Dance with the Devil Page 12

  She drove automatically, instinctively braking and accelerating as needed, her mind reviewing the events of the previous twenty-four hours.

  A horn blast jerked her attention back to the traffic. She gave herself a mental shake. If she continued like this, she'd cause an accident. But she needed to think, to work things out. Switching on the left-hand indicator, she turned at the next intersection and headed for the Esplanade.

  Walking had always helped clarify her thoughts, so when she had parked the Land Cruiser, she walked across the park to where the waters of Trinity Bay glistened in the sunlight. Joggers, walkers, rollerbladers passed her, but didn't break her concentration. She was equally oblivious to the birdsong and sweet smell of newly mown grass as she meandered down the path that followed the shoreline.

  Every minute of their time at Dario's and then afterwards at Drew's house replayed through her head. She dissected every action, every word, searching for a clue that could indicate the killer knew she was there in Drew's bedroom.

  The image of Drew walking towards his fire-razed house, stoically accepting the pain of too-tight sneakers, kept flashing through her mind, interrupting her train of thought.

  She thought of Dario's wife and son, their anguish at his death, and anger raged within her. Anger not only at the killer, but at herself. Drew was trying to protect her and she had meekly let him. Left him without even trying to help him. He'd risked his life for her, saved her from certain death when the crocodile had attacked, and she'd run off and left him when he most needed a friend.

  She strode back to the Land Cruiser. Within five minutes she pulled up near the end of Drew's street, not too close to be obvious, but with a clear view of the house.

  Crime scene tape had been erected around the house, but a phone call from Mick that morning had informed them that Forensic had already been out and found evidence that proved the arson attack. Emma's heart ached for him as Drew searched through the charred and water-battered remnants of his home. Wisps of ash drifted down onto his dark hair. The baggy T-shirt couldn't disguise the way his strongly muscled shoulders rippled as he bent to retrieve any belongings that weren't beyond salvage. Emma felt a familiar tightening in her chest as she watched.

  Occasionally he would tense for a fraction of a second and she'd flinch, knowing one of the cuts on his back had re-opened. She tried not to look at him, but it was no use. He drew her like a magnet. She ached for him, but she steadfastly refused to even entertain the idea there could be a future for them together. At med school, she'd been renowned for never making the same mistake twice, and she'd be damned if she was going to choose the wrong man again. Or any man for that matter.

  The insurance investigator turned up, consulted with Drew, then made a call on his mobile phone. Fifteen minutes later, a truck pulled up and men started boxing up what possessions remained.

  Emma drove to park in front of the house. Drew looked across in amazement, then strode over to the Land Cruiser. Emma watched him, saw the fury in his eyes.

  'What the hell are you doing here?' He ground out each word.

  'I thought you might need a lift into your office.'

  'You're not taking me. It's not safe.'

  'If it's so unsafe, why are you going in?'

  'If he's watching and sees me, I'll become the target - and not my friends.'

  'Then you don't have to worry if he sees me, do you? I won't be the target.' It wasn't exactly a great argument, but it was the best she could think of on the spur of the moment.

  'Why, Emma?'

  'Typical lawyer, always wanting to know why,' Emma blazed at him. 'Can't you just accept that I want to help you?'

  'No. Not if it puts you in danger. I'll find my own way.'

  'Okay,' she shrugged. 'I'll just look you up in the phone book and find your office myself. Though I would prefer you to be with me so we can share this target responsibility thing.'

  Drew seethed with anger and Emma could have been afraid, but she knew, deep inside, that he would never hurt her. He wrenched open the passenger door and got in, muttering under his breath. Emma caught words like 'stubborn' and 'pig-headed' but chose to ignore them.

  Except for brief directions, Drew was silent on their drive to his office.

  Two blocks back from the main shopping centre, they pulled up in front of a warehouse. Emma looked around at the wide street flanked by semi-industrial buildings, and next door to the warehouse where a group of five teenagers ambled out of a takeaway.

  She turned to ask Drew where his office was, but he muttered 'Go home' at her and climbed out of the vehicle. Emma followed, in time to see two young Aboriginal men break away from the group and stride purposefully towards Drew, anger plain on their faces.

  A sudden fierce protectiveness gripped her, and she stepped up beside Drew, ready to do battle with him if necessary. Drew glared at her, sighed in frustration, then put his arm around her shoulders. Although she tensed at the possessive gesture, she didn't move away. Her tension grew at the sudden flood of warmth through her body as Drew's fingers tightened.

  The young men strode closer.

  Emma's heartbeat accelerated.

  They stopped; and a flash of strong white teeth broke the dark scowling faces.

  'Hey, Mr J. We heard some shit burned your place down.' A pair of black eyes glanced at Emma, swiftly assessing, then lingered on the wound in Drew's hand. 'Was that the same shit who tried to kill you?'

  'Who told you someone tried to kill me, Dale?'

  A nervous giggle from one of the girls, who'd come up behind Dale, distracted Emma. She looked about sixteen, paler beside Dale's deep chocolate skin, her bike pants and T-shirt stretched across her swollen stomach.

  'You know the walls at The Centre, Mr J. They don't have ears - they have mouths.'

  At this everyone laughed, including Drew, and Emma felt the tension drain from her muscles.

  'Do me a favour, Dale?' Drew's voice was serious, and the group quietened immediately.

  'Just ask, Mr J.'

  'Spread the word for everyone to be careful of anybody acting suspiciously, particularly if they're driving a white van with a blue stripe down the side. I don't want anyone getting hurt because they're friends of mine.' His voice was quiet and even, but Emma remembered the body of Dario lying in his own blood and sensed the pain behind his words.

  'Sure, Mr J. You can count on it. And you need any help - just call.'

  The group strolled into the warehouse. A coat of white paint had brightened its ageing timbers and a sign over the doorway read 'The Centre'. Drew took her hand.

  'Come on.'

  'Where are we going?'

  'You wanted to see my office. You might as well be where I can keep an eye on you.'

  'Your office? Where…'

  He indicated the doorway where the young people had entered the warehouse. Emma frowned. Obviously the trauma of the night before had unsettled him more than she thought. Best to humour him. 'Lead on.'

  It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the change from the bright sunlight. Whatever she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the basketball court, pool tables, and partially partitioned kitchen with its randomly grouped tables and chairs.

  Dale and his friends had settled themselves at one of the tables and they were obviously passing on Drew's message to the occupants of the other tables. Some of the kids playing pool had stopped to listen too. The mix of races surprised Emma. White and indigenous Australian, South Sea Islander, Italian, Asian, and every shade in between. About twenty kids in all.

  It was only when Drew led her to the left that Emma noticed a set of offices taking up the front left-hand corner of the building. On the wall next to the main door were two brass plaques. Before she could read them, Drew opened the door and led her inside. A buzzer sounded as they entered.

  Air conditioning was the only concession to comfort Emma could see in the spartan office. The two desks were definitely utilitarian rather than fashionabl
e in design, and the row of filing cabinets had to have been in use when Drew was still in high school.

  A tall, fair-haired woman in casual blue slacks and white shirt unbent from filing something in the middle drawer of one of the cabinets, and with a cry of delight rushed around and embraced Drew.

  The pang of jealousy that shot through Emma took her by surprise. She pulled her hand from Drew's.

  'Emma, I'd like you to meet Diane Myers, the counsellor here. Diane studied psychology at uni when I struggled through law. Dr Emma Randall, who rescued me from the cyclone.'

  Diane laughed, a deep throaty chuckle that made the sides of Emma's mouth curl up in response. 'Don't you believe him, Emma. He topped all his subjects in uni. Made Joe, that's my husband, hope he'd never have to cross legal swords with him.' Her face sobered. 'We were worried about you, Drew. When Joe brought your car and gear back from the cabin, the kids asked so many questions we had to tell them what had happened to you. I think there would have been a riot if we didn't.'

  Drew nodded. 'We met Dale on the way in. Is he keeping up his community service?'

  'Hasn't missed an hour. He's got the day off today because his supervisor's sick.' Diane caught Emma's enquiring look. 'Drew defended Dale a few months back and was able to keep him from going to prison. He got two hundred hours of community service and we didn't think he'd take well to that. But then he found out he's going to be a father and he's determined no child of his will have a jailbird for a dad.'

  For the second time in as many minutes, Emma was assailed by jealousy. Diane shared a part of Drew's life that she, Emma, knew nothing about, and it irked her terribly. She remembered the horrible things she'd said to Drew that morning and felt ashamed. This certainly wasn't the privileged lifestyle she had envisaged him leading.

  'Joe put your bags in your office, Drew. If you want to change,' and it was obvious by the look Diane gave Drew's clothing that she thought it was a darn good idea. 'I'll take Emma next door and grab some hamburgers for lunch.'

  Diane hustled Emma out the door. Once inside the takeaway, they ordered lunch then sat at a corner table.

  Emma's mind reeled. From the moment he'd come into her life, Drew had continued to surprise her. Now…

  'It must have been a shock for you, Emma, finding Drew like that.' Diane's grey eyes clouded with concern. 'How is he? Not just physically. Emotionally.'

  'Considering what he's been through, I'd say he's managing fairly well.' But Emma knew the emotional scars would take longer to heal than the physical ones. 'Tell me about The Centre.'

  'It was Drew's idea - somewhere street kids could get together without being hassled. Where they can let off a bit of steam on the basketball court or play pool somewhere other than the hotels. He got some sponsorship, but most of the money needed to set it up came from his own pocket.

  'Then he decided that having a counsellor on hand would be a good idea.' She gave a short laugh, and again Emma smiled at the uninhibited throaty chuckle. 'He can be very persuasive when he needs to be. You should see him in court. He's magnificent.'

  Emma could imagine. With his piercing blue eyes and deep voice, he'd certainly have the female jurors mesmerised. But she was beginning to realise there was more to Drew Jarrett than she'd assumed. 'He's very…self-contained. He never mentioned anything about The Centre. I…' she felt the colour rising in her face, 'imagined him as a smart city lawyer.' She didn't want to repeat what she'd really said to him.

  'Drew's an outstanding lawyer, but he'll never be successful - not in the monetary sense. He has too much compassion. When he's fighting in the courtroom for one of these kids, it's a joy to watch him. But he won't defend them if he knows they're guilty and they refuse to acknowledge it. He tries to make them see it's better to be honest and cop their punishment.'

  'But how does he make a living? Dale didn't look as though he could afford new boots, let alone legal defence.'

  Diane sighed. 'It's not only street kids who need legal representation, Emma. Kids from perfectly good families go off the rails too. Drew has a fine reputation as a youth lawyer. If he believes in a kid, he'll fight like crazy to get him a fair trial. Some parents show their gratitude by contributing to The Centre.'

  'Doesn't the name The Centre sound just a bit institutionalised?'

  Their order number was called, and as they walked out Diane asked, 'Did you ever see that television series called The Pretender?'

  Emma shook her head.

  'The main character in the show is held captive from childhood in a research facility called "The Centre",' Diane explained. 'He finally escapes and learns what the real world is like. When Drew asked some street kids for name suggestions, one of them commented that The Centre for them would be a place to escape from the real world.'

  As they walked back into the office, Emma's breath caught in her throat. Drew was sorting through some paperwork on one of the desks. Grey trousers and pale blue shirt moulded to his athlete's body in a way that seemed to accentuate his virility and remind her just how sexy she found him.

  She finally found her voice. 'Fishing clothes?'

  He grinned. 'When my cooking got too bad, I'd drive into the nearest town for a meal at the hotel. Couldn't waltz in in my jockstrap and thongs.'

  His tone was teasing, but she had a sudden mental image of him in a jockstrap, which led to another of him without the jockstrap, and desire coursed through her. Heat flushed through her body.

  'Come on, coffee's ready.' He led the way past two equally spartan offices to a back room set up with a kitchen and bathroom.

  'Home away from home,' she commented.

  'He just about lives here.' Diane positively snorted her disapproval.

  As they ate, Diane briefed Drew on The Centre's news. Emma noticed she didn't query Drew about his ordeal, just keenly observed his every action, every nuance in his tone. But once they'd finished eating, she asked him.

  Drew was quiet and controlled as he recounted everything. But Emma watched as Diane's soft questions prised at his feelings, tested his strengths. She saw the chinks in his emotional armour; saw the way he sealed up the chinks as swiftly as they'd been revealed.

  His voice became strained as he told Diane the details of Dario's murder and the burning of his house. Her shock was palpable. More so when Drew expounded his theory that the killer was including Drew's friends in his list of victims.

  'So promise me you won't go anywhere alone, Diane,' he finished. 'I don't want to lose another friend.'

  Diane assured him she would now cling to other people closer than a barnacle. She also confirmed that their shared secretary was safely on holidays overseas and the barrister they sometimes used had recently moved to Melbourne.

  Emma was pouring herself another cup of coffee when Dale's pregnant girlfriend raced into the room, her eyes saucered with fear. She screamed at Drew.

  'You gotta come quick! He's dead! He's dead!'

  CHAPTER TEN

  Judge Aloysius Abercrombie scanned the rocky slopes with a practised eye. The countryside was a profusion of greens, from the olive of wattles, the khaki of gums, to the lime of new grass. But it wasn't the living colour which excited the judge, rather the prospect of finding a precious gemstone exposed by the recent heavy rain.

  He was a sprightly man for sixty-four, thin, wiry, with a nervous energy that often chafed under the burden of his judge's robes. The pomposity of his position seldom allowed him to express his rather offbeat sense of humour, and he took secret delight in the circuit-court joke that 'old AA was coming, better hide your grog'. A temperate man when working, and a strict believer in keeping his private life separate, he knew he was viewed as a wowser, a man who frowned on others drinking. The fact they related his initials to Alcoholics Anonymous tickled the funny bone of the owner of one of the best wine collections in Queensland.

  He picked his way across the uneven ground, occasionally stooping to pick up a specimen which looked promising. The early morning coolness
and the crisp, clear light were a pleasure to be savoured after the sultry heat of the previous days.

  At midday, he stopped in a grove of gum trees, swung his pack to the ground and sat on a smooth lump of rock emerging from the ground like a half-buried dinosaur egg. The sandwich his wife had prepared for him was kept cold by a small, chilled bottle of wine. The plastic glass was a minor irritation, but necessary in such rough terrain.

  He sipped the mellow golden liquid, gazed up towards the stark grandeur of the mountains and sighed. Only birdsong and cicadas broke the perfect peace. Contentment flowed through his veins with more effect than the alcohol.

  'You can almost feel God talk to you up here.'

  The voice jerked him from his reverie; wine flew across his shirt, the plastic glass clattered onto the rocks. He whirled around, almost falling off the rock.

  By the time his heart had slowed to a soft canter, the judge had taken in the appearance of the man who had spoken. A tall, big-boned man, he was dressed in khaki, his greying hair cut in a severe military style. Recently, judging by the pale strip of skin in front of his ears.

  The judge wondered how a man so big could have crept up on him so quietly. Then he corrected himself. Of course the man had not crept up. If he'd wished him harm, he would not have spoken and alerted the judge to his presence. Perhaps, AA felt, he had been daydreaming and simply hadn't heard the man's approach.

  'Yes,' he agreed, 'it's easy to feel you're close to God up here.'

  The man smiled, his body relaxed slightly. Even so, AA sensed a tension, an alertness, in him. AA placed his glass back in his pack and stood up. He was suddenly acutely conscious that they were alone on the hillside. He and this man who had, one could almost imagine, materialised from the trees.

  'Do you want to be close to God?' the man asked. His smile had gone and a slight severity coloured his words. He walked closer and AA saw his eyes; saw the fever-bright gleam of them, the passion vying with patience.