Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Mick
I drop bread into the toaster and pour two cups of coffee from the espresso machine. Sunlight pours in through the skylight, bouncing off the white marble bench tops. Riley sits at the teak breakfast table, her head bent over the jigsaw. I told her she could work on it for ten minutes and ten minutes only. There’ll be no making herself sick on my watch.
The caffeine brushes the cobwebs of yet another restless night’s sleep away. Five hours isn’t enough, but that’s all I seem to get these days. It’s like my brain knows if I try to rest for longer, the nightmares will return.
“Daddy, this puzzle sucks.”
There’s a high pitch to Riley’s voice that warns me she’s close to throwing a tantrum, so I ignore her language. “Why’s that?”
“There are too many pieces.”
I pick up three of them—all the same shade of blue. No wonder she’s struggling. “Would you prefer an easier one?”
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Riley takes after both me and Jules when it comes to stubbornness.
“Nooo.” She draws out the word, implying that yes, she wants something simpler, but no, she won’t give up on the challenge.
“It’s okay to take weeks, even months, to finish it.”
She screws up her nose and huffs. For a few seconds, my breath catches in my throat as I wait for the inevitable tears. Instead, she squeals, her complaining forgotten as she slips one piece into place. She shoves her hand in the air for a high five, and I slap her palm.
My heart flutters at the joy on Riley’s face. She’s growing up way too fast. Next thing I know, she’ll be wanting driving lessons.
Jules stumbles into the kitchen in her grey dressing gown, her eyes bleary. She finished the bottle of wine by herself last night, a bad habit that’s becoming all too frequent. She appeared more wasted and distracted than usual, but I lacked the energy to confront her. It did, however, cement my decision to leave for work a little later and help with getting Riley ready for school.
I thrust a coffee into Jules’ hands. She glances up, and for a moment, I glimpse the woman I married, before distrust clouds her eyes. Twelve months ago, she got it into her head that I was cheating on her. It took a lot of convincing, but finally, she accepted my assurances. I thought our marriage was back on track until she became friends with another mother from the school. I don’t need to have been a cop to recognise bad news when I see it. Taylor is toxic.
Jules curls her fingers around the mug. “Thanks.”
I butter toast and add marmalade for us, then pour cereal for Riley. “It’s time for breakfast.”
Riley’s attention remains fixed on the puzzle. “In a minute.”
“Now, young lady.” I keep my voice soft, but the tone warns her I’m not in the mood for games.
“Just one more,” she mumbles without lifting her head.
“No. ”
Riley peers up at me through long strands of shiny brown hair, her eyes mirror images of her mother’s. I place the bowl of cereal and a spoon at the other end of the table. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth but makes no move to change seats. This is what I get for letting her work on the jigsaw on a school morning. I can see how Jules had trouble with her yesterday. My criticism last night may have been unwarranted. “Now, please. Otherwise, you’ll be late.”
“Just a bit more, Daddy.”
“No. You need to eat your breakfast.”
She grumbles but slides out of her seat and sits in front of the cereal.
Zola whines from the edge of the kitchen. She knows she’s not allowed in here when we’re eating. And so far, obedience is holding out.
I scroll through emails on my phone while I munch on toast. Two new meetings have popped up, one of which is for nine am. If I leave now, I might just make it. I scull the last of my coffee.
Riley drops the spoon into her empty bowl. “Daddy, can you take me to school?”
I don’t want to disappoint her, but I can’t be any later than I already am. “Sorry, Daddy has to go to work.”
Her bottom lip pops and quivers. This is what I get for trying to help. I should’ve left half an hour ago.
Jules shoots me a look designed to fry me on the spot.
For a moment, I fear Riley is about to unleash a bucket load of tears that will make Jules’ puckered expression resemble a declaration of love. Instead, she lifts her chin. “Okay.”
She hops off her chair and beckons me to bend. Then pecks my cheek, scampers over to Zola, kisses her on the snout and races to her room.
Jules’ jaw wobbles like she’s about to cry. What the hell? I place my hand on her arm. Her gaze snaps to mine at the gesture. We hardly ever touch anymore. Despite her alcoholic morning breath, the proximity has me leaning towards her. My head fills with memories of how smooth her skin is, how strong her thighs are when they’re wrapped around my waist. How perfect her body feels spooned against my front.
When was the last time we made love? A month ago? Two months? The days are rolling by in a blur and work isn’t helping. Being a forensic accountant for the tax department is just as full-on as working as a detective.
My phone pings, telling me yet one more email has landed in my inbox.
Jules jerks at the sound and pulls away, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’d better get dressed.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll take her another time.” Although, I’ve no idea when.
Jules gives me a tight smile and hurries down the hallway. Delaying my departure was a mistake. I don’t even know why I did, except … there was something more desperate than usual in my wife’s expression last night. She denied anything was wrong, but I could sense she was lying.
The next week flies by. Home remains calm but cool—Jules falling into bed after too much wine, me doing the same after a hectic day, and Riley patiently inserting new pieces into her jigsaw. Ever so slowly.
The only way I can maintain a semblance of control at work is to stay back. I sip some water and glance at the closed door of my office. With most people having gone home, no one has barged in to ask questions or heap more tasks on my desk. It’s bliss.
I scroll through the data on the computer screen for one last time to see if anything pops out at me. On the surface, the income tax assessment I’m reviewing appears in order, but there’s something about the cost itemisation that has my internal radar pricking up. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s a pattern I’ve seen twice before.
“You still here?”
I jolt at the interruption and tear my attention away from the computer screen. My colleague and friend Ryan leans in the doorway, arms crossed. I glance at my watch. Jules is going to be furious, and rightly so.
He ambles in and settles his bulky frame on the chair across from my desk. “It’s after eight, Mick.”
I take off my glasses and rub my eyes. “I lost track of the time.”
“Obviously.” He crosses one leg over the other. “I wouldn’t have thought the Baker case was that intriguing.”
“Me either.”
“But …?”
I swivel the laptop so Ryan can see. “It’s too clean. Like someone’s put a lot of effort into making the figures appear legit.”
He peers at the ream of data. “Well, you’re the cop. If you believe there’s more to it, then keep digging.”
My shoulders tense at the reminder. “Ex-cop.”
“Yeah, yeah. Semantics.” He waves his hand between us. “We’re not that different from the police. We just use numbers to catch the crooks instead of guns.”
I shake my head at his simplification. Cops employ a hell of a lot more than firearms to investigate and arrest criminals. “My wife thinks I’m a boring accountant.”
He laughs. “You are a boring accountant.”
Ouch. Is that how everyone sees me? Even my colleagues? “Geez. Thanks for pumping me up.”
“You’re also a top investigator. That’s why the boss gives you the tough cases.”
“Lucky me.” I power down the laptop. Not everyone’s got the patience to sift through pages and pages of financial data looking for inconsistencies. But I love it. Maybe I am a boring accountant after all. There’s a numbness that comes with immersing myself in numbers. It not only switches me off from the outside world, from the troubles at home, but from the memories that simmer in my subconscious, searching for an opportunity to escape.
Ryan shoves out of his chair. “I’d better get going too.”
Lisa, one of our trainee forensic accountants, races through the door. “Awesome. You’re still here.”
Dressed in ripped jeans and a T-shirt, Lisa’s not the most conventional tax office employee, but she’s dedicated. Smart. And has a tiny crush on me. It’s something Ryan enjoys teasing me about, but it’s not flattering. In fact, it’s becoming tiresome.
She skids to a halt at my desk and bobs her head at Ryan. Her smile drops. “Oh. Hi.”
Ryan wiggles his fingers at her. “Hi.”
I tidy up a few papers. “What can I do for you?”
She shoves her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and rocks on her heels. “You asked me to dig deeper into the Baker family.”
Excitement curls in my gut. I plant my elbows on the desk and lean forward. “Did you find something?”
She bats her eyelashes at me. It’s so awkward I doubt she even realises she’s doing it. I straighten so she doesn’t mistake my eagerness to hear what she’s discovered for interest in her.
“I certainly did. His second cousin’s half-sister’s surname is Scudasi.” Lisa rocks harder on her heels, oblivious to the sudden chill that sweeps through me at the name. Every strand of hair on the back of my neck stands upright. “You remember. The guy who was found dead in the cells at Parramatta Police Station last year.”
My throat constricts, and a vile taste floods my mouth. Of course, I remember. It was front-page news. Scudasi was part of the Leadbetter cartel, the same mob I spent three years undercover with when I worked for the NSW Police Force.
“Well done,” says Ryan. “You going home now, Lisa?”
My hands clench in my lap. I appreciate Ryan stepping in. I need the diversion after Lisa’s bombshell, but his tone is unnecessarily abrasive.
Lisa stops rocking, and her face falls. “I guess.”
Ryan continues with his winning subtlety and gestures at the door.
Lisa takes a step towards me. “Let me know if you need anything else, Mick. Anything at all.”
I ignore the plea in her voice and the choked chuckle from Ryan. “Thanks. I will.”
She hesitates, then gives me a flutter of eyelashes before flouncing off.
I rub my jaw, the bristles soft against my palm. “That wasn’t awkward.”
“Poor you.” Ryan perches on my desk. “It must be tough being the office Casanova.”
“I’m not?—”
“I didn’t say you acted on it.” He flexes his fingers. “Maybe I should wear a wedding ring. It seems to be a magnet for the ladies.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Come on, lighten up, Mick.”
“Whatever.” I’m not getting into this conversation. Ryan works as hard as I do. And despite what he says, he has no problem securing dates. His challenge is convincing a woman to stay when he’s married to the job.
He pushes away. I swear I hear the wood groan with relief. “Do you think there’s a connection between Baker and Scudasi?”
Does the sun rise and set every day? From the moment Scudasi’s name left Lisa’s lips, my gut has been doing its own little freak-out. I never expected my days undercover to come back to haunt me in my role as a forensic accountant.
I link my fingers together. Breathe in. Out. In again.
“Leadbetter’s big on family.” Although it didn’t stop him from having Scudasi murdered to avoid any leaks to the cops. At least, that’s my guess. “I’d lay odds there’s more to Matthew Baker’s financials than we’re seeing. It means I need to keep digging.”
While keeping the past in the past.
Sounds easy.
It’s not.
I shove my laptop into my bag, doing my best to appear composed.
My phone pings and lights up with a message.
Melissa: Can we talk?
What’s happened now? I swipe the mobile off my desk before Ryan sees.
“The wife?”
My eyelid twitches as I slide the phone into my pocket. “Yeah.”
Riley’s asleep when I stumble through the door at nine pm. Jules gives me the cold shoulder, and I’m left to eat alone. It’s probably for the best. My mind is a seething cauldron as past and present collide. Leadbetter’s currently in jail awaiting trial. I had hoped the next time I heard his name, it would be an announcement that he’d been found guilty and sentenced to life for his crimes. Or was dead. That would have been even better news.
And then there’s Melissa. How do I help her while keeping the past where it belongs?
Fatigue tugs at my eyelids. I wash my plate and cutlery and shuffle into the bedroom. Jules is between the sheets, the gentle rise and fall of her chest telling me she’s already asleep. I shrug off my clothes and slide in next to her. She rolls over so her back faces me. I want nothing more than to curl myself around her, but she’d probably move away. Even in sleep, there’s a distance between us, an invisible wall that’s quietly inserted itself into our lives. I switch off the lamp and stare into the darkness.
It wasn’t always like this. The first time we came together was an explosion that scorched everything within a five-mile radius.