Innocent Hostage (16 page)
“You’re a handy guy to have around,” Hull commented.
Breck shrugged. “Lots of people can remember simple strands of numbers.”
“Nope. Lots of people
think
they have good memories for numbers,” Hull retorted.
“He wants to be a detective,” Harley Max said.
Tony Hull bounced his head. “Cool. You’d be ideal. I’m here if you need help.”
“Hey! Leave him alone. He’s mine.”
Hull raised his eyebrows at Max’s outburst. He winked at Breck. “Hands off. The man wants to be a detective. Enough said.”
Max looked long and hard at Breck while Hull flicked through his notes. “You’re quite sure about applying to the detective division?”
Hesitating, Breck opened his mouth to reply when Max answered his own question. “I guess you are. You’re one of my longest serving officers and burnout is only to be expected.”
Burnout? That wasn’t what Breck had been trying to say.
Or was it?
Without knowing how he got there, he found himself pacing in front of Max’s desk. Burnout? Was that why juggling all the facets of his life seemed to be so damned difficult? It was a whole new world of thought. Sure, it was common enough, but because he loved what he did, he hadn’t realized that burnout was a possibility.
He sat down again.
Harley Max and Hull watched him. Then Max leaned forward and handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here, Marchant. While you were pacing, I printed out the application forms for you.” He grinned. “Get on to it pronto. The next intake is in four weeks and you’ll be the first to be considered. In the meantime you’ll be on normal duties, but call in at HR on the way out. You’re due some paid leave and you need to take that before you plunge into a career change. Fill these forms out, and if you get stuck, contact Tony here. Bloody sorry to lose you from my division, but I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Breck didn’t know what was more unnerving; the idea that Harley Max was ‘keeping an eye’ on him, or the prospect of filling out a raft of forms.
He stood, and Hull stood too. “Something I was thinking about,” Breck said. “We should take a look at Marty Kerr’s brother. Oh, and something else my son said made me sit up and take notice.”
Hull raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently Tania had done a disappearing act only the month before Marty got himself into strife. I’ve told Raker about that. And I told him that she did that when we were married, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll liaise with Raker and we’ll keep you in the loop,” Hull promised. “Anything I can help you with before you fill in the application form?” He nodded at the stack of papers Breck was stuffing in his satchel.
“Not at this stage, thanks. I’m flying blind at the moment.”
Hull grinned. “You’ve done just fine so far. You’ll be great with Max behind you. His boys do well.”
“Yeah?” Breck flicked a look at his boss. “He always gave us to understand that once we left the AOS, he washed his hands of us.”
Hull rolled his eyes. “Like hell. The nosy old sod has his finger in a lot of pies.”
Harley Max raised his middle finger at Hull and Breck laughed. Yes, he could just imagine Max interfering if he thought he could bring some leverage to bear.
His heart not nearly as heavy as it had been when he’d arrived at Headquarters, Breck clambered into his SUV. It wasn’t until he stopped at the first traffic light that he looked down at the papers spilling out of his satchel on to the seat. His stomach tightened with the old familiar fears.
Chapter Sixteen
Ingrid struggled to comprehend the latest directive from Education New Zealand. What the hell did “educative processes allied with a child’s precognitive skills” mean? More red tape. The number of directives she received each month had ceased to astound her. Somewhere in a room far away, a person she would never meet spent their days constructing endless rules for preschools, especially private preschools. Oh,
how
she wished she’d not succumbed to pressure from her parents to open this school. Sure, she wanted to teach preschoolers, but that was what she wanted to do—teach. Not administrate. Not pore over pointless instructions that were better off in the trash.
The newsletter contained quotes from Breck’s parents. ‘
A stimulating preschool environment coupled with the encouragement of an enthusiastic teacher can overcome any adverse physical or psychological influences the child may encounter outside the school.
’ Yeah? She remembered reading that during training. Well, she knew better now.
What about Jimmy Holder whose mom hit the turps as soon as Jimmy left for preschool so that by the afternoon, someone else had to collect him and take him home? Jimmy was a seething cauldron of anger bubbling beneath a phlegmatic surface.
And what about poor little Eloise Driscoll whose bitter, desiccated Grandma had custody of her? Grandma hadn’t wanted Eloise to mix with ‘those dirty children’ at a public preschool. Needless to say, Eloise didn’t believe in pixies or princesses any more, yet she was barely three.
“Airy fairy shit.” Ingrid snorted, chucking the newsletter aside. Then she stopped and stared at the pile of papers. If she hadn’t heard Breck’s side of the story and seen his parents in operation, she would still believe that crap.
“
That’s
not very professional, Ms. Rowland.” Stella Martin had come into the office to collect some flashcards. She stood beside the desk, grinning down at Ingrid. “Never mind. There’s something outside that will make your day.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Unless it’s a check for $10,000 I’m not interested.” Ingrid picked up the next letter.
“My, we
are
tetchy today. Not enough sleep last night?”
No, she hadn’t. She’d laid there half the night thinking about Breck Marchant. Where was their relationship going? Was it going anywhere?
Should
it go anywhere? They were like chalk and cheese, yet somehow he got under her skin like no other man ever had. Well, there hadn’t been very many other men, but there’d been enough for her to use as a yardstick. Breck Marchant went way over the top of the yardstick.
She was in great danger of plunging into a one-sided affair with a man who showed no signs of needing a woman in his life permanently. He needed a babysitter, but he didn’t need a woman. And who could blame him? Tania’s antics would sour the most sanguine of men. Nope. Their affair was destined to go nowhere. She sighed. “Oh, live a little, Ingrid,” she muttered to herself. “Put yourself out there.”
“That’s what I say too,” Stella said grinning. “And he’s just the man to ease you gently into the dating scene.”
Ingrid stared at Stella. “Who? What?” Had Stella heard her muttering about Breck? She could feel a flush beginning at her neckline and spreading up to her face.
Stella nodded towards the doorway. “Hunk. He’s out there now, talking to Kit.”
Ingrid leaped to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do I look all right?”
Stella shook her head. “You’ve got it bad. Do something about it, sweetie.”
Easy for Stella to say.
Ingrid squelched her fears into submission and sailed out of the office like a galleon headed for stormy seas.
****
Breck looked up from where he was showing Kit and another little boy how to hammer straight and true with rubber mallets. He inhaled. Ingrid. He’d know that subtle fragrance anywhere—sweet with a touch of bite.
“What did your boss say? Is everything okay?”
Shit. In spite of his words, he’d hoped to have a day’s respite before he faced his nemesis, but Ingrid was right. It was like eating. Best to tackle the greens first before rewarding yourself with dessert.
He watched as she loped around supervising the end of day tidy-up. Kit showed Breck the list on the wall. “This week my job is to clean the whiteboards and tidy up all the marker pens. Then I have to check that the computers are switched off.” He scuttled away, full of importance.
Breck glanced around, noting the amount of equipment. No wonder Ingrid seemed anxious about the running costs of the center. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, needing money from her stepfather, but reluctant to be beholden to him.
****
Two hours later, Breck was wishing he’d never listened to her. The application form wasn’t just long, it was impossible.
“Why do you have to answer this stuff?” Ingrid asked as he tried to remember what date he’d left high school. “Shouldn’t the HR people have all your details?”
He stared at her. He’d been so hung up on the mechanics of the thing that he’d forgotten the obvious. Of course HR had all the information they needed. He could ask for a copy of his original application and then add in his later experience. He wasn’t thinking clearly. The heat rose under his skin. “I’m a fool,” he mumbled.
“Stop it! Stop it at once!”
To his shock, Ingrid stamped her foot. “Get over this ‘poor little me’ act. You are
not
a fool. You were given the wrong application form, that’s all.”
Breck stared at her in consternation.
“Your attitude pisses me off,” she hissed, obviously trying not to upset Kit.
Breck didn’t know what to say. Once they’d passed their initial exams for police selection, Abe had said, “Now that we’ve done it once, we can do it again if we have to.”
At the time, Breck had thought, “Well,
you
might be able to, buddy, but I don’t stand a chance.” He’d been lucky with the Armed Offenders Squad. Temperament and arms knowledge was of more importance than a bunch of diplomas. Sure, he’d had to sit a rigorous entrance test and there was continuous training, but most tests were oral and physical.
Ingrid’s contempt stung.
He was so damned
scared
. He only had to think about sitting a written test and he got goose bumps all over. Pathetic.
“In the morning you are going to obtain the correct application form; then tomorrow night, you and I will work on it till it’s perfect.”
He blinked. “You’re still going to help?”
She had kicked off her shoes when they’d got home and pulled on a pair of fluffy slippers and a white sweater. Standing four square in front of him with her hands on her hips, she looked like an exasperated bunny.
“I promised you I’d help, didn’t I? But
you
are going to do most of the work, Breck. That’s what it’s all about.”
She must be one hell of a teacher. God, that stupid saying “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” was more accurate than he’d thought. When Ingrid got annoyed you could almost see sparks flying through the air. He smiled.
“What? What’s so funny, Breck Marchant?”
“You are. Come here.”
Cautiously she came a little closer and he tugged her between his legs. “So you think I don’t try hard enough, do you?” He nuzzled her neck. She didn’t pull away, but she was still smoking.
“I think you hide behind your upbringing and blame it for everything that’s bad in your life. But there are a lot of good things in your life too. Kit for instance. Whether you like it or not, some of what your parents inculcated must have rubbed off on you.”
Breck shrugged. “Lots of people can remember simple strands of numbers.”
“Nope. Lots of people
think
they have good memories for numbers,” Hull retorted.
“He wants to be a detective,” Harley Max said.
Tony Hull bounced his head. “Cool. You’d be ideal. I’m here if you need help.”
“Hey! Leave him alone. He’s mine.”
Hull raised his eyebrows at Max’s outburst. He winked at Breck. “Hands off. The man wants to be a detective. Enough said.”
Max looked long and hard at Breck while Hull flicked through his notes. “You’re quite sure about applying to the detective division?”
Hesitating, Breck opened his mouth to reply when Max answered his own question. “I guess you are. You’re one of my longest serving officers and burnout is only to be expected.”
Burnout? That wasn’t what Breck had been trying to say.
Or was it?
Without knowing how he got there, he found himself pacing in front of Max’s desk. Burnout? Was that why juggling all the facets of his life seemed to be so damned difficult? It was a whole new world of thought. Sure, it was common enough, but because he loved what he did, he hadn’t realized that burnout was a possibility.
He sat down again.
Harley Max and Hull watched him. Then Max leaned forward and handed him a sheaf of papers. “Here, Marchant. While you were pacing, I printed out the application forms for you.” He grinned. “Get on to it pronto. The next intake is in four weeks and you’ll be the first to be considered. In the meantime you’ll be on normal duties, but call in at HR on the way out. You’re due some paid leave and you need to take that before you plunge into a career change. Fill these forms out, and if you get stuck, contact Tony here. Bloody sorry to lose you from my division, but I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Breck didn’t know what was more unnerving; the idea that Harley Max was ‘keeping an eye’ on him, or the prospect of filling out a raft of forms.
He stood, and Hull stood too. “Something I was thinking about,” Breck said. “We should take a look at Marty Kerr’s brother. Oh, and something else my son said made me sit up and take notice.”
Hull raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently Tania had done a disappearing act only the month before Marty got himself into strife. I’ve told Raker about that. And I told him that she did that when we were married, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll liaise with Raker and we’ll keep you in the loop,” Hull promised. “Anything I can help you with before you fill in the application form?” He nodded at the stack of papers Breck was stuffing in his satchel.
“Not at this stage, thanks. I’m flying blind at the moment.”
Hull grinned. “You’ve done just fine so far. You’ll be great with Max behind you. His boys do well.”
“Yeah?” Breck flicked a look at his boss. “He always gave us to understand that once we left the AOS, he washed his hands of us.”
Hull rolled his eyes. “Like hell. The nosy old sod has his finger in a lot of pies.”
Harley Max raised his middle finger at Hull and Breck laughed. Yes, he could just imagine Max interfering if he thought he could bring some leverage to bear.
His heart not nearly as heavy as it had been when he’d arrived at Headquarters, Breck clambered into his SUV. It wasn’t until he stopped at the first traffic light that he looked down at the papers spilling out of his satchel on to the seat. His stomach tightened with the old familiar fears.
Chapter Sixteen
Ingrid struggled to comprehend the latest directive from Education New Zealand. What the hell did “educative processes allied with a child’s precognitive skills” mean? More red tape. The number of directives she received each month had ceased to astound her. Somewhere in a room far away, a person she would never meet spent their days constructing endless rules for preschools, especially private preschools. Oh,
how
she wished she’d not succumbed to pressure from her parents to open this school. Sure, she wanted to teach preschoolers, but that was what she wanted to do—teach. Not administrate. Not pore over pointless instructions that were better off in the trash.
The newsletter contained quotes from Breck’s parents. ‘
A stimulating preschool environment coupled with the encouragement of an enthusiastic teacher can overcome any adverse physical or psychological influences the child may encounter outside the school.
’ Yeah? She remembered reading that during training. Well, she knew better now.
What about Jimmy Holder whose mom hit the turps as soon as Jimmy left for preschool so that by the afternoon, someone else had to collect him and take him home? Jimmy was a seething cauldron of anger bubbling beneath a phlegmatic surface.
And what about poor little Eloise Driscoll whose bitter, desiccated Grandma had custody of her? Grandma hadn’t wanted Eloise to mix with ‘those dirty children’ at a public preschool. Needless to say, Eloise didn’t believe in pixies or princesses any more, yet she was barely three.
“Airy fairy shit.” Ingrid snorted, chucking the newsletter aside. Then she stopped and stared at the pile of papers. If she hadn’t heard Breck’s side of the story and seen his parents in operation, she would still believe that crap.
“
That’s
not very professional, Ms. Rowland.” Stella Martin had come into the office to collect some flashcards. She stood beside the desk, grinning down at Ingrid. “Never mind. There’s something outside that will make your day.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“Unless it’s a check for $10,000 I’m not interested.” Ingrid picked up the next letter.
“My, we
are
tetchy today. Not enough sleep last night?”
No, she hadn’t. She’d laid there half the night thinking about Breck Marchant. Where was their relationship going? Was it going anywhere?
Should
it go anywhere? They were like chalk and cheese, yet somehow he got under her skin like no other man ever had. Well, there hadn’t been very many other men, but there’d been enough for her to use as a yardstick. Breck Marchant went way over the top of the yardstick.
She was in great danger of plunging into a one-sided affair with a man who showed no signs of needing a woman in his life permanently. He needed a babysitter, but he didn’t need a woman. And who could blame him? Tania’s antics would sour the most sanguine of men. Nope. Their affair was destined to go nowhere. She sighed. “Oh, live a little, Ingrid,” she muttered to herself. “Put yourself out there.”
“That’s what I say too,” Stella said grinning. “And he’s just the man to ease you gently into the dating scene.”
Ingrid stared at Stella. “Who? What?” Had Stella heard her muttering about Breck? She could feel a flush beginning at her neckline and spreading up to her face.
Stella nodded towards the doorway. “Hunk. He’s out there now, talking to Kit.”
Ingrid leaped to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me? Do I look all right?”
Stella shook her head. “You’ve got it bad. Do something about it, sweetie.”
Easy for Stella to say.
Ingrid squelched her fears into submission and sailed out of the office like a galleon headed for stormy seas.
****
Breck looked up from where he was showing Kit and another little boy how to hammer straight and true with rubber mallets. He inhaled. Ingrid. He’d know that subtle fragrance anywhere—sweet with a touch of bite.
“What did your boss say? Is everything okay?”
He grinned and spread his arms wide. “You are looking at a man on two weeks’ leave. And no, I haven’t been fired.”
She grinned back. “I
told
you he wouldn’t get upset if you asked him about switching to the detective whatsit.”
“I think the whatsit is called a division,” Breck said. He tilted his head on one side. “Nobody likes people who say ‘I told you so.’”
She stuck out her tongue and Kit and his friend stopped hammering to stare at her. “
Miss Rowland
!”
Blushing, she murmured, “Sorry, boys. Mr. Marchant is being annoying.”
“He’s going to be even more annoying shortly. He wants you to help him to fill out a very
long
application form.”
“No problem. I promised you I’d help.” Then she smiled evilly. “And since you’re a gentleman of leisure now, you can help me put away all the play equipment.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’d intended to help out here over the next couple of weeks anyway. May as well start now.”
Ingrid beamed at him. “Not many people choose to spend their holidays at their kid’s preschool,” she commented.
He shrugged. “I missed out on a lot of Kit’s development, and now I have an opportunity to make up for some of it.” It also meant he’d get to see Ingrid every day. That was good. Very good. “But I have to fill out that blasted application form first,” he added.
“It will be all right, you’ll see.”
She sure had a lot of confidence in him. The only other people who thought so highly of him were Kit and Natasha. Oh, and possibly Harley Max, but who knew with Max? Once Ingrid saw how he agonized over every word on the application form, she might become impatient. His parents had never lasted more than ten minutes with him, and a couple of his teachers at primary school had had even shorter leashes. Then again, they’d had a classroom full of kids vying for their attention, and a slow-witted student was probably the last straw.
Shit. In spite of his words, he’d hoped to have a day’s respite before he faced his nemesis, but Ingrid was right. It was like eating. Best to tackle the greens first before rewarding yourself with dessert.
He watched as she loped around supervising the end of day tidy-up. Kit showed Breck the list on the wall. “This week my job is to clean the whiteboards and tidy up all the marker pens. Then I have to check that the computers are switched off.” He scuttled away, full of importance.
Breck glanced around, noting the amount of equipment. No wonder Ingrid seemed anxious about the running costs of the center. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, needing money from her stepfather, but reluctant to be beholden to him.
****
Two hours later, Breck was wishing he’d never listened to her. The application form wasn’t just long, it was impossible.
“Why do you have to answer this stuff?” Ingrid asked as he tried to remember what date he’d left high school. “Shouldn’t the HR people have all your details?”
He stared at her. He’d been so hung up on the mechanics of the thing that he’d forgotten the obvious. Of course HR had all the information they needed. He could ask for a copy of his original application and then add in his later experience. He wasn’t thinking clearly. The heat rose under his skin. “I’m a fool,” he mumbled.
“Stop it! Stop it at once!”
To his shock, Ingrid stamped her foot. “Get over this ‘poor little me’ act. You are
not
a fool. You were given the wrong application form, that’s all.”
Breck stared at her in consternation.
“Your attitude pisses me off,” she hissed, obviously trying not to upset Kit.
Breck didn’t know what to say. Once they’d passed their initial exams for police selection, Abe had said, “Now that we’ve done it once, we can do it again if we have to.”
At the time, Breck had thought, “Well,
you
might be able to, buddy, but I don’t stand a chance.” He’d been lucky with the Armed Offenders Squad. Temperament and arms knowledge was of more importance than a bunch of diplomas. Sure, he’d had to sit a rigorous entrance test and there was continuous training, but most tests were oral and physical.
Ingrid’s contempt stung.
He was so damned
scared
. He only had to think about sitting a written test and he got goose bumps all over. Pathetic.
“In the morning you are going to obtain the correct application form; then tomorrow night, you and I will work on it till it’s perfect.”
He blinked. “You’re still going to help?”
She had kicked off her shoes when they’d got home and pulled on a pair of fluffy slippers and a white sweater. Standing four square in front of him with her hands on her hips, she looked like an exasperated bunny.
“I promised you I’d help, didn’t I? But
you
are going to do most of the work, Breck. That’s what it’s all about.”
She must be one hell of a teacher. God, that stupid saying “you’re beautiful when you’re angry” was more accurate than he’d thought. When Ingrid got annoyed you could almost see sparks flying through the air. He smiled.
“What? What’s so funny, Breck Marchant?”
“You are. Come here.”
Cautiously she came a little closer and he tugged her between his legs. “So you think I don’t try hard enough, do you?” He nuzzled her neck. She didn’t pull away, but she was still smoking.
“I think you hide behind your upbringing and blame it for everything that’s bad in your life. But there are a lot of good things in your life too. Kit for instance. Whether you like it or not, some of what your parents inculcated must have rubbed off on you.”
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