Double Take (33 page)

It didn't matter, because now she could afford the best there was. She could become Tamika, Brooklyn or maybe Skylar. Ideas were falling into place. Her imagination ran wild. She'd buy a beach house. New cars. New clothes.

Suddenly the car hit a patch of ice. The tyres lost traction. She yanked the steering wheel, but Ruby failed to respond. She snapped the wheel back the other way. It reacted this time, throwing her into the door as the car bucked in the opposite direction.

The car skidded into an ice wall, and there was the squeal of tearing metal as sparks sprayed up beside her window. She screamed as she pulled at the wheel again and hit the brakes. The car didn't stop. The slope was steep, the Mercedes kept on going. Her foot was now jamming the brake pedal to the floor, but it didn't matter.

Ruby crashed through a wall of snow, blanketing the windscreen in soft white powder. The next noise was what scared her the most. It was whistling wind as if the car was flying. She gripped the wheel as the car tilted, nose first. When she realised she'd gone over the cliff, she let out the most blood-curdling scream.

The air bag exploded on impact, saving her from certain death. Everything after that was in slow motion. The deafening noise was the car crumbling under the weight of impact. But what happened next was beyond comprehension. Her feet were in water. Fucking freezing water. She scrambled to get the air bag away, to see what was happening. What she saw made her heart explode. She was under water, the headlights illuminating the blue-tinged ice above her as if it were frosting on a cake.

The water poured in fast. It was now up to her knees. She had to get out of there. She pulled the handle and pushed on the door, but it wouldn't open. Instead water gushed in from the small crack she'd created.

“Help!” She pressed the window button, but it wouldn't move.

The water was at her hips. “Help! Help me!” She scrambled to unbuckle her seatbelt, fumbling with the clip.

The water was halfway up her body. She gasped at the cold. When the freezing water hit her nipples it was like a thousand needles piercing her skin. She screamed when the water reached her neck.

At that point she knew she was going to die.

The last thing she saw before she slipped into oblivion was how nicely the facets of her Pink Princess sparkled in the flashing warning lights on the dashboard.

S
teel snapped his eyes open at the banging on his hotel door. He glanced at the clock and couldn't believe it was after eight. It had been a bloody long time since he'd slept past seven. In fact, he didn't think he ever had. No wonder Jack was trying to wake him. He threw back the sheet.

“Hold your horses.” If Jack wanted to be so impatient, then Steel wouldn't bother to put on his trousers. He wished he had the moment he opened the door, though, as two police officers stood in his doorway. But not Lécuyer or Bellerosé.

“Can I help you?” His croaky voice made him sound like he'd been on the piss all night.

“
Bonjour
Monsieur Steel. We are required to escort Monsieur Rich and yourself to the
poste de police
again.”

Steel's scar began to zing and it took all his might not to reach up and scratch it. “Not until you tell me what's going on.”

The shorter of the two men placed his hand on the door-frame. “It would be preferable to discuss such matters
in privé
.”

“Look, fellas. I'm a police officer, so unless you tell me what's going on, or have a warrant, I don't have to go anywhere.”

They looked at each other, silently communicating something between them. Then the taller one of the two spoke. “Get dressed,
s'il vous plaît
. We shall discuss then.”

Steel shut the door, and while he tugged his pants on he tried to ignore his stinging scar as he attempted to work out what the hell was going on. Had Jack gone out and done something stupid last night? As much as he couldn't picture it, he bloody hoped not. He re-opened the door.

“So what's the problem?”

“
Où est-il
.
Euh
, do you know where Monsieur Rich is?” He said it as an accusation.

“He has his own room. Over there.” Steel pointed at room number fourteen and they moved ahead of him and banged on the door. He hoped like hell the silly bastard was in there.

Jack opened the door and one look at him was enough for Steel to know he was innocent. He was in a T-shirt and shorts. He kept blinking as if trying to wake up his eyes. And he had a deep crease down his cheek, a sure sign he'd just woken up from an innocent man's sleep.

Jack did a double take when he saw the policemen. “What's wrong?”

“They want to ask us some more questions.”

“I thought we'd covered everything last night.” Jack and Steel had spent nearly six hours at the police station detailing everything they knew about Tiffany Delacroix, the Melbourne Cup race of 1992, the bank robbery, the subsequent arrests and finally the missing money. Steel felt a huge weight off his shoulders to have shared the entire Tiffany story with them. That was probably why he'd slept so well.

Jack's eyes bounced from the police officers to Steel. But other than that he didn't move. His feet were riveted to the floor. Steel could only just imagine what was going through his brain. “Get dressed, we'll wait for you here.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the station again.”

Jack began to back away and Steel turned to the cops. “Give me a moment, fellas.” Steel stepped into Jack's room and shut the door.

“What'd you do after I left you last night?” Steel managed his fiercest scowl.

“Nothing.” Jack's high-pitched voice matched the fear in his eyes.

Steel smiled. “Exactly. I'm only yankin' your chain. You've got nothing to worry about. Get dressed and meet me outside in one minute.”

“You're a real arsehole, Steel.”

“I know.” Steel stepped back outside.

“He'll be out in a minute.” He grinned at the two officers but got no response.

Jack took five minutes to emerge, but when he did step out of his room, he no longer looked nervous. Maybe he realised he had nothing to hide, so there was nothing to fear.

Within fifteen minutes they'd commuted from Hotel Alpina to the police station and were sitting in exactly the same chairs they were in the night before.

“Okay,” Steel said as he reached for a chair. “We've come voluntarily. How about you tell us what's going on?”

“Please be comfortable, I'll let the
détectives
know you have arrived.” The Frenchmen backed up and exited the door.

Jack and Steel were alone again. “What's going on?”

Steel shrugged. “More questions, I guess. We bombarded them with a heap of info last night, they're probably still trying to add everything up.”

“Do you think they've arrested Tiffany”—Jack shook his head—“Gemma?”

“Good chance. I'd say she's sitting in a room just like us right now.”

“Good.” A smile crawled across Jack's face.

A couple of minutes later Lécuyer and Bellerosé entered the room with coffees.

“Ahh, you remembered.” Steel reached for one of the steaming mugs. “This is some serious deja vu.”

“I guess it is,” Bellerosé said without a smile. “How about you tell us what happened after we left you at the hotel last night.”

“You're kidding, right?”

Their stony faces assured him they weren't kidding.

“You dropped us at the hotel at half past midnight. We went to our rooms. Next thing I know, there's a knock on my door at seven this morning. Come on, Bellerosé. Tell us what's going on.”

She leant forward on her elbows as if trying to eyeball both Steel and Jack at the same time. “Mrs Delacroix is
absente
, and you gentlemen were the last people to see her.”

J
ack had a weekly ritual. After he punched off at the upholstery plant each Monday afternoon, he'd head to Smithy's Bar N Grill for two beers—his self-imposed limit. Following that he went home, ordered pizza and watched
Monday Night Football
on his new television. The money he was paid for exclusive interviews with
60 Minutes
and
Women's Weekly
magazine was enough to allow him to purchase a small one-bedroom unit at Greenslopes. And for the first time in a decade he had money in the bank after a good week's work.

He'd just eased onto his familiar bar stool and was enjoying his first beer when the young woman behind the bar handed him another.

“Here you go, Jack.” Jack frowned. He hadn't ordered the second beer yet.

“Compliments of the lady in the booth,” she said with an inquisitive grin.

Jack's heart was in his throat as he turned to the booth. If there was someone sitting there, she was concealed below the high-backed seat. Only three women had had any real impact on his life: Candice, Tiffany and Rachel. The names spun around and around his head like a roulette wheel.

He stood up, swallowed back the apprehension and took slow uncertain steps towards the booth. When he saw her his heart leapt to his throat. She looked incredible, her pale skin was highlighted with a delicate pink glow to her cheeks. Her lips, touched with gloss, were exactly as he'd remembered them. He felt his chin dimpling. Tears sprang to his eyes. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak.

“Hello, Jack.” Her voice was the sweetest, most magical voice he'd ever heard.

He swallowed back the giant lump in his throat. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to see his beautiful Candice again. “Hi.” That was all he could say as his weakened knees directed him to the opposite chair.

“How are you?” She tilted her head and smiled.

He'd forgotten that she did that. Her beauty was enchanting and for a fleeting moment he wondered if he were dreaming. “How…how did you find me?” He blinked back tears.

“Steel mentioned this place. Several times. He's a persistent bugger.”

Jack huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Yes he is.”

The urge to reach across the table and hold her hand was excruciating. “You look amazing, Candice.” He forced the lump in his throat down again. “And healthy. Are you?”

As she smiled she tucked an unruly wisp of hair behind her ear. He'd been seeing her do that in his dreams for ten years. And now, seeing it for real was simply glorious.

“I couldn't be better. Except…”

He blinked. “Except what?”

“I miss you.”

His throat released a sob, and through his tear-filled eyes he watched Candice slip out of her seat and come to him. With their arms wrapped around each other, they cried rivers of tears. Tears for what was, tears for what could've been, tears for what now could be.

S
teel finished preparing his favourite dinner, a simple ham, cheese and tomato omelette. His new personal trainer had given him a selection of meals even he could handle and he was feeling great. The nine kilos he'd lost lately probably had something to do with it, too.

He'd arrived at a comfortable place with regard to The Bitch. That was the only label he had for Tiffany anymore. It no longer seemed to matter that she was free again. Just knowing all her money and assets had been frozen until she faced the music was enough. He hoped she was living in a shithole, both physically and mentally.

Steel grabbed a Miller from the fridge, kicked the door closed with his foot and returned to the lounge room juggling his plate, cutlery and beer. His new leather reclining lounge chair had proven to be a good purchase. The new plasma television wasn't exactly shabby either. He never could've afforded them if he hadn't done the magazine spread with Jack. Jack certainly had a hell of a time talking Steel into it. But now, with the cash in the bank and the real truth out there, it felt good. No, it was better than that—it was vindication.

With the plate resting on his lap, he cut a mouthful of omelette, ate it and washed it down with a slug of beer. The football went to an advert showing the highlights of the late-night news.

As he carved another slice of omelette and placed it into his mouth, he watched images of a crowd of people surrounding an icy lake. The young blonde reporter said, “In today's breaking news, Tiffany Delacroix, multi-billionaire widow Jacques Delacroix the acclaimed fashion designer, appears to have been found after being missing for three months.” Steel choked on his omelette. “It is believed she died when her car drove off a cliff…” He grabbed the remote and pumped the volume. “More of that incredible story at ten o'clock. And in sport today…”

“Shit.”

Steel punched the channel buttons on the Foxtel remote until he found the world news. He stopped when the image flicked to fifty or so people standing around the edge of a lake and looking into the frosted water. It was a mixture of emergency personnel, police and curious onlookers. The reporter seemed to be enjoying this as much as Steel now was. “On some occasions it's impossible to remove a submerged vehicle until the ice is fully melted. Sadly those vehicles have to remain in their icy crypt for months.”

“Not sad for me.” He saluted the reporter with his beer.

“These townspeople have witnessed this scene at
Lac des Gaillands
many times before,” she said. “But this time it wasn't a careless tourist who met their untimely death. If you're just joining us, it's believed the body inside the vehicle is that of Mrs Tiffany Delacroix, who disappeared three months ago. It was thought she'd gone into hiding to avoid serious police allegations.”

“Serious, my ass. They were fucking huge.”

The camera panned to the side of the lake, where a tow truck was hooked up to a rope that fed into the water. The rope went taut and Steel put his plate aside and sat on the edge of the seat. The phone rang and he snatched it up. “Steel.”