The Betrayal (13 page)

“Have you ever used Agent Munro’s laptop?”

“No, never.”

“Nothing further, Your Honor.”

“Very well. We’ll adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Bail to be continued.” The gavel banged sharply in the silence.

The magistrate departed amidst a flurry of black robes. Chloe let out her breath and glanced at Declan. The fury was still there, but he also looked shell shocked. He stood, fists clenched, lips taut, face pale. Flanked by two of his brothers, he stepped down from the dock and made his way into the aisle.

She sat less than ten feet away. His gaze clashed with hers. Pain and anger and a hint of vulnerability burned in his eyes. He shook his head, once, twice and then strode past her without a word.

* * *

Charlie hastened down the steps of the courtroom and strode toward his car. His gut still churned with nerves and fear, despite the worst of it now being over. He spared a glance over his shoulder and was relieved to see Declan, surrounded by people he presumed to be his family, headed in the opposite direction. There was no sign of the little IA investigator.

At the thought of her, his gut clenched again. She had to know he was lying. She’d put the very same question to him during his interview and he’d denied it. He’d told the Master as much when he insisted Charlie ramp up his evidence to include that extra tidbit.

Despite the breach of protocol when it came to giving evidence, the Master was certain once the evidence had been heard, the magistrate would be hard pressed to ignore it and it wasn’t as if the committal hearing was the real deal. It had been little more than a formality. Everyone knew the decisions that really mattered would be made in the Supreme Court. Right now, the Master insisted it was Charlie’s responsibility to ensure the matter made it that far.

Charlie thought of the Master and the assurances the man had given that Charlie’s cooperation in this matter was vital to the Master’s position—hell, to his very life. It made Charlie feel warm all over knowing how much the Master trusted and depended upon him. Only good things could come of having such a charismatic, powerful man in his debt.

That thought made Charlie smile. Reaching his car, he unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. He tugged out his cell phone and switched it off silent. There were three missed calls, all from the Master.

A surge of love and loyalty rushed through him. He dialed the familiar number. It was picked up immediately.

“Tell me.”

“It’s done,” he murmured. “Just like you asked.”

CHAPTER 12

Chloe took a sip out of her wine glass and sighed. It had been hours since she’d listened to Stanford change his evidence, and her thoughts were still in chaos. The memory of Declan’s parting look had contributed to her unrest. Despite hurrying from the courtroom immediately after the magistrate had adjourned the matter for the day, and waiting outside, she’d seen no sign of Declan or Charlie.

Disappointed and disgruntled, she’d returned to her office and had immediately pored over Stanford’s statement, wondering again about the possible reasons why he’d changed his story. An hour later and still clueless, she’d tried to catch a moment with her colleague to get his take on it, but Webber had been in meetings all afternoon and she’d finally left for home, no more the wiser.

After watering her plants and feeding the neighbor’s cat, she’d filled a glass from the half full bottle of Shiraz she found on the kitchen counter.

What she needed was an unbiased opinion, from someone who would listen and then tell her what they honestly thought of the situation. Someone who was smart and perceptive. Someone like Savannah O’Neill. Reaching for her phone, Chloe dialed her best friend’s number and sighed in relief when she answered.

“Chloe, how goes it?”

Chloe smiled at the habitual laughter in Savannah’s voice. No matter the subject, speaking with her friend always made her feel better. She was exactly what Chloe needed now.

“Hey, Sav. I’ve had a shit of a day and I needed someone to offload onto.”

Savannah laughed. “Whinge away. I’ve had writer’s block all day. The way I’m going, I’ll never meet my deadline. Maybe lending you a sympathetic ear is just the thing I need. Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

“Thanks. It’s not so much of a whinge as a need for a sounding board. I’m in the middle of an investigation that’s twisting me up in knots.”

“They always twist you up in knots, Chloe. I keep telling you not to care so much.”

“What can I say? It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… That’s what you always say.”

“Perhaps I should have a career change? Take up journalism, like you?”

Savannah’s throaty laughter brought a tired smile to Chloe’s lips.

“Oh yeah, baby. Do it! I tell you, you’ll never have the problem of caring too much again!”

“Come on; you love it, Savannah. All that political intrigue on top of the Hill. It’s the reason you left the city lights of Sydney to venture down south. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“What I told you was that you’d end up doing your back in trying to twist your body into those impossible yoga poses, but you refused to listen.”

Chloe didn’t fall for the innocent tone. She laughed wholeheartedly at the memory and felt a sympathetic twinge in her spine.

It was how they’d met, not quite six years ago during a yoga class at a gym in Civic. Chloe had been attending for only a month when she’d noticed the new girl at the back of the room.

It was impossible not to. With her mass of auburn hair and a body that would put Pamela Anderson to shame, there hadn’t been a person in the room who failed to observe the arrival of Savannah O’Neill in her hot-pink leotard and matching yoga mat.

Dressed in a conservative black-and-silver leotard and black leggings, Chloe had secretly envied the girl’s confidence as she’d laid her mat on the floor and started straight in with the exercises.

Being a little short on coordination and a lot short on height, Chloe had felt squat and gawky alongside the leggy beauty in the back row. But afterwards, while Chloe had been mopping her sweaty brow with her old, worn towel, Savannah had approached and stuck out her hand in greeting.

“Savannah O’Neill, investigative journalist extraordinaire. I saw some of your moves back there. I have to tell you, I’m impressed.” The girl’s brilliant green eyes had sparkled with humor.

Chloe couldn’t help it. She’d grinned back at her and then laughter had spilled over. It was common knowledge amongst the group that even the instructor had given up on Chloe and her coordination.

She’d offered her hand in greeting. “Chloe Sabattini, professional yoga person.”

Savannah had shaken her hand and had raised a single, dark auburn eyebrow. “Pleased to meet you Chloe Sabattini, professional yoga person.”

From that moment, their friendship had been sealed and even though Savannah was three years her junior, Chloe had come to rely on her friend’s uncanny ability to see through to the heart of a matter. It was one of the things that made her such a reputable journalist.

“So, what is it that has you all churned up this time?” Savannah asked.

She said it without recrimination and Chloe picked up her glass of Shiraz and headed into the living room, prepared to unload on her best friend.

When Chloe was finished recapping the events that had led up to the hearing, Savannah was silent for a few moments.

“I heard something about this earlier. One of the journos at work was heading down to the courthouse to get a quote.”

“This conversation’s off the record, Sav,” Chloe warned.

“Of course it is, silly. Everything you tell me is off the record.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Chloe admitted. “On paper, everything points to his guilt, but there’s something about him, something indefinable, that just screams innocence.”

“And of course, you’ve already told me how good looking he is.”

“Savannah O’Neill! That’s unfair! You know I’d never consider a person’s guilt or innocence based only upon their looks! I demand that you take that back!”

“Okay, okay! I take it back,” Savannah laughed. “
Mm
, you seem a little sensitive about it. Now, why would that be?”

“No reason at all and definitely not one I’m going to share with you,” Chloe replied tartly.

“Ooh,
I knew it! You
like
him! You like your number one suspect! Oh, Ms Sabattini, whatever are we going to do with you?”

Chloe’s cheeks burned, even in her solitude. She wisely refrained from arguing. Savannah was a pit bull when she smelled a story. It was another thing that made her so good at her job. It wasn’t nearly as endearing when that tenacity was turned on Chloe.

“I called you to get your advice, Savannah. You’re supposed to be my best friend. You’re supposed to be here for me in my hour of need.”

“Oh, we both know what you need, baby and it isn’t me.”

Chloe couldn’t help it. She giggled, even as heat spread through her body.

“You have to call him, Chloe. Do it. Your star witness is lying. You’re beginning to doubt your defendant’s guilt. You owe the man a chance to explain, away from the pressure of the interrogation. And he’s cute. You owe it to yourself to find out once and for all if he’s in the running.”

Butterflies multiplied in Chloe’s stomach. Could she call Declan out of hours and ask him to meet her? Did she dare?

* * *

Declan lay sprawled across the couch, a half empty glass of scotch in his hand. Tilting his head, he poured what remained of it down his throat, relishing the slow burn. Reaching down, his fingers closed around the neck of the bottle. He brought it up to eye level and discovered it was empty. Cursing savagely, he struggled to a sitting position.

Oblivious to the beauty of the cool, spring night wafting in the air moving across his balcony or the occasional murmur of late-night traffic on the road below, he moved across the living room and hunted behind the bar for another bottle. Coming up empty, he cursed again.

He wasn’t much of a drinker, especially when it came to hard liquor. A few beers on a Friday night or at a social function on the weekend were about the sum of it, but he liked to keep his bar well stocked for times when friends came over. Too bad he’d forgotten the scotch had run low.

His gaze scanned the labels of the assortment of other bottles lined up on the shelf. There was an unopened bottle of rum, but he’d never been a rum drinker. The one and only time he’d tried it was after a police union football game and he’d been so ill he’d vowed never to touch the stuff again.

A headache began to make itself known behind his eyes and with a sigh tinged heavily with regret and disappointment, he set his empty glass down on the countertop and headed back to the couch.

The image of Chloe sitting across from him in the courtroom, watching the proceedings—proceedings she’d instigated—wouldn’t leave him.

He’d noticed her right away, of course. There was something about her that drew him. As the hearing had drawn on, he’d felt her gaze upon him. He’d fought the urge to look at her until he’d lost the battle.

The surge of heat that had traveled through his gut and down to his groin when their eyes connected had taken him by surprise. Of course, from the moment of their first meeting he’d found her compelling, but so far, the reasons for bringing them together had managed to quell any real thought that things could go any further.

Under normal circumstances, he would have flirted with her, maybe even asked her out, but these weren’t normal circumstances. She was investigating him for a crime and the heinous nature of that prohibited any attempt at normality between them.

And yet, he’d sensed a change in her attitude sometime after Charlie had taken the stand. She’d sat up straighter in the hard plastic seat and her gaze had narrowed on the witness. A frown had marred the flawless skin of her forehead and she’d bitten down on her lip.

He’d noticed all of this and had wished he’d been able to keep his attention on what had been unfolding in front of him. Even the shock of hearing the lies fall from Charlie’s mouth couldn’t completely divert him from the investigator’s distracting presence and curious response to Charlie’s statement under oath.

But nothing changed the fact they were on opposite sides of a serious criminal investigation—an investigation that pointed the finger squarely at him.

It was an unsettling thought. Apart from the odd speeding ticket when he’d thrown caution to the wind and had opened the throttle on his 1199 Panigale Ducati on the freeway north to Sydney, he’d never imagined he’d find himself on the wrong side of the law and not in a million years had he thought he’d be the defendant in a criminal trial.

But that’s how it was, and any future with the delectable Chloe Sabattini would be doomed before it started. The system advocated innocence until proven guilty, but everyone knew the prosecution was convinced of the defendant’s guilt before they stepped foot inside the courtroom. They wouldn’t bring a case before a magistrate or a judge unless they were confident they could win.

Chloe Sabattini was the senior investigator. She was the one who’d put together the brief, the one who’d interviewed the witnesses, prepared the statements, met with the prosecutor. It didn’t take much to work out how she felt about his status. Under these circumstances most men would give up on thinking there could ever be something between them.

But he wasn’t most men.

His parents had taught him to strive for the unreachable, to ignore hardships and setbacks and never lose sight of his goal. Being of mixed race, life hadn’t always been easy and his parents had known he’d face additional obstacles because of it. He’d learned to set aside prejudices and narrow-minded opinions and forge on, regardless. He’d never let anything stand in his way of creating a successful life and career he was proud of.

A surge of determination brought him upright. He straightened on the sofa and dropped his feet onto the floor. He’d never taken the easy way out and he’d never given up on something that was important to him. There was no way he was going to go down without a fight. He was innocent. One way to clear his name was to convince the woman who was responsible for him being there.