identities.’

And then there was the real Nate Hunter, undercover detective, hell bent on apprehending the shady underworld’s puppeteer.

Equal amounts of anxiety and hunger stirred Josie’s stomach as she watched Nate head to the far end of the store. Clean shaven, he wore knee length denim shorts, a blue tee-shirt with a surfing motif, sunnies and thongs. With the new haircut, he looked nothing like the intimidating bikie who’d kidnapped her last night.

She repeated his instructions like a mantra.

Get in and get out. Don’t linger, don’t rush. Get the essentials in the time it takes for me to fill my trolley with food
.

Hoping she looked like any other tourist visiting the popular mountain village, Josie searched the overhead signs and made for the Health and Beauty aisle. She chose moisturiser, two large boxes of tissues and various personal hygiene items. Around in the next aisle, she added a three pack of ankle socks, a six pack of undies and some cheap flannelette pyjamas.

Feeling a tad more confident, she passed two women chatting and headed to the “Mix-n-Match” section, an open area of the store displaying cheap, casual clothing. Tempted to grab what she needed and hightail it out of the place, she took her time browsing through the merchandise, behaving like any regular female shopper.

Any regular female shopper not in protective custody.

Over the next ten minutes, she selected a pair of leggings, a track suit and three tops. Enough stuff to get by, not enough to draw the attention of other shoppers.

She was adding two pairs of shorts to her purchases when Nate rounded the corner with a fully laden trolley. Mindful of the cameras, and avoiding all eye contact, she moved to a display of paperbacks situated at the front of the store. Selecting a book, she pretended to read the back cover blurb as Nate progressed through the checkout.

Hands clammy, she studied him from behind her sunglasses, saw him nod in response to something the checkout girl said. He looked relaxed, unhurried, like a thirty year old with a rostered day off, or a young father stocking up on the weekly shopping.

He took out his wallet, and again she wondered about the boy in the photograph. She dropped the book into the trolley and selected another one from the shelf.

‘Excuse me.’

Josie swung around at the sound of a female voice.

Oh shit!

‘You dropped your money.’ A young, friendly looking woman with a child on her hip was standing a few feet away, pointing to the folded cash lying on the floor beside one Doc Marten boot.

Josie’s heartbeat accelerated like a V8 supercar.

‘I would have picked it up for you,’ the woman said, as Josie hastily bent down and scooped up the money Nate had given her. ‘But this little tike’s given me a bad back.’

‘That’s okay.’ Somehow Josie managed to straighten her trembling knees and push herself upright, had no option but to make eye contact behind the plastic lenses of her glasses. ‘Thanks.’

The woman didn’t move. She smiled at Josie, looked at the baby and said, ‘Say hello.’

Nate was right. People really were friendlier in the mountains
.

The baby gave a big toothless grin, and Josie’s heart melted. She reached out and tickled the little boy’s tummy. ‘Hey there, buster.’

The little boy laughed and wriggled while Josie scrunched the money into her palm. The woman looked nice, like the parents of the kids she taught. The sort of person she would have enjoyed talking to on a regular day.

But not today.

‘Thanks again,’ she mumbled and turned away, wondering if the woman would recognise her when her face was splashed all over the newspaper.

‘I like your boots.’

Josie froze, superficial nerves prickling the surface of her skin.

She needed to get out.

Now.

‘Thanks.’

Before the woman could engage her in more conversation, she turned the trolley in an arc, tossed a wave over her shoulder and made for the bank of checkouts.

Sweat broke out on her body as she lined up behind a woman pushing her credit card into the machine. Judging by the conversation, the woman’s daughter had gone to school with the checkout chick, and the pair of them chatted away, installing updates on each other’s lives.

Wondering what Nate would make of her conversation with the young woman at the book display, Josie watched him head towards the exit.

Then the woman in front moved off, and it was Josie’s turn.

Without looking up, the operator doled out the usual customer service platitudes. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Good, thanks.’ It was her standard bank/supermarket answer she used in Sydney. ‘Yours?’

The girl muttered something just as inane, and Josie pretended to watch the cash register, as one by one the items were scanned and placed in a bag.

She paid and exited the supermarket. Outside, she dragged in deep breaths of fresh mountain air and remembered to keep her head down. The plan was for Nate to get to the car ahead of her and pack the groceries in the boot. When she arrived, all they had to do was load in her stuff and get the hell out, minimising the time where they might be seen together.

Two young guys sitting at a bench, smoking, wolf-whistled as she passed. Josie ignored them, eyes focused on Nate standing a few rows back in the car park.

‘Get in,’ he said, eyes focused on the smoking boys.

He took the trolley from her, and Josie slipped into the passenger seat and closed the door. It took Nate under a minute to stow the bags in the boot and return the trolley to the parking bay.

Then he was in the driver’s seat, locking the doors and gunning the engine, brown lips pressed into a firm line. The cabin of the WRX was more confined than the ute, and Josie found herself staring at his chest as he twisted towards her and braced his arm along the back of her seat. Peering over his shoulder, he reversed out of the parking space.

Josie turned and looked out the window, wishing she’d brought along a water bottle. Her throat was parched, and her head banged from the tension. She needed fluid, not the hypnotic aroma of Nate’s aftershave messing with her senses.

‘What happened with that woman?’ he asked as soon as they were clear of the car park.

She should have known he wouldn’t have missed it. ‘I dropped the money.’

He shot her an angry glance. ‘You
what
?’

Irritation flared, and she glared back. ‘Oh don’t look like that, you heard. What am I anyway, the perfect fugitive?’

Eyes fixed ahead now, he held up his injured hand. ‘That’s a bit of a stretch.’

‘It’s
your
fault. I told you I had no pockets in my leggings. You should have let me bring my handbag.’

He shook his head — as if she didn’t have a brain in hers. ‘Yeah, stellar idea that. Waltz in with a pink designer handbag the size of a small person. That things’s so heavy it’s a wonder it doesn’t set off the “unrestrained” alert when you plonk it on the passenger seat.’

She screwed up her nose at him. ‘Oh you’re so funny —
lol
. You should be in P.R. not gang squad.’

‘Did you — did you just speak to me in abbreviated
text
?’

‘Oh
get
over it.’

They were arguing, bickering, and Josie didn’t seem to be able to stop. ‘You know, you act more like forty-two than thirty-two. You need to get a life.’

For a full five minutes neither of them spoke, a strained silence simmering between them. Finally, Nate jabbed at the radio, the cabin instantly filled with the slapstick routine of three sports jocks intent on shouting each other down over a new season rule that had been introduced to the game.

Out of the corner of her eye, Josie saw Nate give an irritated shake of his head and turn it off.

Great.

A return to the strained silence.

Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it anymore, the car swept around a wide bend, and the “Three Sisters” came into view. Set against a perfect azure sky, the stunning rock formations glistened in the morning light.

Josie caught her breath, recalling the story from the time she’d spent a week up here on school camp. According to aboriginal legend, three brothers from an opposing tribe wanted to marry three sisters, and a witchdoctor turned them into stone to protect them. But the witchdoctor was killed before he could reverse the spell and they’d stayed that way forever.

Josie glanced at Nate again. He could have been sculptured from granite himself.