“What the bloody hell is going on here?” Mr. Thompson cocked his rifle.
“Hang on a bit. It’s Amy and Jake,” Sarge said, dropping the huge flashlight and lowering the barrel of Mr. Thompson’s rifle. He slipped his Glock back into its holster, picked up the flashlight, and shone the beam around the forest floor. “The other guy, the one on the ground, I’m not sure about him.”
“This is his gun.” Jake handed it to Sarge. “Amy went out alone…for a…a walk…and this guy jumped her. I heard her scream and came running.”
Sarge took the gun and examined it.
“Well, let’s get the bastard up to the Lodge. Think you and I can carry him?” Mr. Thompson asked.
“You keep the rifle on him and we’ll carry,” Sarge said. “Okay with you, Jake?”
“Sure,” Jake said and shook out his shoulders and arms. He’d wanted to hold Amy, to comfort her, but he supposed there’d be time later. His chest was sore. There’d be some bruised muscles tomorrow, maybe even a broken rib. He wasn’t at all sure if it was a graze or something deeper on the back of his skull, but at least it wasn’t gushing blood. Regardless, he wouldn’t let Mr. Thompson carry the damn heavy load.
The guy was short but stocky. And now in the beam of the flashlight he was vaguely familiar. That scene in the hotel lobby in Sydney flashed before him. He couldn’t be sure. This guy had his hair pulled back, but it was dark and he was bald on top and the body size was definitely similar.
“Give Amy a gun, just in case. You know, as backup.”
“Could you fire one of these?” Sarge asked and handed over a semi-automatic.
Amy took hold of it. “If I had to.”
“Good enough for me,” Sarge said. “It’s a Glock 22. Each safety is activated one after the other when you pull the trigger. It’s loaded, so don’t pull the trigger unless ya’ mean it. The recoil isn’t too bad, but you’re small and might feel it a bit, so don’t be alarmed. Just take aim and fire again.”
“I think this is the guy who tailed me in Sydney,” Jake said softly into Sarge’s ear.
Sarge nodded and slipped his arms under the man’s armpits and hoisted him up. “Don’t think he’s going anywhere for a while.”
Jake turned his attention from the man to Amy. She was strong. She’d be fine. Even if she’d never fired a gun in her life, she’d do whatever was necessary for survival.
“You probably won’t need to use the gun, Amy. If the guy does wake up and starts to struggle or gives us any crap, just aim the gun at his balls and speak with a menacing tone. Just tell him you’ll shoot ’em off.”
“I’ve got me rifle,” Mr. Thompson said. “And I’ve got perfect aim. I’ll shoot ’em off.”
“Wanta get his feet?” Sarge asked.
“Sure.” Jake grabbed the guy’s feet and almost passed out. The effort was almost intolerable and his chest ached like hell. He dragged in a breath and together he and Sarge lifted the man up. It was a bit rough going. Hard ducking underneath the log, but they heaved and puffed, and slid a bit, until they met the main pathway. Then it was easier, although the first fat raindrops fell. Somehow they got him up to the lodge without dropping him, or breaking their backs.
They lay the man on a couch on the verandah. They didn’t want him dead; they needed information. Meg and her mother came out and caught up briefly on what had happened. Nobody seemed to know at first who the guy was or why he was there. Meg squinted.
“It could be the bloke who checked in this evening. I didn’t pay much attention, but our day receptionist took care of him just before she left for the night.”
Jake figured she was either an amazing actress or an innocent. He preferred to believe the latter. After the guy was securely bound, there would be some answers demanded from Meg, Mr. Thompson, and Amy. He knelt down in front of the guy and shuddered at the memory of Amy’s white, frightened face. He bunched his fist wanting to pop the guy one more time, but resisted.
What on earth had happened to make this man go nuts? He wouldn’t know who Amy was, would he? It was he and Sarge the guy was after. Also, if it wasn’t the guy from the forest, how many people were tailing them? Bile rose in his throat, and he sat back on his haunches. Maybe the man had seen a young woman walking alone. Would he have raped her?
“Anyone got twine or duct tape?” he asked abruptly.
“I know where it is,” Mrs. Thompson said and ran to the kitchen. She returned quickly with both items. “Jake, you’re bleeding.”
“We’ll get to it later.” Jake tied the guy’s hands and feet with twine. There were now two or three people from other cabins lolling about. Helen and Kirstie sat with Amy. Mr. Thompson spoke with the small cluster of people, assuring his guests everything was under control. Jake figured once the Thompsons learned the whole story, they’d make them leave. If they had brought the felon in with them, they had to fess up. And get the bad guys the hell out of here. He thought about covering the man’s mouth but decided against it, the guy was still having difficulty breathing.
“Who do we report this to?” he asked Sarge.
Sarge walked over to Mr. Thompson and drew him into a far corner of the verandah. They conversed for a few moments and Jake noticed Sarge pull out a flat wallet and flip it open. Mr. Thompson shook Sarge’s hand. They walked back over toward Jake.
“Let’s get an ice pack on the man’s neck, too, eh Sarge?” Jake asked.
Sarge nodded and glared down at the guy who stirred a bit. “Nearest local authorities are in the little town of Laura. Mr. Thompson will radio over. They’ll come out early morning. It’s only a small station.”
“Reckon we can keep him here overnight,” Mr. Thompson said, yelling above the sudden downpour. “What about a paramedic?” Jake asked eyeing the guy again. He wanted him alive and answering questions.
Mr. Thompson checked his watch. “It’s already gone midnight. They won’t come unless it’s a life and death situation. Meg can help. She’ll take a look at your injuries, too.”
Jake nodded and winced when he touched his tender scalp.
“Yeah, I think we can handle this,” Sarge said. “Where’s the ice?”
“I’ll get it,” Meg said. “And I’m getting some for you too, Jake.”
Mr. Thompson had moved back to help his wife, who was rounding up the guests and offering to escort them back to their cabins. Thank goodness only a few cabins were occupied. This was not peak tourist season. The old couple hadn’t come out. Good, they’d probably not heard a thing and were sleeping peacefully.
“What do you make of Meg, not seeming to know anything about him?” Sarge asked softly and jerked his chin toward the guy.
“I’m not sure of anything,” Jake said. “But I’m not letting a minute go by without answers. Amy could have been killed. I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s midnight. We’re all sitting down and talking this thing out.”
“Ah, sure,” Sarge said. “You up for it? I mean, you’ve taken a bit of a beating.”
“Now. Tonight.”
Sarge grimaced. “Worst thing Meg could do is call Firth. I doubt he’d turn up, knowing we’re here. What about old man Helm, what will he say?”
“I’ll deal with him.” Jake pressed his lips together as Meg returned.
Chapter Sixteen
Amy glanced down at her dirt covered shortie-pajamas. It was getting cool and rain drummed on the corrugated iron roof. The Thompsons returned from escorting guests back to their cabins, folded their umbrellas and shook the water off their raincoats.
“It’s startin’ to blow hard,” Mr. Thompson said.
“Let’s all move indoors. He gets to sleep on the verandah, securely tied to a couch,” Jake said above the din of the rain. He tested the man’s restraints. “Go over to his cabin and search it, Sarge.”
Sarge nodded and went to speak with Meg. A shudder of fear washed over Amy. Where had the man been? Had he been underneath the verandah? She could still feel where the metal of the gun had dug into her back. Her arm was sore, because he’d gripped it so tightly. Her hands stung and she had abrasions on her right knee. Anger at the violation of being taken by force, of the possibility of being raped by that horrible man, filled her.
She’d tried to talk to him as he’d shoved her down the path. Tried to find out who he was, what he wanted, what he was going to do to her. He’d just shoved the gun harder into her back and said, “Shut up, woman.” His English accent had surprised her. His body odor still lingered in her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and rubbed at it. Although damp from the rain, she craved a shower.
Meg tended to Jake’s hands and his head. He convinced her he was fine but let her check his pupils anyway. Then he walked back across the verandah to meet Sarge who bounded up the stairs shaking the rain off his head and swiping at his thin clothing.
“So, the local authorities are due to arrive around six a.m. and take him into custody,” Jake said. “Will they get him seen by the local doctor in Laura?”
“Yeah.” Sarge shook himself again. “If it’s necessary, they’ll transport him to the hospital in Cooktown and put a police guard on his room.”
“I’ll keep watch over him tonight,” Mr. Thompson said. “I often take a stretch out here.”
“Let’s get inside,” Jake said. “We need to talk. Find anything in the guy’s room?”
“Sorry, nothing, except a few dirty dishes. Might be some I.D. in his vehicle, but I couldn’t find car keys.”
Jake held the door open. “Everyone,” he said gruffly and jerked his head to indicate they should get inside the lodge. He turned back to Sarge and grimaced.
Amy slid Jake a quick glance as she came into the kitchen. He was directing people to seats around the table. “This is the best room to use. We’ll hear if the guy wakes up,” he said, and walked over and shoved open the window.
Meg had brewed coffee and placed a plate of cheese and crackers, and another of cake squares on the table. She pushed a plate toward Amy. Everyone kept looking at her with pain or fear in their eyes. She sat and squirmed in her seat, feeling guilty as hell for not having told anyone about the man who’d been tailing her.
“I love these,” she said attempting to break the weird silence. She reached for one of the coconut confections and smiled at Jake. He didn’t smile back. He was so damn serious she wondered what the heck was going on. “Have you ever tried one?”
Jake shook his head and stared at everyone seated, as if taking a head count.
“They’re called lamingtons,” Amy continued. “White cake cut into squares, dipped in chocolate and doused in coconut. Yummy!” She took a huge bite.
Jake remained standing, he cleared his throat and reached for his coffee. After a couple of slurps he stared around the table again. “Not sure where to start, but I’m Jake Turner. Private investigator, ex-detective, Los Angeles Police Department, hired by Amy’s father to track his ex-son-in-law who absconded with several million dollars from the family business.”
Meg and her parents nodded and continued to drink and eat.
“I’m Denis Chalkley. AFP, special division,” Sarge said and directed his glance to Mr. Thompson. “I’m also assigned to the case.”
AFP? Jake pulled out a chair and sat. Amy’s pulse raced with a mix of anger and anxiety. What hadn’t they told her? This sounded serious. And why had Jake never mentioned he’d been a detective with LAPD? She’d thought he was some rookie cop. Kirstie stared at her grandfather with newfound admiration, then turn around and whispered something to her grandmother. Helen patted her hand and smiled. Assigned to the case, what did that mean? She thought Sarge had just come along to help out his buddy with tropical tracking.
“AFP, is that like American FBI?” Amy asked softly, her eyes narrowed.
Sarge nodded. “Australian Federal Police. I’m a federal agent.”
“Don’t see how this affects Bungumby,” Mr. Thompson said and took a lamington.
“Let’s wait, hear their story.” Mrs. Thompson put a hand gently on her husband’s arm. Another roll of thunder sounded in the distance. “Storm’s getting worse.”
About to take a bite of the lamington, Mr. Thompson glanced over at Jake. “You blokes were being followed. You brought the riff-raff out there, in here, with you.”
“Not exactly,” Jake said. “Your daughter, Meg, is connected.”
Meg looked up wide-eyed, innocent. “Me?”
Sarge nodded. “Your fiancé is a wanted international criminal. That’s why I’m on the case.”
Meg’s expression froze in disbelief. Amy felt sorry for her. Diana had been right, Meg knew nothing. Mr. Thompson must have inhaled a piece of coconut, he coughed and spluttered and Mrs. Thompson jumped up and hit him on the back. The man’s face was red and tears streamed down his cheeks.
“Put your arms above your head, Dad,” Meg said calmly. She stood behind him, directing her mother to sit down. Mr. Thompson did as he was told. “Take a deep breath. Okay, now stay calm, cough.” Meg slapped his back a few times. “Okay, you’ll be fine in a bit.” She walked over to the faucet and filled a glass with water and placed it in front of her father. “Take a few sips of water when you can.” She sat back down, all eyes on her. “Tell me everything you know.”
Jake did, and Meg never flinched. She glanced once at her parents and then turned to Amy. “I thought he was single at first. He told me he was. I’m very sorry.” She grimaced. “He told me only as the divorce proceedings started, that he’d ever been married. He said you were crazy and he needed me to go away for a while, for my safety. I had a job waiting in London, so I took it and waited for him.”
“You were in Europe, too, right?” Amy asked softly.
“Paris. We really thought we’d be…um…safe from you there. Gosh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Please, go on with your story.”
Meg’s lips started to tremble, but she continued. “I wanted to stay in France. It was the only place we were ever relaxed, but suddenly one night he started packing. He’d learned you were hot on his trail. He told me you’d been released from an institution and were still dangerous. He feared for both of our lives, but especially mine, and said we couldn’t get married right away because of that.”
What? I was insane? How dare he!
Amy sat forward and Jake reached over, placed his hand firmly on her forearm. She glared at him. No use venting her feelings on Meg, Jake could take the heat.