Unwelcome Protector Page 3

  'What about?'

  'About why you were trying to escape from the company you work for.'

  'I already told you, I wasn't escaping.’

  'You were sure in a big hurry to leave the place.'

  She went silent, radiating a coolness he could feel. She seemed to be thinking hard. Was she thinking how to enlist his help or how to take advantage of him? Could he trust her enough to build a story around her and use her as a reliable source? In his experience, sources in her position were generally untrustworthy unless acting in complete desperation. A cynical view, he'd been told, but based on years of experience. And while Ada Byron appeared to be acting with great risk to herself for reasons still unclear, he sensed no desperation in her. In fact, beneath her prickly exterior was a calm and resolute control.

  They passed through the quiet streets of Katoomba, past an occasional late night café and straying pedestrian. It was as if the town had decided to retire for the evening and was allowing the strangers in the darkened vehicle to pass unhindered before residents finally bedded down for the night.

  Marlowe broke the silence. 'I want to do a short piece to camera about how I rescued you.'

  'You didn't rescue me,' she said in a quick, heated response. 'You damn near ran me off the road!'

  'You're exaggerating a little, aren't you? Slap is my witness.'

  The cameraman spoke from the back seat. 'Actually, the lady might have a point, boss,' he said mildly. 'You did come off the side of the road pretty quickly.'

  'Thanks for your support,' Alex said drily.

  The cameraman extended his hand between the front seats. 'Name's Tony,' he said. 'Pleased to meet you.'

  Ada shook his hand. 'Why does he call you Slap?'

  'He has a low opinion of my work,' Tony said, chuckling. 'My last name is Dash.'

  'That's demeaning,' she said coolly.

  Tony laughed. 'Don't worry about it. I don't take him seriously.'

  'There's another reason,' Alex said. 'Tell our guest your girlfriend's name.'

  'Tickle,' said Tony. 'She's a lovely girl.'

  Alex glanced at the woman beside him. Not a sign of amusement. According to his research Miss Byron was a brilliant mathematician but she sure lacked a sense of humour.

  'I'll call you Tony,' she said, stone-faced.

  'Good for you,' Alex said. 'A woman of principle.'

  'What kind of a world do you live in where people have such names?'

  'They're just nicknames,' he said. Her judgemental attitude was becoming annoying. 'Don't be a snob.'

  Definitely the wrong thing to say. He could almost feel the temperature drop five degrees.

  'Nicknames can be hurtful,' she said.

  Tony laughed loudly. 'Don't take him too seriously. He's winding you up.'

  'We live in a television world,' Alex said. 'People think we're shallow and superficial so we act like it sometimes to keep them happy.'

  'That's cynical,' she said.

  He shrugged. 'A useful attitude to have in this business. I'm a good journalist and I always get my story.'

  'I'm not so sure I want to give my story to a cynical journalist.' She crossed her arms as if that was the end of the conversation.

  Cool silence. Alex glanced at her. She really knew how to turn it on and off. He was glad she'd finally shut up. She was beginning to irritate him. He'd saved her from the drones and the security goons and he'd tried his best to cheer her up with a little humour. But all he'd got for his trouble was polite abuse. Getting information out of her was going to be hard. Well, he knew how to turn it on and off too. He could layer on the charm when the situation demanded it. He didn't like doing it, but the story would be worth it.

  But what was the story? Was it an exposé of Argentum and its connection to a foreign crime syndicate, or a story about how a rich businesswoman made a fool out of a crusading journalist by planting a false whistle-blower to lead him into a tangle of lawsuits? He would never let that happen again. Never. This time he would slice through the deceit and find the truth, and he would know it when he saw it. The young, innocent looking woman with the sharp tongue seated demurely beside him had better not be playing tricks with him. He knew how to play tricks too. And he knew how to win.

  Ada watched the scenery pass by outside her window. Driving toward Vaucluse at sunrise was like winding your way upward through a layer cake of suburbs from the sea views of Rose Bay to the rarefied air and million-dollar mansions of Dover Heights.

  As the SUV climbed higher the sun rising in the east brightened the cabin and revealed the man beside her in a clearer light. When he'd pulled her from the undergrowth beside the mountain road and bundled her into his vehicle he'd seemed to her to be an older man. Now that she could see him in the morning brightness he showed himself to be younger, perhaps early thirties. Was it his authoritative voice that had made him seem older, or his pushy manner? Whatever the reason she was surprised to find herself regarding him now as youthful, even handsome, though she clenched her fists with resistance at the thought. She didn't want to think about such things right now.

  His dark, wavy hair was longer than the current fashion, his profile clean and his face deeply tanned. His eyes, mysteriously dark when he'd stood before her on the roadside, now showed themselves to be brown. The hands that gripped the wheel were muscular and well shaped. She suspected that the body under the dark fabric of his shirt was the same. And he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Why did she feel glad? She clenched her fists again.

  They'd hardly spoken since emerging from the foothills of the Blue Mountains into the outskirts of western Sydney, apart from an occasional comment of strained politeness. She sensed he was trying to be careful with her, to invite her to trust him. He wanted his interview, wanted her to tell him things about Zina's operations, but she knew she held the advantage. She hadn't yet decided on the deal she needed. She wasn't even sure what it was that she wanted. Did running from Zina put her in some kind of danger? If so, what kind of danger? Or was she just exaggerating everything to herself?

  Would Zina simply wash her hands of the whole episode and move on? Zina was a practical woman who let the cards fall where they may when the game was out of her control, and then coolly reshuffled the deck. But Ada had known her since childhood and she doubted Zina would let go so easily. She would view the midnight departure as a betrayal and she would hold it against Ada, and perhaps even her grandfather. She felt a surge of anxiety. What would he say when she told him of the night's events?

  She resisted the urge to glance again at Marlowe's profile. She had no choice for the moment but to play along with this pushy male and extract what she could from their temporary arrangement. She would use him to her advantage to protect herself and her grandfather from the dangers she was almost certain would come. But she had to watch her tongue. It tended to drive men away and sometimes she regretted it. He did rescue her, after all, as he'd said, though she would never admit it to him. She might find his company unwelcome but right now she needed his help.

  Marlowe swung the vehicle into a driveway off New South Head Road and came to a halt before a set of high, spiked iron gates at the centre of a long sandstone wall. As he leaned over to take a remote device from the glove box, she felt a small electric shock as his fingers touched her knee. From the way he glanced at her quickly she was certain he felt the same. She did her best to ignore it.

  He pressed a button on the remote. The gates creaked backward slowly and he drove through. The gardens behind the wall were overgrown with untrimmed shrubs and tall tea trees, palms and pines that had missed the last few seasons' pruning. Through the tangle of green Ada could just make out the shape of a large house in the distance. They followed a winding driveway that eventually opened onto a series of terraced lawns decorated with rocky retaining walls and scattered here and there with carved granite shapes.

  Beyond the lawns stood a broad two-storey house with a columned portico at the top of a stone stairway
. Off to the right was a separate long, narrow structure that had probably been a coach house in earlier times. Ada knew little about real estate values but this was a twenty million dollar plus property. The harbour views alone were worth half that. Daddy was obviously rich.

  'My home,' Marlowe said, gesturing toward the house. 'I grew up here.'

  'I'm very tired,' she said. 'And hungry.' If he wanted an interview he'd have to supply bed and breakfast.

  'You're my guest,' he said. 'Treat this place like a hotel.'

  They got out. Tony busied himself with equipment in the back of the vehicle. Ada slung her bag over her shoulder and followed Marlowe. He walked briskly with a long stride on powerful legs and she had to hurry to keep up. His back was broad and he looked strong. She'd felt that strength only a few hours earlier when he'd wrapped his arms around her waist to stop her from running.

  At the solid, double front doors he produced the remote device again and pressed a button. A green light blinked on a panel of controls on the wall to the right. He typed a series of numbers on the remote and Ada heard a low click at the door.

  'As I told you,' he said, 'this place is secure. You'll be safe here.'

  Inside, the house looked even larger than its outside dimensions suggested. At the far end of the entrance hall a stone stairway curved upward to the second floor. A large, ornate clock above a side door showed close to 6:00 a.m.

  'Two bedrooms downstairs, showers, a kitchen, a recording studio,' he said. 'Even a billiard room. Four bedrooms upstairs. You'll be comfortable here for as long as you want to stay.'

  'I won't be here long,' she said quickly.

  'I know you're anxious to see your grandfather. You can call him at any time. I hope you can spend enough time here for us to talk. I'd like to interview you as soon as you're ready.'

  He beckoned her toward a hallway that led through to a kitchen with two bedrooms off to one side.

  'Choose one then come into the kitchen. If you're the hot breakfast type you'll need to cook it yourself. Or ask Tony. I don't cook. I live on fruit and vegetables. Plenty of fruit lying around. Muesli in the cupboard above the sink. Help yourself. I have to make a phone call to the office.' He disappeared back through the hallway.

  Ada chose the bedroom with an en suite bathroom and emptied the overnight bag onto the bed. More than anything else she wanted a shower.

  She placed the make-up kit containing the memory stick on the bedside table. It would be safe enough there. She removed the pendant containing the other memory stick and hid it under a pillow.

  She heard Tony struggle down the hallway with his equipment. He stuck his head through the door.

  'I use the next bedroom if I stay overnight. The boss sleeps upstairs.' He winked. 'Don't worry. His bark's worse than his bite. He wanted to bring you here because the city headquarters runs around the clock and the staff are stickybeaks. They'd want to know all about you. You're well hidden here. He wants you all to himself. This is a big story for him. He needs it. Call me if you want anything.' He grinned and disappeared.

  Ada smiled to herself. With Tony she felt at ease. It was Marlowe who made her tense. Tony's comment about Marlowe needing a big story was interesting, but not surprising. TV news was a competitive business and she was willing to bet that Marlowe would do just about anything to get what he wanted out of her so he could big note himself in front of his audience. That knowledge gave her some advantage over him and went some way to relieving the tension she felt, but it didn't explain it all.

  She was stubbornly resistant to every suggestion he made. With certain men she experienced a natural animosity she could never understand. Was it some kind of attraction of opposites? A particular kind of maleness? She supposed so. She'd never hung around long enough to find out when she'd encountered such men. She hadn't exactly run away from them, but she'd always felt as if being with them would bring trouble. It did once, when she was too young to know better, and she never wanted that to happen again. But she was a mathematician, not a psychologist. Why try to analyse emotions? It only led to the kind of confusion that logic could never unravel.

  She had to admit she had every reason to be grateful to Alex Marlowe. Enough reason to tell him everything she knew about Zina and what was going on at Silver Springs? Maybe. She felt distrust in his attitude, though he did his best to hide it. Did he think she was lying to him, trying to manipulate him in some way? Did he think she was conniving with Zina in some giant confidence trick? She was surprised to find that it bothered her. Why should it? She intended to use him as much as he intended to use her. All she had to do was ensure the relationship didn't become too one-sided. If he took control he could ruin everything by placing his interests before hers.

  She had to think it all through carefully, apply rational thinking. Cost versus benefit. But she was too tired right now. She needed something to fill her stomach and at least a few hours of sleep. Then she would ring her grandfather and explain it all. She wanted badly to talk things over with the only person who knew her well enough to understand her actions.

  CHAPTER 3

  Alex woke around nine, showered, shaved and went downstairs to a deserted kitchen. He prepared a quick breakfast of muesli and fruit and carried it into the lounge room off the main hall. He stretched out on a sofa and ate, pondering the motives of the woman in the bedroom not twenty paces away.

  She was attractive, no denying it. When he'd touched her leg in the vehicle reaching for the remote, he felt something. They both did, and they both knew it. What did that mean? Maybe nothing. The blue eyes were disconcerting. She used them like a weapon, keeping them concealed until she saw a chance to strike with a stinging remark. Then they flashed like a laser. She was tough beneath her calm exterior. Having a conversation with her was like conducting a military skirmish with the enemy. But he couldn't push her. He had to let her take her time and begin to feel that she could trust him. He wanted to trust her. He wanted to know that she was being honest with him, even though his experience inclined him to think otherwise.

  His advantage was that he knew something of her history, maybe more than she realised. He’d done his research well. Ada’s scientist parents had been killed by rebels in Colombia when setting up some kind of astronomical observatory for the government. She was a child when it happened. Zina and her husband Jason had also been there and Zina had been wounded. The details were sketchy. Zina had then become a de facto mother for a short time until Ada’s grandfather, George Byron, could take over. Then while Ada was still a student Zina and George were involved in a patent rights dispute over satellite positioning systems. The legal arguments were convoluted but the result was a serious estrangement between them.

  What he couldn't understand was why Ada then went to work for Zina after university. With all the maths awards she’d won she could have worked for anyone. Surely her grandfather would have advised against it. And then a year later Zina’s husband Jason died in mysterious circumstances up in the mountains near the source of the stream that had given Silver Springs its name. What was behind all that? What were the connections? The answers to these questions had a bearing on Ada’s reasons for running from Zina and on her immediate intentions. Until he knew the truth behind her actions he had no way of judging her honesty.

  Reporting this story would be like walking through a minefield of legal implications and he had to be one hundred per cent accurate with his information. The channel needed a big story to put it back on the map. The ratings were trending down, advertisers were asking tough questions, the opposition were stealing viewers, the internet was stealing eyeballs, editors were demanding results and his father was politely reminding him at every turn that he was expecting big things of his only son. He was beginning to feel the pressure.

  He heard the sound of a shower running at the end of the hallway. It had to be her. Tony had left soon after their arrival to be with Tickle, with a promise to return before midday. He’d better be. He needed Tony to hand
le the camera if he could get the tight-lipped Ada to talk. He suddenly remembered the handheld digital recorder in the upstairs bedroom and hurried up to get it.

  When he returned Ada was making noises in the kitchen. She was dressed in pastel blue shorts and a white T-shirt with an Einstein print on the back. Was that how she thought of herself? As a female Einstein? Looked like he had a giant ego to contend with as well. He found it hard to keep his eyes off her long, slim legs and pert breasts. Weren't academic types supposed to be unattractive? Another myth. She was a definite exception. Out of her jeans and jacket she looked a completely different woman. Older somehow, more mature than twenty-two. A surprising transformation.

  'Is instant coffee all you have?' she said.

  'Afraid so. I don't drink much coffee.'

  'What are you? Some kind of health nut?'

  'Not really. I just like to minimise effort in the kitchen, that's all.'

  'So you're lazy too?'

  Only 9:00 a.m. and already she was at him. She would be impossible to live with. Thankfully, all he had to do was put up with her for a few days. Could he last the distance without losing his temper? He had no choice. He had to do it.

  'When you're ready, come into the lounge room,' he said. 'We need to talk.'

  When she was eventually settled in an armchair opposite him he showed her the small recorder.

  'I want to record our preliminary discussions. When we prepare a formal video interview I'll repeat some of the questions. Think of this as a practice session. Okay?'

  She shrugged. 'I'll tell you what I know if you promise to help me protect my grandfather.'

  'From what?'

  She hesitated. The blue eyes for a moment showed a flash of nervous concern. 'I'm not sure. I know that Zina will be angry with me. She might make trouble for my grandfather.'

  'You mean threaten him physically?'

  'She wouldn't. But she has people working for her that might.'