Deadly Secrets Read online

  There was still so much to do. In the next few weeks there’d be an influx of new calves — which reminded her that she needed a new bander for the castrations. And she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Joel that the stud cattle weren’t ready: their ear tattoos should have been done by now, the halter breaking wasn’t finished, and she was sweating on the last of the stud registration papers arriving on time. She thought again about the sale registration forms and wondered how she could afford the entries. The money wasn’t just going to materialise. She’d have to risk the power being cut off.

  She reached the house and quickly shimmied sideways when she heard the wild hissing noise coming from the steps, then swore and glared threateningly at the angry goose that emerged from them.

  ‘Eight-hundred acres…and you pick the front veranda to nest under!’

  She was rewarded with another hiss, then a loud, threatening ‘honk.’ She ran quickly up to her front door, knowing that, given the slightest opportunity, the damn bird would take a decent chunk out of her heel.

  Heading straight to the fridge for a glass of Coke, Jordan sat with a tired sigh. She’d have a quick drink, then, if she was going to get the majority of the afternoon chores done without getting drowned, she’d need to get back to it.

  The oncoming thunderstorm darkened the sky to an early, eerie twilight. The entire world seemed to pause, to wait, then, with a sound like a starter’s gun, thunder clapped overhead and lightning speared across the sky, setting off hell.

  On the narrow, winding road into town, Detective Senior Sergeant Reid Easton cursed as the headlights reflected blindingly off the spinning, twirling blanket of encroaching fog, while the windscreen wipers fought a hopeless battle with the relentless deluge pounding against the glass. The road was a joke; a narrow, corrugated ice rink clawed into sheer mountainside. Another tight turn and ahead of him the trees parted briefly, teasing him with a preview of the town sprawled out in the middle of a long stretch of valley an impossible distance below him. He couldn’t see much of it, but decided he’d be glad to make it there. This morning he’d thought he’d rather be just about anywhere else, but if his present location qualified, Whitewater Creek just got a whole lot more inviting.

  Besides, the town heralded what would hopefully be the final chapter in his last case. He’d been chasing this drug cartel for years, had flushed out and shut down most of its suppliers and was one lab shy of tracking down the ringleader. So he’d expose this one, shut it down — then he intended on wrapping this case up once and for all, so he could figure out just what he intended on doing with the rest of his life.

  He needed this change. The tight fist of drive and determination that had pushed him for the last decade or so had loosened under the sheer weight of countless victims, wasted lives, greed and corruption. He’d made his mark on the suppression of the drug trade, paid what he saw as his dues to his family, to his dead sister. He’d seen too much, endured too much. Nothing shocked him anymore, very little made him cringe or disturbed him very deeply. He needed out before he lost his sense of humanity, his belief in the world in general. This was it. And the faster he wrapped it up, the better.

  Half an hour later, he stepped out of the late model Prado with relief. He cursed the weather — the rain was only spitting lightly now, as if to make a mockery of the hell it had just put him through. He rolled his shoulders, stretched and looked around.

  The police station stood on the wide main street: a narrow building of sandstone with a proud façade and freshly painted eaves in heritage green. The concrete plaque over the heavy front door boasted 1832 — a tribute to the age of the small town. Flanking it and towering over their surroundings were age-old Liquidambar trees, just beginning their burst into fresh, springtime green. They ran the length of the street, spreading their textured branches over a row of pretty buildings all neatly tucked in their places.

  Even in the fading light, the surroundings glistened from the downpour. The air was the pure, clean sort you just didn’t get in the city, or anywhere close to it, but he’d appreciate that later, as right then he figured it was close to cold enough to freeze the air in his lungs, while the damp was seeping into his clothing and chilling him to the bone.

  The noise of an opening door drew his attention back to the station. The man who opened the door was somewhere in his sixties, he guessed, a little on the stocky side, with a comfortable paunch and thinning silver hair framing a rounded, friendly face and shrewd eyes. Harold Steiner, he presumed — Whitewater Creek’s one and only police officer.

  ‘I’m guessing you’d be Reid err…Tallon?’ the uniformed man enquired, remembering at the last second to use his assumed surname and offering his hand at Reid’s nod. ‘Harry Steiner. Let’s get in out of the cold.’

  Reid was led into a large front reception room in typical station style. Behind the desk was a plump, over-dressed woman with a cloud of silver grey hair and a welcoming smile. When she spotted him, she got to her feet and held out her hand.

  ‘Reid Tallon, meet my wife, Martha. You’ll see her quite a bit; she runs the station for me.’

  Reid smiled at the obviously curious woman. ‘Nice to meet you, Martha.’

  ‘And you, Reid.’ Martha caught her husband’s censoring glance, and smiled brilliantly. ‘Well…I was just on my way home. I’ll leave you two to it. I have to get dinner on, and there’ll be plenty of time for chatting.’ She picked up her purse and addressed Harry. ‘See you at home, darl.’

  With another polite smile, Reid followed Harry down a long corridor. The room he entered at the end of it was small and impersonal, with a square wooden table taking up the centre of the narrow space and a small kitchenette on his right. Dusty artificial ivy in a terracotta pot that had seen better days was the only decoration, while an uncurtained window almost begrudgingly gave a hint of a small, grassed yard, unimaginatively decorated with a couple of trees he couldn’t name.

  Harry picked up the kettle and poured two cups of steaming coffee. ‘Milk, sugar?’

  Reid shook his head and folded himself into a chair.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind but I did a bit of checking.’ He handed Reid an ancient china cup with a faded floral design. ‘I’m surprised they sent someone like you in for a small-town drug investigation. Must be bigger than the suits are letting on?’

  Reid stretched out his long legs and shook his head again. ‘Not exactly. We believe what you have here is one of several small labs that have been supplying a major methamphetamine operation. We want to quietly locate the lab and use it to lead us to the ringleader. I report to the SCC but I’m happy to keep you in the loop.’

  Harry nodded slowly as Reid spoke then considered it all a moment more. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off coming in as something a little less…authoritarian?’

  ‘There are strategic reasons for my cover as a probation officer.’

  Harry blew out a breath. ‘I know from time to time a few of the young ones get their hands on some of those party drugs, but I can’t imagine anyone running a professional lab down here. I just can’t see that sort of rubbish going on right under my nose like this.’

  Reid shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’

  Harry nodded amicably enough. ‘I have your office ready for you. Our regular probation officer, Neil Barrington, left you his files.’ He indicated to a pile of folders on the table. ‘There’s only the one probationer in Whitewater Creek, the others are from surrounding towns and one guy’s new. He’s working somewhere round here with the seasonal mob — but I’m sure you already know that.’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ And he’s working for me, Reid added silently. Although he was clear to discuss elements of the case, he drew the line at putting his colleagues’ lives in the hands of strangers — even other cops.

  ‘Your first appointment is Jordan Windcroft. Lovely girl. She won’t give you any trouble.’

  ‘From my experience, lovely girls don’t end up on probation,’ he muttered, sipp
ing the scalding liquid in his cup. He didn’t add that investigating Jordan was behind the ‘strategic reason’ he’d just mentioned, but he picked out the folder labelled ‘Windcroft, J’ and dumped the rest of them back on the table. The other folders were nothing more than mild annoyances.

  Flicking the folder open, he was immediately struck by the photo in front of him. This wasn’t the black-and-white mug shot he remembered glancing over without any real interest when he’d read through her original file. Attached by a paper-clip was a snapshot of a startlingly pretty woman. She was looking off to the left, hand holding an Akubra hat on her head, while long, honey-brown hair tangled around a classically sculpted face as she smiled into the wind. The bright, excited blue eyes had lit up, caught in some moment he could only imagine.

  He found his focus automatically moving to the details he’d already memorised: Thirty-year-old female…no prior offences…drug possession…driving under the influence…high speed MVA…suspended sentence…probation order. She should have gone to prison, he thought, not for the first time. And a pretty face wasn’t going to sway him. The coincidence was too great — what were the chances she’d be carrying a quantity of meth in the same area the snitch had reported the lab was located in, in a town this size, and not be involved?

  ‘Just go easy on our girl, eh? Not everything’s black and white.’

  Our girl? Reid shook his head. This would be the ‘classic small-town attitude’ he’d been warned about. But he nodded briefly. ‘I’ll…take that under consideration.’

  ‘Right, well, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying — nice little cottage two streets down. We can discuss everything more in the morning.’

  Ten forty-five. Reid tapped his fingers against his desk and contemplated his next move. He hadn’t slept well — it was too damn quiet in this town. So he’d gotten into his new office early and sat through that discussion with Harry; taking what information he could get and humouring Harry by giving some back. All he’d really had his mind on was meeting Jordan Windcroft. Of course, Jordan Windcroft hadn’t shown.

  He’d tried her home phone but the call rang out. Next, he’d called her mobile. After a few rings a friendly, melodic voice had told him he had reached Jordan and that she promised to call him back if he left a message. Deciding against it, he’d hung up and given her another fifteen minutes. Still, she hadn’t shown. The clock ticked over again.

  ‘That’s it.’ He swung his feet from the corner of his desk and got to his feet. ‘I’ll go for a drive.’

  The road out to Windcroft Acres was scenic at worst, and the heavy forest and occasional views of cleared countryside improved his mood. It bordered on nuts to have the windows down — this town needed reminding it was springtime — but as cold as the air still was, he just couldn’t get past the smell of it. The smell, the sounds, the sights — Whitewater Creek was as alien to him as another planet. He liked that about this place.

  It took him thirty minutes to reach the fork in the road that the GPS assured him signalled he’d reached Jordan’s property. Looking right, he saw a cattle grid between two peeling white fenceposts and a faded sign marked ‘Windcroft Acres’. Taking the turn, he hit the brakes to stare in appreciation.

  In front of him, the forest gave way to an endless expanse of large green paddocks dotted with gum trees and brown cattle. A small creek, bordered in places by massive willow trees cut through the property, winding its way through the paddocks like a giant snake and disappearing into the distance where he could see outbuildings, yards, then further on, a cream-coloured weatherboard house perched at the bottom of a line of trees that climbed to the sky. On all sides were the ever-present mountains.

  ‘Nice.’

  It seemed Jordan Windcroft had her own private little valley, and although the man-made touches were somewhat run-down, it was a breathtaking spot. Impressed, Reid headed off again toward the house.

  The thunderstorm from the night before had turned the round yard into a boggy, slippery pit, and Jordan’s legs wrapped even more tightly around the little bay thoroughbred’s sides as it found a new gear and performed the best impersonation of a saddle bronc she’d ever sat on. For several minutes they circled in an unpredictable cycle of bucks, kicks and pigroots as fast and high as the hot-headed mare’s feet would take her.

  On the other side of the fence, her owners dodged flying mud and watched on in horror at the behaviour of their recently acquired and so-called well-educated future champion. Somewhere behind them, Jordan noticed a car pull up, but she didn’t have time to consider the whys and wherefores — she was battling to keep her seat and grinning from ear to ear, hoping to hell she didn’t get thrown and break something. That would be the end of it — she’d never get the cattle prepped in time and, if she missed that sale, the bank would foreclose on the property.

  Just as the thought struck her, the mare gave one last desperate leap before planting her feet and, hollow-backed with sides heaving, dropped her nose to the ground, sweat running in rivulets down her sides. Jordan made the mare walk off then halt on command and, relieved at the compliance, jumped off. No point pushing the issue further today. With a hopeless attempt at dusting herself off, she collected the reins and led the horse back across to the dazed owners.

  ‘Well Rob, you told me she could buck.’ Still buzzing with adrenaline, Jordan laughed, eyes dancing.

  The well-dressed, middle-aged man leaning on the fence looked uncomfortable. His wife, a tiny blonde woman named Julie, was close to tears. ‘What on earth are we going to do with her?’

  Rob immediately looked at Jordan.

  ‘Start again.’ Jordan’s face sobered sympathetically at the woman’s obvious distress. She glanced past the couple as she unlatched the round yard gate and saw the other visitor, now standing close by.

  Whoa Nelly…who is that?

  The cliché of tall, dark and handsome wore dark pants, a blue shirt — unbuttoned at the top — no tie, but nice jacket, fancy shoes. He stood ramrod straight, perfectly still and, though he was wearing sunglasses, she just knew his gaze wouldn’t waver. Uh-oh, he’d be the guy they’d threatened to send out from the bank. The thought made her hesitant to give him the time of day.

  Forcing herself not to stare, she concentrated on what the couple were saying.

  ‘…she was fine at the inspection,’ Rob was explaining.

  ‘Did you get a vet check?’

  Julie coloured. ‘Ah…no, actually. I was just so in love with her on sight and…’

  Jordan smiled in understanding. ‘It happens. If you want to persevere with her, I’ll do all I can.’

  After some further reassurances, she waved them off and led the heaving horse toward the wash bays. Exhausted and beaten, the mare dragged herself along reluctantly.

  ‘Sorry Prima.’ Jordan gave the mare a reassuring pat. ‘Someone’s broken you, haven’t they, huh?’ She was very aware the stranger was hanging back as she unsaddled but, needing a moment to collect her thoughts, she turned on the hose.

  Sweat and water mingled and steam rose from the mare’s back as the hose did its work. She’d already begun working out a strategy in her mind for retraining her, beginning with some basic groundwork. The vet would have to be called of course, just to double check there were no underlying problems…

  ‘Miss Windcroft?’

  Hmmm. Sounds as good as he looks. She blew out a breath at the sexy, deep voice then frowned at the direction her thoughts were taking. And considering getting it on with the guy coming in to make you homeless is crazy — even for you.

  She turned off the hose and picked up a scraper to remove the excess water from the horse’s coat. Only then did she pause momentarily to look over her shoulder.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Reid Tallon.’

  Impatiently, she blew out a breath. ‘And what do you want, Reid Tallon?’

  ‘You.’

  Startled, she took another, longer look, tipping her head to t
he side to consider him. Is he joking? He’d removed his sunglasses, and his expression wasn’t amused. It was assessing, maybe somewhat annoyed. She decided he was pissed off she’d kept him waiting; was just trying to get under her skin.

  Well, two could play that game.

  Deciding to bite, she dropped the scraper back into the box and slowly turned around. Leaning back on the rail, she took her time looking him up and down, a small grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

  Yep, she could look at that all day, though her initial assessment had been a little off. He wasn’t quite the classic tall, dark and handsome — that didn’t fit. The angles of his face were a little too harsh, the look in those dark eyes a little too threatening.

  Dangerous. She liked that even better. However, ‘Thanks for the offer…but no thanks.’

  At his look of incredulity she quickly turned her attention back to the horse and smothered a grin before carelessly untying the mare and leading her off towards an empty yard.

  He didn’t move, just waited until she released the horse, until she headed back in his direction. ‘Ever heard of probation, Miss Windcroft?’

  Realisation hit with an uncomfortable jolt. Damn it, Barney mentioned something about leave…but this guy? ‘No way.’

  ‘Afraid so,’ he replied, crossing his arms, ‘You missed your appointment.’

  ‘You sure you’re not the pressure suit from the bank?’

  ‘No.’

  She stared at him for a few more seconds, then said, ‘It’s some sort of joke — right?’

  ‘I have no idea what you mean.’

  ‘I mean,’ she began as she walked back towards the wash bays, ‘you’re six-foot-something-enormous, drop-dead gorgeous and built like Superman. You speak like you’re not used to taking bullshit and have an energy that screams “fuck with me and I’ll rip you into a million little pieces”. Now, you’re either a highly paid stand-over man or the world’s next superhero. What you’re not, Reid Tallon, is a fill-in, small-town probation officer.’