Читать книгу Dangerous Deception - Sandy Curtis - Страница 5

It wafted on the night air.

A sound, so soft she could have imagined it, but so out of place in the leafy suburban Melbourne street, made Breeanna Montgomery's neck stiffen with tension.

She realised, then, that the security light on her front patio had not lit her vehicle's approach as it normally did. No insects buzzed in the crisp spring air. No breeze ruffled the shrubs in her small front yard. The stillness suddenly seemed oppressive. Her stomach clenched. Perhaps her instincts about the professor had been accurate. She hadn't wanted to believe him, didn't need that kind of suspicion in her life. But the worry now spiralling up to her throat and restricting her breathing couldn't be suppressed. Too many odd things had happened. Things she'd been trying to ignore so she wouldn't have to confront that part of her that she'd always managed to conceal.

Shaking her head against her fears, Breeanna took a deep breath, rolled up the car window, and opened the door. Her footsteps echoed softly between the overgrown bordering hedge and the house as she walked swiftly up the path and across the concrete patio to the front door.

Clouds covered the sliver of moon and she used her fingertips to sort through the keyring. It jangled as she inserted the correct key into the slot. Familiar though the noise was, it grated on her already tight nerves. She stepped into the living room and reached for the light switch. As her fingers connected and light flooded the room, a rustling noise made her turn.

A black-clad figure rushed through the front doorway and grabbed her around the throat, slamming her back against the wall.

Cold metal jabbed into her cheek, and she realised the sound she had heard as she'd sat in her car was that of a gun being cocked.

A sawn-off, pump-action shotgun.

Keeping a cool head had helped Breeanna extricate herself from some dicey situations in the past, but the wild glitter in the eyes revealed in the man's ski-mask caused almost paralysing fear to shiver up her spine.

He was high on something. Something that jerked his body and twitched the arm that held the shotgun. His black denim jacket smelled of stale sweat, nicotine and too many joints.

'Where is it?' Staccato, high-pitched, the words spat at her.

Speed freak. A very dangerous speed freak. Breeanna fought to stay calm, but heard the tremble in her voice. 'Where is what?'

'The book. You know. He told you.'

'Who told me?'

The barrel pressed harder. 'The professor. Now hand it over. Or I'll pull the trigger.' A sharp giggle escaped his thin lips.

Breeanna's heart thumped hard and fast. Whatever he was after, she didn't have it. But with the state he was in he probably wouldn't believe her. And he would possibly carry out his threat.

'I'll give it to you,' she lied. 'It's in my bag.' She half-lifted her shoulder-bag with her left hand, the right tightening on her keyring. 'But I feel so dizzy, so …' She let her voice fade, eyelids quivering almost closed, slumping her body so that her weight rested against the hand clamped around her throat.

"Shit!" The gunman released his grip and reached for the bag, the gun easing away from Breeanna's cheek. She kicked up, crunching her knee into his groin, and punched the keys into his face.

He screamed in pain, folding forwards, clutching at his crotch with one hand, the other still holding the shotgun.

Breeanna ran.

The short distance to her car seemed impossibly long, the remote control too slow in unlocking the doors. Terror pounded through her veins as she scrambled into the driver's seat and locked the door.

A shriek of rage tore through the night. Her attacker hobbled off the patio, shotgun aimed at her car window.

Breeanna turned the key in the ignition. The engine purred.

A shot sounded.

She expected the glass to shatter, to feel pain as pellets tore into her flesh, but instead saw the intruder's face explode before he toppled backwards.

Shocked beyond movement, Breeanna sat, staring at the body.

A man, gun held two-fisted in front of him, stepped out from the hedge and walked past her car. When he reached the body he bent over, slipped his gun into a holster under his suit coat, and efficiently frisked the corpse. He straightened, and walked back to the car. He tried to open the driver's door, then realising it was locked, knocked on the window.

The sound shook Breeanna out of her daze. She slid the window down. The engine hummed quietly, a normal sound in a far from normal night.

'You're safe now, Miss.' The words were innocuous, the tone neutral, but Breeanna sensed something in the man that … Unease gnawed into her stomach. She made no move to open the door. The man bent towards the window. With the light coming through the front doorway behind him, his features were in shadow, but the glow of the dash lights revealed deep-set eyes above a straight nose and wide lips pulled thin as though trying to hide his impatience. An irrelevant thought struck Breeanna that in his younger days he must have been quite good-looking.

He held out his hand, open-palmed. 'You can give it to me now.'

It.

The man now lying dead on her front path wanted it. Was prepared to kill her for it. Whatever it was. She forced herself to remember. A book. From the professor, he'd said. She didn't have it, didn't know what it was supposed to be. But one man was dead, and the professor was lying in a hospital bed, so terrified that it was a wonder he hadn't had another stroke.

'I'll take care of it. See it gets to the right people.' Impatience now tinged his voice. Breeanna felt waves of greed and excitement emanating from him. Like a dog that has the scent of blood and wants to kill again, she thought, and realised that his hand was moving closer to his gun.

'Right,' she breathed, surprised she sounded so calm. Pretending to reach for her bag, which she'd flung onto the passenger seat, she slipped the automatic gear into reverse and pushed hard on the accelerator.

Tyres screeching, the car shot backwards up the short driveway, throwing the man off balance, then slammed out into the street. Breeanna hit the brakes, pulled the gearstick into Drive, and scorched rubber on the bitumen as she sped away.

'Get this mess cleaned up. Quickly.' Vaughn Waring growled as he kicked the body lying in front of Breeanna's patio. Shooting the idiot who would have killed the Montgomery woman had been necessary, but going up to her afterwards in an attempt to win her trust had been a risk. A risk that hadn't paid off. Not only had she been scared off, but she might have seen enough of his face to recognise him again. At the moment, that gave her an advantage he preferred she didn't have.

'I'll get the car.' A man had emerged from behind the hedge and joined Vaughn, who turned and strode quickly up the driveway. Vaughn's frustration hissed out through clenched teeth. At least that was one thing he could count on - Mark Talbert was as efficient as he was quiet. Good qualities in a subordinate who needed to carry out orders without questioning.

Quickly, Vaughn walked into the house, took out his handkerchief, and used it to switch off the light and pull the door closed behind him as he went back outside.

Only the reversing lights indicated the presence of the dark car moving smoothly into the driveway. The boot popped open. Mark Talbert emerged from the driver's seat, spread a blanket across the floor of the boot, then lifted the body from the path and placed it on the blanket.

Vaughn unwound a hose from a tap at the corner of the house and sprayed the path. Fresh blood would dilute quickly and soak into the soil beneath the hedge. And from what he'd witnessed, it was doubtful there would be anyone inquiring as to the whereabouts of the dead man. Well, certainly not inquiring with the police, he thought. He rewound the hose, and got into the passenger seat.

As the car moved quietly out of the driveway, Vaughn scanned the neighbouring houses. In a street of high dividing fences, thick shrubbery and established trees, it was feasible to assume his gunshot could have been mistaken for a car back-firing, but it was wiser to be cautious. Not all neighbours kept to themselves. He was relieved to see no curtain pulled aside, no person coming out into their front yard to investigate.

Vaughn took out his mobile phone. If Breeanna Montgomery thought she had eluded him, he smiled grimly, she was very much mistaken.

Five minutes later, Breeanna parked in front of an all-nighter cafe and sat, hands shaking on the steering wheel, trying to calm the pounding in her chest and the thoughts spinning furiously in her mind.

Whatever Professor Raymond was supposed to have given her was evidently worth killing for. She cursed herself for not taking him more seriously. His fear had been real, that was obvious, but until tonight she'd tried to believe it was the fear of a man who'd escaped possible death and now had to face a life as a quadriplegic. His implication of her family troubled her greatly, but she had had no reason to confront them. Until tonight. Until it had become obvious that the professor's fears were based on reality.

She could go to the police, but if Paige were involved … Breeanna sighed. While they weren't as close as she would have liked, Paige was still her half-sister, and Breeanna loved her. The instinct to protect her sibling was too strong to ignore. If only she knew how to contact her father. She was sure he could work out what had driven Professor Raymond to make such an accusation. The professor had accused her uncle, James Montgomery as well, but as Breeanna knew, the two men barely tolerated one another so that wasn't surprising.

The events of the past five days flashed through her mind, and she cursed herself for choosing to ignore the feeling of unease she'd harboured since the professor's accident. Perhaps if she'd had the courage to acknowledge her instincts, she would have been able to prevent what had happened tonight.

A young couple emerged from the cafe, and the aroma of their takeaway food reminded Breeanna she hadn't eaten since breakfast. The last few days she'd worked through her lunch break, trying to cover the professor's work as well as her own. But at the moment food wasn't a high priority. She knew the man who'd killed her attacker would be looking for her, and she guessed he would kill again in order to possess what the professor had supposedly given her. Which meant she couldn't take refuge with her friends as that would endanger them. She'd considered and discarded the idea he was a police officer, everything about him had indicated the opposite.

So where could she hide while she tried to make contact with her father? She thought of a book she'd read several years before about a woman on the run who was taught by an ex-prostitute how to hide so she couldn't be found by the men chasing her. Money. She would need as much cash as she could get her hands on. Several buildings up, lights illuminated an automatic teller machine.

Quickly exiting her car, Breeanna strode to the ATM and withdrew her daily limit. She looked at the crisp notes in her hand. One thousand dollars. Not enough, but it would have to do for now. She walked back to the cafe. Though her stomach was churning, she knew she would have to eat.

The shop was warm and smelled of cooking oil and chips and sizzling steak. Breeanna placed and paid for her order, then sat at a corner table. As the minutes ticked by she tried to formulate a plan, but her thoughts kept being distracted by the memory of the intruder's face as it exploded.

A reflection of moving red and blue on the window caught her eye. A police car was slowing down outside the shop. It paused briefly behind her car. She stared at it for a few seconds before realising that the officer in the passenger seat was speaking into a radio handset as he looked at her number plate. Normally, Breeanna would think herself paranoid getting alarmed because a cop was giving her car the once-over, but tonight her skin crawled with apprehension.

She watched the car drive slowly forward, watched it turn right at the next intersection and disappear. Relaxing was out of the question. She was going with her instincts now, and they told her the police hadn't gone away. They were waiting. Waiting out of sight. And she had a terrible suspicion she knew who they were waiting for.

The cafe attendant called out to her as she ran for the door. She grabbed the proffered white paper bag and was in her car within seconds. Leaving her headlights off, she turned back the way she had come, away from the police car. Two intersections later she turned right and headed north as quickly as the speed limit would allow.

'She must have seen the bloody cop car.' Vaughn's irritation was barely controlled as Mark returned to their vehicle and related what the cafe attendant had observed.

'Why didn't she go straight to the police?' Mark mused, replacing the photo of Breeanna he had shown the attendant in his jacket pocket. 'Wouldn't that be your first reaction if you'd been attacked?'

'Perhaps she's like us. Perhaps she wants it for herself, doesn't want the word to get out. If it's as valuable as we've been told, then it would be tempting.'

'Maybe she doesn't know who to trust.'

Vaughn lit up a cigarette as he looked at the younger man. What was he getting at?

'You'd just killed someone in front of her,' Mark explained. 'How was she to know she could trust you? Perhaps I should approach her next time.'

Average in looks and height, Talbert had a kind face most people instinctively trusted. There was sense in what he was saying, but Vaughn was reluctant to let him be involved any more than was necessary. When Vaughn had received the details on this case, it had seemed like the opportunity he'd been waiting for. The chance to make some real money. Although well paid for his services, he hungered for more. And if what he suspected were true, an even more precious prize could be at stake. At fifty-nine, he was beginning to feel the limitations his age was placing on his body, and knew his days in the field were numbered. And the generous payout that would be made to him could never buy what he wanted. He exhaled smoke out the window and reached for the laptop at his feet. Police were covering the homes of the Montgomery woman's friends, but perhaps there was something he had overlooked. The screen glowed into life, and he quickly scanned the relevant files.

Nothing. Nothing he hadn't already covered. She hadn't gone to her sister or her uncle, so she was either still running or was hiding somewhere. He tempered his urge to swear. Giving in to frustration wouldn't help. He couldn't risk making a mistake. There was too much to lose.

The red light on Breeanna's fuel gauge began to glow. Although it meant she could travel about another sixty or so kilometres, she would prefer to fill up now in case the man who'd shot her attacker caught up with her.

Aware of the higher police presence on the major freeways, she had driven through suburban streets, her gaze flicking constantly to her rear-view mirror. In the past ten minutes she had decided to drive north for a few hours and book in at a caravan park while she worked out what to do next. She'd managed to eat her burger while driving, and now the thought of a cup of coffee was tantalising. The shock of what she'd witnessed had worn off, and a shot of caffeine might help to keep her alert as she drove. A service station with a cafe attached seemed like a good idea.

A couple of times in the past five minutes she'd had the feeling she was being followed, but the only car consistently behind her appeared to be driven by someone whose attention was focused more on weaving from lane to lane than keeping up with Breeanna's white Laser.

Another ten minutes passed before Breeanna spotted a service station with the longed-for cafe. A group of teenagers spilled out through the doors, laughing and shouting. Breeanna pulled in and parked in front of the bowser. She took her bag and locked the car, keeping a watchful eye on approaching traffic. By the time she'd finished filling the tank other vehicles were waiting, so she drove her car to a parking space against the boundary fence.

She paid the attendant, walked through to the cafe and ordered coffee. A young couple walked up to the counter, and Breeanna stepped away, backing up against a stand of bread and groceries. A horn blew and she glanced outside to where the teenagers were making impolite gestures at a car speeding along the street.

Movement near her Laser caught her eye. A man, solidly built and average in height, was moving from her driver's side door and around the back of her car. Apprehension snaked up her spine as he stopped at the front passenger door. Two seconds later he walked back up the row of parked cars as though he were heading towards the service station. At the last car he walked around to the passenger side, placed his forearm on the roof, and leaned down slightly to speak to the passenger. As he did so, his suit coat lifted and revealed a shadow, dark against the white of his shirt. A shadow that could, without any imagination, assume the shape of a shoulder holster.

The attendant called her number. With shaking hands she grabbed her coffee and retreated behind the grocery stand, sipping on the steaming liquid, and watched again.

The man was now walking towards the service station, his determined pace matching the expression on his face.

Breeanna shrank back, heart pounding. He wasn't the man who'd shot her attacker, but his movements were suspicious. Too suspicious to disregard. Of all the cars parked out there, why would he be checking hers? No, it wasn't coincidence, and as he got closer to the cafe her trepidation grew.

The urge to run to her car and speed away was strong, but logic told her that she wouldn't get away this time. Whoever had located and followed her must be a professional. The door of the service station section slid open and Breeanna watched him walk up to the cash register operator and hold out a photograph.

Breeanna strode back to the cafe counter, her mind racing. Pushing in front of another customer, she asked the attendant for the location of the ladies' toilet, and he pointed towards a corridor at the end of the room. Still clutching her coffee, she walked briskly past lemon-coloured walls to a closed door with a Ladies sign attached, and noticed the corridor branched to the right, ending in two doors marked Staff Only. She tried one. A storage room. She opened the other. A handbasin and mirror were attached to the wall, and an open door revealed a toilet.

Damn! She was trapped. Then she saw another door at the side of the room. It had a lock which required a key to open it from the outside. Without hesitating she wrenched it open, and found herself behind the building.

She forced down the panic rising in her chest and looked around. A closed roller-doored workshop with Mechanic painted on it stood to her right. Parked in front were a large refrigerated truck and a smaller truck with a high canvas-covered back. As she stood there, frantically considering her options, a stout figure in crumpled pants and flannelette shirt strolled around the service station corner, munching on a spring roll and fries. Breeanna placed her coffee on the ground and pretended to fix the strap on her shoe as she watched him climb into the cabin of the smaller truck and close the door.

After only a slight hesitation, she made up her mind. Before the truck's engine rumbled into life, she raced across and released one of the clips securing the canvas cover at the back. Grateful she'd chosen to wear pants instead of a skirt that morning, she stepped onto the tow-bar and hauled herself inside. The truck lurched into reverse and she rolled forward, banging her arm on a big wooden box. She stifled her cry of pain, and gripped the box for support as the truck moved off.

It was only when the vehicle had been travelling for what seemed like hours, but she knew could only have been about thirty minutes, that she dared to look out through the gap in the canvas.

As she recognised the route the driver had taken, Breeanna realised that fate had chosen her course of action for her.

Mark walked to where Vaughn waited near Breeanna Montgomery's car. When their associate had informed them that Breeanna had purchased fuel and gone into the cafe, they had closed in, hoping to trap her, and Vaughn had sent Mark to check on her while he waited.

'Well?' Impatience edged Vaughn's voice.

'The cafe attendant said she asked for the toilet. He saw her go in, but he didn't see her come out. I checked. The toilet was empty and has no exit, but a staff toilet further along has access to the yard and workshop out the back.'

'So we've lost her.'

Mark nodded. 'It looks like it. She's definitely not in the building, and I searched the surrounds.' He watched the other man's reaction with interest. He knew Vaughn lived and breathed his job, but something personal had entered into this case. Something that Vaughn wanted. Badly.

'Get her photo to every cop in the country, but let them know there's to be no media involvement. I'm to be informed the moment she's found, but they're to take no further action except keep her under surveillance. Discreet surveillance.'

Mark punched numbers into his mobile phone. It irked him that Vaughn hadn't given him any details about what they were after. A records book that the Montgomery woman was supposed to have - he'd supplied that much - but nothing to indicate what information was in it. But Mark was a patient man. It was one of the reasons he had been chosen for this job.

He hoped there would be no need for his other skills.