Darklands Book 2: Something Wild This Way Comes Page 7

  "Nothing. You were right to bring her here.” Rowan reached out to sneak a biscuit only for Max to move the plate out of reach. She gave him a dirty look, and he responded with a beatific smile, which made Camille want to laugh. They were an odd couple, she thought. He's so suave and she's a free spirit. But somehow they fit together.

  She glanced down as Elizabeth gave another rattling snore. “Is there anything else I should do?” she asked Rowan.

  The redhead shook her head. “Give her a bottle when you get home. She's probably hungry if she hasn't eaten much all day. Then she should sleep through."

  "I really appreciate it.” Camille drained her mug and stood. “I've taken up enough of your Sunday evening but thanks again. Um.... “She stood awkwardly, not knowing quite how to ask about payment in this cozy, unbusinesslike setting. “Can I settle the bill tomorrow?"

  "Don't worry about it,” Rowan waved a hand. “Just bring her to see me at the Mum and Bub clinic. Thursday morning, remember?” She looked at Camille sternly.

  "I'll try.” Camille smiled at Rowan as they walked to the door, tailed by the dogs who seemed to think it part of their duties to escort arriving and departing guests.

  "Take care,” said Rowan. “Oh, if you need anything before then, call me. Or Max. Here's my card.” She slipped it into Camille's jeans pockets as she opened the door and scanned the wild skies. “Storm's come up. Who knows what it might bring. Drive carefully."

  There was a significance in her words that Camille heard but didn't quite understand. In fact, it almost sounded like a warning, although why Rowan Byrne would need to warn her about anything was beyond her. She barely knew the woman.

  Well, she would worry about it in the morning, she decided, yawning as she drove out the gate, the snarling panthers disappearing in the gloom behind her. Right now, she and Elizabeth needed to sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Nathan absentmindedly picked up the phone on the third ring as he scanned the article on the computer screen in his home office. He'd Googled Camille's name, not really expecting to find much, but after five minutes of checking out non-related entries, he'd hit pay dirt with a couple of articles about an up-and-coming young graphic artist, whose branding for a major department store had won an award. There was even a photo showing a smiling, relaxed Camille, with no evidence of the fear and strain etched on her face now. Nathan traced that voluptuous mouth on the screen as he answered the ringing phone. The article was dated only two months previously. If the photo had been taken at the same time, then it was clear that her troubles were relatively recent.

  "Donnelly."

  "Hey, it's me,” Rowan's voice came down the line. “Got a moment?"

  "Sure."

  "Look, I just wanted you to know that Rowan was here last night with the baby—"

  "What? Is she okay?” Nathan sat up sharply, senses on instant alert. He gripped the phone tightly. “Tell me."

  "Look I can't say too much because of patient confidentiality. But I'm hopeful she'll come to the Mum and Bub clinic on Thursday—"

  "Is she all right?"

  He heard the hesitation in Rowan's voice as she answered. “Yeah, she was just worried about the baby."

  "But did you get any idea of what's really going on?"

  "No. Nathan, I need you to back off."

  "Back off? You've gotta be kidding. I know something's going on. You know it too."

  "Nathan.... “She hesitated. “I think she's one of us."

  "Us?"

  "Well, one of me.” She sounded as though she were searching for exactly the right words. “Camille is ... different. Like me."

  "But—” Nathan was stunned. He couldn't think of what to say. Even though he'd known Rowan for almost four years, ever since moving to World's End from the big smoke, he still had problems accepting that she had abilities beyond the here and now. He'd seen her powers of healing first-hand during a spot of bother in the town last year and he'd long known she was a practicing witch, whatever that meant, but they'd always pretty much skirted the issue. Hearing that Camille had special gifts too, knocked him for six.

  "Don't ask me how or what or why,” said Rowan. “I don't have answers for you, only theory and speculation. But you have to let me handle this. She may just be running from an abusive husband, as you think.” She sighed heavily. “Nathan, we've never discussed it because I thought you didn't really want to know, but what happened last spring isn't over. It was just the prelude."

  "But Roth ... I mean, he's gone,” said Nathan bewildered. He knew that Rowan had suspected the billionaire entrepreneur Daemon Roth of somehow being involved in nefarious activities, including a car accident that had injured Rowan herself, and a factory fire in which several villagers had sustained serious burns. But then Roth had simply disappeared as if off the face of the earth, his mansion had been stripped and abandoned, his companies wound up.

  At the time, Nathan had been intrigued enough to ask questions but no one else knew any more than he did, and after a brief wave of gossip mongering, Roth had been forgotten. The village had been happy to wash its hands of him, and Nathan had been relieved that the cold-eyed little man had gone.

  "So.... “He tried to make sense of it. “So, you think Camille and Roth are somehow connected?"

  "Not exactly.” Camille's voice came slowly down the line. “Roth was just a symbol ... a representation. He's gone, but ... he wasn't alone.” There was a strange intensity to her voice.

  "And Camille?” Nathan asked, dreading the answer.

  "I don't know. I'll find out what I can on Thursday. I just need you to butt out for a while."

  Nathan thought for a second and decided honesty was the best policy. “I just don't know if I can, Rowan."

  "Why?"

  "Because ... I don't know. Because ... okay, there's something about her.” Well, he'd said it now, out loud to someone else.

  "Nathan Donnelly! So you have got the hots for her. I knew it!” Rowan's voice was rich with laughter.

  Nathan squirmed, even though she couldn't see him. “Well, maybe."

  "All right, but if you want to get her to trust you, believe me you'll have more success if you use a bit of discretion. You go marching in with your size twelves and she'll kick your butt,” she said. “No, actually, I suspect Camille is too ladylike for that. But you upset her and I'll kick your butt!"

  Nathan laughed and hung up. He knew one thing. Camille Aston was definitely worth a kicked butt.

  * * * *

  Nathan wrestled with his instincts for two days. Three times he got in the car to drive to Bluey's Beach to see how Camille and the baby were, and three times he turned back at the track down to her house. He found it impossible to sit at his desk and made endless excuses to patrol the shopping strip just in case she made a trip into town for groceries.

  He could find nothing more on the net about her, although he tracked her company, Aston Creative, down to an address in Sydney's Bondi Beach. He'd rung the number and Camille's voice, calm and professional, said that she was unavailable but he could leave a message. He imagined her, sleek and polished, that luscious mouth recording the message, and got a hard-on that kept him glued to his desk for the next ten minutes. When he had his body back under control, he fed her name into the police computer. Nothing. He did a trace on her licence plate which revealed that she'd bought the car just three weeks before. The address given was a different one at Bondi, presumably her home. He grabbed a Sydney phone book and found a C. A. Aston at the address.

  Thoughtfully he put the phone book back on the shelf. He was effectively no farther forward than he had been last week. He knew she lived and worked in trendy Bondi. The Honda was food for thought, though. Purchased nineteen days ago outside Canberra. Maybe she thought she needed something different for taking on holiday, maybe something else. Buying a new car wasn't a crime, but it was interesting.

  He drew a hand over his face, frustrated, stood up and strode out of his office. �
�Mike, I have to go out,” he said curtly to the young constable at the front desk. “Hold the fort would you?"

  It was another scorcher. He squinted as he stepped outside and slid his shades on, wincing as his hand touched the burning door of his police vehicle. Within seconds sweat was dripping from his brow and he turned the air conditioning onto maximum as he headed toward Bluey's Beach.

  He tried to rehearse the words he would say to her when she opened the door, but each phrase he spoke sounded false, grating. He wanted to tell her he would take care of whatever was making her afraid, wanted to shake her until she saw sense and confided in him, wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she kissed him back.

  He brought the Landcruiser to an abrupt stop outside the gate to Camille's cottage. Her Honda SUV was missing but he shoved the gate open, went to the door and knocked anyway. After the fourth fruitless rap, he walked around to the back of the house to find it locked up and no sign of either Camille or the baby. On such a hot day, maybe they'd headed down to the beach, he thought, making for the rough path.

  He spent twenty minutes scanning one way and the other to no avail, then another ten back on the cliff top, racking his brain to think where she could have gone. Maybe she'd gone into World's End by another route, or to another beach. He got inside his car and slammed the door with the force of frustration. The fact was, she could be any damn where.

  "Fuck,” he said succinctly as he shoved the car into gear and guided it through a U-turn. He dialed the number for the police station, cutting off Constable Dawes as he answered. “I'm going to grab something to eat,” he said shortly. “I'll be on the cell if it's an emergency."

  * * * *

  Grimacing, Camille lifted the damp cotton of her sleeveless shirt away from her skin. The air conditioning in her little car wasn't designed for eighty-five degree days. At least the heat didn't seem to be worrying Elizabeth who slept like a cherub in her car seat. Thank God, today was over! She hadn't wanted to make the trip, but her funds were running low and she didn't dare get cash from anywhere local. Lord—she hated to even think of him as her brother-in-law—would have a trace on her bank account for sure. So she'd driven two hours up the coast and then turned inland, stopping at a busy mall where she felt sure no one would remember her.

  In all truth, she hadn't felt comfortable all day—had been constantly looking over her shoulder until she felt a tension headache building and couldn't wait to return home to Bluey's Beach. Still, it was done and now she had enough money to last for another month or more if she was frugal.

  When she unstrapped Elizabeth, the baby murmured but didn't wake. She went to walk through the gate and came to an abrupt halt. It wasn't closed as she'd left it this morning. She glanced quickly to the top of the gate. The pebble had disappeared. Her heart lodged in her throat and reflexively she clutched the baby to her breast. Someone had been at the house today.

  Stumbling up the steps, she fumbled for her house key, her hand shaking so much it took three attempts before it finally slid into place and the door clicked open. Almost sobbing with relief, she locked it behind her and hurried from room to room, flicking on all the lights until all the shadows had been eliminated. She took a deep breath and told herself they were safe, at least for the moment.

  After Elizabeth went down without even a feed, Camille was left wandering the rooms of the cottage, weary yet unable to sleep. Even though the night was warm, she made a mug of hot chocolate, hoping it would soothe her, and then turned in for the night. The air was stifling in her bedroom and she tossed and turned before getting up to open the window.

  She stood there for a moment, waiting in vain for a cooling breeze. Moonlight gleamed on the gate with its missing pebble, and she saw in her mind's eye a hand reaching out to unlatch it. A masculine hand with a sprinkling of golden hair at the wrist. She gasped as she saw the gun holstered at his belt, but it was familiar somehow. Heavy boots marched up the path and the hand was reaching out to knock at the door. A face swam into sight. Nathan Donnelly's. He looked commanding and impatient as he knocked again and again.

  As the vision cleared, Camille shuddered. She sank down on the bed, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow for her aching head, wondering if she'd had one of her moments of intuition or whether she was letting stress and vaguely sexual thoughts of Nathan Donnelly get tangled up in her mind. He was handsome enough if you liked the tough, capable type, but she'd always been more attracted to creative men.

  It was the first intuitive moment she'd had since Verity's death, and that unforgettable terrifying moment had left her hoping she'd never experience anything like it again. This one hadn't been as bad, but she wanted to know if Donnelly really had been at the house again, and if so, why. She glanced at the clock. It was just after nine. Maybe he'd still be at the police station, and if he was, he was in for a piece of her mind.

  Pushing back the cotton sheet, she padded barefoot into the hall, finding his card where she'd left it next to the phone. Slowly, she dialed the local number, and let it ring three times. She was about to put it down, when a brisk but young male voice answered. Definitely not Donnelly's. Camille felt relief and a strange disappointment at the same time.

  "World's End Command. Constable Lai."

  "I'd like to speak to Nathan Donnelly, please."

  "Ah, sorry, ma'am. He's rostered off tonight. Can I help you?"

  "Um, no ... that is.... “Camille bit her lip. Calling Donnelly was a bad idea, however much she wanted to know why he'd been at the cottage. Getting anyone else involved in her problems was a big no-no, even someone as capable-looking as the interfering cop. “No,” she decided. “Thanks all the same.” She put the phone down abruptly as though it burned her hand.

  In bed, she tossed and turned for what seemed like hours before she finally dropped off, only to wake cranky and lethargic. At least Elizabeth seemed to be well over her weekend virus and was blooming, in fact. Her blue eyes sparkled with spirit and she talked incessantly in her own unintelligible language.

  After breakfast, Camille settled her on a rug while she cleaned. When she'd finished, she glanced at the clock. Today was Rowan's mother and baby clinic and Camille was supposed to visit. It wasn't too late to phone and cancel. She could always use the excuse that Elizabeth was over her virus but the baby's illness had given Camille a shock that she still hadn't quite recovered from. It would put her mind at rest if Rowan gave the little girl a clean bill of health.

  Sighing, she went to pack Elizabeth's bag with toys, diapers, wipes and a bottle.

  * * * *

  The day was slightly cooler than yesterday, which was a relief, and she drove up to Ravenswood House with the windows down, letting the fresh breeze whip her hair around her face and soothe the tension caused by her restless sleep.

  The house looked different in the day, less imposing. Even the stone cats appeared slightly less ferocious. Camille parked, and whisked Elizabeth from her seat, slinging the bag over her shoulder. A woman with two older children was leaving as she walked in the door and pointed her in the direction of Rowan's consulting rooms. Even as she approached, she heard the murmur of adult voices, broken by the occasional laughs and cries of children.

  The other mothers looked up as she walked in, some looking her up and down, others smiling welcomingly. She sat down next to a woman with a baby of a similar age, and smiled hesitantly while Elizabeth assessed the other child with the unblinking intensity of someone who has no idea that staring is rude. Camille realized that the little girl had probably had little or no exposure to other children in her short life, and that probably wasn't going to change in the near future.

  "Should we check in with anyone?” Camille asked, not seeing Rowan amid the melee.

  "Oh, don't worry. Doc Rowan'll be out in a few minutes and she'll sort you out.” The dark-haired woman smiled. “I'm Fiona."

  "Hi. I'm Camille. It's our first time.” She bounced Elizabeth on her knee and fished out a toy from the
bag. “I hope we don't have to wait too long."

  Fiona shook her head and grabbed her baby boy's fist as he tried to snatch the jangling plastic dinosaur from Elizabeth, who let out a wail.

  A head with a braid of curling red hair stuck itself around the doorway at the far end of the room. “Camille,” Rowan called. “Glad you made it. Bit of a madhouse but shouldn't be more than half an hour. “Deborah, come on in.” She disappeared again before Rowan could say anything, but Fiona looked at her curiously.

  "So how do you know Rowan? I haven't seen you in the village."

  "Oh, we're just here on holiday for a few days,” she said casually. “Rowan helped out when Elizabeth had a bug the other day.” She stood up and made a big show of walking to the toy box in the corner which had caught Elizabeth's eye, wanting to avoid getting dragged into a conversation that could become tricky.

  She played with Elizabeth for ten minutes, only returning to her seat when Rowan called Fiona into her office. The crowd was thinning as the time marched toward lunch. Camille seemed to be the last, except for an older woman who'd arrived some time after Camille and sat down opposite. She wasn't accompanied by a child, and looked too old to be the mother of young ones. Camille frowned as she wondered why she was there. The woman seemed to sense Camille's eyes on her and looked up, her grey eyes sharp and perceptive. She seemed about to say something but then Rowan's door opened and she called for Camille, before turning to the older woman sitting patiently. “Won't be long, Abigail."

  Rowan held the door open for Camille and Elizabeth. “Hey,” she said. “How's everything?"

  "Fine.” Camille sat in the comfortable old chair to the side of Rowan's desk and propped the baby on her knee so she could see the room. Elizabeth stuck a fist in her mouth and began sucking.

  Rowan chuckled. “Sorry to keep you waiting. It's obvious this little one is getting hungry for her lunch."

  Camille tried not to let herself respond to the woman's warmth, but she found it impossible. Somehow she felt safe here, as though nothing could touch her. Unconsciously she relaxed and sank back into the chair.