Felicity Young - Harum Scarum

‘Does she have a computer, have they checked her hard drive?’ Stevie asked.

‘She does have a laptop and it’s missing. It’s the first thing I asked when the file appeared on my desk. See,’ he shot her a smile, ‘despite what you think, I do listen to you. Sometimes.’

Stevie twisted the ring on her finger. It had been a while since they’d worked together. Not since she’d transferred from the SCS, when their engagement had become official. She wondered how she’d cope if technically he was her boss again. Before it had been easy, she’d enjoyed working with him—but now? Maybe he would finally see why she was still so insistent about keeping their lives separate. She squinted hard at the single diamond, as if she might see their future in it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him looking at her over his beer glass and could tell he knew what she was thinking.

‘We can’t go on living apart when we’re married, Stevie, no matter how much our job paths might cross,’ he said.

‘Can’t we?’ she said flippantly, knowing the look of hurt she’d see in his eyes if she chose to lift her head to meet them. It didn’t help that, from one of those dark places deep inside her, she knew it wasn’t only their careers that were the problem. ‘Why change when everything’s working so well...’

She got up and started clearing away the clean dishes from the draining board. Monty’s kitchen accoutrements were made up of a hotch-potch of odds and ends, the remnants of a former life and a former marriage. Nothing matched, but everything was stored in an orderly fashion, lined in rows of regimental precision in cupboards that would have made Martha Gardener proud. At her place she couldn’t open a cupboard door without something falling out.

Monty remained at the table. ‘Izzy needs more stability. She doesn’t even have her own bedroom here. If you can’t bring yourself to set a date for the wedding, we could at least live together.’

He was persistent, she had to give him that—it was one of the things that made him such a good detective. She looked to their sleeping daughter as she carried their dirty dishes to the sink. ‘She loves it here, she loves sleeping on your couch.’

‘She won’t always, I’m going to have to find a bigger place.’

‘But you won’t be able to afford anywhere bigger and stay this close to the beach.’

‘I can compromise.’ Monty rose from the table, reached out and pulled her away from the sink. It wasn’t hard, surrendering to his embrace, and she wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with her. He was all she’d ever wanted. Hell, she’d been in love with him since she was ten years old, when her older brother had brought him home to the family station. Still, this didn’t stop her feeling like a marathon runner at the end of the last gruelling race of her career, stopping just before the finish line to look behind her. She glanced at her ring. She loved the autonomy of the single cut stone in its simple no-frills setting, but there were times when she felt another ring next to it would spoil its effect, that two rings upon the same finger would be nothing but an encumbrance. It was a stupid thought and she knew she shouldn’t have it; Monty was everything to her.

He nuzzled her neck. ‘Things are different now, time to write a new script.’

His breath on her skin made her back arch with anticipation. ‘You been watching Oprah again?’ she managed. He undid her ponytail and ran his fingers through her hair, sending a wave of pleasure up her neck and into her scalp.

‘My mother was on the phone again yesterday, wanting some idea of a date. If you don’t want to commit to one just yet, fine, we can tell her that, but we can’t just leave her in the air about this.’ Monty’s mother lived in Scotland. ‘She’s old, she’s not well, a trip here is a major military operation for her. She needs plenty of time to organise herself.’

Stevie moved over to the fridge with the magnetised calendar on its door, twirled around in one spot until she was dizzy and stabbed her finger at a random date. ‘Okay, next year: July 14.’

There, she’d set a date, no promises of living together yet, but at least she’d shown that she could compromise too.

He rumbled a deep belly laugh, the first she’d heard from him in days. ‘You want us to get married on Bastille Day?’

Shit, talk about the power of the subconscious. She went through the twirling routine again. ‘There, March 15th.’

‘The Ides of March? I’d rather take Bastille Day, release you from your prison.’

‘Oh, you assume it’s you who does the rescuing? Maybe I should be the one releasing you from your prison?’ she said with as much sass as she could muster.

‘Fine. I’m more than happy to be rescued. My only worry is that you won’t be able to pick me up and throw me over the saddle of your white charger.’

She patted him on the stomach. ‘Better do something about this then.’ There wasn’t much fat there, he was solid as a brick dunny, but teasing him made her feel better.

Monty refilled their glasses but the phone interrupted them before they could seal the date with a toast. He listened for a moment then swore. Stevie deduced from the conversation that a girl’s body matching the description of the missing schoolgirl had been found. Barry was on his way to pick up Monty; in fact he was pulling in to the apartment car park as he spoke.

Monty was in the bedroom changing into a suit when Barry pounded on the door. ‘Hey stranger, long time no see,’ he beamed at Stevie when she opened it, bringing a salty tang into the flat and the rumbling sound of breakers.

‘Never long enough,’ she said, having no trouble keeping her face straight.

‘How’s everything in the chick squad?’

‘If you mean the Cyber Predator Team, everything’s fine.’

‘Bloody discriminatory if you ask me, a female only squad.’

‘It’s not a female only squad, that would be ridiculous. Often boys are more comfortable talking to males than females; we’ve just not had that many guys apply for the job.’

‘Well,’ he puffed himself up like a rooster. ‘What do you reckon on my chances?’

Stevie pinched her thumb and forefinger into a zero.

Barry didn’t skip a beat. ‘That partner of yours, Tash, is she available?’

She hid her smile. ‘Fancy her do you?’ He certainly wouldn’t be the first.

Barry didn’t respond straight away. He looked at Stevie and then stepped back as if he’d just discovered she’d been in contact with a contagious disease. ‘She’s not gay is she?’

Stevie flicked him a shrug. ‘She’s never tried to crack on to me.’

Barry relaxed, rubbed his hands together. ‘Good. So here’s hoping we combine forces on this case, then. Where’s the boss?’ He moved over to the closed bedroom door, was about to thump on it when Stevie grabbed him by the arm and pointed to Izzy, putting her finger to her lips.

‘Sorry,’ Barry said in a stage whisper, plonking himself on the other end of the couch. She looked at his face as he regarded the child and sensed a crack peeping through the brash schoolboy veneer.

‘Barry, is it really bad?’ she asked softly.

He nodded, smoothed his shaved scalp, dashed her a smile and turned back to face Izzy before she could read it. ‘One of those times when I wonder how we do this,’ he said in a voice barely audible.

Monty emerged from his room and Barry sprang to his feet. ‘Ready boss?’ he boomed. Izzy stirred on the couch and mumbled in her sleep. Stevie shot him another scowl.

Monty kissed her goodbye. As he opened the door to leave the distant breakers greeted her like the sound of giant guns pounding the shore.