Читать книгу Dangerous Deception - Sandy Curtis - Страница 6

'How could you have used such an imbecile to get the stuff off the Montgomery woman?' Frank Delano thundered, his black eyebrows bristling at the bridge of his fleshy nose.

Darren 'Doggie' Kennett cringed as Frank thumped his desk, the only piece of furniture in his office that looked substantial enough to withstand the force of the overweight bar owner's temper. Frank had bestowed the nickname on Doggie because the man's long face and droopy ears and eyes reminded him of his favourite childhood cartoon character, but he sometimes wondered if Doggie was any more intelligent than the animal he was named after.

'We've always worked together pretty good before.' Doggie's left shoulder rose in a half-shrug that made it seem divorced from the rest of his body. 'He'd told me he was clean. Reckoned he hadn't used in months. When he turned up he seemed okay, but after we'd waited a while I could tell he was getting high. I told him to piss off but he was determined to stay 'cause he needed the dough.'

'You shoulda shoved a fifty in his pocket and kicked his arse out of there.'

'It was too late. The car pulled in and he followed her into the house. I was going to go in after him when I saw these two other guys. Creepy, they were. Just seemed to come from nowhere. They must have seen what was happening 'cause they didn't go into the house, they hid in the shadows. I didn't know what to do, so I stayed put.'

Frank hauled his bulky body from the chair, and heard the air suck slowly back through the leather. 'And watched them shoot your mate and let the Montgomery woman get away.'

The words were soft but his tone was steel, and the sweat of fear glistened on Doggie's forehead. He wiped at his face, and wondered if the airconditioning was working. 'I have no idea who those blokes were, Frank, honest. But they didn't get nothing either. They shot through as soon as they'd … picked up the body.'

Frank tried to think logically. Disposing of the body and cleaning up the scene certainly didn't fit into the MO of anyone he knew, and from what Doggie had told him of the events, the men involved were professionals. Of some kind. Which led him to the only logical conclusion.

Someone had blabbed.

Someone had wanted to cut him out of the equation.

That someone would pay.

The chair groaned as he sat down and reached for the phone.

Paige Montgomery looked up as Allan Walters walked into the reception area of the Montgomery Medical Research Institute at St Kilda. His unbuttoned lab coat flapped with each lanky stride, and as he bent over Paige's desk his straight brown hair fell onto his glasses.

'Have you heard from Breeanna?' he asked.

Paige frowned. 'Isn't she at work?'

'She hasn't come in this morning, and with the professor away I've had to take over the routine checks on both their experiments as well as trying to do my own work. She's not answering her phone or her mobile. I've tried several times.' His hair flopped again as he shook his head. 'She's usually reliable.' He looked at his watch, and pushed back his glasses as they began to slide down. 'It's nearly twelve. I've got more checks to do.' With an impatient toss of his head he stalked back down the passageway that connected the administration and laboratory buildings.

Paige watched him retreat. He might carry on like a disturbed ibis, but Allan was right. Breeanna was normally reliable. If she hadn't phoned in sick, then something must be very wrong. The professor's accident a week ago had upset her, but after seeing him in hospital a couple of days later, Breeanna had appeared distracted and … disturbed. Paige's teeth worried at her bottom lip. She would have to go to Breeanna's home and see if she was all right.

A small waiting area, furnished in maroon tapestry-covered lounge chairs that complemented the cream walls and classic paintings, separated Paige's reception desk from two closed doors on the other side of the cosy room. Paige had suggested to her father that modernising the furniture would make it more impressive, but George Montgomery had smiled gently and said the chairs were still functional and would stay as long as they remained so. Paige knew that any profit made from the laboratories' commercial activities would be ploughed back into the cancer research so dear to her father's heart.

Picking up her handbag, she walked over to the left-hand door and knocked. At her uncle's brief, 'Come in', Paige opened the door.

James Montgomery's office contrasted greatly with the conservative, almost old-fashioned appearance of the reception area. An advertisement for chrome and glass, it seemed an appropriate setting for its occupant. James looked up at Paige's entrance, and the grey streaks in his thinning brown hair caught the overhead light. His dark charcoal suit was tailor-made to suit his tall, slim figure, but Paige noticed with surprise that it seemed a little crumpled, as though James had not paid his usual meticulous attention to his appearance. He had arrived late this morning, and Paige had barely glimpsed him as he'd hurried into his office.

Quickly she related what Allan Walters had said. 'Could you please answer the phone while I go to check on Breeanna?' she finished.

James stood up. 'I'll go with you,' he said. 'If she is ill I might be of some assistance.' He walked around and placed a comforting hand on Paige's shoulder. 'We'll go in my car.'

As James drove to East Malvern where Breeanna lived, Paige tried to push aside her concern for her sister and respond to his conversation. She was very fond of her uncle.

Although she knew her father loved her, she'd always been a little in awe of him. Perhaps if she'd seen more of him when she was a child it would have been different, but infrequent holidays with him in Melbourne had reinforced her perception of his emotional remoteness, his preoccupation with his dream of one day finding a cure for the cancer that had killed Morag, Breeanna's mother. And if she admitted it to herself, Paige had also been jealous of his love for his dead wife. As a teenager she'd come close to hating him for the pain he'd caused her mother. In marrying to procure a mother for Breeanna, George Montgomery had only succeeded in creating a wife who felt her love was unreciprocated, and a daughter who felt alienated by his work.

His younger brother, James, on the other hand, was personable, charming, and took the time to talk to Paige as though she were important. For a twenty-six year old who'd grown up in Perth and had seen her father only on brief visits, Paige had found in James the father figure she'd always wanted. So when he offered her a job at the institute two years ago, she'd happily accepted.

Now she watched the large residences of East Malvern pass by the Camry's window. James turned into the back streets and the housing changed, became smaller, less affluent. In a street where tending to gardens seemed a low priority, the car slowed down.

Soon they pulled up in front of a small, lowset brick house that Paige knew had been Breeanna's great-grandparents' home after the First World War. The property had passed down through her mother's family, and several years ago Breeanna had decided to move out of her father's home and live there.

Breeanna's car wasn't in the driveway. In the past Paige had always considered her half-sister a little strange, but the constant contact through work had revealed a warm, caring side to Breeanna that Paige had come to love, and she now felt her worry increase.

'You'd think she'd do something about this yard,' James muttered as they walked up the driveway.

Paige looked around at the blossom on the shrubs and found the profusion of colours appealing. 'They might be a little unkempt, Uncle James, but they're very pretty, and the perfume's lovely.'

James smiled thinly and she realised how tired he looked. The grey streaks had recently appeared in his brown hair, and deeper lines now creased his high forehead. With the worry of running the institute while his brother was overseas, and the extra burden of the professor's accident, Breeanna's unexplained absence must be adding to his concerns.

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the house as James pressed the button. And waited. Pressed it again. Waited again.

'Do you still have the spare key Breeanna gave you?'

Paige opened her handbag, rummaged through it, and finally drew out a solitary key on a thin ribbon. They opened the door and walked inside, Paige calling out Breeanna's name. Two steps into the living room Paige stopped.

'Oh!' The sound was out before she could stop it. She saw her uncle's frown, and explained. 'Breeanna's normally so neat. I'm … surprised,' she gestured to the half-full tea cup, some of its contents obviously slopped over the coffee table and a slew of crumpled magazines. Minimal furniture gave the small room an impression of spaciousness: low-backed, green-cushioned lounge, stereo wall unit and high bookcase tucked into the far corner.

'Come on,' said James. 'She could be in bed.'

Paige was equally shocked by the state of the bedroom. Rumpled sheets on the queen-size bed, clothing heaped on a white cane chair in the corner and half-fallen to the floor, shoes scattered as though kicked off and left. Worry ate into her further. She picked up a framed photo that had fallen down on the dresser and looked at it. Black hair that gleamed as though burnished by the sun framed a face neither beautiful nor plain, but arresting in the strength of the jawline and the fullness of the smiling mouth. But it was the eyes that held Paige's attention. Warm and dark, they seemed capable of looking into your soul, and Paige felt the same fascination she always did when she gazed at the photo.

'It's like looking at Breeanna, isn't it?'

James had walked quietly up behind her, and Paige gave a little start. She quickly stood the frame down. 'Yes. But Breeanna's prettier than her mother was. Well,' she shrugged, 'from what I've seen in the photos.'

'Morag was a stunning woman,' James said, as though to contradict her. 'Charismatic, compelling …'

He turned away, but she caught the whispered word 'beautiful' and it added further to the mystery she had always felt surrounded her father's first wife.

James glanced back at her. 'I'll search the rest of the house. You see if there's anything here that might give us a clue to where she's gone.'

Paige looked again at the dresser. Breeanna wore minimal make-up and the few items there confirmed that. Paige opened the top drawer. A jewellery case, personal items, a spare set of house keys, Christmas and birthday cards that must have been special to her. Nothing to give Paige an idea what had happened to her sister. She began to search through the other drawers. Underwear, knit tops, shorts. She pushed the last drawer closed. A muffled knock sounded. Puzzled, she pulled it open again and felt through the silky pants and slips and sports briefs until she touched something solid. She pulled out a black plastic case no bigger than a small box of chocolates. Her fingers moved to open it, then stopped. No, she shouldn't do it. It would be violating Breeanna's privacy. She lowered the case to the drawer as James entered the room.

'What's that?'

'I don't know. It was in the drawer. I was just putting it back.'

Before Paige could replace the case, James took it from her and opened it.

As the contents were revealed, the air rushed from Paige's lungs. She stared as though mesmerised, then shook her head in disbelief.

'Oh, no.' Shock rasped her voice, and her hand flew to her mouth as though to stop the words. 'Not Breeanna.'