Black Ice (23 page)

She looked down at the glass in her hand. The port was a deep red, almost brown. Then she looked past the glass, to where another red-brown colour stained her tan moleskin jeans. Blood. Daniel's blood, Gran's blood. Two round patches where she'd knelt down and gently tied towels around her grandmother's head, and then around Daniel's arm. Neither of them had uttered a sound, and as she waited in the eerie quiet for the ambulance to arrive, Kirri had felt that time itself had been suspended.

Slowly her gaze shifted. She'd washed her hands at the hospital, but blood had dried on her arms, and her shirt. With more haste than care, she downed the rest of the port, then walked into the bathroom.

It was only as she stood under the shower, scrubbing at the blood, that she began to shake. She leaned against the tiled wall, letting the anguish engulf her mind, as great gulping sobs racked her body.

 

Long minutes later Kirri wrapped a towel around herself, picked up her clothes and headed to the laundry. After washing them, she threw the clothes into the dryer and turned it on. She curled up on the lounge, listening for the sound of the dryer to finish its cycle.

When she'd run into the shed, she had been desperately afraid that both her Gran and Daniel were dead. Relief had poured through her as she'd detected their pulses. Now, although she knew Daniel would recover, Cate's life still hung in the balance, and anxiety gnawed into Kirri's stomach.

She vaguely heard the dryer humming in the back of the house, a constant, almost soothing sound. An insect scraped against the security screen on the window, but Kirri's eyes had closed, and the small sound didn't feel as worrying has it might have when she'd first sat down. She longed for Daniel's arms around her, the heat of his body close to hers, and as she drifted off to sleep, a tear escaped her closed lids and rolled slowly down her cheek.

 

'Stella, please arrange a flight to Cairns for me after the Dinnegan project meeting tomorrow morning.' Philip knew his tone was far from polite, but he hadn't been able to sleep much after Kirri's phone call the night before. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and flopped down on his office chair.

Stella looked at him, a question in her eyes.

'Daniel Brand has been seriously injured. I want to fly up and see how he is.' He slapped his fist on the desk. 'Damn! He was supposed to come in and sign the new agreement when he was down here. Those bloody cops with their ideas that someone was trying to kill him. And snooping into the company affairs like they did.'

'Well, you did tell them to come back when they had a search warrant, so obviously they don't suspect you or they would have been back by now.'

As Stella smiled at him, Philip felt the old sense of unease she often caused him.

'Why do
you
think someone would want to kill Daniel?' she asked.

'Me?' Philip was startled. 'Why the hell should I know!' But he felt the blood drain from his cheeks, and jumped to his feet to disguise his reaction. 'You'd better book a ticket for yourself, too.'

For a split second, Philip saw Stella's habitual cool slip. 'Why do you want me to go with you?'

'Well, you always accompanied my father on his business trips. He used to say he couldn't have coped without your shorthand and laptop skills. It will only be for a day or two, but after the Dinnegan meeting there'll be plenty of work I'll need you to type up for me.' He picked up his briefcase, placed it on the desk. He wasn't giving that bitch time alone here. His father's embezzlement trail was complex and convoluted, but he didn't trust Stella not to go snooping. Though she'd probably done that already.

No, he didn't trust her one little bit.

 

Cairns was a smorgasbord of nightclubs, Brett had discovered. Knowing that he had set things in motion that could result in Brand's death, he had decided a little premature celebration would be permissible.

Brett's celebrations had never excluded sex, and he'd discovered years ago that his good looks and easy ways with women had ensured he rarely missed scoring when he set his mind to it.

Last night had proven just as successful, but he'd caught a taxi from the flat of the sloe-eyed vixen who'd offered him more than sex, just before the rising sun streaked gold across the still waters of Trinity Bay.

It was nearly midday before he stumbled out of his motel bed and sprawled in the shower. It had been good shit he'd shared last night, but, combined with the copious amounts of alcohol he'd drunk, he was paying for it this morning. Twenty minutes in the shower and two strong cups of coffee later, he walked around to a cafe and ordered a steakburger and chips. In a nearby park he filled his empty stomach and downed a can of Coke. Then, and only then, did he consider turning on his mobile phone.

There were never any messages. Messages could give clues as to the identity of the sender. Brett wasn't naive enough to think that if it came to the crunch he could expect back-up from that quarter.

He sat in the shade of a large fig tree, but the heat trickled sweat down his back.

Although he was expecting it, the vibration still made him start when it happened. He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear.

'Congratulations. You
almost
succeeded.'

'Almost?'

'Brand is in hospital, seriously injured. How did you do it?'

Brett smiled as he recounted his exploit. 'I suppose now you want me to sneak into the hospital and finish him off?' He thought of a few ideas how he could do that, and began to look forward to the planning. At the edge of his mind images formed of tight white uniforms curving over breasts and hips.

'No. There's another obstacle we have to eliminate.'

'What?'

'The artist has a daughter. The child has to die.'

Brett swore viciously. 'You didn't say anything about killing a kid!'

'I always keep the best till last.'

He could imagine the malicious smile accompanying the words. He'd felt little remorse when he'd learned the old man had died, only relief to learn the police had no clues to the killer. Even the knowledge that Brand had almost died caused him only a flicker of conscience. But a child …

'I'm not sure I want to do it.'

'You don't have a choice.'

'You can't dob me in without implicating yourself. You arranged my new identity.'

'Are you really fool enough to believe I would have allowed anything to be traced back to me?'

No, Brett grimaced, he wasn't that big a fool. Not now, anyway.

'Why the kid?'

'The terms of the partnership agreement state that if one partner dies and has no progeny, the living partner will inherit everything.'

'Progeny?'

'Children. The child is Daniel Brand's daughter.' There was silence for a moment, then, 'Now, don't go getting squeamish on me. She's only small, she won't put up a fight. All you have to do is wait until she's asleep tonight, then smother her with a pillow. Kids sometimes die in their sleep.' He could imagine the shoulder shrug. 'It's not uncommon.'

'What about Brand?'

'That might present us with a bigger problem. The police are aware of the other attempts on his life, so they'll be keeping an eye on him. But they won't be watching the child. Once we've eliminated her, we can get back to the problem of Daniel Brand.'

 

Daniel sat on the edge of the bed, clad only in hospital pyjama pants. 'I told you to stay away from here.'

Kirri shrugged. 'Just because I agreed to marry you, Daniel Brand, doesn't mean to say you can tell me what to do.'

'The hell it doesn't!' he exploded. 'I have no intention of having the woman I love get in the way when someone's trying to kill me.'

In spite of the fury she could see in his eyes, Kirri smiled.
The woman I love
. Her stomach had flipped a little at the words. He was alive. And he loved her. Now all she needed was for Cate to come through the operation this morning, and the police to find who'd tried to kill Daniel. Then she could look forward to a lifetime of loving this big man with the deep, quiet voice that sent quivers up her spine.

'And I have no intention of letting the man I love go through this alone.'

'You don't have a choice, Kirri.' He gestured to the small suitcase she carried. 'Are my clothes in there?'

'Yes.'

'Good.' He took it from her and opened it up on the bed.

Kirri noted how gingerly he bent his left arm as he stripped off the pyjama pants. That thought flew from her head as he straightened up. Her body actually jerked in reaction as she remembered the feel of his naked body against hers. 'Just as well I closed the door,' she murmured.

'What?'

She opened her mouth to repeat the words in a louder tone, then shook her head. 'Don't worry.'

He took out a pair of briefs and jeans. She watched as he sat back on the bed and carefully pulled on the briefs, then the jeans.

'What do you think you're doing?' she asked as he rummaged in the suitcase.

He pulled out a button-up shirt. 'Getting out of here. If you insist on endangering your life by coming up to see me, then I'm going to stay in a motel.'

'But you know the cops are guarding you. Your name's not even on your bed, and they've got that other cop all bandaged up in the end room to act as decoy. Mick said all the staff have been told to say he's you if anyone asks.'

'Kirri,' Daniel clenched his guts in an effort to control the emotions roiling up inside him, 'I can't risk losing you. For two years I knew what that felt like. I couldn't survive it again.'

Kirri's face was white and strained, her hands fisted tightly at her sides. 'I love you, Daniel. I need you to be with me.'

Daniel felt the sheen of tears in her blue eyes tearing him apart. It was the slight trembling in her body that broke him. With a surrendering curse, he tossed the shirt on the bed and took her in his arms. He grunted with pain as the movement tore at his wounds, but the joy of holding her, breathing in the scent of her body, was greater than any pain. She moulded against him, and he was acutely aware of the fullness of her breasts through the silky fabric of her dress, her cool hands on his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest.

A fierce, urgent protectiveness welled up in him, primitive in its intensity. It was matched by the desire that burned, deep and sudden, in his groin.

Hell, if he didn't stop himself, he'd throw her on the bed, rip off her clothes, and make love to her. The thought was tempting, but the situation too fraught with danger to be caught with his pants down. The analogy made him smile, and he realised that smiling only came easily to him when he was with Kirri.

Somehow, he managed to draw away from her a little. 'How about you tell Mick I want out of here.' At the catch in her breath and the frown that quickly worried her forehead, he smiled again. 'Don't worry. I'll join you at Emma and Drew's house as soon as Mick can arrange it. How's Cate?'

Kirri looked at her watch. 'The neurosurgeon said the operation would only take a couple of hours. J.D.'s waiting for them to bring her back to Intensive Care. I'm going there now.'

'What about your parents?'

'They're trying to get a flight home.'

'And Catelyn? Is she all right?'

'She didn't want to stay with Trish this morning.' Tears misted Kirri's eyes. 'She knows something's wrong and it's upsetting her.'

Anguish tore at Daniel. Anguish and guilt at the pain he'd brought into the lives of Kirri and her family. Somehow he would find a way to put an end to it. Hopefully, Mick's decoy would draw the killer into the trap. He kissed Kirri lightly. 'Bring Catelyn back to Emma's with you. I think we both need her to be with us.'

Kirri nodded, then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. She knew the hidden surveillance cameras would be tracking her as she walked down to the end room, but it gave her just a small sense of security. Only with Daniel's arms around her did she feel safe.

 

Finding which building Brand was in had been easy. A quick phone call to the hospital administration had even given him the floor and room number.

Finding a convenient parking spot hadn't been as easy, and Brett had been forced to walk two blocks to the esplanade opposite the hospital. He pretended to take photos of the boats sailing on the bay, then sat on a bench and took a sandwich from his over-sized camera bag.

He wasn't worried about being recognised. He'd learned long ago that if you became the character you were trying to project then any observer would believe you were that character. Wearing clothes and a straw hat that wouldn't have been looked at, let alone purchased, by anyone under the age of forty almost made the grey he'd sprayed on his hair superfluous. Spectacles with clip-on sunglasses and sensible walking shoes completed the disguise. But it was the way he walked, the way he held the camera and sat on the bench, which made the lie believable.

It was easy to be patient; joggers ran by, their tight shorts and skimpy tops providing him with more than enough entertainment.

If he knew what vehicle Kirri was driving it would have made his surveillance so much easier, but at least he had the advantage of knowing what she looked like. That hair of hers stood out like the proverbial.

 

Kirri and J.D. waited outside the curtained-off ICU bay where the nursing staff were transferring Cate onto a bed. Through the wide windows Kirri could see the midday sun's rays shimmering on the calm water of the bay. The soft, steady hum and bleeps of the ICU equipment and the shushing sounds of nursing shoes on linoleum gave Kirri a feeling of unreality as she lowered her gaze to a group of children playing on the grass at the water's edge.

The neurosurgeon walked into the room.

His smile poured relief through Kirri even before he spoke. 'Everything went well,' he said. 'but she's not out of the woods yet. We'll monitor her in here for the next few days, then, when she's well enough, we'll transfer her to a ward.'

'When will she be awake?' Kirri asked hopefully.

'In a few hours, perhaps. Look, there's nothing you can do here now. If you leave a number where you can be reached we'll call you as soon as she's awake.'