Southern Sunset: Book One of 44 South Page 2

  So, now I had more footprints than I could count and with a sense of chagrin I realised mine, too, were added to the mess.

  Christ Almighty, I was regressing and I’d only been here for three weeks. Imagine how far back I’d go in my training if I stayed my intended twelve month stint?

  I shook my head and covered the body with a blanket from my car, then started walking along the tree line, staring at the ground for further evidence. Praying our ineptitude hadn’t stuffed things up completely.

  Rural copping was a damn sight different from city work. If the terrain didn’t get you, nature would. How such a beautiful part of the country could be such a challenge, I did not know.

  I came to a stop at the edge of the band of trees and stared off down the long road unable to see anything stand out against the wire fencing. Turning around, I marched back towards the body and headed off in the other direction.

  Twenty minutes later I had nothing. And Mac still hadn’t returned with the doc.

  I made my way back to the body and crouched down, lifting the cover off and trying to see the victim with new eyes.

  “What brought you here?” I said, feeling the heated breath from my words coat my eyelashes.

  The dead talk. At least, they usually talk to me. But this guy was silent.

  Male. Forties. Greying hair. Trim. Well dressed. No gumboots. I huffed out a silent laugh.

  No identification.

  No car.

  No signs of injury.

  On Red Tussock Station land.

  Location might be coincidental, but it did mean that Drake couldn’t head this investigation up. It was going to be all on me. And I was an outsider. An Aucklander in the South Island.

  I ran a hand through my hair and sighed.

  Then just about peed my pants when a hard voice said, from out of fucking nowhere, “What the hell are you doing on my land?”

  Chapter 2

  She Smiled

  Luke

  The woman spun around; a startled possum, wide-eyed look on her face. A face I knew I’d seen somewhere before, but for the life of me, couldn’t place. She composed herself immediately; a trait I was sure said a lot about the person behind the smile.

  It was fake. That smile. I couldn’t see it in her eyes. Cool blue stared back at me assessing. Wary. I’d thrown her off guard. Intentional, of course.

  She ran a hand through the fringe of her hair; the long blonde stands tied back in a tight ponytail. It accentuated her high cheekbones and the healthy flush of blood to her pale skin. My eyes inadvertently swept down the side of her neck, spotting the telltale signs of a thundering heartbeat.

  But to look at her now, you wouldn’t know she’d been startled.

  “You sound like your brother,” she said. “Look a bit like him, too.”

  “Which one?”

  A delicate eyebrow lifted infinitesimally. Her smile widened. This time it reached her eyes.

  “Matt Drake,” she offered. “Senior Sergeant of Twizel Police Station.”

  I stared at her a moment longer and then swore softly. Of course, the new police officer. That’s why she seemed familiar.

  “You’re not in uniform,” I observed. “You’re also trespassing.”

  “Early morning call out, Mr Drake,” she announced, all business.

  And suddenly she became intriguing.

  She turned away, placing her back and well defined arse toward me - I’d always loved a woman in figure-hugging jeans - then stopped by a blanket covering something on the ground a few feet away.

  It’s strange what you hear when blood rushes through your temples. The thud-thud-thud of your pulse and the echo of all other absent sound. I took a step towards her. Towards what I assumed was a body. My mouth dry. My mind whirring.

  I didn’t let an ounce of discomfort show.

  “Who is it?” I demanded.

  She looked up at me from under pale eyelashes; assessing again. “You said this is your land?” she asked. “You mean Red Tussock Station land?”

  “Yes,” I clipped, trying to identify the body by the cut of the trouser leg and the style of the shoe poking out from beneath the blanket. “Drake family land,” I added.

  “Anybody missing from your staff, Mr Drake?”

  “My staff?” I repeated, more shaken than I’d like to admit.

  “Yes. Your staff. Anyone not show for work this morning?”

  My eyes finally snapped back to her face, disconnecting me from the morbid scene in the grass.

  “Red Tussock Station is 50,000 hectares in size,” I pointed out. “It employs over one hundred people. I can hardly be aware of every single person at this hour of the morning.”

  She held my stare, not backing down. Her body was rigid, but her hands were relaxed at her sides. I could feel my jaw tensing, but the woman before me simply smiled.

  Despite the situation, I found myself captivated by that fake smile.

  “Would you recognise a member of your staff, Mr Drake?” she asked pleasantly.

  I didn’t trust her tone, though, one little bit.

  “Possibly,” I admitted. There were parts of our enterprise overseen by others. I would have liked to think I knew all our employees, but shearers were seasonal and transient, and the new vineyard to the west was Justin’s baby, not mine.

  “All right, then,” she announced and suddenly pulled back the blanket without warning.

  I blinked down at the man who lay at our feet and thought, bizarrely, that he looked like he was sleeping. I almost voiced the observation aloud. I took a step closer, aware the woman was watching me most attentively, and then sucked in a breath of air through my nose.

  “You know him,” she said; not a question. I schooled my features and stepped back from the scene.

  “I recognise him,” I admitted. “He’s not an employee.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A stock agent. James Whiting. He works for iLivestock.”

  “iLivestock?” she asked, incredulously. I smiled. It was a ridiculous name. I completely agreed.

  “New kid on the block,” I said dryly.

  “I get that,” she quipped, making me wonder whether her introduction to Mackenzie Country had been smooth sailing or not.

  I guessed having to deal with a dead body couldn’t exactly be called smooth in anyone’s book.

  “Why is he on your land, Mr Drake?” she asked all of a sudden, ruining any calm I’d managed to reclaim. “Has he visited with you or your staff recently?”

  I didn’t like where this was going.

  “It’s big land,” I said a little too defensively. “And the road is right there.” I nodded towards the state highway. “I’d hardly conclude that his presence here is a connection to Red Tussock Holdings.”

  “Did you meet with him, Mr Drake?” she asked sweetly.

  I wanted to wipe that fake smile off her face. Replace it with something real. Wrap my hand around that perky little pony tail and tug hard.

  Jesus, what was I? Twelve?

  Only twelve year olds didn’t carry on the pony-tail-tugging thought to where my mind was currently going.

  “Yes,” I said coldly. “As has every station within a five hundred kilometre radius, at a guess.”

  “Guesses are good like that,” she said. I frowned. She smiled. My eyes quite inappropriately homed in on her mouth and my imagination took me to further places it shouldn’t. “Vague,” she clarified.

  My body stilled. My mind cleared. I was granite when I spoke again.

  “I have a station to run, Ms…?” I couldn’t remember her name.

  “Sergeant Blackmore,” she said, pulling a card out of the rear pocket of her jeans and handing it to me. It was warm to touch. My thumb swiped over her name on the cardstock absently. “I’m sure I’ll be in touch,” she added.

  “We’ve a wedding today,” I advised. “Perhaps tomorrow would be better.”

  And why was I making this easy for her? She’d clearl
y jumped to conclusions. And I’d clearly lost my mind.

  Because I wanted to see her again. I wanted to test that smile. Reshape it. Mould it. Own it.

  “Congratulations,” she said.

  “I’m not getting married,” I replied with a shudder… and she laughed.

  It didn’t matter where we were. What lay discarded at our side. It didn’t matter that she was investigating a suspicious death on my family’s land. Or that I’d only just met her.

  When she laughed nothing else mattered.

  But her.

  I took an involuntary step toward her. Completely unintentional. A warped desire to get closer to that effervescent sound. That chameleon smile.

  She stepped back, hand on her hip, above a holstered weapon.

  Fucking hell, she was armed.

  “New Zealand Police don’t carry firearms,” I pointed out.

  “Some do,” she said, steadily.

  From what Matt had said, only detectives, Armed Offenders Squad members, and certain highly trained swing staff; those police officers who carried out secondary roles, such as hostage negotiators or undercover cops.

  Which one was she?

  I forced myself to relax, to show I meant no threat. It took a long time for her hand to move off the butt of her gun.

  “I’m afraid,” she said, “I will have to speak to your staff.”

  “Tomorrow,” I repeated. No one was going to interrupt Finn’s wedding.

  She shook her head, her fringe flying into her eyes. She brushed at it absently.

  “And your guests,” she announced.

  “Like bloody hell you are,” I snapped.

  She damn well smiled.

  And I was across the distance between us in the next heartbeat.

  In a pulse thundering, head pounding, ridiculously racing heartbeat.

  My eyes darted to her pony tail.

  Her hand went for her gun.

  Chapter 3

  Twizel Time

  Maggie

  What the hell was he doing? I stepped back, reached for my gun, when he shouted out, “Wait!”

  I stilled. He stilled. Mere inches apart. Both of us were breathing rapidly.

  “My apologies,” he growled. He didn’t mean it. He was trying to salvage the situation. Back peddle out of the quagmire he’d just stepped into.

  “Step away,” I ordered. “Now, Mr Drake.”

  He raised his hands and took a slow step backwards. Somehow my gun had made it into my palm and was pointed right at him.

  When was the last time I’d drawn my gun?

  “What the hell was that?” I demanded.

  He frowned, but didn’t reply.

  “What did you think you’d accomplish?” I asked.

  He let out a slow breath of air and visibly relaxed. He’d done that before. Willed his body into submission. Made a show of appearing calm. This man was controlled. It was written all over his demeanour. In charge of his body and everything around him.

  And yet, he’d just acted out of hand.

  “It was not my intention to frighten you,” he said, and I could almost believe it was contrite.

  “I wasn’t frightened.”

  “Alarm then.”

  “I wasn’t alarmed.”

  “Come on, Sergeant,” he drawled. “You’re aiming a firearm at my head.”

  I lowered the weapon and scowled at him. His lips twitched, eyes shining brightly.

  “There,” he said. “That’s better. At least it’s not the fake smile.”

  I glared at him, but returned my gun to its holster. He was right, before. New Zealand Police generally don’t carry firearms. If they do, they’re locked up in the boot of their car more often than not. But there was something about Twizel that had made me wear my Glock more than I’d have liked.

  This place was extraordinarily beautiful.

  And downright peculiar. Even the farmers acted strange.

  “I’m not sure what you’re playing at, Mr Drake,” I said calmly. Relieved I was sounding calm at all.

  He unsettled me, this man. Quite aside from the fact I was investigating a dead body on his property. There was something about him that drew the eye. Something… intriguing. Something unexpected.

  “I’m not playing at anything, Sergeant.”

  I wasn’t convinced. This just became more complicated.

  “What time is the ceremony?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest and watching as his eyes followed the movement almost hungrily.

  His gaze snapped back up to my face. I saw no self-deprecation in the deep brown hue. He knew I’d spotted his interest and he was owning it.

  “You’re not on the guest list,” he said steadily.

  “Of course not,” I agreed. “When will the festivities end?”

  He sighed. “I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?”

  I smiled. He blinked.

  “You don’t want to get rid of me, Mr Drake,” I declared.

  “I don’t?”

  I shook my head. “Pretty soon, I’m going to be your best friend.”

  He huffed out a laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

  I dropped the grin and looked him firmly in the eyes.

  “A body has been found on your land, Drake. No immediate explanation as to how it got there is apparent. You know the dead man. You’ve met with him. If you want to clear Red Tussock from the investigation, you’ll open the Station’s doors and welcome me in.”

  “How the hell does Matt put up with you?” he demanded.

  This time my smile was humourless. Senior Sergeant Matt Drake had been a fleeting part of my daily life here in Twizel so far. There one minute, gone the rest of the day. Just another mystery to add to the shit pile that was accumulating around me since I arrived in this place.

  “What time should I call by?” I said, instead of admitting any of that.

  Drake assessed me evenly; no sign of anger or discomfort on his impassive face. Dark eyes stared into mine. A frisson of something inexplicable raced down my arms. I rubbed them absently and caught the slight lift to the corner of his lips.

  That was it. The extent of his reaction. Mr calm and controlled was back.

  “I might have to start calling you Mr Hyde,” I muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Dr Jekyll?” I suggested.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I smiled. “Nothing, Mr Drake.”

  “Luke,” he offered. “Call me Luke.” I blinked up at him. “If I’m opening my doors to you, Sergeant, we might as well be on a first name basis.”

  And then he turned on his heel and walked away.

  I watched him. I couldn’t not watch him. I was still watching him when Mac turned up with Doc Harding.

  “Damn strange business this,” the doctor announced upon seeing the body uncovered.

  “Any idea how he died, Doc?” I asked.

  “Well now,” he said, “that’s gonna take some doing.”

  I raised my eyebrows at Mac. He shrugged his shoulders and stuffed another piece of gum into his mouth. His probationary constable stood quietly beside him. At first glance, you’d think she was out of place. But that was Annmarie. I’d never met anyone who could assess a situation faster. I was sure she’d taken one look at Senior Constable Andrew McQueen eighteen months ago and immediately known he was a jackass.

  She stood on the fringes only because she knew it was the safest place to be.

  “What do you need to find a cause of death?” I asked the doctor.

  “Get him back to the surgery and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Nothing immediately stands out?” I pressed. “No wounds? No evidence of poisoning? No external indicators of foul play?”

  “Where do you think you are, Sergeant?” the doctor demanded. “This isn’t Auckland City, you know.”

  I smiled, well aware - now - that it would look fake.

  “Just find me a cause of death, d
octor.” Do your fucking job, more like. “And we can shut the case.”

  “Not everything has to be done in a nanosecond, Sergeant,” the doctor complained, pushing to his feet and heading towards the police car.

  “Where’s he going now?” I asked no one.

  “Won’t do no good to rush him, Sergeant,” Mac advised, smacking his gums loudly. “Brilliance takes its time, it does.”

  “Brilliance, my lily white butt,” I muttered, striding off after the doctor.

  Annmarie slipped into step beside me, chuckling.

  “You get used to it,” she said.

  “Used to what?” I queried.

  “Twizel Time,” she explained with a shrug of her shoulders. “Everything happens when it happens in Twizel. And not a moment too soon.”

  I sighed, noting the doctor was in fact grabbing a body bag from the rear of Mac’s ute.

  “You weren’t originally from around here, were you, Constable?” I said.

  “No, ma’am. I’m a Timaru girl. Born and bred.”

  “Bigger than Twizel,” I offered, watching the doctor and Mac position the body, the black bag flapping in the wind and twisting in on itself. There was a lot of swearing.

  “But not as big as Auckland,” she murmured.

  “No,” I said. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  It’s why I came down here, wasn’t it? To get away. But Death has a talent for finding you. No matter where you run to or try to hide. It found me in Auckland.

  It had found me down here.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever get away.

  Chapter 4

  You Shut Up

  Luke

  The house was in chaos, but the type of chaos I was used to as a child. Mum yelled for something from the kitchen. Justin shouted down from the attic about colour perspectives or light levels, or fuck knows what. Dad sat on the back deck and smoked a cigar.

  “Care to join me, son?” he asked, his voice gravelly from years of hard work out in the elements and the occasional celebratory cigar.

  “Is Finn about?” I asked, shaking my head.