High Stakes Bride Read online

  Dani watched as the rooms emptied out. The men were pleasant and professional, but it didn’t change the fact that she was losing something precious. When the last piece was gone, the house felt bare and hollow. She’d kept the furniture in her room and David’s, one couch in the lounge and the kitchen table and chairs. The family portraits and paintings still hung on the walls. David had wanted to sell them, but there was no market for portraits, just the frames. For the tiny sum they’d realize selling the frames, Dani had decided David could afford to keep that link to the past.

  The man lifted binoculars to his eyes and watched the final piece of furniture being loaded. A pity it all didn’t stay in the house, but that didn’t matter. Satisfaction curled in the pit of his stomach. The plan was proceeding. He wanted to see Dani lose the way he had lost. Slowly, bit-by-bit, piece-by-piece, her life ground away until she had nothing.

  Dani studied her bank statement in the glow of light from her desk lamp, reached for the calculator and ran some figures. When she was finished, she sat back in her chair and ran shaky fingers through her hair. Once she banked the cheque for the furniture and for David’s car the account would fatten up, but not enough. She would have to find something else to sell. On Galbraith the only thing of value left was the breeding herd.

  Pushing back her chair she rose to her feet and walked down the hall, leaving the house by the nearer exit of the back porch instead of her usual route through the kitchen. Grimly, she drank in the balmy air and stared at the spectacle of diamond-bright stars and a night sky so clear it looked like black glass. The clarity meant there was little moisture in the air, and no likelihood of any soon. The endless hot days and nights were sucking the station dry. Today the number-two well had dried up, which meant she’d had to move the cattle from the back block of the station in closer to the house. The move meant more pressure on the grass, and more feeding out of precious winter food.

  When David saw the state of the paddocks he was going to throw a fit. Some were little more than dust, and would have to be resown. The paddocks that had fared better had only done so because they were infested with weeds and overrun with the native kikuyu grass that had the advantage of being hardy but was low on nutritional values. Those paddocks, too, would have to be resown.

  The Galbraith bad-luck streak was in full flight, and it didn’t look like giving up any time soon.

  Dani stared through the trees toward Carter’s house. It was in darkness, which meant that wherever he’d gone, he still hadn’t come back.

  Taking a deep breath, Dani turned to walk back into the house when something shimmered at the edge of her vision.

  Adrenaline pumped. A hoot, just metres from where she was standing, resonated through the night. Something floated, eerie and silent overhead. Letting out a breath, Dani forced herself to relax. A morepork.

  Shaking her head, she skimmed the expanse of lawn and the dark shrubs that edged it. She frowned. Something had moved—a rearrangement of the shadows that couldn’t be explained by a nonexistent breeze or the soundless flight of a morepork.

  Seconds ticked by as she waited and watched. A chilled certainty gripped the back of her neck. Someone or something was out there.

  Stepping inside, she grabbed a flashlight then, with a soft tread, she threaded her way through the trees until she reached Carter’s house.

  She knocked on the door, but she was already certain he wasn’t home—his truck wasn’t parked in the garage—then stepped inside.

  Feeling like a thief, she walked through to his bedroom, flicked on the flashlight and slid the drawer of his bedside table open. The handgun was missing, but it was the other item she was interested in.

  She stared at the contraption. Now that she could see it fully, it was easily identifiable. She’d read enough about Special Forces to understand the kind of work they did and some of the equipment they used. These were night-vision goggles.

  Slipping the goggles from the drawer, she slid it closed, flicked off the flashlight and slipped outside.

  She examined the night-vision gear. There was no manual, but how difficult could it be? Flipping the power button, she slipped them over her head. Instantly, Carter’s front yard sprang to life in shades of a ghostly, luminous green.

  Satisfaction took the edge off her tension. She wasn’t hunting a prowler who could possibly be the arsonist terrorising Jackson’s Ridge, she was just checking out her place. Something was lurking around. It was most likely a stray cat or dog, in which case she was more likely to see it at night. If it was a person…

  Her stomach tightened at the possibility. If there was a prowler, at least then she would know and she could do something about it.

  Adjusting the fit, she stepped off the veranda and merged with the shrubs at the edge of the lawn. It took a few moments to get used to the feel of the goggles and the surreal cast they gave to the landscape. She could see perfectly as long as she was looking directly ahead, the problem was with her peripheral vision. In order to widen her field of vision, she needed to constantly move her head from side to side.

  Keeping to the edge of the lawn, she began walking, first of all reconnoitring around her house and the barn, then widening the circle to include the groves of trees and the paddocks immediately surrounding the house.

  The crunch of a snapped twig jerked her head around. Something moved, dissolving into the bush line. A branch quivered, as if it had been pushed aside and had just flicked back into place and the marrow in her spine froze. Whatever had passed through the trees was too large to be either a cat or dog.

  For long minutes she stayed still and silent, straining to listen, but with the faint breeze that had begun sifting through the treetops it was difficult to pick up the subtler sounds.

  A rustling in the shrubs behind made her freeze. He must have doubled around.

  Adrenaline pumping, she didn’t question her automatic assertion that whoever had made the noise was human and male as she spun—and stumbled into the hard wall of a chest. A hand closed over her mouth, muffling the small sound that erupted.

  “If you press that button, it goes to thermal.”

  The image changed. Carter’s outline took on a yellowish glow.

  Slowly, he released her. “Depending on the ambient light, sometimes it’s better to switch to thermal, but in your case…” He removed the goggles from her head. “The less you know the better. The idea that you’re out here in the dark stalking a prowler makes me crazy.”

  “I wasn’t stalking anything. I was just…looking.”

  “Next time you have the urge to ‘look,’ make it go away. When did you get the goggles?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “Sneaky. I never even checked on them until tonight.”

  Beneath the surge of embarrassment at being caught out, her interest sharpened. If he wanted the goggles tonight, that meant he was up to something. “I didn’t think you were home. I didn’t hear your truck.”

  “That’s because it’s parked down the road.”

  “Something is going on.”

  His hand closed over hers. “That’s why you have to come with me now.”

  Chapter 14

  The sound of a vehicle was audible above the steady roar of the surf. Despite the fact that the lights were off, the truck was clearly visible as it turned left, away from the beach and went off road. Seconds later the engine sound died.

  Dani stayed crouched on the side of the hill, watching as dark figures converged on the lone man exiting the truck. A spotlight flicked on, flooding the area with light.

  Murdoch’s voice was incredulous. “Walter?”

  Walter Douglas straightened, shaking off Carter’s hand. “What is all this? I was just down for a little fishing—”

  “I suppose that’s why you concealed your truck in that patch of scrub back there.”

  “I’d be a fool to leave it out in the open. Someone might steal my tires.”

  Murdoch looked around. “Who
, Walter? You’re on private land and Jackson’s Ridge isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime. Until lately, that is.”

  “I don’t believe in taking chances.”

  Murdoch let out a breath. “Okay, let’s go and look at your truck, and while you’re at it, you can show me your fishing rod, and explain why exactly you’re going fishing when the tide’s out. If there’s anything bigger than a sprat out there I’ll shoot myself.”

  Walter turned on his heel. “I’ve got a fishing rod.”

  “I’ll just bet you do.”

  Dani stared at Walter’s retreating back and the four officers flanking him. She felt charged for action and oddly deflated. She couldn’t believe the fire chief was the culprit, but that had definitely been Walter.

  A few minutes later, Carter and Murdoch approached the small hide where Dani had been told to wait. Murdoch was apologetic. “I’ve taken Walter into custody. He had a jar of fire-lighting gel in his truck. There’s no way that can be explained away on night-fishing. He says he doesn’t know how the gel came to be in his fishing tackle…” He shook his head. “He won’t admit it, but it’s him all right. I talked to his ex-wife this afternoon and she’s confirmed that she saw Walter prowling around the Barclay place several days before the first fire. The fact that he’s out here below your house explains a lot. According to Lily, Robert Galbraith was instrumental in persuading Walter to buy shares in the ostrich facility.” Murdoch shrugged. “He denies wanting revenge, and the motivation is a little murky, but it’s adding up.”

  Tail lights winked as the cruisers disappeared into the night. Walter’s truck was left where it was parked, a length of crime tape surrounding it fluttering in the breeze.

  Carter unhooked one of the ropes from around the trunk of a tree. He slung the coil over one shoulder. “Looks like that’s it. Let’s go home.”

  O’Halloran slipped the folded net they hadn’t had to use into a long, black gear bag. “Seemed too easy.”

  Gabriel West, who had travelled down from Auckland to help with the bust, zipped the bag closed and hefted it. “That’s because it was. I felt sorry for him.”

  O’Halloran hefted the second coil of rope. “No weapon. And he had a limp.”

  Absently Dani listened to the banter that flowed between Carter and West. More of the same only in different locations: Afghanistan, Iraq, Papua New Guinea—anywhere and everywhere there’d been some kind of conflict. The camaraderie that flowed between them was as relaxed and intimate as if they were members of the same family. She’d read the Mars and Venus stuff. Men and women were different, but she wasn’t just dealing with the male/female thing here—these guys lived in another universe completely.

  Carter’s hand landed in the small of her back. Automatically, she began to move forward, matching his stride. Dark shadows flowed on either side of her. As they walked she couldn’t help but notice the absence of noise beneath the muted sound of the waves. Even though there was no need they all still stepped carefully, as if the habit was ingrained and, despite the fact that climbing the steep slope was heavy going, there was no evidence of exertion; every one of them was fit. A faint chill—an aftermath of the tension that had gripped her while she’d lain, concealed in the scrub—gripped her spine. She felt as though she was walking up the hill with a pack of wolves.

  A man dressed in dark clothing lay flattened against the gnarled branch of an ancient pohutukawa tree as he followed the progress of the small group. When they disappeared from sight, he waited for a few minutes, listening to the waves and letting the night sounds sink in until he was sure he was alone.

  Quietly, he inched along the limb, climbed down the squat, twisted trunk and, with a soft tread, retreated into the hills.

  The Jackson’s Ridge Chronicle was out. Walter had been charged, referred for a psychiatric evaluation and released on bail pending a court hearing.

  Flynn was relieved. The mid-week edition had achieved its highest-ever recorded circulation—carrying the paper out of the red for the first time in months. The residents of Jackson’s Ridge were happy. Murdoch wasn’t.

  He dropped a copy of the Chronicle on Carter’s desk. “Walter’s only admitted to one of the fires, the Barclay’s barn. Unfortunately, that’s the only one we can tie him to.”

  Carter studied the story. Like Murdoch, he hadn’t been comfortable with Walter’s arrest. Walter just didn’t have the personality aberrations of a serial arsonist. “Which means there’s a copycat. Has Walter got any idea who the other arsonist is?”

  Murdoch picked up his coffee, stared at the dregs and set it back down. “That’s where it gets a little complicated. Walter was supposedly meeting the real arsonist on the beach. He claims it’s the first time he’s been there for anything but fishing for months. He said he received a typewritten note and that the real arsonist must have planted the gel in with his fishing gear. If he’s telling the truth then he’s been set up.”

  “Don’t tell me. He doesn’t have the note.”

  “He burnt it.” Murdoch shrugged. “Walter’s scared. Whoever the second arsonist is, he threatened to burn down Walter’s house and business if he didn’t show. If Walter loses the butcher shop, his income’s gone.”

  “Is that an issue when he’s going to do time?”

  “The Barclays don’t want to press charges. Walter’s been a part of their family for thirty-five years, so that’s understandable. And Lily’s blaming herself for the fire. Apparently, until she walked out on Walter, he didn’t have a clue that she wasn’t happy.” Murdoch shrugged. “Providing we don’t turn up anything else it looks like all Walter will face is a hefty bill for damages and the emergency call-outs.”

  The flash of sunlight on rich auburn hair caught Carter’s eye, then the graceful swing of Dani’s long-legged gait as she strolled in the direction of Nola’s café. There was only one woman in Jackson’s Ridge who looked like that—or anywhere, for that matter. Dani was distinctive. Like Susan Marlow, wherever she went she would always attract attention. “What about Carlisle?”

  That name again. Aside from the fact that Jordan Carlisle was a wealthy stockbroker with heavy-duty connections in the business world, he was also Dani’s father.

  Murdoch unearthed a file and dropped it in front of Carter. “It came in by courier this morning. Interesting reading.”

  Interesting was an understatement. Jordan Rayburn Carlisle, eldest son of the wealthy and influential Carlisle family, had started out in life with a silver spoon in his mouth. A brilliant student, he had achieved a law degree with honours and had been poised to progress into a partnership in the family law firm. Instead, he had ended up in prison, disbarred and banned from taking any part in the family business—doing time for grievous bodily harm and the attempted murder of his unborn child, Danielle Margaret Marlow.

  Carter’s jaw tightened as he skimmed the details. Carlisle had dated Susan Marlow, a legal secretary with his firm, gotten her pregnant then demanded she have an abortion. When Susan had refused, he had hit her in the abdomen in a deliberate attempt to make the foetus abort. Susan’s landlord had heard the ruckus and intervened, and had sustained a broken jaw and a hairline fracture to the skull for his trouble. The police had picked Carlisle up and he’d been remanded on bail, Susan had ended up in hospital and almost lost the baby. The intimidation had continued, but she had stuck to her guns and indicted him. Carlisle had gone down for eight years, six of which he had served.

  The file finished there, but Carter could fill in the blanks for himself. When Carlisle had gotten out of jail, his career and position in the family firm gone, he had gone after Susan and Dani. He had stalked them, driving them from town to town, until, in desperation, and in fear of their lives, Susan had stopped reporting the harassment and had simply concentrated on disappearing. When Susan had decided to stay in Jackson’s Ridge she had taken a huge risk. With the resources available to Jordan Carlisle she’d had to know it was only a matter of time before he found them.


  Carter’s gaze was cold. “Where is he?”

  Murdoch steepled his fingers. “He’s disappeared. Hasn’t been seen at his inner-city apartment for weeks.”

  But there were no prizes for guessing where Carlisle was. The only thing Carter couldn’t figure out was how he’d managed to stay hidden. In a small place like Jackson’s Ridge, the second a stranger drove into town, it was news.

  Dani walked into Nola’s café. Becca was waiting, a copy of the Jackson’s Ridge Chronicle spread out on the table.

  Nola, busy cleaning off a nearby table, paused to set a menu in front of her. “Hear Carter’s back to barracks tomorrow.”

  Dani pulled out a chair and sat down. “He’s got his final medical.”

  “Expect they’ll be shipping him back out to Indonesia. There’s been a lot of trouble there.”

  Dani kept her expression noncommittal as she ordered coffee. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  But all the same, the knowledge that he was leaving Jackson’s Ridge at all was an old trigger and hard to shake. They were sleeping together—the intimacy she’d worked so hard at avoiding had caught her off guard and tipped her life upside down—but in every other respect nothing about their relationship had changed.

  Becca frowned at Nola’s retreating back. “Don’t listen. She’s still upset that you could have even thought about turning Carter down.”

  “It’s okay.” And surprisingly enough, despite Nola’s occasional sharpness, it was. Dani was aware there was no malice in the exchange, just the worn-in familiarity of years. Nola had known Carter since he was a baby. She’d seen him grow up, she’d known his parents and his grandparents, and still kept in touch with Carter’s mother. They weren’t related by blood, but to Nola, Carter was family.

  Becca folded the paper and put it to one side. “Has Carter proposed?”