A Twist Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 2.5) Page 9

  I know from the look she gives me, she has no clue who I am. If she found out what it is I need to survive, she’d despise me even more than she does right now.

  “Understood, sir,” she says quietly.

  I look at the door, and then down at my desk. I dismiss her in that one simple move.

  A few taut seconds later my daughter gets up from her chair and leaves without another word. The whisky is on my desk before the sound of the door closing stops echoing inside my head.

  The glass is to my lips before I breathe.

  It takes two phone calls to find out the name of the murder victim. One to Jason. And one back from him. I hang up the phone without a word.

  I see nothing. I feel nothing. On automatic I inform Christine that I’m going home. Several hours earlier than I usually call it quits on any given day.

  I don’t remember the path I take to reach my car. I don’t remember if I speak to anyone or say a single word. I slip into the driver’s seat and stare out of the window.

  I’m no longer afraid for just Haydee. I’m afraid for me. For my world. For my perfectly ordered life, for my meticulously protected privacy, for my secrets. All of it is spinning out of control.

  Samantha was strangled to death across the street from Sweet Hell.

  I know things. Things that would help in the investigation. Aid Lara. I know things and I also know I won’t tell.

  Jason is parked in my driveway when I arrive home. His face says it all: We’re in trouble.

  “This is a disaster.” I’d like to think he’s referring to a woman’s horrendous death, but I’m unsure. “This could have far reaching repercussions.”

  “You believe the Inferno is involved?” I query.

  “Do you think it won’t be plastered across the papers by the end of next week?” he counters.

  I let out a frustrated breath and lead him into the house. The whisky in the kitchen is already conveniently sitting out on the bench. I grab two clean glasses and pour three fingers into each.

  We both drink before either of us talks.

  “Whoever did this,” I say, “has no care that it leads to Sweet Hell’s door.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not one of us.”

  “Who would do it?”

  “Any one of us who gave Samantha what she needed and lost sight of our roles.”

  “Have you ever done that?” I ask. “Not murder someone, but take things so far you realise you’re no longer in control?”

  He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve always known how far to push and when to pull back.”

  “So have I,” I agree. “So, I say again, who could have done this?”

  Jason takes a seat in one of the tall stools at the bench and runs a hand through his blond hair. Unlike me, he has no grey. The strands so pale that even if he is greying, you can’t see it. It gives him a youthful appearance he is well beyond being able to claim.

  “David Gordon was angry,” he eventually says.

  “At me, not her.”

  He shrugs. “It might have been enough for him to lose control.”

  “Not him,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “If there’s one thing to be said about David Gordon, he is always in control.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Jason quips. I don’t reply. “Look, it’s going to come out that you were with her last week. It might be best to bite the bullet and provide an affidavit.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Time of death was apparently four-thirty this morning.”

  “I have an alibi,” I say, before he can ask.

  Silence meets my words.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally adds. “I’m sure you don’t want to drag Haydee into this.” He’s assuming my alibi is Haydee. In the past, that might not have been the case.

  Things have changed.

  “Do you think Lara has an ulterior motive for questioning you?”

  “Other than discovering her father is a member of Sweet Hell?”

  “She’s not aware of your connections to the Inferno part of the business.”

  “Not aware, but suspects. My daughter has a knack for connecting the dots.”

  “Maybe it’s time you and she built some bridges,” he says, staring into his Scotch. Jason doesn’t have children. He’s never been married either. His advice on this is skewed.

  I place my glass on the bench carefully.

  “Let’s just see where CIB takes this,” I suggest. “We’re jumping the gun. The case may lead them down a completely different path than to the club.”

  “Twenty-four hours,” he agrees, downing the rest of his drink. “And a no-fly zone around Sweet Fucking Hell.”

  “Agreed.”

  He stands up from the stool and slaps me on the shoulder. “Call your pet. Have her take your mind off things.”

  I offer a smile. I’m sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. Jason got one thing right: I don’t want to drag Haydee into this.

  He leaves the way he came and I pick up my half empty glass and walk into the office, settling myself into the chair. I haven’t lit the fire. It’s too early to switch on any lights. The smell of burned candle wax and charred wood fills the air. The leather creaks as I lean back and sip my drink contemplatively.

  I last five minutes before I’m unlocking the drawer and pulling out her picture. I stand it up on the desk and lean back and stare.

  “Anna,” I say, the sound of her name on my tongue, after so many years, is painful. “What happens now, my love?”

  Chapter 8

  “Are you ready, pet?”

  The sound of my cellphone ringing wakes me. My body is stiff and cold and I realise I’ve fallen asleep in my office chair and it’s now dark. I scrub my face and reach for the phone, by the time it’s at my ear, I’m fully awake.

  “Ethan?” Haydee’s voice whispers down the line.

  “Haydee? Is everything all right?”

  “I think someone’s following me.”

  The room dims even further than it already is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think someone was screwing with me. Just one hit after another after another.

  “Where are you?” I demand, walking to the front door and already setting the alarm.

  “I’m at a bar in Takapuna. The Dirty Martini.”

  “Alone?” I demand, as jealousy rears its ugly little green head.

  “My girlfriend’s just left. I was walking to my car, and I felt him.”

  Him. She knows her stalker is male.

  “Stay in the bar,” I say. “I’m on my way.”

  “Hurry,” she whispers. “I’ve locked myself in the toilets.”

  Sweet beautiful woman. “Stay put, little pet,” I murmur down the line. “I’m already on my way.”

  Manukau in south Auckland to Takapuna on the North Shore should take roughly forty minutes at this time of night. I make it in half that. Lights and sirens, of course, help.

  I stride into the overcrowded bar and it’s only then I realise I’m in uniform. Fucking brilliant. All eyes turn towards me, several unsavoury words are hurled from otherwise cowardly people. Someone tries to spill their drink on my trousers, but thinks better of it when I stare them hard in the face. Police in a drinking establishment this late at night never goes down well.

  I walk up to the bar and I’m immediately approached by the barman.

  “Problem, officer?” he asks, flicking unhappy eyes over the crowd.

  “It’s Superintendent,” I say. “And I’m looking for a woman who should be hiding in your toilets. Short dark hair, tanned skin, brown eyes, five foot eight, approximately sixty kilos.”

  “Could be any number that fit that description here, mate.”

  “Superintendent,” I say again. “And show me to your bathrooms.”

  He shrugs and hands over the keys to the register to someone else, leading the way to the back of the building.

  “Haven’t heard about anyone hiding,” he says over his shoulders.
“Been a busy night, but nothing unusual’s happened.”

  “No one harassing the women?” I query.

  “Well, no one’s complained,” he qualifies. “Here they are. Um, shall I get a female to check?”

  I push past him and walk into a four cubicle bathroom. Two of the doors are shut, the rest are open and bare.

  “Haydee?” I say, aware the bar manager has followed me inside. I think better of him at that point.

  The far end stall opens and she runs out. I’ve never seen her this… dishevelled. Her make-up is smeared, her dress might even be ripped, tears are streaking down her face. She leaps into my arms and holds on for dear life.

  “Baby,” I whisper in her ear. “It’s all right, I’m here.”

  A sob escapes and then the second door opens revealing a startled young girl of about sixteen.

  “You here with your parents?” I automatically ask, then grimace and hold Haydee closer.

  “Um…” the young girl says.

  “Go home,” I snap and she bolts like lightning.

  “I didn’t serve her,” the bar manager announces, holding up his hands as though I’m about to arrest him.

  I shake my head. “Have you got a back way out of here?” I ask instead.

  “Yeah. Is that it? Just the lady?”

  “Yes, just the lady,” I reply and walk past him with Haydee in my arms out into the hall.

  He leads us to the rear door which is designed to provide emergency egress. It’s bolted shut, undoubtedly for the bar’s security, not its patrons. I stare at his hands as he unlocks the door and then stare at him as he hangs his head waiting.

  I just want to get Haydee home. I just want this day to finally be over. I make a mental note to pass on the details to the correct division and walk out of the door. I’d told Haydee I was always a cop, in or out of uniform. But that doesn’t mean I can’t always put her first.

  “Where’s your car?” I ask.

  “Down the road,” she whispers. She’s not raised her voice once.

  “It’ll be fine,” I decree, taking her to my car. The beacons are still spinning lazily, flashes of red and blue through the grille.

  I settle her in the passenger seat, make sure her seatbelt is secured tightly, and then walk around to my side of the car. I switch the lights off once I’m inside, but don’t start the ignition.

  “You’re not to go there ever again,” I say into the silence.

  She nods her head.

  “It’s unsafe,” I add, because I feel like yelling and maybe hitting something, but the more I talk to her, the easier it gets to control it.

  Another bob of her head, eyes cast to the floor.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, rather belatedly, but I’ve been thrown for a loop today and I realise I’m not coping well.

  She shakes her head.

  “Haydee,” I say.

  “Please, sir,” is all I get in reply.

  “Haydee,” I repeat more forcefully, and watch the tears well in her dark eyes. “What do you need?”

  She looks up at me, her bottom lip trembling, her lashes heavy with moisture.

  I’m in love with this woman. She breaks my heart. I want to be whatever she desires.

  “To forget,” she whispers.

  “Me too, little pet,” I murmur back, starting the car. “Me too.”

  The drive home is quiet, but peaceful. She stops crying as soon as we hit the motorway. Her gaze out the window is full of whatever is on her mind, not the scenery. I know. I’ve been there as well today.

  “My daughter came to see me this afternoon,” I say into the calm silence. I’m not sure why I’m telling her. But maybe she’d feel better if she knew my life wasn’t as perfect as I would like. “The first time I’ve spoken to her in six long years.”

  I know she’s watching me now. I know she’s seeing.

  “It was never meant to be like this,” I comment, changing lanes once we merge with the north western motorway at spaghetti junction. “But it was hard after her mother died.”

  I’ve not talked to anyone about this. No one. Not Lara. Not Jason. Not a soul alive.

  “I guess I shut down. Closed myself off, “ I admit.

  A small hand comes over the space between our seats and wraps around mine on my thigh. I breathe deeply for a second, and then squeeze her fingers back.

  “It’s thrown me,” I say. “Made me question things. Remember things I’d rather forget.”

  “What type of things?” she asks, and it’s no longer a whisper, but still so soft and quiet.

  “What it was like,” I say. “After the car accident.” I swallow. I can do this. I can give Haydee something of mine to possess. If only my worst memory. “Watching her on the machines,” I say, my voice damn near breaking. “Telling them to switch them off when it became obvious she wasn’t coming back.”

  “Oh, Ethan,” Haydee says, her voice full of my pain.

  I shake my head, clear the fog.

  “It’s been a fucking awful day,” I finally say, as I take the off-ramp at Redoubt Road.

  She’s silent all the way to my house, but when I switch the engine off she starts talking.

  “I was stalked,” she says, and I want to wrap her up and shout to the world how brave she is to say this. “He was meant to be a friend,” she adds, staring at the floor, her fingers still laced with mine. Tethered. “He made me believe things. Made me think I was seeing things. I thought I was going out of my mind. But it was all him.”

  “When?” I ask. I already know, but she needs to say it.

  “It started four years after I moved to London. I was thirty-two and loved my life. He was younger than me, but mature for his age. We had fun together and then rumours started. Spreading through the staffroom, through the entire school.” She lifts her face up and sees my house for the first time. She blinks and then says, “He stole three years of my life. Two of them while he screwed with me and the last while it was going through the courts. I refused to leave London and come home with my tail between my legs. I faced him in the courtroom and I told my story and once it was over and they believed me, I didn’t speak for three whole weeks.”

  A breath of air escapes me. My chest hurts with the need to hold her.

  “Tonight brought it all back,” she finishes by saying. “He’s being released in four days time; I thought I’d gotten the dates wrong.”

  Oh, sweet Haydee.

  I shift in my seat and turn her face to mine, then lean forward and rest my forehead against hers. Both hands on her cheeks holding her steady, grounding her to me.

  “He won’t be able to travel,” I say. “He’ll be denied a visa.” She nods. “Who followed you tonight? Can you describe him?”

  She pulls back and stares at me. Then, softly, “You believe me?”

  I nod my head. “There is a reason why we have flashbacks. Something triggers them. Usually something connected to the memory. For me, it’s Lara. She’s the spitting image of her mother. The image of what I assume her sister would have looked like, had she survived in Anna’s womb.” I’ve said too much. I pull back and open the door and slip out into the night.

  By the time I catch my breath, Haydee is before me.

  “What was her name?”

  “Hmm?” I manage.

  “The baby?”

  “Katy,” I whisper. “Catherine Elizabeth,” I clear my throat. “Lara has forgotten her mother was pregnant. She’s as bad as me for blocking things out.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” Haydee says.

  I offer a chuckle and shake my head. “Over my dead body.” I wince at her wide eyed look. “Lara and I,” I start. “We,” I try. “Well, it’s…”

  “OK,” Haydee says soothingly. “There’s time.”

  I look down at her, feel the world shift under my feet. And then my lips are pressed to hers, my tongue seeking refuge and possession, my body wrapping around her frame while the world spins out of control all around us.
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  I’m dizzy. I’m addicted. I can’t get enough. I want more.

  I slip my hand down her arm and lace our fingers together and then lead her to the front door. We’re both breathless. Both needy. But it’s not until I’ve disconnected the alarm and turn back to Haydee that I realise she isn’t wearing my chain.

  Why would she? Tonight was not meant to be spent with me. There was no need. But I’m not sure how to proceed, how this should go. I’m not sure what to do.

  “Ethan?” Haydee says. “What is it?”

  “Your chain,” I say, face impassive.

  Her delicate hand comes up to her throat and she breathes out an, “Oh.” Then she’s rummaging in her handbag and pulling out the long length of platinum and diamonds and emeralds.

  “You have it with you?” I’m surprised. Why am I surprised? This is Haydee. She surprises me daily.

  “Of course,” she says, placing her handbag down on the hall table and beginning to wrap the chain around her neck.

  “Why?” I demand.

  She stops what she’s doing and looks up at me. Then whispers, “Because I feel safe when it’s near.”

  She finishes wrapping the chain around herself and then lowers her hands, holding them together loosely in front of her as her face tips down to the floor. It’s a transformation that could bring me to my knees.

  She is exquisite.

  “I want you to wear it always,” I say, the command in my voice unmistakable.

  She nods her head, then tilts it, baring her throat.

  “We need this, don’t we, Haydee?”

  Another head nod, a soft sigh as I trace my finger down her long neck.

  “But I like our talks as well,” I add. She blinks at me. “Do you?”

  Her head nods, her lips spread in a soft smile.

  “New rule,” I declare. Her eyebrows arch. “When we’re like this, you’re my pet.”

  Another nod of agreement.

  “When it’s not about pleasure, you’re my woman.”

  She stares at me for so long, I’m unsure if she’ll go for it. I’ve never had an arrangement like this before. I’ve never wanted more than complete control.