Page 41

Dimitry

Leetham, Western Australia

Present Day

“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 in Spain.” 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.”

I have to bite my lip to suppress a smile.

Yep, that’s Abby’s mother, alright. I’d know that tone anywhere.

The woman walks down the stairs, straight past her gun-wielding husband, and clicks her fingers at the dogs, who immediately slink behind her, looking ashamed.

“I’m Susan Chalmers.” She’s as pale as her husband, and I can see the strain in her face, but she still manages something close to a smile.

“And this is my husband, Pete. We’ve had more than a few curious journalists around recently, so you’ll have to excuse the welcome.

Pete,” she says, without turning around.

“ Call Jamie and tell him you’re busy for the morning.

You two,” she says, nodding at Luke and me, “park that vehicle under the tree, or it will boil. Then come inside. I’ll put some coffee on. ”

We leave our boots at the door and follow Pete’s very stiff back into a cool timber-floored kitchen. We take seats around a solid, worn wooden table as Susan prepares a tray.

An actual tray. With homemade fruitcake, a French coffee press, and nice china cups. Looking surreptitiously around at the deep porcelain sink, herbs hanging from the roof, and painted wooden cabinets, I feel as though I’ve stepped back in time.

“Abby’s boyfriend, you said.” His wife might be making an effort, but Pete’s grim expression hasn’t changed a bit.

A cup clatters onto the counter, and Luke and I both turn, startled. Susan has her back to us, and her hands are white-knuckled as she grips the counter. When she turns very slowly to face us, the knife she used to cut the cake is in her hand, and her face is even more dangerous than her husband’s.

“Her boyfriend,” she says flatly, her eyes boring into mine. “As in her boyfriend, Nicholas ?”

Who the fuck is Nicholas?

“I don’t know any Nicholas, ma’am.” I stay very still. “My name is Dimitry Stevanovsky, as I told your husband. And this is my friend, Luke Macarthur.”

“Jesus, Suze. Put the knife down.” Pete folds his arms, still glaring at me. “And drop the bloody sir and ma’am , for Chrissakes. Stevanovsky.” His eyes narrow. “Russian?”

I nod. “My parents were Russian, yes. I live in Spain now. That’s where I met Abby. ”

Pete and his wife exchange a look. To my relief, she puts the knife down.

“What about you?” Pete turns his frown to Luke. “How are you involved in this?”

“I’m ex-military.” Luke looks as relaxed as if he were catching up with an old friend. “Dimitry’s a mate. I knew he was worried about Abby, so when I saw an article in the paper about her, I sent it to him. He was on a plane the same day, got here a couple of days ago.”

“A couple of days?” Pete’s eyebrows shoot up. “And you’ve already somehow managed to find that? ” He nods at the friendship bracelet sitting on the table between us.

“I’m ex-military, like I said.” Luke smiles easily. “And my deadbeat father used to be a Bandero. I tracked down one of his old mates.”

“Give me his name.” Pete growls the order like a man used to having them obeyed.

“Can’t do that,” Luke says calmly. “But it wouldn’t help anyway. He told us what he knew, which was that Abby was being held in Bingillia, an abandoned mining camp. She was definitely there, but she’s also definitely gone now. We’re hoping you can help us work out where she might be.”

Susan sits down heavily opposite her husband. When she pours coffee, her hands are still shaking.

“Who is Nicholas?” I ask her, ignoring Luke’s warning look.

She frowns at me. “You don’t know about him?”

Feeling distinctly wrong-footed, I shake my head. “No.”

“Well, then.” Susan has made herself tea, which she now stirs primly with a worn silver spoon. “If Abby didn’t want to tell you about him, I’m not sure it’s my place to.”

I bite back a hard retort. “I’m just trying to find her, Mrs. Chalmers. If there’s anything that might help us do that, then it would be good to know it now. ”

She looks at her husband, who gives her a slight nod. “I don’t know much,” she says rather defensively. “Just that when Abby left Australia, she went to Thailand, where she met a boy called Nicholas. She said they were together for two years.”

Well, that’s the Thailand connection, I guess. Unfortunately, that isn’t the part my brain fixates on.

Two years?

My hands clench under the table.

Two years of Abby’s life, and she never bothered to even mention this mudak ’s name?

“Did Abby tell you anything about this Nicholas guy?” Luke asks, intervening smoothly. “Anything about where they went or what they might have done?”

This time when Susan glances at her husband, it’s with a furtive expression that tells me they haven’t yet had this particular discussion.

“Abby told me they traveled to South America together. She said that Nicholas spoke Spanish and that he had enough work to support them both.”

In South America?

Luke and I exchange a look.

Drugs. It has to be. Only dealing would give them that kind of cash.

“I got the impression that he...” Susan looks uncomfortable. “Well, Abby said they split up because they wanted different things.”

“But you thought it was something else,” I say, watching her.

She bites her lip, a gesture so like Abby’s it makes my heart clench.

“I don’t think it ended well. I don’t know the details,” she adds hastily, glancing at her stony-faced husband.

“All I know is that after they broke up, Abby went to Spain. She said she was there for a couple of years, doing some classes at an art college, but that she’d overstayed her student visa and couldn’t go back again, or at least for a while. ”

I’d love to believe that’s the reason she wasn’t planning to come back.

I swallow my regrets. “And that was all she said?”

Susan’s face brightens. “She mentioned a friend named Darya. Apparently she was bridesmaid at her wedding.”

I nod. “I work with Roman, Darya’s husband. They don’t know anything,” I add, seeing the hope in her face. “Abby told us all that she needed a few months to herself, back in Australia. She asked us not to... pressure her.”

And you were stupid enough to agree.

I try to push away the corrosive guilt.

Pete’s snort makes me glance at him. He glares at me across the table. “So she ran, and you thought if you pushed her, she wouldn’t come back, right?”

“Peter—” Susan frowns, her voice impatient.

“Come on, Susan.” His voice is hard. “It’s Abby’s MO, and we both know it.”

“No.” She shakes her head vehemently. “Not this time. I keep telling you, Pete. There’s no way she would have stolen that car and run out on us. Not again. She was sorry for the hurt she caused us last time.”