Dance with the Devil Read online

  Emma's interest quickened at the wistful tone in his voice. 'You…you liked her…'

  Drew walked to the window and stared out.

  'Yes. She was only seventeen but she'd been a prostitute for about a year to support her drug habit. When she couldn't take it any longer she left Sydney, found her way to the property and dried out.'

  He fell silent, his gaze unseeing, his mind turned inwards.

  For a fleeting moment he wondered why he was telling Emma something that was so intensely private. But the need to connect with her, to share a part of himself, to touch her soul, was compelling.

  'She was tiny, with short blonde hair and fine blue veins under pale, pale skin.'

  Emma realised he was describing the girl in detail that betrayed their intimacy. He looked across at her now, the blueness of his eyes startling, obviously matching the depth of his feelings.

  Had he searched for fine blue veins as he'd made love to her last night? A fist seemed to clutch at her heart at the thought.

  'She taught me about sex. For all my bravado that was one area I had yet to gain experience in.' He caught Emma's quick intake of breath and read the concern in her eyes. 'Don't worry, I've been tested for AIDS. I'm negative.' A wistful half-smile touched his lips. 'And then she taught me to make love. She showed me all the ways a man could show his love for a woman. All the tender caresses, the thoughtful caring touches. All the things she longed for and had never received.'

  Silence fell between them again. Emma felt it stretch out, rubber-band tense.

  'Did you…did you love her?'

  'No. I liked her a lot. I cared about her. I tried, but I didn't love her. I doubt I was mature enough to know what love really meant.'

  'What happened to her?'

  'She went back to Sydney. To her family. Tried to start a new life. We wrote to each other for a while. A year later I received a note from her sister saying she'd died of an overdose.'

  Sadness etched tiny lines around his eyes. Emma felt an almost overwhelming urge to touch him. Her hands trembled as she pushed them deeper into her pockets. 'And you?' she asked.

  He shook his head. 'I went home,' he said brusquely. He turned away. 'I'll bring Solomon in from the paddock.'

  Emma watched him walk away, vaguely disturbed by his abruptness. For all her wish to have him out of her life, she yearned to know more about him. Had his friend's death been the reason he had returned home?

  She wanted to know.

  Drew stood in the kitchen doorway. Since her return several hours ago, Emma felt she was walking on eggshells, that he was expecting something from her. He hadn't mentioned why he had taken her back to his bed last night and she had been grateful for his silence. She didn't want to talk to him again about what had occurred between them. Didn't want him to burrow any further into her feelings, her psyche.

  The thought of being pregnant with his child had both horrified and tantalised her all morning. There was a possibility, though not a strong one, that conception may have occurred, but in the end she'd dealt with it like she'd dealt with most other problems in her personal life that she could do nothing about. She'd simply pushed the idea away and refused to think about it.

  'How's Mary? And the baby?' he asked.

  She shoved a tray of scones into the oven. 'Both fine,' she smiled. 'Doing remarkably well, considering.'

  Drew nodded, still tense. Emma felt if she bumped him he would spring apart like an overwound watch.

  'Why are you shutting me out, Emma?'

  Emma gasped at his words, stunned by the accuracy with which he had read her. He walked over to her, took hold of her arms. She felt the dressings on his palms rub against her skin, felt her body respond to the nearness of his, her nipples harden, thighs tighten, betraying what her mind tried to repress.

  'Just because we…we made love, Drew, it doesn't mean there's anything between us. I've already explained that what happened last night was the culmination of stress - stress almost beyond what we could tolerate.'

  'You're lying, Emma.' His words bore into her, but she was held captive by his eyes, by the deep surging emotion in their depths. 'You know there's something between us, something good. And you're afraid.'

  Emma pulled away from him, rubbing her arms where his heat had branded her.

  She was a woman who didn't play games. Dealing with death on a daily basis had left no room in her life for the emotional intrigues some people revelled in.

  'I was married once before. I have no intention of making the same mistake twice.'

  Only a slight frown betrayed his reaction.

  'What did he do to you, Emma?'

  She wiped down the bench and washed the cloth under the tap. 'He was a doctor - we met in my last year of med school. Before we were married I thought he shared my dream of joining Médecins sans Frontières. But when we'd been married two years, he told me he wanted to stay in the city and become a specialist. He said he'd thought I'd grow out of my fanciful ideas, my immature need to save the world.'

  'But it was more than a fanciful idea to you, wasn't it?'

  'Yes. It was something I'd always wanted to do - ever since my brother's death - become a doctor, help those who needed it the most. It was never just a career to me.'

  'Surely you could have reached a compromise. If you'd loved each other enough…'

  'I don't think we did. I think I was trying to prove to my parents that I could have the happy marriage they hadn't achieved. But it turned out I was guilty of the same mistake - lack of communication.'

  'It's not an easy thing to learn if you don't see it practised around you.'

  'My mother tried - it got her nowhere. My father died lonely and unhappy because he couldn't express his feelings to her…or to me.' Determination lit her eyes. 'I have a dream, Drew. Until my father's illness, I was fulfilling that dream. Nothing and no-one is going to stop me from going back to it.'

  Ice shivered again in the pit of Drew's belly. He wanted this woman. More than anything he'd ever wanted in his life before. Except maybe for one thing…

  'What if you're pregnant?'

  Emma lifted her chin. 'I'll deal with that if I have to.' She picked up the oven mitt and tossed it to him. 'I'm going to have a shower. Don't let the scones burn.'

  The tension between Emma and Drew hummed through the air like a living entity. Even though the walls divided them, Emma could feel Drew's presence as she lay in her bed that night and fought for sleep.

  The next morning she returned to check on Mary and the baby, anxious for a few hours break from the temptation Drew posed.

  She examined Mary, and expressed her delight at her patient's progress. Mary had blossomed with the birth of her daughter, as though all her uncertainties and fears had been washed away in the joy of creating the innocent life that now depended on her.

  As Emma cradled the baby in her arms, the warm sweet smell created a curl of longing in her heart. And the thought she could be carrying Drew's child teased her with a hope she refused to acknowledge.

  When her husband had given her the ultimatum of staying with him or divorce if she followed her dream, there'd been no agony of indecision. Only the agony of knowing the man she'd thought loved her had never really considered her dream to be of importance. The dream that was a quintessential part of her.

  No-one was ever going to take that from her again.

  The phone rang.

  The sound was so startling, so unexpected, that Emma sprang from the armchair, her medical magazine slipping from her hands, disturbing the dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sunlight.

  Drew placed the last card down in his game of patience. He watched Emma as she spoke, her animation, her slim fingers twining in the telephone cord.

  Since they had made love two days ago she had appeared almost clinically detached in her attitude towards him, and nothing he had said or done had made the slightest difference.

  If he hadn't been acutely observant, he would have misse
d the betraying quiver in her hands as she had dressed his wounds. He tried to take advantage of this weakness and asked her to rub ointment into the ugly bruise on the back of his calf. He knew her natural compassion would override her need to avoid touching him as much as possible. So it was a small triumph for him to feel the way her fingers lingered on his skin after the ointment had soaked in. Small, but he was becoming desperate.

  Yesterday they had ridden around the property boundaries, and although there had been no sign of any strangers, Drew remained convinced that whoever had tried to kill him had not given up. When he returned to Cairns, it would be safer for Emma if he didn't contact her again until after the perpetrator was caught. If he was caught. But for now Drew would use whatever means he could to try to build a relationship with Emma.

  'That was J.D.,' Emma said as she hung up. 'Phone lines are fixed, electricity should be on within the hour. And the road to Cairns is clear.'

  A strange mixture of relief and regret raced through Drew. At last he would be able to begin searching for his would-be killer, but his time with Emma would end.

  'J.D. said he explained to the police about having to bury Dad here because of the flooding. They've accepted that it's only temporary, and the fact that I'm a doctor helped.'

  'Did he mention when they want to interview me?'

  Emma nodded. 'As soon as you get back to Cairns. They're sending someone to your fishing shack to look for clues, and to ask around if anyone saw a white van.'

  Drew didn't hold much hope of that: the shack was isolated and the road in didn't go past any neighbouring houses.

  'I've asked J.D. to look after the horses and the dogs while I drive you into Cairns,' Emma continued. 'Now I'm going to phone Mum and let her know I'll be arriving tonight.'

  The floodwater had retreated off the road but it lay in paddocks and swirled brown in swollen creeks. The pink-stained evening sky gave a strange beauty to the uprooted trees and broken branches, the damaged and destroyed buildings.

  The road was deserted, save for one car driving towards them. Emma tensed, aware of their vulnerability out here in the open, only mildly reassured by the rifle concealed in the back of the vehicle.

  She only relaxed after the car, with its friendly waving driver, was some distance behind them.

  They turned at the highway and drove north, passing through kilometre after kilometre of fields of sugar cane, some completely flattened against the earth, some with stalks responding weakly to the sun's warmth and attempting to rise skywards.

  As they passed through the small town of Gordonvale, a lump formed in Emma's throat at the devastation caused by the cyclone. Bulldozers were razing those buildings that were beyond repair, trucks carting away the rubble. The general store, where her parents had shopped since before she was born, was now a roofless mass of twisted shelves and scattered groceries.

  The light began to fade as they reached the outskirts of Cairns. There appeared to be less destruction here, though the potholed highway and scoured-out gullies testified to the torrents of floodwater which had now receded.

  'Where am I taking you?'

  They were the first words Emma had spoken since they'd left the property, and they sounded as though she'd had to force them from her throat. Drew wondered if she was feeling as awkward as he did.

  'Dario Frenetti - a friend of mine. He has a spare key to my house. He keeps an eye on things for me when I go on holidays.'

  'Where does he live?'

  'Bayview Heights, southside.'

  Street lights flickered into the dusk, then shone brightly. Emma switched on the headlights.

  She couldn't shrug off a feeling of unreality as she watched the ebb and flow of traffic, people walking along footpaths, going into shops, youngsters laughing and shouting in the warm evening air. She had driven through so many towns in the past few years, so many places that were only names. She'd felt no connection with them, an isolated soul in an isolated truck, driving out into desolate places to help despairing people.

  This city was as familiar to her as the road to her father's property. She had spent most of her university holidays with her mother and stepfather, and she had interned at Cairns Base Hospital. But tonight she felt like a stranger traversing unknown territory. The events of the past few days seemed to have severed her connection to her previous life.

  The traffic flowed smoothly and soon the Land Cruiser was winding its way up the steep hills that surrounded the city like battlements.

  Drew indicated a high-set brick house bordered by palm trees and lush tropical gardens. Light spilled out from the open living-room curtains onto the veranda that ran the full length of the front.

  'Great view,' Emma said, nodding to the house and city lights that tumbled down to the harbour.

  Drew nodded. He swung open his door as Emma parked the vehicle. 'Come in. I'd like you to meet Dario.'

  Meeting Drew's friend wasn't something Emma wanted to do. It would add another dimension to the man, and she was trying desperately not to let herself feel any more for him. But she was beside him as he walked the shrub-lined path to the front door. He pressed a button on the wall and they heard chimes echo through the house.

  Through the security screen door, she could see a staircase and a doorway leading into a rumpus room. Heavy metal music from a house across the street thumped through the air. No-one came to open the door.

  Drew pushed the doorbell again. He rested his hand on the security-door handle, and fear slashed through him like a knife as the door swung gently open.

  He looked at Emma. 'Something's wrong.'

  'Why? Because the door's not locked? He probably forgot…'

  'Dario's the most security-conscious person I know.' Drew walked inside. 'Stay here.'

  Emma ignored him and followed. She heard his sigh of exasperation and ignored that too.

  Drew walked softly up the stairs. The living room was empty. The kitchen was empty. Saucepans bubbled on the stove, a spicy aroma wafted from a casserole in the oven. School books lay open on the dining-room table, a half-empty glass of milk beside them.

  With each step he took up the hallway, with each reluctant glance into bedrooms and bathroom, the fear in Drew's stomach grew.

  Empty.

  Empty.

  Empty.

  'Downstairs.'

  His voice must have betrayed his feelings. Emma caught his arm. 'What do you think has happened?'

  He shook his head as he hurried back along the hallway and down the stairs.

  A white cane lounge with colourful cushions, rows of bookcases, television and a large stereo unit filled the rumpus room. Toys vied for floor space with books and games.

  Drew crossed the room and hesitated at the doorway leading into the spare bathroom and toilet. Emma stood, watching him, a frown creasing her forehead.

  The bathroom was empty.

  Relief began to trickle into Drew's bloodstream. Perhaps Emma was right. Perhaps Dario had had to rush off somewhere and had simply forgotten to lock the door. Improbable, but not impossible.

  He turned - and stopped breathing.

  Stark against the white floor tiles, bright red blood had pooled under the laundry door.

  Drew pushed Emma back into the rumpus room and held a finger to his lips. She nodded. Drew glanced around for a weapon, grabbed a broom leaning against the wall.

  Slowly, very slowly, he opened the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hadley cursed, using words he hadn't uttered for more than twenty years.

  The Defender was alive!

  But Ivy had said he was dead!

  How had he survived? Had this woman saved him? The woman who had brought him here tonight? The woman who he knew even now must be staring at his accomplished mission.

  He had slipped out the laundry door into the backyard just as he heard the Defender's voice at the door. His shock was so acute, he almost came back inside to check visually.

  The Prosecutor's bl
ood was fresh on his hands and he wanted to wash it away. It was important that he not enjoy the tasks he had set himself. Only the reparation was important. Only by making atonement could he save Simon's soul from eternal damnation.

  From his cover of shrubbery in the backyard, he could see through the rumpus room window.

  His ears had not deceived him.

  The Defender had not risen from the dead, because he had not died.

  He would tonight.

  Emma searched for a pulse.

  None.

  She looked up at Drew, the paleness of his face, the tightness of his jaw as he strove to keep his emotions in check. Blood stained his jeans where he'd knelt beside the body of his friend.

  'He must have been killed just before we arrived. The blood's still fresh.' Anguish twisted his mouth. 'Why the hell didn't I come in here first!'

  Emma stood up. 'I'll phone the police.'

  'No. I'll do it. I know them.' His eyes were haunted as he looked down at Dario, at the dirty cloth gagging the mouth, pinching in the black curly hair. Blood, from Dario's split bottom lip, had dripped through the black chest hairs and onto Dario's fawn cargo pants. His hands were tied behind his back, the rope passing down and tightened around his ankles. His bare feet, pale and clean, looked strangely vulnerable.

  The handle of a dagger protruded from Dario's back. A strange, almost homemade-looking, dagger. Little blood had flowed from this wound, but another jagged wound sliced across from shoulder to spine. Emma surmised Dario must have been forced into a kneeling position, then tried to evade his killer as the first blow was struck. It was this wound that had bled so profusely. The second blow would have pierced the heart, killing him instantly.

  'He was a good friend.' Drew choked on the words and stumbled from the room. Emma felt his sorrow pierce her own heart.

  Within a minute, he returned.

  'It's Tuesday today, isn't it?'

  'Yes.'

  Drew nodded towards the rumpus room. 'Come out here and sit down. You look a bit pale.'

  He sank onto the lounge. Emma sat beside him, tentatively placing her hand over his where it lay on his thigh. He turned his hand, clasped hers, entwined their fingers. She gave a reassuring squeeze and felt the need for comfort in his answering grip.