Gone Tropical (8 page)

“What happened, mate…she okay?” Sarge asked.

Jake smiled, for some reason it was hard to smile, but he was giving it a damn good try. “She hooked up with some Aussie guy and is staying at his place tonight. They’ll leave for Cooktown in the morning.”

“In his car?”

“No. He’s a…a biker, a local guy. She rented a jeep at the airport.”

At least she wasn’t with the smarmy Brit, but it still bothered him that she was with a stranger. He had to help her, bring her back to safety, and not just for old man Helm and because he was being paid to do it, but because…hell, he didn’t know why. He was nauseated, too much Aussie beer, and not enough sleep. She was stubborn, a real pain in the butt. But there was something about the woman that made him want to protect her.

Yeah, like I want, or need, to protect every woman in trouble
.

He held his head in his hands and closed his eyes against the spinning room. Bright lights played patterns behind his closed eyes. He wouldn’t let the darkness envelop him. He shuddered at the memory, hearing again the screech of brakes, the sound of metal crunching against metal, bullets spraying the windshield, glass shattering, her scream, and then something warm splattering over his face. Blood…

Someone was calling his name
.

“Jake, Jake, are you okay, man?”

He shook his head and opened his eyes. Would he ever forget? Could he ever forgive himself? He stood, slammed his fist into his hand. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“The visions again?” Sarge asked.

Jake nodded and inhaled deeply. He felt sick to his stomach. “Yeah, you never forget.” He tried to reorient himself.

“You okay, really?”

Sarge’s voice seemed to come from within a deep well. Jake shook off the aftereffects of the memory. He took another deep breath. No sense in explaining. His old friend knew what he went through. He knew not to make a big thing of it, or to try to reach out to him. It was time to get back on the job. “I’m fine.” He squinted. “Seems like there’s more to our little lady than meets the eye. She threw us a curve ball.”

“You can say that again.” Sarge gave a dry chuckle. “Bloody hell, a complete stranger, and a bikie to boot…thought that whole pickin’ up the waiter bit was an act. You don’t think she’s a wild one, do you?”

“No idea. Not based on what her father told me.” Amy’s lush curves in that little black dress flashed before him. He switched off that part of his brain. Protect the woman, and get the money. Helm had said it had to be in that order, and there was no way he’d mix business and pleasure. Amy’s mouth flashed before him and he groaned.

“What’s up?” Sarge asked.

Jake shrugged. “I’m taking a shower to wake up and then driving over to the airport car rental agency. She’d have used a credit card. We’ll get a fix on the vehicle. You’ve got your I.D. right? You can pull some strings?”

Sarge nodded. “We’re going to Bungumby Lodge after we get the rental info?”

“Damn straight.”

“Tonight?” Sarge asked and stifled a yawn.

“No reason to rush, she’s leaving in the morning. We’ll get a good night’s sleep.” But first he needed a shower. The heat of the tropics, and the frustration of dealing with Amy Helm, caused his skin to itch.

****

Amy shot Brian a quick look. He must be tired. He’d given her his bed last night, and he’d slept on the couch. She’d let him nap the first couple of hours, knowing she wouldn’t lose her way, or cause an accident, if she didn’t have to exit off and on the highway.

They’d switched off at the roadside café a few miles back after making a pit stop and getting coffee to go. Brian had insisted on taking over the driving. Now they bumped along in pothole after pothole, and she wondered if her butt would withstand all of the bumps. She’d be bruised tomorrow, alive, but bruised. Fortunately he’d warned her to drink up the coffee before they’d hit the unpaved road heading toward Bungumby.

The countryside was gorgeous. Better than the almost flat, dry land along the highway. Lush tropical plants, vines, and tall shady trees, all back-lit by the morning sun, dappled the rough road. They drove deeper into the rainforest and passed over a riverbed of rocks. Water flowed modestly, making it passable.

“Not too deep yet,” Brian said. “We have two seasons here. Wet and dry. When the rains come, these river beds can fill quickly and leave ya’ stranded for days.”

Amy’s stomach clenched with dread. No monsoonal rains this week, please. She hoped and prayed that her intuition was on target and Meg had gone home alone. She’d befriend the woman and learn what she could. She ran a hand over her head expecting to feel the spikiness. She’d awakened early and gone to the market down the street from Brian’s apartment. She’d told him she needed a change.

“You okay to keep driving?” she asked running a hand over her hair again. It had turned out pretty good, soft and wispy, blown dry in a kind of pixie cut. She pulled down the visor and took another look in the tiny mirror.

“Yeah, no worries,” Brian said. “Sorry about the radio. No reception out here.”

Amy nodded.

“So, want to explain about the black hair, and who you’re running from?” he asked.

He was a nice guy, this Brian. He’d surprised her though. Smart as a whip and hadn’t asked too many questions last night, just been supportive and reassuring. When she’d gotten back from the market this morning, he’d already showered and dressed. She glanced over at his neatly pressed khaki walking shorts and clean pale blue collared T-shirt and hiking boots. He’d shaved off his weekend stubble and shampooed his hair. His eyes were nice, big and brown and soulful; he reminded her of Hugh Jackman. The whole biker thing was obviously a weekend attempt at being a bad boy. Even his speech had improved.

“Do you have a girlfriend in Cairns, Brian?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“Nah. I was engaged once, but she took off.”

Amy nodded.

“What about you?”

How open did she want to be? He was a stranger, but a nice man, and he had helped her, was still helping her. He seemed friendly enough and she needed to start trusting someone. She’d been alone too long. All men couldn’t be bad, could they? “I was married. He found someone else. He’s the one I told you about last night. The one I’m tracking.”

“Think you’ll ever do it again, get married I mean?”

“Doubt it.”

“Yeah, shit happens,” he said softly. “But it’s hard to get over it. I notice you still wear your rings.”

Amy glanced at her hand. “Oh, no, these are not
my
wedding rings, just part of my disguise.”

It was silent for a while, conversation was difficult to maintain on the rough dirt road. They had to wait until they hit a smooth spot. Clouds of dust billowed up around the jeep. Amy stared out the dusty window; at least the shiny bright yellow color would be less noticeable. It was a huge leap of faith on her part, trusting a guy.

“Honest Brian, I don’t know who is following me. But my instincts tell me it isn’t someone connected to Jake Turner.”

“So, Jake is a decent bloke?”

“Yeah. He’s a jackass, but he’s just doing what Daddy has asked him to do. What he’s being paid to do.”

“You going to call him?”

“When we get back to Cairns.”

Brian went quiet for a minute. “What will you do if you find your ex?”

“I’m not sure. Call the authorities. Maybe call Jake first.” The jeep took a slight curve and then a dip. “Ohhh.”

Spread below was a magnificent valley bordered by dense tree-covered mountains that separated the inland from the coast. A river ran through the area, and dotted around the water’s edge was a clearing and several large buildings and cabins.

“Bungumby,” Brian said waving one hand. “Bloody beautiful.”

“Breathtaking.” Brian was comfortable to be with, like a brother, but not like any brother of hers. She glanced over at his profile, noticed the crease of concentration on his brow and wished he might find someone spectacular to share his life with. He deserved someone special.

They pulled into the parking lot in front of the lodge and Amy was out of the car in a flash. “I’ll check on accommodations.” She winked at Brian. “Get my back, okay?”

Brian nodded.

“If you see the woman I described...”

“Yeah, I know. Chat her up. I’m your Aussie cousin.” He laughed and followed her up the small pathway.

Inside the lodge, Amy headed straight to reception. “We’d like to check out your accommodations,” she said to the young man, and smiled. “For a small wedding party.” Brian walked over. “This is my cousin. My husband is American and will arrive any day now. It would be a small group for a renewal of vows, six or eight of us. We’d need three or four cabins.”

Brian stood back, flipping through a couple of local magazines and newspapers. By saying she was checking on accommodations for a group, Amy figured she’d have a greater chance of looking over the cabins, and maybe getting a peek at the register. She’d find out how many cabins were occupied and for how long, and maybe she’d learn the names of the guests.

Seconds later she jingled cabin keys. “We can take a look at cabins number six and ten. Then we’ll have lunch.”

****

Stuart heard the iciness in Col’s voice. He imagined him pacing around his sophisticated office talking on speaker phone, lifting items up off shelves, replacing them, stopping to drum his knuckles on the edge of the table. He waited, the mobile pressed against his ear so tight his earlobe throbbed. He missed Meg. They should be on the island together, relaxing, enjoying the scenery.
How had that bitch, Amy, found him
?

“Would you care to discuss the situation?” Col asked in his precise Oxford accent.

Stuart gritted his teeth and cast a quick glance at Hadi. He wasn’t sure how much he could say in front of Col’s man. He grimaced and eyed Hadi again.

“Yeah, give me a minute. I’m going to take a walk. Reception isn’t great in this outdoor café, too noisy. I’ll call you right back.”

Stuart strolled across the street from the row of café’s thinking about his partnership with Col Braxton. The educated, rich-Brit boy, and the street-smart Aussie who’d met in college in the States right after Col’s folks had cut him off. They’d told him to clean up his act or he was on his own. Col figured he could make it quite well on his name, smile, and drug money.

From a park bench, Stuart stared at the café full of beautiful young people, mainly scantily clad women. He and Col had started out chasing skirts, progressing to recreational drugs and booze, then poker nights where they’d fleece rich kids of their allowances. They were a couple of scammers back then, but slick scammers. Now they were a druggo and a skip.

He made the call. “I wasn’t sure how open I could be in front of Hadi.”

“Hadi is my right hand man,” Col said. “He told me the lead on Amy has frozen. To make matters worse, two men asked questions and circulated a photograph of you, and one of Amy.”

“When?” Stuart asked.

“Last night. At the hotel nightclub. Hadi thinks it’s the same two blokes who were in Sydney.”

So, now Col is willing to believe he’d been tailed in Sydney?
“What did they learn?”

“Precisely nothing. It was an old photograph. Your hair was dark, no beard, it was pre-surgical intervention. I doubt sincerely they’d know your alias.”

Col spoke calmly now, but Stuart knew he was pissed. He could imagine the little twitch at the side of Col’s mouth; the tic when he gritted his teeth. His old college buddy had taken that final spiral into harder drugs. He could tell by the skinny frame, the deep lines etched into his forty-year-old face, and his edginess.

Stuart glanced across the street. This whole deck of cards would come crashing down around them, if they weren’t careful. He was getting too old for this shit, and living on the run for the past year had fucked with his mind. He’d hoped the island life would help him to relax, that along with the security of having “men” to do the rough stuff. He shouldn’t be out here on surveillance, that’s what grunts were for.

“So it was the P.I. and his buddy, right?” Stuart asked, listening to Col tap his desktop.

A few moments passed in silence. “If there was no mention of Bungumby, or Braxton Island,” Col said firmly, “it will be fine, absolutely fine. There’s good security here. You get breakfast, and I’ll place some calls.”

“What are you going to do?” Stuart swallowed hard. Col was being mighty decent about this. He had a dangerous streak, well hidden beneath his old-school charm, and Stuart was well aware of it. Anger he knew. Nice, he didn’t get.

“I’ll get rid of them.”

Stuart tensed. Hadi had a freakin’ Glock in the glove compartment of the jeep. “Killing’s not my thing,” he said. Embezzling was bad enough, but that he could justify. Those rich bastards had too much money anyway.

Col laughed.

Stuart stared at the white sands and gray water, trying to calm his adrenaline rush. He thought of Braxton Island surrounded by turquoise water and soft sugary sand, a much prettier picture than here in Cairns. Palm fronds swayed in a light breeze beyond the main street, and already the traffic had increased. A steamy haze rose off the street. He should be lying on the island beach with Meg and sipping one of those ridiculous blue tropical drinks with an umbrella stuck on the side of it. Meg liked those.

He regained his focus. “What did you say?”

“I have a man who will disable their vehicle. That should slow them down.”

That was a surprise. “Great.” Stuart almost choked on the word and coughed. “Yeah…good idea.”

“They won’t rent another vehicle if they’re undercover. They’ll know they’ve got a tail on them. I’m unable to identify the other chap. They call him Sarge. We can’t trace his vehicle. My man might be able to get his registration if he can break into their jeep.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan.” Stuart nodded vigorously.

“The other one we know is a P.I., a Yank by the name of Jake Turner. Something a little unusual about Sarge, though, could be an undercover cop.”

Across the street Hadi raised his coffee mug. Stuart nodded at him. “No killing, right?”