“Be careful what you wish for…”
Excerpt from chapter 1 (© 1999)
…Her eyelids
fluttered; started to open, and rising out of the chair with a swiftness that
toppled it backwards he cradled her in his arms; felt the planes of his face
turn to granite at the fear he saw mirrored in hers.
Dear God…she’s still there. Still in her unit.
Naked to the
waist. A pistol jammed against her temple. Still at that bastard’s mercy,
knowing there was no mercy to be
found at the hands of a man like that. Knowing, too, that he meant to kill
her—that he meant to kill them both. But not until he’d carried out a plan he’d
had four years to brood on: a plan he’d spelt out in sickening detail as
MacCauley lay at his feet. Trussed up tighter than a Christmas Turkey, his
mouth taped even tighter. Forced to listen…to watch…while that psycho prick set
to work on his wife.
“I’ll make it up
to you, Emily girl. If it takes me the rest of my life I promise I’ll make it
up to you…”
The thought in the
back of his mind remained unspoken. To give it voice was to breathe life into
it, to bring it within the realms of possibility. But it was there just the
same. Insidious. Ugly. Terrifying. That maybe he’d never get the chance to make
it up to her. That maybe he’d left it too late.
And as her nurse
knocked on the door, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, right on cue
the most important thing in his life slumped back into unconsciousness.
“Here you go, Mr MacCauley. I’m
afraid I didn’t have any luck finding you a better chair; they’re all being
used at the moment. But this should help keep you on your toes.”
Phillipa Lawrence placed her offering on the bedside
cabinet beside him, and turned to face him, a question in her eyes. “Did I see
what I think I saw? Was your wife conscious when I came in just now?”
MacCauley nodded.
“Mmmm.” She walked
to the foot of the bed and picked up her patient’s chart. “Did she say
anything?”
“No…I don’t think
she even knew who I was. Anyway, she was only awake for a couple of seconds.”
Emily’s nurse
wrote swiftly for a moment before returning the chart to its position. “Still,
that’s a good sign. Look, I probably shouldn’t say so. We’re not supposed to
hand out opinions on a patient’s prognosis: that’s the doctor’s domain, but
I’ve got a feeling about this. You wait—by tea time tonight, if not sooner,
she’ll be sitting up in bed wanting to know when she can go home.”
MacCauley raised
his eyes from Emily’s face; for the first time noticed the name badge pinned to
the pale blue uniform.
“Thanks…Phillipa.
Thanks for the coffee, too. I’m Mike. Mac if you like. It’s less of a mouthful
than MacCauley.”
“You’re
welcome…Mac.”
Neither of them
had a chance to say more. The loudspeaker in the corridor blared a summons to
the main emergency ward. Holy Mary,
mother of God, he prayed as
Phillipa rushed from the room. Let her be right…and let it be sooner than
tea time.
It was Emily’s
only way out: her only escape from the nightmare, and it was no use asking
himself how he knew. He’d never understood the workings of that psychic thread
that had bound them together since childhood; in fact, he’d done his damnedest
to deny its existence for eleven years. It had been a matter of
self-preservation to begin with—a way to survive the hurt she’d inflicted when
she’d stopped answering his letters. Even when she’d come back into his life
he’d kept part of himself guarded against her—
“But not anymore,
Emily girl. Not after what happened this morning.”
MacCauley’s words
echoed back from the walls of the room: the only response he’d be getting any
time soon. Suddenly his eyes were wet with tears.
The heavy tread of
a pair of boots, accompanied by the daintier click of what sounded like court
shoes intruded into his thoughts: an intrusion he tried to ignore until he
realized they were headed his way. Who the hell could it be? Not Phillipa, that
was for sure—her shoes were
practically soundless.
As if to answer
his question, two heads popped around the doorway: Joseph Salvatore
Angelucci—Joe, if you wanted to stay on his good side—and Annie, beautiful,
brown-eyed Annie, her belly standing out proudly in front of her.
He watched Joe’s
wife bounce toward him with that cheeky little strut she’d made her own: the
one that reminded him of a little brown sparrow, an impression enhanced by
olive-gold skin and hair as brown as her eyes.
“Hello, Mac. How’s
she doing?” She leaned forward to give him a darting kiss on the cheek. “We
didn’t know if you’d want anyone around yet, but I couldn’t keep Joe away
another minute.”
“Who couldn’t keep
who away, woman? I practically had to tie you to the bed this afternoon to stop
you from rushing over here.”
“That was only so
you could have your wicked way with me,” Annie said with a grin as her husband
placed an enormous comforting paw on MacCauley’s shoulder.
“Lies. All lies.
Don’t listen to the woman, Mac.”
MacCauley wasn’t
fooled by the light-hearted banter. It was part of the Australian psyche to
make light of life’s darker moments: as though a joke held the power to banish
hardship, even death itself. Anyway, if he’d needed confirmation that the other
man cared, his partner’s next words provided it.
“To tell the
truth, we’ve been worried. You know what it’s like when you ring up hospitals;
they’re not exactly a mine of information over the phone. I know it’s a bit
early for visitors, but we had to come down and find out for ourselves. How are
things really, mate?”
MacCauley looked
up; took in the kind, rugged face of the man in front of him, a man who’d
become a hell of a lot more than his partner. He’d become a friend.
Eyes as brown as
Annie’s. A nose in a class of its own; well, maybe you could call it Roman if
you stretched your imagination to the limit. Not what you’d call a handsome
face, though you knew you could depend on the man it belonged to.
The man who’d
saved his life this morning, and not for the first time. He’d even taken a
bullet for him once. This time, though, Joe had outdone himself: he’d saved
Emily too, and for that MacCauley would be forever in his debt.
“Well, she’s been
unconscious most of the time. Concussion, they tell me; moderate to severe,
whatever that’s supposed to mean. I’m still waiting on the results of some
tests. But I think she’s going to be all right, Joe. She’s even opened her eyes
a few times since I’ve been here…”
MacCauley’s voice
cracked and fell silent, and Annie stepped into the breach. “No need to worry,
Mac. I know she’ll be fine. The moment I heard what had happened, I dropped in
at St Stephen’s and said a prayer for her.”
Her eyes were
calm, confident—as if there were no other possible outcome—and something about
that confidence was unassailable. In the face of such faith, his fears seemed
suddenly foolish—but then God Himself would find it hard to say no to Annie, he
conceded with the start of a smile.
“Thanks, Annie. You
too, Joe…for everything.”
A lump rose in his
throat as he contemplated what that ‘everything’ encompassed, and he swallowed,
trying to clear it. “You know I’m leaving, don’t you? I’m out, mate, as soon as
my resignation takes effect. I threw it on the Chief’s desk this morning,
though I don’t know if he’s seen it yet. Not with all the other shit that went
down this morning.”
“Oh, he’s seen it
all right, sunshine. He wasn’t too bloody happy about it either. You know he
thinks you’re one of the best men he’s got.”
“Not anymore, Joe.
My heart’s not in it anymore. To be truthful, I’ve felt that way since Emily
gave me my marching orders—it just took me a while to admit it. I decided last
night I was quitting; that’s why I went into the office early, to type the damn
thing out. And after what happened this morning…”
“Well I think it’s
the smartest thing you’ve done in a long time,” Annie chimed in. She cast her
husband a defiant look as he turned towards her, open-mouthed. “No. I’m not
saying, or even thinking you should follow suit, my love, but you know where to
draw the line.”
“What are you on
about, woman?”
“Don’t you ‘woman’
me, Joseph Angelucci. You must admit Mac went a bit over the top. I know it’s
normal for a cop to want to see the bad guys get what’s coming to them, but he
had to go and turn it into some sort of personal crusade—”
Annie stopped,
remembering those two bleak months after Emily had lost her baby. Did Mac know
how close his wife had come to suicide six months ago?
“At least you come
home to me every night—well, most of the time,” she continued, ignoring the
frown on her husband’s face. “You’re not always volunteering for assignments
that mean you’ll have to be away for weeks at a time.”
“Now how could I
do that? Who’d keep my feet warm in bed for me?”
The grin of
surrender that accompanied Joe’s words had Annie fooled for a moment—a
diversionary tactic, she realized an instant later when he tried to pull her
into his arms. But she wasn’t about to let herself be sidetracked. In spite of
the advanced state of her pregnancy she managed to evade her husband’s
manoeuvre.
“Mac was never
there when he was needed. According to Emily, he was never there, period. Oh, I
understand his need to avenge his sister; I’m just glad he’s caught on that a
man’s wife should be his first priority.”
She put her arms
around MacCauley to take the sting out of her next words, but he knew they were
coming. That nothing short of disaster—at the very least an earthquake, or
something of equal magnitude, would stop her saying them.
“You know we love
you, Mac, but we’re not blind to your faults. Let’s face it, you’ve been a
bastard to that girl.”
MacCauley’s mouth
curved in a rueful smile. Annie always had been one to speak her mind. How long
had it taken him to get used to her directness? To the way she stuck that cute
little nose of hers in where it wasn’t wanted; or that’s what he’d thought when
he’d first met her.
It wasn’t that,
though. Annie wanted the people she cared about to be as happy as she was, and
if it meant having to listen to some unpleasant truths about themselves first,
well, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made him take a long, hard
look at himself, and as usual, she was spot-on.
“Emily needs you
more than the police force does, Mac, and you need her too if you’re ever going
to be happy. You’ve got no idea how cross I was with the pair of you when I
heard you’d split up. You especially—I could have boxed your ears for being
stupid enough to walk out and leave the field clear for Geor—”
Annie bit off the
last word with a guilty glance at the bed; though if she’d thought better of
bringing that particular name into the conversation, MacCauley had no such
compunctions.
“You mean
George?” The prick who was engaged to my wife five years ago? Who had another
bloody shot at pinching her from me when he thought I was out of the way? “I don’t think you need to worry about
George.”
Annie’s face
reflected such a mixture of relief and bewilderment that MacCauley almost
laughed. He might have, if Emily had been awake to share the joke, or if Annie
hadn’t started speaking again.
“I had coffee with
Emily last week, and I could have sworn she said she had a date with him last
night—”
She eyed her
husband’s partner speculatively.
“—So what happened
to change things? Are you two back together, or what?”
A simple enough
question: a choice between yes, no and maybe. If Emily meant what she’d said
this morning, then the answer was yes; though it might be a bit soon to start
congratulating himself. Their fourth anniversary was only three days away—the
first of June—but until this morning he wouldn’t have placed any bets on his
chances of making it to number five.
Annie was right.
He had been a bastard.
(End of excerpt)
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