Page 17

After yoga and an afternoon of showing Declan the beach and town and visiting Dad, we had an early dinner of leftovers.

We video-called Dad. He asked about Declan, who squeezed into the screen, a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

It felt nice, warm, and I laid my own hand on top of his.

Mum broke down at the end. We sat on the sofa for a while, my arm around her, and Declan made her a cup of tea.

Declan went back to the bedroom to call his sisters. I talked to Mum for a while longer, then headed to my room.

No sign of Declan. Maybe he was down at the beach making his calls? I slid open the bathroom door to brush my teeth. Declan was emerging from the shower. The steam parted. To a sight that was—oh! Ooooh.

“Shit!” He snatched a towel from the rack and slung it around his hips.

“Didn’t see anything.” I squeaked out the fib, covering my eyes. The steam scene immediately jettisoned from my brain because, you know, professional.

I waited in the garden to let him dry off and get dressed.

He called the okay, and I joined him. “Sorry, I should have knocked,” I said awkwardly, my eyes trained on the floor .

“I didn’t realize that lock doesn’t work.” He cleared his throat.

I changed into my night shorts and tank.

Declan sat on the bed as I lined up the pillows down the middle with ridiculous precision.

I tried not to notice how his sweatpants outlined his thighs.

A hot blush erupted on my neck and throat.

Eyes up, Joyson . Now I was more nervous about being in the same bed, knowing it was going to be difficult to sleep.

Declan scrolled down the screen of his laptop.

He glanced up and stuck his head back down.

He didn’t seem that comfortable. Was he nervous too?

For the same reason? He peered at the screen.

“My port contact said the heroin was likely shipped in bottles because the last thing officials do is open wine bottles—that requires different paperwork, which is harder to obtain.”

I found myself staring at him.

“Hey, is something going on?” His brow was furrowed. “I feel like you didn’t sleep that well last night. I should sleep on the floor tonight.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” I climbed under the sheet before I whipped off my sweatshirt. I didn’t want him to start wondering if I fancied him. Cringe .

To avoid his attention, I pulled a sheet up and immersed myself in research.

I noted a surprising fact. One of the possible suppliers could be Tasmania, a tiny island at the bottom of Australia, four hours flight away, the largest grower of poppies in the world for producing pharmaceutical heroin for the medical industry.

Once I was properly composed, I grabbed pen and paper from my top drawer and opened my phone calculator.

“Declan, could you send me the prices for heroin? Also, how many bottles are in a shipping container, and how many containers does Snow reserve?” He emailed me the figures, and I did some calculations.

“And what would a middle person like Snow earn?”

“Around ten percent,” he answered.

I scribbled out some more calculations. “He could be raking in five million US dollars per shipment. What the hell?”

I sat up abruptly. His eyes went wide, and he swiftly turned away. I looked down. My top was shockingly thin. Oh shit . I ducked under the covers again. But no, I wasn’t going to wear a bra to bed—that was stupid.

“It’s unlikely the container would be filled to the brim with product.” Declan bit the inside of his cheek.

“Still, he’s making millions, maybe tens of millions.” I patted my sheet, frustrated.

“But he’s also risking a lifetime in prison. These are the actions of a desperate man. Why does he need all this money?”

“Is someone blackmailing him for some reason?”

“That’s a possibility.” Declan yawned. “Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

He flicked out his reading light. With a series of small sounds in the back of his throat, he turned, stretched, and settled.

His body sent dips and rolls along the mattress and sheets to my body, like a Morse code reminder of his muscled arms and legs and torso. My own limbs went rigid with awkwardness and tension. I was wide awake.

Screech. I sat up. Screech. Oh, the kiwi birds in the back bush. We were safe. I thought about the millions that Snow was making. How could we be safe?

*

I woke to a piercing cry in the darkness—a kiwi? Fred started barking furiously. Another terrified cry, even louder this time. It was Mum: “Isla!”

“Quick,” Declan said. Grabbing his phone and my hand, he ran us through the house to her room.

Mum was sitting bolt upright, firmly on her side of the bed, like it was bad luck to take up Dad’s space. I scooped up Fred and petted him, but he squirmed and whimpered.

“I heard someone out there.” She gripped her sheet, her eyes glistening, her voice faltering.

Declan raced out to the front. I patted her shoulder. “Be back in a second, Mum.” I ran outside to join him, checking both ways down the road. A car sped off.

Declan took off first, and I sprinted after him until the taillights disappeared.

We jogged home. None of the neighbors had lights on.

“Should I knock on neighbors’ doors?” I asked. The beach was empty and silent, only the moon and a few streetlamps lighting our way.

Declan checked his phone. “Better not. It’s two a.m.”

“We’ll call on them first thing in the morning. Our editor always taught us it was vital to get to a witness first. Because whoever they told their story to first could change that story, consciously or not.”

“Interesting.” Declan nodded. “Our boss always reminds us of that. We’ve seen it time and again.”

We found Mum still sitting in bed, distressed about being left alone. I sat next to her, and Declan perched on the end of the bed. Between heaving breaths, I asked, “What did it sound like?”

“Not a cat, or a dog, or a possum.” She closed her eyes. “It was a real clunk and a shove. Like they were trying my bedroom window. Then they tried the sliding door in the living room. We never have any trouble.” Her voice quaked. “Even living close to the beach.”

I looked over her bent head at Declan. Was someone onto us already? A flicker of fear crossed his face.

Mum covered her face with her trembling hands.

“Your dad in hospital; I can’t cope. I feel like I’m tipping over the edge.

We talked about everything during the day—the annoying vacuum cleaner, what to have for lunch.

Every move he makes in hospital, I worry about his heart.

Every call I get during the day—is it the hospital with bad news? ” She tugged her sheet up to her chin.

The small gesture unsettled me to the bottom of my gut. I covered her hands with mine.

“I’ll call the police.” Declan pulled his phone from his pocket.

With a cry, Mum sprang over to him and grabbed his hand. “Oh, please don’t. I don’t want to be a nuisance and a bother.”

Eventually Mum started questioning herself, but I suspected she hadn’t invented the noises. A loud wave broke outside, interrupting her voice, soaking my brain in fear.

While Declan sat guard in the TV room, I lay beside her, my hand on her shuddering back, until she fell asleep, her breathing troubled. It felt like our roles were reversed—she was the child, and I was the mother. I was responsible for her now. I was the only one who could save our family.