Sweet Seduction Shield (5 page)

Sweet
Seduction on High Street. Genevieve Cain.

I glanced up
at Daisy who had finished her meal and wandered over to the nearby
open fish tanks, watching one of the Aquarium workers do their
feeding show for the viewers.

I had no idea
where we would go after a night in a motel. How soon it would be
before I could chance a revisit to the flat to pick up our
passports. How easy it would be to book a flight and board it
undetected. I had absolutely no idea.

What I did
know, was that I couldn't trust a cop to keep us safe, this all
happened because he turned up asking questions. Which meant I sure
as hell couldn't trust a café on High Street to be secure. Roan
McLaren knew that Detective Ryan Pierce had visited me this
morning. Therefore he'd know, or soon would know, the connection
this cop had with Genevieve Cain, whoever she was.

Nowhere was safe.
Nowhere
.

For a split
second I contemplated unlocking Pandora's box. Giving McLaren what
I had taken all those years ago. If I didn't still possess it,
would he leave us alone? If he had it back in his evil hands would
we be safe?

I watched
Daisy squeal in delight as an Aquarium curator fed the giant
stingrays in the open air tanks, a splash of water cascading over
the side and nearly coating her as the stingray ducked to catch a
morsel of food. She crouched down and watched the creature sink to
the bottom of the clear sided tank, mesmerized by its size.

She looked so
small next to that giant animal. So small and precious.

I crushed
Pierce's card in my fist and threw it in a nearby rubbish bin, as I
scooped up Daisy's hand.

"Come on,
Daisy-girl. I know some King Penguins who are super keen to meet
you."

"You do?" she
asked all bright eyed and innocent.

Yeah, for my
daughter I would find a way to keep us safe.

Even if I had
no fucking idea how to achieve that.

The motel we
were in was a dive. But at least they had accepted cash without
raising an eyebrow. I'd done a very dangerous thing before we
caught a bus to this part of the city. I'd visited a locker at the
Salt Water Baths in Parnell. One I had kept for several years. The
lockers in the changing rooms there could be secured with a
padlock, they hadn't upgraded to the hourly coin operated style
yet. It was a busy enough location to keep things safe, and the
number of lockers meant the odd one left unattended for several
weeks slipped by unnoticed. I made sure to change the padlock every
other month though, so it wouldn't get busted open by staff.

It had been
three weeks since I last checked it. The guy on the front counter
recognised me though, indication that it was well past time I found
a new hidey-hole for my mementoes. It might seem strange to some
people that I keep a shoebox full of photos and letters in a locker
at a public swimming pool. I could have buried it in the back
garden. I could have left it in a drawer at work. Hell, I could
have burned the bloody thing and moved on. But part of me wondered
whether one day Daisy would ask those questions.

The ones I
feared about her Daddy.

She hadn't
yet. Five years old and everything else gets countless queries and
inquisitive attention, but her father? Not yet. Thank God. Maybe
she picked up on some sort of negative vibes from me. Maybe because
I didn't openly talk about Rick or our time in Wellington, she
didn't think to ask at all. But sooner or later a well meaning kid
at school would ask her about her Dad, and she would come running
to me.

Hence the
shoebox full of paraphernalia I couldn't bear to have stored in the
same place where I slept.

But now, as
Daisy lay softly snoring in the bed next to mine, I sat frozen in
position, staring at a box full of heartache on the bedspread
before me.

Rick. Richard Albert Costello, only son of Greta and Marco
Costello. Nineteen years old when I met him. Twenty-nine years old
when I watched him die. He didn't know about Daisy. Neither of us
did that night. If we'd known a baby was growing inside my belly
would it have played out any differently? Would we, no...
I
have not done what I did?

My hand shook
as I reached into the top of the box and picked up the photo of me
and Rick the day we were married. I was wearing white lace, he was
wearing a cheap grey suit that was two sizes too big for him. We
were in love, but we were broke. Big dreams, but little purse
strings. Still Rick insisted that I wear white and that he wear a
suit. Even if he had to borrow it off a friend of his in business
school.

Another photo
came out, another bitter-sweet memory. I'd forgotten all the good
years, all the good times, before...

I closed my
eyes and fell back onto my pillow, hot tears spilling out behind
closed lids. I thought I was done crying for my dead husband, for
the dead father of my child. I thought there was no more room in my
heart for him, now that Daisy was here and needed twice the love
from me, because he was gone.

Of course, I
do blame him. Not for everything. No. I'm to blame for that night,
but Rick is to blame for every heart wrenching moment leading up to
it. For every misstep we took, for every vile bit of that world he
uncovered. For every second we lived a life that was a lie.

I pushed the
box off the side of the bed with an angry shove of my arm. The
photos spilled out onto the carpet, fanning across the floor in a
drunken mess. Rick had been drunk on the lifestyle, on the money
McLaren had paid him. On the lie.

He never wore
a borrowed suit ever again. He'd died in a tailor made jacket that
cost more than a year's worth of Daisy's and my rent.

"Damn you, Rick," I whispered. My head shook softly as I
curled up into a ball on top of the bed. The bedside lamp was still
on, the television flashing silent images, but I couldn't stand the
thought of making the room dark.

The world was
dark enough and getting so much darker.

The sound of
cartoons blaring out of the television woke me at some God awful
early hour. Quickly followed by Daisy's carefree giggles as the
characters on screen did something amusing to her young mind. I
rolled over and smiled. She beamed at me from her position in the
other bed, but when I patted the sheet next to me, she scuffled
over without hesitation and burrowed under the blankets, snuggling
into my side.

"I'm hungry,"
she announced and the first hurdle for the day was uncovered.

Thankfully
this was one I had come prepared for. I reached into my handbag and
pulled out a muesli bar and small box of juice.

"Breakfast of
champions!" I declared, handing over the stash, then watched on
with a heavy ache setting up home inside my chest as my child
willingly ate her makeshift breakfast without so much as a
complaint.

Was this how
it was going to be from now on? Breakfast on the run in some scuzzy
motel in a neglected suburb of a big city? How is this being a good
mother?

I couldn't
stifle the sob before it escaped, so covered it up with quickly
rolling over and slipping out of the side of the bed. I was at the
door to the bathroom by the time I could speak without sounding
like I was about to break down.

"Don't answer
the door to anyone, OK?"

A muffled,
"Wokay," was offered up in reply.

No miraculous
epiphany came to me under the hot stream of water in the shower. No
solution to our dire situation flashed inside my mind as I brushed
my teeth with a new toothbrush and toothpaste I'd picked up
yesterday on our way here. Only more fears and worries and
heartache as I dressed in my hastily dusted down and spot cleaned
clothing that had been airing on the rail in the bathroom
overnight.

When I came
back out into the main room I was presentable, refreshed and clean,
but none the wiser.

"Your turn,
Missy," I instructed, herding Daisy into the bathroom and helping
her through her own morning routine.

By the time we
were done it was eight-thirty. Check out wasn't until 10am. So, I
didn't see the need to hurry. Besides, where would we go? I sat
down at the small table in the corner of the room and blindly
watched Daisy laughing at the TV. The shoebox was sealed again, all
the mementoes tucked away for another day of bitter-sweet.

I was at a
complete loss. I didn't have that much money saved, but every time
I accessed it, would it place us in more danger? How far would
McLaren go? He'd sent one tattooed freak after me because of a
visit from a cop. What would he do now that I had run and given him
reason to believe I still had what he wanted? And even if I did
think handing it back would help us, I couldn't contemplate doing
that with Daisy counting on me to keep her safe.

And there
wasn't anywhere I could put Daisy, anyone I could put Daisy with,
who would make me feel safe enough to leave her and confront
McLaren's man to hand over the goods.

No matter what
way I looked at it, McLaren now thought I still posed a threat.
He'd obviously believed I'd learned my lesson all those years ago.
It was a harsh lesson to learn, after all. And I'd led him to
believe I no longer possessed what I took, at the cost of my
husband's life. Bile rose up my throat at that thought and I gagged
slightly as I swallowed the bitterness back down.

McLaren
clearly didn't think that anymore, did he?

He'd sent the goon, as soon as the cop showed interest in me,
to check. And I'd run. Of course
now
McLaren would move heaven and earth to get back what I took,
what he would be certain I still had.

So, what were
my options?

I glanced at
Daisy and sucked in a shaky breath of air.

Could I do it? Could I run with a five year old girl? Could I
make my daughter live her life looking over her
shoulder?

Or could I do
what Rick did in the end? Sacrifice myself for her, like he
sacrificed himself for me.

Ah, fuck. I
pulled the Yellow Pages phone directory towards me from the other
side of the table and looked up Sweet Seduction Café. Having found
my goal, I checked my wallet. I'd made sure to take out the largest
sum of money the cash-point had allowed last night, so I had enough
for a taxi fare, even if we were in South Auckland and Sweet
Seduction was in High Street in the CBD.

I didn't allow
myself to think too long on whether McLaren's men were watching the
store. How much, realistically, could they have accomplished since
yesterday? Since Pierce visited me at work? McLaren was under
arrest, behind bars, so organising a stake-out of a café that was
connected in some way to the cop who questioned me was pretty slim.
Wasn't it?

I also had to
hope that Detective Sergeant Pierce had thought of that. Why else
would he offer me his card with details of some woman's shop on the
back for me to use, instead of insisting I contact him through the
Central Police Station where he was based?

I closed my
eyes and prayed this was the right thing to do. How could I know
for certain that going there would help? Where else did I have to
go? Never in a million years, despite my history with the likes of
Roan McLaren, did I think something like this would happen. That I
would be fearful for my daughter's safety, to the point of trusting
a stranger enough to help us out.

This wasn't what my head was telling me we should do, but one
look at Daisy and my heart was pleading with me to do
something,
anything
, to get her off
the street and keep her safe.

I had no
choice anymore, after yesterday's close call, and admitting that
was one of the hardest things I'd ever had to do.

I let Daisy
watch the last of her cartoon, then bundled her out the door. I'd
ordered a taxi earlier which arrived five minutes after we checked
out, making it possible to hide my nerves from both the motel
receptionist and Daisy. Any longer and they would have been eyeing
me up strangely like the woman at Daisy's school.

I took a deep
breath and then gave Sweet Seduction's address to the driver, all
the while trying not to vomit in my mouth out of sheer terror.

Daisy could
tell I was upset. Kids know, don't they? She sat silently, and
unusually non-inquisitively, staring out her side window as
Auckland city grew bigger and bigger as the CBD grew closer. The
music on the taxi's stereo grated. The static on his communications
radio made me jump. And the ride took the last of my confidence and
left me feeling decidedly raw by the time the car pulled up at the
kerb outside the store.

Moulded glass
and English pub-style wooden framed windows met my eyes as we
stepped out of the vehicle and stared at the welcoming glow of what
had to be the singularly most delightful looking premises on this
stretch of road. Everything either side was steel and straight
lines, not an ounce of character in sight. But this store, this
place, it stood out, it shouted, "Hello!" It made you long to go
inside.

I'm not sure I
could have done it, if it hadn't have appeared to be so quaint, so
welcoming. So non-threatening. Even having made it thus far, I'm
sure I would have backed out, so jangled were my nerves. Every
sound on the street made my body shake. Every flash of colourful
clothing caught my fearful eyes. Every sharp bark of laughter made
me cringe.

But the
decadent smell of coffee mixed with chocolate somehow soothed, and
the warm, muted yellow-gold glow of lights, behind those magical
rounded panes of glass, beckoned.

Clutching
Daisy's hand tightly in mine, I pushed the swing door open and
walked into a different world.