Blood Junction (42 page)

India’s breath hissed between her teeth. God, he’s strong, she thought, slightly awestruck. This was followed by a weird sense
of pride as she watched the lifesaver heave around 155 pounds of dead weight to the edge of the stern. For a few seconds the
body hung there, unmoving. Then Bishop gave it a final shove, and it slipped into the water without a sound.

“Bye-bye, Mr. Knox.”

India scrambled to her feet, peered over the side. Knox wallowed heavily in the oily sea, a slab of gray stuff, like a floating
rock.

The first shark appeared within six seconds. In fifteen there were eight in sight, then eleven. Their first attack was tentative,
until a tiger bit hard and churned, rubber body twisting like a corkscrew, to pull a gobbet of flesh away.

A slick of red surrounded the bobbing corpse.

It was as if someone had sounded a dinner bell
, India thought numbly, staring down from the deck.
What a grisly graveyard my family had
.

A long blue shark forced its way between the heavier white-tips and latched on to the torso, filled its jaws, then rolled
over onto its back to twist a chunk free. Another bit and rolled, then another.

“They’re coring,” said Bishop quietly. “As in coring an apple.”

India was surprised she didn’t feel sick. If anything, she felt a sense of justification. Roland Knox had worshipped the shark,
therefore it was fitting he should be disposed of between their gnashing, chomping jaws.

Afterwards, India estimated it took just two minutes for Knox’s corpse to be devoured, but at the time it felt more like an
hour.

Bishop came to where she stood and paused, studied her face. “So you toughed it out.”

She smiled twistedly. “Yes.”

He nodded, squinted out to sea. “Thought you might. I never took you for a pushover, not since I first saw you.”

She ran a dry tongue over her lips. “When was that?”

“On the road to Cooinda. With your busted car.” He looked down at Mikey, then back at the bridge. “Better get going. Your
friend needs a hospital, sharpish.”

T
HEY DIDN’T GET BACK TO SHORE UNTIL LATE EVENING
owing to the worsening weather. Rain and wind howled up from the Southern ocean. The boat bucked steeply all the way and
heavy spray poured across the deck and cockpit.

India had started to shiver again, from shock as well as cold. By the time Bishop drew the Bertram up to the jetty, her teeth
were chattering like power drills, her fingers numb. They had to shout to make themselves heard above the gale, but with Curran’s
help they managed to secure the boat.

Bishop pushed his head close to India’s so she could hear him above the din. “Let’s get Shepard,” shouted Bishop. “He can
help us bring Johnson out.”

Together they clambered from the boat, Bishop gripping her right arm until he was sure she had her balance on the jetty, then
he took hold of her wrist and they ran for the house, ducking past palm trees whipped against a sky almost the color of night.

The silence inside made India feel unsteady.

Bishop charged from room to room; she could hear his footsteps pounding up a set of stairs, then walking above. He returned
fast. “Forbes took Shepard to the Royal Adelaide. You hit his femoral artery.”

“God,” said India. “He might die.”

“I’m more concerned about the shit hitting the fan when they get there. It’ll be crawling with cops.”

India turned, made for the front door and Mikey.

“Wait.”

She halted, head turned over her shoulder.

“You’ve got to get changed. You’re soaking wet and in shock. In the master bedroom at the top of the stairs you’ll find everything
you need. Strip off everything, I mean everything, underwear included, and wrap up warm. It’ll help. And bring another blanket
for Johnson.”

India hesitated, realized it made sense, and went up the stairs.

The bedroom was huge, with wall-to-wall windows overlooking the wild churning sea. She pulled open the built-in wardrobes
and yanked out handfuls of clothes. She shed her sodden T-shirt and shorts, then her underwear, and dumped them on the thick
silver-gray carpet. She was buttoning up a checked men’s shirt that hung just below her groin when she caught a movement out
of the corner of her eye.

Bishop stood in the doorway, one ankle hooked around the other, arms crossed, watching her.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said.

India felt a shiver run over her skin at his tone. Soft. With undertones of wonderment and surprise. She forced her hand to
do up another button. There were seven on the shirt, and she’d only buttoned two. She had started from the bottom, had five
more to go. Her hand slid to the next button. Bishop stood upright, came and stood in front of her. She took a step back.
He said, "Don’t!" so intensely that she stopped.

He raised his right hand and, with his forefinger, traced the line of her jaw. His touch was both sensuous and frightening,
and she could feel her breathing falter.

Her hand slid up to the third button, fastened it. Bishop stroked her fiercely arched brows, then her lips, his expression
absorbed, intent. She fastened the fourth button, her fingers fumbling.

Mikey was right. Oh, God, he was right.

Bishop dropped his hand and captured hers before it could slide to the fifth. Slowly, he brought her hand up and turned it
over, so her wrist was exposed. He stared at her beating pulse for several seconds, then raised his hand and looked at his
own.

India didn’t dare move.

Gently, he pressed two fingers to the side of her neck, feeling the pulse there, then with his other hand did the same to
himself. She stood utterly still while he felt the blood pulsating through their veins.

He sighed. A long, slow sigh that could have been regret but could have been deep pleasure, she never knew.

Bishop withdrew his hands, let them hang by his sides as he gazed at her. Then he gave himself a shake and bent over to pick
out a pair of jeans. “These should fit. Size ten.” He passed them to her.

Unsteadily, India took the jeans and slid into them while Bishop rummaged in the bottom of the cupboard. He pushed a pair
of Timberlands towards her. “Size thirty-eight, right?”

“Right,” she echoed.

He handed her a vast fisherman’s sweater, waited until she’d pulled it over her head. “Cute,” he said, and with a grin, boyish
as a ten-year-old’s, ruffled her hair with one hand.

India stared at him.

“What are you waiting for?” he said. “Let’s go.”

With Mikey on the metal floor, Curran on the rear seat and India in the co-pilot’s, Bishop eased the helicopter’s engines
out of idle. The thumping increased to a shuddering buzz and India pushed her headset closer to her skull, trying to block
out the noise.

“Okay?” she heard Bishop say. His voice was surprisingly clear through the headset. She nodded and immediately felt the aircraft
rise off the grass.

The helicopter lifted straight up, well above the trees, then eased away from the house until it was facing north. The nose
dipped forward and it accelerated hard. The engine settled to a steady roar. Although the storm had lessened it was still
raining and water streamed over the Plexiglas, making it difficult to see the coastline flashing past below.

India twisted her mouthpiece and spoke into it. “Where are we headed?”

“The Royal Adelaide Hospital.”

“How long?” she said.

“About forty minutes. All going well. It’s not the best weather for flying.”

She took in the black clouds and spray. “No. I guess not.”

He fiddled with a dial and called up Adelaide Radar and explained the situation, where they were headed, that they had . wounded
on board and could they please have every assistance?

Of course, said the tower controller. We’ll be with you every inch of the way.

Five minutes on, a small clump of houses came into view, then what appeared to be an average-size town. Bishop swung the helicopter
around to follow a road snaking through the bush. India craned forward, staring down.

“Next marker, Meningie,” said Bishop.

The helicopter was hurtling above the road, nose down, flying fast. There was little traffic. Everybody had taken shelter
from the storm. Then they were above the Princess Highway and following the coastline.

India stared at the ocean. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because.” Bishop shrugged.

“Why did you change sides?”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I was always on the same side.”

She looked over at him.

“Your side,” he said.

She kept looking at him.

“Why?”

He was quiet for a long moment, then turned to meet her eyes.

“Families should always stick together.”

Her stomach gave a little lurch. “I’m sorry?”

“Families,” he said again, “should stick together. Don’t you think?”

She was staring at him, her skin crawling.

“I mean, I know we’re at opposite ends here, me with my mercenary work and you trying to blow the lid on our little operation,
but I still couldn’t throw you to the wolves.” His head tilted slightly to the side and his eyes narrowed as though puzzled.
“I don’t know why that is. It’s not as though I know you. Or that we’re at all alike. I’d never have swum out so far from
Manly, for instance. Or trusted that Aboriginal copper.”

India felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs.

“Mind you, you’re quite tough for a woman. A lot of stamina. I was really proud of you, the way you survived in the bush for
so long. Dodged the dogs and the trackers.”

She sat there, wondering if this was real, if any of it were real, or whether she would wake up in a minute and marvel at
herself for imagining the clear calm voice coming through her headset.

“Toby?”

“David Bishop’s a much better name, don’t you think? Toby reminds me of a little round clockwork toy, or a tubby bank clerk.
You grow into a name, I reckon, and I didn’t want to grow into my real name so I chose another when I turned seventeen and
stuck with it.”

No wonder they had lost him
, she thought.

“But they said you were
black
.”

He chuckled. “I was. Black as pitch. When I was born anyway. But by the time I was four I was pale as a ginger biscuit.” He
angled his elbow to lie against her wrist. “Almost the same color.”

A trail of misty vapor whipped past and suddenly they were in cloud and had lost sight of the ground. Bishop immediately dropped
the helicopter, searching for the cloud base. The aircraft was hit by turbulence and tossed sideways. Bishop slewed it back
and swung around, still dropping the nose.

India was gripping the sides of her seat, palms clammy.

Then they were below the cloud, buzzing a thousand feet above Coorong National Park, rain spattering on the screen.

“You’re saying you’re my brother,” she said weakly.

He shot her a grin. “One hundred percent.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure all right.”

“But you can’t be.”

“Okay. So who paid your bail?” he said. “Who set up the Abo cop to take the murder raps?”

Pause. Beat. “You paid my bail?”

“Sure did. But you don’t owe me anything. That’s what brothers are for.”

“So who’s Arthur Knight?”

He chuckled. “King Arthur’s a guy I’ve always admired. I chose Knight because I’ve always fancied myself in shining armor.”
He peered at a dial in front of him and slanted the craft eastwards a fraction. “Cops. They bleat they don’t want dirty money
but when there’s two hundred and fifty grand in cash in front of them … well, when they start to ask questions, all you’ve
got to do is show them a badge.”

“Are you a fed?”

“Not really.”

When she remained silent he continued. “I’ve been watching out for you, you know. It’s been a bit difficult to manage it without
compromising myself, but I did my best. Like trying to warn you off with that kangaroo. Arriving in the nick of time to stop
Knox from shooting you in the warehouse.”

“How did you know”—she paused, marshalling her strength—“we were related?”

“Your friend Lauren wrote to me.” He raised his hips, withdrew a crumpled envelope from his back pocket and passed it to her.

India extracted a single sheet of paper.

She felt her throat constrict when she saw the familiar handwriting.

Dear Mr. Bishop
,

I have drafted this letter many times and cannot find a way to soften what I want to say, so I will be blunt.

I have a very close friend, my best of friends, India Kane. She has no family that she is aware of, but over the past few
months I have managed to trace over sixty of her relatives, including yourself.

India Kane is your sister. She doesn’t know you are alive. I think it would be great for you guys to be reunited…

She let the letter fall to her lap. “How on earth did she find you?”

“She’d managed to trace the ad I placed in the
Sydney Morning Herald
, announcing my change of name. She found it via their archive. Talk about tenacious.” He stared through the windscreen. “I’m
sorry about Lauren. I really am.”