Dark Country (32 page)

Fatigue sapped her patience. ‘Not every police officer is bent, Gillespie.’

He kept his cool better than she did. ‘No, they’re not. But it only takes one.’

Right at this moment, she didn’t have the energy to argue, even if she could have marshalled a case to convince him otherwise.

‘As it happens, Gil, there’s nothing available in this district at the moment. Unless Steve’s come up with something, our
choices are limited. We could drive for a few hours, find a motel or a cabin in a caravan park somewhere away from here, and
maybe organise something better in a day or two. Not ideal. But there is another option.’

‘Which is?’ His eyes narrowed, cautious.

‘Mark Strelitz has plenty of guest accommodation at his homestead. He’s hosted a couple of delegations of Iraqi agricultural
officials and other visiting dignitaries, so the homestead has the latest in security systems. It’s probably the most secure
place outside the Birraga cells for a couple of hundred kilometres around here. Mark’s flying back to Canberra for meetings
on Tuesday, but he’s happy for us to use it.’

‘What about his employees? There’ll be too many people about.’

‘He doesn’t have many. The manager and his wife – she’s the housekeeper – are the only ones nearby, but they’re away until
Tuesday. They’ve both been vetted by the federal police. The yards, the sheds and the manager’s office where the station hands
work from are a kilometre or more from the homestead. They won’t know anyone’s there.’

He leaned both hands on the veranda railing, studied the garden beyond, unconvinced.

‘Gil, I think it’s the best option, at least for a day or two. I’m officially off-duty for the next four days, so I’ll come,
too. That will keep Community Services off my case for sending a minor off with people she hardly knows, as well as providing
some extra protection.’

‘You trust Strelitz?’ he finally asked.

She held his gaze. ‘Yes, I do. We can take Megan, Deb and Liam there straight away, get them inside while it’s still dark.
If you all stay inside, then no-one will know who’s there.’

‘How many people know? How many people have you talked to about this?’

‘Steve and Mark. That’s all. Adam’s with Deb and Liam now, but I’ve just told him we’re planning to go to a police safe house.’

‘Keep it that way. No-one else. Not even Adam.’ His fingers tightened around the railing. ‘We need to think of a strategy
to get there without anyone realising what’s happening.’

She’d already given some thought to that. ‘I’ll drop you back at the pub. You go in and be ready to leave at the same time
as Deb and Liam.’

‘And you?’

She stepped back, watching his face. ‘How about I give the town something extra juicy to gossip about to distract them? Mark’s
gone back to the hall to help with the clean-up. I figured I’d go back home, pack a bag and then, for anybody who is watching,
Mark and I can put on a convincing performance of affection before we leave in our respective vehicles for his place.’

‘They’ll believe that? You and him?’ The roughness in his voice betrayed his dislike of the idea.

And it did seem fickle and insensitive to be suggesting an attraction to one man, when only a couple of hours back she’d been
kissing
this
one. But if she could make use of the speculation and the intimations that had been dogging her and Mark for at least a year
to keep people safe, then she’d do it.

‘Karl Sauer’s been running an unofficial betting book for months that half the town’s in on, so they’ll want to believe,’
she explained. ‘Mark and I were partners at the ball, so it will seem natural. The story going around town tomorrow will be
that, after a romantic evening, we’ve finally succumbed, and Cinderella is spending her days off with the prince. That will
explain my absence, and keep everybody perfectly happy.’

‘Strelitz will play along?’

‘Yes. We’re good mates, and he’ll do whatever’s needed.’ She knew Gil well enough now to recognise that his stony, closed
expression served as a shield to disguise emotion. And while she’d been using duty and responsibilities to effectively keep
from examining her own feelings, she couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened between them.

She laid her hand over his on the wooden veranda rail. ‘Gil, Mark and I are friends, that’s all. If I was involved with him
– or anyone else – I wouldn’t have kissed you.’

He didn’t move a muscle. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

Oh, didn’t it just
?

She wasn’t sure, herself, what it meant other than that they both suffered from a bad case of lust for each other; but lust
could be fun, in the right time and place. She’d have to worry some time later about whether they’d do anything more about
it.

‘Well, meaning or not, I just thought you should know that.’

The homestead was the kind of place Gil had imagined Mark would have. A century-old home, tastefully renovated with contemporary,
understated luxury. Nothing showy or extravagant, just comfortable style and excellent quality in everything, from the paintwork
on the walls to the handcrafted timber furniture.

Wealth, position, family connections, respect: Strelitz had all that and more. He’d grown up in a close family, in an environment
of privilege – the antithesis of Gil’s experience.

Gil didn’t begrudge him that. The man worked hard, always had done, and used his position and his wealth wisely. He’d earned
a great deal of respect in politics, widely regarded as a man of integrity and perception. From what Gil had read and seen
about him since he entered Parliament, the reputation was deserved.

But Gil had never been sure if he believed Mark’s claim of amnesia about the accident. It was …
convenient
. Very convenient. For Mark, anyway. Not so for him.

Now that he’d seen Mark face to face, he was beginning to believe the amnesia might be genuine. Mark’s courtesy remained,
even more polished in his maturity, but there was an uncertainty, a caution, and questions in his eyes beneath the warm welcome,
as if he wasn’t sure how Gil would react to him.

Not that it made any difference. The past was long gone, unchangeable, and irrelevant to Gil’s current concerns. Concerns
he had to deal with.

The homestead was quiet. The rest of them had gone to bed, finally, settling in rooms in the guest wing. Too wired and too
worried to sleep, Gil wandered restlessly up and down the long veranda of the guest wing, bordering one side of a terrace.

The moon was close to setting, and the sky in the east lightening up to a pearly grey. Weary, Gil sat in one of the wooden
terrace chairs and leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. He would
not
think of Kris, would not imagine her lying in the single bed in the room she shared with Megan. Nor would he imagine her
flirting with Mark outside the hall.

They’d joked about it, afterwards, Kris and Mark. They’d been subtle, they said, but were sure there’d have been a burst of
gossip explode right after they left, providing a convincing scenario for Kris’s absence from home for a couple of days.

But Gil didn’t think it had all been play-acting on Mark’s part. The man could hardly keep his eyes off her. Well, good luck
to them both. It wasn’t any of his business what either of them did.

He had to concentrate on deciding what to do once he got to Sydney. The revelation that Sergio Russo was now involved with
Tony’s operation – or vice versa – cast a different light on matters. He needed to go back through what he knew, see if there
were any hints or clues there to guide him.

The aroma of coffee made him force open his eyes – and shut them again against the brightness. Disoriented, his brain full
of sludge, he sat up straighter, dragging open his eyes again.

‘Sorry to wake you, but you’ll wreck your neck, sleeping in that chair, Gillespie,’ Kris said cheerfully, handing him a mug.
‘Here’s your morning caffeine fix.’

Gil wrapped both hands around the mug and dragged in a deep breath, hoping the smell alone might magically clear his brain
and give him the equivalent of a few more hours’ sleep. The sun only just topped the trees, so it couldn’t be too late. An
hour or two since he’d drifted off, then, no longer.

She sat in the chair next to his, contemplating the view while she drank her own coffee. The terrace overlooked the garden
behind the house, and down across the brown paddocks to the river, winding among trees. They were miles from neighbours, the
Strelitz property covering tens of thousands of hectares.

‘It’s so peaceful here,’ Kris commented.

The very peace, the pleasure of sitting quietly with her, put him on edge, made him want to push her away.

‘You could probably sit here every morning, if you wanted to. Mark loves you.’

She turned and studied him over the edge of her mug, those blue eyes serious, and instead of disagreeing, she nodded.

‘Yes, he does,’ she said frankly. ‘Mark loves women. Beth, Bella, me, and plenty of others. He has an incredibly chivalrous
nature, and he honours and respects women, and likes their company.’ She smiled wistfully, adding, ‘If King Arthur ever shows
up again, Mark should be one of the first knights he recruits.’

Gil wasn’t into fairy tales and romances, but her description fitted the man, summing up his uncommon qualities, his driven
nature.

‘Late last year, the night after Bella and Tanya were rescued, after the debriefs and the press statements and the internal
investigators’ questions were finished and it was all, finally, over, Mark turned up at my place, with a bottle of scotch.
We sat on the floor of the lounge room, and got drunk together. After the hell of the year we’d endured, and the tensions
of the previous few days, we both needed it.’ She took a slow sip of her coffee. ‘There’s very few people I could have done
that with.’

The stark statement hit him with the reality of the personal cost of her job – having to be seen to be capable all the time,
of needing to show strength and leadership even when she struggled to deal with the horrors her job exposed her to.

He realised, for the first time, how alone she must sometimes feel. She disguised it effectively with dry humour, a no-nonsense,
kick-arse attitude and more balls than most men had, but underneath the public face lay a very human, empathetic woman who
cared deeply about others.

‘Some day,’ Kris continued, looking out over the view, ‘Mark will marry a woman who is his match, socially, intellectually,
emotionally, and he will love her in a way few men do. I hope
she will give him some balance, something to live for beyond duty. But that woman won’t be me, Gil. He’s an honoured and very
dear friend, and damned good company, but that’s it.’ Her easy grin broke through again, and at the same time broke through
a corner of the dark cloud of his mood. ‘No stars in the eyes for either of us, or celestial choruses, or heaving bosoms.
Just a rare and good friendship, and gratitude for it.’

Very rare, in his experience. And he wasn’t as convinced of Mark’s non-interest as she was. How could any man with blood in
his veins not want her? Even now, in long cargo pants, boots and a long-sleeved T-shirt, her hair still damp from her shower,
she was as sexy as hell. Last night, in that curve-hugging blue dress, she’d completely fused his brain.

It had been utter madness, kissing her. Madness in letting it happen in the first place, and lunacy in not stopping it once
they’d started. Because even just the memory of the taste of her, the wild heat of touching her, was going to keep him crazy
from here on, craving what he couldn’t have, more powerful and real than any drug.

He focused on the river in the distance, dragging his thoughts away from those moments, trying to visualise and feel water,
cool and murky, water-weeds and mud and nothing in the slightest way sensual.

It didn’t work. Only getting right away from her might have a chance of deadening his distraction. He drained his coffee mug
and abruptly stood up. ‘I’ll go and take a shower.’ It was as good an excuse to leave as any. And after his shower – his
cold
shower – he’d make whatever arrangements needed making to keep the others out of sight and safe, and then get on his
bike and ride to Sydney, to find a way to end this nightmare, permanently.