Burnt (27 page)

She found Angus lying on the floor in the lounge room. He'd been beaten and blood oozed from a gash on his head and stained the gag in his mouth.

Rushing across the room, Rebecca fell to the floor beside him. ‘Angus? It's Rebecca Whiteman. Can you hear me?'

He moaned faintly in reply and Rebecca did a quick assessment of his injuries. ‘It's going to be okay. I'll be right back,' she promised, covering him with a crocheted throw rug from a lounge chair and getting to her feet. She needed to call the police.

Lifting the handset from its cradle, she discovered there was no dial tone. Maybe the storm had knocked the phone lines out – or maybe Charles had done it. She wasn't sure and, right now, she didn't care. All she knew was she needed an ambulance and she had no bloody phone.

With a sudden flash of inspiration, she went back out to the shed. She'd drive Angus to town and notify the police that way. But her heart sank as she found the paddock basher in the same condition as Seb's four-wheel drive – Charles had obviously thought of that as well. She crept further into the shed, looking for something, anything, to help her. With only the small glow of the light bulb dangling from above the workbench, she almost tripped as her foot caught on something on the ground.

A small whimper made her yelp in surprise, and it took a few minutes to realise that the thing she'd tripped over was one of Angus's dogs. Dropping to her knees, she ran her hands across his fur gently, already smelling the strong tang of blood. The animal was still alive, but there was little Rebecca could do for it at the moment.

Bastard! How could one man cause so much pain?

She scanned the interior of the shed frantically. There had to be something, anything, she could use to get help. A shadow in the corner drew her eyes and new hope flared inside her exhausted body. Angus's pride and joy, his mint-condition EK Holden, sat at the rear of the shed, covered by a large tarp. She quickly pulled it off to expose the shiny old car beneath. From memory, she knew Angus kept the vehicle in excellent shape, making sure he started it up regularly, although these days he spent more time polishing it and admiring it than actually driving it.

She'd need the keys.

Running her hands under the seat and checking the nearby workbench, she came up empty. Heading back inside the house, she crossed to the key hook that hung on the wall above the kitchen bench. With no idea what the key for the EK would look like, she collected the six different sets she found there and shoved them in her jacket pocket, before going back to check on Angus.

‘Angus, it's Rebecca.' She checked his pulse and tried to wake him up. ‘We have to get you into town.' She dropped her head. There was no way she could manage to get him to the car on her own; he was too heavy to drag and to attempt it in his present condition would only do more harm than good. She tucked the throw rug around him firmly and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. ‘I'm going for help, Angus. I promise I'll be back as fast as I can.'

Opening the driver's side door, Rebecca gave a grunt of pain as her knee slammed into the doorframe. The vinyl seats were freezing, and the interior smelt strongly of wax. She'd never seen a car so clean.

Withdrawing the assorted sets of keys from her pocket, she began trying them one by one. She tossed each set that didn't work onto the floor, her frustration levels going through the roof, until finally one key slid effortlessly into the ignition. Gingerly, she turned it and let out a long sigh of relief as the engine roared to life beneath her.

Climbing out of the car, she ran to the shed's doors, unlatching the bolt that held them shut and pushing them open, catching her breath as the cold night air hit her face.

Exhaust fumes billowed out of the old car, matching her own breath as it came out in puffs of white fog. She let out a long string of obscenities she'd never have normally said out loud as she crunched her knee again, sliding back behind the wheel. Rebecca glared at the doorframe and rubbed her sore knee as she studied the gear column carefully. Biting her lip anxiously, she leaned back in the seat and eyed the three pedals on the floor. Of course it was a manual. Fantastic. The only time she'd tried driving a manual was when Seb had decided to teach her in his old Volkswagen. Seated beside her, he'd been laughing so hard at her feeble attempts to change gears that she'd ended up getting out in the middle of the paddock, slamming the door and ignoring him for the rest of the day.

She pressed her foot on the clutch and grabbed the slim gear lever, pulled it towards her and down, before slowly releasing the clutch. The car lurched forwards and Rebecca slammed on the brakes, her heart pounding in her ears. Damn it. Wrong way.

Taking a breath and calming herself, she pulled the lever towards her once again and then up and – with nerves at snapping point – released the clutch. Thankfully, this time the car began to roll backwards.

She carefully manoeuvred it to the driveway and, as the headlights bounced along the gravel, she fought the panic clawing at her insides. It was so dark out here; there were no streetlights, and the only part of the road she could see was the area directly in front of her, the parts where the twin beams hit.

She pushed the accelerator as flat as she dared once she was on bitumen again, concentrating on keeping the car on the road. The headlights barely penetrated more than a few metres beyond the bonnet. Out here on the narrow country roads, the threat of kangaroos or stray cattle made driving a hazardous task at the best of times – with limited light, she feared she'd be at an even greater disadvantage, unable to see obstacles in time. A beam of bright light made her flinch and narrow her gaze as a car rounded the bend and rushed past at high speed, causing her to clutch the steering wheel tightly as the old Holden rocked violently. It wasn't until it had almost passed her that she realised it was a police vehicle. A second car was approaching and Rebecca immediately flashed her headlights and pulled the EK to the shoulder of the road. Throwing open the door, she ran out onto the road and waved her arms above her head, squeezing her eyes shut as the police car spewed gravel as it pulled to the side of the road.

‘What the hell are you doing?' an angry police officer demanded, striding around the front of the car to where Rebecca stood.

‘Please. I need help. My name's Rebecca Whiteman.' She grabbed the officer's forearms tightly and sagged in relief.

Blue and red lights flashed in the darkness – the festive colours stark in contrast to the mood surrounding the Taylors' farmhouse.

The police officer who had stopped for Rebecca had escorted her to the back seat of his car and radioed his colleagues in the other car to turn around and come back. They'd been on their way to the Greens' old farm when she'd passed them. A few minutes later and she'd have missed them in the darkness, as the turnoff was only a little further along the old road.

She'd already told the first officer about Angus, and he'd radioed for an ambulance. Within an hour, the Taylor farm looked like the platform for an assault on a small third world country. The Tactical Operations Unit had been briefed and despatched, police huddled around various radios and monitors to follow their progress. A helicopter swept low, lighting up the bushland around the farm as they searched for Seb and Charles Green.

Angus had been taken away to hospital and the paramedics, who Rebecca often worked with, had argued without any success for her to accompany them to hospital to be checked out as well. She refused – she wasn't leaving until she knew where Seb was.

Seb swore silently. His shoulder hurt, and he was losing blood. The adrenaline pumping through his body had numbed the pain for a while, but now that he'd stopped moving and the cold had set in, he realised he could be in very real trouble – quite apart from the fact that a psycho was trying to kill him.

Luckily, he still had the pack. Digging through it, he found a field dressing and wrapped it quickly around the wound, using his teeth to tighten the knot. Not pretty, but it would help stem the flow of blood for a while. He thought of Bec and how pissed off she'd been at his previous attempt at changing his dressings, and he would have smiled if it hadn't been so much of an effort.

Scanning his surroundings, he tried to figure out where he was in relation to the farm. He'd led Green as far away from the boundary fence as he could, going deeper into the national park in order to give Bec the best chance of escape. As for having a plan – well, he was pretty much making it up as he went. His only real plan now was to stay alive.

‘You're not so tough now, are ya, Taylor?'

Seb lifted his head as Green's voice carried through the darkness, trying to latch onto his position.

‘How's it feel to be all alone out here?'

Seb waited patiently for the younger man to appear from the scrub. Now that Bec was safe, a calm had settled upon him, his training kicking in so that he was functioning on automatic. A reluctant grin crossed his face as he watched Green pick his way through the undergrowth. It was clear from the way he was treading, his eyes scanning the vicinity, that Green had no idea where he was and was trying to lure Seb out. Seb had made his living up until now by remaining undetected and watchful, and here was this moron strolling through the bush with a loaded rifle and he wasn't even carrying it the right way.

Yeah well, he managed to wing you and he's out there with a weapon and you're hiding behind a goddamn tree
, a scornful voice in his head said.

The low hum of an approaching chopper grew louder as it methodically worked its way across the park. He saw Green look to the sky then slip back into the shadows.

Seb weighed up his options. He could wait for the chopper to get closer and wave it down, but the risk of exposing himself was too great and would almost certainly draw Green's attention. He'd be a sitting duck. Alternatively, he could just ignore the cops and depend on his own wits to keep him alive while he continued backtracking until he reached the farm.

He thought maybe he'd take his chances on his training and all the money the government had invested in him over the last decade or so.

Rebecca looked up from her position at the dining table inside the Taylors' farmhouse as the detective who had introduced himself as Shackleton pulled a chair out across from her and sat down.

‘Have you found him yet?' she asked anxiously.

The large man shook his sandy-coloured head as he rubbed the back of his neck.

‘He was shot, detective. He could be out there bleeding to death,' she said, blinking back frightened tears.

‘We're doing all we can; the terrain out there is pretty rugged.'

‘I think you need to call in some help.'

‘Rebecca, we've got our guys out there searching – they'll find him.'

Rebecca pushed her chair away from the table and crossed the kitchen. At the noticeboard where Angus kept all his bills to be paid and a list of important phone numbers, she took down a letter she'd seen earlier. Coming back to the detective's side, she handed over the paper, holding his eye steadily. ‘I think you better call this man.'

Shackleton reached out to take the paper, scanning the name written on the bottom. ‘You want me to call the Regimental Commander of the SAS at three in the morning?'

‘Well, he's the man who trained Seb. If anyone can give you some advice to help you find him, it'll be this guy.'

He held her gaze with a quizzical lift of his eyebrow, considering her request, before finally reaching for his mobile and dialling.

Rebecca sank back in her seat and took a deep breath. They had to find him soon. He was out there somewhere, alone and losing blood. SAS hot shot or not, Seb bled like any other man, and she was worried about him.

Seb doubled back towards the creek. The rain had been coming down heavily and already the water was turning murky and running faster than he'd ever seen it before. Limbs from trees ripped off by the savage winds floated past at an alarming speed, littering the usually clear water with debris.

The ricochet of a bullet echoed through the gully and Seb looked up to find Green levelling his rifle at him, too close to miss if he got off another shot.

‘So much for your covert operations expertise, huh, Taylor?' The sarcastic comment carried across the noise of the raging creek.

Seb had to agree with the bastard; he'd let his guard down, unable to hear anything over the noise of the water. But he should have been even more alert.
Good work, dumb arse
, he congratulated himself scornfully. Maybe he could try the negotiation angle. Try to talk Green down.

‘You obviously have a lot to get off your chest,' Seb called out, and spread his uninjured arm out in an ‘I'm unarmed' gesture. ‘You've finally got me where you want me; now's your chance.'

‘You're not exactly where I want you – yet. But you will be,' Green yelled, moving closer.

Seb's gaze remained fixed on the weapon. He cursed the fact that he was wounded and had lost so much blood. He felt like crap and could feel himself becoming weaker by the minute. In this condition, he doubted he'd be able to make a run for it without this idiot getting another shot off at him. If he could just catch him off-balance and get the gun from him, then maybe he stood a chance of getting out of this mess.

‘What do you want from me?' Seb tried again to get him talking to keep him busy. Oddly enough, Green seemed to be happy to delay the inevitable.

‘I want you to suffer.'

‘You don't think I've suffered?'

‘How could you? You didn't lose anything. You went on and became a big hero.'

‘I lost my best friend,' Seb countered, trying to keep emotion out of his voice, and failing.

‘I lost my
brother
!'