Deadly Tide. Sandy Curtis
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Sam sighed. 'It would kill Dad to lose the Sea Mistress.' She looked at the road. 'If you go to your backpackers, I can drive myself home from there.'
'To your parents' place?'
'No. I have my own home.' It had been a test of courage, moving in on her own, but over the years she had pushed the parameters of her fear, and knew living alone was the final one. Well, almost final, she grimaced. She'd failed the other important one. And she hadn't wanted to try again.
'You live by yourself?'
'Yes.'
'Then I'm taking you there.' There was a determination in his voice that made Sam look at him again. She stiffened when he continued, 'I don't think it's a good idea for you to be alone tonight.'
He must have sensed her reaction because he smiled grimly and added, 'You can trust me, Sam. You can lock yourself in the house and I'll sleep in the car if you like, but it's too dangerous for you to be there alone.'
She voiced the fear that she hadn't really wanted to give more thought to, but knew had to be faced. 'You're saying it wasn't a random robbery attempt, aren't you.'
'I think someone was either trying to rob you,' his voice was slow and measured, 'or rape you. Or kill you.'
Pain worse than the knife wound sliced through Sam's stomach. Her heartbeat accelerated and beads of sweat formed on her lip. With an immense effort, she forced herself to breathe deeply. Finally she had her body under control again, and she realised she had been staring through the windscreen, but seeing nothing. She shook her head.
'Turn to your left,' she indicated a side street, 'then take the first right, and it's the third house on the right.'
As Chayse pulled into the driveway of a lowset brick home, Sam activated the garage door with a remote control and they drove in. 'Which is the door key?' Chayse asked, taking the keys from the ignition, but a stubborn frown wrinkled Sam's forehead.
'Sam,' he said patiently, 'I'm just going to make sure that no-one is hiding inside waiting to finish what he started tonight.'
Sam had been about to protest that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself when she realised that her hands were trembling at the thought of her attacker lurking somewhere in her home. But she wasn't going to cower in the car either. Gripping the small bag of dressings a nurse had given her, she opened the car door, switched on the garage light, and held her hand out for the keys.
Chayse walked around and gave them to her. But as soon as she opened the door and they stepped up into the rumpus room, he put a restraining hand on her arm. 'Let me go first.'
'I know where the light switches are,' she protested. 'We'll go together.'
A few minutes later, Chayse acknowledged the house was clear. 'Nice house,' he commented as they moved back into the rumpus room with its ice-blue walls, blue-grey carpet and contrasting mellowness of pine furniture.
'Thanks.' She half-fell onto the pine and leather lounge. The local anaesthetic was beginning to wear off, and the pain was increasing as the bruised flesh continued to swell and stretch the stitches. 'Look, there's no need for you to stay here. I've decided to go and sleep on the Sea Mistress.'
His eyebrow rose, a silent query.
'If someone is out to get me, as you've supposed,' she explained, 'it might be to get back at my father. Damaging the Sea Mistress could be something else they'd try.'
'Don't they lock up the marina at night?'
'Yes, but anyone with a dinghy could get there from the river. The yacht owners usually live on board, but they're moored at the other side of the wharf and mightn't hear if someone broke into a trawler.'
'Why do you think someone wants to get back at your father?'
Sam shrugged. Reaction was setting in, and she was suddenly very, very tired. 'I'm only assuming that. I don't know. Just like I don't know why someone framed him for Ewan's murder.'
Ewan. First name. Chayse pounced. 'You knew the guy who was murdered?'
Sam nodded. 'He asked me out a couple of times.'
'Did you go?'
'Not that it's any of your business, but no. He wasn't my type.'
Chayse was tempted to ask what was her type, but quashed the thought. 'How do you know your father was framed?'
'He told me.'
She looked up then, and Chayse knew she had caught the sceptical look on his face.
'And, yes, I believe him.' She pulled herself from the lounge, wincing as her leg bumped against the timber armrest. 'As soon as I've packed my bag, I'll call a taxi and drop you off at the backpackers' on the way.'
'I'm coming with you to the boat.'
'What?'
'I've already paid my hostel account and packed. I can pick up my gear on the way. You can't stay on that boat alone.'
'What are you, Chayse? A reincarnation of Sir Galahad? I don't need protecting!' Even as Sam heard the harshness in her voice, she felt a lessening in the fear that had been pushing deep into her gut. She knew she shouldn't trust him, she knew nothing about him, but at the moment it seemed like a damn good idea.
'Okay,' she acquiesced, 'I'll phone Bill, let him know not to pick me up in the morning.'
Failure wasn't something Stefan Kosanovos tolerated well. He'd come a long way from the scared boy who'd hidden from the taunts of his classmates as they'd pulled at his old-fashioned clothing and teased him about his, to them, unpronounceable name, and called him 'wog' instead. In the back streets of Melbourne he'd discovered a gang of older youths who adopted him as a mascot, and he'd flourished under their protection.
By the time he was twenty he had abandoned all pretence of being a dutiful son and following his father into the family grocery business. Easy money, easy women, and the excitement and danger of beating the law had become his drug of choice. Now, as he approached his fiftieth birthday, he could live expansively on the money he received from his legitimate investments, but he still craved the risk, the gamble, involved in crime.
If it had been any other employee who had failed, punishment would have been swift and unpleasant, but Dominic was the only son of Stuart 'Brickie' Tully, Stefan's closest friend and the only one remaining from the old days. Stuart's first job as a brickie's labourer, let alone the red-brick colour of his hair, had cemented the nickname he'd already earned due to his solid build and loyal, steadfast nature.
Killing the Bretton bitch had seemed the best course of action, but, in retrospect, Stefan felt his angry reaction may have been a little hasty. Her death would have focused police attention back on the Kladium, rather than scare off Tug Bretton. Perhaps the attempt on her life had scared her off. Stefan wasn't overly worried. It was a big ocean. He smiled at the thought as he poured more port into his glass. Boats were known to disappear without a trace.
He turned back to the woman lying in his bed. It had taken years, but Thea had finally become his.
It was turning out to be a very good year.
CHAPTER THREE
Security lights bathed the wharf in bright light. Sam opened the lock on the fence gate and snapped it shut after they entered the marina yard. The air was crisp with the approach of winter, and the dank smell of mud and mangroves wafted across from the other side of the river.
As they neared the Sea Mistress, Chayse became aware of the soft drone of the freezer room engine. 'Do you get used to the constant engine noise?' he asked.
'After a while you don't hear it.' Sam climbed on board and unlocked the wheelhouse door. 'It's the diesel smell I hate.' She switched on the light. 'I always used to get sick from it the first night out. After that I got used to it.'
'You're down in the focsle