Protecting Her Son. Joan Kilby

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СКАЧАТЬ in the dishwasher, dismayed to see her hands trembling.

      Get a grip! Think. How had Nick gotten her phone number? Only a handful of people knew it—her mother, a couple of friends, Senior Sergeant John Forster at the Summerside Police Department and Jamie’s school. None of them would have given her number to a stranger.

      She ran her hands over her chilled arms. Nick had ways and means that were beyond those available to ordinary folk. He had a vast network of employees, spies and bodyguards. Plus an enormous extended Italian family who were loyal to every member.

      Paula spent the next ten minutes going around the small one-story house making sure every window and door was locked. She’d meant to have a deadbolt installed on the exterior door in the laundry room door but she’d had so many other things to take care of she’d put it off. Wincing, she pressed the flimsy button lock in. First chance she had…

      “Ready, Mum.” Jamie stood before her, baring his gap-toothed grin to show her he’d cleaned his teeth.

      Her heart melted. His freckled face was scrubbed shiny. His small shoulders were squared to bear the weight of his backpack. His Toy Story lunch box, which she’d packed the night before, was clutched tightly in his hand. He was still in his sock feet, one navy, one black, but there was no time for him to change.

      “Bring me your shoes. I’ll help you with the laces.”

      “I can do them myself.” Off he ran again, his lunch box banging against his side.

      If Nick had found out her phone number, he could find out her address.

      Paula pulled back the drapes and glanced around the quiet court. Across the street her neighbor was backing his car out of the driveway. Farther up the road some teens in the sage green and brown high school uniform were walking to school.

      Jamie returned and plumped himself down on the foyer tiles. He yanked his black leather shoes over his wrinkled socks. The tip of his tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he concentrated on laboriously tying his laces in a bow.

      “You’re doing great,” Paula said, her voice too tight to really be encouraging. “You’ve nearly got one. Do you want me to do the other?”

      “Nope.” He moved on to the other shoe, his small fingers clumsily manipulating the black laces.

      The phone rang again.

      Paula walked slowly to the doorway to the kitchen. What did he want from her? A chill flowed over her. Jamie?

      “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Jamie demanded, still struggling with his shoelaces.

      Her crepe-soled shoes squeaked slightly on the tiled floor. Her heart thudded in her chest. Her hand shook as she answered the phone for the third time that morning.

      “H-hello?”

      “Hello, darling,” her mother said in the cheery voice she used when she wanted to settle down for a good long chat.

      Paula’s knees gave way and she leaned her elbows on the counter for support. “Mum, I can’t talk now. Jamie’s school starts in ten minutes and I’m late for work. I’ll call you tonight.”

      * * *

      POLICE CONSTABLE RILEY HENNING opened his locker and took down his protective vest and checked over his equipment—baton, pepper spray, ammunition, handcuffs, police radio and a semi-automatic .38 Smith and Wesson—making sure every component was clean and operational.

      The order and discipline, the camaraderie of the guys at the station, reminded him of the army. He liked that. He also liked that pleasant leafy Summerside, his hometown, was light years away from bleak, dusty Afghanistan.

      His cell phone rang. Shift hadn’t started yet so he answered it. “Hello?”

      “Dude, did you get my email about the reunion in Canberra for the ANZAC Day parade?” Gazza, his old army buddy from the Special Air Service, said. “It’s less than two months away. If you want to get a cheap airline ticket, you should book now.”

      Riley sat on the bench in front of the row of lockers. He and Gazza had trained together and fought together. They were bonded as only soldiers in combat could be—like brothers. And yet he’d avoided answering that email.

      “Sorry, I meant to reply but it’s been hectic. I’m in the middle of moving houses. You know how it is.”

      The truth was he didn’t relish attending the annual ceremony to honor Australian soldiers. He’d been out of the SAS for nearly a year. His injuries from the suicide bomb explosion that sent him home had healed. A reunion would mean an inevitable swapping of stories, reminiscing about the dangerous and difficult tour of duty in Kabul. Maybe one day he’d be open to that, but right now he wanted to forget, to enjoy his new life.

      “So are you coming?” Gazza said. “The guys are all going to be there.” He paused briefly and his voice went quiet. “We’re worried about you, dude. After the bomb explosion you disappeared—didn’t answer anyone’s emails or phone calls.”

      “I’m fine.” Riley didn’t need to force the note of contentment. “Don’t worry about me. I’m healthy, happy. Glad to be back here among friends and family. Got a great job. I’m living the dream.”

      “Cool.” Gazza sounded doubtful. “But if you ever want to talk about stuff, I’m here. Kabul, the explosion, it’s a lot to process by yourself.”

      “To be honest, I don’t remember much about that so it doesn’t worry me—”

      The door to the locker room opened. Delinsky, Crucek, and Riley’s partner, Jackson arrived. Lockers clanged. Laughter and boisterous talk rang out.

      “Gaz, I’m going to have to call you back sometime. Shift is starting.”

      “Okay. But you think about ANZAC Day.”

      “Sure.” Riley said goodbye and hung up. He turned his phone off and put it away. Then he strapped on his vest, adjusting it so the weight settled evenly over his torso.

      “You’re always here first, Henning. Did you even go home last night?” Jackson, his partner, said good-naturedly. “What do you do with your time?”

      Jackson was forty-three-years old and comfortably married with the beginnings of a paunch and a receding hairline. No doubt he spent his evenings happily watching TV with his family.

      “I did some target practice at the shooting range last night, if you really want to know.” Riley closed his locker and spun the combination lock. “This morning I got up at six and went for a run. Early bird gets the perp. Anything else?”

      “Guys, I’m starting a football pool.” Crucek straddled the bench with a clipboard in hand. With his large nose, carroty hair and mottled complexion, he was no male model. “Who’s in?”

      “Put me down,” Riley said.

      “Me, too.” Delinsky, who had blond good looks and a buff body Jackson and Crucek could only envy, was stripped down to his boxers. “The new cop starts today. I saw her in John’s office as I came in.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ