Dark Country (2 page)

She scrambled into the passenger seat, out of the rain, putting her jacket onto the floor at her feet. He shucked off his
leather jacket, too, before he got in, tossing it over onto the back seat. He wasn’t fussy about a bit of water on his seat,
then.

‘Thank you, Mr …?’

The interior light was still on, and she saw something wary flicker in his eyes.

‘Just call me Gil.’

Oh, yes, she knew an evasion when she heard one. So why would a man offer her his car, but avoid giving a surname? He could
have just driven off when she’d first asked him to contact Adam, and she wouldn’t have even taken his registration number.

‘Thanks … Gil.’ She emphasised his name enough to let him know she hadn’t missed the evasion. ‘I’m Kris Matthews.’

He pulled his door shut properly. The interior light flicked off so that she could no longer see him clearly. Only a profile
silhouette, stark and sharp.

‘Buckle up, Sergeant Matthews,’ was all he said in response to her introduction, and he clicked his own seatbelt into its
clasp before he twisted the key in the ignition.

So, Mr Cool and Distant had recognised the sergeant’s stripes on her uniform shirt after she’d taken her jacket off. Sharp
of him. And Mr Cool and Distant wasn’t overly fond of police, it seemed, for all that he’d offered to wait in the rain while
she took his car.

Too bad for him. He was heading into her town, and these days she was pretty damn protective of it.

‘You’re not from around here?’ she asked.

He put the car into gear, pulled out on to the road before he answered. ‘Not any more.’

One of those who’d left over the years, then. Dungirri had been bleeding its population for decades, dying the slow death
of many rural communities. The closing of the timber mill, and the long drought, meant there were few jobs left, and now only
three hundred or so residents, most struggling to make a decent living. Tragedies in the past two years had torn the town
apart even further, and on bad days Kris had her doubts that it would ever recover. On good days, she hoped the recently formed
Dungirri Progress Association might have some success in rebuilding the community. Good days didn’t happen too often.

‘Have you come back for the ball on Saturday?’

An eyebrow rose. ‘The ball?’

‘The Dungirri Spring Ball.’

No, he’d obviously not heard of it and, come to think of it, she really couldn’t imagine this man in the Memorial Hall, mixing
with Dungirri’s citizens. It would be like throwing a panther in with a cage full of chickens.

‘No. I’m just here to see someone on … business.’

He didn’t explain further – another evasion. He’d lived in these parts, knew that everyone knew everyone else, but he mentioned
no names, gave no hint of his business, as a local would have.

Not a good sign.

They came out of the shadow of Ghost Hill, and within two minutes his mobile phone bleeped in its holder. Perhaps because
of her presence, he grabbed the headset draped on the phone with one hand and slid it on before punching the answer button.

‘What’s up, Liam?’ He listened for a moment. ‘Fuck.’ Definitely bad news, by the harshness of the word and the way his jaw
clenched tight. Another pause. ‘She’s all right?’ A gruff note touched his voice, a hint of real concern.

Kris tried not to watch him, to give him a semblance of privacy, but in the silence as he listened, she saw out of the corner
of her eye his fingers gripping tight on the steering wheel, and although he didn’t stop driving, he slowed a little.

‘Look, take Deb away with you for a few days’ break, okay?’ he said. ‘To that eco-lodge she wanted to check out, or somewhere
like that. Tell her it’s a surprise bonus from me for the two of you. Charge everything to the business account.’ Another
pause, and his tone hardened again. ‘I’ve already dealt with Marci. You look after Deb. Might be best if you get her away
from there tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

He ended the call, muttering another curse under his breath as he dragged the earpiece off.

‘Bad news?’ she enquired. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t heard his side of the conversation.

She counted to four before he eventually said, ‘One of my employees was attacked by an intruder at her home.’

She had the distinct impression that while that might be the truth, it wasn’t the whole truth.

‘Is she hurt?’

‘Only shaken. She has a black belt in karate.’

‘So the attacker came off worst?’

In the dim light from the dashboard she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, a suggestion of a grin, for just an instant. ‘Yeah.
Something like that.’ But his mouth firmed again straight away, and he stared ahead, tapping a finger on the steering wheel,
his expression tense and shuttered.

And although she wondered, she didn’t ask why a man would send two of his staff away for an all-expenses-paid break just because
one of them was shaken up. Or what sort of business he ran that was profitable enough to give generous bonuses, and that had
brought him back to Dungirri for a meeting. Or what the rest of the bad news was, news that had made his mood even darker
than when she’d met him a few minutes before.

She didn’t ask because she suddenly had a strong suspicion that she might not like the answers.

She let her head fall back on the headrest, closing her eyes in weariness. They were almost at Dungirri, and if the guy had
dastardly intentions towards her he would have acted on them by now. Her trust that he’d get her there safely seemed well
enough placed.

But then again, that proved nothing. She’d been neighbours with a murderer for years and never twigged. ‘Just-call-me-Gil’
could be a dark angel straight from hell, for all that she felt safe, just now.

If he planned on staying around, she’d have to damn well ask those questions and find out, one way or another.

She just hoped he didn’t plan on staying around. ‘Safe’ wasn’t a word that was likely to stick to him, long term, and Dungirri
had had more than its share of visits from hell already.

Gil silently worked through every single swear word he knew, and made up a few more when they ran out.

There had to be something about this damned road. The last time he’d been on it, his plans for a new life had been smashed
to smithereens and now, tonight – almost eighteen years later, and the first day of what was supposed to have been another
new start – Liam’s news had brought that all crashing down.

Damn Vincenzo Russo for getting himself shot in the chest last night. It was lousy timing for Vince’s personal security to
fail him, as far as Gil was concerned. With Vince on life support, his son Tony would waste no time in moving to take control
of the Russo family operations – and Tony had neither reason nor inclination to honour the agreement that had kept Vince out
of Gil’s affairs for years. Gil’s plans of being long gone from Sydney by the time Tony eventually took over had just been
screwed, well and truly.

The sergeant had gone quiet, stopped asking her questions. With her head back, eyes closed, a hint of vulnerability underlay
the confident cop persona she’d shown earlier. Wayward curls of red hair framed her face, and a few wet ends curled against
the pale skin of her neck, just above her shirt collar. For some reason, that sight gave him a sharp, hot kick in the guts.

He turned his eyes back to the road. Oh yeah, lusting after a
cop
, in
Dungirri
of all places – that was truly the definition of stupidity.

Christ, he hadn’t even given her his surname, because even if she hadn’t heard of him, she’d have made the connection
between his name and that of his old man, and those blue eyes would have turned cold, lumping him with the same label as his
mad bastard of a father.

And if the locals had told her about him, or if she’d heard the other end of that phone call … well, she’d sure be doubting
the wisdom of getting into a car with him.

And what did it all matter, anyway? In just a few minutes he’d drop her off at the cop station, and he’d never see her and
her lively blue eyes again. He’d go and call on Jeanie, do what he’d come to do, and then leave Dungirri. He’d get back on
the road to try to sort out the god-awful mess his life had just become, before Tony Russo took his vendetta out on people
who didn’t deserve it, like Liam and Deb.

The dim lights of Dungirri appeared, and he shifted down a gear as he came to the first scattered houses. Another landslide
of bad memories tumbled out thick and fast from the dark places in his mind, catching him unawares, jumbling on top of his
current worries and making his gut coil tight.

Damn his memories. Damn this town. Damn that stupid conpulsion that pushed him back here to finish once and for all with his
past before he moved on. Dungirri held nothing for him but bitterness and nightmares.

As he drove into town along the deserted, mostly dark main street, a line from something he’d once read suddenly came into
his mind like some bleak premonition and drummed again and again in his head:
The wheel has come full circle; I am here
.

Well, he might be here, but he wouldn’t be for long.

The old police station hadn’t changed much. A new keypad security system, a phone link to connect straight through to
Birraga for when the local cops were out, and a coat of paint were about the only differences Gil could discern as he walked
up to the steps. When the sergeant opened up the station and he carried the larger of the computer boxes in for her, he saw
that the 1950s wooden chairs in the small reception area had been replaced by 1970s orange plastic chairs. So much for progress.

She pushed open the door to the interview room. ‘In here thanks, Gil. I have to make space in the office first before I can
set it up in there.’

Hell, it would have to be the interview room. Definitely a place he had no desire to revisit. He slid the box onto the table
in the small room and made for the door again, without checking whether it was the same wooden table he’d had his face smashed
into.

On the veranda, he sucked in a breath of fresh, damp air.

‘Are you staying at the hotel?’ the sergeant asked from behind him. ‘Can I shout you a drink later, to thank you for your
help?’

He turned to face her, and the light from the porch illuminated her in the doorway. Not a classically beautiful face, yet
attractive in her own way, and small lines around her eyes revealed that under the aura of relaxed competence she carried
tension and concerns. Well, if she’d been in town longer than a year or so, she’d have had more than enough stress and worry.
Two abducted kids and several murders couldn’t have been easy for any cop to deal with, let alone one who seemed to have a
whole lot more soul than the old sergeant had ever had.

Kris Matthews. A woman with a name and a history, not just ‘the sergeant’ as he’d called her in his mind – since there could
be no point in thinking about her as a real person.

‘I’m not staying,’ he told her.

She stepped out, directly under the light, so that it glinted in the red–gold of her hair, but cast her face into shadow.

‘Oh. Well, thank you for the lift. I do appreciate it. And drive safely, wherever you’re going.’

He raised a hand in acknowledgement, took the three steps down from the porch in one pace, and strode to his car.

He drove back down the main street, past the empty shops and the few businesses still struggling to survive, past the council
depot and the pub, and pulled into the empty parking area of the Truck Stop Café. It was only eight o’clock and lights spilled
from the café, but other than a couple of teenage kids laughing at the counter, he could see no-one inside. Jeanie might well
be in the kitchen, or in the residence upstairs.

He pushed the door open, and both kids watched him enter. The girl, maybe sixteen or so, wore a blue ‘Truck Stop’ apron over
a black goth-style skirt and top. The lad, sweeping up behind the till where customers paid for petrol, might have been a
year or two older. So, Jeanie was still giving employment to Dungirri’s youth.

The girl smiled. ‘Hi, there. I’m afraid the kitchen’s closed, if you were after a meal, but I can still do coffees and there’s
pies and sausage rolls left.’

The mention of food made his gut do an uneasy somersault. It had been a while since he’d eaten, but his appetite had disappeared
somewhere on the road to Dungirri.

‘No, that’s okay. I was looking for Jeanie Menotti, actually. Is she around?’

‘I’m sorry, she’s out tonight. There’s a meeting to finalise the ball arrangements. She won’t be back until late.’

Of course – the ball the sergeant had mentioned. As incongruous as a ball in Dungirri sounded, if there was going to be one
then Jeanie would be involved in running it.

It just put a massive spanner in his plans to be out of here tonight. For a brief moment, he contemplated leaving an envelope
for her with these kids, but he ditched the idea straight away. Jeanie would be more than hurt if he went without seeing her,
and Jeanie, of all people, didn’t deserve that sort of shoddy treatment.