Combatting Fear Page 5

  Chapter 8

  It had been a day of futile conversations and pointless driving around, but Micah refused to give up. For the second time today, Micah stopped at the general store. It was late afternoon, and a man in overalls was pumping fuel into a battered ute. Matthew Stokes Farrier was printed on the side of the canopy. The guy eyed the Bentley, and Micah cursed for the hundredth time that he hadn’t picked up a modest hire car.

  He took a deep breath and approached the farrier. “Good afternoon. Sorry to bother you, but I wonder if you know Chelsea Matten?”

  The guy’s face tightened with suspicion as he gave Micah the once over. “I might. Who’s asking?”

  He went with the same story he’d been using all day. “Here’s the thing. We used to be school sweethearts, and I heard, through Facebook, that she is living in Turners Gully. I was here for business, so thought I’d look her up.”

  “Yeah, I know Chelsea. Moved into the area not long ago. One of them sheilas who complains ’bout how noisy the cattle are and how slow the tractors are.”

  “Yes, that sounds like her. Do you know where her house is?”

  Matthew Stokes shoved his free hand in his pocket and hunched his shoulders. “Can’t say I do. Only seen her at the store now and then. Sometimes she’s with a big bruiser of a bloke. I think she’s got a kid at the kindy too. Might want to try there.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” Micah turned away but swung back. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen her today?”

  “Nah, mate, but if I do, I’ll tell her you were looking. What did ya say your name was?”

  “Thanks, but don’t worry about it. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

  Back inside the Bentley, he dialled his PA. “Emma, I know it’s last minute, but I’m going to have to stay in Turners Gully longer than expected. Could you organise to have a hire car dropped at the B and B?”

  “Okay. I’ll organise the usual⎯”

  “No. I want something ordinary. Nothing from the prestige range.”

  Emma took down the address without further question.

  It was five o’clock, and Micah hadn’t eaten since the coffee and croissant from the general store that morning, but instead of hunger, his intestines had this awful feeling of being sutured into a tight ball. With every person who hadn’t been able to help him today, and every road he drove down without sighting Chelsea, he felt progressively sicker. And still he was no closer to Rowan.

  The kindergarten would be closed by now, but he’d do one last walk by before calling it a day.

  A text message beeped. The hire car would be delivered early tomorrow morning. Emma was a saviour.

  Then his mobile phone started ringing. Emma must’ve forgotten something. When he glanced at the screen, it was a private number.

  “Kincaid,” he said,

  “I’m ready to meet you and sign the divorce papers. I know I’ve messed you around, Mikey, but I’m tired of all the drama. It should be easy to organise, seeing as I signed a prenup.”

  “Chels, if you’d stopped to look at the agreement I had drawn up a year ago, you would have seen it was very generous. There’s nothing more important to me than taking care of my family and you’ll always be that, whether we’re married or not.”

  She sighed. “Everything seems clearer when I talk to you.”

  “I wish you’d done it a long time ago and saved us both the angst, but let’s just move forwards, shall we? How do you want to do this?”

  Big engines rumbled in the background.

  “Um, I have to go, Micah.”

  “No, don’t go until we’ve worked something out. At least give me your phone number.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow and make a time to mee—” She gasped. “Dave, what are you doing?”

  “They’re coming,” a deep voice growled.

  “Chelsea?”

  Nothing.

  The hairs prickled on the back of Micah’s neck as he shut his phone.

  What the hell just happened? Something’s not right here.

  One minute Chelsea was being cooperative, and the next it sounded like a male cut off the call. And those were definitely big motorcycle engines he’d heard in the background.

  He banged his fist on a fence beside him, and a dog yapped madly, so he kept walking. If Chelsea really was in trouble, he was powerless to help her. And that meant he was failing Rowan too.

  He headed through the park adjoining the kindergarten, along a dirt track, under willows and over a footbridge, and then paused in the shadows. There was a glow inside, and a familiar figure stepped in front of a lit window. Neve was working late. He could knock on the door and talk to her, but what was the point? He felt in his bones that Chelsea hadn’t shown up with Rowan. Neve would be none the wiser. He had to hang his hopes on Chelsea finally doing the right thing.

  As he turned to retrace his path, a car at the other end of the kindergarten forecourt caught his attention. Someone was sitting in a twin-cab Toyota Hilux with no interior light on, leaning against the headrest. Odd place for a kip. Maybe Neve had an overprotective boyfriend.

  Micah shrugged, went back to his car, and headed for the sanctuary of his cabin.

  • • •

  Neve fidgeted with a paperclip. Chelsea hadn’t brought Rowan to kindy today, and she hadn’t phoned. What if she never saw Rowan again? There was always plenty to do around the kindy, but the real reason she was working late was the hope that Chelsea—or Micah—would call.

  She glanced at the wall clock: 6:30 p.m. She was kidding herself. She packed crayon pots onto the shelf and flicked off the office light.

  I’d feel if Rowan needed my help, wouldn’t I? Not that it would make a difference if I don’t know where he is.

  She pulled his latest painting from the wall. A sunny scene of rolling hills with spotted cows drinking from a river. Her eyes fixed on the blue water, and it slowly transformed to murky brown. For a moment, she was transported back to the helplessness of swirling, murky water and fighting for her life. Carlos had been thrashing an arm’s length away. Her fingers fumbled for the clasp on his seat belt . . .

  No amount of screaming had stopped that car from sinking.

  Rowan’s painting slipped from her fingers. She was powerless again, although this time he wasn’t even her brother and she didn’t have a right to help him. He could be anywhere.

  Today Chelsea’s phone had gone straight to voice mail. The first time, Neve had left a message. Not her problem, she reminded herself, but it left a bitter taste on her tongue.

  Tony would be anxious that she wasn’t home yet, so she locked up the kindy and held up the bundle of keys to catch the streetlight, so she could see which one belonged to the car door. Just as she managed to slide the key into the lock, a shiver of dread raised the hairs on her arms. There was warmth behind her. Like body heat. The last gasps of dusk cast irregular willow tree shadows across the car park. The air smelt damp as the temperature dropped in the valley and the first tendrils of mist lurked at the edge of the creek. Her breath came in a short gasp, and she spun around.

  Too late. Thick arms pinned hers to her side, and she froze. The pervasive stench of beer curled up her nostrils and down her throat, making it hard to breathe. The arms around her were as thick and solid as iron bars. No point struggling against someone bigger and stronger; better to wait until she could gain the upper hand. Tony had insisted on preparing her for every eventuality; now she just needed to keep her head and use her training.

  She shivered as warm breath trickled down her neck.

  The voice was deep and calm. “Stay nice and still now and be real quiet. I’m going to have a little chat with you; make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

  Her mind spun. It didn’t sound like this ape wanted to rob her, so why was he here?

  “Chelsea wants to make sure you’re not planning on involving the police or letting that prick Micah know where she is. You’re not, are you?”

  Chelsea
sent this ape? That meant the woman was still in Turners Gully, and probably Rowan too. If she didn’t want Neve to call the cops, Chelsea must be up to no good. Neve shook her head.

  “Good girl.” His syrupy voice dripped onto her like sticky tar. “If you keep your nose out of our business, then you won’t get hurt.”

  “Hurt?” She thrashed. Why would they want to hurt me?

  The ape’s grip didn’t budge. “Now, don’t go getting all flighty on me. Just nod your head if you’re going to keep out of our business.”

  She nodded. “Is Rowan coming back to kindy?” With any luck, it sounded like something a concerned teacher might ask, not the desperate plea that came from a nauseous place in the pit of her stomach.

  The ape shook her and growled. “You don’t need to know that. Just pretend like you’ve never heard of us, right?”

  That was twice he’d referred to Rowan, Chelsea, and himself as us. Not a hired hand then. This must be Chelsea’s boyfriend. What was his name?

  “Dave.” Oops, didn’t mean to say it aloud.

  He spun her around, threw her back against the car, and slapped her across the face. Hard. Neve fell sideways. Gravel tore at the palm that broke her fall, and she shrieked.

  Shit, I need to get out of here without pissing him off anymore.

  He loomed over her, his black T-shirt straining over swollen muscle, and bellowed, “You forget that name. Forget all of us. Got it? This has got nothin’ to do with you.”

  Neve held a palm to her stinging cheek. Dave’s face was in shadow, but there were silver highlights in his hair, a tiny stud in his left earlobe, and tattoos clawing up from his collar. She was sure she’d recognize him if she saw him again, and he was going to be in a whole world of pain if she got her hands on a weapon of any kind. She surreptitiously reached for her handbag—there was always a baton in there. Tony made sure of it.

  Dave twitched towards the movement and kicked the handbag under the car.

  She tried to distract him. “Micah just wants to see his son.”

  “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about Micah. I have a plan for him. Just keep your mouth shut, or you’re going to get more trouble than you know what to do with.” He grunted, obviously satisfied that she was cowed, and disappeared into the shadows at a jog with a long ponytail swinging across his broad back.

  She scrambled to reach her handbag, her hands shaking, found the baton, and brandished it at the shadows. A car engine caught and headlights flared by the road.

  Leaping to her feet, she ran on shaky legs, but tripped on a bush. A white twin-cab ute turned, but the number plate was a blur through her brimming tears as the vehicle bumped over the curb and revved up the incline of Potter Road. All she caught was the first letter: V.

  Crap! What the hell was I doing letting him slap me? Tony taught me better than that. The first chance she had to put all those bloody drills into practise and she wimped out.

  It took a few tricky manoeuvres to extricate herself from the grasping limbs of a westringia bush, and then she stood alone in the dark, shaking like the nearby willow canes in the wind. If only she’d fought harder. Dave had caught her by surprise, but that didn’t mean she was going to play his game.

  She retrieved her handbag and held tightly to the baton. The car keys were hanging half out of the lock, and it took her a few tries to reinsert them. Inside, she locked the doors, rested the baton on the passenger seat, and started the engine. She wasn’t sure where she was going yet; she only knew she didn’t want to stay here in case Dave returned.

  She headed in the opposite direction from home though. Tony couldn’t see her like this.

  At the top of the hill, a light fog clung to the ground, reflecting her headlights and making the shadows at the roadside ominous. Neve turned right and soon pulled to the verge. Jack’s Shed was a hundred metres ahead.

  Her heart still thundered behind fragile ribs, and her eyes felt like they were propped wide with toothpicks, like in the “don’t drive while you’re drowsy” billboards that gave her the creeps. There were no streetlights along this road, but a cold, white light shone through Jack’s kitchen window.

  There wasn’t any point in coming here. If Jack saw her in this state, he’d worry. Even worse, he might mention it to Tony, who’d go ballistic. But where else could she go?

  She sat in the dark car and let tears stream down her face. Head resting on the steering wheel, she screwed up her mouth against the ache of emotion. Her shoulders heaved, and she wrapped one arm around herself to stop the tremors. With the other hand, she searched the glove box for a travel-pack of tissues.

  When the tears finally subsided, she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  Get a grip, Neve. Don’t just sit here, do something.

  She restarted the car and pulled a U-turn, again, with no idea where she was going. She just drove, and the car decided which way to turn.

  It didn’t make sense that Chelsea would send Dave to threaten her. Neve hadn’t given any indication that she’d go to either the cops or Micah, and yet Dave had promised to hurt her if she did. It seemed like an overreaction. The type of defensive behaviour someone might demonstrate when they felt guilty, but what were Dave and Chelsea guilty of?

  Micah’s story looked like it had more merit than she’d first thought. She ought to know by now to trust her intuition.

  A tall figure at the side of the road leapt into the glare of her headlights, and she stomped on the brake pedal, eyes wide . . .and then released the breath she’d been holding. Just a kangaroo.

  It bounded out of sight, and she edged the car forward, tapping a finger nervously on the wheel.

  One thing was for sure, she didn’t want a Neanderthal like Dave anywhere near little Rowan. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to the boy. If Chelsea was still in Turners Gully, there was one person who had a right to know. This had nothing to do with Neve’s job at the kindy or her responsibility to Chelsea. Dave had made it personal.

  The problem was, she’d left Micah’s business card at work and had no idea where he was staying. It might not even be in Turners Gully. Someone like him probably hired penthouses by the week, but the city was a long way to drive. No, it made sense that he was staying nearby, which seriously narrowed his choices.

  It wouldn’t take long to go back to her office and get his number, but she’d be alone in the dark. Exposed. She glanced at her watch. The turquoise numerals glowed seven twenty. The general store would be closed. It would be pointless to doorknock all the local bed-and-breakfasts, but the winery had rooms. If someone she knew was on reception, they might tell her if Micah was in one.

  What she really needed was to see a familiar face before she went home to Tony’s inquisition. He’d know something was wrong the second she walked in the door.

  The car snaked along the country road, pushing through the fog like an icebreaker. Around the next bend, Neve spotted a familiar wrought iron lamppost. From it hung a lit sign that read Cabernet Bed-and-Breakfast. Without hesitation, she turned into the driveway and climbed the steep hillside until it flattened out and circled a classic stone fountain.

  Neve went around to the side door of the main house and used the brass knocker. There were light footsteps from within, and then a shadow appeared behind the stained glass door. It cracked open and then swung wide.

  “Neve, what are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Travaglia. I just thought I’d drop in on Bron.”

  “Come on in, it’s freezing out there. Bronwyn’s in the study.”

  Neve followed her best friend’s mother down the long corridor to the back of the house. Bron had her feet tucked under her and a book in hand as she sat by an open fire.

  “Surprise,” Neve announced without enthusiasm.

  “Neve! It’s great to see you.” Bronwyn bounced off the couch and pulled her into a tight hug against her slender body. “What the heck are you doing out at this hour
on a Friday night? Don’t tell me”—she raised a hand—“working.”

  “Sort of.” Neve’s chin quivered and tears welled. She couldn’t help it, Bron always got under her defences.

  “Oh hell, what happened?” Bron steered her to the couch and snatched a box of tissues from an oak bureau. Her brows pulled together. “Is that a mark on your cheek?”

  Neve touched the place where Dave had hit her. “Oh, I— I wasn’t looking where I was going and bumped into the doorframe. Silly me.” She balled her hands by her side to hide the abrasions on them.

  I shouldn’t lie to Bron. We share everything. But it might not be safe to tell her too much. The situation was kind of confidential, and Dave was dangerous.

  “Just start at the beginning,” Bron urged.

  Just how far Dave was prepared to go was anyone’s guess, but involving Bron would be a mistake. “I’m overacting, really. Just a lousy day at work.”

  “Damn those rug rats.” Bron gave an exaggerated pout. “There’s nothing like four-year-olds to bring you down to size.”

  Neve couldn’t help but giggle.

  Bron broke off a row of Lindt dark-orange chocolate and handed it over. “I was going to call you tomorrow anyway. You won’t believe who’s staying here. Only People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive.”

  Neve stilled. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled.

  Bron leant forward. “I know, right? And the ninth wealthiest person in Australia. I have no idea how much money he’s got, but it must be a gazillion and he’s staying in our little B and B.”

  Neve swallowed the lump stuck in her throat. Rich man. Here.

  Bron punched her shoulder. “And gorgeous like you wouldn’t believe. Well, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth, let me tell you. I’m making sure our bachelor of the year gets the very best personal service.” She laughed.

  “Great. What’s Richie Rich’s name?”

  “Micah Kincaid. You know, of Kincaid Industries.”

  Neve’s quiet gasp must’ve accompanied a pasty complexion, because Bron frowned again.