Текст книги "Defending Pacer"
Автор книги: T. J. Hamilton
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eleven hours and twenty-three minutes since I saw my honeybee. Fuck this tracker and fuck her rich parents. Scott better get this sorted or I am going to lose my shit. I slide open the screen on an iPhone that is used for one purpose and one purpose only. Finding the only number that’s in the phone¸ I press Scott’s number.
Smart phones are a crook’s worst enemy and a useful tool for the cops. But smart phones won’t outsmart someone like Scott.
The call picks up but the line is empty.
“Is it done?”
“Twenty minutes.” The voice answers robotically.
“What about the location?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“You said that fourteen hours ago.”
The call drops out and I throw my phone into the wall. Pieces of it fly in different directions. My connection to Scott is shattered.
I grab my everyday phone and send a message to my cousin.
PACER: I need a new phone immediately. I’m at home.
Scrolling through the messages, I read my conversation with Chelsea. Studying every word she wrote makes me crave her more, and despite all my attempts for the past eleven hours, I can’t even get close to her. Eleven hours, feels more like eleven days. I need to see her. That’s why I’ve had to call in Scott. He’s the government’s most wanted hacker. He’s more pedantic than I am about his personal security, that’s why I like the guy. I wouldn’t even know what he looks like. I don’t think anyone does. My life is fucked as it is from having to outwit the cops. I can’t imagine what his must be like. Fuck that.
My phone sounds its message tone.
FRANCO: Did you smash your phone again?
PACER: Just get here. Urgent.
Taking the smashed phone, I swap the sim card over in case Scott calls. He won’t leave a message so I need to take that call. I walk back up the jetty to my house. I’m surprised there isn’t a track worn in the hardwood—I’ve paced it that many times. Especially in the last eleven hours.
The phone rings. No number displayed. I answer it on mute so they can’t hear me, or my surroundings.
“It’s done.” Scott’s pixelated voice comes through the speaker.
The call ends.
It’s about fucking time! Now I just need Franco to hurry the fuck up and I am out of here. I have the freedom to move once again with the signal from my tracker now intercepted by Scott and access to one of America’s telescopes, in space.
By the time I’ve made it to the garage at the front of my property, Franco pulls up at the front door.
“Where’s the phone? I need to go.”
“Everything alright?” He throws me the box as I make my way to the garage.
“It will be now.”
There’s not a moment to waste. With my iPad in hand, I jump in my Audi and finally venture past my front gates for the first time since I had this fucking tracker fitted. There’s one place I need to be.
Sliding my sunglasses back on, I stretch out on the sunlounge and close my eyes for a moment. The winter sun feels lovely against my bare arms. I still have to keep a big knitted rug over my legs to protect them from the ice-cold breeze on the hilltop.
“So there seriously isn’t anything going on between you and this Pacer guy then?” Logan takes the opportunity to talk the moment my novel drops to my chest.
I groan. “Not you too.”
“Well I had to ask. He is pretty hot. I wouldn’t blame you if you did have a thing with him.”
Raising my sunglasses, I smile. “He is ridiculous looking, isn’t he? But no, I don’t have a thing with him. A thing for him maybe, but at this stage the thing is singular.”
Logan laughs. “Just be careful. There are plenty of eyes on you at the moment.”
“Don’t I know it?”
The phone vibrates on the table next to me.
PACER: Since you don’t work on the weekend, why don’t we have dinner instead?
My smile is unstoppable, but I toss the phone back onto the table, frustrated even more about the shitty situation I’m in. Why can’t this just be easy? As in, why can’t Pacer just be a law-abiding citizen who I met out on the town one night? Or we were introduced through friends, like every other normal couple I know?
From the corner of my eye, I catch Logan smiling. “That was him, wasn’t it?”
I sigh and flop back against the sunlounge.
“Is it that obvious?” I lean my arm across my face, blocking the sun and my thoughts.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head.
“Okay. Well I’m here if you do. You know that, right?”
“I love you for that … you know that, right?”
With my phone back in my hand, I know I have to respond to Pacer, regardless of my feelings.
CHELSEA: Don’t think that’s a good idea. Have you seen the news?
PACER: I don’t read newspapers or watch the news on TV.
CHELSEA: Maybe you should. They followed us the other night when we had late lunch, and took pictures of us. They’ve decided to run with the story that you and I are romantically involved.
He doesn’t reply. Shit!
CHELSEA: I’m just as angry about it. It’s been sorted though. The media won’t be printing anything like that again without having a defamation case against them.
PACER: So you would be defamed if you were in a relationship with me?
I stare at the text for a moment longer. That’s not what I meant. But what does he mean? All of his actions, his little passes at me—I know he likes me. Girls never want to admit it to themselves but we always know. There’s a change in our body when a man takes an interest in us. Our heads make stupid decisions all because the rampant pheromones overrule everything. They shouldn’t be called ‘fair-o-moans’ they should be ‘wrong-don’t-go-there-o-moans’.
CHELSEA: No, being with you wouldn’t defame me, but it won’t help your case at all if this story develops.
PACER: If that’s a real no, then we’ll have dinner when my case is over.
He’s tenacious. Maybe that’s the solution to all of this? If I get him off his murder charge, I can convince the country that he’s not the man the police are making him out to be. Then maybe I could start something with him, or at least we would be able to try out the stock. All of his body language tells me he wants it too, and I’m pretty sure his advances are making my uncontrollable feelings even worse.
The only people that will have a problem with this will be my family. I shouldn’t get my father involved in the case … or maybe I should, and not tell Dad the parts about Pacer actually admitting to me that he did murder that guy?
“That’s it!” I jump off the sunlounge and run across the lawn towards the house.
“What’s it?” Logan calls out.
I don’t stop; I can’t. I need Dad to help me with this case. If I’ve done my job right, I’ve got the right amount of culpable and non-culpable evidence that makes me still look impartial when Dad goes over my notes. I’m pretty sure I can convince him that Pacer is being targeted in all of this. I know my Dad better than anyone; I know exactly how he works. If I get this right, he will find the best way to get Pacer off this charge.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Why did she run inside the house after I sent her that last message? I zoom into the screen on the iPad and try to focus on the person lying on the sunlounge next to where my honeybee just was. It looks like a girl, but I can’t make her out properly. Getting access to the telescope was an expert idea. I wouldn’t have even known about it if it weren’t for Scott’s suggestion. I knew there was a reason why I kept him on my payroll for all these years.
I smell my honeybee everywhere. Her terrace is filled with her, and it makes me feel closer to her just by being in here. I flip the comforter back. The smell on her bed sheets gives me a fucking boner. I grab at my cock and rip it out from my pants, gripping hard around my shaft, and start jerking it. I breathe in again and the smell of her swirls in my nostrils. I pull harder.
Fuck, I wish I could just stick it so far into her that she can’t fucking walk for a week.
Reaching into the laundry basket next to her bed, I grab a pair of her panties and breathe them in. Fuck me, she smells like heaven. The pressure builds up in my balls and I just want to release myself all over her pillow.
Fuck!
I cock my leg up onto her bed just as my creamy jizz spills all over her white linen.
Money shot!
I’ll always be in here with her now. And when she washes her sheets, I’ll just come back in here and do it again. I want her to smell me every night when she sleeps.
She’s going to be riding my cock before she knows it.
Taking a moment to sort myself out, I wipe my sticky hand on her sheets and pull the covers back. I shove her delicious smelling panties into my pocket, and I slide my gloves back on as I walk out of her bedroom.
What other possessions can I claim for myself?
Downstairs, her fridge has fuck all in it. Her rubbish bin is full—health-bar wrappers and takeaway coffee cups. Three empty bottles of wine sit beside the bin, waiting to be taken out to the main bin outside. I wander into a spare bedroom and find something that interests me more than her delicious panties.
A corkboard with pictures of me covers a quarter of the wall. She has a timeline of all my charges, dating back to when I was a teenager. She has done her research. I wonder if she does this for all her clients, or if she’s saving this special treatment for me? I’d like to think she’s just done this for me.
What an interesting little honeybee.
Some of this information is serious; the dogs know a lot about me.
The old pictures provoke memories of when I was a scrawny kid. I remember every charge. I remember all of the custody photos. Thank Christ my sense of style has evolved. No one needs a little Vanilla Ice wannabe running around town with way too much fluorescent for one outfit. ‘Juvie’ taught me how to become a man. It’s survival of the fittest in a place like that. Being locked up with a bunch of punk-ass street kids with adolescent hormones that they can’t control is the best way to learn how to fight hard and be better than your competition.
Standing here longer than intended, I find myself reflecting on what my life has been and what it’s become. I don’t think I would’ve changed any of it. Everything I’ve done in my life was necessary. My Uncle needed someone strong in the family, an attribute that his own sons failed to rise to. I couldn’t imagine Franco doing what I do. He’d fuck our name, reputation and finances within a goddamn month. I need to stay out of prison, for the sake of the family. My Uncle’s getting old now; he can’t do it all on his own.
I find a section that contains photos of Zio Carlo when he was in his prime. He will always be the most intimidating man I’ve ever met. But he’s not the man he used to be twenty years ago. I also find a photo of him and my Dad together. I miss my Dad. My childhood memories fade more and more as the years go on, and I feel as if I’m losing him all over again. When Dad and Carlo were in their prime, we were the main family in the city and Kings Cross was ours. When my Dad died in prison, my family took it hard. Now the city’s full of these Muslim gangs, and territories have split. These new guys are all irrational and a little too trigger-happy for my liking. They like to shoot first and ask questions later. I hate dealing with them, but I have to. I’m just glad our family is still the one they come to when they need something. They will always know we’re the old crooks of the city.
I don’t see why business can’t be dealt with the old way—interrogation and punishment. That Sean asshole took almost six hours to knock off … just the way I like it. Slow and painful. None of this shooting shit. I like to take the real assholes apart, limb-by-limb. Especially when the anaesthetic wears off, and they feel their limb missing. That’s my favourite part. They say you can sometimes still feel a limb, even when it’s gone.
I see the forensic photos of all the arms and legs I’ve taken over the years. They’ve only got me on two of those. The others had their charges dropped before court. I remember the screams when I sliced the saw through their flesh. The initial screams are just from the shock of what’s happening to them; they can’t actually feel it. It makes me smile every time.
As I close my eyes, I can hear the ripping of their skin as the sharp teeth of the saw hit them. Ah, that sound never gets old.
‘Get out of your daydream, kid,’ I hear my Dad’s voice.
Studying back over my photos, I wonder how many tattoos the dogs know I’ve got?
The board has my obvious ones, but my left arm’s sleeve is practically finished, except some shading. It would be too hard for them to tag and document every inch of ink. The latest police profile has it listed as ‘full sleeve’
Good.
They definitely know about the scorpion; I’ve always known that. Sliding my glove off and looking at the scorpion tattooed on the back of my hand, I smile. My nickname, The Sting, has served me well—the sting before the kill.
The gloves keep me hidden, fingerprints and all.
With my gloves back on, I decide I’ve just about had enough of this little trip down memory lane. There’s more of this honeybee to uncover while I have the opportunity.
CHAPTER NINE
Seven fucking hours.
Seven. Fucking. Hours!
Dad and I have been testing every piece of police evidence to see if there is a fault in their investigation.
For seven. Fucking. Hours.
Forget about me having to convince Dad that Pacer is targeted. So much of this investigation is wrong. I feel stupid that I didn’t see it until Dad highlighted it. It must’ve been my rampant hormones that distracted me … that and the leather gloves.
There are so many Jackson Reed types in the police force. I don’t even understand how this case was able to get as far as a trial. When Dad enlightened me on how some of this evidence has come about, I also realised that Jackson Reed has had his grubby mitts all over it. But I don’t tell Dad that part. I’ll go after Jackson on my own.
I’m contacting the judge myself first thing Monday morning. I bet Jackson Reed paid off Pacer’s last lawyer too. The more I’m learning about these high-level criminal investigations, the more I find the undertow of corruption within the ranks. If they’re not careful, I will be making sure another Royal Commission happens. Dad was the chief justice for the last Royal Commission into corruption. Both sides of the fence hated my family before I even began practising law. The crooks hated Dad for locking them up, and the detectives hated Dad for exposing their crooked investigations.
Our level of security was needed when you’re a powerful and very hated person like Dad was. I’m glad I’ve inherited Dad’s deep integrity. The so-called bad guys of the city seem to have more honesty than the people in charge of the judicial system. I’m starting to understand Dad’s frustrations.
Dad has long gone to bed, but I’ve stayed behind in his office to finish all the notes. If this all goes to plan, Pacer’s case will be settled out of court, and without a plea bargain.
I hate Jackson Reed. No wonder why Pacer’s family want him gone. He’s on a one-directional pursuit to get Pacer and his cousins behind bars. He needs to be stopped.
Picking up my phone, I check the time.
1:20am.
I’m tempted to message Pacer. I feel like I want to tell him that I’ve got this in the bag … I also just want to hear from him, too. I miss him.
Jesus! I’ve known him for three minutes and I already miss him? What do I do from here? Do I ignore my feelings or act on them and find out why I feel like this? There’s got to be a reason for it.
It’s the leather gloves!
Mmmm … leather gloves.
CHELSEA: Our dinner may be happening sooner than you thought.
Send.
Waiting …
Shit! Why did I send it? It’s one o’clock in the morning!
PACER: Name a restaurant and I’ll organise the rest.
Smooth. Heart aflutter.
CHELSEA: Surprise me.
PACER: Careful what you wish for
Shit! Breathing difficult. I blow out a long breath, but it does nothing to stop the pounding in my chest.
CHELSEA: You’re up late?
PACER: I’m always up late. Nature of the beast.
CHELSEA: I hope you’re at home. You have a curfew, remember?
PACER: Nagging me already? I like it.
CHELSEA: You pay me to be bossy. Just stay out of trouble. I will have this all sorted Monday morning.
PACER: I love it when you boss me around. I’ll happily pay good money for that. Heading to bed now. Good night x
I stare at the ‘x’, and stare at it for so long that I don’t end up replying.
Something so small is so much cause for wonder. There are so many ways to take the ‘x’.
As I make my way upstairs to my bedroom, I can’t dislodge the ‘x’ from my brain. It’s etched in there, just like Pacer is.
***
The second my eyes open, he’s there. Pacer is right in there, and I can’t shake it. The guy will not get out of my head. I’ve got to do something about this. It’s crazy to ignore the incessant need to get myself off, every time I think of him … which is all fucking day. From the moment my eyes open, until the moment I shut them. If I have to go through another week of this, my clit will be rubbed into extinction.
Maybe if I see him I’ll calm down enough to focus on the case?
CHELSEA: I would like to go over some of the issues with your investigation. I need to clarify a few details. Are you free for lunch?
Ten minutes later, no reply.
Half an hour later, still no reply. He must be asleep. It is only seven am.
Slumping back into my soft pillow, I decide another hour’s sleep will work wonders for the heavy bags under my eyes, especially if I’m seeing Pacer later.
Fuck, I hope he messages back.
As each minute passes, I’m getting dangerously close to feeling desperate. Sleep. Just sleep. Soft pillow.
***
“Hey sleeping beauty, your beau is at the top gates. Uncle John is going to have your ass if he gets home to find him here.”
My eyelids feel like concrete blocks but the rude awakening has me instantly alert. I look at the end of the bed to find Logan holding my foot. For a moment she looks just like she did when we were teenagers, and she wasn’t them yet. I miss the old her sometimes.
Hang on.
What was Logan saying?
“What?”
“He’s here … that Pacer guy. Well, his driver is here. He’s still in the car, hasn’t stepped a foot out. The driver said you requested a meeting with Pacer at lunch. The car is fucking pimpin’, by the way.”
I smile. Without the stack of makeup on, Logan is my old Logan, but all the variants of Logan are so much better than just the one.
Throwing my arms around her, I kiss her cheek. “What’s the time?”
“Ten past two … in the afternoon.”
“What the fuck?”
I rifle through the bed, searching desperately for the damn phone. As soon as my fingers hit hard plastic, I rip it out from the depths of the bed.
One missed call
Two unread messages
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Sliding open the message, I brace. I must’ve slept all morning.
7:28a.m
PACER: I’ll be at the northern gates of your parents’ home at 1pm
8:00a.m
PACER: I hope you know I’m not joking
12:40p.m
MISSED CALL: Pacer
As I come out of my phone message coma, I find Logan still sitting on the bed, smiling at me.
“Did you say Dad was out?”
“Yeah but he’s due back any moment. Both him and Aunt Tilly went out to the yacht club for lunch together.”
“Okay, can you get Pacer’s driver to take him around and meet me at the bottom gates instead. He can park on the main road then, and he won’t stick out like a sore thumb. Mum and Dad always use the top entrance.”
“If I didn’t see how you reacted every time you see a message from him, I’d tell you to stay away. But I don’t think a natural disaster could keep you from seeing him. Now, go. Get yourself all prettied up, before your Mum and Dad find out about all of this.”
As I rush to the bathroom, Logan slaps me on my pantie-clad ass cheek. Such a guy thing to do.
***
Once I’ve got myself dressed and ready, I poke my head around the door to hear any voices downstairs. I just don’t need the questions about where I’m going. Luckily for me, the house has a million exits, and I know each one intimately. Escaping undetected is always a breeze.
Reaching the end of a hallway, I listen out for voices again.
“She left an hour ago. Went to see friends down at Bondi.”
I hear Logan talk. I’m trying to gauge the direction of the voices; working out which room they could be in.
“Good. I’m glad she’s getting out. This must be a lot for her to deal with, John.” Mum’s voice of concern sounds as if it’s coming from their favourite sitting room. That would make sense too, they always hang out in the sitting room on a Sunday afternoon.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I lightly leap through the side doorway and take the overgrown path between the two tennis courts. A series of smaller pathways lead me directly to the lower-level entrance of the property.
I step out of the small pedestrian gate and look to one end of the busy street. In the opposite direction, a sparkling car catches the corner of my eye. I turn quickly in the direction to find a beautiful chrome SUV Bentley parked a few metres away.
Subtle.
The driver gets out of the front seat and opens the rear door. There’s nothing needed to be said. I know it’s Pacer’s car.
Excitement lodges that nasty ball in my throat again. I try to swallow it away but it doesn’t want to budge. Re-tying the belt that’s come loose on my trench coat, I walk as quickly as possible to the Bentley.
“Good to see you, honeybee.” Pacer’s voice is as smooth as honey … bee. Honeybee? That’s new. I like the way he says it.
I slide into the creamy leather interior of the car. Pacer pulls me straight to him and kisses either cheek. The second kiss is more prolonged, his lips lingering. They’re soft but hard, all at the same time, and I can feel his breath against me.
My entire body vibrates with a buzz of energy. His nose runs along my cheekbone, his lips edging closer to mine. If I moved a millimetre, our lips would touch. But I don’t want to move. I want to savour every second of this.
The driver’s front door opening pulls us both from the haze of one another.
“Hi.” I smile, still not daring to move.
“Hi.” His breath floats into my mouth as he speaks. It’s warm and delicious. I want more. I want to taste him so badly.
I feel the movement of the car underneath us, but the ride is so smooth that you can barely notice it.
Pacer reaches up behind me. “Better get your seatbelt on.” He pulls the belt from its holder in the back.
“Okay,” I whisper the word more to myself than to him.
The moment slips away from where it was heading.
I’m so horny, I could cry … with real tears.
