My handbag buzzed in response to a recent message, startling me out of last night’s memory and bringing me back into the Police Centre. I squirmed my legs together, flushing, and Jared gave me a wicked grin, knowing exactly what I was thinking about. As I reached for my phone in a quest for composure, my eyes focused on Tate storming towards us as he glared daggers at Jared, shoulder holster and badge on display.
At that moment, I finally understood what people meant when they said, “Careful what you wish for.” We were about to become worthy of an award winning cop drama. I watched all eyes in the building swivel to follow Tate as he passed by.
“Goddamn you, Jared,” he shouted when he got close.
Jared stood up quickly, anger radiating from glaring eyes that were cold and hard. The entire floor went silent, apart from my phone which was still buzzing madly. I ignored it, my eyes remaining riveted on the scene unfolding before me.
“Back off, Tate,” he growled.
Not again, I thought with unease, though at least this time I wasn’t wrapped in a sheet.
“Answer your damn phone, baby,” Jared said to irritably without taking his eyes off of Tate.
Tate pointed a finger at Jared’s chest. “Don’t you speak to her like that, a**hole. I knew I shouldn’t have left her with you. You almost got her killed!” His voice raised with each word.
I quickly switched off my phone without checking my messages and stood. The entire floor watched with blatant interest. A fake cough rang out from the back of the office as I leaned in to make our discussion more private.
“Tate, You’re being unreasonable.”
Jared spoke calmly. “He’s not being unreasonable, Evie. He’s right. I did almost get you killed.”
I looked at Jared as if he’d grown another head. “What?” I sputtered. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not. That son of a bitch wouldn’t have gone after you if it weren’t for me.” Jared’s expression was pained as he pulled in a deep breath.
“You don’t know that. I could’ve been targeted because of Coby. Besides, who knew the man would do something like this? No one is placing blame anywhere for this.” I turned to Tate with a fierce eyes.
“The fact is that shit happened and you almost got killed. Now that’s something I have to live with,” Jared said.
My pulse quickened in a slight panic, and my hands gripped my bag tightly. I didn’t want him carrying that type of burden around with him.
“You don’t have to live with that. I’m okay, Jared. I’m fine.”
Jared frowned, his eyes still hard, his voice firm and unwavering. “It won’t happen a second time, Evie. I’m not gonna sit by and watch you get hurt again.”
I dropped my arms and Tate interrupted us by taking hold of my hand. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said as he glared at Jared.
I wasn’t sure why he was being so antagonist towards Jared. The two of them had punched it out of their systems in true caveman fashion, so it should have been over.
“Get your hands off her,” Jared ground out, his body tense.
Tate wisely let go of my hand. “She needs to make her statement, Jared.” He turned to me and nodded his head. “Let’s go.”
Jared folded his arms unhappily. “Where’s Mitch? He said he’d be taking care of this.”
“He’s been held up. Said for me to make a start without him.”
Wanting to avoid another scuffle, this time in public with half of Sydney’s finest watching, I picked up my bag to follow Tate.
Tate pointed a finger at Jared. “You can wait here.”
For a moment, Jared’s look of disbelief outweighed the anger. “Tate, we’re consulting on the case. I have every right to sit in on the interview and hear the formal statement.”
“And you will.” Tate smirked. “When it’s typed up and we fax it to your office.”
“It’s all right,” I assured Jared and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “It won’t take long. I’ll be fine.”
He returned my kiss quickly. “Come get me if you need me, okay? I’ll be right here.” He glared warningly at Tate. “You keep your hands off her.”
Tate rolled his eyes and as we both walked down the length of the long hallway. I felt a burning crawl up my back as every set of eyeballs in the room tracked our movements. He led me into a small windowless meeting room at the back of the second floor that housed a surprisingly nice office table and four black chairs.
Walking in behind him, he turned and shut the door and took my hand, pulling me in close.
“Evie...” he reached out to run his hand down my cheek “...I was so worried about you.”
I jerked away immediately. “Tate, don’t.”
He sighed in frustration as he moved away, slapping a thick manila folder on the table and nodding towards a chair. “Take a seat.”
When I sat down, he was leaning up against the wall, hands in his pockets, running his eyes over the length of my body before meeting my eyes.
“I could kill him for getting you caught up in this,” he said angrily.
I frowned up at him as he stood there. “Why are you blaming him for this?”
Pushing off the wall, he came over to sit down at the table. “Because he’s reckless. Joe didn’t need to die, and now Jimmy is out there and after you. Are you okay?”
Tate’s disparaging comments towards Jared were like a slap, and I fisted my hands at my sides, fighting the urge to jab a finger in his chest with my next words.
“Whatever Jared did saved the lives of two young kids, and last I heard, it was the job of the police to round Jimmy up and put him away. Jared and Coby have a team out there working tirelessly around the clock, losing money and sleep, to not only find him but cover my ass at the same time and keep me safe. And I’m fine by the way.”
Tate replied by rubbing his hands over his face and exhaling loudly. With his hair mussed and shoulders slumped, he looked tired and worn down. “Can I get you a drink or something before we get started?”
My face softened. “A cup of tea would be nice. Thanks, Tate.”
“Won’t be a sec.” He stood up and stuck his head out the door, murmuring to someone before sitting back down.
“Aren’t you going to record the interview?”
As he opened the thick manila folder, pen at the ready, he pointed up towards the camera in the corner of the ceiling. I ran through everything, stopping every so often to answer one of his questions. We paused halfway through for a young man who came in with tea and biscuits, his movements hurried. He stopped quickly to catch my eye with a brief smile, and then rushed back out the door before I could return it and say thank you. When we finished the interview, Tate handed me a mug shot that Jared had already showed me a week ago, asking me if I was able to identify him as the man in the Camry.
“That’s him,” I confirmed, taking a sip of my tea.
As I handed back the photo, the door opened.
“This looks cosy,” Mitch said to Tate as he walked in, taking in my now curled up position in the chair as I sat munching biscuits and sipping tea.
Mitch looked just as tired as Tate, showing the same furrow in his brow that Jared had. He also had the same golden skin and green eyes that ran through the Valentine family, though his hair was dark brown, almost black, and cut in a short choppy style, the ends going every which way as though he’d run his fingers through it a thousand times.
“We were just wrapping up,” Tate advised.
“Get anything new?” he asked him as he came over and leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmured in my ear.
“Hey, Mitch.” I gave him a warm smile.
Tate cleared his throat at our exchange. “Nope. Not that we expected to.”
Mitch ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Goddamn a**hole must think we’re a bunch of f**king pu…ah pansies,” he corrected for my benefit. He shouldn’t have worried. I lived with a bunch of people who spoke Pottymouth as a second language, though the p-word wasn’t one bandied about often, so his considerate behaviour was appreciated.
I frowned, remembering the nasty text from Jimmy that Henry read out and asked, “What about the message he sent. You can’t trace it somehow?”
“Jared’s already had it checked out, honey, and just like we thought, it came from a disposable,” Mitch replied.
I raised my brows in question. “Disposable?”
“Just a cheap throwaway phone, Evie. We can’t trace it,” Tate expanded.
“Great,” I muttered under my breath.
Chapter Thirteen
“Jared,” I said in a hurry, “it’s not what you think, you don’t―,”
“Fuck. Save it. I should have known better, really, it was stupid of me to think you would be different.”
He rushed to the front door, swung it open, and stalked out, slamming it shut behind him.
I sucked in painful breaths while everyone watched me in silent shock, apart from Mac who was looking at me with narrowed eyes.
How had it come to this?
Since everything seemed to be on an up hill swing, something needed to happen. The laws of the cosmos dictated balance. The universal scales of life were off kilter, and now I needed to be brought back down to earth where I belonged.
The day started with Sydney suffering under the throes of a heatwave. Mac and Henry lounged on recliners, moaning about the stifling humidity. Cam who came to visit from Melbourne, and I moaned in hunger while we watched a movie.
Mac’s phone rang, startling us out of our heatwave coma. With her legs dangling off the side of the chair, she pulled it out of her pocket, sighing as she looked at the screen, and promptly disappeared up the stairs. She came down the stairs so fast she took a stumble at the last leg and fell in crumpled heap of twisted body parts, not a trace of lethargy remaining. I rushed over to help pick her up off the floor, and despite a little wincing as she struggled to her feet, she blurted out the reason for the phone call. I almost knocked her back over when I heard Gary Gilmore from Jettison Records wanted us in that very afternoon.
During a late lunch, we met Casey for the first time. He had recently returned from overseas and was assigned bodyguard duty for our trek to the city to see Gary. It wasn't exactly his brand of excitement since it didn’t come with a shoot-out and a car roll or two, but we were enthusiastic enough to practically be doing cartwheels.
The seven of us (the band and Cam) were squished around the dining table eating hot chips and chatting excitedly when the knock came at the door. While Henry got up to answer it, I quickly scooped the rapidly dwindling pile of chips onto my plate ignoring shouts, frantic scrambling, and complaints which included words like greedy bitch and someone saying, “Your ass could have its own postcode.” I was pretty sure that one came from Mac, and giving her the laser death stare took all my attention, so I didn't expect to find my plate empty.
“You greedy seagulls!” I yelled.
“Us seagulls, Evie?” Frog raised his brows incredulously.