Floored (20 page)

He smelled of cool mint and he reeked of manipulation. They were her rules but she didn’t want the one about not distracting the driver any longer. The Kings of Leon were about to hit the chorus of
Use Somebody
. They had another song called
I Want You
. It was all getting too prophetic.

She hit the steering wheel control and changed the album. Cold Play,
Paradise
.

Sean folded his arms behind his head. “It’s not my job to entertain you. You could do the talking for a change.”

Chris Martin sang a line about a girl running away. Sean did the one eye thing again. She caught it in her peripheral vision.
Geez
. Was every song fraught with extra meaning?

“Yeah, that’s right. I didn’t think so. You reckon
I’m
a spoilt kid used to getting my own way.” He pushed into the seat back, adjusting it to lay flatter. “Wake me for lunch.”

This was not paradise. She resented the inference. Why should she let it stand? “I was an only kid, but I wasn’t spoilt.”

Quick glance; he was very still.

“I was fourteen when my dad died. Cancer.”

Sean brought his seat upright.

“He’d been sick a long time.” Before he got sick he was away a long time. “I was twenty when my mum died, she had a brain tumour. I don’t have any other family, just a sprinkling of second cousins I hardly know.”

“That sounds lonely.”

She nodded. It was a childhood full of darkened sick rooms and the cloying mildew smell of vomit. Of ‘be quiet’ and ‘not in the house’ and ‘no you can’t’ and ‘we don’t talk about that’. It was the opposite of the childhood Sean described. More make-do than mayhem; more lamentation than laughter.

“They loved me, but they were either absent, sick or busy.” There’d been no hitting, but hugs were things of sorrow and despair not expressions of affection. “Mum nursed Dad and then not long after he died she got sick herself. She lived long enough to see me get into uni. She was so pleased about that.”

“That was fucking tough, Cait.” What was that in his voice? Not pity, not sympathy. “But it made you strong, made you independent.” She shot him a look. It was admiration. He had it so wrong.

“It made me susceptible to kindness. It made me an attention junkie and a sucker.”

“No?” He sat straighter. His head fixed her way. “How does that work?”

She sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? Here I am with you, spilling my guts.” He shifted sideways, the better to watch her. Now she wished he was in the back seat.

“It’s not obvious to me.”

There was a lump of something hot like indigestion, like resentment, burning in her chest. He’d lured her into this conversation and she didn’t want to be here. He was the living demonstration of what she’d do for a little attention. Want things she couldn’t have. The right to feel safe and watermelon dresses, the cheap thrill of touching him and hot, hot imagined kisses. She pulled at her seatbelt, easing it away from her body.

“Cait, you get to choose what you tell me. You don’t have to tell me things that hurt.”

No.
Stupid
. Of course she didn’t. She could’ve fed him fairytales. He wouldn’t have known the difference. But it was too late now and the fever inside her boiled. He might as well know that he did her no favours when he poured on the charm, when he said things like he had this morning, to flatter her, to confuse her.

“I met Justin Cumberland in my first year of uni. I was struggling. Working part time and studying. I was desperate for a kind word and a smile. I just didn’t realise it. I made him my life and I never stopped to question the quality of it. I simply couldn’t imagine being without him, being without Bidwell, the business we were building together.”

“You were grieving and there’s nothing wrong with falling in love.”

“Listen to you—the bikie dreamer.”

He groaned, shook his head. “That stays in the car. Stuff like that could kill my rep.”

“I let Justin use me for years. He used my fear about being alone. He used my dedication and loyalty. I’d have done anything for him because he was nice to me.”

“Hang on. He asked you to marry him. That doesn’t sound like he was using you.”

She glanced across at him. “That was to keep me on a string. I don’t think he ever had any intention of marrying me. He had a secret life I knew nothing about. I trusted him and I never thought to question him. If you look closely you’ll see the word ‘sucker’ written on my forehead.”

“If you’d let me look closely I’m pretty sure that’s not what I’d see.” His voice was pitched low and steady, thick with meaning.

The road ahead was clear. They’d just passed a slow moving caravan. It was safe to look at him properly so he knew she was serious, safe to let go the coil of anger lodged in her chest.

“Stop it, Sean. You have to stop doing that. It’s not fair. I just told you I’m an attention junkie. I put myself in recovery because I know I need to be stronger, be the independent person you think I am. But you come along and make me want to break the rules. You make me believe you’re interested in me. You’re not. This is just a long taxi ride. We’re strangers. We’re nothing to each other.”

“What a fucking cop-out.” The words fired out of him with savagery.

She swerved and corrected against the white line. “I beg your pardon.”

“Something wrong with the acoustics in this car? You heard me.” His tone was scathing.

She eyed that line, breathed against the hitch in her chest. “Yeah, and it’ll be the last thing out of you I bother listening to.”

“Spoken like a true sucker.”

There was a ute overladen with hay ahead. She planted her foot on the accelerator. It’d be smart to shut up, to let that go, but she was coasting on speed and stupid. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have this idea of yourself as being so much less than what you are.”

“Oh and you’d know.” Eyes on the ute, she hit the blinker and pulled out to overtake. “You know nothing about me.”

“Enlighten me.”

“No.” The ute ate her petrol fumes. “I’d rather have one of your sideshow alley insights.”

He sighed as if it was too much effort to shuffle his mental tarot deck. “You enjoy playing the victim.”

She didn’t back off the speed, though she should have. Same could be said for the argument. “I am not a victim.”

“Yeah, so why are you running, hiding? In my experience only two kinds of people do that. Victims and people who’ve done something they’re scared of getting caught for. If you’re not a victim, then what’ve you done you’re ashamed of?”

“You think I’m running from something.” She pulled her foot from the accelerator but the car had its own rocket-like momentum; an unfortunate underlining of the conversation.

“Everything you do tells me that. You can hardly look at me without wanting to run.”

“I can hardly look at you because you’re a predator.”

“I’m many things, Cait.” He’d dropped his voice down low, in competition with the animal hum of the engine. “Even a predator when I have to be. But that’s not why you run.”

“Oh, and I suppose you have a theory for that too then.” She watched the white line. The white line was her centre. Nothing he said could knock her off her centre.

“Yup. Shall I gaze into my crystal ball?”

“You’re so damn superior.”

“Occasionally true.”

“Agreeing with me does not improve my opinion of you.”

“It’s not me who’s looking for approval. I’m not guilty.”

A sharp stab of fear fuzzed her vision. She blinked hard against it. He knew nothing. He was playing with her. Trying to jerk her into a response. “Me. You think I’m running because I’m guilty.”

“It’s my current theory.”

Her foot was down, her speed was up. “I’m not a problem for you to solve. I’m nothing.”

“Beauty. Sucker. Victim. Guilty. Runaway.” He punctuated each word with a hand struck against his thigh. “You wonder why I’m interested.”

“You’re only interested in being right.”

“Fucking A. Now ease up and pull over.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Driver, ease the fuck up and pull over right now.”

He had his belt off, he was leaning over. He’d take the wheel from her. She wasn’t idiot enough to crash them. She toed off the accelerator and eased on the brake. He said nothing but he was poised to move. She pulled onto the shoulder sending up a cloud of orange dust. She was out of the car before it had a chance to settle. She was choking but not on dust—on guilt. He was right. She was guilty and she was running and she couldn’t tell him why and his guesses were so close they made her shake with fear.

He was out of the car too. He kept his distance and watched. He looked at her as though he could see her crime, as though she wore a swing tag with the word ‘thief’ written on it. He’d goaded her to anger and she’d fallen in his trap.

“You don’t know anything about me. You think it’s a game to scare me. I want you out of my car. I want you out of my life.”

He walked towards her. “You’re not going to leave me in the middle of nowhere.”

She backed off. She didn’t want him anywhere near. “You’re resourceful, you’ll cope.”

“Cait.”

“I won’t let you sucker me.”

“Cait.”

“I won’t let anyone sucker me again.” She was shouting at him. She raised a hand and flattened her palm. “Don’t come anywhere near me. I don’t care how smart you are, how well trained, how freaking irresistible.” He kept coming. She raised her voice again. “You can’t make me tell you anything, be anything, do anything. No one can. No one! I am not a toy to play with. I am not a mystery to solve. I am not a victim. I am not guilty.”

He was smiling. He was fucking smiling. “Way to go, Caity.”

Her breath was coming in gasps. Her hands were trembling. She’d bitten the inside of her lip and tasted the metal of blood.

“Tell me what frightens you.”

“No. I don’t need you.”

“You need someone, Cait.”

She did need someone. But not him.
Oh God not him
. He was right in front of her now. He was right there and she trusted him.
Oh Lord
. She trusted him.

“Justin cooked the books. Bidwell isn’t a real business, it’s a tax dodge. He falsified records. He had thousands and thousands of dollars hidden in a secret safe and I didn’t know it was happening. He lied to me. He used me. He betrayed me in business and in bed. I am guilty because I didn’t question. I am a victim because I didn’t know. I ran from him. I’m still running and I am so afraid.”

She didn’t know how it happened, why all that had come out of her mouth and why she was in Sean’s arms. He was holding her upright. He was stroking her back. There were tears on her cheeks and her skin was gritty. She couldn’t catch her breath and her thoughts were tumbling.

She’d given Sean what he wanted. She’d given him too much. Not the whole truth, the full extent of it, but most of it. The essence. He’d gotten his explosion, and his confession, but it was impossible to know how they’d deal with the fallout.

21: Factoids

It was good Cait had pushed him away. She was still angry. Angry about losing it. About what happened to her. Sean had wanted to see what was underneath all that caution and evasion, but he didn’t want her to melt down at the side of the road, so angry was better. Now she needed to use it all up.

He had the boot open and was rummaging for her gym bag.

“What are you doing?” Her words were tight clipped, her arms folded over her ribs. She couldn’t look at him. She was embarrassed, he guessed especially about the tears.

“Run it off.”

“What?”

He held up her gym bag. He wanted to remind her, he’d lost his shit too. “Your turn today. Get changed. Run it off.”

“Stop telling me what to do.”

“You’re not angry with me. Run it off.”

She snatched the bag from his hands. “I am angry with you. I hate you. I ran last night and again this morning. I don’t need you manipulating me.”

“You need to get away from me. You need to settle down if you want to keep driving. I don’t care if you leave me here, but you’re not getting in that car again before you’ve cooled down.”

“I suppose you’ll stop me.”

Grinning at her was a stupid thing to do. He hadn’t meant to do it. But she was covered in orange dust, her cheeks striped with tear tracks and she’d slaughter him with her indignation alone if she could. So going all toothy on her was tactically dumb, but it got the result. She took the bag and got in the back seat, closing herself in the car. Through the tinted window he saw her shirt come over her head. Five minutes later she flung the door open, dressed in her gym skins and runners.

She pointed at him. “You stay here.”

He grinned again and that made her mad enough to start off down the side of the road. Her whole body was a mass of tension, ticking with fury. Her stride was stiff and military and when she kicked into a run it was the kind that would make your joints ache. She was still punishing herself, but this was at least healthier than the mental stress she was putting herself under.

He got in the car. He had some work to do. He sent a text. Slave girl. Chains bisecting a stacked body that shone with manufactured sweat over a golden tan. Exactly the kind of girl to take home to Mum—if you wanted to be excommunicated.

It took Stud a full fifteen minutes to respond. Talk about a change in status. As Fetch he was instant cuppa soup in Stud’s call return priorities. As Sean he was oven bake.

“Nice girl.”

“I thought she looked like Mrs Stud.”

The hands-free on the new phone was great. Stud’s howl of laughter startled birds. “What the fuck do you want?”

“To give you the new number.”

“What would I need that for? You’re on leave.”

“You never know.”

“What do you want?”

“Can you look into something for me?”

“Since when am I your department of look into something?”

“Come on, Stud. It’ll take you two seconds.”

“All your digits broken?”

“No. I’m nowhere near a PC and I’ve got company.”

“Two interesting little factoids. I’ll have the where first.”