Sting (30 page)

“I fucking hope you’re right. They’ll have some firepower, no doubt.”

“Relax. This is what you were trained for. Keep it cool.”

Easy for him to say.
My pulse is out of control, my heart in my throat.

I pick up the satellite phone. “LOCSTAT operator?” I say, loud and clear.

“What’s your status?” the commander asks.

“VOI is on approach. ETA two minutes. Put the Coastguard and POLAIR on standby. Be ready to pounce at ground zero. They made the exchange.”

“Your coordinates are locked,” he confirms.

“Further updates ASAP.”

I take the memory card out of the camera and stash it in the invisible Velcro pocket in my shorts.
Sure comes in handy right now.

“Give me the spare card from the bag,” I bark.

I insert the card Mick hands me and switch the camera back on. I take a few random shots of the water, the boat approaching, and the fishing reels set up. Then I take off the large lens.

“Give me a goofy face,” I say to Mick, aiming the camera at his open mouth.

“What the fuck?” he says, and frowns, deepening the lines between his brows.

“Just do it!” I yell.

He forces a pathetic grin, and I take a few snaps of him before stashing the camera under a towel. Within the shelter of the cabin I load my Glock, and slip it into the covert holster in my shorts. Mick does the same. Who knows what the fuck will go down here, but we need to be prepared.

The vessel slows beside us. Our boat rolls high on the swell it creates. This time there’s no sight of the deckhands. Not a good sign.
Less witnesses.

The muscleman without the ink ties a rope to the side rail on our boat. The boats now ride the rough swell together.

“How we doin’, homies?” Perez says, looking between Mick and I with a narrowed gaze. He grips the rope and leans closer, peeking around into the cabin.

“Good, mate, you?” Mick says, like a true professional.

“You catch anything today?” he asks, and glances towards our fishing rods. They’re unbaited and sitting in their metal holders.

“Nothing biting today, mate. We were just packin’ up and about to head home.”

Perez juts his chin towards his minders and they each take position beside him, arms crossed under their chest.

“You fish out here regularly?” My heart pounds as his beady eyes scan over us from head to toe. “Not many boats out this way.”

“One of the blogs said there were some good fish to be caught out here. We thought we’d try our luck before we brought any customers this way. Don’t think we’ll bother again,” Mick says.

The two thugs board our boat and start poking around.
Not what we fucking need.

“Listen, is there something we can help you with?” I interject. It brings a scowl from Perez, who decides to board too.

“Just lookin’ around. Might be looking to get into the fishing business myself.”

I lean back against the cabin door. My gun is a comfort as it digs into my side.
I hate the thought of having to use this, but if push comes to shove ..
.

Mick backs up closer to the steering wheel. “Well, I wouldn’t get a piece of shit like this. It was all I could afford. I could put you in touch with a mate who works with a lot of the big suppliers.”

The tattooed muscle lifts the beach towel beside Mick, revealing the camera with the telescopic lens beside it.

Fuck!
We’re committed now.

“What the fuck is this shit?” he growls, snatching up the camera.

“Birthday gift from the missus,” Mick says, not missing a beat.

He turns it on. The device beeps as he scrolls through the photos.

“You fuckin’ watching us, huh? Who the fuck do you work for?”

“What do you mean? I just got it for my birthday, mate. I’d die to have a boat like yours, and I took some pics to show my wife. I’m just a fucking dreamer,” Mick pleads.

“Liar,” he shouts and throws the camera into the ocean, then crushes the lens beneath his boot, glass splintering across the deck.

The thug takes a gun from the back of his pants and swings the barrel, hitting Mick’s temple with brute force. He falls to the ground like a sack of shit. A dark trickle of blood slides down his forehead.

We’re fucked here. Beyond fucked.

I pull my gun and take aim between the offending thug’s eyes. Pain slices through my abdomen. The deafening sound of a gunshot rings in my ears.

“Not a smart move, homie,” Perez grunts. “Now fuckin’ drop it.”

I drop my gun and hunch over, compressing the point of impact with both hands. I’ve been shot? Blood seeps from my gut, coating my fingers in the sticky, warm liquid.
So this is what it feels like.

Someone steps forward and kicks my gun out of reach. A knee collides with my head, blurring my vision. I fall back. The wind is knocked out of my lungs with the impact of smashing into the cabin door.

“Wait,” I plead. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

“I’m not a dumb cunt. What kind of fishermen carry this kind of photography gear and a Glock? I smell a fucking pig.”

He turns to face the others, holding the rail as the boat rides the peak of the swell. I shuffle closer to the cabin, trying to reach the gun concealed within the lifejackets.

“Finish the pig off,” Perez orders. His top lip sniggers, providing a glimpse of a gold tooth.

No! I won’t let it end like this!

I force my eyes open wider, to find a distorted image of a man aiming a pistol at my head. A shit-eating grin sniggers across his lips.

I reach towards the lifejackets. A sharp pain from my earlier wound rips up my side, immobilising me.

It’s over.

A loud crash comes from the deck of the yacht. Our boat slams into the swell, a wave of water splashing over the deck.

A shot rings out.

With a heavy thud, pain radiates from my chest, stealing my breath.

“Let’s get the fuck gone. These fuckin’ pigs deserve a slow death. They’re as good as dead anyway, out here,” someone shouts.

Another torrent of water sprays into the boat. Keys rattle and the yacht’s engines roar, becoming fainter with each passing moment.

I reach around for where the emergency beacon should be. The pain blinds me, my vision clouding. I close my eyes and am gifted with a vision of a sunny day and Willow running towards me on the beach, in that teeny white bikini.

As the warm liquid seeps between my fingers, regret creeps in.

She’ll never know how much I love her.

I never got to tell her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

WILLOW

“These are for table nine,” I inform Gabs, as I slide the two cappuccinos towards her. She smirks at me, probably a result of the chipper tone in my voice, and then carries them out. It’s surprising what a few simple texts can do. I haven’t had time to look at my phone all morning, because we’ve been run off our feet. I can’t wait to find out what truth is waiting for me when I next do.

I think I’ll call Ryan on my break. I miss his husky voice.
Particularly when he calls me Blondie.
I miss him. I don’t know what he’s doing tonight, but maybe we could go and grab a bite to eat. Take a walk. Something.

“You done daydreaming, lady?” Gabs asks as she places the cups back on the counter.

“Sorry?”

“These were meant to be
mug
-accinos,” she informs me.

“Sugar,” I mumble to myself. I check the last order stabbed on the spike. Clear as day, it confirms my mistake. “Please apologise for me, and take out a couple of lime melting moments. I’ll make their coffees now.”

After I sort out the order I let Gabs know I’m taking a quick break.

I fish my phone out of my bag. No new messages. I dial Ryan’s number and it goes straight to voicemail. He must be out on the water.

“This is Ryan. Leave me somethin’ good.
Beep
.” The familiar sound of his voice sets my heart racing.

“Hi, it’s Willow. I just thought I’d see if you wanted to do something later? Anyway, give me a call when you get this. Bye.”

Making this work will take a leap of faith on my part, but I want to give us a fighting chance. I love Ryan and I want to trust him. I want him in my life.

In a possessive move, I smooth my hand over my belly. It’s hard to comprehend that there is something in there. A little being is growing inside of me. Will Ryan talk to my stomach like expectant fathers do in the movies? Will he rub my swollen feet when I’m as big as a whale? Will he run for the hills when I curse with a foul mouth and attack him in the delivery room?

I know in my heart that he’ll make a good father. Seeing him with Sienna, and knowing his truth about wanting a family, I know this will work.

Tonight, I’ll tell him the news.

My hand shakes as I put my phone back in my bag, a combination of nerves and excitement. Happiness blooms inside of me, knowing that I’m going to be a mother.
I’m going to have a family of my own.

Sometimes, good things happen to good people.

****

Five hours later, I’m dead on my feet. Thankfully, we’re an hour from closing.

“Today was crazy,” Gabs says, with a wipe to her forehead with the back of her hand. She leans back against the counter and produces a mammoth sigh.

Do I tell her now? I know I should probably tell Ryan first, but I am just busting to tell someone. How do I break the news?
So, something interesting happened. Found out I’m carrying Brown-Eyes’ lovechild.

I step away from the coffee machine and turn to face her. “Um, so there’s something I—”

Gabs’ phone shrieks like a fire drill in her pocket.

“Gah! Sienna’s been playing with my ring tone again,” she curses. She holds up a pointy fingernail in my direction and smiles. “One sec,” she whispers.

“Hello there,” she says sweetly. With a few slow steps, she gets closer to the back door. She gasps. “What! … Dear Lord … Are you okay?” She swings her head in my direction, and holds her hand over her mouth. Black-tinted tears waste no time trailing down her face.

“What, Gabs? What is it?” I rush to her side, and clutch her upper arm. “Is Sienna okay?” Did she hurt herself at day-care?
Please let her be okay.

With the phone still pressed to her ear, she shields the bottom of it with her other hand. “Michael … What do you mean? … You’re both? … Ryan’s…” She gasps and the colour drains from her face.

She curls her hand on my shoulder, still listening intently to the caller. “Okay … Yes … we’re on our way.”

On our way, where? I’m still focusing on the mention of his name.

“Ryan’s what?” My body trembles as a painful chill drives up the length of my spine. What on earth happened to them both?

“
Sarah!
” Gabs yells out, and returns the phone to her pocket.

Sarah’s blonde ponytail swishes from side to side as she runs from the kitchen in a flap panic. “What’s going on?” she asks, her gaze darting between the two of us. I’m not surprised by the look of alarm on her face. Gabs never yells. At least, not like she’s summoning the dead with the power of her voice.

“Willow and I need to go. Can you lock up?”

“No problem. Is, ah, everything okay?”

“I’ll fill you in later, Sarz.”

I untie my apron and sit it on the sandwich bar. I rush into the back and grab my handbag. Gabs grips my elbow, and ushers me out the back door to her car.

“Gabs, what the hell is going on?” I ask, as I buckle my seatbelt.

“What’s going on, lady, is that we need to get to the hospital, pronto.”

“Tell me what’s happened to Ryan!” I screech.

Fear consumes my every cell, triggering the tightness in my chest and causing sweat to pour out of me. Or is that my heart preparing to break?

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

The car tyres screech as we pull out of the laneway, without another word from my friend. It’s the longest twenty minutes of my life.

****

I can barely keep up with Gabs as she runs into the emergency entrance of South Perth Hospital. She rushes up to the counter, demanding the attention of attending staff.

“Mick Gallagher. I need to see him urgently,” she announces, as she slaps both palms on the counter.

A uniformed male police officer, with dark curly hair, shuffles in a nearby seat. He tosses an empty paper coffee cup in a nearby bin and then marches to her side.

“Come with me, Ma’am,” the tall man invites, offering a hand in the direction of two cream fire-doors. He nods at a young nurse behind the counter, and a buzzing noise opens the doors. We weave through a sea of patients in emergency beds until the officer shows us into a small room.

“Here’s my sunshine,” Mick says, in a hoarse whisper. He’s propped up with pillows, his head bandaged, and wearing a pale green hospital gown.

“Michael,” Gabs breathes. Her chest heaves and she chokes on a sob. “I should slap you sideways!” she yells, and then slaps his arm.

He winces, and a rough chuckle rumbles up his throat. “Hey,” he says in a soothing tone. He holds her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles. “I’d prefer you kissed me, instead.”

Without wasting another second she dives in and grants him a loud kiss. She puts distance between them and stares deep into his eyes. He hooks his hand behind her neck.

“Hey, not so fast,” he says, and pulls her lips to his, for a slow, tender kiss.

“Are you okay?” she asks him, eyeing the bandages closely.

I clutch at my neck and swallow down the acid that’s rising up my throat. My mind is racing, and I can’t find my voice.
Where is Ryan?

“Just a bump on the head. I’ll be fine. They’ll probably release me in the morning.” He lets out a long breath, the air whistling through his lips. “Did you bring Willow?” he asks. I see the top of his head as he peeks out from behind Gabs’ curves.

I’m scared to approach him, terrified to ask about Ryan. Why didn’t Gabs say anything to me on the way? Not a peep came out of her blabbermouth as she drove like a crazed maniac.