Floored (44 page)

She picked up her cup. She wasn’t sure she could take any more information in. Stud drank his tea down. Seriously, the guy’s mouth had no roof; he could drink liquid hot enough to scald.

“How do you drink it so hot?”

Stud laughed. “Cause our boy isn’t the first person to want to knock my teeth out.”

She gave him a ‘what gives’ look.

He tapped his front tooth. “They’re false. It’s all plastic up there.”

Cait let this laugh out and Stud leered at her, exaggerating his top teeth. “They’re good huh? Best police health and medical can buy.”

“Are you accepting his resignation?”

“He’s gotta look me in the eyes and not want to put them out before I’ll accept him quitting. So you know, I still have both my own eyes and I plan on keeping it that way. You got anyone you want to call to be with you while he’s AWOL?”

She shook her head and looked away. It was embarrassing to have gotten to a place in her life where she was so alone. At her age many people no longer had their parents, but most of them had friends. She’d given up friends for Justin, for the dream of their business, because she’d worked every hour it was possible to, and then because she was too scared to form any new bonds. When this was over, that had to change. She wanted Sean, wanted the opportunity to build something with him, but she wanted a new life too, one that was more balanced, more real, and never again involved sharing morning tea with a crime squad boss in a safe house.

Stud’s big hand came down over hers. “We’re doing this tonight, Cait.”

“Tonight!” No wonder he’d gone for her hand. She’d tensed to bolt.

“Not in a cafe. Not like I first thought. You’re going to go for a run and let Justin see you. Out in the open where we can get plenty of eyes on you. He doesn’t run, does he?”

“Justin? No. He’s allergic to exercise.”

Stud took his hand away. “Thought as much from looking at him. We don’t want to make it too easy for him. If you’re moving, he’ll have no way of getting too close before we grab him.”

“It has to be tonight? I’m not ready.” She wanted to wait for Sean to come home. She didn’t think she could do this without him.

“The sooner we do this, the sooner we start making arrests, the safer Sean is and you’ll be free.”

“I need more time.”

“This is not like planning a day at the beach. Every day Wacker’s operation prospers people get hurt. You can’t wait for Sean to get over the sulks and you can’t tell him. He can’t be anywhere near this. Wanting the money and the evidence back is one thing. Wanting Sean to pay for his time as Fetch is another. I don’t want blood lust and vendetta thinking turning people’s heads the wrong way. You understand me? No sneaking off to call the stupid bastard. No secret text messages. If we’re lucky the whole thing will be done before he has any idea it’s going down.”

Caitlyn nodded. Now she knew exactly the emotion that was paramount in the swirl of feelings that assaulted her. Terror. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” Stud’s hand came down on hers again. “I’ll be the old bloke jogging right behind you. They’ll have to come through me to get to you, and this time tomorrow your biggest problem will be finding somewhere new to live.”

“That’s a problem I can handle easily.”

“Ripper. Because you’ll be fucking exhausted after dealing with sulky guts when he finds out he missed the show.”

48: Home

The only thing he could think of doing that would make him feel worse than copping the look of disappointment and regret in Cait’s eyes as she watched him pull out of the driveway was to go home. So because he was in the mood to feel like shit, that’s where he headed.

He was overdue to show up and that’d go down a treat. And since he looked like a druggie hobo and smelled like the carpet in a pub, that’d play extra well. There were a thousand, a million other places he could be, and the primary one was back with Cait. With the house to themselves, with a full bath, or a mussed up bed, or the back seat of a car. But he couldn’t do it. If he went back now he’d be agreeing with her making this fucked up decision to put herself on the line. Worse if he went back now and didn’t shut the idea down he’d be fucking enabling it. Christ, he hated the idea of it. It made the fact she sided with Stud barely a stubbed toe.

Where he really needed to be was behind Wacker, Leonard and the rest of the Pariah fuckwits with a highly illegal automatic weapon set to ready, aim, fire. But since he couldn’t do that either, he was going home to Mum.

He thought it was best to knock. He hadn’t been inside the family home for getting close to three years and since that time he’d lied about where he was, about who he was, consistently, to a professional standard, with a gold star for believability. Right down to the postmarks on the postcards he’d sent from far off places like Zambia and Sierra Leone.

Though he’d talked to Mum and had a word to Dad and clued them in and everyone had gotten over the shock and the name calling had died down, showing up now, unannounced and in a foul mood was not a decision for the dim-witted. So he knocked.

It was Dad’s tread in the hall, which was good. He was less likely to attract actual physical abuse from Dad. He heard, “Hang on. Can’t find the keys.” Then a shouted, “Abby, where’d you put the keys?” Then, “If you’re collecting for something I can’t help you.”

“Dad, it’s me.”

“Seany, Jesus Christ. Abby, it’s Sean. Where’d you put the keys?”

He leaned back on the wall of the rendered semi and listened to the scrabbling inside. Bare feet, slippered feet, hands. Dad swore. Mum said, “Who is it? Who is it?” Then keys, the sound of the lock, and the door swung in. Dad in shorts and a t-shirt, new a decade ago. Mum in a smart red and white dress, lipstick and Ugg boots.

She said, “Holy Mother of God. That is not my son,” and turned on her furry heels and went back down the hall.

Dad grinned. He let go of the door and stepped out onto the verandah. They hugged, tight, hard, brief. Dad looked good. Sean realised he’d been worried he’d look older.

“You’d better come in.”

“Where’s she going?”

“Poker tournament at the RSL.”

“I should’ve called first.”

Dad laughed. His ‘as if that would’ve made any difference’ laugh and it was good to hear it. Sean laughed too.

“You can stop all that fun and laughter.” Mum’s voice was echoey, bouncing on the tiles in the bathroom before it hit them in the kitchen. “What’s he think he’s doing, coming here like this?” It wavered with indignation and hurt.

“Abby.”

“Well, what, Pat?”

“Come out and talk to your son.”

There was the sound of water running in the sink. “He’s not my son. My son doesn’t look like something next door’s cat dragged in.”

“Abby.”

“Mum.”

A drawer slammed. “I’m getting ready to go out. You can’t waltz in here like you own the place, like you aren’t a low-down lying son of a bitch.”

“Abby.”

“Mum, come out and talk to me.”

There was silence. It was more ominous than all her fury. Sean looked at Dad. “Is she all right?”

“She will be. You are a bit of a shock you know. Don’t they pay you when you do undercover work these days?”

“I came straight from a job.”

“As what, a derro?”

“Pretty much.”

Dad shook his head, but Sean could see he was amused. He knew later they’d talk for hours about the Pariahs, about Cait, about everything. But they’d wait till the time was right.

“I’m going to call and cancel her ride. There won’t be any poker played today.”

“Patrick Seamus Kennedy don’t you dare.”

Mum was in the room. Her heels on. A hairbrush in her hands. Eyes made up now, a flush to her cheeks that might’ve been artificial—but probably not.

“Hi Mum.” That was so the wrong thing to say. Not that there was a right thing. Her jaw was tight, and she squinted at him like she truly had no idea who he was. She shifted the hairbrush from hand to hand. It wasn’t a nervous gesture. He took a step towards her. Under her temper she looked well, no older. She was still a good-looking woman. Relief surged through him. He was home and he was loved. Eventually she’d forgive him. He had to get through the guilt storm and whatever she had planned with the hairbrush first.

She flung it at him. It hit him square in the chest and it stung. “Mum!”

“Abby.”

She was on him with her fists. He opened his arms to give her access. Tightened his core and let her get a few good jabs in, then slowly lowered his arms around her so he was hugging her. She was so tiny her head was level with his ribcage.

“Don’t you hug me.”

He hugged her harder. He smelled her crisp starched linen scent. He felt the bones of her, the soft flesh of her and he grinned at his dad over her head until she pushed him away. “Why do you look like a derelict? She put her hand on the knife wound scar. “What happened to your arm?”

“I was working, Mum. The arm is nothing.”

She scowled up at him. “Stupid job to make you lie to your family. You father never did that. Kira neither. Why you’re so special I don’t know.”

“I’m not special.”

“No, you’re not.” She stepped away, but reached for his hand and walked him to the kitchen table. “Pat, put the kettle on.” Dad was already at the sink.

“You tell me what you’re doing here now. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. This is what I had to wear for a job last night.”

“So you’ve not had any sleep?”

“Ah.”

“Don’t lie to me, Sean. We don’t lie in this house. We trust each other in this family. We support each other.”

He took a deep breath and avoided making eye contact with his dad across the breakfast bench. “I haven’t had any sleep. The arm is a superficial wound.”

“Why did you come here now, like this? You’ve been away for three years.”

“Two.”

“Don’t try to snow me. I know exactly how long you’ve been away. You come here having had no sleep and smelling like a sewer. You couldn’t wait another day to clean your act up? What’s wrong with you?”

“Leave him alone, Abby. He’s here, be happy.”

“I will not. You tell me, Sean. You tell me why you’re here now.” She turned to Dad. “Patrick, call Cath and tell her not to come. Tell her I’m not playing poker today. I’m talking to my son.”

Dad said, “Nothing much changed while you were away. She’s still bloody bossy,” but he went into the other room where the phone was.

“Well.”

“Ah, Mum, it was time to come home.”

“I have a liar for a son.”

He sucked in a breath. Something she’d said earlier about trust was niggling at him. He rubbed his chest where the hairbrush had struck him. It was confession time.

“I met a woman I want to marry.”

He got a critical look. He’d surprised her, but she was waiting to see if this was a joke.

“Her name is Caitlyn Murphy. I think she’s beautiful. She’s brave, she’s strong. She makes me crazy. She makes the world make more sense. She loves me. I hope you’ll love her.”

“So I’ll get to meet this wonder woman, will I?”

“If you stop being mean to me.”

She rolled her eyes.

“We had a fight.”

“About the way you dress, I can understand it.”

“Stop it, Mum. I came to see you and Dad because I’ve done something dumb and I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What did you do, Sean?” This from Dad leaning on the doorjamb.

“It’s complicated.”

Dad went back to the kitchen to make tea. “Break it down. We’re not going anywhere.”

He told them. About how his undercover assignment went bad, about how he inadvertently endangered Cait. About how their trip to Perth went from a way of ensuring her safety to falling for her, then reversed itself when what she was running and hiding from came out. He told them about Blue. He didn’t mention shootouts or blood, or the incredible sex, or the probable price on his head. He left out the fact there was a silver Commodore parked outside with two undercover officers inside it keeping him under surveillance.

He particularly didn’t mention the only reason he felt safe coming here without compromising his family was his escort.

Then he told them about Cait being used as a lure in an attempt to bring the bikie gang down and how they’d argued, how he’d walked out and left her because he didn’t like her decision, didn’t trust her judgement and didn’t know how he could live with that.

“She’s a thief and you love her?”

“I do.”

“She lied to you and you want to marry her?”

He almost laughed. Mum had a way of getting to the very centre of things that mattered.

“You think Cait’s in danger and you’re sitting in my kitchen looking like a bum.”

“She’s not in danger right now.”

“But you walked out on her.”

He nodded. “I’m a bum. I walked out on her. I want her to be my family and I didn’t support her. I told you I did something dumb.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“Beg you to make me a sandwich, borrow your shower, grab a few hours sleep then go tell her I love her. I hate her decision, but I’ll stand with her whatever comes.”

Mum stood. “That’s a plan. I need to get changed.” She looked down at him. “What are sitting you there for?”

“Sandwich?”

Her hands went to her hips. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She eye-rolled. “I didn’t miss poker to be your slave. Make your own damn sandwich.” She exchanged one of those secret married couple looks with Dad, picked up the hairbrush from the floor and left the room.

He grinned. Yeah, he was home. But home was going to take on a new flavour when he could bring Cait in on it. He’d spent enough time alone. He was hungry for the taste of together. He looked at his father, pulling stuff to make a sandwich with from the fridge.

“What do you want on your sambo?”

“Whatever you give me.”

Dad backed out of the fridge. “Good answer. Am I making for the blokes outside too, mate?”

He missed nothing. “Yeah, that’d be neighbourly.”

“Do I want to know why they’re out there?”

“I’m keeping my head down, Dad.”

Dad’s head was down too, he was buttering rolls. “What do you mean Caitlyn makes you crazy?”