The Findlays’ party was being held at a large warehouse near the waterfront at the bottom of town. Danny was impressed by the trouble that had been taken to transform the warehouse into a beach, complete with sand, a volleyball court and a large blue kidney-shaped pool in one corner, shaded by tall potted palm trees. Surfboards were suspended from the iron rafters, and hammocks hung amongst the palm trees, although nobody was brave enough to climb into one and risk a palm tree crashing down on top of them. A DJ pumped out music by the bar, and lights flashed and dipped across the crowd dancing by the pool. Posters on the walls advertised that the party was also a fundraiser for a women’s refuge; donation boxes stood on the bar and tables shaded by umbrellas, and people were circulating with raffle tickets.
Danny opened her bag to find her wallet and pulled out a mousetrap. She also found three passports and some holiday brochures: Deryl had given her Vanessa’s bag.
Danny felt sick. She hastily rezipped the bag, ripping the stitching around the zipper even further. Ross hadn’t noticed, busy shaking hands with Frances Heaton, Findlays’ managing director. Danny shoved the bag and its incriminating evidence under her arm and let Ross pull her forward.
‘I’m Danny Lawton, his…’ She just couldn’t say it.
Ross slipped an arm about her waist. ‘Date.’
Danny hated the dishonesty. ‘We’re related.’
‘Related?’ Frances repeated.
Ross cupped her bare shoulder.
She tried to shrug him off. ‘By marriage—kind of…’
‘My brother and Danny’s sister were in a de facto relationship,’ Ross explained.
‘I see,’ Frances said.
‘They’re both dead.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
Did he have to be so blunt about it? Danny jabbed the shoulder Ross wasn’t holding into his armpit. ‘I’m his sister-in-law.’
He tightened his hold. ‘You’re so much more than that, darling.’
Frances led them through the crowd, introducing Ross as she went. Everybody wanted to talk to him, to ask about his books and find out when the next one would be hitting the shelves. Danny was surprised at how patient Ross was when he was asked the same questions again and again. He posed for photos and signed autographs; nothing was too much for him. He was utterly charming. Several times Danny tried to detach herself, but Ross kept reclaiming her so she eventually gave up. Besides, leaning on Ross made it a lot easier to stay upright on the silver sandals. It’s a shame he’s such an arsehole, Danny thought, when his body feels so very promising.
Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit!
Danny froze like a fishfinger at the sound of Vanessa’s cellphone ringing in Vanessa’s handbag. Vanessa had opted for the frog as her ringtone when Danny had rejected it in favour of the rooster.
Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit!
Ross looked at her curiously. ‘Did you finally get sick of the rooster?’
‘Something like that,’ Danny mumbled. She didn’t dare risk opening the bag in case he saw the passports.
He scrawled his name across a piece of paper and handed it back to one of the waiting throng. ‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’
He frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because—because I won’t be able to hear in all this bloody racket, that’s why not!’ The frog stopped croaking and Danny heaved a silent sigh of relief.
Ross was looking at her weirdly. ‘What if it was something important? What if it was a message about one of the kids?’
Danny was surprised he would think of it. ‘If it is, Van will leave a message.’ She turned away to indicate the subject was closed, caught her heel in a particularly deep patch of sand and almost pitched onto her nose.
Ross caught her—again. ‘Why did you wear those silly shoes?’ He was fed up with how good Danny felt plastered against him—the smooth, warm feel of her naked back beneath his palm, her arm looped around his waist, and the way her breast flattened against his chest whenever she stumbled or the crowd jostled them.
‘Because they’re pretty,’ Danny said.
‘Pretty?’ His brows rose in disbelief. ‘Since when have you cared about being pretty?’
Danny looked as if he’d just slapped her. She hooked a finger in his belt and bent down to tug the silver shoes off. ‘Here! Take them!’ She thrust them into his hands.
He stared at the shoes. It wasn’t Danny’s fault she’d made him feel horny and angry. He tucked them into his pockets. ‘Danny, I’m sorr—’
She jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Don’t you dare say you’re sorry! We both know you don’t mean it.’
Frances waited a few feet ahead of them, a questioning look on her face. To onlookers Ross and Danny appeared to be having an intimate moment, further reinforced by Danny handing over her shoes to Ross—the kind of thing long-standing couples did.
These shoes are killing me. Can I put them in your jacket pockets?
You’re hopeless. Give them here.
Ross watched Danny’s smooth, bare back as she stalked towards Frances. Her spine was rigid, her shoulders squared, her posture the equivalent of a raised middle finger. On a scale of one to ten, Ross estimated he’d scored a twenty when it came to screw-ups.
Danny sipped her drink and watched Ross continue to sign autographs. Frances had departed to talk to some of the other Findlays writers, so Danny had nobody to talk to, which was just as well—her nerves were so badly tied in knots that she suspected her nervous system resembled a macramé plant-hanger. When a photographer asked Danny to pose with Ross, her amber eyes spat flames. Ross posed alone, not bothering to explain that the photos might be sold to some of the US tabloids and he wanted his family to see what Danny looked like.
Despite his stony expression, Danny could tell Ross thought he’d hurt her feelings. Perhaps for a nanosecond he had, but she was no green, silly girl, and certainly not one of the simpering women surrounding him. In a lull between autographs and photos, Danny asked, ‘What have you done with Ross?’
He got the message: she wasn’t going to sulk, just go for his jugular. ‘If you make any cracks about number one fans and my ankles being broken, I’ll drown you in the pool.’
Danny dredged a finger along the bottom of her cocktail glass and sucked on it. She’d discovered the cocktails being plied by the waiting staff and was feeling a lot calmer, plus Vanessa’s phone had remained silent.
Ross wished Danny would stop sucking her finger. ‘How many of those things have you had?’
She licked her lips. ‘One Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against The Wall and One Screaming Orgasm.’
He was getting a hard-on. Danny was giving him a hard-on. Danny, the swamp witch. ‘Are you sure you’ve only had two?’
‘Yes, Grandad, I definitely had a Screw before I had an Orgasm.’
He scowled.
‘Tell me,’ Danny asked. ‘Do many women go out on a second date with you?’ She looked at the crowded dance floor. ‘I don’t suppose you want to dance?’
Ross most definitely did not want to dance with her. ‘I don’t dance.’
She sighed. ‘I guess that’s the price you pay for hanging upside-down when you sleep.’
He clamped his lips together. How did she do it? Make him want to drown her, have sex with her and laugh in the space of a few seconds?
Danny settled down to play her role as arm candy, feeling just as conflicted. Every now and then she saw the sad, weary look on his face that she’d noticed when he arrived at the house. People acted like they owned him. They asked personal questions and expected Ross to answer them. Was he married? They stared at Danny when they asked this. Why not? Did he have any children? Why not?
‘I’ve got twelve nieces and nephews,’ Ross said. ‘Why do I need kids of my own?’
‘He’s Italian.’ Danny eyeballed the pushy redhead grilling him. ‘And Irish. Nobody in the family learned how to say no, which is why he has me.’
Women circled Ross like sharks, rousing Danny’s territorial instincts. He was supposed to be her date—she expected the other women to back off and show a little respect.
A waiter approached with a tray of cocktails and a book of raffle tickets.
‘How much?’ Danny asked.
‘Two dollars each.’
She pointed at Ross. ‘He’ll take a hundred.’
The waiter gaped. ‘A hundred?’
Ross dug his wallet from his jacket pocket. ‘What makes you think I’ve got two hundred dollars in my wallet?’ Danny didn’t know he’d already donated ten thousand dollars to the women’s refuge.
‘Of course you’ve got two hundred dollars in your wallet—you’ve got the Reserve Bank of New Zealand in your wallet,’ Danny insisted. ‘In fact Alan Bollard is taking a holiday and leaving you in charge.’
‘Who’s Alan Bollard?’
‘The Governor of the Reserve Bank.’
Ross was glad he’d brought Danny along—she was a combination entertainment service and personal insecticide. Overzealous fans took one look at her slit-eyed stare and opted not to hang around too long. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop them from dropping notes in Ross’s pockets alongside her shoes.
The cocktails seemed to be catching up with her. She yawned, and Ross remembered she’d been on duty the previous night. He watched Danny snag a cocktail from the waiter’s tray, then whipped the glass from her hand and returned it to the tray. They indulged in a brief bout of hand-wrestling, which Ross won. ‘Have you got a glass of water or juice?’ he asked the waiter.
‘Yes, sir, which would you prefer?’ The waiter watched Danny bat Ross’s hand away.
Ross studied her mulish expression and said, ‘Water will be fine.’
The waiter handed him a tall glass of iced water, then turned away.
‘Come back here! I don’t want a glass of water!’ Danny shouted after him. She turned angrily on Ross. ‘What was that all about?’
‘You’re wilting. You didn’t get any sleep last night, and it’s catching up with you, Cinderella.’ He held out the glass.
Danny took it and snapped back, ‘What do you mean? Last night is catching up with me?’
A blonde woman wearing a tiny red bikini and red plastic hula skirt stopped beside them. She’d overheard Danny and stared at her enviously; she wouldn’t mind a night with RF O’Rourke. She carried a black marker pen in one hand and wore false eyelashes that looked like spiders crawling from her eyes.
Danny thought Spiderilla would have been better off sticking postage stamps on her breasts; they’d have provided more cover than her bikini.
The woman fluttered the spiders at Ross and asked in a low, smoky voice. ‘Can I have your autograph, Mr O’Rourke?’
Oh God, Ross thought wearily. She was coming on to him. He took the pen. ‘Where do you want me to sign?’
‘On my breasts.’
Danny stopped trying to catch the attention of another waiter.
Ross was more interested in the pen than the woman’s cleavage. ‘Is this a permanent marker?’
Spiderilla looked deep into his eyes and drawled, ‘I don’t want your name to wash off for a long time.’
Danny was tired of watching women drool all over Ross, brush against his jacket, kiss him and touch his chest. Some of them had asked if he’d sign their arms, legs and bums. He’d signed an arm and a leg but refused to sign anybody’s butt.
The woman touched her left breast. ‘Could you sign “RF” here?’ She pointed to her right breast. ‘And “O’Rourke” here?’
Danny sucked noisily on the straw in her glass. ‘Sorry to interrupt such a beautiful moment, but do you think that’s wise? That pen looks awfully sharp and he might puncture a lung—or something.’
Spiderilla’s mouth dropped open. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Danny hoped her lashes tangled up so she wouldn’t be able to open her eyes properly. ‘You weren’t to know, but RF is allergic to silicone. It brings him out in hives,’ She looked at Ross. ‘Doesn’t it, Precious?’
His eyes gleamed. ‘Bane of my life.’
‘These are mine!’ Spiderilla insisted huffily.
Of course they are, Danny thought, and before you got them they belonged to a company supplying medical prosthetics. ‘And aren’t we all grateful for that? But just to be safe, perhaps he can autograph your arm instead?’
The glare the woman gave her was toxic, but Ross didn’t rate her chances against Danny. He caught the blonde by the shoulders, spun her around and said quickly, ‘How about initials on one shoulder blade and surname on the other?’
Spiderilla continued to glare at Danny and lifted her hair—braided, blonde extensions, Danny noted—over her shoulder. ‘Some people have no manners,’ she said. ‘What star sign are you?’ she asked Ross.
Watching Ross sign the woman’s back set Danny’s teeth on edge. ‘Does Werewolf count?’
Ross scrawled his name and replied disinterestedly, ‘Scorpio.’
‘Ooh!’ Spiderilla shuddered delightedly and the pen bounced off her shoulder blade. ‘Secretive, intense and,’ she smouldered up at Ross, ‘passionate.’
‘Not human.’ Danny threw in for good measure.
Ross recapped the pen. ‘Tell me,’ he asked Spiderilla, ‘what star sign are people with big mouths born under?’
Spiderilla was thrilled. If RF’s sarcastic tone was anything to go by, things were not all sweetness and light between him and his mouthy date. ‘Well, Leos can be very dramatic and Geminis are good communica—’
‘What sign was Dracula?’ Danny interrupted. ‘Or Darth Vader?’
Spiderilla looked confused. ‘What are you talking about? Dracula and Darth Vader aren’t real people!’
Danny nodded at Ross. ‘Neither is he, and for what it’s worth: I’m a Scorpio, too.’
He shook his head. ‘Can’t be, you’ve got your months mixed up.’
Spiderilla tried to interject. ‘Scorpios are born between October twenty-fourth and November—’
‘November,’ Danny said, ‘the seventeenth of November.’
Ross stared. ‘That’s my birthday.’
‘It can’t be! It’s mine!’
Spiderilla flounced away with only half an autograph and minus her pen.
Ross laughed at Danny’s indignation. ‘You think you’re the only person born on November the seventeenth?’ He stopped laughing when Danny flinched. Somebody else had shared her birthday. Daniella.
Danny’s eyes stung. She blinked furiously. She would not cry in front of Ross bloody Fabello. ‘Give me my shoes!’
‘What?’
She wrenched her sandals from his pockets and watched as paper notes spilled to the floor like confetti. ‘What on earth…’ Grateful for the distraction, Danny crouched and scooped up a handful.
Ross squatted beside her and tried to grab the notes. ‘Don’t read those.’
She jerked her hand away. ‘This is what you brought me for, remember? To run interference. I’m sure there’s plenty more where these came from.’ Her gaze snagged on the lipstick mark on the front of his shirt. ‘And you’ve got lipstick on your shirt!’
She leapt to her feet and fled.
Ross watched her go, his expression grim. ‘It’s yours.’
Danny found a seat at the crowded bar and ordered a cocktail. She was officially off duty; Ross could go screw himself and anything else that caught his fancy. To distract herself, Danny studied the notes.
A buff young Polynesian barman brought her drink. He looked at the notes and asked cheekily, ‘Writing a book?’
Danny sipped her drink. ‘It’d be X-rated. Do you know a girl called Wendi?’ She handed him a slip of paper. ‘She spells her name with an i and fellatio with a y.’
The barman read the piece of paper and grinned. ‘No, but I’d like to.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Nathan.’
Danny took it. ‘Danny.’
‘You came with that American writer, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Nathan watched her unfold more notes and stack them neatly on the bar.
‘What are you going to do with them?’ he asked.
‘Probably throw them away.’
‘That’s a waste.’ Nathan was only twenty-three and, much as he liked the look of Danny, he wasn’t ready for monogamy. He held up Wendi’s note. ‘Can I have this one?’
Danny considered. ‘This is a fundraiser for the women’s refuge, right? So how about I sell you the note and we donate the money?’
‘Sounds like a deal.’ He handed over a ten-dollar note.
‘Ten dollars! That’s very generous, Nathan.’
‘If Wendi can do even half of what she promises, it’ll be worth it.’
Danny put the money into one of the collection boxes on the bar and briefly pondered the ethics of selling the notes to strange men, but decided it wasn’t an issue, considering the women had put their details into the pocket of a total stranger in the first place.
‘Hey, Jase!’ Nathan called to the other barman. ‘Come have a look at this!’
Before Danny knew it, the lights had been turned up and there was a full-blown auction going on, as guys bid for the notes and the women who’d written them tried to outbid them to win them back, unless they liked the look of the bidder.
The collection boxes filled up fast. Nathan and Jase made Danny sit on the bar and read out the notes while they collected the proceeds, sold drinks and pointed out prospective bidders with loud, theatrical shouts of ‘BID!’
From her perch, Danny had a good view of the entire warehouse. She saw the dance floor gradually empty as people joined the crowd at the bar. And she saw when Ross appeared at the back of the crowd, his arms folded across his chest and his face hidden by shadows. Two more cocktails had made it easier to ignore the emptiness inside her, and put a rosy glow on the evening.
When the notes were all sold, the warehouse lights were dimmed again and people drifted back to the dance floor, some with the partners they came with, several more with somebody they’d never set eyes on before. The DJ played a smoochy song usually reserved for the end of the night when couples were draped around one another. Danny stayed on the bar, the skirt of her Marilyn Monroe dress spread about her hips in a silvery blue puddle. She leaned back and braced her weight on her palms, crossed her legs and watched Ross approach.
He stopped and placed a hand either side of Danny on the bar. ‘You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?’
Danny watched him through a spike of blue hair that had fallen over her eye and gently swung one high heel to and fro. ‘Hey, I wasn’t the one signing women’s legs and bums. I was performing a civic duty.’
‘You’re shameless.’
It was hard to read his expression in the low light. He sounded more amused than angry. ‘Not true, the dim lighting hid my blushes.’
The toe of Danny’s stiletto beat a steady rhythm against Ross’s thigh. He caught her ankle before she kicked him in the erection that had been plaguing him most of the night. His fingers braceleted her ankle; her skin felt warm and smooth. Ross didn’t understand it, he was surrounded by bare breasts and asses but he was turned on by a woman with blue hair, non-existent breasts and a mouth that could blister paint.
‘Danny,’ he began, ‘about the birthday thing—’ For a man who had trouble apologizing, he was getting a lot of practice.
Danny pressed the toe of her sandal against his thigh. ‘Don’t.’
Don’t apologize. Don’t remind me.
His flesh felt strong and resilient. Danny wished she was barefoot so she could curl her toes into the muscle in his thigh. Ross tightened his grip around her ankle. She slid her other foot slowly upwards. ‘You should thank me for selling those notes.’
Ross caught that ankle, too. ‘Oh, really?’
She was trapped, her crossed legs scissored into place by his hands. ‘I did you a favour.’
He stroked the insides of her ankles with his thumbs. ‘How?’
Danny curled her fingers around the edge of the bar, and said, a little breathlessly, ‘Two of them were from men.’ She laughed when Ross grimaced. His hair stood up in two points on either side of his head. Danny stroked the silky curls flat. ‘Your horns are showing.’
He slid his hands up her calves. ‘Are they now?’
Is this how it feels? Danny wondered. Is this how Patrick made Nella feel? How her father had made her mother feel? It was like an earthquake started inside Danny’s belly, sending shock waves reverberating outwards, making her nerve endings snap and her skin sizzle.
Danny jumped when Nathan suddenly tapped her on the back. ‘Hey, Danny, a guy said he’d pay fifty bucks for a dance with you.’
She blinked at him over her shoulder. ‘What?’
Ross dragged out his wallet and emptied it into one of the collection boxes. ‘He’s been outbid,’ he told the barman sharply.
Nathan looked at the bank notes poking from the slot in the top of the box and the look on Ross’s face, then shouted down the bar, ‘You’re out of your league, mate!’
Ross lifted Danny down from the bar. He placed his hands either side of her on the bar top and leaned into her. She could feel he was hard and her heart went haywire. It was a moment before she managed to get out ‘I was trying to be good.’
Ross stared at her mouth. ‘You do bad better,’ he murmured. And kissed her.
Danny melted across the bar like butter dropped onto a hot stove. Ross was that rare creature, a great kisser. She arched her back, slid her hands across the smooth surface of the bar and kissed him back for all she was worth.
When they finally broke apart, Danny was clutching the lapels of Ross’s jacket, he had a handful of her skirt, and her leg was hooked around his calf. They stared at one another, their breath rushing back and forth between their lips like a pair of relay runners.
‘Come back to the apartment with me,’ Ross said roughly.
Danny nodded.
Nathan tapped her on the shoulder again. ‘Er…Danny?’
Ross glared at him over her head. ‘What now?’
The barman pushed a black handbag across the bar and stepped backwards with his palms raised. ‘Sorry, mate. Somebody found this on the floor. It’s got a passport inside with Danny’s photo in it.’ He disappeared to take an order.
Danny stared stupidly at the bag. Passport? What passport? Reality came roaring back like a locomotive. The passports! She made a grab for the bag.
Ross was faster. He unzipped the bag, took out the passports and looked at the names.
Danny made a grab for them, but he eluded her easily. ‘I can explain!’ she cried.
He replaced them carefully in the bag and looked at her coldly. ‘Were you planning on giving them to me?’
‘Of course not!’
‘You bitch,’ Ross said softly.
‘Let me explain!’
‘Outside.’ He grabbed her elbow and marched her through the crowd and out of the warehouse. Neither of them noticed the photographer.
It was drizzling outside. The streetlights wore misty halos, and a cold wind was blowing in from the harbour. Danny was reeling. She’d seen Ross angry, irritated, pissed off before, but never this icy rage. He unlocked the Explorer and opened the passenger door. ‘Get in,’ he said coldly.
Danny shook her head and curled her bare toes against the wet tarmac of the car park. Her shoes had fallen off when Ross lifted her from the bar. ‘No!’
Ross clenched his jaw and growled, ‘Get in the car, Danny!’
The wind gusted and she shivered. ‘Only if you’ll let me explain.’
He slammed the door. She flinched but stood her ground. ‘If you’d rather stand in the rain and tell me why you’ve got your and the kids’ passports and travel brochures in your purse, then go right ahead.’
‘It isn’t the way it looks! I wasn’t planning on taking the kids out of the country.’ Danny pushed her wet fringe from her eyes. ‘I don’t have any money!’
‘The implication being that if you did have some money, you would leave the country?’
‘No!’ She gestured at the bag. ‘It’s not my bag! Deryl picked up Van’s by mistake. I gave Van the passports for safekeeping…’ Danny ground to a halt. That didn’t sound any better. The rain grew heavier and soaked through her thin dress.
‘So that’s why you wouldn’t answer the phone. It’s Vanessa’s,’ Ross smiled thinly. ‘You were keeping them safe from me, weren’t you?’
She gestured helplessly. ‘Yes and no.’ Her teeth began to chatter. ‘I w-was worried you’d k-kidnap the k-kids.’
‘I see.’ He put his hands inside his trouser pockets and balled his fists to keep from shaking her. ‘Was fucking me supposed to help lessen my distress when you kidnapped my niece and nephew?’
‘No! I wanted to—’
‘Fuck me?’
She staggered backwards as if he’d slapped her. The wind changed direction and the rain swirled. The pleats of her silver dress had wilted and turned transparent. Ross watched the material mould itself against her hips, thighs and belly, and wanted to groan when lust ran like wildfire from his belly to his groin. He wanted to roar at her, howl out his rage and disappointment. He’d been a fool.
No more.
Danny crossed her arms and cupped her bare shoulders in her palms. ‘I-I wasn’t planning on t-taking Matt and M-Mia away! I definitely w-wouldn’t borrow money! I’m already up to m-my ears in debt!’
He smiled grimly. ‘I know.’
‘How? How do you know?’
Instead of answering her question, Ross pulled out the passports. ‘Here’s yours. I won’t be needing it.’ He flipped one of the little blue books at Danny.
It landed in a puddle at her feet. She crouched down and groped for it in the puddle.
Ross opened the passenger door again. ‘Now I suggest you get in.’
Danny clasped the passport against her and stared up at him. Rain dripped into her eyes, and goose bumps stood out on her bare skin like bubble wrap. ‘G-give me back the bag. I’ll f-find my own way home.’
Ross searched the contents of the bag.
‘L-Leave that a-alone!’
‘There’s five bucks, two tampons, a cellphone and—’ he pulled out the mousetrap and stared, ‘a mousetrap in this bag. How do you intend to get home? Thumb a lift over the harbour bridge?’
Danny stood up. ‘N-none of your business; give m-me back the b-bag.’
‘Get in the car and I will.’
She headed towards the road.
‘Danny!’ Ross roared. ‘Come back here!’
Danny heard the car engine start and broke into a jog. The Explorer screeched to a halt just ahead of her, and the passenger door was flung open, barring her way. Ross leaned across the seat and snarled, ‘Get in!’
She kicked out at the door, missed and screamed, ‘You lunatic! You could have run me over!’
‘If you want to freeze your ass off walking home, then fine, go right ahead! But when you get there, I’ll be there waiting for you!’
Danny searched for a way around the car. ‘If you set one foot on my property, I’ll call the police and have you charged with trespass!’
‘It isn’t your property.’
She stopped searching and looked at Ross. ‘What?’
‘Your sister left everything to Pat,’ he said with savage satisfaction. ‘And Pat left everything to me.’
‘No,’ Danny whispered. ‘Nella would never do that!’
‘The house is two-thirds mine,’ Ross said. ‘And I’m moving in.’ He took her back to his apartment at the Viaduct Basin and made her wait while he changed into dry clothes and packed a suitcase.
He took her back to his apartment at the Viaduct Basin and made her wait while he changed into dry clothes and packed a suitcase. Danny huddled in an armchair in his bedroom. Ross didn’t trust her to wait in the lounge. ‘Why don’t you get out of those wet clothes and put on my bathrobe?’ he asked when he could no longer stand watching her shiver.
Danny replied tonelessly, ‘Why don’t you take your bathrobe and shove it?’
Ross walked into the bathroom next door and returned holding a thick grey and white towel. He held it out to her. ‘Do you want to do it yourself? Or do you want me to do it for you?’
‘If you touch me, I’ll scream the building down.’
‘Fine, do it yourself.’ Ross dropped the towel in her lap and went back to his packing. He heard the sound of the towel being rubbed against skin and released the breath he’d been holding. The king-sized bed mocked him. What a fool he’d been to think they would finish the night in it together. She was Daneka Lawton. Scarred, battle-hardened, distrustful, unreachable.
Danny stared out the floor-length windows at the lights of the boats in the Rangitoto Channel. She was surprised she’d stopped shivering. Inside she felt as if her veins had turned to ice, she imagined them stretching beneath her skin, a frozen white network of icicles. If she got lucky, maybe her nerves would ice up, too, and the pain would go away. She only had herself to blame; she’d brought it on herself by opening up to Ross. Danny was shaken. How had that happened? Men were useful only for sex, and she always decided the when and the where and remained in the driver’s seat throughout any relationship. She wasn’t about to become a passenger on an emotional roller-coaster like her sister and mother. So what had happened with Ross tonight? What was different?
He threw some more clothes into the open suitcase and went into the bathroom. Danny’s fingers tightened on the velvety towel. She wouldn’t accept his bathrobe, but the towel belonged to the apartment. Danny flipped it over her shoulders and felt it catch on something on the table behind her. She turned sharply, thinking she’d knocked the lamp from the table, and saw a brown file and some typed sheets of paper lying on the carpet.
Danny leaned down to pick up the file and papers, and saw a photograph of her in uniform walking across what looked like the hospital car park with her bag tucked beneath her arm and her stethoscope draped around her neck. She slowly reached for the next photograph. This one showed her holding open the door of her blue Nissan while Mia and Matt climbed into the back seat. It was taken outside the school.
Somebody had been taking photographs of her and the children.
Somebody had been following them.
Somebody had been spying on them.
Danny picked up the photos and typed pages and sat back in the chair.
…15:10hrs—DL collects children from school. 15:21 returns home…
Her entire life was there on the pages. She flipped through the sheets of paper. There was information about her mother, about Nella. There was even a page about her father. Danny felt violated. Ross had been having her followed. She watched him walk into the bedroom carrying a bag of toiletries.
Ross saw the file on Danny’s lap and ground to a halt.
‘I was feeling bad about the passports, about not trusting you. And all the time you’ve been paying somebody to follow me, to invade my privacy.’ Her tone was conversational. Danny held up the photograph of her collecting the children from school. ‘What were you hoping to find, Ross? That I was the head of a drug ring? Or engaged in a little prostitution to make ends meet while the kids were at school?’
Ross refused to be cast as the baddie in this farce. ‘You left me no choice. You wouldn’t meet me halfway.’
Danny looked at the big bed with its pristine white linen and thought again about how close she’d come to sleeping with him. She turned away, feeling sick with self-disgust.
Ross knew what she was thinking and wished he could wind back to the beginning of the evening—or even better, back to the day they first met. He wished he wasn’t Pat’s brother and she wasn’t Daniella’s sister.
‘I don’t want it to be like this,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re just sorry you didn’t get laid.’ She folded one of the sheets of paper in half and then into quarters. ‘Thanks, Fabello.’
‘What for?’
‘For tidying up a loose end.’ Danny tucked the piece of paper into Vanessa’s bag and got to her feet. ‘Now I know what happened to my father. Dead from lung cancer. Mum always warned him the cigarettes would get him in the end.’
Surely she wasn’t saying that she didn’t know that her father was dead? But when he looked at her again, Ross saw it was true. ‘Danny—’
‘I want to go home,’ she said flatly.
‘Danny, we need to talk about this.’
‘No, we don’t. We need to get in your car and drive to our house—I gave Nella and Patrick half the deposit, so you needn’t think you’re going to do me out of my share.’ Danny’s eyes flashed. ‘You’d better get used to opening that big fat wallet of yours, Fabello, because the place needs a lot of work, and I intend getting my money’s worth from the new landlord.’