The Predator (4 page)

Despite her best efforts, her gaze drifted to Brandon. He sat side-on to her at his desk, less than ten feet away, staring at the illuminated computer screen in front of him. She was acutely aware of him—had been for the last three hours—and it was annoying her no end.

It had been more than a week since they’d spoken. Until now, with some clever manipulation of the roster, she’d managed to avoid sharing a shift with him, but not wanting to disclose too much to her boss, she’d known that sooner or later, her luck would run out. Tonight, she’d drawn the short straw.

Brandon looked good, but then, he always did. His crisp white business shirt was tucked into a pair of charcoal-gray suit pants. An expensive-looking maroon and gold tie complemented both.

He looked like he’d spent hours choosing his wardrobe but she knew for a fact he never spent much time getting ready. He had an innate sense of style that came naturally and it hadn’t diminished over the years. But he was also different… A “good different” in lots of ways. Less restless, edgy, anxious.
Had he found peace with someone else?

The bold thought intruded, entirely unwelcome. As was the stab of jealousy that came from nowhere. What did she care who he was seeing? It was none of her business. Just like her life was none of his. She’d told him as much. She’d be all kinds of hypocritical if she stuck her nose into his business. And a hypocrite, she wasn’t.

Still, Alex couldn’t squelch the tiny seed of curiosity that lodged itself in her brain and refused to die.
Was
he seeing someone? Did that account for his new level of awareness and maturity?

With a snort of disgust, she forced her gaze back to her computer. A comment flashed on the screen in front of her and her stomach clenched. It was from Justin. The name was obviously a pseudonym. That’s just the way it was. But “Justin” had tweaked her curiosity. He was one of the persons of interest she’d been tracking over the last few weeks and he’d just responded to her mention of a netball game being played next Saturday.

Tonight, she’d logged in as Angel—a thirteen-year-old girl who liked to swim, play netball and whine about her homework. Alex tried to keep the facts as much like her as she could. It helped keep the lies straight, especially when she used so many different profiles.

She generally based the physical description on herself, but bent toward a younger version. The hair she usually wore loose became a ponytail. The odd freckle on her face became more than just a smattering. And of course, a zit was a major catastrophe.

Although she didn’t have any experience with other teenagers, she had been one herself and after doing some online research on YouTube and discovering what was selling in the iTunes Store, she quickly came up to speed. Besides, there was nothing like spending time in an online chat room to rapidly become acquainted with the current-day teenagers’ vernacular and the things that held their attention.

Which changed daily, of course. At least, that’s how it felt.

Right now, she was chatting to Justin. A few nights ago, it had been Zac.

“Justin” had told her he was fifteen. He played cricket in the summer and football in the winter. She’d asked him to send her a picture, but he hadn’t yet complied and even if he did, it wouldn’t mean it would be the real him. Anyone could source a photo online. Most parents would be aghast if they knew what a predator could do to their child’s picture once it was uploaded onto the web. Or how someone else could use it to misrepresent themselves.

Alex pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the words appearing on her screen. She’d been chatting to him for several weeks and her radar had begun to hum. There was just something about him that had the smell of a predator.

For one, his manner was way too obliging for a teenage boy. He was also way too interested in her and her friends. The average teenager was self-absorbed. They didn’t want to know any more about you than you offered. And most especially teenage boys. They couldn’t care less about your snotty Maths teacher or the fact that you’d had a fight with your best friend.

But Justin did. At least, he said he did. He responded to Angel’s moaning and groaning with an uncharacteristic sensitivity and even encouraged her to elaborate. He asked lots and lots of questions. He agreed with everything she said.

Yes, the person posing as Justin had ignited her curiosity and as she began to read his most recent reply, her heart rate accelerated.

My sister plays netball, Angel. Which team do you play for?

Alex wasn’t on speaking terms with any teenage boys, but she couldn’t imagine one that cared a fig about netball and even less about his sister. She quickly typed back a response.

I play for the Bondi Babes.

A few seconds later, another reply came.

Great name. Which position do you play?

Alex kept it easy by using the position she usually played on the few Saturdays she had off and found time to enjoy a game.

I play Wing Attack. What about your sister?

That would test him. Not many fifteen-year-old boys would know the positions of a netball team.

Goalkeeper
.

Alex contemplated his reply. Most sports had a goalkeeper of some sort. Even if he knew nothing about netball, it was a fairly safe response. It didn’t mean he was a predator. But then again, it didn’t mean he wasn’t.

Another comment crawled across on the screen.

Who takes you to your games?

Alex tensed, then took a deep breath and tried to relax. Another seemingly innocuous question. It was probably only her and the other members of the CPU that would read insidiousness into that query. Then again, it paid to be sure. Her radar was humming louder and it hadn’t failed her yet.

She typed a reply.

I usually catch the bus and meet my friends there.

The response came quickly.

Are you playing at Bondi this weekend?

No, we’re playing away this weekend. Over at Clovelly.

She waited, holding her breath. A few minutes later, he responded.

Too bad. I was hoping we could meet and say hi. Maybe you could come over to my place after the game. I live just around the corner from the Clovelly netball courts.

Alex’s heart thumped hard and her chest went tight. Was that it? Had Angel just received an invitation from a pedophile?

She stood and leaned over the top of her cubicle. “Hey, Boland. Come and take a look at this.”

Ryan looked up from his screen. “What is it?”

Alex bit her lip. From the corner of her eye, she saw Brandon glance in her direction.

“I’ve been chatting with a kid who calls himself Justin. Says he’s fifteen. But he’s asking a hell of a lot of questions. He has my radar up.”

Ryan’s eyebrow rose. “Justin? Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, yet.”

“Come and take a look. Sometimes I think I just overreact. This job has a way of making you paranoid. Even Santa Claus would trigger my suspicion some days.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. He stood and made his way around to her desk. “I can’t believe you just said that, Cavanaugh.”

“What? Santa Claus? Don’t tell me you never thought he was just a bit
too
jolly?”

Nudging her out of the way, Ryan sat at her desk and threw her a droll look. “Santa’s not real, Alex, remember? Boy, you really need a holiday.” He grinned. “The offer for a cruise up the Hawkesbury still stands, you know. We could even stay somewhere overnight.”

Catching movement from out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw Brandon push away from his desk and walk toward them. She stiffened, knowing he’d heard every word. Leaning over Ryan’s shoulder, she stared with fierce concentration at the text on the screen in front of them.

“See, start reading from here. We’ve been chatting for the last few weeks. He’s asking all the right questions, don’t you think?”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed at the screen. He read in silence.

“What’s going on?”

The words thrummed along Alex’s spine. She drew in a quick breath and released it slowly, refusing to acknowledge the affect her husband still had on her.

“Alex thinks she might be onto something,” Ryan replied, throwing Brandon a quick look over his shoulder. “And from what I’ve read, I might agree.”

Ryan turned in the chair, forcing Alex to stand upright, in closer proximity to Brandon. She tensed when he moved nearer and she tried not to notice how delicious his cologne smelled. Fresh. Woodsy. Familiar.

He leaned in closer to read the text over Ryan’s shoulder and her traitorous heart accelerated.

“To a casual observer,” Ryan explained, “it might be easily dismissed as a young boy’s curiosity—exactly what he says he is. But to anyone trained in the way these sickos work, it has all the hallmarks of a predator.” He swung back around to Alex. “You’ve done good, partner. This one needs to be watched.” He pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll go and tell the boss.”

Ryan started off in the direction of Patrick’s office. Alex watched him disappear, panic starting to rise. Brandon’s gaze burned into her, but she refused to look at him.

“How long have you known Boland?”

The words took her by surprise. She looked up in confusion. “Ryan? Um, I’m not sure. He’s been here as long as I have. Three years or so, I guess.”

He tensed. His face closed.

Comprehension dawned on her. “Oh my God, you think he’s Sam’s father?”

“Sam? Is that his name?”

Alex bit her lip in silent castigation, but gave a brief nod.

Brandon pounced. “Boland has the same dark coloring, the same curly hair. Good looking.” He held her gaze. “I can imagine you falling for a guy like that. You always did have a thing for a pretty face.”

Anger burned through her. “How dare you!”

He lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “Just saying it how it is, sweetheart. Or at least, how it was.”

“You bastard. You know that was only one of the many things I loved about you. At the end of the day, I couldn’t have cared less if you were as ugly as a beast or as fat as a toad—it wouldn’t have made any difference to the way I felt about you. You and you alone destroyed what we had when you left without a word of explanation and you damned well know it. It had nothing to do with your looks.”

The color on Brandon’s cheeks heightened, but he scoffed. “What’s the big secret? What difference does it make who your son’s father is?”

Before she could respond, his expression changed. A sudden look of understanding filled his handsome features and his lips curled up in a sneer.

“I’ve got it. It’s someone I know, isn’t it? You were so desperate for a baby, you crawled into bed with one of my mates. Or maybe you didn’t do it that way at all? Maybe you did it the modern way and just went off and got artificially inseminated? Ordered a donor off the Internet. Maybe that’s the big secret—that even
you
don’t know who his father is.”

Fury, hot and thick, gushed into her veins and throbbed at her temples. She could barely speak around the surge of emotion that threatened to choke her.

“Do you really hate me that much?” she managed, her voice harsh.

A deep, red stain spread over Brandon’s neck and across his cheeks. He looked away. A few seconds later, the tension left his body. When he looked back at her, his eyes were full of remorse.

“I’m sorry, Alex. That was uncalled for. I’m a prick. I’m a bastard. I’m every lowlife name you’ve ever thought of and more. I should never have said anything. It’s none of my business—like you said. Please, forgive me?”

She stared at his outstretched hand and wished she could take it. But for too many years, the anger and hurt had gone unabated, stored in a secret place in her heart where it had been left to fester and grow into a cancerous mass that sat heavily in her belly, mostly ignored but never forgotten.

“You vowed love; you vowed honor; you vowed to stand beside me ’til death do us part,” she rasped, fighting tears. Shaking her head, she swiped at her eyes and snatched another breath. “It was a lie. It was all a lie. You—”

“No, Alex, no. You’ve got it all wrong,” he implored her. The pain in his eyes and the desperation on his face gave her pause, but she stifled the flash of guilt that shot through her and hardened her heart.

“I don’t think so, Brandon.” Renewed anger heated her veins. “You forfeited any chance at forgiveness the night you gave up on us.”

CHAPTER SIX

He’d always been a loser. Even in primary school, no one had wanted to know him. Pale and weedy, life had gotten worse when he’d entered puberty and acne had visited with a vengeance.

He’d learned early on the need to escape the humiliation of the playground and had gravitated toward the quiet, secret confines of the school library. The tall rows of shelves had secluded him from the torment of the rest of the world and the safe smell of books had soothed him in their silent, stale embrace.

It was in the library that he’d first discovered the Internet and his life had changed forever. Finally, he’d found a place to call home. It was a world where he could be anyone he wanted to be. The cocky captain of the football team, the fastest kid on the track team, or Mr Popularity 101. There were no rules; there were no boundaries; there were no truths. Just thousands of other kids wanting to be friends—begging, pleading,
happy
to be friends.

With him.

He’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

Now, years later, with the nightmare of puberty and high school behind him, he was free to live his life the way he’d always wanted. His boring day job as a traveling IT salesman gave him the freedom to play on the Internet whenever the urge took him. It also provided the necessary funds to finance his life’s passion and if everything fell into place, soon he wouldn’t even need that.

With a thrill of anticipation winging its way through his arteries, he unlocked the door to his grungy ground-floor apartment that boasted a spectacular view of the asphalt car park at the rear of his four-storey building.

In stark contrast to the attention he paid to his appearance, the unit was filthy. Ignoring the stack of dirty plates and cups piled high in the sink and the stench of garbage left too long in the trash bin, he headed straight for his sanctuary.