Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NICK
I slipped the hook from the chain and shoved the gate open enough to pass. Having dropped from its hinges, it moved awkwardly, the loud creak of wood like a gunshot in the quiet, sending my heart into overdrive. I slipped through and left it open.
Fresh boot prints scored the mud at the beginning of the track—gumboots, if I had to guess. I glanced down at my leather boots and sighed. Slim chance they’d be making it back to Auckland at this rate.
The narrow trail was hemmed in on both sides by advancing scrub.
No dappled sunlit forest floors in this country.
New Zealand bush was often dark, thick, confusing, and difficult to navigate.
Stray too far from the soggy trail and I could easily find myself the one needing rescuing.
I thought of the search coordinator’s warning and almost laughed.
Lord help me if I got myself into a pickle on Glen’s watch.
Picking my way along the edge of the track where the footing was firmer, the lighter feeling of the clearing was quickly subsumed by the bleak aura of damp bush—dull greens and muddy greys.
We might’ve been above the fog line itself, but a damp dreariness clung to the foliage, the dim light sucking everything vibrant from the palette.
My gaze flicked between watching my feet and keeping my eyes on the trail ahead and I couldn’t have been more than a hundred metres from the gate when Austin’s sharp voice brought me to an abrupt halt.
“Open your mouth.”
I darted behind a sizeable ponga and dropped to my knees, peeking through the fronds. Nothing stood out, just bush and more bush. Looking ahead, Austin’s boot prints veered off the track and to the right.
I crept forward, following his prints up a short incline where a small derelict hut was in the process of being reclaimed by the bush.
I recognised the type. In better times it would’ve welcomed hikers or hunters—a one-room weatherproof shelter to spend a few hours or even overnight on a multi-day hike.
But those days were long gone. Lichens and spongy moss clung to its walls with clusters of mushrooms and bright red toadstools adding the only relief.
Ferns pushed through its rotting deck, the veranda roof supported by a single upright, the far corner sagging under years of rotting leaf drop.
And hanging over it all, the unmistakeable stench of decay.
Austin’s voice continued—a low hum coming from inside the hut.
My heart leaped into my throat thinking it had to be Chloe he was talking to.
It was the only thing that made sense. I considered the ramshackle building and the freezing temperatures and knew Austin would be bloody lucky if I didn’t kill him where he stood for holding my mother in such appalling conditions.
A single window glowed dull yellow next to the closed door on the rotting deck.
I crept forward, flattening myself against the side wall, the cold damp seeping into my jacket as I put my ear to the wood.
But Austin had fallen quiet bar the sound of a chair or maybe a table scraping over the floorboard.
I made it to the deck, took a long look at the broken boards and rotting joists, and gambled it would hold my weight.
It had to. A small creak on the first step froze me in place, but the hut remained quiet.
I picked my way across the damaged boards to the wall beside the window.
I drew a slow breath, counted to five, and peeked around the frame.
The tiny hut was a one-room affair with a set of wire-sprung bunkbeds loaded with newspapers and rubbish on the far wall.
A dilapidated countertop and filthy sink sat on the other side of the window, an old stone hearth took up most of one side wall, empty shelves and a broken cupboard lined the other.
And just visible, on the side of the door, a collapsible stretcher rested on its side.
But it was the middle of the room that held my attention.
Because there, sitting side-on to the door, wearing disposable gloves and chowing down on a sandwich, was Austin, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world.
To his right, a small wooden table held an open duffle bag, a battery lantern, some papers, and two medication bottles.
Valium, no doubt. The Valium that Chloe had supposedly taken before going missing. The Valium that Austin was so sure he’d cleared from the house. The Valium that could act as a cover for so many, many things when Chloe was finally found.
No need for the police to puzzle how it got into her system—Austin had already given them a credible answer. Chloe had taken it herself, by mistake.
Like hell she had.
I continued to stare at the bottles, something needling my brain. What if this wasn’t a first?
I remembered her unfocused and groggy when we’d arrived at the townhouse the previous morning, then improving as the day wore on.
I thought of the memory loss. The confusion.
The wandering. Austin warning the neighbours about his concerns.
Calling Chloe’s doctor. Worried about her.
Getting her driver’s licence revoked. Isolating her.
The bank papers Chloe couldn’t remember signing.
Her quick deterioration. Maybe too quick.
And just like that, the pieces fell into place.
This wasn’t a one-time thing. This was part of a carefully crafted scheme to gaslight not just Chloe, but her doctor, friends, neighbours, everyone.
Chloe’s lawyer was likely next. Austin would use what had happened as evidence to back his claim for getting Chloe’s power of attorney.
Giving him control of all her finances and her health decisions.
The best hope he had to repay the Crow brothers before they tired of his delays and came for his house or just sent their enforcers to teach him a lesson.
Austin had spent months building his evidence, gathering his allies, and readying his legal push. But then Mads and I appeared and fucked everything up. Austin had been forced to pivot fast and bring his plan forward before Chloe turned from him to me. And he’d almost fucking got there.
I smothered a laugh because the idea was so damn outrageous.
And yet it was the only thing that made sense.
Austin might not have known Chloe had already asked me to handle her affairs, but he knew it was coming the second he’d read that letter.
And once that happened, his scheme would be dead in the water.
And yet something still wasn’t sitting right.
Because the second I showed up, his scheme was already dead.
I would never have allowed Austin to get power of attorney.
I would’ve fought him all the way. Our few heated interactions would surely have told him that much about me.
Plus, power of attorney wouldn’t give Austin carte blanche to spend her money like he wanted.
He could be audited. He was legally accountable to ensure her best interests were put first. Paying off the Crow brothers was only the first step.
The realisation hit me like a truck.
In Austin’s eyes, there was only one solution that ticked all his boxes.
Chloe had to be taken out of the picture. Permanently.
To hell with power of attorney. What Austin was really after, and maybe what he’d planned all along, was Chloe, dead.
Not wasting away in his granny flat, eating up all that money he was so desperate to get his hands on.
With Chloe dead, Austin’s father’s money reverted to his control with zero strings attached. He could do whatever he liked with it.
Austin needed Chloe dead, but especially after I entered the picture. The sooner the better, before I did anything to get her out from under his control, like move her to Auckland, for example. And right this second, he was up to his armpits in hell trying to make that happen.
I scowled at the relaxed way he slouched in his chair, feet up on the lower bunk as he chewed on his sandwich, oblivious to how close he was to having it all taken away.
Anger boiled my blood. How dare he? How fucking dare he? The slimy two-faced selfish little twat. I was going to punch his fucking lights out, and that was just to start. But before I ruined his day, I had to know where he’d stashed Chloe. She had to be in there somewhere. He’d been talking to her.
I scanned the surrounding bush, looking for any outbuildings, anything big enough to hide a person, just in case, but there was nothing. Then a soft moan grabbed my attention, and I spun back to the window.
Austin was still in the chair, but his feet had dropped to the floor, and his right hand reached toward what I’d thought was nothing more than a pile of rubbish on the bottom bunk. I held my breath, every cell zeroing in on the bunk as he lifted the newspapers aside.
And there she was. Eyes closed. A ghostlike pallor painting her face. Lips tinged a ghastly blue. And a line of dried spittle running from the corner of her mouth down to what looked like a tarp beneath her.
Chloe.
My mother.
Motionless.
Lifeless.
A tiny fragile shell of the vibrant woman I’d been chatting with only a day before.
My entire world shrank to a single venomous thought.
Austin bloody Pattinson.
He did this to my mother.
He did this to my mother.
Drugged her. Brought her here. Covered her in newspapers like she was a piece of trash. Left her to freeze. And was planning to take her life.
And all for what?
For money to make his life easier. To get him out of trouble.
Well, hell fucking no.
Not on my watch, you fucking arsehole.
Rage exploded inside me, fifty-five years in the making, and I was inside the hut before I knew it.
Austin’s eyes blew wide as I blasted through the flimsy door, breaking it free of its hinges and sending it crashing across the room. He leaped to his feet and reached for the open duffle, but I got there first, kicking the table aside and sending the bag flying.