In Safe Arms (13 page)

The place was deserted and Nate relaxed a fraction. He’d been summoned here. Surely if they were onto him, there would be more members present than Bull and Kennett.

A boot squeaked on the polished cement and Kennett came towards him from the direction of the kitchen. The chapter leader hesitated when he saw Nate, then continued on, holding out a cardboard box so Nate could put his mobile phone inside.

Standard procedure. All mobile phones were handed in when the bikies attended church.

Nate wasn’t sure why, maybe because he’d spent the last day and a half staring at Josie, but Kennett looked bigger and meaner than ever. Completely bald, save for one black tuft of hair at his nape, the chapter leader stank of sweat and axle grease, his grey beard tinged a seedy yellow.

Tension cramping his stomach, Nate maintained eye contact with Kennett and fantasised about killing Josie. Sick and twisted as it was — he needed to imagine her dead in his arms if he were to be convincing.

‘Viper,’ he bit out, eyes stinging as his breakfast made its way back up his gullet. He coughed, swiped the back of his gloved hand across his mouth and fought down the self-inflicted nausea.

‘You fix things?’

He nodded, once.

Kennett’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.

‘You —
owe
me,’ Nate bit out. ‘I want Grassy’s run. The guy’s a fucking liability and I’m not sticking around here doing this kind of shit and getting nowhere.’

He let the insinuation hang in the air. The bikies hated nothing more than a member defecting to another gang.

And Nate had a lot on Kennett.

Not that they’d ever let him leave.

Kennett glanced towards the open roller door. ‘Take it easy, Bolt.’

He’d bought it!

‘I don’t know, man.’ Nate dragged off the beanie and went for broke. ‘I’ve been earning my patches for two years now, even had to cut my fucking hair in case the pigs got me on camera.’

Kennett’s gold tooth glinted from behind his beard. ‘Shave it.’

In your dreams, dickhead
.

Nate dragged some gold coins from his pocket and turned his back on Kennett, inserting the money into a nearby drink machine and keying in the code for a Coke.

‘I broke you into that joint, had your back, even dealt with the bitch.’ Nate picked up the can from the collection tray. ‘What more do you need?’

‘You know how things work around here, Bolt.’

‘I’ll tell you what I know, Viper.’ Nate stepped closer, got right up in Kennett’s face for the second time that week. ‘Most of our members are decent people, simple bike enthusiasts, but there’s a handful who take care of the rough stuff, and make the serious dough.’

He popped the top and took a long drink, glancing towards the roller door as another bike roared up the driveway.

He brought his gaze back to Kennett. ‘I want in.’

3:00 p.m. Tuesday

Josie smiled her thanks as Dickson set a mug of coffee in front of her. It was their third for the day.

Earlier, he’d taken detailed notes of her version of Sunday night’s events, and after sharing sandwiches at lunch time, she’d grown more comfortable with Nate’s controller being in the house.

It was infinitely preferable to being alone.

In the afternoon, Dickson began working through the files restored onto Nate’s computer, insisting they work side by side at the dining room table so he could watch her screen as she accessed the Australian Securities and Investment Commission’s website. Never once did he leave her alone with the computer.

It was annoying that he didn’t trust her, and understandable he wouldn’t.

Now, as she studied him over the rim of her coffee mug, she came to the conclusion Boy Wonder was okay.

But he wasn’t Nate.

And the hollow feeling she’d woken with was still there.

‘Any patterns?’ Dickson asked, looking up and catching her watching him.

Josie lowered her mug and glanced at the flowcharts she’d drawn on her legal pad. Nate had asked them to pay particular attention to the drycleaners, which was in the underground section of the Queen Victoria Building and a Fit Forever gymnasium situated in the same arcade at street level.

‘I haven’t got far enough in to detect any patterns. I’ve got company tax file numbers and registered business names, but there’s a network of companies involved, and each time I follow one path it leads me down another.’

Dickson reached for his mobile as an alert came through. ‘Keep looking.’

Josie tensed, holding her breath and praying the message was from Nate.

‘It’s not him.’ Dickson put the phone down. ‘There’s been nothing since this morning when he left the house in Surry Hills.’

‘Should we be worried?’

Dickson pressed his lips together and gave her a look that said he didn’t appreciate her questioning him. Not that she cared.

‘It’s normal. We keep contact to a minimum. He’ll check in when he can.’

Josie let go of a breath and turned back to the computer.

‘What’s so great about him anyway?’

Josie looked over at Nate’s partner. He was reclined in the chair, fingers interlocked behind his shaved head, weight balanced on the chair’s back legs.

He spread his hands. ‘I mean, the guy’s so intense.’

Josie turned a page on her pad and waggled the pen between her fingers. Obviously Dickson had never witnessed Nate’s lighter side. ‘If you need to ask, you won’t understand.’

‘Ouch. Touchy.’ Dickson lowered the chair back on all four legs and shrugged. ‘I just want to know how he pulls all the chicks.’

Small pinpricks of disappointment stung Josie’s stomach. She knew Nate possessed a flirty gene, but she’d always thought it the harmless “fun” variety. “Pulling all the chicks” suggested a serial flirt. Did she believe that? When she’d made the ill-fated move at the party, he’d been openly mortified he’d given her the wrong impression.

She shrugged. ‘Some guys just have the X factor I guess.’

Hoping that would put an end to it, Josie peered at her computer monitor, but Dickson wouldn’t be discouraged.

‘There’s a history between you two, isn’t there?’

‘Hardly.’ Josie typed a company name into the ASIC search tool. ‘He worked for Allegra’s husband for a while. There was office contact, that’s all.’

‘Was that when he was suspended?’

Josie’s fingers stilled on the keyboard and she looked at Dickson again, torn between wanting to know, and refusing to pry into Nate’s business.

‘For getting involved with that member of congress in the States?’ he went on.

Josie shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’

‘She was receiving threats from some Australian ex-pat wanted back here.’ Dickson frowned. ‘She had a kid too. I think Nate wanted them to move out here.’

The boy in the wallet.

Not a godson. Not even a nephew.

Oh God!

She was such an idiot. How could she be so stupid as to go there a second time? With the deadline for his return to the bikies hanging over him, Nate had obviously given in to a sudden urge, a moment of madness that wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t got out of bed and gone into his room.

A dark pall of regret settled over Josie. Thank God he’d seen her bruises and brought things to a halt before that kiss led to something else.

A United States Member of Congress.

A mature woman — probably of a similar age.

A boy he loved — enough to carry his photograph in his wallet.

‘Anyway.’ Dickson waved a hand, voice breaking into her thoughts. ‘I’m not speaking out of turn. It’s common knowledge in the service.’

‘I’m not in the service.’

‘No.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘But Hunter has a habit of “falling for his leading lady” if you know what I mean.’

Josie glared, would have told him to stick his opinion where the sun don’t shine, except Nate’s warning not to unleash her mouth on Dickson stopped her. ‘And you thought I should be aware of it?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I don’t give a damn about Nate Hunter’s pattern of behaviour.’ She shifted her attention back to the computer screen, female intuition warning her Dickson Cross had an ulterior motive for telling her this.

‘I just want my life back.’

Darkness surrounded Nate, not the protective kind, like when he and Josie had walked through the arbour, cool mountain air brushing their skin.

Oppressive.

Spinning.

He tried to make a fist, lift his arm.

Numbness — a dead weight.

His diaphragm contracted, squeezing his stomach muscles and threatening to expel its contents.

He jerked forward.

Upright.

A moving weight on his knees.

Hands around his neck.

Jesus!

A sickly odour made him want to avert his face but he couldn’t move. He opened his mouth, searching for oxygen, throat like sandpaper, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

Josie’s face swam into view and he mentally grasped at it.

Concentrated on keeping her near.

She drew closer, young and beautiful. She was holding two champagne flutes.

Cute.

Small.

She offered him a glass. Picked up a strawberry and ate it. Said something, her mouth moving.

He couldn’t hear.

Speak up, Josie.

Why couldn’t he hear?

She reached for him.

He held out his arms. Agony in his left shoulder.

He faltered, breath leaving him.

Come on, Hunter —
fight
.

Josie stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.

Sticky — sweet.

Nauseating.

Wrong!

5:00 p.m. Tuesday

Allegra climbed out of Luke’s AMG and pulled a white baseball cap over her hair. She leaned down and spoke to him through the open window.

‘Do I pass as a jogger?’

One arm resting on the steering wheel, his eyes flicked over the white tee-shirt and stretchy black exercise pants. ‘Maybe.’

He didn’t smile, gaze now scanning the park which was a block from the Mulvaney family home. ‘I’ll be watching.’

Allegra clipped her iPod mini to the band of her leggings, unfazed by his displeasure. While Luke admired her work, he’d never quite reconciled himself that sometimes it was necessary for her to associate with the shady element of Sydney society. He just insisted on accompanying her. Like now.

She placed the buds in her ears, though she had no intention of listening to music. ‘I’ll be fine, Luke.’

‘Don’t be long.’ There was an edge to his voice she recognised as worry.

Dappled autumn light bathed the park in a soft glow as Allegra jogged around its perimeter where a game of touch football was taking place. Around the rubbish bins, crows scavenged for food, their mournful cries in sharp contrast with the piercing trill of the referee’s whistle. One or two dogs dashed around, eager to join in the sport, while teenage boys shouted for the ball and parents shouted from the sidelines.

At the southern end of the park, Allegra could see Lizard Mulvaney’s widow where she’d promised to be, walking the family’s Staffordshire terrier alongside the storm water drain. Allegra slowed to a power walk, striding out alongside Sandra Mulvaney, within earshot, but not too close.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Sandy. Thank you for meeting me.’

Allegra glanced at the other woman. Apart from a Betty Boop tattoo peeking above the scooped neckline of a white singlet, Sandra Mulvaney was dressed in her usual head to toe leather, a Southern Cross bandana tied around her shoulder length bleached blonde hair.

‘It wasn’t easy getting out of the house, but I’m doing it for Lizard,’ she said softly, silver bangles clinking as she jerked on the dog’s leash.

Allegra admired the woman’s courage. Outlaw motorcycle gangs refused to speak publicly, especially to police, and only to lawyers when they needed representation. As far as she knew, Sandra Mulvaney wasn’t in need of the latter, though her husband may have been, if that’s why he’d called Josie last Sunday night.

‘As I said in my text, Simon Poole asked me to pass on his condolences. Are you alright? Have you had threats made against you personally?’

Sandra popped a piece of chewing gum into her mouth and shook her head. ‘The boys take care of me, just like they did with Lizard.’

Allegra frowned. ‘I was surprised he was alone when he died. Didn’t he have round the clock protection after the Court House shooting?’

The memory of that day sent a shudder down Allegra’s spine. A member of the Altar boys had taken a pot shot at Mulvaney after he’d been released on bail. She’d been there, the bullet lodging in the sandstone wall between them.

‘He didn’t want the boys around him that night,’ Sandra said in a low voice. ‘Told them to take off for a few hours.’

Allegra’s heart began to beat faster. ‘Why?’

‘Why are you so interested?’

Frustration bubbled up inside Allegra. She couldn’t mention the connection with Josie, not when her P.A.’s disappearance was yet to be publicly linked with Mulvaney’s death.

‘We have a long association with the Southern Cross, and we’re here to help with Lizard’s estate — should you need it.’

From the corner of her eye, Allegra saw Sandy’s mouth twitch. ‘Didn’t think Grace and Poole needed to tout for business, Allegra.’

Allegra ignored the remark. ‘Why would Lizard tell the security boys to go home that night?’

A pack of cyclists came hurtling around the corner, reflective bike lights glowing in the early evening dusk. Sandra waited until they’d passed. ‘He was tired of living frightened. He missed hanging with the family, but he wouldn’t risk putting me and the kids in danger. It was really getting to him.’

‘Was he depressed?’

Sandra snorted. ‘No.’

‘So why tell the guys to lay off?’

They paused again for three cyclists, separated from the peloton, to go by. ‘He was trying to make contact with whoever ordered the hit. He wanted it called off.’

Allegra’s step faltered. In that case, why would Mulvaney need to speak with her?

She looked at the other woman. ‘Do you know who ordered the hit?’