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Use it, Abby. The more he enjoys this, the more they will believe that you’re beaten.

“I can tear my dress myself,” I say, unable to stop my voice shaking. “I’ll leave the black eyes and burns to you.”

13

Dimitry

Leetham, Western Australia

Present Day

Abby’s hometown arrives via a dusty road sign with the name Leetham, and the population: 402. It sits right on the highway, if the long, deserted road we’ve been following is worthy of the name. There’s a pub, a war memorial, a few buildings scattered on either side of the road, and very little else. Just beyond the town a minor road is indicated by a battered sign bearing Abby’s family name.

“Not exactly hard to find.” Luke shoots me a sympathetic look as he takes the turn. “Which is good for us, I guess.”

Not good for Abby.

I don’t need him to say it. I squirm uncomfortably in my seat.

“Ready to meet the in-laws?” Luke’s grin is a little too perceptive.

I scowl at him. “Fuck off.”

A pink dawn is breaking on the distant horizon when we come up to the wooden fence posts bearing her family name. I frown at Luke. “Bit early to come visiting, isn’t it?”

“Not up here.” He grins at me. “Farming country, mate. Another fifteen minutes and we’d be too late.” He smiles wryly at me. “Buckle up, brother. Time to make a good impression.”

Although, given the unsmiling man standing by a farm vehicle as we approach, not to mention the rifle in his hand and the pack of dogs barking up a storm, I get the feeling we might be a bit late for good impressions.

“Mr. Chalmers?” Luke sticks his head out the window without opening the door. We agreed he’d do the talking, but it doesn’t sit well with me to stay in the background. “My name is Luke Macarthur. I wondered if you might have a minute? It’s about your daughter, Abby.”

The man holding the rifle is almost as tall as me, with a barrel chest and broad, thick shoulders. He’s clad in almost identical clothing to what Luke gave me: faded jeans, boots, and a heavy drill shirt. His sunburned face is partly shaded by his worn felt hat, but the part of it I can see doesn’t look even remotely welcoming.

“You’re not cops.” He glares past Luke, directly at me. “And your mate there doesn’t look like a local.”

Since Luke’s efforts to pass me off clearly aren’t going to pass the vibe check, I figure it’s time to stop fucking around and climb out of the car, ignoring Luke’s warning look. I’m immediately swarmed by barking dogs, none of whom appear remotely happy to meet a stranger.

I remain still, slowing my breathing and putting my hands out, allowing them to sniff me tentatively. When I raise my eyes, Abby’s father doesn’t look any more welcoming, but at least he hasn’t shot me yet.

“I’m Dimitry Stevanovsky, sir.” I’m too far away to shake his hand. “Abby and I were... seeing each other, back inSpain.” Seeing his face darken, I hasten on. “I found out a couple of days ago that she’s gone missing and came out here to find her.”

“Which you clearly fucking haven’t.” The man still hasn’t lowered his rifle.

“Not yet.” I hold up the friendship bracelet. “But we did find this. And now we need your help.”

Even in the pale dawn light, I can see the color drain from his face, the way his hands on the rifle tremble just slightly.

“Where?” His voice is a hoarse bark. “Where did you find that bloody thing, on the side of the road? What are you, more journalists?”

“No.” I hold up my hands, shaking my head. “It was found in an abandoned mining camp,” I add hastily, seeing the fury in his face. “Abby was kept there for a while, but she’s gone now. We still don’t know where she is.”

Her father’s hands tense on the rifle. “You’d better start talking,” he growls, his dogs circling me menacingly.

“Pete!” A woman with blonde hair the exact shade of Abby’s is standing on the veranda, staring at us.

“Get back in the house, Suze.” Her husband still isn’t lowering the gun.

“Put the bloody gun down, Pete.”