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  Gemma got out and crossed the road. She was too far away to see or hear anything going on in the house, but noticed the lights going on downstairs.

  She looked at her watch: 8.20 pm; time to head into the city to Naomi’s place before it got too busy.

  Her mobile rang and she answered it, still watching the house.

  When she heard his voice, a tremor went through her body and she leaned against the stone retaining wall of the Tolmacheff property. ‘Steve! What’s happened?’

  ‘I’ve got to see you. Where are you?’

  ‘What is it?’ At the sound of his urgent voice, she pushed herself away from the wall, alert.

  ‘Can you meet me?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. When?’

  ‘Now. The cafe at Phoenix Bay?’

  Gemma didn’t hesitate. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

  As she drove off, she was overwhelmed by her memories of meeting Steve at the deserted, wintering cafe last year, with him pacing like a leopard, desperately remorseful about getting Julie Cooper pregnant, wishing things were otherwise. Julie hadn’t been pregnant, but by the time they found out, the damage was done. Gemma’s heart beat fast with agitation. I shouldn’t be feeling this, she told herself. Steve is in the past. Mike has stood by me and Rafi; I’m making our future with him. Steve let me down. She repeated the four words in her head like a mantra, but they couldn’t dispel the rush of memories of their six years together; the passionate love-making, the crazy jokes, the quarrels, the quiet, contented times just being together, their deep heart connection.

  Steve had sounded scared, perhaps even desperate, and her thoughts were a confused mix of anxiety about his safety and concern about how she was going to feel, seeing him again after all this time.

  She drove down the hill towards Phoenix Bay. It was that moment in the evening when the last of the squealing black cockatoos flying to roost intersect with the first of the bats winging silently in for a night’s work among the city’s palm trees and new figs. The night-shift handover.

  A few moments later, she parked near the path that ran down to the bay and the boat shed that had been converted into a cafe. She saw Steve’s figure in the distance and her heart began to race foolishly. She had to take deep breaths to steady herself before getting out of the car. A soft, chill wind had risen from the sea, and Gemma wrapped her coat around herself more closely.

  She could see Steve in his familiar stance, leaning back against the pier railing near the entrance of the cafe, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, wearing jeans and a windcheater. She hurried down to join him, trying to control the surging emotions and the smile that wanted to break out. Steve swung himself forward off the fence and came across to greet her. For a few seconds they looked at each other, both unsure about what to do next. Somehow, Gemma found herself in his arms, and she held him close, her lips against his neck, swamped by his familiar scent. Without even thinking about it, and feeling completely at home, she kissed him, then drew back in dismay. This was not appropriate behaviour, she thought, no matter how familiar and easy it seemed. She collected herself, asking, ‘Steve, what is it? What’s happening?’

  His arms stayed locked around her and she looked at him, searching his face for the answer. He seemed tired, his boyish good looks strained under the street light.

  ‘Gems, it’s so good to see you. How are you? How’s Rafi?’

  ‘We’re both fine,’ she said, swallowing. ‘And thanks for your financial contribution. I mean, you’re always on time.’

  He shrugged as if to dismiss her words. ‘The bank does that, Gems.’

  ‘But what’s this about? And how are you?’

  ‘Pretty ordinary. And I’m feeling lousier because of what I’ve got to tell you.’

  ‘You’re frightening me. Are you ill or something?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing like that.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It’s about Lorraine.’

  Gemma felt her heart clench in fear and remembered pain. Lorraine Litchfield, the glamorous widow of crime boss Terry Litchfield, had been jailed some time back. Steve had worked with her in an undercover operation, adopting the role of her new boyfriend with Lorraine’s complicity, together setting up a drug sting that had netted several big criminals and later, Lorraine herself.

  ‘If you only knew how often I’ve kicked myself for having crossed the line with that woman. I must have been crazy. Every time I think of her, I want to rewrite history.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself,’ Gemma said softly as the deep regret bit. ‘At least you didn’t get her pregnant.’

  It was supposed to be a joke but it fell over dead. ‘I’m the one who was crazy, not letting up about it, going on and on with my stupid jealousy,’ she continued.

  Her regret sharpened. Was the break-up my fault? she wondered. Or do I just tell myself that so that I can feel some sort of perverse control over it all?

  They looked at each other and a rueful smile played on Steve’s lips. ‘We both misbehaved, Gems.’

  ‘We had something good, Steve.’

  ‘I didn’t help any. But I’m not here to rake over that.’ In the silence between them, the sea surged in long luminous breakers, a low surf sweeping up the beach in scalloped wavelets beyond the pier.

  ‘Lorraine Litchfield. She’s wangled an early release,’ Steve said in a low voice. ‘I now have a fair idea how she did it. Conspiracy to murder is a serious charge, but she’s out already, which means—’

  ‘—she’s cut a deal,’ Gemma finished. ‘She’s traded something.’

  ‘Yeah. And I’m pretty sure that what she’s traded is me. A mate called me earlier. He’d been in on a conversation with a guy who works with the Police Integrity Commission. Lorraine’s been talking to them; she’s made a sworn statement and she’s given up a couple of the big crims. She used to hang round her husband’s meetings with the big boys, serving drinks and flirting, and all the time she was keeping records of what was going on – concealed camera and mike.’

  Insurance, Gemma thought as Steve continued.

  ‘My mate overheard the Police Integrity guys describing someone they’re about to charge – an undercover cop who worked with Lorraine in a drug-bust operation two years ago. That’s got be me. I’m the guy he was describing.’

  ‘But Steve, that was a legitimate operation. You were meant to work with Lorraine.’

  ‘That’s not the problem. There’s supposed to be a video of me taking bribes from George Fayed’s cousin, Raimon. He and Lorraine are a very hot item now. She left her last boyfriend and attached herself to Raimon.’

  ‘Raimon Fayed?’ Gemma said, shocked. ‘He’s the charmer who threw acid in his ex-wife’s face!’

  ‘Lorraine probably supplied the acid,’ Steve said bitterly. ‘They’re made for each other, those two. His ex-wife was a decent woman.’

  ‘How come Fayed isn’t in prison? He should be serving fifteen years.’

  ‘One of his bodyguards took the rap for him and confessed to the acid throwing. Fayed had discovered he was an informant for the Feds, so it was take the rap and be looked after in prison or he would publish this information and the guy wouldn’t have lasted twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Steve, we need to get them both off the streets.’

  ‘Lorraine lost all her money when her late husband’s property was confiscated as being the proceeds of crime. So she made a beeline for a rich and powerful benefactor, and Raimon Fayed is crazy about her. Totally smitten. For the moment, at least. He provides the cash. She provides the – well, what women like Litchfield provide: sex and a lot of expenses. How often does a fat, balding ex-jailbird get to flaunt a gorgeous blonde on his arm?’

  ‘More often than you’d think,’ Gemma said. ‘Steve, this is bad. You’re about to be charged with corruption. If it sticks …’

  ‘If it sticks, it’s the end of my career. And the beginning of a jail sentence. It already looks like I’m at the end of the road.’
/>   ‘But you can’t let that happen! It might be just talk, Steve. You know how cops gossip and how rumours spread.’

  Steve shook his head. ‘This isn’t just a rumour. She hates my guts. She threatened me and she’d like to see me dead.’

  Gemma took a deep breath. ‘Did you take bribes from Raimon Fayed?’

  Steve shuffled impatiently. ‘Hell, no. But I used to meet him and we’d trade information. He sometimes gave me things – photographs of people, addresses. Often the information was in envelopes. So it’s possible there is video footage of me taking something from him. Lorraine’s statement says she saw me count out thousands of dollars after a meeting with Fayed. Which is total bullshit.’

  Gemma swore. ‘What are you going to do? How can you fight this thing? You’re going to have to find out what sort of a case they’ve got. Who’s going to believe Lorraine Litchfield, even if she did give a sworn statement?’

  ‘Fayed’s backing up her story. He’s besotted with her, plus he doesn’t have anything to lose. If he can help bring down a corrupt cop he’s got everything to gain. Like a lighter sentence next time. It’s in his interest to perjure himself about me.’

  ‘But he’s a career criminal! Who’s going to believe him?’

  ‘Better men than me have gone down because of this sort of situation. Gems, I’m in deep shit.’

  ‘I’ll do everything I can,’ said Gemma.

  Steve shook his head. ‘I didn’t come here for that, Gemma. I’m here to warn you. I’m worried now that she’s going to come after you as well – again. She didn’t get you last time, but now she’s out and boiling for revenge.’

  He stepped forward and took her hands. ‘I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you because of me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Steve. I know how to look after myself.’

  As Gemma’s mind raced ahead of itself, trying to find solutions to a situation that hadn’t even happened yet, ugly memories surfaced … Steve acting undercover to trap a powerful criminal, taking on the role of Lorraine’s boyfriend … Lorraine becoming infatuated with him … The humiliating confrontation between the two women: Lorraine with her flawless skin and big blue eyes, big blonde hair, her perfect figure hugged by her powder-blue angora suit, balancing on impossible silver high heels, wielding a Colt M1911; Gemma dishevelled, face streaked with dirt, bloodless lips, still pale with shock from the way she’d been abducted by Lorraine’s bodyguards, forced to stand unsteadily in Lorraine’s mother-of-pearl encrusted living room while Lorraine aimed the gun and shrieked at Steve to choose between them … Steve’s response as he desperately tried to save Gemma’s life and his own: ‘Baby, look in the mirror. Look at her. Then look at you. There’s no contest. She means nothing to me.’ Lorraine lowering the M1911 and Gemma’s heart almost stopping.

  Gemma looked at Steve on the pier and remembered Lorraine’s later words, after realising the depth of Steve’s relationship with Gemma: ‘You’re dead, bitch!’

  Her later attempt on Gemma’s life had been thwarted, but now she was back, with vengeance on her mind.

  ‘She’s trying to destroy me,’ said Steve, ‘and it’s a dead certainty she’ll be coming after you too.’ He looked away out to sea and then back to Gemma. ‘This could be bad, Gems. Really bad.’

  His mobile rang. He answered it, grunted, and rang off. ‘I’ve got to go. There’s a legal guy I’ve finally tracked down and he has time to meet me tonight. I’ll grab a cab near the shops.’

  ‘Let me give you a lift. I’m heading to Kings Cross.’

  ‘But Rafi—’ Steve began.

  ‘Mike’s there and I’ll be home in an hour or so. Rafi will be fine.’

  ‘Mike’s a good man,’ said Steve quietly. ‘You’re better off without me.’

  She almost objected, but caught herself in time.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gemma and Steve were silent during the drive to the Cross. Steve’s familiar bulk beside her in the passenger seat aroused all sorts of memories as AC/DC belted out another song. She turned the music up to try to force these memories from her mind.

  Steve’s hand shot forward to turn it down and he faced her, his features soft with tender regret. ‘Gemma, oh Gems, I wish—’

  ‘Don’t,’ she said, turning the music up again.

  Baroque Occasions appeared no different from the other terrace houses in the quiet road below Victoria Street at Potts Point – apart from the red light over the front door.

  Gemma reversed into a parking spot a few doors down.

  ‘Where do you need to go now? I can drop you somewhere if you want to wait.’

  Steve shook his head. ‘This is fine. I can get a cab from here, no problem.’

  As they were getting out of the car, the brothel’s owner, Naomi, turned the corner, her hands full of shopping bags. When she saw them her face lit up and she hurried across the road. ‘Guys! Gemma and Stevie! Great to see you again.’

  ‘You too, Naomi,’ said Gemma as Naomi leaned the bags against the fence and threw her arms around her, kissing her on both cheeks, then giving Steve a slightly more restrained kiss. She stepped back and collected her shopping, Steve taking the heaviest bag. ‘Come in. This is really good timing. Today’s been pretty quiet.’ As she unlocked the door, she turned back and smiled over her shoulder. ‘And it’s just great seeing you two together again. I knew you guys would work it out. I just knew it!’

  ‘I won’t come in,’ said Steve. ‘I’ve got to get a cab.’

  ‘Call for one from here,’ said Naomi, smiling. ‘The cabbies know this address well. Come on, Steve. Have a drink while you’re waiting.’

  Steve hesitated then followed Gemma as Naomi led the way inside, past the comfortable reception area and the small bar, down the narrow hall to the kitchen at the back.

  ‘Naomi,’ Gemma began, as Naomi put the shopping on the table and started pulling out tins of soup. ‘It’s not quite like that. Actually, we’re – we’re not together. I’m living with Mike Moody. I’m just giving Steve a lift.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Naomi, pausing as she put a carton of milk in the fridge. ‘I knew about Mike, but I thought – you know – that eventually …’

  ‘Naomi,’ said Steve, ‘maybe you’ve heard something about Lorraine Litchfield. Where she’s living now?’

  ‘Last thing I heard, she and that brute Raimon Fayed were thick as thieves.’ She wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘We were all very happy when Terry Litchfield died and Lorraine was jailed, but somehow she’s managed to get an early release. If I hear anything interesting I’ll tell you, Gemma, and you can pass it on to Steve. Okay?’

  ‘Good.’ Gemma nodded.

  ‘I’m having a chardy to celebrate your visit,’ said Naomi, opening the fridge and taking a wine glass from a cupboard. ‘Anyone else want one?’

  ‘I’d better not. I’m on the clock.’

  ‘And I’m going,’ said Steve. ‘But thanks, Naomi. I can find my own way out.’

  Gemma watched him leave and heard the front door close.

  ‘Oh hell, Gemma,’ said Naomi. ‘I’m sorry about that. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much! You just looked so – so right with each other.’

  Gemma sighed. ‘There were always problems, Naomi. Steve just isn’t the type to make a commitment. He’s always said he couldn’t picture himself with a family.’

  ‘Has he seen the baby?’

  ‘He saw him at the hospital the night he was born. That’s when he found out he’s Rafi’s father.’

  ‘You mean you didn’t tell him?’

  ‘I was about to – once. I was just about to tell him when Julie Cooper interrupted me to show her engagement ring. That kind of took the wind out of my sails, so I shut up.’

  ‘Send him a photograph of his son. He’d like that.’

  ‘Yes, I think he would. So, how have you been? How is the fine arts course going?’

  ‘Not bad. I got two distinctions last term. I’m deferring this year. Uni
life takes up a lot of time and this place needs a lot of work.’

  ‘Ever think of meeting a nice John and settling down?’

  ‘Like you?’ Naomi laughed. ‘Except you met a nice Mike. Nice Johns are thin on the ground in my line of work. Although there is one guy who’s pretty sweet on me. But you know my rules: if it’s friendship you want, then it’s no sex. And that means I lose a paying customer!’

  Gemma laughed. ‘I think your mother had the same attitude.’

  ‘She did. And she saved enough money to buy this place.’

  ‘She was a smart woman,’ said Gemma, remembering Shelley and her spunky spirit. ‘Naomi, have you heard anything about some guy who targets girls?’ she asked. ‘Spikes their drinks and then takes them somewhere and attacks them. There’s no sexual interference, at least in the case we know about. He uses an instrument, could be some kind of syringe. Just leaves a puncture mark.’

  ‘Is he infecting them with something? HIV?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. The victim’s had the first blood test. We won’t know for sure until the second one. But get this: while he carries out the attack, he wears vampire teeth.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Dead serious. Angie McDonald brought a girl around to see me. She’d been assaulted by this man. I saw the mark and the bruising on her neck. What started out like a date-rape story ended up like Dracula. I was wondering if you’ve heard of any similar attacks.’

  ‘We’ve had our fair share of ugly mugs, but vampires …?’ Naomi’s voice trailed off, then she frowned, putting her glass down on the kitchen table. ‘Hang on, one of the kids did say something weird. Last week, something to do with a vampire. I just thought the ice was getting to her.’

  ‘When did it happen? Did she talk about an assault?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t take all that much notice about the details. It was after our precinct meeting – Angie was there, and the sex-workers outreach – and we were having coffee and biscuits.’

  ‘Can you remember anything more?’

  ‘I’d just started chatting to this kid when she told me the story. I presumed she’d been off her face at the time of the attack, and I kind of switched off.’