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A motorbike rode her bumper as she headed south. Lexi brake checked him twice before he dropped back enough to satisfy her. Leather jacket and trousers fit his body like a glove. The more respectful distance gave her room to ogle him. She squinted in her rear-view mirror to assess his face. But a tinted visor thwarted her.
Lexi’s phone rang as she drew near home. Danny’s number registered on the screen. She answered, listening to his gentle Kiwi accent. “Hey babe.” His soothing tones stroked her skin and lifted the hairs on her arms. It reminded her of warm beaches and gentle, rolling surf. “What did you get up to last night?”
The bike rode the corner with her as she made the last turn into her street. Lexi’s heart ticked up a notch. Over a hundred and sixty-five thousand people lived in Hamilton. The odds of one of them following her door to door seemed unlikely. Her muscles tensed. She cursed herself for brake checking him.
“Lexi? You there?” Danny yawned.
Lexi ground her teeth. “Working until late.” Birds raised hell in a tall oak tree as an orange cat prowled beneath it. The familiar Frankton street wrapped its arms around her in a hug. While the newer suburbs commanded flashy million dollar homes, this old district hadn’t changed in over a century.
“So, you can take today off? Wanna come over?” Eagerness rattled through the Toyota’s tired speaker.
“No, thanks. I need to catch up on sleep.” She activated the remote control for the automatic gate. It slid aside with an easy slowness.
At the last second, the motorbike swerved around her rear bumper. The rider sped to the end of the street and turned left.
“I can help with sleep.” Danny’s soft, sultry notes surrounded Lexi in the car. He was insatiable. And they wouldn’t sleep.
“No.” She infused her tone with certainty. “Leon wants me at the office this afternoon. We have stuff to do.”
Danny sniffed. “You’re his personal assistant. He doesn’t pay you enough. Why would an import agent need his secretary to work through the night?”
“Why aren’t you at the office?” Lexi steered the old saloon through the gap. She dodged the lie she’d told him about her work. A few months of dating hadn’t earned him her entire trust. Just as well really. The ageing power steering creaked as Lexi parked on her driveway.
“You know me. I keep my own hours.”
She did know him. Now.
He worked when he liked, skiving off when he didn’t. One day, that would change. The ladder to success always became too greasy to cling to indefinitely. Even for a hot shot like Danny.
“Catch you later,” she promised. The platitude galled her. She’d never see him again. Not with what she’d learned. Killing the call, she locked the Toyota and walked up the steps to her colonial bungalow. The gate slid closed after its thirty-second delay. Warm cream stucco nestled against a grey trim and matching roof. The oak tree’s shade almost reached the front door as Lexi pressed in the digital code. Furious starlings dive bombed the cat, capitalising on their victory as she retreated. They created black streaks streaming through the flickering shadows of reaching branches.
The wide front door swung open to reveal a stunning hallway with rimu floorboards and ornate wooden arches. A chandelier cast splintered light across the cream rug. The ginger cat dived through Lexi’s legs as she stepped over the threshold. She swore. The cat ignored her. “Is this my punishment?” Lexi called to the retreating tail. She disarmed the burglar alarm with deft movements over the keypad. The warning beeps ceased. “I sometimes need to work at night, Nahla! Someone needs to pay for your bougie food.” The tail wound into a question mark as the cat trotted through the kitchen door. Kibbles tinkled against pottery at the rear of the house. “And you have a cat flap!”
Lexi inhaled the warm air trapped within the building. She’d left the interior doors open, but it hadn’t circulated the dry heat. Antique wood and furniture polish created the scent found in old churches. Bone and soul weary, she kicked off her boots and turned right into the first double room. Her sunny floral bedspread called to her. Without closing the curtains or muting her phone, she collapsed face down on her comfy mattress.
A sound woke her. Not the soft pad of paws landing on the bed or the happy cat sigh as Nahla settled. Another sound guaranteed to yank Lexi from her deepest cycle of sleep. The front door opened, the motion slow enough to engage its painful creak.
Nahla fled in silence. Only a soft thud signified her landing on the rug. Claws scrabbled against floorboards as she dived beneath the bed. Lexi rose in a fluid, practised movement. She reached behind her nightstand and released the weapon hidden there. The police baton extended like an aerial with a flick of her wrist.
Her front door closed with a click. The intruder paused on the mat. The coir rustled beneath his weight. Lexi crept to her open bedroom door and pressed herself against it. She angled her head to focus on the long mirror fixed to the wall opposite. She’d hung it there with a specific purpose. Serving as a last check before leaving the house, it caught smudged lipstick or a wonky scarf. But it also provided a vantage point from her bedroom. Wary of uninvited visitors, she liked to see her enemy before she pulverised him with her night stick.
She released a sigh and her fingers relaxed around the weapon. The man on the door mat screamed loud and long as she rounded the corner with it raised. He gripped his chest and bent double. “Mary, mother of God!” he exclaimed. “Bring me a priest. You scared me half to death!”
“They wouldn’t come for a sinner like me. Call one yourself.” Lexi concertinaed the night stick, collapsing the individual extensions. Then she placed it on the hall table. Her socks shuffled against the floorboards as she padded to the kitchen. The pipes sang as she filled the kettle under the tap. “Tea or coffee?” she called.
Her visitor kicked off his shiny shoes beside the front door. He arrived in the kitchen with an easy stride. “Hey sis,” he said. His baritone echoed off the period green and gold Paisley wallpaper. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed a kiss over her right ear. When he didn’t let go, she patted his clasped hands.
“What’s wrong?”
He groaned and dropped his arms. With the drama of a teenager, he slunk into a dining chair. “Just the usual,” he sighed.
Lexi made a tea and an instant coffee. She dumped the tea mug on the table and pushed it towards him.
“Thanks,” he said. But he didn’t lift it to his lips.
Father Garima Allen gave Catholic priests a bad name. With the dark, smouldering looks of Satan’s naughtiest devil, he had the palest of blue eyes. Like hers. They glittered as diamonds in the sun and azure gems by candlelight. Defined muscles bulged through his black shirt, and he stood over six feet in his socks. Garima could have bedded every woman who walked into the church. But he took his vow of priesthood with serious obedience.
His fingers shook as he tugged the white neckband from his clerical shirt collar. It formed a snowy circle of its own volition on the pine table. Lexi studied her brother as she sipped her coffee. For a man who spent his life hearing confessions, he took an age to formulate his own. When he reached for his tea, she sensed him finding his equilibrium. “We’re good, Gari,” she soothed. “I have a couple of hours. More if you need it.”
She meant it. Tarant Leon could work on her schedule for a change.
Gari forced a smile onto his handsome lips. “As long as you don’t mind me using the key code and turning up unannounced?”
“Never.” Lexi grinned at him. “So long as you’re not bothered by me threatening you momentarily with the nearest weapon at hand.”
Garima shrugged. “Sounds fair. I’ll text next time lest you bludgeon me to death before realising it’s me.”
“The dog collar gives it away.” Lexi sipped her coffee. The caffeine warmed her muscles and activated the groggier neurons. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?” She lifted a hazel eyebrow until it met her fringe. “Let’s start with personal or professional?”
Garima flattened his lips. “Professional. But perhaps also personal.” He lifted a hand before she could interrupt. “My colleague heard confession this morning.” His tone held more seriousness than usual. His voice lowered to a soft rumble. “He believes a parishioner confessed to a murder.” He took a giant swig of his tea. It filled his throat and caused him to choke. After mopping his lips with a clean handkerchief, he stared up at Lexi. His eyes swam with the after effects of the coughing fit, but something else lurked there. Fear.
“Does your colleague know the name of the parishioner?” Lexi asked. She kept her tone level and free of the hunter’s excitement bubbling in her chest.
Garima’s pale eyes glittered like rain droplets on a flat lake. “I don’t know,” he couched.
