CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Michelle Wilson smiled at the young couple that stopped beside her stall. A young girl about the age of her youngest daughter clutched the hand of the gentleman and smiled shyly back at her.
“Can I have a look at your dolls?” the child whispered.
Michelle smiled again. “Of course.” She leaned across and lifted one of them out of the display box. “This one has pretty blond hair, just like you.”
The little girl took the doll carefully, her eyes wide with delight. “She’s beautiful.”
The girl turned to the woman who stood beside her. “Look, Mommy. She’s got a real dress and shoes and she even has nail polish.”
The girl’s mother smiled indulgently down at the child. “You’re right, Jasmine. They are beautiful.” She lifted her gaze to Michelle’s. “The craftsmanship is incredible. Do you make them?”
Michelle flushed with pleasure. “No, not me. My husband. He’s the one who likes to potter around in the shed.”
“Well, he’s very talented. You must be very proud of him.”
Jasmine stood entranced by the doll, stroking the doll’s hair and face with awestruck fingers. The man next to her reached for his wallet. “How much are they?”
“Forty dollars,” Michelle replied. “Each doll is unique. My husband never makes two the same.”
“In that case,” the man replied, “they are a real bargain. And I agree with my wife. The quality is exceptional.”
Michelle smiled and nodded. “Thank you. I will be sure to tell my husband.”
Pocketing the bills given to her by the man, she watched them walk away, hand in hand, and sighed. For a moment, she longed for things to be different. Even though her husband had a job that brought in a steady income and her daughters went to good schools and she lived in a nice house on a nice street in a nice neighbourhood, she still wished things were different.
She’d known since she was a child that her husband wasn’t like the other boys. Even though they were only ten when they met, it was obvious to Michelle he was different.
The nuns and brothers to whom the government had entrusted their care also knew. Not a day went by in the orphanage when they weren’t punishing him for it. She could never understand it. So what if he liked to play with dolls? So what if he preferred to wear underwear that had been allocated to the girls? It wasn’t what the other boys did, but what did it really matter?
There had been many a time when she’d intervened and had sided with him against the others when a fight had erupted. More and more, it had seemed her husband had been in the middle of it. She hadn’t cared. She couldn’t stand to sit by and watch someone smaller and weaker get bullied for being different.
She was different, too. With her white-blond hair that fell below her knees, and her skin so pale it almost looked translucent, she’d also suffered more than her fair share of harsh taunts. She’d often cried herself to sleep at night, with her head pressed tightly against the hard, calico pillowcase and wished with increasing desperation to be more like the others—the children with their plain brown hair and ordinary skin tone. She didn’t even know where her coloring had come from. The orphanage was the only home she could remember.
Michelle sighed again, knowing to dwell upon the past was an exercise in futility. It didn’t change anything. Besides, there was much to be grateful for. Business at the markets had been brisk, as usual. It was only mid-morning, but already she’d sold more than half of her stock. The fact that her husband had been spending increasingly more time in his shed with his dolls and less time with his real life family wasn’t really an issue. Was it?
He’d been more withdrawn than usual the last few months, but she’d put it down to the pressures of his job. He’d been doing permanent night shifts since June and found it very hard to sleep during the day. She guessed it had something to do with his life at the orphanage when they’d been severely beaten if they’d been found anywhere near the dormitory during the daylight hours.
Still, she worried about him. She wished she could let it go, but she couldn’t.
* * *
As much as Clayton tried to switch it off, his brain kept returning to the puzzle. Spread out across his freshly made hotel bed were the files of each of the girls. He’d been at it all afternoon and even after he’d gone out for a solitary dinner of fish and chips down at Circular Quay, his mind had refused to let it go. His latest argument with Ellie had also kept him tense.
He’d walked to the Quay from his hotel. He’d hoped the cool August night and the sights and sounds of one of Sydney’s famous landmarks would soothe the jumble and confusion of his thoughts. He’d passed groups of tourists and locals enjoying a night out at the numerous restaurants that lined the promenade. Their bright holiday clothing and happy, carefree conversations distracted him momentarily, but not for long. Even the sound of the water lapping against the pier had failed to relax him.
Eventually, he’d called it quits and had made his way back up the hill to his hotel.
Now, he looked at the dates again.
Angelina Caruso was the first to disappear on May twenty-ninth. They now knew Sally Batten was the next to go missing on June nineteenth. A Tuesday, so her mother had said. Two weeks later, Josie Ward disappeared.
Something clicked in Clayton’s brain and he checked the files again. May twenty-ninth was a Tuesday. So was July third, the day Josie disappeared.
He had to tell Ellie.
Okay, it could probably wait until morning, but he wanted to hear her voice. Clayton’s heart thudded. There, he’d admitted it. He was falling for her. Hard and fast. He checked his watch. It was nearly ten. Late, but surely not too late.
He scrolled through his call log and then paused. What if she was still mad? What if she didn’t answer, like last night? He didn’t want to sit on this until morning. He could always call Ben, but this gave Clayton the excuse he’d been looking for to go and see her.
Picking up his jacket from the back of a chair, he shrugged it on, grabbed her card with the address and sat down to pull on his boots. Running his hand quickly through his hair and smoothing it down as best as he could, he grabbed his wallet and room key card off the table and headed out the door.
* * *
Ellie sighed and let the day’s frustrations seep out into the hot, soapy bath water. She couldn’t believe the day she’d had. Thank God it was over. She cringed as she thought of the way she’d attacked the Fed. Okay, so he was a little conceited, but he definitely hadn’t deserved the heated spray she’d given him.
Though she’d arrived home as mad as hell, another hour of pacing and cursing and a healthy glass of merlot she’d barely tasted, had cooled her temper enough to think. She owed him an apology. Another one.
It would be so much easier if he didn’t rankle her like he did. The way he’d taken it upon himself to stick his nose into her private life had left her fuming and even though he’d apologized, she was sure he still didn’t really appreciate how much it had upset her. She wasn’t used to people prying into her life without her knowledge. It wasn’t something she’d ever experienced.
Reaching for her razor and the new bar of orange and frangipani-scented soap, she stuck one leg out of the water and lathered it. She’d been so busy the last few weeks, she hadn’t had a spare minute to indulge herself. The long, long workdays had, more often than not, extended into the night. She’d been lucky to manage a light meal, a quick shower and bed.
She observed the length of the hair on her soapy leg. A wry grin tugged at her lips. Lucky it was winter. It didn’t matter so much when she wore trousers every day. And even the few times she’d worn a skirt, the state of the hair on her legs was concealed beneath stockings or tights.
She finished running the razor along the length of her first leg and switched over. Giving it the same treatment, she rinsed off the soap and stood. Lifting her arms, she grimaced and padded across the bathroom to the shower. Taking the razor and soap in with her, she lathered and shaved under her arms, then reached for the shampoo.
Knowing it would leave her hair curling riotously and totally out of control—but wanting to feel clean all over—she scrubbed it and then applied conditioner. Rinsing out, she reveled in the luxuriant warmth and steam of the shower.
After long minutes, she turned the faucets off and squeezed the water out of her hair. Opening the clear glass door, she stepped out of the shower and onto the fluffy, white bathmat. Her mother had voiced an opinion about that, too. So what if it wasn’t quite so white and fluffy now? It was what she’d wanted at the time. That should have been all that mattered.
After giving her hair a brisk rub, she wrapped a bath sheet around her body. With a sigh of satisfaction, she switched off the light in the bathroom and padded down the carpeted hallway to the kitchen. A glance at the clock on the wall near the sink told her it was just after ten. Time for a hot cup of coffee before bed.
The water had nearly boiled when her front door buzzer sounded. Frowning, she stepped into the hallway and pressed the intercom.
“Who is it?”
There was a moment of silence before Clayton’s deep, familiar voice filled the air.
“It’s me. Clayton. I just…I’ve been going over the files. I think I’ve found something. Um, I mean… I just wanted to… Christ, I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry, Ellie. It can wait until morning. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Although her heart had started pounding the second she’d heard him speak, she knew it wasn’t wise to invite him in. She’d already cursed him to hell for prying into her private life. It would be more than hypocritical to ask him into her apartment. It was as private as it got—her sanctuary from the rest of the world. The last thing she wanted was to have him invading it.
“Why don’t you come on up and tell me about it?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She suddenly realized what she’d said. Nerves came to life in her belly. Depressing the button with fingers that were slightly shaky, she added, “Um, give me a few minutes. I just stepped out of the shower.”
* * *
The outer door to the apartment block clicked open and Clayton took the stairs two at a time. His head was full of images of Ellie warm and wet and soapy. Christ, why did she have to go and tell him that? Now he could barely remember the reason he’d come.
Something to do with a break in the case. Yeah, that was it. Tuesdays. It had something to do with Tuesdays. He shook his head in disgust. He was bullshitting himself. He wanted to see her. Simple.
Drawing in some deep breaths, he paused on the landing between floors in an effort to get his heart rate back to normal. In. Out. In. Out. His stamina had slipped. He hadn’t had his usual workout since he’d arrived in Sydney. Even still, a few flights of stairs shouldn’t have done him in. He refused to acknowledge being out of breath had anything to do with the woman who was even now waiting for him on the other side of her door.
Despite his best efforts, his heart continued to pound and his chest felt tight. He felt like a teenager on his first date. Which was just ridiculous. He’d turned twenty-eight on his last birthday and this was definitely not a date. It was a work meeting. Nothing more. No different to when they’d brainstormed in the squad room.
Except his palms hadn’t felt sweaty then. And his heart hadn’t thumped so loudly. And Ellie hadn’t just left a hot, steamy shower.
“Christ, just get on with it,” he muttered testily under his breath. She was just a woman. He’d worked with plenty of them. It was only that none of them had made him feel the way she did.
He hurried up the last few stairs. She was probably wondering what the hell was taking him so long. Steeling himself with another deep breath, he knocked decisively on her door.
Thirty seconds later, it opened. She stood on the other side, dressed in jeans and a dark red sweater that complemented her light coloring. Her face was free from makeup and her still-damp hair sprang out in wild disarray.
She smelled of citrus and vanilla and something else. She smelled delicious. She smiled at him and his heart did a backflip, refusing to behave itself, despite his pep talk.
“Come in.”
Opening the door wide, she gestured for him to enter. There was a small living room to his left, straight off the hall. He stepped past her and moved into the room. She closed and locked the door behind him.
Even though it was late, she hadn’t yet drawn the curtains and his gaze swept over the view of the city skyline visible through the sliding glass doors that led out onto a balcony.
“Nice view.”
She came into the room and stopped a few feet away. “It is, isn’t it? Thanks to Mom and Dad’s early succession planning. I’m a lucky girl.”
An electric log fire glowed warmly from the middle of one wall. Soft orange and yellow light bounced off the tasteful Australian landscapes that hung near the window on the opposite side. A white leather couch decorated with bright red and orange cushions dominated the rest of the room.
“It’s a great spot.” He eyed her with curiosity. “But a fair commute to Penrith.”
She acknowledged the tacit quest for information with a slight tug of her lips. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I was out of line. You’re working harder than any of us to solve this. If there’s something you want to know about me, just say it, okay?”
Heat crept beneath the collar of his polo shirt and he was glad the only light in the room came from the fire. Struggling for something to say, he wished he could remember Riley’s words of wisdom about the sensitivity some people had toward sharing personal information.
Of course, he could understand it. He knew exactly how it felt to have people coming forward—some of them almost strangers—expressing concern and sympathy, watching him with pity, understanding, compassion and just plain old curiosity. Lisa had been gone three years, but still he remembered.
He’d known why they were curious. For most, it was simply because they cared, and there was nothing wrong with that, even if it had made him uncomfortable.
He gazed at Ellie in the dimness and his heart clenched. Her eyes were wide and uncertain and despite her obvious effort to look calm and collected, the anxious fluttering of her hands and the way her gaze kept skittering away from him told him differently. It increased his confidence to realize he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous.
She cleared her throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure, what are you having?”
“I…ah… I just boiled the water. I was about to have a cup of coffee, but I can get you something stronger, if you like.”
“No, coffee’s fine.” He grinned at her. “I thought I was the only one who drank coffee right before bedtime.”
Her gaze slid away again at the mention of bedtime. She ducked her head. “The kitchen’s through this way. We can talk while I make it.”
He stared at her in silence, distracted by the way her sweater seemed to mold itself to her breasts. He was almost certain she wasn’t wearing a bra.
A tiny frown appeared between her eyes. “Clayton?”
“Sure, sounds good,” he managed and followed her out of the room.
She’d already spooned ground coffee beans into a stainless steel coffee pot when he wandered into the kitchen. Like the living room, it was small, but cozy. A worn pine table and two blue, painted wooden chairs stood against the wall near the door.
His gaze drifted across the row of small china knickknacks that lined the window sill. An array of photos of people he presumed to be her friends were plastered symmetrically across the fridge, held by colorful magnets.
She had her back to him and he took a few moments to admire the tidy view. Apart from the clingy dress she’d worn the night they’d gone out to dinner, he’d only ever seen her in smart but somber-looking business suits. And mostly trouser suits, at that.
A couple of times, she’d come to work in a short, straight skirt that had fallen just above her knee and he’d been able to admire a very fine set of legs—at least, as much of them as he’d been able to see. But the faded blue Levis she had on tonight really did her justice. Her small round butt was lovingly cupped by the denim and his hands yearned to touch her.
Dropping his gaze lower, he smiled in surprise. She was barefoot. He hadn’t noticed it before. No wonder she’d seemed even smaller when she’d opened the door. Although she usually favored a sensible court shoe over a stiletto, he’d never seen her without some sort of a heel.
It somehow made everything seem more intimate. The last barefooted woman he’d shared a room with had been his wife. His late wife.
Riley and the rest of his family were right. He needed to push the guilt aside and start living in the present. The loss of Lisa was still sharp and real, but she wasn’t here. And she never would be again. It was Ellie his body burned for now. It was Ellie’s image that woke him as he lay panting and sweaty amongst the twisted sheets. The thought of letting the memory of his wife recede scared the hell out of him, but maybe it was time?
Ellie turned to face him, holding a steaming coffee mug in her hand. She smiled shyly and his pulse accelerated.
“Black, right?”
His eyebrows flew up in surprise. “What gave me away?”
“I’ve shared the tea room with you, remember?”
He grinned back at her, willing the nerves away. “I’m flattered you noticed.”
“Ha, don’t feel too special. I’m a detective. I notice everything.”
“Touché.”
He reached out and took the hot cup out of her hand and their fingers touched. He heard her slight intake of breath and did his best to get his own heart rate back under control. An awkward silence fell between them. They both looked away.
“How about we—?”
“Why don’t you—?”
They spoke in a jumble. A bark of nervous laughter escaped him as Ellie turned away and busied herself at the sink.
Clayton bit his lip. Christ, being here was so not a good idea. What the hell had he been thinking? He cleared his throat and tried again.
“How about we retire to the couch and talk there while I enjoy your million dollar view?”
“Good idea.” She picked up her mug and he stepped politely aside as she led the way out of the room.
“Even better,” she threw over her shoulder, “we could sit out on the balcony. The air’s a bit crisp, but with that southern blood of yours, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it.”
He stopped dead in the living room. Unaware of his sudden consternation, Ellie slid open the glass doors.
“Um, actually… If you don’t mind, I’d rather sit in here.”
She turned in momentary surprise before comprehension filled her eyes.
“Oh, God, that’s right. I’m sorry. I should have remembered. Especially after that night at Centrepoint. It was thoughtless of me. I don’t know how you managed to cope. You even ate most of your meal. At least, I think you did. Are you sure—?”
His heart soared at her nervousness. “Ellie.”
Her jaw snapped shut and he tried to conceal a grin. She looked away, embarrassed. Tenderness welled up inside him. He could almost hear the ice cracking from around his heart.
He gestured in the direction of the couch. “Let’s sit in here. I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to sit on a genuine white leather couch.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.” He grinned. “But I was still pretty young when my daughter was born. My career hadn’t gotten to the point where I could shop for furniture like this. Besides, my wife would never have brought anything white into our house. She was far too practical for that.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she sat down on the three-seater a few feet away. “You have a daughter? That’s wonderful. I had no idea.”
His cheeks burned with embarrassment. Of course she wouldn’t. He was the only one insensitive enough to use Google to pry into his co-worker’s private life.
“Yeah, Olivia,” he mumbled. “She’s four.”
As if sensing his discomfort, she leaned closer. “Clayton, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I wasn’t referring to your Google search. I was merely expressing surprise.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, it’s okay. I’m glad you brought it up, anyway. I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am for invading your privacy. I honestly had no idea you’d find it so disturbing and I’m mortified that you did.” He held her gaze, hoping she could see how sincere he felt. “Will you please forgive me?”
Her eyes stayed somber for long moments and his heart sank. Christ, she was never going to get over it. He was going to lose a chance with the only woman who’d sparked his interest since his wife had died. And all because of some stupid Google search. He closed his eyes briefly at the enormity of it, dismayed by the wave of disappointment that washed over him.
And then her voice reached him, soft and uncertain.
“It’s okay, Munro. Don’t sweat it. I over-reacted. It was a big deal for me, but then, I have…issues.” She looked away and cleared her throat.
“Jamie died in early July. I’d suffered through another anniversary of his death right before you arrived in Sydney. My parents called from Florence to check that I was okay. I thought I’d managed to cope with the memories reasonably well until the incident with the little boy, Zach Clements. It was too close to home. It brought everything back: the darkness, the despair, the absolute desolation that only losing a child can bring. I should have kept up with my therapy, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to keep talking about it. All it seemed to do was keep the whole terrible time in my head, where I didn’t want it to be. I wanted to shut myself off from it, away from the guilt and the pain and the utter devastation of knowing that there was nothing I could have done to save him and there was nothing I could do to bring him back.”
She lifted her gaze to his. He was stricken at the sadness in their emerald depths.
“You probably did me a favor. You forced me out of hiding.”
“Christ, Ellie. I’m so sorry. I had no right. I, of all people, know everyone grieves in their own way. It wasn’t my place to force you into something you weren’t ready for.”
Her lips tightened. Tears glinted in her eyes. Her voice dropped to a husky whisper.
“But was I ever going to be ready? Maybe I needed to be pushed? Maybe you did me a favor? You forced me out of hiding.”
Without warning, huge tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks, silvery trails in the dim light. Clayton’s chest tightened on a surge of emotion.
Unable to sit idly by and watch her cry, he scooted closer and drew her into his arms. She shuddered and buried her face against his chest. They sat in silence while he held her. Quiet tears soaked into the front of his shirt.
After a few moments, she pulled away and leaned over to tug some tissues out of a box on the coffee table. She swiped at her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I guess I’m feeling a little vulnerable tonight.”
His heart filled with tenderness and he drew her back to his side. She snuggled her head close against his chest and breathed in deeply. They sat in companionable silence. He stroked the velvety-softness of her cheek over and over with the back of his fingers…
His heart rate accelerated. She felt so good against him. So warm. So right.
Images of Lisa swam before his eyes. Momentary guilt weighed him down. He pushed it aside with a surge of irritation. He was with Ellie. Beautiful, warm, giving Ellie. He wanted her. What was wrong with that?
Nothing. Everything. Uncertainty, desire and anger churned up inside him. Determinedly pushing them all aside, he tilted her chin upward with his fingers and leaned in closer. Slowly, slowly, he touched her lips with his.
Soft. Moist. Warm. Comforting. And the faintest taste of coffee. It lasted less than half a minute, but it seemed like a lifetime. She was the first woman he’d kissed since Lisa. He couldn’t believe how good it felt.
He pulled back slowly.
Her eyes, wide and full of wonder, never strayed from his face. Unable to resist, he kissed her again.
This time, as if given permission, the passion that had been smouldering deep inside him burst free. He reached around and cupped the back of her head in his hand to hold it still while his lips devoured hers.
His tongue swept into her mouth and took all she was willing to give and more. Heat exploded through him and centred in his groin. He was rock-hard and on fire.
Her arms twined around his neck and drew him even closer. He heard a moan and wasn’t sure which one of them it came from—and didn’t care.
Releasing her head, his fingers moved of their own accord and trailed down her neck and then lower. Soft and unbound, he filled his hands with her sweater-clad breasts while his lips continued their onslaught.
The scent of her perfume filled his nostrils. She smelled nothing like Lisa. She felt nothing like Lisa. She wasn’t Lisa. She was Ellie and she felt so damned right it scared him.
Breathing hard, he pulled back and hugged her close to his chest. He rested his chin on her head and fought to regain control. It was madness. It was insane. It was unavoidable and he knew he had to taste her again.
He lowered his head and swept her tight against him. He kissed her with all the longing that had been building up inside him from the moment he’d spied her across the floor in the squad room. She met his passion without hesitation and he reveled in the heat and softness that was her.
Long moments later, he loosened his arms around her. She pulled away slightly and stared up at him, her eyes full of light and shadow, passion and uncertainty.
Her voice was a husky whisper. “If there’s one thing you do know how to do, Fed, it’s kiss.”
He ducked his head in embarrassment, feeling unaccount