“Hey,” she said softly

Angus raised an eyebrow. “What?”

What, indeed? Words rushed to the tip of her tongue. Fliss was so close to confessing how badly she had missed having Angus in her life in the last few months. How much she missed hearing his voice. Feeling the touch of his hands…and lips. Just being with him. The words tangled together as they reached the warning sign flashing from the back of her mind.

“I’m just…glad you’re here,” Fliss whispered.

He didn’t smile, but there was a softening around his eyes as though any tension from their recent conversation had evaporated. “So am I,” he whispered back. “And try not to worry too much. We’ll get through this.”

Fliss nodded and bit her lip to stop it from trembling. “Yeah. We will. We’re working on the same side, aren’t we?”

A quick smile now. A wry one. “We always were,” Angus murmured. “You just couldn’t see it.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever set yourself a challenge and then wondered whether you’d bitten off a bit more than you could chew?

My SPECIALIST EMERGENCY RESPONSE TEAM series has given me the opportunity to try new areas in the realm of rescue drama and emergency medicine, and I wanted something really dramatic, yet emotional, for this second book in the series. A setting that was so tense it would be enough to break down the barriers keeping my hero and heroine apart. I needed a cast of supporting characters and I needed a very short time frame and a confined environment to create the tension I wanted, but I couldn’t let those factors overwhelm the central romance.

One Night To Wed certainly wasn’t the easiest book to write, but when my lovely editor said she put the book down feeling like she’d been up all night with the characters, I knew I’d achieved at least some of what I set out to do. Challenges are great, aren’t they? I came across a quote recently that said, “We don’t know who we are until we know what we can do.”

I guess I’m still learning—and looking forward to finding out what else I can do. Happy reading and all the best for your next challenges.

With love,

Alison

One Night to Wed
Alison Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS a most unpleasant sensation.

The hairs on the back of Felicity Slade’s neck rose slowly and the nasty prickle was enough to make her lose concentration on the pulse she could feel beneath her fingertips.

A reflection of her sudden disquiet showed in the faded blue eyes of her elderly patient.

‘Something wrong, Fliss?’

There were no words that could convey such a formless fear and for a split second Fliss simply stared blankly, still caught by that primeval and totally unexpected physical reaction to a sense of danger.

Her patient patted her hand. ‘Don’t look so worried, love. I’ve been expecting bad news. This old ticker of mine’s been on its last legs for years.’

Fliss was mortified. How unprofessional was she being here? Not only had she allowed herself to be totally distracted from her examination, she had made one of her favourite patients fear the worst.

‘Your pulse feels fine, Jack. Just a little bit faster than normal. I need to have a good listen to the back of your chest now. Can you lean forward a little, please?’ Fliss pulled her stethoscope from where it was hanging around her neck. ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she added. ‘I just got distracted by the weirdest feeling. Like something was wrong.’

‘Something is wrong. Why do you think I called you out when you should be having your dinner? My shoes feel too tight and I’m short of puff as soon as I try doing anything.’

‘Hmm.’ Fliss was happy to concentrate on her consultation again. ‘Take some deep breaths for me, Jack.’ She could hear some crackles at the base of both lungs. ‘Have a good, hard cough for me.’

The fruity sound Jack produced made her shake her head ruefully. ‘You haven’t cut down on the smoking much, have you?’

Jack’s grunt was amused. ‘As you well know, my dear, I’ve been on the fags for more than seventy years. Trying to stop would kill me quicker than anything else is going to.’ There was a distinct twinkle in the gaze that caught hers as Jack twisted his head and the faint Scottish brogue in his voice, which had never quite vanished despite being in a foreign country for a large proportion of those seventy years, grew stronger. ‘And you’re not going to tell me to get lost just because I still have the odd wee puff, are you?’

‘The odd puff?’ Fliss had to laugh. ‘I reckon you manage twenty a day.’ She placed the disk of her stethoscope halfway down Jack’s skinny back. ‘Let me have another listen now that you’ve shifted a bit of that muck.’

The crackles were still there, which wasn’t unexpected. It fitted with the swelling Jack had in his ankles and his breathlessness on exertion or lying flat.

‘I think the chest infection you’ve had could be making your heart failure a bit worse, Jack,’ Fliss told her patient. ‘You’re accumulating fluid and that’s why you’re getting that puffiness in your ankles and feet. When the levels go up, it makes your lungs soggy as well—so that’s why you’re getting short of puff.’

‘It’s all that water I drink, isn’t it?’ The long-retired fisherman scratched thoughtfully at the fluffy white beard covering his chin and glared at the old valve radio that took pride of place on his cluttered kitchen table. ‘I should never have listened to that so called expert on the wireless. Eight glasses a day, they said! Should have just stuck with my beer, shouldn’t I?’

Fliss widened her eyes. ‘You mean to tell me you’ve been drinking water at the pub every night?’

‘Hell’s bells, lassie—are you mad? I’ve been drinking the water before I go down to the Hog. It’s no bloody wonder I’m waterlogged now, is it? It’s going to be the dry dock for me from now on. As far as the water goes, anyway,’ he added hastily.

Fliss wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around a still surprisingly muscular upper arm. ‘It’s got nothing to do with how much water you drink, Jack. If your heart’s working as well as it should, the rest of your body can do its job properly and the only difference eight glasses of water a day will make is in how many times you have to pee.’

Something made Fliss pause again before she pumped up the pressure cuff and put the stethoscope in place. Maybe it was the memory of what she had felt only minutes before. Her senses were still on full alert and the idea of cutting off her ability to hear something important was creating an odd reluctance.

She glanced through the glass doors that made up one side of Jack’s kitchen. The side that looked down the hill towards the sea and the river mouth that bordered the tiny coastal settlement on the west coast of New Zealand’s South Island.

‘Quiet, isn’t it?’

A rumble of laughter came from the man sitting beside the scrubbed pine table. ‘You’ve only just noticed?’

Fliss grinned. The peace and quiet were certainly two of the most notable attributes of Morriston. She’d been here for three months now in her position as a locum GP and it would seem laughable if she hadn’t acclimatised to the ambience. Then her smile faded.

‘No, I mean it’s quieter than normal.’

Jack swivelled on the spindle-backed wooden chair to join her in staring through the glass. His unpretentious house, which had once been someone’s holiday bach, was further up the hill than many in the village so the view was one of the best.

They could see one of his closest neighbours, Bernice, across the dusty, unsealed street as she stood in her garden, watering tomato plants. At the bottom of the street, where Fliss would turn right to get to her house that incorporated the small surgery, there were two small boys riding their bicycles in the fading light of a warm, spring evening. A couple was walking near the beach with their dog and right over at the river mouth there was more than one person standing thigh deep in the water, dragging in the big, box-type nets using for catching the local delicacy of whitebait.

‘High tide.’ Jack nodded. ‘Been a bumper season for whitebait so far.’

‘Mmm.’ Fliss wasn’t overly fond of the tiny fish because you could still see their eyes when they had been cooked up in the traditional fritters, but she had to accept the satisfied note in Jack’s voice that suggested there was nothing outwardly amiss in the scene.

It was quiet, yes. Peaceful. Picture perfect, in fact. Just the kind of place where Fliss had spent many happy summer holidays as a child. An advertisement for the quintessential security she had sought in order to get through her current life crisis.

With a slow nod Fliss suppressed that odd feeling of persistent unease and turned back to complete her examination.

‘Your blood pressure’s down a bit but it’s not bad,’ she said a minute later. ‘I’m going to keep you on those antibiotics for a few more days to make sure we’ve knocked that chest infection on the head. And I’ll take a blood sample now so I can check some other things.’

Like whether Jack’s increasing level of heart failure was due to a silent heart attack, but Fliss didn’t want to alarm Jack unnecessarily.

‘I’m going to increase your dose of diuretic as well. Hopefully that will do the trick in getting rid of that excess fluid.’ Fliss took a deep breath and ploughed on. ‘I’d really like to refer you to a cardiologist, Jack, for a more expert opinion.’

Jack snorted. ‘You’ll do, lass. Word is that you gave up the offer of a top spot in that emergency department in Christchurch to come over here. Lord knows why, but I reckon I’ve got all the expertise I need right now.’

‘Where on earth did you hear something like that?’

‘Word gets around in these parts.’

‘Obviously.’ The accuracy of the gossip was disconcerting. What else was everybody in Morriston discussing over their jugs of beer? The disaster of her personal life, maybe? The recent, devastating failure in her personal relationships?

The consternation in her tone was enough to make Jack smile reassuringly. ‘We only heard good stuff,’ he said kindly. ‘A mate of mine was in Greymouth hospital for a few days, that’s all. One of the doctors there knew about you. He said we were lucky to get someone with your qualifications who didn’t mind being stuck out in the sticks.’ Jack’s smile was smug. ‘That’s how I know I don’t need to go anywhere else for my medical care.’

‘I can’t give you the best care when I don’t know exactly what I’m dealing with, Jack. There are tests they can do which would tell me a lot. Simple things like a chest X-ray and an echocardiogram. You don’t have to go all the way to Christchurch or anything. Just down to Greymouth.’

Jack shook his head decisively. ‘I’ve told you, Fliss. Just what I’ve told all the other doctors that have come and gone in these parts. I haven’t crossed the river since I retired and I’ve got no intention of crossing it now. I’m eighty-six. Nobody lives for ever and when I pop my clogs I intend to do it in the privacy of my own home. Or maybe down at the Hog.’

Fliss sighed. ‘Fair enough.’

That the local pub qualified as a second home made her smile. The old stone building near the general store that Mrs McKay ran was far more of a social hub than the pretty church or the memorial hall opposite the doctor’s surgery, but Fliss didn’t mind. She liked being at the end of the quietest street with plenty of time to soak in the peace and quiet in the hope of unravelling the tangled knots in her head and heart.

Pulling a tourniquet and the items she needed to take a blood sample from her bag, Fliss kept a straight face.

‘Which arm today, then?’ she queried.

Jack pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Make it the right one,’ he said finally.

The look they shared acknowledged the joke that had forged the bond Fliss had formed so quickly with the very first patient she had treated in Morriston. The query of which arm the patient preferred to have the sample taken from was automatic and it had popped out on that very first consultation, probably due to Fliss being still unsettled.

The fact that Jack only had one arm, thanks to the fishing mishap that had forced his retirement nearly thirty years ago, had made the question a potential insult, but the old man had given it due consideration to save Fliss’s tongue-tied embarrassment and it was thanks to him that she had suddenly felt at home. Even the disturbing reminder of what she’d left behind that came with the Scottish lilt she could hear in her patient’s voice could be dealt with. She was in exactly the right place at the right time in her life.

As she tightened the tourniquet and smiled at the memory, Fliss finally shook off that sense of unease and felt herself relax. She would finish this home visit in a few minutes and then hurry back to her surgery where she knew Maria was probably waiting—amongst others. Convinced that her fifth child was going to put in an early appearance, Maria was attending the evening surgery a couple of times a week now for reassurance, while her husband and children did the evening chores on their rather isolated farmlet.

It was then, in that moment of relaxation, that they heard it.

A sharp crack. Loud enough to make the loose glass pane in one of Jack’s doors to rattle just a little. Unexpected enough to make Fliss jump and drop the needle she was about to fit to the end of her ten-ml syringe.

‘Just as well you weren’t about to stick that into me,’ Jack muttered.

‘Yeah.’ The agreement was wholehearted. ‘What on earth was that? It sounded like a gun.’ Fliss knew her shudder was probably visible. ‘I hate guns.’

And anything to do with them. Like the danger they represented.

And the way they automatically made her think of Angus.

‘Probably a car backfiring,’ Jack said casually.

‘Hmm.’ Fliss reached into her kit for a fresh needle. An unlikely explanation. Her car might be parked out on the dusty street but that was because she could be needed in a hurry somewhere else. As a rule, people didn’t bother driving cars on this side of the bridge. Once in the village they could easily walk where they needed to go. Or ride bicycles.

‘More likely it’s those Johnston boys.’ Jack was watching Fliss as she ripped open an alcohol swab. ‘Guy Fawkes is only a week or so away. They’re probably having a test run of their crackers.’

Fliss glanced outside again to where the young Johnston twins had been riding their bikes. Sure enough, two bicycles lay abandoned in the middle of the street, one with its front wheel still spinning slowly. Under one end of the long macrocarpa hedge that bordered the Treffers’ property, a pair of short legs could be seen protruding. A small boy hiding, perhaps—avoiding the potential consequences of an illicit act.

The second crack was even louder.

‘Now, that did sound like a gun,’ Jack said. ‘Maybe Darren’s doing something stupid in his back yard.’

It was quite possible. Darren was a local resident who shot possums in the vast tracts of native bush that cut Morriston off from the Southern Alps. As one of New Zealand’s most destructive pests, the culling was commendable but the way Darren left the carcasses piled in his driveway awaiting his taxidermy skills before being sent to the tourist shops was fairly unpopular with his neighbours.

‘Mind you,’ Jack added when a series of cracks made the windows as well as the doors rattle, ‘that’s no shotgun he’s using.’

Fliss unsnapped the tourniquet as Jack stood up. There was no way she could concentrate on taking a blood sample until they discovered the cause of this disturbing interruption.

They both moved to the glass doors.

‘Look!’ Fliss point towards the river mouth. ‘The whitebaiters are coming in in a hurry.’

Jack picked up a pair of binoculars from the end of his kitchen bench with an ease that suggested it was an automatic gesture. ‘It’s those Barrett boys,’ he told Fliss.

The fact that the Barrett ‘boys’ were both well into their fifties failed to raise a smile. She knew the brothers lived well out of the village, worked sporadically at a sawmill down the coast and relied heavily on the whitebait season to supplement their income. Right now, they were wading ashore with a speed that was at complete odds with the impression of laziness Fliss had gained on the one occasion she had met them.

The speed was enough to see one of them stumble and sprawl headlong into the slow-moving water.

‘Why have they left their nets behind?’

Jack didn’t answer the question. The way his grip on the binoculars tightened was enough to make Fliss catch her breath and it wasn’t just Jack’s sudden focus that brought those hairs up again on the back of her neck.

Her eyesight was more than good enough to see that the man who had stumbled wasn’t getting up again.

He was floating, face down in the water, while his brother continued his dash to the shore.

‘Jack?’ The tone was urgent and Fliss took the binoculars that he handed over in stunned silence.

Now Fliss could see something she would never have seen with the naked eye. Something she had not wanted to see.

A dark stain in the water to one side of the floating figure. Quickly dispersed, of course, only to re-form.

‘Oh, my God,’ Fliss breathed. ‘He’s been shot, hasn’t he, Jack?’

‘Come away from the window.’ Jack took Fliss’s elbow in a firm grip and propelled her back into the kitchen, but not before she took a wild visual sweep of the view closer to hand.

The impressions were momentary. Someone was running past the end of Jack’s street. The boys’ bicycles still lay in the dust and a small boy’s legs could still be seen under the Treffers’ hedge. Bernice was nowhere to be seen and the hose she had been using to water the tomatoes lay abandoned, the nozzle twisting gently due to the pressure of its undirected spray.

‘What’s happening, Jack?’

‘I dunno. But whatever it is, I don’t like it.’ Jack reached for the telephone on the wall beside an interior door. ‘I’m calling Blair.’

The local police officer was bound to be at the Hog at this time of day, having a quiet beer and keeping his finger on the pulse of his district. Luckily, he lived in Morriston and not one of the other scattered villages that he shared with Fliss as part of his responsibility. But Jack put the receiver down a moment later and shook his head.

‘Line’s busy.’

‘Call the emergency services,’ Fliss instructed. ‘We need help.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Someone needs to rescue that man in the river. He’s going to need treatment fast.’

‘I reckon it’s too late for that,’ Jack said heavily. Neither of them wanted to look towards the river mouth and see if the body was still floating. Neither of them could help themselves. Jack made a sound of frustration but then shook his head. ‘Nobody’s going to be crazy enough to wade out there while someone’s taking potshots at people.’

‘But who would be doing something like that? Why?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I’ve heard rumours about the Barrett boys. I suspect they grow more than veggies up there in the bush.’

‘People don’t get shot because they grow a bit of cannabis on the side.’

‘Don’t be too sure. It’s big business in these parts and the police chopper operations don’t find all the plantations by any means.’

‘You think this is deliberate, then? Some kind of patch warfare?’

‘Let’s hope so.’

Fliss said nothing. Jack was right. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. Far better that Jack was guessing correctly and there was a specific target that would only endanger innocent people if they got in the way.

Jack had entered the three-digit emergency number into his phone.

‘Police,’ Fliss heard him request brusquely. Then he said ‘Morriston’ in response to what had to be a query regarding location.

Then he was silent for what seemed an inordinately long time. Finally he nodded.

‘Right you are.’ The call was disconnected.

‘You didn’t tell them anything,’ Fliss protested.

‘They already know. There’s an armed offender operation already under way. They got the first call about fifteen minutes ago.’

‘But that was before we even heard the first shot.’

‘Maybe someone saw something. Or maybe someone was making threats.’ He gave Fliss a curious glance. ‘You knew, didn’t you? That something wasn’t right?’

‘I wouldn’t have called the police on the strength of a premonition,’ Fliss said wryly. ‘But at least we know help’s on the way.’

‘They said to stay put. Not to go outside under any circumstances. They said to lock our doors and windows, keep the lights off and stay hidden. They’ll let us know when it’s safe to come out.’

‘What?’ Fliss was horrified. ‘I’ve got patients waiting at the surgery. What if someone’s been shot and needs urgent treatment? I can’t stay hidden!’

‘Yes, you can, lass,’ Jack said firmly. ‘It’s getting dark out there. We have no idea what’s going on or where the idiot with the gun is. What use would you be to anyone if you go out there and get shot yourself?’

There were no streetlights in Morriston. When it got dark, it got absolutely dark. It might only be a few hundred metres to the surgery but it would be a long way to travel with the knowledge that any movement could attract the attention of someone with little regard for the law or the sanctity of human life. Even absolute darkness was probably not enough cover for someone with bright blonde hair like Fliss’s—especially when she was wearing a white shirt over her jeans.

‘I’ve got a cellar,’ Jack told her. ‘Damp little hole carved into the hill that’s been no use for storage so it’s empty. Won’t be that comfortable but it’ll be safe enough. You can come out and do your bit to help when the police arrive and you’ve got some protection.’

The notion of hiding was undeniably attractive. Fliss was good at hiding. It was why she had come to Morriston in the first place, wasn’t it? To hide from the painful reminders of what could have been if only things had been different.

Fliss had achieved the isolation she’d sought but how ironic was it that she was now in a situation in which she needed Angus more than she had ever needed anyone?

Or that the reason she needed him so badly was the very reason that had forced her to end the relationship? Angus knew what it was like to face danger like this. He had the training and skills to deal with it. To protect himself and others.

But he was hundreds of miles away in Christchurch. Would SERT—the specialist emergency response team—be activated in response to an armed offender callout in Morriston?

Probably. They got sent to any kind of hotspot that needed police and paramedic personnel.

Would Angus be on duty?

Fliss didn’t know. She had worked hard to try and stop thinking about him all the time. To stop imagining what he might be doing on a particular day or at a particular time of day or night. To stop wondering whether he had got over being furious to find he missed her as much as she missed him.

Success in her endeavours had been patchy. Fliss still thought about Angus far too often for her peace of mind, but she had forgotten his roster.

If he came, dressed in operational gear like his armed police team members, the sanctuary Fliss had found would be gone. Morriston, as much as Christchurch, would remind her of Angus. Of the direction his career as a paramedic had taken him. Of its call to put him in dangerous places and situations that had the potential to claim his life. A potential that had spelt the end of a future together as far as Fliss had been concerned.

But the safety of Morriston was already violated, wasn’t it? Fliss had never been this afraid in her life. It wouldn’t matter if Angus was still furious with her for the way she had ended things. It wouldn’t matter if she only saw him for a moment or two in the distance. Just knowing he was nearby would give her the strength to do what she knew she had to do.

Something that could in no way include the safety of Jack’s underground cellar.

The Iroquois helicopter ferrying the personnel equipped to contain and deal with whatever the situation evolving in Morriston could produce was being buffeted by strong wind gusts as it crossed the island’s spine of the Southern Alps near the Lewis Pass.

The majority of people on board were part of the special operations squad—an elite division of the police force. Only two of the men were specially trained paramedics whose training crossed the boundaries between police and ambulance. One of those medically qualified SERT members on board the helicopter was Angus McBride.

He nudged the man sitting closest to him and leaned in to be heard above the engine noise.

‘Do you think this is for real?’

His partner, Tom, shrugged eloquently. Then he grinned and Angus could hear the message as clearly as if it had been shouted. If the early and somewhat hysterical calls to Police Control were to be believed, there was definitely some kind of battle going on in the sleepy seaside settlement of Morriston.

It sounded like more than one person was armed and dangerous. More than one victim had already been targeted or caught in the crossfire and whoever the perpetrators were, they were not likely to simply give themselves up to the police.

The squad on board this helicopter was heading into unfamiliar and hostile territory and additional resources in the way of manpower or equipment were not going to be readily available. This could well prove to be the biggest challenge he and Tom had faced since joining SERT.

So why wasn’t Angus experiencing the same adrenaline rush that Tom’s grin had advertised?

Because Morriston was the destination, of course.

Angus leaned close to his partner again. ‘Want to know something weird? I was planning to visit Morriston in the next week or two.’

Tom’s eyebrows disappeared into the black balaclava covering his head. ‘What on earth for?’

Good question. Angus hadn’t even told his best mate that he’d finally got over himself and made enquiries at the emergency department of Christchurch’s biggest hospital in order to find out exactly where Fliss had taken herself off to when she’d walked out of his life.

Would he really have followed through on his intention to go and see her? To risk rejection again if she was still happy with the way things now were?

It didn’t matter now. It didn’t matter that the thrill of a big job unfolding had failed to capture Angus. The only thing uppermost in his mind was fear and the notion of shining a torch on that fear and making it shrink by exposure was too tempting to resist.

‘Fliss is there.’

It seemed incongruous to be shouting something that touched such a private part of his soul but there was no danger of anyone other than Tom hearing. And he was the only one who would recognise the significance of the statement. He deserved to know that Angus had a personal agenda on this job. And Tom would know exactly how significant that agenda might be. He’d seen how devastating it had been to have Fliss walk out like that. He’d had to work with Angus in the weeks when despair and anger had vied for a controlling position in mood determination.

‘No way!’ Tom looked shocked. ‘I thought you said she’d gone up north.’

‘I thought she had. I never bothered asking for a specific forwarding address until a few days ago.’

‘Why the hell would she go to a place like Morriston?’

‘Guess she wanted something a bit different.’

Tom shook his head. ‘That’s not different. It’s a total cop-out.’ He glanced at Angus. ‘You sure she’s there right now?’

‘As far as I know.’

‘You worried, mate?’

Angus could say nothing. He could only set his lips into a grim line and look away from the concern on Tom’s face.

Of course he was worried.

Worried sick.

Why hadn’t he tried earlier to find Fliss? To contact her? To see if he could find a way to persuade her to come home?

To arrive like this wasn’t going to help anything. His bullet-proof vest and dark camouflage clothing would only remind Fliss of why she had left in the first place.

But that didn’t actually matter right now. The need to find and protect the only woman he had ever truly loved was an issue quite separate from the possibility of them ever getting back together. It was simply something that Angus had to do.

He clenched his fists, urging the helicopter on into the black night. Not that willpower was going to make them get there any quicker but at least it felt like he was doing something.

Before it was too late.

CHAPTER TWO

EVEN important decisions could sometimes be made purely by default.

Fliss knew she couldn’t, in all conscience, choose to stay safely hidden but the sporadic sound of continuing gunfire made her postpone any move from the relative safety of Jack’s now darkened kitchen.

She sat on the floor near the interior door and Jack sat beside her just under the telephone. Waiting for the next, still shocking, evidence of what was going on outside, they strained to hear anything that might warn of danger getting too close.

And in the eerie, waiting silence between gunshots, Fliss was all too aware of the sound of Jack’s breathing. It sounded worse than it had when she had arrived for her home visit but that was hardly surprising, given the level of stress they had both been plunged into.

‘Where are your pills, Jack?’

‘On the window-sill. Just above the electric kettle. That way I remember to take them when I make a cuppa, first thing.’

‘Did you take one this morning?’

‘Yep.’

‘I want you to take another one now,’ Fliss instructed. ‘I’ll get it for you.’ But she found a hand on her elbow, dragging her back to the floor as soon as she tried to get to her feet.

‘You stay right where you are, lass. I’ll get it for myself.’

With a grunt that revealed the effort involved, Jack pushed himself slowly upright. With the ease of familiarity, he negotiated a route past the spindle-backed chairs towards the bench more successfully than Fliss would have managed, but a chair got nudged and scraped on the wooden floorboards all the same. Fliss felt her heart skip a beat and then start to race alarmingly.

She forced herself to take a deep breath in through her nose. And then she let it out slowly.

There was no avoiding the situation they were in. Somehow she had to get a grip on herself and deal with it or she would be no use to anyone, including herself. The notion that she might be paralysed by a panic attack was almost as abhorrent as the violence going on in Morriston.

She was not like her mother. She was not about to choose to become a victim—of her own emotions or anyone else’s behaviour.

‘Jack?’

‘Yep?’

‘Do you keep your spray with your pills?’

‘You mean that stuff for if I get chest pain?’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t need it.’

‘It’s not just for angina, Jack. It might help quite a bit with that breathlessness you’ve got at the moment.’ Jack’s blood pressure had been high enough to tolerate the potential lowering effect nitrates could have. ‘I want you to take two sprays under your tongue.’

‘Hmmph!’ She could hear Jack shaking a container of tablets. ‘I’ll take the extra pill and see how I go.’

‘No. Take the spray.’ Fliss scrambled upright. ‘I’m going to have to go down to my surgery, Jack. I don’t want to be worrying about you getting worse while I’m gone.’

The lid of the plastic container hit the bench with a rattle. ‘You’re not going out there!’

‘I have to, Jack!’ Fliss straightened her back to reinforce the determination in her tone. ‘You know how we saw one of the Johnston twins hiding under that bush? What if he’s not hiding?’ Concern tightened her voice. ‘What if he’s hurt and needs help but he’s too scared to go looking for someone?’

Fliss gulped in some air. ‘And where’s his brother? And what if Maria’s waiting for me and she’s terrified and she goes into labour? And what about Mr—?’

Jack held up his hand. ‘All right, pet, I get the message.’ He stared at Fliss through the gloom of the unlit room. ‘But there’s no way I’m going to let you go by yourself. I’m coming with you.’

An eighty-six-year-old with one arm and heart failure as her protector? Fliss almost smiled but had to blink back tears instead. This old man really cared about her safety and she’d almost forgotten what it was like to have someone really care about her. Maybe she couldn’t have the man she really needed by her side right now but Jack was better than nothing. A whole lot better than nothing.

‘Let’s go, then,’ Fliss urged. Now, she added silently, while she had enough courage gathered to turn her back on personal safety.

‘Wait.’ Jack scratched his beard thoughtfully. ‘You can’t go outside like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘All white and…kind of glowing. That pretty hair of yours would catch anybody’s eye.’

Fliss did smile now. ‘Is that a compliment, Jack? Why, thank you!’

Jack made a dismissive growling sound. ‘If you’re mad enough to want to go out there I can’t stop you, but you need to cover up. I’ve got a black hat somewhere. And maybe a jersey or two.’

‘You’ll need a hat yourself. Your hair’s paler than mine.’

‘What’s left of it.’ Jack ran his hand over his balding scalp. Then he smiled at Fliss. ‘Guess I’ve compensated by growing fluff on my chin instead, haven’t I?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘I’ve got some old fishing gear out the back. I’ll see what I can find.’

‘Have you taken that pill yet?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the spray?’

Grumbling, Jack reached for the small red GTN cannister. ‘Bossy, aren’t you?’

‘I can be.’ Fliss nodded. ‘But only when I care about what happens to the people I’m bossing.’

She should use any skills in that department to try and make her patient heed police advice and stay in his own home, Fliss decided in Jack’s absence. Justifying the danger he was prepared to face with the rationale that she would be able to take better care of his current condition by having him with her at the surgery wasn’t good enough.

When Jack returned with an armload of dark clothing, Fliss was ready with her sternest tone.

‘I can go by myself, Jack. I’d much rather you stayed here.’

‘Not on your nelly.’ Jack sounded affronted. ‘I’ll make my own decisions about some things, missy. You can’t always get what you want by being bossy, you know.’

Too true.

Jack’s reprimand hit a nerve. Angus had considered Fliss to be bossy as well. Stubborn. Uncompromising. The expression ‘control freak’ had surfaced more than once in the escalating arguments that had marred their last few weeks together.

Did she try and use a position of authority for selfish motives? Had her bossiness really been due to the degree to which she had cared about Angus or had she been more concerned about her personal welfare? Getting what she wanted? Had her training as a doctor, in fact, given her a mistaken belief that she could make choices for others that went beyond medical assistance?

Fliss was silent, mulling over what she suspected might be an unpleasant home truth as she pulled on a well-worn woollen pullover in a navy-blue fisherman’s rib. Jack was struggling into a similar garment and he rolled up the surplus sleeve and tucked it inside the armhole.

‘Blessed nuisance, having two sleeves on everything,’ he muttered. ‘Nobody caters for the minorities.’

Fliss smiled briefly at the joke as she took the black knitted beanie Jack handed her. These clothes had to be more than thirty years old—relics from Jack’s career as a fisherman—and she could almost smell salt-laden air and the tang of fish.

Jack scrutinised the finished result but shook his head sadly. ‘It’s no good,’ he announced.

‘Why not?’ Fliss jammed the last strands of her shoulder-length, wavy hair under the hat. Then she rolled up the sleeves of the oversized jersey so that her hands were free. ‘I think it’s great. We’re both going to be hard to see if we stick to the shadows.’

‘Your face is too pale. Let me think…’ Jack actually seemed to be enjoying himself, Fliss realised with astonishment. His breathing sounded less laboured and he moved more quickly than she had ever seen him when he turned and headed for his pantry. ‘I’ve got just the thing,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘You wait right here.’

Fliss peered at the small, round tin in his hand when he reappeared moments later.

‘Boot polish?’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. It’s what those top-notch police fellows use when they go out on dangerous missions.’

‘They don’t use boot polish, Jack.’

‘How would you know?’

‘Because I just do. I…used to know some of those police fellows.’

‘Hmmph.’ Jack held out the tin. ‘Same difference, in any case. Take the lid off this so I can smear a bit on your face.’

Fliss couldn’t resist muttering something about her not being the only bossy one but then she stood still as Jack wiped polish on her face. She returned the favour, blackening Jack’s beard as well as his cheeks. The task suddenly struck her as being ridiculous. Here they were, dressing up like small boys preparing to go and play some kind of war game. What would Angus say if he could see her now?

He’d probably laugh. And say something like ‘Can’t beat ’em so you’re going to join ’em, huh? Cool. Come out and play with us, then.’

Except this wasn’t any kind of a game. It was real.

And deadly.

And Angus, if he was in any way involved tonight, would be even more effectively camouflaged. And Fliss could be quite certain that he wouldn’t be laughing.

‘We’ll go out the back way,’ Jack decided. ‘If we go to the top of the hill and then cut back through the Bennies’ orchard, go through the back of the cemetery and then over the Carsons’ fence, we’ll be just about at your place.’

‘But if we go that way, we won’t go past the Treffers’ place. I need to know whether it’s Callum or Cody under that bush, Jack. And whether they’re OK.’

Jack shook his head. ‘It’s too exposed. Too risky. If we go my way, we’ve got more chance of staying hidden.’

By tacit consent, they both edged towards the glass doors to see if staring into the dark street could help finalise their plan of action.

‘Look.’ For the second time that evening, Fliss pointed towards the river mouth.

On the other side of the bridge, flashing lights could be seen. The red, blue and white lights on the different emergency services vehicles looked like a strobe lighting effect for a large outdoor party.

‘The cavalry’s arriving.’ Jack sounded relieved. ‘And it’s been less than an hour since all this started. Not bad.’

‘But they’re not moving. They’re miles away.’

‘They’re not going to let anyone come in until they know it’s safe. And they won’t want anyone escaping, either. I’ll bet they’ve blocked the road on the north side as well.’

They may as well still be as far away as they had been in the larger towns they had rushed here from, Fliss thought in despair. Relief at knowing help was close was minimised by the frustration of knowing they were still alone on this side of the river.

More lights could now be seen flashing in the sky above the position that had clearly been chosen as a safe rendezvous point. A helicopter was hovering over what had to be Morriston’s Domain—a rather grand name for what was little more than a paddock ringed with some lovely old oak trees and used more as a venue for the local pony club to meet than anything else.

Reinforcements from Christchurch?

Would Angus be amongst them?

And if so, how long would he have to wait, cut off by the wide stretch of the Morris River, before he could come to help any of the residents?

To help her.

Fliss pushed the selfish thought aside and turned to look away from the tantalising sight of the gathering rescue forces.

The northern boundary of Morriston was hidden from view by the hill Jack’s house was on but Fliss looked in that direction anyway. Was the old man right? Had the first priority been to try and seal them off from the outside world to prevent anyone creating mayhem somewhere else? And what about the native bush on the eastern boundary? It would be easy for someone to hide in there for as long as they wanted and then return if they didn’t consider the job finished.

An explosion too loud to be gunfire sounded as though it came from just beyond Jack’s front doorstep. Fliss instinctively crouched, just as a shower of bright sparks appeared in the inky blackness outside.

Jack remained standing.

‘What’s happening?’ Fliss queried shakily.

‘There’s a fire.’ Jack sounded shocked. ‘A big one. I think it might be Darren’s house.’

Fliss inched back up to where she could see the first lick of tall flames dividing the sparks. Thick smoke roiled into the night, illuminated by the flames.

Would the volunteer fire brigade dare to respond? Fliss had seen them in action once in her time here, when Mrs McKay’s bonfire had spread to a stand of gum trees at the back of her section. A siren had summoned the volunteers and the ancient vehicle they used had been in place in a commendably short space of time. Rural communities had to look after themselves in that sort of crisis and deal with any type of fire as quickly as possible. Back-up would be a long way away if an uncontrolled fire began spreading from tree to tree and then house to house.

But no siren sounded now. If it was Darren’s house going up in smoke, it was being left to suffer its fate.

‘Whoever lit that fire can’t be far away.’

‘No.’

‘What’s going to happen next?’

As if to answer her frightened question, Fliss heard a faint scream from somewhere down the hill.

And then the sound of yet another gunshot.

And then silence.

She looked at Jack.

‘I’m going now,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t just sit here and let this happen.’

‘No.’ Jack moved, heading for the passage that led to his back door. He opened the back door, stared for a long moment into the dark section and then jerked his head sideways. ‘Right, then. Let’s go.’

Fliss followed close behind, crouching as she ran. They stopped when they reached the henhouse and huddled into the darkness between the corrugated-iron shed and an overhanging apple tree.

‘You go the way I told you, Fliss, and, for God’s sake, keep a careful lookout and your head down.’

‘What are you going to do?’ Fliss didn’t want to set off alone. Jack might be eighty-six and in no shape for physical exertion but doing this alone was a terrifying prospect.

‘I’m going past the Treffers’ place. I’ll check on Callum. Or Cody.’ Jack’s teeth gleamed oddly in the frame of his blackened beard as he grinned at Fliss. ‘Not that I’ve ever been able to tell those rascals apart. They never get close enough.’

There was an unmistakable undertone of sadness and Fliss knew why it was there. It had taken time, but she had learned that Jack was something of an outsider in this village despite having lived here for most of his adult life. She didn’t think he had been a loner by choice, however. While making notes in that very first interview, Fliss, had casually queried Jack’s marital status. Avoiding her gaze, Jack had been brusque.

‘I was always a bit shy when it came to the lassies. And it’s a bit late now.’

Perhaps his disfigurement, added to too many years of living alone, had combined to push him further away from the community as he had started to look more disreputable, and the only place he went to socially was the local pub. He didn’t have to be alone right now, however. Fliss leaned closer.

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No.’ The gleam vanished. ‘It’s a more dangerous way to go, Fliss, and you’re the important one here. As you said, there could well be people waiting at the surgery who need you.’ His hand gripped her shoulder for a second. ‘You’ll be OK. Just go quietly and carefully.’

‘You, too, Jack.’

‘I’ll meet you at your place.’

Fliss simply nodded in response and she couldn’t be sure that Jack had noticed. In another moment he was gone. Swallowed up in the night with any sounds of his shuffling movements covered by the soft scratching and clucking from the hens in the run attached to the shed.

Fliss felt very, very alone.

And very, very frightened.

A wave of longing swept over her, so powerful it was a physical pain that tightened her chest and made it hard to draw the deep breath she needed for courage.

She so badly needed to be held right now. By someone who loved her. Someone she loved.

No. Not just someone.

Angus.

The wait seemed interminable.

They were dressed and ready to go. Angus had been wearing the heavy bullet-proof vest long enough for a familiar knot to be present between his shoulder blades. On top of that was a jacket with pockets everywhere. His police companions used the pockets to carry things like spare ammunition, teargas and stun grenades. Angus had a gas mask in one pocket but the others were bulging with emergency medical supplies. A mini-tracheostomy kit, dressings and bandages to hopefully deal with life-threatening bleeding in the field, some IV gear and drugs.

He wore the headset radio that enabled hands-free communication between all members of the team and he had pulled on a black balaclava and a pair of gloves to complete the uniform. His face was darkened with camouflage crayon and, surrounded by identical figures, the quickest way to spot Tom was to look for the only other man who did not have a revolver on his hip and a larger automatic weapon slung over one shoulder.

Police dogs strained at their leashes and whined softly behind the group but Angus concentrated on what their operation commander was saying, silently willing him to hurry. To deploy them to the other side of the river where he could find out whether Fliss was safe.

‘The offender—or offenders, as we suspect is the case—are not to be shot,’ they were reminded. ‘Unless he has been called on to surrender and has refused to do so or it is clear it won’t be possible to disarm and arrest him without immobilisation and that any delay in apprehending him would endanger others.’

At least that wasn’t a call Angus was going to have to make. His job was to provide medical back-up to his team members, any victims or even the offender. He would have an armed officer by his side, as would Tom, so they were about to be separated. The township and surrounding areas of Morriston had been divided into sections on paper and colour coded. The squad would be sent to try and cover as much of the area as possible and the first priority was to locate any of the offenders and contain them.

They still had no idea where the armed offenders were located or how many there were, despite helpful information from the local police officer, Blair, and a resident who had fled the township at the first sign of trouble.

The woman, a Mrs McKay, was still standing nearby with a blanket draped over her shoulders and an ambulance officer close beside her.

‘I knew something was going to happen,’ Angus had heard her say to his commanding officer just before their briefing. ‘Never seen them before and they came into my shop like they owned it. Said they were mates of Darren Blythe and wanted to know where he lived.’

Darren, according to Blair, was on bail. He’d been arrested and charged with the possession of an illegal substance only days ago and it had become evident that he was selling cannabis on behalf of the Barrett brothers.

Whether the older men were cultivating a commercial supply themselves had been something Blair had intended to investigate but it now seemed likely that they had, in fact, been helping themselves to a crop being carefully nurtured by an out-of-town syndicate using the native bush as cover for a large-scale operation.

‘They’ve all gone too far to be able to back down,’ the police chief inspector reminded the squad. ‘The firing of weapons has been indiscriminate and we have an unknown number of casualties out there. A greater number of residents are still in their own homes and in danger but we can’t start evacuation until we know where the offenders are located.’

And that could be impossible to find out, given the area that needed clearing and the total lack of light. The house fire that had started maybe ten or fifteen minutes ago stood out like a huge beacon and had the effect of making everything else look far darker. No lights showed in any of the dwellings.

It was all ominously black.

And very quiet.

Terrified people were hiding in these scattered houses.

And one of them was Felicity Slade.

It was an enormous relief when the briefing finally finished. A large police van, with no lights, was used to move the squad across the bridge, where it parked with its rear doors close to the side wall of the general store. The location and lack of windows in Mrs McKay’s establishment made it an ideal base for the police operation, and heavy shrubbery that bordered the adjacent small car park afforded cover to those members of the squad who silently melted into the blackness. They dispersed in single units and pairs to make their way to their allocated sectors.

Angus and his police companion, Seth, were going to Green Sector which covered a street that contained a church, memorial hall, several houses and the doctor’s surgery. It was neither coincidence nor a personal request that had landed Angus what would have been a chosen destination. As a paramedic and unable to carry anything other than very limited gear, the facility of the community’s medical centre could well be needed.

Only Tom knew the relief Angus experienced at having been handed the opportunity to check on the whereabouts and safety of his ex-partner at such an early stage of an operation that could easily not be resolved until daylight.

It was not something Angus was about to share with anyone else, including Seth. He owed it to his partner to remain as focussed as humanly possible on the immediate task they had.

He followed Seth. Very slowly. Moving from one safely sheltered spot to the next, only after waiting and watching long enough to lessen the risk that they weren’t alone.

It wasn’t just the offenders that they had to worry about, either. The possibility that some residents had been able to arm themselves and were ready to protect their lives and property was very real. A shadowy, black figure moving past their hedge or garden shed would appear terrifying. It could well be too late by the time they could identify themselves as the good guys so they needed to remain hidden from anyone as far as possible. For the same reason, they would have to treat anyone they encountered with the same kind of caution. Staying in one place would have created tension. Moving towards an unknown destination in foreign territory made it almost unbearable.

It was taking forever to get back to what now felt like safety—being within four walls and behind a locked door.

Fliss crept between hiding places and every time she moved just a few metres, she had to crouch and wait until her heart stopped hammering and her breathing slowed so that she could actually hear more than the blood pounding in her head.

Then she would wait, listening intently for anything that might indicate danger. The Bennies’ unkempt orchard, with its long grass and overgrown apple trees whose branches mingled with each other, provided reasonable cover but the black tree trunks and twisted branches looked like stationary figures. It was also a haven for wild creatures and Fliss broke out in a sweat at the rustling a nearby hedgehog made.

Having reached the end of the orchard, there was a far more daunting space to cross. The tiny cemetery with its headstones casting pools of black shadow so dark they looked like deep, water-filled holes. Fliss had never realised how many shades of black existed and they all seemed threatening tonight.

It took a long time to gather her courage for the next step of this journey and in those lonely moments Fliss stared at the gravestones and tried not to think of the times she had attended burial services. Of the desolation she’d experienced as a ten-year-old child, watching her father being laid to rest.

Of the guilt and helplessness when she’d stood at her mother’s graveside only a few years later.

Fliss might never have found the courage she needed to move into the cemetery if she hadn’t heard the faint call.

‘Help…please…Someone help me!’

It was a woman’s voice. A woman who was in pain and terrified. Possibly the one whom Fliss and Jack had heard scream what seemed like hours before.

Fliss couldn’t not respond to the plea for help. The part of her that could forget anything personal and focus totally on the needs of someone else took over, and when she moved this time it was with a confidence and stealth she had been all too aware of lacking up till now.

She almost made it to the crumpled figure lying between a tall headstone and the marble angel that was so old its nose had crumbled off. But by the time she saw the black figure launch itself at her from the shadow of another headstone it was far to late to even turn, let alone try to flee or defend herself.

She landed in the grass, face down, with a jolt that forced any air out of her lungs, and the pain of trying to breathe again almost overwhelmed the fear that came with the knowledge that she was about to die.

It was a male figure pinning her to the ground. No woman could weigh that much and still have the feel of iron-clad muscle and untold strength. Why hadn’t he shot her, like the others? Had he finally run out of ammunition? Was he going to kill her by some much slower and therefore more horrendous method?

Fear kicked in then, and Fliss struggled, ready to fight for her life.

She felt herself turning onto her back but her arms were pinned to the ground on either side of her head and her legs were still crushed by the weight of her attacker.

The struggle was silent and fierce. The paralysing effect on her diaphragm from the initial body blow meant that Fliss couldn’t draw enough breath to scream yet. When she found she could suck in some oxygen, she stopped struggling for a split second to do just that.

And in that moment she focussed on the face hovering so close to her own. She could see the features that were well disguised but not altered by the black substance that covered them.

Could see dark eyes that were staring back at her with an extraordinary expression.

A strangled sound like a sob finally escaped Fliss. A release of terror. The birth of something far more welcome.

Her hoarse whisper was a desperate plea to confirm what she thought she was seeing.

‘Angus?’

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