Outback Bachelor (18 page)

Jack ducked his chin. “Upset us all. He sure did, boss, but that’s over. I really appreciate you coming to tell me. How’s my girl?”

“My girl too, Jack.” Keefe flashed a smile. “We talked for a long time on the phone.” Indeed, their long conversation would always remain in his memory. The joy and the enormous relief in her voice, the outpouring of love. “I’m taking the weekend off to join her,” he said, hugging the thought of their passionate reunion to him when in his own way he had been through hell. “Want to come along?”

Jack laughed aloud. He knew the score. “You don’t need
me
,” he said jovially. “I’ll be seeing her soon. Give my beautiful girl—our beautiful girl—my love.”

“Will do, Jack,” Keefe said with a backward wave. He remounted his horse, riding away while Jack, on a wave of euphoria, turned back to his mate Chilla, calling, “Get the big one in here, Chilla, the roan. He’s the pick of the bunch. Between the two of us we can turn him into a darned good working horse.”

H
E HAD
to wait longer than he expected. It was dark now and the tenants who worked had had ample time to make their way home. Consequently, there was no movement around the entrance. He planned on slipping through the security door, either when someone entered or left the building.

Startling him—he was so engrossed in his plan—a taxi pulled up with a screech directly in front of the swish apartment complex. A young man on the hippy side got out, calling to someone still inside the taxi. “Check with Thommo. See you all around eight!”

While he watched and awaited his chance, the young man loped towards the entrance and Gordon Roth, waiting in the garden shadows, closed in quickly.

The security door opened at the click of a button. The young man became aware of the burly guy standing just behind him, almost breathing down his neck, definitely invading his space. Where in the heck had he come from? “You goin’ in, mate?” He kept his tone relaxed. One didn’t mess with a guy with a face like that.

“Yes,” Gordon Roth leaned forward, crowding the young man further. “I was just about to buzz through to my friend.’

“What friend would that be, then, mate?” Something about this burly guy was making the hitherto carefree young man uneasy.

“What’s it to you?” Gordon Roth shot back, a flicker of rage in his eyes. “Anyway, she’s waiting for me. We’re going on to the theatre.”

The young man’s glance darted away. He hadn’t missed that flicker. So much rage about these days. Road rage, home rage, work rage. A bad sign of the times. “So okay, then, enjoy yourself,” he said, clearing his throat. The woman friend he reasoned must be pretty hard up. The guy looked as though he regularly gave women a belt in the mouth. He let the guy get away to the lift—he had no wish to go along for the ride—so he pulled out his mobile to feign a call. Anyway, the lady friend would have to be okay with the guy before letting him in.

Skye heard the knock on her door with a start. She wasn’t expecting Keefe quite so early. But he was here! She had been busy preparing a meal for them both in the kitchen; a scallop salad for starters, and two lovely fresh Tasmanian salmon fillets served with marinated cucumber, avocado and green mango. Feeling extraordinarily elated, she moved with light, dancing steps to her front door.

Keefe! Every last impediment to their marriage had fallen away.

She didn’t bother fixing her eye to the peephole. She threw open the door, a radiant welcoming smile in place.

“Oh, my God!’ She stood transfixed, staring at her visitor with horror.

Find your breath. Steady up. Keefe is coming
.

Gordon Roth loomed over her, one heavy foot in the doorway. “Shocked, are we?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She knew a flash of outrage so intense she was able to summon a forceful tone: “Get away from my door, Mr Roth. I have a friend coming. He’s with the police.”

Fat fingers reached out to pinch her cheek. “I don’t think so, blondie. Let go of the door. I don’t want to hurt you. Not for the next half-hour anyway. I’m here to talk. Let’s keep this civilised.”

“Civilised isn’t breaking into my apartment,” she answered sharply. “You could get into a lot of trouble over this.”

“Trouble? I’m in enough trouble.” Roth scowled, his blue eyes so faded they looked colourless. Pebbles. Dead.

“There’s always more,” Skye was quick to remind him. “You haven’t been inside a jail as yet.”

“Maybe I’ve been lucky!” He managed a laugh.

“And maybe your wife was too terrified of you to press charges. You won’t bully me, Mr Roth. We’ve got nothing to say to each other. I strongly advise you to be on your way.”

“You lawyers give a lot of advice.” Abruptly he lashed out, pushing her backwards so she slammed into the hall console. “Let’s go inside, shall we?” He got a painful grip on her arm, forcing her into the living room.

“Nice, nice!” His gaze swept the room. “How well you live! Now, everything will be fine, so relax. It was you who talked my wife into applying for a divorce. All you have to do now—if you know what’s good for you—is convince her I’m worth another chance. I’m not letting my kids go. No way! They love me. Emma’s a liar. She always was.”

Skye was amazed at the calm disdain in her voice. “You can’t talk to me about things like that, M. Roth. You must speak to your own solicitor. Kevin Barclay, isn’t it?”

“Sacked ’im!” Roth said, thrusting his chin at her. “He was on my wife’s side. Never said so, but even an idiot could tell.”

“How did you get in here?” Skye took a pace away.
Keep him talking
. Keefe would soon arrive. Keefe could handle anything and anyone who came at him, even a snorting bull like Roth.

“People are careless.” Roth waved the question away. “It was easy. Some young dude let me through.”

“He shouldn’t have done that. What did you say to him?”

“I said I was meeting up with a lady friend.” Roth smirked.

“And you’ve had lady friends, haven’t you, all through your marriage?” Skye stared back accusingly, one hand massaging her bruised spine.

Roth’s expression turned grim. “You’ve been checking up on me, have you?”

Skye nodded. “Brothels, you name it.”

“I don’t do nothing other guys don’t do. Especially guys who have a rabbit for a wife.”

“Not even a rat could enjoy life with you,” Skye said with contempt. She was getting a taste of what poor Emma had had to endure for years.

“A pity you said that!” The pebble eyes ran over her face and body. She was wearing a long halter-necked dress printed with flowers. He eyed her high, taut breasts, the skin that gave off light. “You’re a real looker, aren’t you? Never had a woman like you. I’m wondering what it would be like.”

Her stomach flipped. What she saw in his eyes was
hate
. Not just for her. Or his hapless wife. For all women. She realised something terrible could happen to her. Gordon Roth was one step away from being crazy.

Behind them the phone in the kitchen rang, startling them both. “That will be my policeman friend.”

“Leave it.” Roth’s warning was rough. “You heard me. Don’t move.”

She froze.

Another sound came on top of the strident ringing of the phone. A couple of raps on the front door.

Only one person it could be.
Keefe
. Immediately that steadied the wobbles that had invaded her limbs.

Seeing the change in her, Roth grabbed her, holding her body tightly in front of him like a hostage. As indeed she had become. They heard the door open.

“Not a good idea to leave the door unlocked, Sky-Eyes,” Keefe called, his tone a mix of chiding and dead serious.

Skye drooped against Roth’s restraining arm, overcome by relief. Then came fear, not just for herself but for Keefe. For all she knew, Roth might be carrying a gun.

“Care to step inside for a moment, Mr Policeman?” Roth’s gravelly voice clanged metallically.

Keefe made a lightning response. He materialised in the living room like a genie materialised out of a puff of smoke. “Whoa!” He held up his hands, palms out, much as Skye had seen him steady a fractious horse. “What’s going on here?”

“A little negotiation.” Roth’s face flushed a violent red.

“Okay,” Keefe answered reasonably, acting on his judgment of the situation. “But first I suggest you let Ms McCory go.” He held his furious anger well under control. “You’re only making things worse for yourself, whoever you are. What are you doing here anyway?” As he spoke, Keefe advanced slowly but steadily, a tall, powerfully lean figure.

“I’ve got a weapon!” Roth yelled in an excited voice. “Like to see it?”

“Nice and slow,” Keefe answered, sliding his hand inside his own jacket. “I have one too. Unluckily for you I’m a crack shot. I suggest, before this goes any further, you let Ms McCory go.”

“Please, don’t let any of us get hurt.” Skye found her voice. “This is Gordon Roth, Keefe. I represent his wife. She has a restraining order in place against him for domestic violence. She wants a divorce.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?” Keefe said, moving to stand directly in front of them. “Let…her…go, Mr Roth.” His tone was quiet, but every word carried tremendous weight.

To Skye’s immense shock Roth caved in. He released her, using brute force to pitch her at Keefe, who fielded her deftly, taking a few seconds to steady them both.

Roth had his opportunity. He made for the door. Events were getting too much for him. He didn’t have a weapon at all. The other guy did. Not that he would need it from the look of him. Oddly enough he didn’t look like a copper, though he had an expression like granite.

Keefe had no difficulty closing in on him. He grabbed the back of Roth’s shirt, bunching it and jerking him backwards. “Gotcha!”

Roth grunted in surprise. How had the cop moved so fast?

Keefe spun the big burly man like a steer, forcing him to the floor and planting a hard knee into his back. “Something to tie up his hands, Skye,” he ordered, “or I could just knock him out. Funny about you bully boys,” he mused, kneeing Roth harder. “You only target defenceless women.”

Skye raced back with a length of picture cord she had on hand. “Sorry to be so long.”

“No need to apologise. This will do nicely.” Skilfully Keefe tied Roth’s hands nice and tight. “You might give the police a call. This guy ought to be locked up.”

“You can say that again!” Skye held a hand over her fast-beating heart.

Face down on the carpet, Roth was groaning in pain. “Are you gunna let me up?” Incredibly, he felt sorry for himself. He was in agony. The cop was using undue force, weighing down on him like a ton of cement bricks.

“No time soon,” Keefe answered nonchalantly, when he badly wanted to smash Roth’s face in. “Not hurting you, am I?”

Fiercely Roth got off a string of obscenities.

“Don’t worry, when the police arrive, they’ll let you up,” Keefe consoled him. “That’s the good part. The bad part is you’ll be facing charges. Even then you can count yourself lucky, you truly worthless cur.”

The police were at the door in under eight minutes. One of the officers handcuffed Roth, who, with a face screwed up as if he’d been mugged, protested violently about police brutality.

“He’s not a copper, mate. Don’t you know that?” the restraining officer said, keeping a straight face when he badly wanted to laugh.

Roth was led away and their statements taken. The police left with a warning: never open the door to anyone unless you know and trust them. They both seemed surprised they had to tell that to a lawyer. It was a lesson Skye would never forget. She knew more than anyone that there were a lot of angry, very frustrated people out there only too willing to take out their anger on anyone who got in their way.

“I was stupid,” Skye admitted. She and Keefe were at last alone. “And once again you’ve had to come to my rescue.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both their minds returning inevitably to the past and the distressing incident with Scott that had done all of them so much harm. Now the frightening encounter with Roth.

“Thank God I was there for you on both occasions,” Keefe said on a fervent breath. “Deep as our bond has always been, we’ve moved ever closer over the years, if that’s possible. No one will ever seek to harm you when I’m around.”

“You were cast as my protector,” she said, revelling in his role. “I thought it was you, of course, with Roth. I didn’t even bother to check the peephole.”

“That’s what he was relying on.” They sat together on the sofa, Keefe cradling her to him with one arm. Inside he was stunned by what had happened—what could have happened—to the woman he loved. On the outside he remained calm and supportive. “These guys that beat up their women have one thing in common. They’re bullies for sure, but cowards most of all. Why do women continue to live with men who threaten them and their children? I don’t get it.”

His toying with her hair had gentled her exquisitely. Here was a man who could calm her at a touch, yet arouse her at will. “It would take a woman to be in that position to know. Murder-suicide is a fact of life. Women have to deal with that terrifying thought. Frustrated men turn psychotic. The frequency of it happening is shocking. Sometimes it seems to me I’m in a dangerous job. A few years back Judge Henry Rankin was shot dead outside the family law courts.”

Keefe’s frown deepened. Even with Roth in custody, the muscles at the back of his neck were still knotted with fury. “I remember you telling me that. One of your bosses was involved, wasn’t she?”

Skye nodded. “Mercifully she was only a bystander, a friend of Judge Rankin’s. She’s never been the same since. Apparently the incident keeps coming back in flashes.”

“I should think it would,” he said grimly, his fears for her having sky rocketed. “Your boss must be one gutsy lady.”

“She is.” Abruptly her voice cracked and the held-back tears escaped onto her cheeks.

“Don’t,
don’t
, my love! I’m here. You’re safe.” Keefe pulled her across his lap. “I worry about you and what you do. Did you know that?”

“I worry about you too. It’s pretty savage, what can happen on a cattle station.” Day-to-day injuries, as she well knew. From time to time deaths.

“I can handle it. Which brings us to decision time. Are you completely happy to make a life change?” He waited intently for her answer. His need for her wasn’t simply the overwhelming physical hunger he had for her. That was always present. But so many links went into making up their powerful bond. Now it was a question of dealing with their past experiences. They had resolved the most threatening issue, the one that had loomed so largely in tearing them apart, now it was time to discuss their hopes and goals for the future.

“Above anything I want you to be happy,” Keefe said. “I want you to feel fulfilled not just as my wife and the mother of my children if we’re so blessed, but as an individual in your own right. You hold down a difficult, demanding job in keeping with your high intelligence. Is it conceivable, do you think, my love, you could become bored and restless with too much time on your hands?”

“Bored?” She turned up her head. “On Djinjara?”