Muzzled (24 page)

Liz wasn’t acting like a kidnap victim. She was as determined as Gina to get the drugged greyhounds into the GAP mini-bus. So if she was here of her own free will—a mere ten minute drive from my house—why hadn’t she contacted me?

Unless…

Bile rose in my throat and I leaned my forehead against the smooth bark of the ancient ghost gum.

Oh please, don’t let my wacky sister be involved in the
ring-in
scam? Raising money illegally for one of her many environmental causes?

No sooner had that thought burglarized my brain, than another—even more shocking—caused my legs to buckle.

Had Liz been there, in his house, when Jack Lantana was murdered?

26

A tight band pressed against my temples and I clung to the tree for support. No way would Liz be involved in murder. Geez, stepping on an ant sent her into shrieks of remorse. I’d got it all wrong.

And then my fingers strayed to the bracelet circling my wrist—the bracelet I’d found on Lantana’s desk the night Tanya and I were chased into his house by the two guard dogs.

My sister Liz’s ruby bracelet.

Had Lantana become violent, threatened her and she retaliated? Had she fought him off, belted him over the head with a dirty great vase and accidentally killed him—then panicked, rung Gina, and for some obscure reason they’d shoved the body in the refrigerator? Or was it the other way around—had Gina caused the blow and Liz come to her rescue?

Almost hyperventilating, I watched the two women settle the animals in the mini-bus and prepare to leave.

“Better grab your backpack, Liz?” said Gina, with another furtive glance over her shoulder. “No way can you come back here after we’ve dealt with the dogs. It’ll be too dangerous.”

That was enough for me. It was now or never. Sister or not—I had to come out of hiding and protect the hapless dogs from suffering any more pain.

Both fists tensed ready for conflict, I swept all soft thoughts of my kid sister to the back of my mind where they collided with fantasies of me as a superstar X Factor singer and the one of Hugh Jackman inviting me home for dinner.

Edging around the tree, I could see Gina, head under the hood of the bus, while Liz, back pack swinging, closed the shed door and ran across the grass toward her co-conspirator.

It was time to confront them and find out the truth.

But before I could go into my Xenia Warrior Princess action mode, a quick flash of silver on the far side of the mini-bus distracted me. I paused. Narrowed my eyes and squinted across at the thick tangle of bushes.

There it was again.

Stumbling, I quickly ducked under cover of the tree again as a big dark hulk of a man dressed in a long black coat, stepped from his hiding place and moved silently toward the unsuspecting Liz and Gina. I opened my mouth to call out, warn them—but no sound came out. My voice had decided to go on holiday.

“Going somewhere, ladies?” the man crooned. His voice was soft, flat, and vaguely familiar. The women spun around, fear transforming their faces into chalky masks. When they didn’t answer, the man, clearly intent on menace, deliberately flexed both shoulders, cracked his neck and rolled his head from side to side.

I leant against the solid trunk of the tree and closed my eyes. Intent on his two victims, he hadn’t seen me—but when he’d turned his head—I’d recognized him.

Receding hairline, wet thick lips, mouth smiling but eyes telling a completely different story…

No wonder his voice sounded familiar. It was Big Mick, the bookie. The same Big Mick I’d had dealings with before. The sleazy bookie who was always on the take.

And the silver flash?

A gun.

Which was now pointing at Gina and Liz.

“Ah. So this is where you’ve been hiding the evidence?” he said, gesturing toward the shed with the gun. “Even drugged the mongrels so they wouldn’t bark and attract attention. Clever.” He sniggered, his lips set in a perpetual snarl. “But not clever enough. I’ve had my eye on you two and knew you’d eventually lead me to the four legged witnesses.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “Can’t help yourself, can you Gina? Gotta save every bloody animal on the planet. Even talked Garry Smart, that half-witted boyfriend of yours, into letting you hide the dogs instead of shooting them, like I’d told him to.”

Gina dropped the bonnet of the bus into place with a bang and turned to face the man with the gun, her GAP face in place. “Come on, Mick. There’s no need to shoot the dogs. Let me place them into the Greyhound Adoption Program. What harm can they do? Dogs can’t talk. They can’t tell anyone about your racing scam.”

He laughed and it wasn’t a fun sound. “And what happens when the dye wears off or someone decides to check the mongrels’ ear brands, hey?”

“Nothing. The dogs will be with pet owners by then. And what do the general public really know about racing?”

“You seem to be missing the point here, my lovely Gina. I’ve got too much at stake to pander to you and your hippy friend’s pie-in-the-sky, Save the World philosophies.
My
only philosophy is—the world starts with me and mine and that’s where it stops.”

Liz, mouth set in a straight line, took a step toward him. “If you shoot those dogs, you piece of pig’s shit, I’ll be the first to talk.”

I held my breath. Oh no. Stupid-stupid-stupid. If only I could dash out, tuck my sister under my arm and run away—like I did the time she stood up to a bully with a baseball bat when she was five.

Yet I was never more proud of her.

“Is that so?” Mick said and you could have sharpened nails on the tone of his voice. He made a great show of leveling his gun at an invisible X right between Liz’s eyes. I opened my mouth to scream as he tightened his trigger finger but he just said BANG and then let out a laugh that would scare the collar off a shirt. “You’ll keep. Now, enough chitchat, ladies. Time to move. Okay, Gina, ya’d better tie this mouthy one up and toss her in the back of the bus with the dogs—or I’ll put a bullet through her right here and now. And then grab two shovels from the shed and climb in behind the wheel. You’re gonna to drive me to an isolated spot I know, where we can…
talk
some more.”

I clutched at my chest in an attempt to ease my heart rate down from a million mile an hour to something I could actually live with—and watched Gina, her shoulders slumped in defeat, carry out Big Mick Harrison’s orders

* * *

I’d lost them.

Crouched over the steering wheel, I strained my eyes to check the vehicles on the bitumen road ahead. I chewed on my bottom lip until I tasted blood.

Where was the GAP mini-bus?

By the time I’d waited until the bus trundled out of Gina’s gateway, then raced back to my car to follow—they were nowhere in sight.

Sweat trickled down into my eyes and I dashed it away with the back of my hand. Sweat—or tears?

If I didn’t find them…

No, I couldn’t think like that. Instead, I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator and squinted at the vehicles ahead. Surely after Liz and Gina finished digging a hole to bury the dogs Mick would let them go? Or would he? An icicle of fear jammed my arteries and sent my heart racing. No way could Big Mick afford to leave any live witnesses. With seven kids all under the age of eight—Big Mick Harrison would do whatever it took to keep himself out of prison.

One hand on the wheel, I fumbled my mobile phone open, discovered there was only one bar left on my battery, tossed six identical F words out into the Universe, and sent a text message to Tanya.

Big Mick the killer. Taken Liz and Gina.
I’m following.

I switched off the phone, clutched the wheel more tightly and drove to Port Wakefield road where I turned right. Figured Mick would be heading away from the city—he’d mentioned an isolated spot he knew—so he’d be more likely traveling on the highway to the north.

And there it was—about a mile ahead of me—with its white body, red printing and colorful paintings of greyhounds adorning the sides and rear—the GAP mini-bus. And it was bowling along, right on the speed limit. Of course Mick wouldn’t want to attract any police presence by speeding. But hey—not me. I’d welcome the police with a great big hug. Aiming to catch up, I jammed my foot on the accelerator and zoomed through traffic, deflecting and ignoring car horns and irate drivers’ middle fingers, until I was only three cars behind.

Content to stay where I could keep an eye on the bus without drawing attention to myself, I slowed down, snatched my phone from on top of the console and switched it on again.

Damn
. One bar and wavering.

I sent another frantic text to Tanya:
Heading north on Port Wakefield road,
and switched the phone off again.

Half an hour later, the GAP mini-bus turned off the main road onto a dirt track, heading toward the beach. I slowed down and followed, making sure I kept well to the rear. Hopefully Mick would be too busy concentrating on his present plan to look in the rear vision mirror. Even if he did, I doubt he’d recognize my car. Probably think it was some guy heading off for a spot of fishing.

I turned my phone on again and a text message beeped up straight away. Yay! It was from Ben. Then another identical message came through from DI Adams.

Where r u now?

I let out a whoop. The rescue team of DI Adams, Ben and Tanya were on their way. Big Mick Harrison wouldn’t stand a chance against my team.

First dirt road on left after Port Wakefield.

I clicked on ‘send’ and the screen on my phone went blank.

Nooooo!

Willing the message to get through, I banged the phone against the consul. I sent screaming vibes into the Universe. I cursed. I yelled.

Not now. Please…please…not now.

How could my rescue team save Liz and Gina if they didn’t know where to look?

Of course the answer to that question left me shaking so much I skidded across the road and had to haul hard on the wheel to straighten the car out again.

The answer was—they couldn’t…

So now, it was all up to me.

27

My car juddered down the dirt road, the ancient shockers complaining at every bounce. In a daze, I gripped the steering wheel harder. If only this was a bad dream. A bad dream where I’d wake up hot and sweaty and tangled in my bed sheets—but knowing I would feel better after two cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs.

All up to me…

The words crashed around in my head as I drove, threatening to fuse my brain cells and create an electrical short. I shook myself. Snatched a quick breath.

You are all that stands between the murderer and your sister—so for goodness sake stop acting like a floppy rag doll and get your act together.

Okay, I needed a plan. Not just any old plan but a plan huge enough to outwit the man with the gun and rescue his two-legged and four-legged victims.

I closed my eyes. Hell, I didn’t need a plan—I needed a gold plated miracle. Firstly, Mick was bigger than me by about eight inches and ten stone. And secondly, Mick had a gun. And what did I bundle into my back pack whilst preparing for surveillance? Coffee and potato chips. I sighed and tried to imagine a scene that included death by potato chips. A scene where I threw hot coffee in Mick’s face and while he was recovering, shoved handfuls of potato chips down his throat until he choked to death.

Resisting the urge to bang my forehead against the steering wheel, I let out another colorful curse, opened my eyes and quickly brought the car back under control. If I didn’t concentrate on my driving I’d be a mangled wreck on the side of the road and of no use to anyone.

Plus…while my eyes had been closed, the GAP mini-bus had disappeared. There was no sign of it on the road up ahead.

Figuring Mick had directed Gina to drive the bus off the road, I slowed down so I could peer into the scrub, searching amongst the prickle bushes and undulating sand hills. The wind whipped loose sand in the air and it pelted the roof and sides of the car as though warning me to go home—I was no match for Big Mick and his deadly gun.

Five hundred yards further down the road I came to a grinding halt. Was that the white nose of the GAP mini-bus protruding from behind a dense thicket of scrub?

One eye on the mini-bus, I cautiously eased the car off the road and ploughed through the heavy sand until I came to a well-concealed dip a couple of hundred meters further on. Heart pounding, I switched off the ignition and sat and waited. Two minutes passed. When no bullets whizzed past the windscreen, no big hulking man in a black coat jumped out of the bushes, I decided to open the car door and climb out.

Now what?

Eyes and ears on high alert, I edged my way toward the bus. No humans in sight, only the six dogs with their noses plastered against the windows. Okay, the dogs’ eyes still appeared a little foggy but they seemed more on the ball than when they left Gina’s property. And most importantly—they were still alive.

One hand on the bus door ready to open it, I was distracted by Gina’s voice coming from the other side of the sand hill.

“Come on, Mick. You’re not a bad man. You don’t really want to do this.”