Sweet Seduction Shield (3 page)

Putty in my
hands.

"Your
husband," he said, no longer beating around the bush, and no longer
offering the query laced with a gentle tone. It wasn't harsh, as
such, just all business. Maybe he had my number too.

"Richard
Costello," I replied, then threaded my fingers together in front of
me, elbows resting on the arms of my chair.

"When did you
last see him?" he asked, surprising me for a second, as I had
expected him to go straight for the throat again. Working up to
it?

"Over five
years ago. I don't have an exact date." I did, but I wouldn't tell
him. That night was etched on my mind and would be forever.

"Where did you
last see him?" he asked, pulling a small notepad and pen from his
inside jacket pocket. So, this was how it would play? He'd pull
each sliver of information from me, until it all came tumbling out
at the end.

"Wellington,"
I replied. Two could play this game.

His amused
eyes flicked up to mine. "You wouldn't have an exact location,
would you?"

"I'm sorry." I
wasn't. "I don't remember."

The pad and
pen were placed in his lap with care and he let a long breath of
air out on a sigh. His gaze looking around the office, taking in my
small, unimpressive artwork, the pot plants and the half-view of
Queen Street from my window off to the side.

"How long have
you been an accountant?" he asked, eyes on my New Zealand Tax Law
books below the window.

"Twelve
years."

"Did you study
in Wellington?"

"Victoria
University."

"Bachelor of
Commerce?"

I nodded.

"Your husband
was a Chartered Accountant as well?"

I could see
what he was doing. I could see the path he was meticulously laying
down. He was good at this. But I needed to be better. Just how I'd
manage that, I didn't know. Because the questions he was asking
weren't any that I shouldn't answer. But collectively, they'd be my
ruin.

I knew this
and yet I still couldn't stop it from happening.

"Yes, he was,"
I said, praying Suzy would hurry up with the coffees already.

"And you met
at University?" A small smile tipped up the edges of my lips. These
questions were a farce. He knew the answers to them already.

"Let's cut to
the chase, shall we?" I said, leaning forward in my seat and
resting my hands on my desk, still clasped. "You know a lot about
me already. What don't you know?"

My chest ached
with the speed in which my heart beat. I could play the part of a
confident ice princess, but that didn't mean on the inside I wasn't
a second away from erupting. Years of containing my reaction to my
body's physical responses to a given situation, have meant I am
adept at denying the flush that wants to heat my cheeks from the
inside, keeping my respirations at a sedate twelve breaths per
minute. All of this is achievable, but my pulse? That is the
hardest to hide of all.

I willed my
heartbeat slower. Even while I watched the detective as his eyes
coasted over my carotid artery in my neck. He knew, but he didn't
openly let on that he did.

"I'll tell you
what, Ms Cox," Detective Pierce said, leaning forward in his chair
too, eyes target locked on mine, face impassive. "I believe Roan
McLaren killed your husband. I believe you witnessed it occur. I
believe you're terrified of what he will do to you now, five years
later, faced with his imprisonment and the fact you could testify
against him."

His eyes
flicked over my desk to the photo frame of Daisy.

"I understand
your fear," he said, returning his gaze to mine. All he would have
seen was a blank face. Nothing giving away what I felt beneath the
surface. "You have a right to it." If only he knew. Truly knew, how
much right I had to fear. "Whether you wish to testify against him
or not, until he is sentenced, you are at risk. Your daughter is at
risk. We can help you. Tell me what happened, Marie. If I know what
McLaren knows, I can protect you."

Breathe. Just
breathe. He's still fishing.

"You already
know," I said, voice steady as ice. "You wouldn't be here if you
didn't," I added. "Giving you details of that night will change
nothing, except if McLaren hears I've opened my mouth." I shook my
head. "So, no. No dice, Detective. I will not be another feather in
your arrests-made-this-year hat."

"Marie," he
started, but just then Suzy appeared with a tray of coffee and
packaged biscuits. Whitcomb & Associates Ltd might charge an
arm and leg for their accountancy services, but don't expect any of
that funding to go into edible treats for their clients.

Pierce sat
back in his chair with a frustrated scowl. Neither of us said a
word as Suzy methodically set out the coffees and plate of cookies
on my desk. I nodded my thanks, but returned my eyes to the
detective before she'd even left the room. He was watching me, not
the steaming cup of coffee.

"I guess we're
back at square one," I suggested, taking a sip from my own coffee
as though I didn't have a care in the world.

"What are you
planning to do, Marie?" he asked. Somewhere along the way he'd
dropped the formality. Hearing my given name fall off his lips was
too personal for the type of conversation we were having right now.
I wished he'd return to Ms Cox. Hell, I'd even take Mrs Costello at
this stage.

I shrugged my
shoulders. "Nothing." A blatant lie. I was planning on high-tailing
it out of the office as soon as he left and collecting Daisy from
school. Then grabbing our passports from home and heading straight
to the airport to board a plan for Australia.

He didn't need
to know that. The less people who knew now, the easier it would be
to board a plane and escape.

Pierce studied
me for a while, then with a nod of his head admitted defeat. For a
brief moment I was disappointed. For a fraction of a second I had
expected more. Then reality came rushing back in as he stood from
his seat and cleared his throat. He was leaving. No more questions.
In a few minutes I could make an excuse to my boss and grab my
daughter. Make sure she is safe.

In a few hours
this could all be a memory. Just like that night.

He reached
inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. Leaning down he
placed it on the desk and began to scrawl something on the back of
it. Then he extended his hand with the card between his fingers. I
stared at it for too long, making him place the card on my blotter
right before my eyes.

"My card," he
said, unnecessarily. "And the name of a friend at a café around the
corner."

My eyes
flicked back up to his. What?

"If you need
somewhere quick to hide, somewhere easy to get to. Somewhere just
to gather your thoughts and be secure for an hour or so, go there.
It's about the safest place in the city. Tell Genevieve Cain I sent
you. She'll take care of everything else."

Everything
else?

He turned and
walked to the door, then stopped, his hand on the frame, his
shoulders tense. I was aware I was breathing too quickly again,
that sweat coated my upper lip. I just wanted the damn man to
leave. Leave now so I could go get Daisy. Please.

"Good luck,
Marie," he said softly, not bothering to turn around. And then he
was gone. Out the door and out of my life. Hopefully for good.

I took a
second, maybe two, to gather my wits, then snatched up my handbag
off the floor beneath my desk. I shovelled in anything personal out
of my drawers, placing the photo frame of Daisy inside with care.
At the last second I picked up Pierce's business card, and slipped
that in my purse as well.

Within ten
minutes my boss had been convinced I had a migraine and I was
hailing a cab on the kerb outside our building. Another eight we'd
pulled up outside Daisy's school in Grey Lynn. Every step I took, I
felt like someone was watching. From this morning, when I'd walked
Daisy to school and dropped her off, until now, so much had
changed.

Could a few
simple hours make such a difference? Was Roan McLaren already aware
of where I was living, of the fact I had a child now? Daisy was my
most precious secret, but she wasn't my only one. My hands shook as
I waited in the school office for one of the staff to fetch Daisy
from class. There was no hiding my panicked state. The receptionist
kept flicking concerned glances across the high top of the desk she
worked behind. But I could no further call on the ice princess now,
than not hug my daughter fiercely as soon as she entered the
office.

She squealed
when she spotted me. My heart leapt inside my chest.

"Mummy!" she
cried, releasing her small chubby grip on the adult who had
collected her from class, and dashing across the space to jump into
my waiting arms.

I just about
broke down when her beautiful face nestled so trustingly into the
crook of my neck. When she hugged me back as tightly as I did her.
When her adorable stumpy legs wrapped around my waist and she clung
to me as though I was her very air. Oh dear God, what world had I
brought my daughter into? What world had her father left her to
survive alone in? This was all of my making. Rick may have started
us out on this path, but I sealed all of our fates.

Me.

I would damn
well make sure she survived it.

I thanked the
school office staff and clutching Daisy's hand walked out of the
grounds, head held high. The entire short walk to our small two
bedroom flat on Williamson Ave she babbled excitedly, thinking we
were going on an adventure, or that I was taking her on a surprise
trip to Kelly Tarlton's Sea Life Aquarium to visit the penguins she
adored. I didn't put her right. For a few more moments she could
live like a five year old should. For a few more precious moments
she could believe her world was sweet and safe and secure.

For a few more
moments I could live vicariously through her.

I nodded when
she enthusiastically told me that the penguins at Kelly Tarlton's
came from Antarctica. That they were called King Penguins because
they were "m'jestic." I smiled when she advised, for the hundredth
time, that she was going to work at Scott Base and study penguins
when she grew up.

And I felt a
tear slowly track down my cheek as she told me, "Girl's can do
anything, eh Mummy?"

"Yes, Daisy,"
I murmured, as we turned onto the path that led to our front door.
"And one day you'll be the foremost scientist to work with
Antarctic penguins," I promised, and prayed that was a promise I
could keep.

My hand
reached out with my front door key, to slip it inside the lock. But
I stilled. My heart seized, my breaths all left me, and my grip on
Daisy's hand obviously became painful.

"Mummy!" she
complained in a loud child-like high-pitched voice. An answering
crash sounded out through the crack of the opened flat door.

I was frozen
to the spot, knowing I needed to move. Not knowing how to achieve
that.

When there was
clearly someone uninvited inside our home.

"Mummy?" Daisy
asked, hearing the strange noises coming from inside our flat.
"Who's that?"

I shook my
head, panting for breath, and heard the sound of footfalls
approaching on the other side of the partially closed door.

Run
.

"Mummy?" Daisy
sounded uncertain. Frightened. Either she was an intuitive five
year old, aware the person getting closer was not a friend. Or, she
was picking up on my immobile panicked state and appropriately
scared because of it.

Her little
hand tugged on my larger one to get my attention and that was all
it took to break the spell.

I spun on my
heel and started to run, sweeping Daisy up in my arms before we'd
made it to the end of the path. The door to the apartment banged
open, frosted glass shattering in the frame from the force the
person had used to thrust it back. Probably hoping to catch me off
guard and incapacitate me at the same time.

I cast a
glance over my shoulder, knowing I didn't have time to look, but
doing it anyway. Unable to stop myself from seeing the face of our
pursuer. I needed to know who McLaren had sent. I needed to know if
I remembered them. If I had something I could barter with them
should they catch up.

I didn't
recognise the flat features and stringy shoulder length brown hair.
But I recognised the tattoos snaking up his neck, wrapping around
his jaw and swirling across his left cheek. McLaren's security wore
facial tattoos like that. There was no denying this man thundering
down the street behind us, was one of the drug lord's goons.

A whimper
escaped my lips, matched in wretchedness by Daisy's own. Bless her,
but she didn't say a word. She clung to me, tiny arms wrapped
around my neck, legs wrapped around my waist, and kept her face
hidden into my chest.

My lungs were fit to burst, my heart was about to explode from
my chest and my head ached with all the images of what this man
could do to us. Could do to Daisy. Because Roan McLaren was
an
evil
man who would harm a child
to make sure I never told anyone what I know.

But I hadn't.
I hadn't even caved when faced with the inquisitiveness and
determination of a CIB cop. Not that I was going to stop long
enough to explain this to the hulk of a man hot on our tails. Any
moment now I expected to hear the burst of gunfire from his gun. Or
feel the clamp of his steel-like fingers on my shoulder. Or the
squeal of his accomplice's tyres as their car cut off our path.

But none of
those things happened. McLaren had sent one man after me, maybe
thinking I was at work and he could find what they needed at my
home. Maybe thinking I was waylaid with Detective Pierce and he
could search uninterrupted. Maybe not even aware until he broke
into our flat that I had a daughter at all.