Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Mick
W hat a clusterfuck of a weekend!
My expression must reflect the conflicting emotions bubbling in the pit of my stomach as I exit the lift because all heads turn away. Even Lisa avoids my gaze.
I march to my office and slump into my chair. What Jules walked in on at the pub was damning, but I was truthful when I told her I wasn’t cheating. As far as I know, she hasn’t rung Melissa yet. How I wish I could be present. I don’t want there to be any further misunderstandings.
I switch on my laptop and pull up the two tax returns I requested last week so I can compare them with Matthew Baker’s. Work is the only way to drown out my heightened emotions. Sifting through the financials for patterns and inconsistencies is like a shot of relaxant; my focus sharpens, my heart rate settles and the nervous energy in my stomach subsides.
Baker has several moderate deductions. In isolation, they’re insignificant. But seeing similar entries in two other returns has alarm bells ringing. I’ve definitely stumbled onto something here .
A throat clears, and my head snaps up to find Jake Matthews in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I rub the ache in my temples. I’d completely forgotten about our midday meeting. I rang Jake after Lisa told me about Baker’s connection to Leadbetter a couple of weeks ago. I knew him back in my drug squad days, but seeing him this morning is uncomfortable, given he’s engaged to my wife’s best friend. The one who had murder in her eyes when she all but threw me out of her house on the weekend. He adjusts his jacket and walks in, shutting the door behind him. He sits across from me, his posture open. But he’s still intimidating in his dark grey suit, blue tie and even bluer eyes.
“How are you, Mick?”
I pick up my pen and click on the end. “As well as a man can be when his wife throws wine in his face and tells him to go to hell.”
Jake winces. “Yeah, that would have been awkward.”
Not as much as last night’s deep freeze. Jules returned home late afternoon with Riley. We went through the motions of being a family, but she made it clear it was a pretence for our daughter’s sake. Nothing more.
“Riley couldn’t stop talking about all the fun she had with Oscar. I hope she didn’t boss him around too much.”
Jake shakes his head. “She certainly knows her mind, but there were no arguments. Although, my mum’s going to be scraping play dough out of the rug in the lounge room for the next six months.”
A chuckle sticks in my throat. Our house was like a morgue on Saturday without Riley’s squeals or Jules’ laughter. Even Zola couldn’t muster her usual enthusiasm to chase the ball. Will Jules believe me, or is the past weekend my future ?
“Who was the woman, Mick?” Jake’s tone is soft but deadly.
I should tell him to mind his own business, but he’s one of the few people who knows what happened when I was undercover. “My friend Davo’s …” I rub my chest. How can it still sting like the sharpest blade after all this time? “Sergeant Stephenson’s widow.”
He tilts his head. “Melissa?”
“Yeah.” I rearrange the notepad and pens on my desk. Avoid his insightful gaze. “She’s having some trouble with her son, Ashley. She called me asking for help. I couldn’t say no.”
“Of course not.” There’s understanding in his expression but also the barest trace of pity. It’s suffocating. Before I think too much about it, I’m out of my chair and at the window.
We’re twenty floors up. The people and cars below are nothing but tiny ants in the distance, made harder to see by the rain pelting down from a grey sky. The steady drum on the glass eases the tightness in my chest. “It’s the least I can do after …” The words stick in my throat.
“You saved a little girl.”
I turn to face him. This is why I don’t talk or think about my time undercover. Seven years on and Davo’s loss remains a weeping wound staining my soul. The soft murmur of voices filters in from the main office area. We’re a world away from that day, and yet, it’s still here, tainting the air, no matter how much I try to forget.
“Have you told Jules what happened?”
“Christ, no.”
“Why not?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Because it was a fucked-up period of my life I’d rather forget.”
He raises an eyebrow. “And yet you’re helping a woman from that time. One your wife has no knowledge of except for the lies you’ve told her. ”
The cold way Jake states the truth makes it sound sordid when it’s not. I step towards him. Stop. Turn away from his piercing gaze.
“Melissa made it clear she wanted nothing to do with anyone from the force, even me. Especially me. I think I was too close a reminder of what she’d lost. So, I kept my distance.” Which wasn’t hard because I wanted no part of the memories from that time either. “And when I found out I was a dad …” My voice hitches, and I clear my throat. “It was easier to leave the past locked away. Until she reached out to me.”
“You’re asking for trouble by not revealing the whole truth to Jules. She’ll make a drug lord appear as intimidating as a puppy if she finds out.”
“I know. But I can’t, Jake.” And while she’s not happy about it, Melissa’s agreed to lie about her true connection to me. That way, I can avoid telling Jules about Davo and what happened.
I focus on the raindrops smashing against the window like nature is trying to break down the building’s defences. A bit like Jake is doing to me right now. Only because he cares. I slump back in my seat. “You haven’t been undercover. You don’t understand. It changes a person. And when shit goes down …”
Jake withdraws a card from his pocket and places it on the desk. “As a friend, I suggest you see someone. I may not have experience undercover or know what it’s like to lose a close mate on the job, but I do know the ugly side of being a cop, and you don’t have to bear it alone.”
I slip the card into my top pocket. “Thanks.” He’s trying to help, but I just want the past to stay in the past. It brings up too much guilt. “Can we get down to business?”
Jake regards me for a few seconds, obviously wanting to say more. He eventually nods. “The info you sent about Baker and his connection to Leadbetter was gold. ”
“I thought it might be.”
Jake plants his hands on the desk. “We need your expertise.”
This is what I feared when I contacted him. I take a long breath to stop from hyperventilating. “How, exactly?”
“With your knack for numbers and detective background, you might see connections we’ve missed and help us gather the evidence needed to ensure Leadbetter’s put away for life.”
I’d be lying if I didn’t see this request coming. It’s what I’d do if I was in Jake’s shoes. But it means an even bigger workload than I already have. With how things are at home, it would be marriage suicide. “I’m sorry, Jake. I can’t commit to an investigation of that size. Besides, wouldn’t this be assigned to the Feds?”
“They’re stretched at the moment so have given me the go-ahead to take the lead.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. He’s about as agitated as I’ve ever seen him. “What if I requested a temporary transfer to the station so you could work solely on the case?”
Years of experience keep my expression neutral, but inside, I’m a swirling mass of questions and uncertainty. He’s not making it easy for me to say no. If I worked from Parramatta, I’d have much less travel time. I might even be able to return home early enough to put Riley to bed. But it would also mean being around cops all day. Can I manage that without having a panic attack? And what if someone from my past recognises me? Would it put Jules and Riley in danger?
Jake opens his computer bag and hands me a folder. “This is highly confidential.”
I read the intelligence report summary, and my heart freefalls into a familiar abyss as the significance of the words sink in. Three key witnesses have died in the past two months, the latest one on the weekend—Matthew Baker’s accountant. From an overdose. It’s got Leadbetter’s fingerprints all over it.
Jake presses his hands onto the desk. “Leadbetter’s claiming he was framed when Greg and I caught him with a boot load of drugs last year, and he’s concocted reputable alibies to support him. The way we’re going, there’ll be no legitimate witnesses left by the time he goes to trial, and he’ll end up with a lesser sentence or worse, walk free.”
All the sacrifices people have made to bring this bastard to justice, including Davo’s death, would be for nothing. I avert my gaze from Jake’s brooding stare and scan the report summary again. Jake’s right. Just like with Al Capone, catching Leadbetter out via dodgy tax returns might be the only way to keep him in jail.
“Can I think about it?”
It’s drizzling rain when I leave the office, but the roads are dry when I reach home. Claire’s car is parked in the street. Hopefully, she’s not staying long because Jules and I desperately need some time alone.
I throw my keys into the bowl on the hall stand, pick up a chew toy lying on the wooden floor and wander into the kitchen. The soft murmur of voices intermingled with squeals and barking drifts through the back screen door.
Leaning against the door frame, my chest tightens at the joy on Riley’s face as she and Zola chase each other around the backyard. Her obsession with the dog is a useful distraction, given the heightened tension between me and Jules.
The outside heating lamp on the deck casts a comforting glow over Jules and Claire as they huddle at the table. Jules and I lock gazes. Her smile is lukewarm. I take it as a good sign because I was half expecting her to greet me with enough ice to freeze my balls off .
She picks up a coffee cup and takes a sip. “You’re home early.”
I shove my hands into my pockets to hide the slight tremor. One wrong word and I could stuff up the uneasy truce. “It’s time I stopped working stupid hours.”
Easier said than done, but after the weekend we’ve just had, I need to fix things with Jules. If it’s not too late. I glance at her hand, my heart all but leaping out of my chest when I see she’s collected her rings from the bedside table where I left them and returned them to her finger. There’s still hope.
Claire stands. “I’d better get going.”
“Please don’t leave because I’m here.”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. I need to get home to Jake and Oscar. Besides …” She squeezes Jules’ hand. “You guys need some space.”
Yes, we do. Thank you, Claire. I shove my hands in my pockets and rock on my heels.
Claire skips down the steps and into the backyard. Zola and Riley race up, nearly knocking her to the ground. She laughs and dodges Zola’s smooches.
Riley clings to her legs. “Stay for dinner, Aunty Claire.”
“Not tonight, pumpkin.” She kisses Riley and pats Zola on the head. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Claire and Jules walk inside, but not before Claire flashes me a look that would scorch the sun. I can’t tell if it’s a warning to get my act together or if she thinks Jules should kick my arse to the kerb.
Zola races towards me. I throw the chew toy, and she leaps into the air, catching it on the full.
Riley runs past her. “Hey, Daddy. Can you help me with the jigsaw tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
Her fingers clasp mine. So tiny in my large hand. I haul her into my arms.
She giggles. “Aren’t I too heavy? ”
I lower her and pretend to stagger. “Oh, my God. You are.”
She clings to my shirt. “Nooo. Don’t drop me.”
“Never.” I hold her tight. Breathe in her innocence. Not seeing my little girl until last night, not knowing if Jules was going to demand a divorce, was torture. I have to make this right. “Love you, sweet pea.”
She curls her arms around my neck. “Love you too, Daddy.”
I carry her into the kitchen. “How about you get started? I need to talk to your mum for a bit.”
Riley grunts something that I take as an ‘okay’ as she parks herself on a chair in front of her puzzle.
It feels like a pack of wild dogs is making a feast of my intestines as I proceed to the bedroom. But there’s no escaping this conversation. And Jules is wearing her rings. So, all is not lost.
I push through the partially open door and am treated to a flash of black lace underwear and matching bra, Jules’ perfect boobs straining against the delicate fabric as she pulls on a pair of tracksuit pants. I trip over my feet, my brain a pile of mush as the one in my boxers takes control.
Jules whips around, her face turning red as she covers herself with a long-sleeved T-shirt. “My coffee spilt when I was seeing Claire out.”
I glance away, heat creeping up my neck. I hate how awkward things have become. It’s like we’re strangers. I turn to see her smoothing her hands down her hips, drawing attention to the generous curves. My stupid cock perks up, not understanding we may never be welcome near her again. The unpleasantness of the weekend lingers between us, a noxious odour that threatens the very fabric of our marriage.
I clear my throat. “Riley’s working on her jigsaw.”
Jules sits on the bed and picks up a brush. “I rang Melissa. ”
Every single muscle freezes. I try to swallow, but my throat is too dry, and I end up coughing instead. “How did that go?”
Jules runs the brush through her wavy chestnut hair and watches my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Her movements are slow and methodical, and scary as fuck. How much did Melissa tell her?
“She was very apologetic for the misunderstanding. Says she was relieved to get your perspective on her son’s behaviour.” Jules continues to brush her hair with long, even strokes. Her brown eyes, tinged with red, drill into mine. “If I ever find out it wasn’t a misunderstanding, I’ll file for divorce and take you for everything we own.”
And I’d gladly give it to her. “Jules?—”
She points the brush at me. “What pisses me off the most is you thought it was more important to help an old colleague out than be there for your family. And you lied about it being for work. How can I trust you after this?”
“I’m sorry.” It’s not enough and from the way Jules’ lips curl, she doesn’t think so either. I was a fool to lie about my catch up with Melissa, and I underestimated how much having a night out with Claire meant to Jules. I need to make amends, which is why I made a phone call today. One I never imagined making. My breath catches in my throat, but I force it out. “We have an appointment with a counsellor on Friday. That’s if you’re okay with it, of course.”
“What?” Jules’ jaw drops, as does the brush in her hand. “But you hate psychologists. You’ve always said they’re charlatans.”
My hands clench by my sides. Hate isn’t a strong enough word for how I feel about them. Loathe, despise, detest. Those are better descriptions for the useless fuckers. But if it can make a difference, then I’ll do it. For my family.
Jules scoops the brush off the floor and lifts her chin in that stubborn pose I know too well. “Why do I have to see the psychologist? You’re the one who lied?”
Ouch. She has a point, but our problems go beyond what happened on Friday night. “We’ve been drifting apart for months, Jules.”
She averts her gaze and pinches her lips together. While I didn’t expect her to throw herself into my arms, I thought this was something she’d view as a positive. Women like talking through stuff, don’t they?
Finally, she says, “I guess it can’t hurt for us to see someone.”
I exhale a long, stale breath. “I love you, Jules. We’ll get through this.”
“I hope so, Mick, because it’s not just about us. We have Riley to think of, too.”
My heart stalls. Not the response I was hoping for. Of course, I want to do the right thing for our daughter. But is that all I am—a father? I want so much more from Jules. I want to be her everything, in the same way she’s my everything.