Page 83 of The Question of Us
The exercise pool was shaped like a musical note and filled most of the large interior. It had a long, narrow sloping entrance that funnelled into a deep circular pool wrapping around a central concrete platform. The platform was accessed by a retractable bridge. I remembered seeing a similar set-up on a television documentary where the horse had been on two long leads attached to its noseband. One was held by a trainer on the platform, the second by someone walking the outside perimeter of the pool.
The steel barn doors sat at the entrance end of the pool. A glass-walled office lay to one side, along with a bathroom, shower, treatment bay, and a small kitchenette. The far wall atthe circular end of the pool held cubbyhole storage for towels, grooming equipment, harnesses, ropes, and a million other bits of equine equipment I couldn’t name if you paid me, and a long run of hooks holding various items of waterproof clothing.
What was noticeably absent however, was any other form of entrance or exit. No other door to the outside and no windows, just skylights peppering the roof. It left one way in and one way out. The barn doors or nothing. All in all, not a bad place to hold a few people while you figured out what to do with them.
Freddie called to Clarence, who was rolling a limp Gazza onto his side on the floor, “Cuff their ankles and tape the rest of their mouths.” He glanced at Gazza. “No exceptions. And someone better warn those idiots in the kitchen that anyone curious enough to come looking will forfeit their job. Clarence, I need you with me. Jack and Ronnie stay here. No one goes in or out unless Marty or I are with them. Understand? I don’t care if one of them throws themselves in the pool. They can drown for all I care, got it?” He sent a meaningful look our way and the two security guards nodded.
My last glimmer of hope slid away.
Really fucking hard just became pretty damn impossible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Madigan
I’d almost reachedthe top of the hill when a flashlight beam lit up the post-and-rail fence on the far side of the service road. It only missed me by metres. I shimmied under the bottom rail into the field beyond and flattened myself on the ground.
The background noise of the party drowned out pretty much everything else bar the soft hum of approaching voices, and so I crawled the last few metres to the banksia hedge and pried the branches apart. And there, about ten metres from where I crouched, a group of men were boarding two vehicles bearing the stud logo—a Jeep and a Land Rover. It was hard to pick out any faces, but the shotgun in the grip of a giant, who couldn’t be anyone else except Freddie, stood out a treat. And when the flashlight beam caught the shape of a man being bundled into one of the back seats, my heart almost stopped at the sight of those blond-tipped locks and white shirt.
Gazza. It had to be.
I craned my head around the banksia to get a better view, only to snap it back when one of the men cast a sharp eye my way. I held my breath, but no one came looking. I risked anotherlook and the men were all seated. The car doors slammed shut and both vehicles headed away from me, toward the back of the property. The last thing I saw as they passed close to where I was hiding was Nick’s bloodied face staring blankly out the passenger window of the Jeep.
Oh god.The world narrowed to that single impression of Nick looking out into the night, and the air whooshed out of my lungs. Was he wondering where I was and if I was coming for him? Every other thought in my head evaporated except the realisation that I loved Nick Fisher far more than I thought possible. And being the idiot that I was, I hadn’t fucking told him.
Next thing I knew, I was running across the turnaround, intent on following those red taillights wherever they went. The stables seemed the most likely destination, and so I dug my phone out of my pocket and called Samuel as I ran. Our plan had just been blown the hell apart.
“And you’re sure it was Gazza?” Samuel barked when I was done filling him in.
“As sure as I can be since I didn’t see his actual face.” I gasped, thankful the track was downhill for a bit. “But it was definitely Nick in the front seat. One hundred percent. Gazza couldn’t walk on his own and Nick’s face was covered in blood. That’s got to be enough probable cause or whatever the hell they need to set a fire under the cops’ arses, right?”
“Maybe. Hopefully.” Samuel paused and I imagined him dragging his hand down his face. “What a fucking mess. I don’t suppose I can talk you out of following them?” When I didn’t answer, he muttered, “Yeah, I thought not. Okay. I’ll pass it on to Angela. She’s going to need a lot more backup if firearms are involved. You better hope she can get it. Meanwhile, try not to get yourself killed, yeah? It’ll make my life a lot more complicated than it already is.”
I tried not to laugh. “I’ll do my best. Your concern is overwhelming, by the way.”
Samuel huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Now, a word of advice, so listen up. The police have your phone number and your description, but they won’t be asking politely for ID when they arrive. Don’t give them any excuse to get heavy-handed with you. Do what they say and save the explanations for when things calm down. I can tell you right now they’re less than happy with your lot’s little off-piste excursion, and they’re gonna be even less happy when they get this update. You do realise we’reallin the shit for this, something we’ll be having a little chat about when I get over there.”
Of course he was flying over. Of course he was. “Thanks, Samuel. And I’m sorry we dragged you into this.”
He said nothing for a moment, then, “Your intentions were good, the best. And judging by Marty’s reaction, it seems likely you were right about everything else as well. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna rip you both a new one, so be prepared. And for fuck’s sake, be careful. I’ll make sure the police know to head to the back of the property.”
When he hung up, I paused to catch my breath and checked for the millionth time that my phone was on silent and the screen dimmed. Then I shoved it in my pocket and kept moving. In the still-warm air, my sweat-soaked shirt clung to my body and perspiration ran rivers down my face—partly from the exertion and partly sheer terror at what might be happening to the two most important men in my life. My trainers thudded in the darkness like a drumbeat. They sounded impossibly loud to my fearful ears as I drew closer and closer to the large clutch of buildings ahead.
The party noise faded at my back and the night was quiet except for a few curious horses who trotted over to see who the idiot was running down the road. There was some whickering,snorting, and general tossing of heads at my antics. All I could do was pray no one heard and came to check.
I’d almost reached the sweeping turn into the workshop and stabling area when headlights swept over the buildings and the sound of a car’s engine stopped me in my tracks. Exposed on the road and with nowhere to hide, I had only one option. Before the vehicle made the turn and faced straight at me, I scarpered to the other side of the road and rolled under the bottom railing into the paddock. I kept rolling, getting as far away from the fence as possible. Dry horseshit crunched under my shoulders and the aroma of manure wafted through the night.
The approaching vehicle drew closer and then slowed to a stop. I held my breath, figuring the line of curious horses snorting at the fence opposite may as well have carried a sign that read:Look. Intruder.I said a silent prayer and flattened myself into the still-warm earth, peering through the meagre stalks of brown grass.
The Jeep sat idling about fifteen metres away.
“Keep going. Keep going.”
A voice with a Scottish accent said, “It’s nothing. They’re hyped up from the party is all.”
More silence and then a car door opening. Freddie. The silhouette was unmistakable. A flashlight ran over the field where I lay, missing me by the barest of margins.
“Come on,” the voice summoned from the Jeep. “There’s nothing there.”
