Sting (5 page)

An older lady with cropped ash-blonde hair rushes in, a hot-pink flowery backpack in one hand and a black handbag in the other. She takes the little girl’s hand and guides her behind the counter.

Blondie sweeps the child into her arms and kisses her on the cheek. “How’s my little princess today?” she asks her and then puts her down.

She has a kid?
Wow
. Does that mean she’s taken? It’s not the impression I get from Gabby.

“Gimme some sugar, honey bear,” Gabby chimes as she picks up the girl and squeezes her tight.

“Mwah,” the little girl says as she plants a loud kiss on each of Gabby’s cheeks. Then she twists in her arms and reaches out for Blondie. Blondie takes her again and places a kiss to her forehead.

“Baby … ch … chino,” the girl says, and points to the baby espresso cups on top of the machine.

“Anything for my princess.” Blondie puts her down. “Why don’t you go and have a seat with your grandma and I’ll bring it over.”

“You be good, Sienna, and you might get a special cookie, okay?” Gabby says, pointing a stern finger in her direction, but her grin tells me this little tyke has everyone wrapped around her little finger.

“Me good girl, aren’t I, Lolo?” she says and then rushes out to the table next to ours. Lolo?

The older lady sets up at the same table, taking out a drawing pad and coloured pencils from the backpack.

A short time later, Blondie comes over with a coffee for Grandma, and then sets down a tiny cup of froth and a giant cookie on a plate in front of the girl.

“Now what do we have here?” Blondie asks, pointing to the paper the girl has been busily scribbling on.

“Lady-buggles,” she says proudly, holding up the drawing. Doesn’t look like ladybugs to me. Just a page full of red and black squiggles.

“You know what, Princess? They’re my favourite. I’ll stick it up on the wall when you’re finished.”

“Yay,” she squeals.

Blondie lovingly straightens the pink ribbon in her hair, giving me a close up of her left hand.
No ring on her finger.

“I need to get back to work, Princess, but I was thinking maybe we could go to the beach tomorrow afternoon? What do you think?”

“Yay, more seashells, Lolo.”

“Yeah, Princess. I know how you love shells.”

“Earth to Palmer,” Mick grunts.

I jerk my head towards him. “Huh? Sorry?”

Gabby swings into view and places a hearty breakfast and cutlery in front of us. The eggs look soft, just how I like them, and the bacon is the right amount of crisp, with sourdough toast, mushrooms and baked beans. The smell is bloody incredible.

“Enjoy, boys,” she says and winks at Mick before heading over to sit down with Grandma and the girl.

I catch Blondie spying in our direction. She smiles, and whether it’s at the girls or me I can’t tell.

I grin with satisfaction, knowing she saw me half-naked yesterday. The deep flush to her chest before tells me something about her.
She liked what she saw
. I imagine her laid out on a towel on the beach. I bet she’s tanned to perfection, and that petite little bod in a bikini …
fuck me
. My dick twitches, reminding me once again that it needs attention. The problem is, it’ll be of the one-handed kind.

Damn my investigative mind. Now I’m intrigued. I want to know her story.

“Eat up. We’ve got a big day ahead of us,” Mick says around a mouth full of food.

Yeah, he’s right. I should be focusing on why I’m here and not opening up the door to something I probably shouldn’t. I should stay clear of the beach tomorrow, even though a part of me is dying to go. The part of me that usually leads the way when it comes to pretty girls. This time, however, I get the feeling it’s more than that.

I adjust my boxers, and then shovel in a mouthful of eggs.

Protein, give me strength.

CHAPTER SIX

RYAN

Mick and I have had a hard slog lately with late nights on the docks. On the upside we’ve seen a bit more of the skinny prick with the auburn hair, and had one sighting of Perez, alone, but not much more to show for our time.

After a late night camping on the boat, I’m
desperate
for coffee. I’m also due for my daily Blondie fix. After waking up this morning with a hard-on that King Kong would be proud of, I need to see her pretty face. I can’t get her out of my head, and now I’m dreaming about her. I’m becoming more desperate for a taste.

“Hey, Brown-Eyes, what can I get you?” Blondie says peering around from the machine.

“Ah, I see. You onto that caper now too, huh?”

For the last two weeks we’ve been talking more. Not that we really have much to say, just general banter, but she’s opening up. Her gaze doesn’t shy away so easily, and she’s smiling more. Is it because of me? Gabby has nodded approvingly at me several times. I wonder whether that means Blondie has been talking about me.

Blondie smiles bright enough that it momentarily steals the air from my lungs. “Sorry, it’s kinda catchy.”

“Gorgeous, you can call me whatever you want and I’ll come running.”

She laughs sweetly. “Even if I ask you to take out the garbage for me?”

I lean in closer to the counter. “Yup. Even then. Because without this brew, I couldn’t make it through my day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

“I’ll take a large flat white. Extra shot.”

She presses fresh coffee grinds into the metal thing, and hooks it into the machine. I regard her carefully as she warms the milk. My loitering is rewarded with a sexy smirk.

A younger, teenage girl, with long blonde hair in pigtails comes up behind the register. ‘Sarah’ is written on her nametag. Gabby wears the same style of nametag—black with white cursive writing. I’ve checked Blondie out, each and every day, and she doesn’t wear one.

I want to know her name. The problem is if I find out what it is, it’ll be in my every thought. It’ll make her real.

I’ll want her even more.

I pay Sarah, and she hands me a number on a stand and I find a table.

A short time later, Blondie walks over. The sunlight streaming through the window behind her produces an angelic glow around her slight frame. She places the coffee in front of me. It has an intricate swirly pattern in the froth.

As if I’ve got a nervous twitch, I wink. In an innocent gesture, Blondie runs her tongue over her bottom lip and then presses her lips together.
Enticing.

“Thanks, angel,” I say, my voice, slow and deep.

Her shoulders stiffen and her mouth drops open in horror. She winces, as if she’s just taken a hit to the gut.

Shit
. What did I do? Did I overstep the mark calling her that or does
angel
mean something to her?

Blondie rushes towards the back of the café. Something smashes to the ground as she whisks past.

“Honey?” Gabby calls out.

The back screen door screeches and bangs on its hinges. She’s gone before I get the chance to find out what the hell is wrong.

Taking long strides, I rush to the counter.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Gabby, more forcefully than I intend.

She shrugs and widens her hazel eyes. She looks as shocked as I am by Blondie’s reaction.

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.” She takes off her apron and tosses it on the counter. I follow the path Blondie left. I need to see if she’s okay.

Gabby holds up a hand, halting me behind the coffee machine. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.” She hurries out the back door.

****

WILLOW

I slump onto an unturned milk crate and breathe in deep. My hands are shaking like crazy. I know it’s only a matter of time before my whole body is too. I gasp for breath, as if I’m having an asthma attack. I hunch over and put my head between my knees. I’m terrified to close my eyes because I know what I’ll see.
Him
. His deadly gaze. I’ll hear the low, rough tone of his voice.

Angel.

The door protests on its’ hinges as it swings open. It crashes against the frame. A warm hand presses firmly between my shoulders and then moves in circles over my shoulder blades.

“What’s wrong?” Gabs asks, her voice hoarse.

Shaking my head from side to side, I whisper, “I … I can’t.”

I draw my feet up to the edge of the crate and rock my upper body backwards and forwards. I can’t stop myself from doing it.

Angel
.

A barrage of tortured memories hits me like a thunderbolt. The clack of one hundred heels against a timber floor; the mutter of people and the slam of the gavel, silencing the room.

I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“For crying out loud, Willow! What the hell did he say to you?”

My heart jolts and I look up at her. She dabs a tissue over my wet cheeks. Her bright hazel eyes penetrate me, demanding to know the truth, but I can’t give her that. I can’t give anyone that.

“I’m sorry. I just need a minute.”

“You don’t need a minute, honey. You need a stiff drink, by the look of you. Tell me what the hell that was back there.”

I shake my head. No. I can’t.

“I’m your friend, Willow. I love your damn face off, and I hate to see you like this. Talk. Please,” she begs.

“He didn’t say anything wrong; not that he knows, anyway. Something he said reminded me of my past. It’s so stupid. It’s something I should be able to handle, but I don’t know what happened. I’ll be fine.”

I stand, straighten my tank top and smooth my sweaty palms down my thighs.

Gabs wraps her arms around me, and I’m gifted with one of her bosomy hugs. Her sweet perfume infiltrates my senses, and her warmth reminds me that
I am home
. This is my home, and nothing before it matters. I need to remember that.

I have to harden my resolve. I’ve come a long way. I can’t let him win.

“Come on. The people of Fremantle need their caffeine,” I mumble against her blouse.

She holds me at arm’s length and gives me the hairy-eyeball. Her not-so-perfect lips purse, and then she lets out a long breath.

“One day, lady,” she says with a swift kiss to my cheek, “you and me are gonna have words. A whole truck-load of them.”

I fight the urge to tell this woman I love her, because if I do I’ll turn into a babbling cry-baby. I said goodbye to the ones I loved two years ago—one in particular, earlier than that.

I kiss her on her blushed cheekbone. “Come on. Let’s start prepping for the smoko rush.”

****

RYAN

I need my head in this, but it’s been a scattered mess ever since this morning. I can’t concentrate, because someone is on my mind. It’s bugging the ever-loving shit out of me.

I keep seeing that tortured look on Blondie’s face, and the way she’d fled. Nothing could have stopped her from running. It doesn’t help that I’m beyond overtired. I should have drunk that coffee, but it didn’t seem right. I didn’t wanna hang around. Clearly Blondie wasn’t happy to be around me.

I’ve seen victims of domestic violence before. I’ve interviewed them at length. I’ve seen how they retreat, shut themselves away and hide. They blame themselves and can’t move on from it. The tiniest trigger can set them off.

The screwdriver pierces my skin in the meaty part of my thumb. “Fuck,” I growl. Pain radiates from the wound, and blood drips onto the deck. It’s not the pain, right now, that’s got me pissed. It’s Blondie, or rather, what happened to her. Some fucking mongrel put her in her place, probably treated her like dirt. The thought that someone might have physically hurt her has me wanting to smash my fist into the side of the boat.

I don’t want her to get hurt again.

“What’s your problem, hotshot?” Mick asks, his voice gruff.

“Nothing. Fuckin’ nothing.”

I grab a rag from the toolbox and wrap it around my hand. I’ve always been a sucker for a damsel in distress, and Blondie was clearly distressed. About what, I don’t have the first clue.

I may not find out what has got her this way, but tomorrow there’s something I’m determined to get to the bottom of.

****

Today, I will not call her
angel
. I’m gonna ask for her name. Although I love calling her Blondie, and the occasional gorgeous, I want to know it.
Remember it
.

As I approach the counter I imagine whispering her name into her ear, with that rocking body of hers pinned beneath my weight. I might even cry it out in the throes of ecstasy for good measure.
Been a while since I’ve done that.

I place my order to have here, and hang around the side of the machine while she pours one coffee after another. Luckily for me, I’m the last standing in the queue.

“How come you’re the only one without a name tag?” I ask her, as she heats another jug of milk.

“I’m special.”

“I won’t argue with you there.”

“I don’t wear one because my name is everywhere else.” Her eyes are fixed on the coffee machine as she hitches her thumb back towards the menu board.

WILLOW’S

Willow.

It’s soft, feminine, and suits her from her blonde mop down to those sexy-arse sneakers.

It’s fucking perfect.

I extend my hand to her. After putting down the milk jug she slips her delicate fingers in my grasp. “Nice to finally meet you, Willow.”

“And you are?” She raises a suspicious eyebrow.

“As much as I love you calling me Brown-Eyes, I’m Ryan.” I flash her a wicked smile, and watch as the colour prickles at her cheeks.

“Well,
Ryan
. Why don’t you take a seat, and I’ll bring it out in a sec.”

“Sure.” I pull out a white chair at a nearby vacant table and make myself at home, sitting with one leg crossed, my ankle resting on my thigh.

Moments later, Willow breezes across the room and places a coffee cup on a saucer in front of me, and another small plate with a yellow cookie on it.