No Rescue (5 page)

Oh yeah, that had gone well — not.

‘I'll manage,' she'd clipped.

And with a bad-tempered roar, he'd sent his car snarling away as the door of the apartment block closed behind her. Not his finest moment.

***

Miri paced the balcony with a mohair rug wrapped over her pyjamas. This hadn't been how she'd expected the night to end, not in her dreams, and not given the incendiary kiss with which the evening had started.

Now Sydney's sparkling lights looked cold and distant. Glamour without soul.

Is that what was between her and Tad? Attraction without heart?

It hadn't felt like it. She'd thought there'd been a genuine connection beneath the sizzle of their sexual tension. His sense of humour matched hers. She liked him.

She'd thought he liked her, respected her, yet…

This isn't Tad's fault,
ma cherie.

The small voice sounded like her gran's.

‘It's not mine,' she said out loud. But she had been the one to take personally his story of his workday. For good reason! What sort of idiot talked about dysfunctional relationships on a first date?

One that thought she wasn't dysfunctional?

Ouch. She slid lower in her chair. What was it he'd challenged her with?

I don't think you're an emotional mess. Do you?

Damn. Nothing like being forced to face the truth. She collapsed backwards onto a sun lounger, tucking her feet up under the blanket. Her toes were cold, her thoughts even more jaggedly frozen.

She glared at the beautiful skyline. No. She wasn't an emotional mess. She wasn't going to take sole blame for the debacle of the evening, but perhaps the counsellor she'd seen had been more right than she'd been willing to accept. Survivor guilt.

There'd been an element of self-sabotage in her behaviour, as if she didn't have the right to be happy. The ambivalence had been there, hovering throughout her time with Tad, only being completely defeated when they'd kissed. Apparently lust successfully combatted everything.

Did that mean she should follow her body and not her brain?

In her heart, she knew she could trust Tad. So if she wanted a second chance with Tad, what would she have to do to win it?

***

Dawn broke, but there was no pelican to greet it. Miri made herself a cup of tea and brought it down with her, abandoning the balcony to sit on the bench and watch the harbour lighten from dark, steel grey to a pearlescent beauty. She waited for Tad.

Every footstep made her think it was he.

It had been a long, lonely night, but her gran would have been proud of her. She'd grown up. She'd faced her fears and embraced hope.

But if Tad wouldn't even run this way…

She finished her tea and put the mug down by her feet. A few more minutes and then she'd leave. It was time to pack her bags, clean the apartment, text Selwyn with a thank you for the loan of it, and pick up the rhythm of her life.

As tragic as the hostage situation and Scott's death had been, she'd accepted her grief and sense of failure during the night. At 3a.m. there was room only for honesty.

Tad feared becoming defined as a rescuer, but what was she? She'd taken on responsibility for a boy who she'd first met when he'd pointed a shotgun at her.

Sometimes you rescued. Sometimes you were the one who was rescued. Both took courage and trust.

Maybe the muddle she and Tad had gotten into couldn't be resolved, although she'd try. Maybe they weren't meant to be. Her heart hurt even as it held onto hope, but looking out across the water and feeling the energy of the city, she knew she'd survive whatever happened, as others had. There was a future waiting to be built. One which she knew she was part of. As a photographer, she framed the world in a way for people to understand and appreciate it. Her passion for life had resurfaced, even if a certain sexy sergeant mightn't be part of it.

She hooked her feet up on the bench and hugged her knees, the coldness of dawn seeping into her muscles.

The fast, rhythmic strike of footsteps on the pavement had her turning, her pulse picking up.

Tad
.

He wore a blue shirt and black shorts. Unshaven. He saw her. His steel-grey eyes locked on hers. He slowed from a run to a walk, and stopped in front of the bench. ‘Hi.'

‘Hi.' She unfolded, letting go of her knees, her feet touching the ground.

The air ached with tension. Just being here was her statement that she was interested. It was a pretty small statement. She owed him — she owed herself — more. ‘About last night.'

He sighed, a loud whoosh of breath. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘It was hardly your fault.' But some of her tension relaxed. ‘It forced me to think. To think differently.'

‘Me, too.' He sat beside her on the bench, not touching, and leaned forward, elbows on knees. ‘There are a lot of divorces in the force. A lot of relationships break under the strain. I guess I hadn't realised how much others' disasters have affected me. I think part of me retreated into sergeant-mode, where I have some control.'

‘Life doesn't come with guarantees.'

He turned his head, looking at her.

She smiled, wryly. ‘I had to face that last night, too. I wanted life to be fair. If you try hard enough, all should be well. But I didn't save Scott. Nor can I guarantee what there'll be between us. All I can decide is whether it's worth the risk.'

‘Yeah.' He looked back at the ground.

Her heart sunk. He didn't think she was worth the risk.

‘Sex between us would be good.' He shifted, angling his body to watch her reaction. ‘We've both known that, more or less from the start.'

She nodded. The issue was that she'd thought the attraction between them was so strong because they connected on another level besides sex. But how did you talk feelings with a guy? It wasn't that she believed in soul mates or anything like that. Only, she'd given up lying to herself and the truth was a person rarely encountered a desire so strong that it tied you up in knots yet left you unwilling to walk away.

‘But neither of us would leave it at just sex, would we?' he asked.

‘No.'

He smiled faintly. ‘I'd have appreciated a lie and an invitation upstairs.'

‘No, you wouldn't.'

‘You have no idea.' Anger roughened his voice. ‘I handled this all wrong. We got serious when we should have been playing.'

That light-hearted stage of learning about one another, laughing, flirting, dreaming — they'd rushed through it, right into real life. But there was one advantage to real life: it was genuine, something you could build on and believe in. ‘I'm going home to Bankstown.'

‘So this is goodbye?' He had his cop face on. No expression.

She couldn't tell if he hoped for a yes or no. ‘You…'

He bent his head and kissed her; his aim was a fraction off, but he quickly adjusted. His mouth was hard and fierce.

Her response was just as unstoppable. She kissed him frantically, pulling at his shirt, wanting more of his muscled body over her. His heat and the sweat of exercise made her think of sex.

‘Damn running shorts.'

She had no idea what he was saying. She was enjoying the feel of his chest under her hands and the way he shuddered when she rubbed over his nipples, their tight, excited nubs… ‘Oh.' She looked down and saw his problem. She giggled and he nipped her earlobe. ‘The water would be cold.'

‘I am not jumping into Sydney Harbour.' He drew back from her and hooked his knee up, the one furthest from her, hiding his problem from any passing joggers. ‘Just sit there and don't be sexy.'

Another giggle escaped her. It wasn't simply humour. It was overwhelming relief that as mixed up as they'd gotten, he was in as deep as her. ‘If you walked behind me, we could go up to the flat.'

The heat in his eyes flared. ‘You are not helping. I have to go to work.'

‘Oh.'

His gaze snagged on her pouting mouth. ‘I might have to jump in the water.'

She smiled.

Boom!

The explosion shattered the morning quiet, shockwaves faintly reaching them and alarms shrieking in the aftermath of the violence. The brilliant orange of a fireball, its heart hidden by buildings and the curve of the bay, glowed a moment against the morning.

‘Stay here.' Tad ran.

Miri ignored the command to stay behind. Although she wasn't as fast as Tad, she ran after him. The path curved and revealed the site of the explosion.

A boat was burning in its private mooring, flaming debris in the water and on the short deck. A man lay at the end of the deck, trying dazedly to rise.

Tad ran up to him, scanning the water before crouching and focusing on the man. ‘Was it your boat? Was there anyone else on-board?'

‘No.' It was slurred and meaningless.

‘I can't see anyone in the water,' Miri panted. Although there were plenty of people gathering on land. She ignored them, concentrating on Tad.

He'd straightened, seemingly satisfied for the moment with the man's condition. His attention was for the water. Clearly, if he spotted someone in the sea he'd dive in, despite the debris, flames and other pollutants.

‘It w…was just him.' A young man, a coffee mug dangling forgotten in one hand, stepped forward. He was perhaps her age, but sharply dressed for work in a suit and maroon tie. His black shoes gleamed. Only his face was lost and uncertain. He stuttered. ‘I was watching. He was alone. He fiddled with the boat, got everything ready and then…'

Others in the crowd could finish the sentence for him. ‘Ka-boom.'

‘Engine fire.'

‘Petrol leak.'

‘Should have checked.'

Water police in uniform pounded down the path.

‘One casualty,' Tad said. ‘Possible concussion. Minor burns. Call an ambulance.'

The command was radioed in. On the water, a police boat approached, staying clear of the mess. On land, Tad might be out of uniform, but he was the one in authority. ‘I'm Sergeant Tad Robertson, Water Police.' He nodded at the witness. ‘You'll need to give a statement.' He studied the burning boat and the expanse of water around it in a final assessment of danger.

It was strange how the smouldering wreckage and its inherent drama became merely background to him. He was the focal point of the scene. If she had her camera, she'd have shot him like that: a man of action, decisive, controlled and respected.

Seeing him at work made his relationship fears strike home. Made her understand that he'd been tense last night, too. Worried about what he brought to a relationship and what he would need in a partner.

The woman who loved him would have to accept the risks and stresses of his job, but more than that, the reality was that no matter the work he did, he would always be a man who ran to rather than away from danger. Not because he was a thrill-seeker or had a hero complex, but because he had the innate ability and the training to respond. To serve and protect was in his soul.

He turned away from the water and saw her. There was a fractional shift in his stance, from alert command to something more personal. He focussed on her.

She watched him approach, allowing the reality of his strength and purpose to settle into her, and feeling her own confidence grow. She could handle it.

‘It was probably a fuel leak,' he said. ‘The firies will be here in a tick. They'll put it out, then investigate. You okay?'

‘I'm fine. Fine.' Perhaps her emphasis was a bit too strong, but then, she was having an epiphany. She had the strength to match him and to make a relationship between them work.

He raised an eyebrow.

She took a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down to her, kissing him with all the possessiveness he'd ever displayed.

By his response, he was more than okay with it.

A wolf whistle split the air. They definitely had an audience.

She'd forgotten.

Tad drew back a fraction. ‘I should go. Get dressed. Work.'

‘Uh-huh.' She released his shirt, but licked her lower lip.

His gaze locked on her mouth.

‘When you get off shift,' she said, ‘come to the flat.'

His eyes asked the question.

‘You're worth any risk, Sergeant Tad Robertson.' Then she squeaked as he hugged her tight.

‘Six o'clock,' he growled in her ear.

Moments later he was walking back towards the scene and the overtly curious water police. They were all grinning, some laughing.

Miri didn't hear what they said, but she heard Tad's order.

‘Knock it off. She's mine.'

***

Tonight, dinner wasn't the main event, but Miri still made an effort. She set the balcony table and had a beef casserole in the oven on low. It was cooked and could be eaten any time. Beer in the fridge. Pretty dress on. Bare feet, the nails newly painted in shades of orange, like a sunrise. And anticipation smouldering like a firecracker.

She danced through the apartment, adjusting cushions, smiling at nothing, pausing to drink in the beauty of Sydney Harbour at evening. With the lights going on, it was as if the city celebrated her happiness. She stretched, arms over her head and rejoicing in how alive she felt.

The buzzer pealed and she ran to the door.

***

Tad had showered and shaved at headquarters at the end of his shift, enduring the laughing, envious comments he'd collected. Those who hadn't seen Miri or their kiss had heard both described. He had condoms in his wallet from last night, from before they'd gotten themselves all tangled up.

Were they tangled now?

In the best possible way. He'd sensed the change in Miri that morning. The strength that had gotten her through the hostage situation had resurfaced. She was confident in the way of someone who knew what she wanted, and could handle the good with the bad.