Tumble Creek Page 10

  She took a deep stuttering breath and, not caring how she looked, thereby irrationally sticking one up to her mother, she sniffed and raised her head.

  ‘You were yelling, couldn’t help but overhear. That was heavy. You okay?’

  Sofie swallowed past the constricting lump in her throat, and blinked a few times, but Brock remained a blur. She could not believe what had just happened and what her mother had said. It was as if there was no consequence that her words were like barbs shredding Sofie’s soul, and the person she deeply believed she was. Would she ever grow past all this bullshit? She clutched the quilt up around her chest, hiding her body. And she was doing so well, even able to pose as a nude model for her life drawing class. All it took was for her mother to say she was fat, among other pointless jibes. God, she was such a conflicted mess.

  Brock’s expression darkened, his intense gaze roamed her face before settling on her eyes. ‘I can only guess what she said, but going by your answers, your mother is a bitch from hell. Unless you want to look anorexic, none of what she said is true. The image of you naked on a couch is burned in my brain. I’ll say it again, you’re perfect in every way.’ He pulled his hand away from her neck and, with the back of his fingers, wiped her tears away, then he swiftly shoved his hands into his armpits. ‘Any man would burst with pride to have you by his side.’ His tone, the depth of concern in his eyes, told her he meant every word.

  Oh God, it was a good thing she was still in bed, because every cell in her body had melted, and standing would be impossible. Part of her wanted him to go and not look at her the way he did, all soft and caring. The other part of her wanted him to stay on the bed and hold her tightly in his big strong arms. Better still, she desperately wanted to say, make passionate love to me and drive all negative thoughts out of my head.

  Instead, remembering her manners, Sofie murmured, ‘Thank you, Brock.’

  Brock gave her a nod and said, ‘I’ll make coffee.’ He walked out the door without looking back.

  She took a moment to collect herself, then crawled out of bed to join him.

  Chapter 6

  Sofie silently thanked Brock for insisting she rest at his house before returning to the restaurant for the dinner shift. Veronica’s was packed all night, and the staff were run off their feet. As soon as one table was cleared, a new lot of diners would take their place. It wasn’t until after midnight they were finally able to clean up the restaurant ready for the morning.

  Claudia and Michelle were in bed. Sofie and Jennifer sat on the sofa together in Bob’s old living room sipping their third gin and tonic. Calum, Brock and Takumi sat opposite. The package lay on the coffee table, wrapped in plastic. Sofie clutched Jennifer’s hand and held her breath as Brock leaned forward to open it.

  A handful of photos of a baby, a toddler, a youngster and gradually an adult tumbled out. A pictorial history of a young man’s life.

  Sofie plucked a baby photo out of the mix. ‘Aw, isn’t he a cutie.’

  Jennifer gathered a few older ones, flipping them over to see if there was anything written on the back: nothing.

  ‘Hmm, interesting,’ Sofie mumbled, looking over Jennifer’s shoulder. ‘Lovely kid, but I have no idea who he is. Why would someone drop them off here?’

  ‘Don’t know, yet.’ Brock shook his head. ‘There were fingerprints, but none matched any on file. Whoever dropped this off has no police record … anywhere.’

  ‘Maybe it was a mistake, wrong shop, wrong town,’ Jennifer suggested.

  ‘Hard to say. We’re conducting a search, see if there’s a photo match in missing persons or persons of interest. That’s a start anyway.’ Brock packed the photos away and held his hand out for Sofie. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yes, I guess so.’ She should be dead on her feet, but after running on adrenaline nearly all night and then waiting to see what was in the parcel, Sofie was still buzzing. She twinkled her fingers at Jennifer, who gave her a look that said, I know what you’re getting later. Which made Sofie roll her eyes and blush at the same time.

  Chuckling to himself, Calum slung an arm over Jennifer’s shoulder.

  Brock scooped Sofie up, and she let out a girlie squeal as he mumbled something about not wanting her to fall down any stairs.

  ‘I don’t suppose it would change anything if I asked you to put me down?’

  ‘Nope.’

  He settled her in his car and drove home. The car was warm, Brock was wonderful, and Sofie relaxed. Now she was on an adrenaline crash and there was nothing she could do about that either. So tired, she could not keep her eyes open. Her head flopped to the side strut of the car and she fell into a deep sleep.

  ***

  Brock cut the engine and pulled on the handbrake. He angled his body for a better look at Sofie. Her soft face pressed against the strut made her mouth pucker; he wanted to kiss that mouth again … he wanted to kiss that mouth forever.

  Without warning, his body rocked as if a massive fist had thumped his chest. ‘What the fuck!’ Brock gasped, staring out the windscreen into the darkness beyond. He swung around and studied Sofie’s beautiful face. His chest filled with something he couldn’t name, but it made his breath quicken and the region around his heart constrict with an exquisite ache. Realisation dawned: he wanted, needed, Sofie in his life.

  ‘Fuck,’ he growled quietly. Could he do it? Kissing and fondling was one thing, ‘in his life’ was quite another. ‘Make her yours,’ Calum had said. And Brock had agreed, he would do something about it just as soon as Sofie was over grieving for what she’d lost. And then earlier today, he’d said ‘mine’ against her soft mouth. What was he thinking? Okay, he wasn’t thinking, at all. Could he be with Sofie, knowing he might lose her? Fuck, you can’t compare. Totally different circumstances, mate. Even if he was afraid to want someone, and something, so beautiful, if he was honest with himself, it was already too late. Life without Sofie wouldn’t kill him, but it’d be damn close. Would it mean revealing his past? Sofie deserved to know him, inside and out. Would she run a mile? He shook his head. No, she deserved more credit than that. He ran both hands into his hair and forced his body and mind to calm.

  ‘You need to grow a pair,’ he whispered into the night.

  The frosty night was seeping into the car, and he needed to get Sofie inside where it was warm. He angled out, strode around the car, opened the passenger door, unclipped her seatbelt, scooped her out and eased the door closed with his hip.

  The moment he was inside the house, Sarge came rushing to him. ‘Shush, boy.’ The dog sat, head to one side, blinking up at him adorably. ‘Yeah, I know, now what?’ Should he wake her? After a hectic day and numerous, sizeable gin and tonics, it probably wasn’t a good idea. He walked into her bedroom and laid her on the bed. Removed her shoes and covered her with the quilt, then he kissed her soft mouth, tucked her in, left the room and went to let Sarge out.

  ***

  A week had gone by and Brock hadn’t seen much of Sofie. She was up early every morning to prepare the breakfast menus at Veronica’s, and on her days off she was organising the movers to collect her salvageable stuff at what was left of her house. By the time he arrived home there was a dinner keeping warm in the oven for him. He ate alone and Sofie was fast asleep.

  He hated it, wanted it to be different, but with the workload at the station, it didn’t look to be happening soon. There just wasn’t enough information to pull together a motive for someone to plough a stolen truck through Sofie’s house. His gut feeling was that the graffiti was a separate issue; finding the evidence was another matter. There was no information about the missing driver either—he’d vanished, done a runner before the dust had settled. Did he have help to get away? A neighbour said that a suspicious-looking big black four-wheel drive had taken off just after, its wheels spinning, and blue smoke clouding the air. The witness wasn’t able to read the numberplate, but covered in mud, no one would’ve. She told them that near the intersection, it had briefly veered
off the road, two of its tyres on the passenger side hit the nature strip, and then it righted itself and continued on, sticking to the speed limit. Having seen the truck plough into Sofie’s house the witness may have, in the heat of the moment, over-dramatised. She was elderly, probably watched too many episodes of Midsomer Murders, and now believed it was happening for real. She insisted it looked suspicious, and no amount of gentle questioning would change her mind.

  The tyre treads were the same as hundreds around the area. By the time an officer followed the track along the nature strip, all manner of vehicles—including the tractor coming through town to haul the truck out of the house—had crossed and recrossed it, until it was impossible to work out what was what or which way the car went.

  For a few days now, Brock had been bothered with a gut feeling that wouldn’t go away; something was different in town. And he was right, he’d caught a glimpse of two suspicious people who didn’t fit the regular tourist description and they certainly weren’t locals, but within the hour they were gone. His instincts were always sharp, and now he was on high alert. His concern led him to Britt and her whereabouts. He hoped she was safe, but better still he hoped she’d come back where they could keep her safer. A barely-there grin tweaked his mouth; Takumi would make sure Britt was kept safe.

  The phone on his desk rang. He answered, ‘Tumble Creek Police, Detective Stewart.’ Then nothing, not a word or a sound. ‘If this is one of the high school kids on a dare, we will find you and there will be consequences.’

  A soft, familiar, female voice cut in ‘Brock.’ Talking rapidly, she said, ‘It’s Britt. I’m ringing to see how Scoobie is. He’s a wonderful dog and I’m so very sorry for leaving him the way I did, but I had no choice.’

  ‘Britt, you alright? You’re safe?’

  ‘Yes—my dog, Brock?’ she said, her voice trembling.

  ‘Don’t worry about Scoobie. The neighbours had it covered, but I’m looking after him and he’s fine, a great dog, made himself at home. Listen, Britt, we want you to come back. Whatever the problem is, we can help. But you’ve got to come home, you’re safer here.’

  ‘I can’t!’ Britt cried out, her voice catching. ‘If I do I’ll just endanger everyone. They’re looking for me and they won’t give up. I’m sick with worry that they’ll find Scoobie and do something to him. I love that dog. I can only hope they believe I wouldn’t leave without him.’

  ‘Tell me who’s making you run scared, who’s looking for you, Britt?’

  ‘I can’t, these people are dangerous. Don’t you see, I’m not worried about myself, but others close to me, the friends I’ve made. I couldn’t live with myself if any of them were hurt, or worse, because of me!’

  Christ! Sofie’s house? Britt had to know that staying away could be making matters worse for everyone. ‘Trust me, Britt, I’m the last person who would want to scare you any further, but I think your closest friend has already been targeted.’ He listened to her breath stutter through a gasp.

  ‘No! Please, God, no! Who?’

  ‘A truck ploughed through Sofie’s house, demolished it.’

  ‘Oh God—no—no! Not Sofie! Is she—’

  The panic in her voice sent a shiver down Brock’s spine. Had he gone too far? The last thing he wanted was for Britt to head straight back to the arseholes that made her flee. She’d do anything to stop them from targeting her friends.

  He didn’t know how much time she was able to give him, so he rushed on, urging Britt to give him something, anything. ‘Sofie’s fine. But who would do this? Come on, Britt, if you have any clue, you need to tell us.’ He waited, lost patience and called, ‘Britt?’

  Then out of thin air, or so it seemed, Takumi walked up to his desk. He admired his friend’s ability to appear loose, relaxed, yet always alert, and like the masters in Japan taught him, to bend like bamboo, move with a natural flow.

  Takumi stuck his hand out demanding the phone. Brock clenched his jaw and put his own hand up, signalling to hang on a sec. ‘Britt, is there anything you gave Sofie that would make someone think she had what they’re after?’

  ‘No, I never gave Sofie anything except my friendship and now I’m wishing I hadn’t. She’s so sweet, I let my guard down and … Oh God, not Sofie.’

  Takumi thrust his hand forward, demanding the phone. Obviously his lessons of patience and bending like bamboo were wearing thin.

  On the off-chance Takumi could break through to Britt, Brock quickly put the phone on speaker, saying, ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Britt, be quiet and listen!” Takumi ordered. ‘Come back, I can protect you here. Can’t do it with you trekking all over the fucking country trying to lose yourself, and you know that.’

  ‘Tak,’ she sniffed. ‘You both have no idea how ruthless and dangerous these people are. Just like a Hollywood gangster movie, without the slightest concern they’d do their own grandmother to protect themselves.’

  ‘I know, but don’t think you’re helping because you’re not. At least if we have you under protection, they’ll—’

  ‘They’ll keep doing what they’re doing to my friends,’ she cut in. ‘And it will be my death sentence. Everyone’s corrupt and I’m an easy target. No one cares if I turn up dead in a dumpster.’

  ‘Okay, then we won’t let anyone know. Just come back, or I’ll meet you somewhere and bring you in under cover. We can organise witness protection.’

  Brock was beginning to wish he’d never allowed Takumi to speak. He was making promises that neither of them could probably keep. Or could they?

  ***

  During the week, Sofie was told to put on her best dress for her Friday night birthday dinner and to be at the restaurant by seven. What were Jennifer and Claudia cooking up? She hoped it wasn’t a male stripper. Then again, she smiled to herself.

  After showering, slapping on moisturiser and fluffing out her blonde curls, she applied subtle make-up, except for her eyes, which she gave a darker, smoky look. Wrapped in a fluffy bathrobe, she stepped out of the bathroom just as Brock came down the hall.

  ‘Sofe, don’t leave without me. I’m driving us in.’ He gave her a sweet, slow, sexy grin. ‘You can let your hair down. Have fun. I won’t be drinking.’

  She nodded, and had to ask herself how he did that—how could he look so hot without even trying? ‘Okay,’ she told him and headed for her room.

  She pulled on black lace underwear, thigh high stockings with a broad stretch lace top, and asked herself, why was she doing this? And who for? Hands on her hips she stopped to think. Hmm, because wearing it made her feel sexy. She pulled her new cobalt-blue stretch-velvet dress on, adding silver dangly earrings, bracelets, and black suede stilettos with a double anklestrap, the heel and straps studded with rhinestones.

  She hoped her expensive stilettos were the ‘fuck-me shoes’ type she’d read so much about. Damn, they’d better be. She really wasn’t looking forward to spending another lonely night in her lonely bed.

  She ran her hands down her figure-hugging dress, angling her body so she could see her back in the mirror attached to the old wardrobe. She gave herself the once-over, and if she didn’t rock Brock’s world tonight then she was giving up. Taking small steps due to the pencil skirt, Sofie headed down the hall into the living room.

  Wearing a long-sleeved white shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up revealing thick, tanned forearms dusted with fine dark hair, faded jeans fitting snug across his hips and thighs, his feet in dark-brown leather boots, Brock lounged back on the couch, knees splayed, staring at flames in the fireplace. He turned, dark eyes reflecting the flames as he gazed into her face, taking his time as if memorising every little detail. Then his eyes drifted down, stopping at her shoes for a couple of beats before moving up again. Sofie’s heart thudded. Lightheaded, she grabbed hold of the mantelpiece to stop from swaying. Maybe they were fuck-me shoes.

  After a long moment, and not losing eye contact, in one fluid movement Brock was off the couch and standing
in front of her.

  His sexy, dark-brown eyes roamed over her hair, face, neck and shoulders. ‘Stunning,’ his voice rumbled. Sofie pressed a hand on her stomach in an attempt to ease the butterflies. But then he went on to say, ‘Doesn’t matter what you wear, or where you are, you’re always fucking stunning!’

  ‘Oh,’ Sofie said on a breath. Okay, that was lovely. Lightheaded, she dug her fingers into the mantelpiece, holding on for dear life.

  His hands came up, hesitantly reaching for her, but to Sofie’s disappointment, he stopped and tucked them in his armpits.

  She’d learned by now that that was it, he wasn’t going to try and touch her. She asked herself why. He’d pashed with her in the back room of Veronica’s and it hadn’t a problem then.

  Well, she’d see about that later. ‘Let’s go before my chariot turns into a pumpkin,’ she muttered, her disappointment clear.

  She breathed the cold night air deeply, bracing as it hit her lungs and chased away the blues. Out by the car, Brock held the passenger door open. Sofie danced around on the spot, trying to work out which leg would be best used to get in. She lifted her left, then right, and then on tiptoes tried to hoist her bottom up onto the seat. No amount of wriggling and faffing about worked.

  She turned to Brock, who had one hand resting on his hip, the other elbow resting on the top of the door, relaxed hand hanging down. Eyebrows raised, head inclined, controlling his laugh and losing. His expression said, am I surprised?—hell no.

  Sofie planted her hands on both hips, lifted her chin to look up at him and said, ‘Someone raised your car, though it’s probably always been like this, I’ve just never had to try and climb in. So I’m thinking, I reckon you like this dress.’

  ‘Yep.’ He fought a grin, which skewed his mouth sideways and made him look amused, and so very hot.

  ‘You wouldn’t like to see it ripped though, would you?’

  ‘You’re asking a red-blooded bloke, would he like to see a sexy-as-hell woman’s skirt rip to the top of her thighs?’