Floored (7 page)

“Okay, I’m thinking about it. What’s the catch? I won’t do anything illegal.”

“Nothing illegal about it. I need to get to Perth by the end of the month.”

“You haven’t heard of Jetstar?”

“I’m scared of flying.”

God, he was a liar
. This was a man with nerves of whatever the hell substance was harder than steel. He was serenely bleeding to death while he ate an apple pie and did his sales pitch. He was not a bloke who was frightened of a little time in a tin can in the clouds.

“You’d have to pay my way back to Sydney.”

“Naturally.”

“Another week, that’s twenty-one grand. That’s ridiculous. You could buy your own car and drive yourself for that amount of money. You could put a deposit on your own jet. Anyway, where would you get that sort of money from? You lost your bag.”

“You didn’t see any bag. I’ve got the money. The money isn’t your issue. I’ll pay you up half upfront, now. You can put it straight in the bank.”

“Right, what bag?” She looked away from him. “It is my issue if it’s drug money.” Of course it was drug money. But twenty-one grand… And no one said she had to come back to Sydney. This was a chance to move states, get further outside Justin’s reach and be paid a fortune for it. In drug money. She sighed. She obviously couldn’t do it. “You’d have to pay all expenses. Petrol, accommodation, meals.”

“That’d be part of the deal.”

She turned to him. “You’re not serious?”

“I am deadly serious. Let’s call it twenty-five grand serious.”

Her throat was so dry. No more coffee left. Twenty-five grand. That was close to half her expected annual salary for two weeks of driving and the hire of her Statesman. Could she spend two weeks with
Australia’s Most Wanted
?
Of course not
. Why did this kind of thing keep happening to her? This was beyond ridiculous.

“I want you out of my car right now.”

8: Negotiation

“I’m not getting out of the car, Driver. You don’t want me to do that.”

Fetch could see she did though. She really did. She was edged away from him, all the way across the front seat, her hat pushed down low over her sunglasses.

He’d been so glad to see her get back in the car and away from that fucking Red Pariah ogre, he’d wanted to cheer. It was his signal to leave the house. Half of him wanted her to simply speed away, leave him there and not look back. He’d have Stud find her and put a protection detail on her, till he could get clear and protect her himself. The other half of him knew that wasn’t good enough. She was even more vulnerable now, and he’d done that to her. A protection detail was a half-arsed thing. He needed to set it right. Plus if she’d driven away he’d have copped a beat down. And it would’ve hurt.
Fucking bad
.

Red wasn’t an auditor. He wasn’t there to make nice. He was there to make sure Fetch went down for some doublecross he couldn’t yet work out. All the better if Fetch wasn’t able to walk or talk about it too. The knife had been a pleasant surprise. It might’ve been a gun. Probably the same weapon that’d done for Milo and his missus. Meant it hadn’t been tossed, and wasn’t that careless.

“Apart from the fact you think I’m a dodgy bastard who’s up to no good, what have you got against me, Driver?”

“You do not expect me to answer that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She gave him stony silence and the back of her head to look at. Her hair was dark like his. He could see it now, drawn up tight under the hat.

“I’m not what you think. I’m one of the good guys.”

She made a sound of disapproval and disbelief, and took a bite of pie.

At least he’d scored a win on the pie. “I can’t tell give you the details.”

“It’s complicated—you told me.” She was so pissed off.

“Yeah. The less you know about me the better.”

“You’re not good at this sales pitch business are you?”

“I thought I was doing okay, I mean under the circumstances.”

“You’re probably septic by now. We’re still at get out of my car. And you think that’s doing okay?”

Shit she had spunk. “I like you, Driver.”

She did the glare thing again. “I’d like you too. More and more in direct proportion to how far away from me you are.”

His arm was aching, it needed stitching. He also needed to call Stud again but she was right, he wasn’t doing well at this. Kidnap would be so much easier. He could see its appeal.

“So I guess you have a better way to earn that kind of money?”

“My way includes not doing anything illegal, and not going to jail.”

He laughed. He had no ID, he looked like a disaster, and she’d seen enough over the last two days to be deeply suspicious, without factoring in the rumble with the Red enforcer. At this point, if he said he was an undercover cop she’d probably yell rape. “It’s hard for me to prove to you this isn’t illegal.”

“No kidding.”

He laughed again. She wasn’t trying to be funny. The part of her face he could see was grim, and distrust had her shoulder pushed hard into the driver’s door.

“All right. I’m going to give it to you straight.”

She looked at him like he was the kind of bloke who wouldn’t know straight if he was smacked rigid by a spirit level. He got all that from the flat line of her mouth. He stifled another laugh. It really wasn’t funny. But he’d thought he’d be counselling and comforting an overwrought, frightened woman, not bargaining with a hard-arse.

“The kind of work I do is unorthodox, but it’s not illegal. I promise you; beneath this hairy beast is a good guy.” She gave him a grunt of incredulity. “Unfortunately someone is trying to set me up—that’s the illegal bit. Now all that’s okay, that’s the world I live in, but I did a very dumb thing by involving you.” She was listening at least, not interrupting, taking this in.

“I really didn’t think you’d show up today, and when you did, I should’ve paid you off and sent you away. I was going to after Station Street, but then the meeting in the park had to be quick, and you’re so damn efficient, I knew you’d get me back on schedule, and I didn’t expect any trouble and well, here we are.”

She opened her mouth. He knew she was going to say ‘a McDonald’s car park’. It’s what he’d have said if their positions were reversed. He got it out first, “Yes, a Macca’s car park. Do you want to hear the rest?”

She sighed noisily and relaxed back into the seat a little. “With great reluctance.”

“So now I need to lay low, stay out of the way a while and preferably keep moving. And even though I think you’re perfectly safe, I don’t want to chance you being left alone.”

“Is this your nice, polite way of telling me I’m your hostage?”

He put both hands up and grimaced as pain ripped through his right arm. “No. You can walk away right now. If you decide you really want me gone. I’m outta here and you can go back to your life.”

“Finally you’ve read the market. That’s exactly what I want.”

“Are you sure? You see, I’m worried about you. It’s not just because you stood up to that ape. He could ID the Statesman, not that he’ll bother, and he’d have a hard time picking you without your uniform. It’s because you showed up this morning when you already knew I was trouble.”

She was looking out the front window at a brick wall, but she was riveted by what he was saying. “You’re a smart lady, a businesswoman, so I think to myself, why would she do that? Why would she want to drive little old arrest waiting to happen me around? The only reason I can come up with is because you need the money.” He might’ve imagined it, but he thought he heard her breath quicken.

“So the thing is, Driver, I think you’re already in some kind of trouble.” He watched her carefully. Without being able to see her face well, he had to rely on how her body reacted. “I think you owe money to someone you can’t pay. And I think you’ve been hiding out. But now they’ve found you.” She curled one hand in a fist; the other came up to grip the wheel, the veins on the back of her hand popping. Finally some progress on this deal. “By my reckoning, you and I have a good reason to partner up. I need to keep moving and you need protection.”

She’d dropped her head and yes, her breathing was unsteady. He’d scared her more with those words than with everything that came before them. He’d only been fishing, but he knew he’d caught her.

Head still down she said, “If I really needed protection why would I come to you?”

“Because I don’t care what trouble you’ve gotten yourself in. I won’t ask any awkward questions, and I have twenty-five G that says it’s a good idea.”

She looked over at him, wary as a cat.

“And you like my blue eyes.”

The light was fading and he’d have given up the contents of the cake tin to see her face properly, to work out just how much he’d scared her, and whether that’d been the right tactic. There wasn’t anything more he could say. If she wanted to be free and clear, he’d have to leave her here. He pulled the handle to release the door. He needed to get the cake tin, her voice stopped him.

“It’s a business deal. Half upfront. The rest when we get to Perth.”

He turned back to face her. “That’s right,” he said cautiously. This wasn’t in the bag yet, but it was looking doable.

“You get your own way back from Perth.”

“No problem.” He had no idea what would go down in Perth, but it was a sure bet he’d fly home.

“You pay all expenses.”

“Of course.”

“We keep it professional.”

“Strictly.”

She took her glasses off and lifted her head so he got his first look at enormous, anxious, navy blue eyes with orange flecks. “All right, you’ve got a deal.”

She held a hand out across the console. He took it and they shook, eyeing each other off. He still had one more condition he hadn’t laid on her. It could be a deal breaker.

“When do we start, Fetch?”

He grinned at her use of his adopted name. It didn’t sound quite so belittling coming from her mouth. He still didn’t know her name, but that could wait. He watched her face. With both lips and eyes to study he could read her better. He’d learned she was efficient, well-organised and level-headed. But she’d surprised him with her resilience. She’d had a rough afternoon, but despite her slender form, and her tendency to be reserved, even a little withdrawn, she was made of something sturdy and she hadn’t been intimidated. There was still time for that though.

“Right now. We leave right now.”

9: Naphthalene Dream

“You weasel.” Caitlyn gripped the steering wheel, a proxy for wanting to strangle the man. “You couldn’t have told me that before we shook?”

Fetch looked amused, if that’s what his expression meant. It was hard to tell through all the hair, but damn his laughing blue eyes. What did he think she was going to do, dump everything right now to go traipsing off without so much as packing a bag? Yep, look at him, that’s exactly what he expected. He was buckling his seatbelt.

“We’re not driving off tonight. You need medical attention and I have a life. For all you know I have a dog, kids, a husband to look after first.”

“You don’t have a husband or kids. Not sure about the dog.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I have a nose for these things. You just told me you didn’t.”

“I did no such thing, and just because I don’t have a ring, it doesn’t mean I’m not with someone.”

He sighed. “You mentioned the dog first. So am I wrong, do you have husband and two point five kids?”

It was incredibly tempting to lie. “No.” He was too smart for a delivery boy.

“Dog?”

“No.” He was also showing off a tightly muscled chest that really should be covered by more than blood splatter. He had an elaborate tattoo winding all around his good arm, a metal chain with roses and thorns twisted through it, and another over his chest that she could only see flashes of. She didn’t even want to be looking.

“Right then, like I said, we start now.”

“No we don’t. I have to go home, pack a bag, have a shower. You need to look after that arm.”

“My arm is fine. It’s stopped bleeding. And we buy everything we need.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is the all expenses paid part. I hand you money, you buy what you need for the trip.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say ‘you’re not serious’, but she’d said that about pulling into McDonald’s and that’d left her eating pie in her car and agreeing to a deal that, on top of her previous crimes, probably made her more of a wanted criminal than the hairy beast beside her.

Good Lord
. What had she done? But twenty-five grand and the chance to disappear in Perth, to start again with a very healthy amount of money in the bank and less reason to worry about Justin catching up with her—that was a stroke of brilliance. Exactly when she’d needed the inspiration. She looked across at Fetch, a lying, bleeding, bikie, scumbag, too old and too smart to be a messenger boy. Who’d have thought it would come from him?

And really, what was there to go home to—bad hot water and naphthalene dreams. She’d left everything she owned behind already. The few things she’d taken weren’t worth going back for. The only one who’d miss her was Neil and though he’d be annoyed she wasn’t available to drive for him, he’d deal with it. Two weeks off from bucks’ nights with just an open road. It felt like a holiday, an incredibly well paid holiday. So what the hell, if her delivery boy wanted to start tonight, she was up for it.

“All right.”

His brows jumped. He slapped the dashboard, mighty pleased with himself. “All right!”

“Do you care which hospital?”

“No hospital.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he gave her a stop sign hand. “It’s fine. You’ve got a first-aid kit?”

“Yes, but—”

“Trust me.”

Oh my God
. He was a lunatic. A very calm, very commanding, certifiable madman. Maybe that accounted for why he didn’t feel pain, or blood loss. “I hope you have a plan that doesn’t include sleeping in the car tonight.”

He rubbed his hands together. “I always have a plan. Let’s get out of here.”

Caitlyn started the engine and manoeuvred out of the busy car park. Fetch had her drive, at the regulation speed, for about forty minutes to Wetherton and pull in to the Wetherton Court Motel. It was one of those brown brick two stars with pretension to three, but it had a well-maintained garden and she hoped that meant it was clean and serviceable. She didn’t think this was going to be a tour of luxury hotels, but she’d put her foot down if he tried anything less respectable than this. She might live in a dump by choice, but he didn’t know that. She was not doing camping sites and caravans. And they were not sleeping in the Statesman. Ever.