30DaystoSyn (18 page)

“Oh, he’s for real. His name is Jack Bass
and he’s as dirty as they come. He was there to intimidate Lina,” Jake said as
he came from the back.

“Did you get all that?” she asked.

“Yeah, babe, we got it,” Craig said as he
and another man came from around the counter. “Kit got every last word of it
and, by the way, you are one helluva actress, Lina.”

“I had to be,” she said. “His life depended
on it.”

He lay with his fingers laced under his
head, staring into the mirror above him. The charges of attempted rape and
assault and battery had been dropped. The first thing he’d done when he got
home was to take a long, unworried shower and was now stretched out naked on
his bed. He wished Melina was lying beside him but after she accompanied
Craigie to the police station and signed her statement, she’d gone to work.

“That’s one cool little sheila,” Craigie
had said with admiration as he drove him home from the jail. “You know what? I
think she’s in love with you, mate.”

Those eight words had done things to him
like nothing ever had in his life. He’d never known love from a woman. He’d
never thought he would. He hadn’t thought he wanted it.

Until he met
her
.

“Is that what’s happening for you too,
Synnie?” Craigie asked quietly. “Are you…?”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he’d said
and he was being totally honest. “I like her. I like her a lot but love?” He
shook his head. “Man, it’s too soon. I haven’t even slept with her yet.”

“So she’s still a virgin,” Craigie said.
“You haven’t sealed the deal?”

He’d cringed at the question. The bet he’d
made with Jono and Craigie was coming back to bite him in the ass and he didn’t
like it. It made him feel like a wanker. He changed the subject.

“Will they let you know when they arrest
Tatyana?”

Craigie shrugged. “If they can find her. We
had a bit of a bad run when Bass saw me and Lina at the station. He tucked ass
out of there going ninety to the dozen and my guess is his first call went to
the moll to warn her. Chances are she’s long gone by now.”

“And will pull the same shit on some other
poor bloke,” he grumbled.

“Prolly.”

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he
felt a keen sense of pity for the next man Tatyana targeted. That he would be
wealthy and influential was a given. The bitch was after money and wasn’t shy
about wrecking other peoples’ lives to get what she wanted.

He turned his head to the digital clock on
his nightstand. It was six and he knew Melina would most likely be at the
nursing home visiting Drew. She usually went every Monday, Wednesday and
Saturday like clockwork. She never stayed long during the week—and especially
not now that she was meeting him at the Room.

And today was Wednesday.

In two more days—the gods willing—she would
be over the wet season.

Just thinking about her gave him a hard-on.
He stared at it in the mirror and shook his head at the absurdity of it all. He
was a thirty-eight-year-old man with more notches on his headboard than a rock
star yet he could get easily aroused by simply picturing a woman in his mind.

Cursing under his breath, he got up from
the bed. He went over to the armoire, opened the doors and stared at the
shelves of jeans. He grabbed a new pair he’d never worn then took a new T-shirt
from the drawer. For reasons he didn’t want to think about too long, he wanted
to look nice for her tonight.

“She saved your bacon, bro,”
Jono had told him
. “You owe her big-time.”

And he’d begin to repay her on Friday.

“Friday’s the day,” he whispered as he
pulled on the jeans. “Friday’s the day.”

Tonight, though, he’d treat her to the meal
they didn’t get to have on Monday.

He smiled anticipating the look on her face
when he came to the door to pick her up instead of Jono.

The problem was evading the paparazzi who
were camped out along the road outside the security hut of his gated community.
His smile became a predatory grin. He picked up his mobile and called for his
chopper. There was more than one way to skin a stinking polecat as Kit was so
fond of saying.

She leaned over and put her nose to one of
the flowers in the crystal vase that sat on the little table in her foyer. The
scent was intoxicating and she inhaled deeply. Gardenias were her favorite
flowers. She loved their smell, the softness of the petals. The perfume she
wore was Gardenia Dew and—miraculously—half a dozen bottles of it were now
sitting on her vanity.

“I think he liked it,” she said as she
straightened when the sound of a car pulling into her driveway broke her
revelry.

The weather had turned cold so she opened
the closet door to grab her coat. She was thrusting her arms into the sleeves
when she heard the unmistakable creak of footsteps on her porch. The doorbell
rang and she frowned. Jono never came to her door. Opening it, she was stunned
to see the Kiwi standing there.

“How’s it?” he asked then winced. “That
means—”

“How are you?” she said with a smile. “I’m
being given Kiwi-speak lessons from Jonny.”

“That’s why I keep the wanker around. I
knew he’d be useful for something one day,” he replied. He frowned. “Whatcha
looking at?” He put a hand to his mouth. “Am I drooling again?”

“Jonny said she pushed you down the
stairs.” She was looking at the dark bruise on his forehead and the strawberry
scrapes on his chin and cheeks.

“Falling down the stairs was embarrassing
more than anything, but I’ve had worse,” he told her. His gaze drifted down
her. “You look pretty.”

“It’s the same skirt and blouse I always
wear,” she said, “and frankly, I’m getting tired of this particular ensemble.”

“Wanna go change?” he asked, shoving his
hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I thought we’d go get some greasies.”

“Not sure I want to know what that is, but
yes I’d like to put on a pair of jeans and a sweater if you don’t mind. I hate
wearing coats.”

“Don’t,” he said then grinned crookedly.
“Mind that is.”

“I’ll be right back, then,” she said. “You
know the way into the living room.”

“I’ll wait on the porch,” he told her. He
looked past her to the flowers. “You like them?”

“I love them. Thank you, Kiwi,” she said.
The tight-lipped smile he gave her was adorable. It reminded her of a small boy
who’d given his mother a handful of wilted dandelion flowers in a grubby little
fist.

When she came out of the house, he was
sitting in her porch swing idly keeping it going with one foot while the other
rested on the edge of the seat. His left hand was wrapped around the chain. “I
like this swing,” he said.

“Me, too,” she said. “Ready?”

“I promise we’ll make that dinner at
Luigi’s next week but tonight it’s greasies. Hungry?” he asked as he left the
swing.

“That depends on what a greasie is,” she
replied.

“Kiwi-ese for fish and chips,” he informed
her.

“That’ll work,” she said. “I like fish and
chips.”

“I know,” he said smugly as he walked her
to his car.

“Nice,” she said, admiring the red sports
coupe. “How many cars do you have?”

“Just five,” he said then seemed to realize
how conceited his admission sounded. As he opened the car door for her he
looked away but she was willing to bet he was blushing. “I keep this one in a
garage downtown. It’s my getaway car.”

She laughed, watching him as he walked
around the front of the vehicle. He moved with such effortless grace—so
masculine—and with such self-assurance. He didn’t walk so much as swagger, but
instead of finding it irritating, she liked it. The way he walked told the
world he was a man with whom to reckon. The set of his shoulders said he didn’t
back up and he didn’t back down and he’d never go around an obstacle in his
path. If you didn’t move out of his way he’d walk right over you.

“A force of nature,” she said as he opened
the door.

“Eh?”

“Just woolgathering,” she said.

Half an hour later they were sitting in a
fast-food place with fish, French fries, corn on the cob, cole slaw and
hushpuppies on Styrofoam plates in front of them. Two mugs of ice-cold root
beer dripping condensation on the Formica tabletop completed the meal. She was
pouring malt vinegar from a little packet on her fish when he cleared his
throat in such a way she looked up quizzically.

“Ah, Jono said he told you I’d been in
trouble with the law before,” he said quietly.

“He mentioned it,” she said, directing her
gaze to her meal.

“I don’t want to tell you about it but I
think I should.”

She shrugged without looking at him for she
could sense the tension in him, the unwillingness to open his past to her. “You
don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Raising her head, she looked right into his
wounded blue eyes. “Then let’s wait until after supper, okay? Let’s enjoy our
meal then we can go somewhere private and talk.”

He glanced around them at the other diners.
Although no one was paying particular attention to them, he nodded his
agreement. “Gotcha,” he agreed.

It was chilly as they walked along the
river walk. Overhead the mercury lights cast a pale-yellow glow over the
intricate wrought iron benches that were spaced evenly along the red-brick
walk. Large concrete containers now devoid of the flowers of spring and summer
held artificial evergreen trees that would soon be decorated with Christmas
lights.

Her hand was in his as they went to stand
on the overlook that jutted out twenty feet over the rippling waters of the
Chattahoochee River. Lights from the city were reflected in the river like diamond
studs on a dark bolt of fabric. There was a light breeze but he thought she was
warm enough beside him. When she leaned against the wrought iron fence, he slid
his hand from hers to lean forward and brace his forearms on the top of the
barrier. He threaded his fingers together and stared out over the water.

“It’s so peaceful here,” she said, leaning
into him. “A good place to think.”

“I can see why you come here so often,” he
said and though she craned her head to look up at him, he didn’t answer her
silent question. He knew she understood there wasn’t much about her he hadn’t
been able to learn.

“Is there a place like this in Auckland?”
she asked, giving him an opening.

“My mother was a prostitute,” he said.

The abrupt change threw her for she whipped
her head toward him. He couldn’t look at her as he began his tale.

“She was thirteen years old when she got
pregnant with me. She liked to go to Piha Beach with her two best mates to
watch the surfers. Sean had come with some of his fraternity brothers to try
their luck at the notorious wild waves that pound the shore.”

“Sean McGregor? Your father?” she asked.

“Yeah. By all accounts he was quite the
ladies’ man and my mother looked older than her years. She was full-blooded
Māori. It was said she was the most beautiful girl in West Auckland and when my
father saw her, he made a bet with…”

He stopped and for the first time realized
the implication of what he’d done. He had described his slender, virginal
mother—with her long dark hair and green eyes—in the ads he’d placed in the
newspapers.

“Kiwi?” she asked and ran her hand over
his, tugged his hands apart to lace her fingers with his. “You don’t have to do
this.”

“Merciful Mary,” he whispered, squeezing
his eyes shut and hanging his head in complete mortification. “Why didn’t I see
it before?”

“Let’s talk about something else,” she
suggested. “Or not talk at all.”

“I’m one fucking sick bastard,” he said.

“No you’re not,” she told him.

“You’ll change your mind about that when
I’m finished,” he said, his teeth clenched.

“Kiwi, you—”

“He seduced her,” he said, the blood
pounding in his ears drowning out her voice. “She was thirteen years old and he
took her back to his fuck truck—his panel van—and got her pregnant. He was her
first and all it took was one time. Just that one time and they made me. How
sweet is that?”

She said nothing—no doubt shocked by what
he’d just revealed. He felt her fingers tightened around his.

“She hid her pregnancy for as long as she
could but when her mother found out she was pregnant, they kicked her out. They
were ashamed of her. She had brought
māteatea
—disgrace—to her family.
They wanted nothing more to do with her so they sent her to live with her
father’s sister in Rotorua. They weren’t doing her any favors. The aunt sold
her to a madam who carted her back up to Auckland and put her to work right
after I popped out.” He glanced at her. “I was born in and grew up in that
stinking brothel.”

To give her her due, she didn’t bat an eye
at his revelation. She continued to hold his hand and kept silent. He was
grateful for that.

“She hated me,” he said. “My mother. God,
how she hated me. She blamed me for getting kicked out of her home, for being
sent to live with her aunt whose boyfriend and his mates raped her every chance
they got. Thankfully the aunt provided birth control for her so she never had
any more children.”

He became aware of her stroking their
clenched fingers with her free hand. It was a sweet, supportive act that
underscored the bitter, uncaring attitude of his mother.

“Not once do I remember her ever holding me
or singing to me or sitting beside me when I was sick but she used to beat me.
Man, did she beat me! All the time. I could never do anything right, couldn’t
do anything to please her. I loved her but she despised me. It was the other
women who took care of me. I think they thought of me as a pet but at least
they were good to me. That’s more than I could say about Olivia.”