Black Ice (2 page)

'It's not for sale.' This time more definite, and with a tinge of panic. Then the blue eyes flashed, her shoulders straightened just a fraction more, and she gestured towards the doorway. 'Perhaps you'll find something else in here.'

Before he could reply she walked into the next room. As he stepped behind her he caught a hint of perfume, a light fragrance that hurtled him back through time and conjured up memories of warm nights and balmy breezes and the taste of her so sweet on his lips. A groan of frustration escaped before he could stop it and she turned towards him. He read concern in her eyes, the way they darkened from summer sky blue to a deeper shade. When they'd made love that depth had intensified and her voice had taken on a husky timbre.

Hell! What was she doing to him! He'd had two years to get over her and he was no more able to control his feelings now than he had been from the moment he'd met her. And she didn't appear to have a damn clue who he was!

He turned abruptly and focussed on the wall of paintings. Again the mix of delicate pastel-hued watercolours and Kirri's colourful oils. He walked slowly, pretending to study each painting while his head reeled with questions. He felt rather than saw her hesitate, as though she would prefer to flee rather than stay in his presence.

'Your accent …' her voice, too, was uncertain, 'it's American, isn't it?'

He looked back at her, at the uncharacteristic nervousness betrayed by the hand that rubbed at the base of her neck. He'd seen that action only once before, and his heart had twisted in his chest as she'd confessed the reason.

'Seattle, in Washington State on the west coast.' He waited for a reaction. None came. He cursed silently. Enough was enough! He couldn't stand the emotions churning through his gut. Two strides and he was in front of her, his right hand extended. 'Daniel Brand.'

With just a second's hesitation she slipped her small pale hand into his. 'Kirrily Smith.'

He almost said
I know
, but that strange mix of fear and apprehension was back in her eyes.

'Are you on holidays?' she asked. 'With … family?'

'No. I'm alone.'

He looked down at their joined hands, the way his engulfed hers, her pressure strong in spite of its delicacy. As his eyes raised he glimpsed a small painting behind her, and his heartbeat soared erratically.

The child was about twelve months old, her chubby fist clenched on the ear of an obviously long-suffering grey speckled dog. Black curly hair framed a determined, olive-skinned face with broad high cheekbones and a wide mouth. She was dressed in long white pants and a white tunic, both with fringing attached.

'Who -' his voice was a croak, and as he cleared his throat he felt Kirri's hand pull from his grip. He looked into her face. 'Who is the girl?'

She flinched, and he felt a barrier slam into place around her. 'My daughter. I painted her a few months ago.'

Daniel moved forward, staring intently at the painting. Kirri stepped away, as though weighing her chances if she had to run from this madman. 'And it's not for sale either. Everything else in the gallery is, though.'

'Kirri,' a voice interrupted from the doorway, 'I'm sorry to intrude, but there's a lady here who wants to buy two of your paintings and she'd like some discount. If you could …'

'I'll be right there, Jenny.' Kirri turned her attention back to Daniel, 'If you'll excuse me?'

Daniel didn't want to excuse her. He wanted to shake her. Hard. Wanted to find out what the hell had happened two years ago that was more important than the love she'd professed for him. Why she'd run out on him when he'd most needed her. And why she appeared to have forgotten the very existence of the man she'd promised to marry. But he simply nodded.

As she hurried from the room Daniel's attention returned to the painting. A fine film of sweat had broken out on his forehead. Compared to November in Seattle, November in Queensland was almost furnace hot, but the gallery was air-conditioned, and he knew the reason for his discomfort had nothing to do with climate.

His eyes focussed on the painting as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out his wallet. Only when he had unclipped it did he glance down at the small photographs as he drew them from behind a plastic covering. The first one, of a man in his mid-fifties, he looked at only briefly, but the second one held his attention for a long, long time. Then his gaze returned to the painting.

He stood for a minute, then shook his head as though to clear the confusion in his mind. He'd thought confronting Kirri would answer his long-pondered questions, but now he had no answers and even more questions. He needed time to think, to re-assess the situation, to try to analyse his feelings. He walked back into the main room. Kirri was busy at the sales desk filling out paperwork for a customer. As Daniel walked past she looked up, and he thought he detected a note of curiosity in her gaze, but she only smiled and continued with her work.

Daniel hesitated. Could he take the risk that she wouldn't be there when he returned?
If
he returned? Damn! Of course he was going to return. Now more than ever he needed to know what had happened two years ago. He walked slowly from the shop.

 

Kirri watched the tall American as he stepped through the gallery entrance. The strange mixture of relief and disappointment that washed through her took her by surprise. The angry vibes emanating from his big, broad-shouldered frame had scared her just a little, but it was the pain and hurt blazing in his golden-brown eyes that had compelled her to talk to him when common sense had warned her to leave him alone.

Was it his pain, his anger, that had sparked something inside her? He was attractive but not conventionally handsome, with thick light brown hair and facial features with a pleasant symmetry of shape complementing the strong bone structure. It was a face that would still be attractive even when he was old because it intimated strength of character. It was that strength which had appealed to her, and she sensed something in his eyes that told her he was capable of great kindness.

His handshake had been a shock. Skin meeting skin with … her mind finally admitted the words … surprising familiarity. Her interest had flared at the sound of his accent, and she'd chided herself at her disappointment as she'd studied his face. There was no familiarity in the features, even the colour of his eyes wasn't the same. Would she ever get over this compelling need to
know
! Heaven help her, it was two years! Surely -

She shook her head, turned her attention to the sales docket she was writing. But her mind still churned. She asked herself again why she'd opened this second gallery in another of Queensland's top tourist spots. Had it really been to promote her and Trish's names in the market, or to place herself in a position where she might meet someone who recognised her?

With a smile she knew didn't reach her eyes Kirri handed the docket to the customer while Jenny finished taping cardboard over the protective bubble-wrap surrounding the paintings.

 

Further down, on the other side of Hastings Street, a surfer lounging in a sidewalk cafe chair paused in raising a beer can to his mouth. He watched Daniel Brand emerging from the art gallery. As the American stepped onto the pavement, the surfer's vision was obscured by a Pajero four-wheel drive pulling into a "No Standing" zone in front of his table. The surfer jumped to his feet, almost colliding with the Pajero's driver hurrying from the vehicle.

Brand was almost at the pavement's edge, and the surfer relaxed when he spotted him again. Then the sound of the Pajero's engine still running caught his attention. A smile lit his face. He dashed around to the driver's side, tossing the can into the gutter as he went. In seconds he was in the driver's seat, gunning the accelerator.

 

Kirri's gaze was drawn to the display window, to the tall figure of Daniel Brand stepping off the pavement between two parked cars. He glanced around briefly and began walking across the street. Halfway across he hesitated, then spun on his heel and looked back at the gallery. His white T-shirt formed ripples as his muscles bunched in tension, and he stepped back in her direction.

Kirri saw the four-wheel drive, saw the way it veered from the other side of the road, tyres howling; saw the bullbar slam into the American as he tried to leap to safety. She saw his body spin forward and sideways; heard the thud as his head thumped into the windscreen of a stationery BMW.

His unconscious body slid off the bonnet to the bitumen.

Daniel opened his eyes as consciousness returned. Light shafted pain through his head and spun nausea through his stomach. He closed them again.

'Doctor, he opened his eyes.'

The soft voice stirred his senses. Kirri! What was she doing here? The smell of antiseptic and squeak of rubber soled shoes on vinyl floors told him
here
must be a hospital. He moved, just enough to let him know that nothing was encased in plaster and all of his limbs still functioned. It was also enough to tell him he had massive bruising on his right side and a headache he'd be lucky to lose in a week. Asking Kirri her motives for coming to the hospital might be better left until he could think properly.

Fingers pulled up his right eyelid. A light shone into his eye. The procedure was repeated with his left eye. This was followed by a series of tests and questions before the doctor gave a grunt of satisfaction. 'You must have a remarkably hard skull, Mr Brand.'

The doctor picked up a clipboard, made a few notes. 'You appear to be showing no signs of severe head trauma, but you definitely have concussion. We'll still do some x-rays. We would have done them by now but with Schoolies Week both Emergency and X-ray are chockers. And apart from bruising and a few cuts you've escaped rather lightly. A wardsman will wheel you around to X-ray in a minute.' He placed the clipboard on the end of the bed and walked out between the curtains that had been pulled around the bed for privacy.

'Chockers?' Daniel repeated, not sure if his hearing had been affected.

Kirri chuckled. 'Chock-a-block. Full. Over-flowing.'

The idiosyncrasies of Australian slang had been a source of amusement for Daniel when Kirri had first explained them, but it was obvious she had missed a few. Or perhaps he'd forgotten in the two years since he'd seen her. Cautiously, he turned his head to look at her. She was sitting beside the bed, close enough to his head that he could see the darker flecks in the clear blue of her eyes and the pale freckles dusted across her nose. 'Schoolies Week?'

'One of the reasons the Police think you're in here,' she answered dryly. 'The Pajero that hit you had been stolen. The owner left the engine running to dash in and buy a newspaper and when he came out the vehicle was gone. He saw it speeding down the street and swipe you. The police think it might have been joyriding teenagers. Noosa is one of the beaches teenagers converge on for a week of celebrating the end of High School.' She smiled. 'Sort of a rite of passage, I think you'd call it. Kick up your heels before you look for work or go to university.'

'And stealing cars is part of this rite?'

'No. But you'll always find some idiot who drinks too much and does something stupid. And it's not just the schoolies. A lot of older people join in the revelries and act even worse than the teenagers.'

Daniel ran his hand over the woven cotton blanket covering his body and winced as his fingers probed too deeply at his hip and thigh. 'What about you? How did you celebrate your
rite of passage
?'

'Well, I lived in Cairns with Mum but my father lived in Sydney, so as soon as the holidays started I flew down there.'

Daniel's head was beginning to pound, but he was intrigued by Kirri's relaxed manner and her willingness to talk to him. It was in such contrast to her behaviour at the gallery. 'Weren't you happy at home?'

Kirri hesitated, torn between a natural reticence to divulge such private memories and the surprising need to share exactly that with this man. 'Oh, yes. It's just that Dad had offered to introduce me to the art world in Sydney. He's an artist and that's all I'd ever wanted to be. Mum wasn't happy about it.' A smile curled Kirri's lips, and her eyes twinkled in memory. 'She made sure I had a return air ticket. Then I was accepted to do Art at Uni in Cairns so I was only gone two months.'

'Did she want to keep you from your father?' Daniel knew there was anger in his voice, and sensed her tensing away from him.

'No.' Kirri realised she'd answered sharply, but she was surprised by the personal nature of the question. She looked closely at Daniel. The pain in his eyes now seemed more emotional than physical, and she wondered if his anger had come from a childhood hurt. Still, she felt obliged to defend her mother's actions. 'My father had made my mother's life miserable when they were married and she didn't want me to get caught up in his way of life.'

'But you still shouldn't keep a child from her father,' Daniel persisted, and watched the hurt tighten Kirri's face.

'Sometimes …' she murmured, the rest of her words stilled by a nurse pulling the curtain aside and a trolley wheeled in by a wardsman.

As a nurse pulled the blanket aside Daniel muttered, 'I can walk to X-ray.'

'No you can't, mate,' a burly wardsman grinned, 'hospital rules. But if you'd like to slide across to the trolley while we help, we'd appreciate it. You don't look like you'd be easy to lift.'

Daniel looked at Kirri, watched her lose the battle to suppress a grin, and sighed his defeat.

'We won't be long,' the wardsman said to Kirri as Daniel settled gingerly on the trolley, 'there are magazines in the waiting room if you want to read while you wait. They're pretty old, but you might find something interesting if you're lucky.'

As they sped down the corridor the wardsman casually remarked to Daniel how attractive his friend was, and as he continued to drop none-too-subtle hints about Kirri, Daniel's temper began to fray. It was a relief when they finally reached the X-ray department and the wardsman's chatter was replaced by the quiet professionalism of the radiologist.