Four Hearts Read online

  I stroke my hand over the top of her hair repeatedly. Pain constricts the flow of blood to my heart as images of the woman who West said wore my wife’s clothing plays on a loop. If that’s what he did to her, then what has he done to Morgan?

  Ring, ring, ring.

  A vibration tingles against my thigh. The sound coming from my pants is enough for me to force myself from Kylee’s embrace. I fumble the phone inside my pocket and then bring it to my ear.

  “Where’s my fucking wife?” I scream down the line before he even has a chance to say a word.

  “Reid, help me.” Her voice is soft, yet croaky.

  “Morgan!” I screech.

  “Help me,” she cries.

  West marches toward me.

  “Baby, where are you? Tell me where you are?” I plead.

  Kylee clutches my free arm. “Mumma’s here,” she yells.

  “I’m here,” Ronald hollers.

  “Mum. Dad,” Morgan cries harder.

  “Morgan, where are you?” I shout. I don’t mean to yell, but I’m scared, I’m so bloody scared.

  “Trees.” She puffs. “Bushland. Lots of bushland.”

  “Bushland.” My throat stings from the tears filling my eyes.

  West snatches the phone from my grip. “Morgan, I’m Detective Astin West. We’re trying to find you. We need your help. Do not hang up.” He pauses. “Good girl,” he says. “How are you? What condition?” He stops speaking, and it feels like an eternity until he says, “How bad?”

  He pauses. “Okay. We can get you help, but you need to help me find you. What can you see?” He’s listening intently. “A rock wall … Good work. Okay, what else?” He pauses again. “Your children are fine. They’re fine, I promise.” He stops speaking. “Morgan.” There’s a long pause. “Morgan, Morgan.” He waits. “Morgan! Morgan, can you hear me?” His tone oozes desperation. “Morgan, answer me if you can hear me.” He stomps his foot to the ground. “Shit.” He drops his arm and then his head.

  “No,” I spit.

  West stretches out his arm toward Gleaton, still holding my phone. “Roland, call the techies now. See if that line is the line we’re tracing. Tell them if it’s not to try and track the GPS on the number that Morgan just called from. I’ll text it to you from Reid’s phone. Meet me back at the house.”

  “On it.” He nods.

  “Prospect. Maloney. You two hit the road and do a sweep of the house before we get there.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maloney says with a military response.

  “Reid, Kylee, and Ronald, you’ll ride with me. Let’s go.”

  Ring, ring, ring.

  West stops mid-stride. “Hello,” he says hesitantly. “Morgan. You’ve got bad service. The battery is dying. Okay, you’re doing a good job, but I need more information from you. What can you tell me about the people who have you? Is it one person or two or more?”

  I’m stiff as a board. My fingers seize in a claw and my jaw tenses, shooting pain through my temples.

  “Okay. Good job. Have you somewhere to hide?” He begins to pace. “Go there. Stay there. Don’t come out. We’re doing everything to find you. Save the last of the battery so you can turn the GPS on, and we will try to track your position. I need you to make sure the GPS is turned on. Do you know where to look?” He stops dead in his tracks. “Yes, yes, that’s right.” West tilts his chin upwards, looking at the sky. I’m not sure why. Is it something Morgan said?

  “Okay, Morgan. Hang on.” He jogs straight toward me and presses the phone against my cheek.

  “I love you,” Morgan says, weakly.

  “I love you, Morgan. I love you so much. I promise we’ll find you, baby—just hang on for me. Fight for us! Morgan, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

  She’s sobbing. “Bye, my love.”

  The line goes dead.

  The Wolf

  Nothing is going as planned. The long stretch of road does nothing to decrease the searing anger hell-bent on keeping me livid. I close my eyes, blinded to possible oncoming traffic, and ask myself if I need to get Winston’s night-vision headgear, or if I can find Morgan before sunset with what I’ve got. Time is of the essence.

  My work phone chimes. I flick open my eyes and reach down to the console. Private number flashes across the screen.

  “Hello.”

  “What phone have you lost?” It’s a worried tone.

  “None,” I reply, as smooth as butter.

  “Sure of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit. Morgan has a phone, you fucktard, and she’s made contact with her husband.”

  “What?” I think hard. “Oh, shit! My emergency phone was in my pocket.” I reef the steering wheel in one hard pull and drive to the side of the road. The tyres of my ute go sliding through dirt until I reach a dead stop. “My emergency phone,” I repeat, patting down my pockets. It’s not there. “That fucking bitch.”

  “Do you have this under control or do you need a plane ticket out of here?”

  “I’ll sort it.”

  “What’s on that phone? Is it the one you’ve been calling Reid on, or …”

  “It’s the one I take out to the bush with me. There’s nothing on it.” I pause. “Oh shit, there is.”

  “Will she figure it out?”

  “She’ll come close.”

  “How did she—”

  “Stabbed me in the fucking back with scissors.”

  “Shit.” A tense growl follows.

  I hear voices.

  “I have to go.”

  The line goes dead.

  “Fuuuuuuuck,” I roar, but then I stop. I close my eyes. I think. I can track the GPS. My lips tug into a smile. It looks like this may turn out to be the best outcome under the circumstances I’ve found myself embroiled in.

  “I’m coming for you, Red,” I breathe, yanking the steering wheel and completing a U-turn.

  I need to find Morgan, now.

  “There’s a wolf in the dark, in the dark,

  Turn around, don’t be blind, you can find him.

  There’s a house in the dark, in the dark,

  There’s a light on the hill … STOP! Look behind you.

  Never stop running. Never stop searching. Or the wolf will destroy you.”

  My mother’s voice is singing the song of “The Wolf” in my mind—the song she sang to us each morning from the age I turned five. It’s a tune created to teach us to run if we were scared as evil is always behind you.

  I laugh, a bellowing laugh. I never run. I never get scared. I was the wolf in the making, and my mother was blind to the monster she herself had created.

  Hooooonk! Hoooonk!

  A glimpse of a white cattle truck catches the corner of my eye.

  I rip the steering wheel in a hard left, bouncing over the rough terrain on the side of the road. Holy shit. I didn’t see it coming. I raise my hand in an offer of apology to the driver of the small cattle truck that continues past me.

  Where the hell did he come from? Better still, what the fuck is he doing out here?

  The wheels of the ute spin as I regain my position on the road. I drive for more than ten kilometres with every possible thought plaguing me—that is, until I replay the call I took over in my head. I need to sort this, and fast. A hard left-hand turn has me on the final long stretch of road that will take me home. I take a breath and look for something to occupy my mind. Donna Martin. Red Number Three. Now that’s entertainment. I need the rush of endorphins. I need to watch her demise.

  Every time she kicks inside the boot, I turn the music up a few clicks louder to drown her out. It takes an hour before she stops. They always give up in the end. They’re all guns blazing to start with, then dead on their arse in such a short period.

  I laugh, amused.

  When I see the Waltux sign in the distance, I slow my sedan, preparing to take the off-ramp. I merge left without any issues and cruise along a narrow street until I pull up in front of the petrol pumps. Th
e orange needle on my gauge sits at a quarter full when I climb out of the car. Best I don’t risk running out of petrol before I see another fuel station. I take the nozzle from its holder.

  Donna doesn’t make a sound as the fuel guzzles into the tank, but even if she did squeak or squawk it wouldn’t faze me. People are either too stupid to butt their noses in the business of others, or they believe any cock-a-bullshit story you tell them.

  I hit the central locking button on the key tag, securing the car, and head into the small shop on site. I grab a snack and drink, and not one person in the building shows even the slightest awareness that they know what I’m harbouring—a woman who needs to be punished lies inside my boot. I snicker at the thought.

  I mosey on back to my vehicle, prepared to commence the rest of my journey home.

  A man wearing a fluorescent orange jacket approaches reluctantly and holds his hand up in a stop sign pose. He pauses when he reaches the bonnet. “I’m lost.” The man's eyes scan a device he has cupped in his hand.

  “Oh.” I step towards him.

  “I’m trying to get to Mackay, but I’m not sure which turn-off I need to take.” He points to a map enlarged on the screen when I reach him.

  “This one, mate.” I smile, pointing at the screen.

  His lips curl upwards. “Do I know you?” His eyebrows dip downward, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s trying to place me or if it is due to the harsh reflective rays bouncing off the bonnet. His eyes bounce back to mine. He stares. I guess he was thinking.

  “Not sure, mate.” I offer a toothy grin.

  “Thanks for your help.” He pats my shoulder and turns on his heel.

  A high-pitched squeal has me whipping my head in the direction of the boot. I quickly rebound my vision to the man who had turned his back to me only moments ago.

  “Mate.” The stranger twists on his thongs and eyes me with an air of concern.

  “Yeah.” A look of guilt will raise questions. A soft smile will erase suspicion. I smile.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Yeah, mate, I did.” I nod, and then look out to the vacant bushland beside the station. “I’m not sure where it came from though, are you?”

  “No idea,” he says as he offers a half-hearted wave and turns his back to me once more.

  Casually, I lift the handle and slip into the driver’s chair. I take my time putting my drink into the cup holder and my food onto the passenger seat before I turn the ignition. My knee cracks when I press my foot hard to the pedal and speed off, as chilled as a cucumber.

  “Nobody will help you, Red,” I shout the moment I reach the one hundred-kilometre speed limit.

  I can still remember the bold green scenery that flashed by me as I relaxed back in my seat and cranked out AC/DC songs like it was yesterday. If only I could go back and live each capture and kill over and over again. I sigh before drifting back into my memories.

  Her legs wobble when I lift her by her arms. I wrap her hands in duct tape. I push her until she falls to the ground with an almighty rip-roaring scream.

  The heat of the sun causes her pale freckled shoulders to pink as they take the brunt of the sun’s rays. Her head hangs downward, as I directed. I place my boot in the middle of her back, adjust my mask, then apply pressure, just a little to begin with, then more until her back makes cracking sounds and she groans out her agony.

  “My knees.” She pants through loud sobs. “My knees are slicing open, stop.”

  “This is just the beginning.”

  My dick jumps inside my pants as I picture Donna there, submitted before me. I press down the indicator and take a left turn. “Oh, the memories.”

  “Please. Please let me go.”

  “Okay Red, you’re free to go. Let me just cut that tape off.” I toy with her.

  “Really?” Her voice quivers.

  “No, you dumb bitch.” I run my fingertips up her thigh, stopping at the bottom of her Daisy Dukes, breathing deeply into her ear.

  She sucks in a harsh mouthful of air. “Please. No.”

  “I’m bored with you, little lamb,” I whisper against her cheek.

  She whines in response, which pisses me off.

  “We’re going to play a game. Do you like games, Red?”

  She shakes her head and howls out, “No.”

  I slide my foot to the back of her head and use it to push her nose into the rocks. “I will ask you again. Do you like to play games, Red?”

  “No,” she screams.

  I drop to the ground just out of her arm’s reach. Everything I’ve been waiting for is in motion. Excitement whirls through my gut and shoots up into my chest. The need to hunt proliferates and sends adrenaline to my limbs.

  How far will she get?

  How far can I push her?

  After all, I’m still perfecting my skills, and there’s so much more I want to try … to learn.

  “You’ll be needing this,” I say, handing her the bag I’d prepared earlier. “Now remember, I’m always watching. Follow the path leading into the bushland, and you’ll find the first piece of your puzzle.”

  I whistle as I tread away and climb back into the car.

  I drive, leaving her stranded there, only I don’t go too far— just far enough that she can’t see me, but I can see her through the pair of binoculars I have to my eyes.

  Donna retrieves the backpack as I sit, idling. She pinches it between her fingertips, her hands still bound in front of her. She never opens the bag. Instead, she stands and runs right into the bushland.

  I cock my head and rub my chin. My last Red didn’t start this way. Instead, she’d sat on the ground for ages, crying non-stop.

  “Hmmm,” I murmur.

  Broad daylight was a gift for Donna. Red Number Two, Cheryl Riddell, had been dumped in the pitch black of night. I needed to experiment. I wanted to test out the difference of a daylight beginning over a night-time one, and it appeared a woman was less fearless of bushland under the harsh light of the sun. It’s just a matter of waiting to see the difference in how long they can play and how quickly they die.

  I park the ute in front of my place and slam the car door hard on exit. Morgan is fucking with my entire schedule. I stomp into my cabin and head straight to the bedroom. When I reach the police scanner, I roll the dial between my fingertips until it can’t shift upwards any further. There’s a lot of chatter, but none of it is about the body I left for the coppers or Morgan Banks.

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” I snarl.

  I plonk onto the stool in front of the computer set up in the far corner of the room. Shifting the mouse gets the screen opened. Each finger hitting the keyboard has me one step closer to regaining my player. I type in the codes needed to run the GPS scan on the phone Morgan robbed from me; this is how I’ll find her. It’ll take a few hours, but soon she’ll be a sitting duck in a vast landscape.

  Don’t close your eyes, Red, don’t even blink. I’m coming for you, and when I reach you, I’ll grind your fucking bones to dust.

  Morgan’s death will be more painful than she’d ever dreamt it could be. When she’s extinguished, I’ll package her skin and flesh and send them to her family piece by fucking piece.

  Reid

  On the way home, not a word is exchanged. I think the shock realisation that Morgan is still alive bounces through each one of our hearts.

  Ronald rides shotgun, while Kylee sits beside me in the back seat of West’s car. Her hand places on top of mine. I don’t shake her away. Instead, I welcome the warmth her touch provides.

  Morgan’s not only alive, but she’s found a way to call for help.

  I wrestle with feelings of despair, and ones that yell for me to rally a search party of my own, one I can lead through bush, over hills, to the devil himself, until I’ve found my wife.

  I can’t search for Morgan myself; I know this. I also know I need to find a way to trust West, Gleaton, and the rest of the police force. I still can’t.<
br />
  I don’t trust any of them.

  The porch is littered with bodies when West pulls his car in behind Maloney’s vehicle that’s sat dormant on the curb since the morning he turned up to the house.

  Why Maloney? Why did he attend the emergency call I made on the night Morgan went missing? Why did he come back after we parted ways? Why is he staying with me?

  I shake my head. Stop it, I reprimand myself.

  Linda is the first to run down the path, followed by Mum, Dad, John, and Natalie. Tears rush from Linda’s eyes as she closes in. Her arms are outstretched as she collides with my chest. “Morgan’s alive. She’s alive,” Linda sobs against my neck. “How did she sound? When she called you, how did she sound, Reid?”

  My eyes narrow. I grip Linda's upper arms firmly and pull her from me until she’s standing at arm’s length.

  “What? How did you know Morgan had called?” I study Linda’s swollen bloodshot eyes, waiting for an answer, for a lie she might tell. My nails dig into her skin, and I can feel her flesh sinking below them. I don’t trust anybody.

  “Ronald sent a text through to John. We all know.” Linda stiffens like a board. Her irises expand. “Reid,” she says, barely audible.

  “Sorry.” I snatch my hands from her skin. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Linda rubs her upper arm with her opposite hand. “It’s okay,” she sobs.

  “Morgan.” My voice cracks. “She sounded depleted of all energy. Her voice was gruff—she said goodbye.”

  “Goodbye!” Linda screeches.

  I nod.

  “No, she can’t.” Linda’s mouth falls wide. “No!” she snaps, smacking her lips together.

  “Inside.” West’s tone is short and direct as he passes us by. “Get inside. I have to run through some things with you all. We need to debrief, and then I need to get the hell out of here and do my job. Morgan’s on her last legs. We don’t have time.”

  As a pack, we enter through the doorway.

  Maloney and Prospect eye us from the table. Bottles of water rest in its centre, like the two officers sitting there knew this would be the next step.