Combatting Fear Page 8

  Not a good idea.

  Think of something to say. Anything to keep her from going home.

  Her lips parted, and he made a herculean effort to break the spell and get out of the car. She followed his lead.

  “Thanks for having dinner with me,” he said.

  “Call me when Chelsea gets in touch.”

  She shivered.

  “You’re cold again.” He took off his jacket and held it behind her. This time she hardly hesitated before shrugging into it. Neither did it escape his attention when she inhaled deeply.

  “I’m curious,” she said. “Where do you live? Is it a penthouse in the city or something?”

  “Not a penthouse. I like a garden. I have a house in Sydney, on Victoria Street in Watsons Bay, actually.” That would give her something to think about.

  “Oh.”

  “This fog’s thick. Will you be all right to drive? I mean, do you have far to go?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll be fine.”

  As guarded as ever. Micah watched Neve’s station wagon coast down the hill and lost sight of it in the viscous haze. “Drive safely,” he whispered.

  There was something intriguing about the petite bombshell, but she was too secretive for his liking. People didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for them, which begged the question: What did she hope to gain? He’d love to find out where Miss Secretive lived and what this Tony guy was like.

  Don’t be a fool. Look at the trouble you’ve had with the woman who promised to cherish you forever. The last thing you need is another one that can’t be trusted.

  All of a sudden, he scrambled for his mobile phone. His heart thundered as though something horrible had jumped from the moist foliage and said, “Boo.” He scrolled through the phone contacts to N: Neve Botticelli. He let go the breath he’d been holding when he saw her number. For a moment there, he thought she’d played him.

  • • •

  His silk-lined jacket draped over her, Neve was enveloped in Micah’s body heat and spicy cologne. She shivered again, but this time it was an unwelcome tingle of desire that coiled through her. This day was full of surprises. There was no denying he was handsome and he loved his son, but . . .as tempting as the man might be, she hadn’t missed the flash of gold on his finger. His wedding band was a glaring reminder to rein in her wayward thoughts.

  Tony was standing on the verandah, strangling a beer stubby when she arrived at the house. She slipped off Micah’s leather jacket and tossed it in the foot well of the car. Tony would hit the roof if he knew she’d spent the evening with a bloke. Not just any bloke either; the ninth richest in Australia. How had she gotten so far from her comfort zone in one short day?

  “It’s pretty late. I was worried,” Tony said.

  She kissed him on the cheek and went inside. “I called to tell you where I was, and it’s not that late.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s ten forty. You should get a clock.”

  “Can’t see the point in watching life tick by.”

  “You don’t have to watch it, Tony. Clocks are handy.”

  “Don’t need one.”

  Of course, he was right. It didn’t matter what time of day or night it was, Tony could pick it within half an hour. Years of living a regimented life in the army, no doubt. She swapped her shoes for Ugg boots and heard Tony shuffle into the kitchen and fill his favourite yellow teapot. It had a hand-formed gum nut on the lid, and the handle was a branch. Clay gum leaves were pasted to the side. Neve had made it during art class when she was eleven years old, for Father’s Day, and Tony insisted on glazing and firing it.

  “The gas cooktop would be faster,” Neve said.

  “Doesn’t taste the same.”

  It was rubbish, but she’d given up trying to win that argument long ago. Besides, he seemed a bit on edge, so she shouldn’t goad him before bedtime. Not if she wanted to sleep through the night. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m thirty-two years old and I’m home safe, Tony. I need to go out now and then.”

  He sighed. “Sorry, love. I worry, that’s all. Did you have a nice time?”

  “Yeah, they serve a mean schnitzel at the pub.”

  “Hey”⎯Tony brushed a fingertip across her cheekbone⎯“what happened here?”

  Bugger, I forgot about that. “I walked into a low branch at the back of the kindy, that’s all.”

  He frowned and studied her for a long moment, as though trying to use a Jedi mind trick to extract the truth. “How’s Bronwyn?”

  “Umm, she’s good.”

  “Smells like she started wearing men’s cologne.”

  Neve felt her cheeks heat, so she hurried to the pantry and fossicked for leaf tea, staying long enough for the blush to subside. Damn Tony for being so observant.

  She still couldn’t believe she’d acted like such a wuss and cowered in front of Dave. After all the training Tony had put her through over the years, she’d frozen at the first opportunity to put it into practice. Pathetic. Next time she would put up a fight.

  Chapter 12

  The sun hadn’t long crested the eastern hills when Micah took a plastic key tag from a lanky hire car agent who reeked of smoke and whose yellow teeth were surrounded by a web of fine lines. The man’s curious eyes moved from the gold Bentley in the driveway to the plain slate-coloured Corolla and back, but he didn’t ask.

  It didn’t take Micah long to adjust the seat and mirrors to suit and meander down the hill to the Turners Gully General Store. The best part was, not a single person did a double-take when he climbed out of the little sedan. Exactly the effect he was hoping for.

  He went inside and flashed a high wattage smile at the blonde behind the counter.

  “Good morning, Beth.”

  She giggled. “Good morning, Mr. Kincaid. Coffee and croissant?”

  “Thanks.”

  He’d bought the same breakfast three mornings in a row now, a tactic he’d employed in countless other towns around the country to get to know the locals. Sooner or later, someone would give up a useful piece of information. Why was it then, when he should be focused on finding Rowan, he couldn’t stop thinking about Neve Botticelli?

  The farrier he’d seen pumping fuel yesterday walked into the shop and nodded at him. What was his name? Micah pictured the battered ute and the sign on the side.

  “Good morning, Matthew.” His gift for putting names to faces had been a blessing in the business world. Everyone liked to be remembered.

  Matthew nodded. “You’re still in town then?”

  “I liked it so much I decided to stay a few more days.”

  “You find Chelsea Matten?”

  “I’ve spoken to her.”

  Matthew readjusted his family jewels and then reached for a carton of milk in the fridge.

  “Here you go.” Beth blushed as she handed Micah a warm ham-and-cheese croissant in a brown paper bag and a take-away coffee. “Have a nice day.”

  “Say, Beth, you don’t happen to know Neve Botticelli, do you?”

  “Of course. Everyone in Turners Gully knows her. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if she lives far out of town.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t tell you exactly. She keeps to herself.”

  Quite a feat in a small town. So much so that it pointed toward some considerable effort. Maybe enough to be suspicious.

  “Yeah, because of Loony Tunes.” Matthew sniggered behind a rotating rack of magazines.

  “Loony Tunes?” Micah handed Beth a twenty-dollar bill and turned to face Matthew.

  “That’s who she lives with, Loony Tunes Tony.”

  “You shouldn’t call him that, Matt.” Beth frowned. “It’s not nice. And Neve’s a good person for taking care of him.”

  Micah wasn’t following this conversation. “How so?”

  “It’s none of our business,” Beth said. She handed Micah his change and turned to fill the pie warmer with pa
stries.

  Matthew selected a farming magazine and plonked it on the counter with the milk. “A sheila like that shouldn’t be stuck with a crazy old bloke is all I’m saying. I’ll have a chocolate doughnut thanks, Beth.” He turned to Micah. “It’s like Tony’s brainwashed her.”

  Beth swatted him with the magazine. “Don’t be silly.”

  Micah opened his mouth to question him further, but a family bustled through the door and crowded the counter.

  So, Neve’s boyfriend, husband, whatever he was, was older and a few cents short of a dollar. Curious. Especially intriguing after the way she’d looked at him in the car last night. He was sure she felt the magnetism between them. The way her gaze had roamed across his face and alighted on his mouth. It had stirred all kinds of erotic ideas and taken a huge effort not to carry her into his cabin and kiss her senseless.

  As if he needed any more complication in his life. Not to mention this was a woman who clearly hated everything he’d worked for. So why the hell was Neve Botticelli helping him?

  Matthew waved on his way out of the store, and three children fought for space as they pointed at the lollies behind the glass-fronted counter. The noise was ear-shattering, and it looked like the family would keep Beth busy for a while, so Micah retreated to the hire car. Finding out about Neve’s private life wasn’t a priority.

  He’d spent half an hour on the phone last night with his accountant, organising the money for Chelsea. You’d think the surly bastard was giving away his own money the way he’d carried on. But he couldn’t make the transfer without the bank details. He checked his watch for the hundredth time that morning⎯only eight o’clock. Come on Chelsea, just phone already.

  It wasn’t fair for her not to trust him. He’d never betrayed anyone. And why he couldn’t just deposit the money into her usual account was an anomaly he didn’t like. After all, Dave had made the phone call, so it might be an account only he had access to.

  How could their relationship have turned so sour? Four years ago, Micah had been nobody’s fool, but despite Chelsea’s polished exterior, there had always been something vulnerable in her eyes. He’d just never imagined the depth of her insecurities or the extent of her restlessness. Maybe, if he’d been home more instead of working, she wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere in the first place.

  With the benefit of hindsight, it was easy to see that Chelsea had triggered his protective instincts. Once he knew about the abuse she’d suffered, it was impossible for him to walk away. After all, childhood deprivation was the one thing they had in common.

  He checked his watch again. Bugger this waiting; he may as well do another drive-by of the McMansion. He pulled a U-turn and dawdled through the pretty township. The stone cottages nestled in the deep valley were interspersed with modern dwellings. He wouldn’t mind visiting again when all this was over.

  The dirt verge at the top of Sugar Loaf Road was still damp from the evening frost, and soil flicked from the tires into the wheel arches. He angled out of the car, dusted croissant flakes from his jeans, and strode down the hill. This time he didn’t have the cover of night, but it didn’t matter. He strolled down Chelsea’s driveway like he owned the place.

  Through the kitchen window he could see a glass wall clock with no numbers on it, just four black lines at the quarter marks—more embellishment than practicality. Typical of Chelsea; she was always worried about how she looked to other people. After a lap of the building proved that nothing had changed since last night, he paused to appreciate the view he was paying for.

  A niggling concern wriggled sluggishly through his veins. Was it possible that Chelsea had only ever been interested in his money? That she picked him for that very reason? He’d never believed it . . .until Dave demanded two million dollars. Of course, there was one thing Micah could offer that she might not find elsewhere, and that was simple unconditional acceptance.

  On his way back to the car, he stopped to check the mailbox. A handful of junk mail, a letter to the householder, bingo! A letter addressed to David Wilks.

  Back in the warmth of the car, Micah dialed his long-suffering PI. “Shannon, I’ve got something I’d like you to look into.”

  “I thought you were on your way home.”

  “Decided against it. I’ve been in touch with Chelsea, or rather she’s been in touch with me.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. Anyway, looks like she’s still with the boyfriend and I have a surname. Could you look into David Wilks?”

  “Do I want to know how you found his last name?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Okay. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

  Micah hunkered down and glared at Chelsea’s house. This time he was going to find her. He could feel it in his bones.

  • • •

  As Neve drove home from the supermarket, she mentally counted backwards on the clock to figure out what time she needed to get the lamb shanks in the oven. It wasn’t often she had an excuse to make a special meal, so she was going the whole hog tonight for Jack. The weather had turned out to be glorious and, although the sun was weak, it was toasty warm behind the windscreen. Hopefully, Micah had spent the night in his cosy cabin, and not prowling around Chelsea’s house in the fog.

  She’d given the situation a lot of thought in bed last night. Chelsea might be selfish and avaricious, but surely she wouldn’t put her own son in danger. It was true the woman wasn’t affectionate, but Rowan had always been clean, well fed, and happy. There’d never been any indication he’d been mistreated.

  Perhaps if she dropped in on Chelsea, they could talk woman to woman about working this out with Micah. It couldn’t hurt to try, and she had a couple of hours before dinner had to be in the oven.

  Ten minutes later, she turned her car left onto Sugar Loaf Road and cruised slowly past a grey sedan parked at the side of the road. She passed it before her brain registered the figure entrenched in the front seat, and she stomped on the brake.

  Hauling the car around, she parked behind Micah and their eyes met via his rear-view mirror. His expression tightened. When he didn’t make a move to get out, she walked to the passenger side and got in. He didn’t look at her, but there were purple shadows under his eyes.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been here all night,” she said.

  He scowled. “And good afternoon to you too.”

  “Micah, what are you doing? You can’t sit out front of her house twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I slept at the B and B last night, if you must know.”

  “Oh, good. So I take it Chelsea’s not home?”

  He shook his head.

  Neve waited for him to elaborate, but he was silent. “I was expecting your call this morning.”

  “I didn’t have anything new to tell you.”

  “She hasn’t called? What do you think that means?”

  “Who the hell knows, but the sooner I get the bank account number, the sooner she’ll get her money,” he said in a weary voice.

  “So, you haven’t got anything better to do than sit in your car and watch Chelsea’s house until you pick up Rowan on Monday?” She was thinking aloud more than anything. If Dave came back to the house, Micah could be in trouble. Sure, Micah was muscular and confident, but Dave had the edge with raw crazy.

  Micah stared out the window as though she hadn’t spoken. His face was turned towards the window, and the reflection was of a tormented soul.

  “Look, I’m busy tonight,” she said, “but I’ll make you a deal.”

  His attention snapped back to her.

  “If you stay away from Chelsea’s house, I’ll hang out with you tomorrow.”

  “You’ll hang out with me?” The corners of his mouth lifted minutely.

  “Well, it looks like you’ve reached the bottom of your suitcase, so we could go over the hill and go shopping, seeing as you’re going to be around for another couple of days. Do we have a deal?”

  “Sure, why not
?”

  “So, you’re going back to your cabin now?”

  “Yeah, or the pub.”

  “Do not drink and drive,” she warned. There was nothing she hated more than drunk drivers.

  • • •

  Micah stared after Neve’s taillights. He really wanted to know where she lived, and it had crossed his mind that she might know more about where Chelsea and Rowan were hiding than she’d let on.

  Don’t be stupid. She wouldn’t help you if she were working with Chelsea. Then again . . .maybe she wasn’t working with Chelsea exactly but wouldn’t tell him if she’d had contact.

  Information was power. It couldn’t hurt to know more about Neve. He turned the key in the ignition and threw the Corolla into drive.

  Chapter 13

  Micah lost sight of Neve’s station wagon on a crest and tapped the brake, searching the road. Nothing. His heart beat double-time. Then he sailed past a side road and caught a glimpse of the white vehicle.

  He swung his car into a U-turn, ignoring the squeal of protesting rubber. There was a fork in the road and no sign of her down the long straight to the left. So he headed right.

  This road was narrower with twists and turns and bushes crowding the bitumen. Then it turned to dirt. He eyed the ruts. This wasn’t a road; it was a four-wheel-drive track. It’d be just his luck to get bogged so Neve would have to rescue him.

  The car crawled forward, its underbelly scraping along the soil ridges, tires losing traction in the mud. Just as he considered giving up the tail, he rounded a clump of blackboy grasses and jammed his foot on the brake.

  Neve was parked a hundred metres ahead and was out of her car. Thankfully, an overhang of melaleuca partly obscured his vehicle. He cut the engine and held his breath.

  Play it cool. If she spots you, she’s liable to throw you a beating, or at the very least a hand gesture and some colourful language.