Heart's Passage Part 2

"Just do it. I'll make the usual arrangements for your payment. I want her gone, Jo. "

She'd hung up and knocked back the last of the large gla.s.s of very expensive scotch she had been nursing all night.

So much for a relaxing night off, she'd thought as she carefully placed the gla.s.s back on the marble-topped dining table. Jo had taken her time preparing for her task. She had collected the tools of her trade-a custom-handled silver Colt Commander tucked into a discreet holster on the back of her hip, a wicked, thin-bladed knife in her boot and a piano-wire garrote, her weapon of last resort, hung from her belt.

It hadn't felt any different from the other times. As she stepped out from her warehouse apartment deep in the back alleys of King's Cross and walked off into the night, there had been no inkling that this would be the end of the line for Jo, the changing of her life.

Jo had found the girl, much as she'd expected, sitting on the pavement in front of one of the all-night coffee shops on Oxford Street, sharing a joint with a thin, beautiful gay boy, fresh from the dance clubs.

Too stupid to know she's in trouble, Jo had thought as she stood across the street, watching from a darkened doorway. Or too stoned. She glanced impatiently at her watch. Time to make this happen.

She had shrugged herself upright and stepped forward into the light, waiting for a break in the traffic and beginning to cross the road. The girl caught sight of her and Jo had stopped, letting the wind heighten what was already, she knew, an intimidating sight.

The girl had seen a tall, gothic figure dressed in black from head to foot, ice-cold blue eyes boring into her, hands slowly flexing into fists and opening again by her sides. The wind whipped Jo's long, black hair around her face, and her full-length black coat around her legs. The girl knew Jo, knew what she did, and had felt the chill as realization hit. Her male companion had been a beat ahead of her, and was already making a hasty retreat.

Jo had waited. She knew there was no rush and the ending was inevitable. She just had to let it happen in its own time. Slowly the girl stood, unsteady on her feet from the hash and the fear.

"W-what do you want?"

Jo had let a feral grin cross her face.

"You. "

That did it. The adrenalin had finally kicked in for her quarry, who took off down Oxford Street towards the city centre. Jo didn't rush but followed at a light jog, knowing at this time of night there wasn't much of a crowd for the girl to lose herself in. She saw her prey duck into an alley and had almost laughed at the simplicity of it all. It was a dead-end with nowhere to go but oblivion.

Jo slowed to a walk as she entered the alley, ignoring the stench from the piles of garbage. One foot kicked aside a rat carca.s.s, and ahead she could see the girl crossing the pale yellow pool of light thrown by the bare bulb above a doorway. Jo walked on through the light and into the murky depths of the end of the alleyway.

The girl s.h.i.+vered, her back pressed against the damp brick wall. The woman walking towards her never slowed for a moment and the girl had squeaked as a large, powerful hand wrapped itself around her throat, lifting her off the ground. She felt the pressure build in her head as she fought for breath, her own hands fluttering uselessly against Jo's.

"Stop fighting. I will make this quick if you just stop fighting, " Jo had muttered harshly. The girl went limp and she dropped her, drawing out her gun as the junkie crumpled in a heap at the base of the wall. The a.s.sa.s.sin stepped back, c.o.c.ked the Colt and took aim. Green eyes welling with tears stared back at her along the barrel.

Then the unthinkable had happened. For the first time in her career Jo had felt a trickle of sweat down the back of her neck. That awareness made her hesitate. The tear-stained, elfin face at her feet sensed the hesitation and took its chance.

"Why?" the girl had whispered.

"You know why. You don't f.u.c.k with Tony. "

"N-no. I mean, why you? What did I ever do to you?"

The words had cut through Jo like a hot knife through b.u.t.ter.

'SHUT UP! " she'd screamed. Jo surged forward till she was crouching in front of the girl, the muzzle of the gun pressed hard against her cheek. Images of a time, years earlier, and another girl-darker, younger even than this one-and another killer's gun, flashed before her eyes. "Just shut up... "

Jo had fought for self-control, her finger pressuring the trigger slowly, her gaze full of her victim's imploring, tear-filled eyes.

She was dumbfounded by the uncertainty and-horror?-welling up inside her. Never before had she felt such doubt. She had always been the cold-eyed killer who felt nothing, had never batted an eye as she ended a life. But this waif had reached in and squeezed her heart, somehow.

Again Jo had hesitated, torn and bewildered by her own lack of resolve. But then the decision was made for her, as footsteps hurried up behind her and stopped.

"What the f.u.c.k are you waiting for?" She recognized the voice as her boss' top henchman. "Finish it, Madison, for Christ's sake. "

"Get lost, Marco. I've got this," she threw back over her shoulder, the gun muzzle still pressed cruelly into the young girl's cheek, where a trickle of blood was showing.

"Doesn't look that way to me. Looks to me like you were about to let her go, " the man had sneered as he moved closer.

She had rounded on him then, standing tall, besting him by a good few inches, as she pressed the gun into his gut. His breath reeked of garlic and stale beer.

"I said f.u.c.k off, Marco, this isn't your concern. " Her voice was low and threatening. But for once, the thug wasn't intimidated. He had sensed her earlier hesitation, had heard the quaver in her tone and now he drove home his advantage, like a sword into an armor's c.h.i.n.k.

He slammed her back against the alley's side wall, wrenching the gun from her hand before pistol-whipping her viciously with the b.u.t.t of the grip. Her world went black.

She had come to slowly, achingly, with a mouth full of filthy street water from the puddle she had landed in. Hacking away the foul taste, Jo sat up groggily, grateful at least that Marco had disappeared. She sat back against the wall, rubbing her forehead ruefully, her fingers coming away red from the lump she found there. Then she had caught sight of her gun, and beyond that a crumpled, bloodied form, now unrecognizable as human.

"Oh no."

Jo stood up slowly, using the wall for support, as she waited for her stomach to stop its flip-flopping. Once she was sure she wasn't going to throw up or faint she had made her way over to the girl. There was no doubting she was dead. Her face was unrecognizable-a mess of destruction. Jo guessed Marco had emptied her gun into the girl and then inflicted his own signature brand of violence upon her, probably with his steel-capped boots, just for jollies. She turned aside and vomited convulsively, splattering the wall and her own shoes.

What happened here? Jo had struggled to understand how the girl had reached into her psyche and woken her from a 10-year spell. Whatever happened next, Jo knew she couldn't keep doing this. There was nothing left inside her except pain and remorse and darkness. She wondered at the tears streaming silently down her cheeks, helpless to stop them.

She'd wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve and reached for her cell phone. No doubt Marco was already telling her boss the good news personally. She didn't have much time. She dialed a number from memory and waited for it to be answered. Eventually a sleepy, gruff voice had picked up.

"Harding."

Jo shook herself out of her reverie. Sometimes she found herself disbelieving that any of it had ever happened. Life here was so different.

When she arrived in the Whitsundays-after a tortuous two-week journey hitchhiking along back roads and byways-she'd found work as a deckhand with one of the bareboat charter yacht companies. The work was physical and demanding, but that was something she enjoyed. Even though the pay wasn't great and tourists could be a pain when they traveled in herds, she got to spend her days out on the ocean with the salt wind in her hair and her other life a million planets away.

Two years ago she had earned her Master's ticket and a promotion. Now she skippered a 50-foot yacht with one deckhand and a cook, hosting small groups of tourists interested in spending more than just a day exploring the islands of the Whitsunday Pa.s.sage. Sometimes the crew outnumbered the pa.s.sengers.

All in all, not a bad way to earn a living, Jo reflected. And more to the point, she wasn't hurting anyone. She never wanted to do that again.

Jo took a deep lungful of the warm night air and exhaled slowly. Which is why she didn't make a habit of bringing tall redheads back to the house.

d.a.m.n. She didn't want-no, she didn't need-anyone that close to her. Apart from anything else, she had no intention of putting anyone else in the firing line should her old life ever happen to catch up with her here in Paradise.

And besides, I'm poison. Right? There's so much blood on my hands; who would ever want to be with me once they know the truth? And the truth always comes out. It has to, doesn't it? That's what being close to someone means, doesn't it? Honesty? Trust?

Jo sighed again.

Ah well. It's a moot point anyway. The redhead on the other end of the not-so-soft snoring emanating from her bedroom sure as h.e.l.l wasn't the one. She was just the one she'd have to let down gently in the morning and tell the inevitable white lies to. Sure, I'll call you.

No, love wasn't in Jo Madison's future. She was just grateful to be alive, to have a second chance at living life right. Anything else was a bonus she just wasn't going to let herself expect.

Right?

Chapter Two.

Cadie settled back into her economy-cla.s.s seat and tried hard not to think about just how tired she was. No matter how luxurious the seat, or how good the airline food, 28 hours was a grueling amount of time to spend getting anywhere.

And it isn't over yet, she sighed. An interminable wait at Sydney International to get through customs and immigration was followed by a bus ride across the airport to the domestic terminal to board a plane so small it didn't have a first-cla.s.s cabin.

Not that she cared about that. But Naomi had been a bear with a sore head almost from the moment they'd checked in at O'Hare what seemed like a week ago. And the lack of a gla.s.s of champagne and room to stretch out had turned her into the ogre from h.e.l.l.

"What kind of a rinky-d.i.n.k operation is this?" she'd yelled at a pa.s.sing flight attendant as they'd boarded the small plane to Hamilton Island.

"Nay, would you relax? You're not making this any easier," muttered Cadie. "We're not going to a big city, just a little island. I'm sure only the smaller planes can land there."

"I don't give a rat's a.s.s. I just want to get to the hotel and get some G.o.dd.a.m.ned sleep."

Fortunately for Cadie and the flight crew, sleep had claimed the senator not long after takeoff on the last leg of their journey. She slumped bonelessly in the seat next to Cadie, snoring huffily.

Cadie rubbed her bleary eyes, just thankful the trip was almost over. Only an hour to go before we touch down on Hamilton Island. She lifted the blind on the window to her right and gasped at the tableau below her. The plane was making its way up the east coast of Australia, heading north from Sydney. It was a blindingly clear day and the ocean was the most beautiful shade of blue-green Cadie had ever seen. They were already over the southern parts of the Great Barrier Reef and there were occasional islands, ringed by white sand, pa.s.sing beneath them. She could see different depths of water in the varying shades of color where she presumed there were reefs and atolls and lagoons.

Cadie had tried to read as much as she could about their final destination-the Whitsunday Islands-and was excited at the thought of spending the next three weeks in a completely different world. Already Australia was far removed from the frigid environment she'd left behind in wintry Chicago.

Just walking off the plane in Sydney had been a shock. It had been hot, like walking into a wet blanket-almost as if someone had sucked the air out of her lungs as she walked up the ramp way into the terminal. The air conditioning in the terminal building had been a relief, but she would never forget that first taste of an Australian summer. One of the flight attendants on this plane had laughed, though not unkindly, when she'd mentioned it.

"Wait until we get to Hamilton Island," she'd said. "There's nothing quite like the tropics in January."

Cadie smiled quietly to herself. She was looking forward to it, though she knew Naomi would no doubt find plenty to grumble about. She glanced pensively at her partner, stifling a giggle at the dribble of drool strung out between the senator's mouth and the pillow tucked under her chin.

Things certainly hadn't worked out the way she thought they were going to after that New Year's morning in their kitchen.

She had been dreading the senator's homecoming that evening, given the venomous nature of the morning's discussion, but Naomi had swept in bearing flowers and chocolates and a sunny att.i.tude. She had set about the task of charming Cadie almost as if..almost as if she really means it, Cadie had thought cynically as the performance unfolded.

"h.e.l.lo, darling. I thought we'd celebrate the start of our vacation with a quiet night in. What do you say?" Naomi had smiled brilliantly and then leaned in for a long kiss.

Cadie had never considered herself naive, nor did she think she was susceptible to being sweet-talked, but she had to admit it was tempting to give in to this charming version of Naomi. It was a reminder of how things used to be.

"Okay. That would be nice," she'd said cautiously. "But we do need to talk about last night, and this morning, Nay," she insisted.

"Honey, it was a misunderstanding. That woman was either lying to you or was misinformed. Or you just got the wrong end of the stick somewhere. You know me, Cadie. You know I would never get involved with anything like that, don't you, sweetheart?" This last was whispered against her neck as the senator honed in on one of Cadie's most vulnerable points.

Cadie had turned her head and placed her fingers gently over the senator's mouth, putting off any contact. She was trying hard to resist, trying hard to stay angry with Naomi. The trouble was part of her wanted to believe the politician. That small part of Cadie had a hard time resisting the puppy-dog brown eyes that looked innocently at her. The Naomi she had known 12 years ago, and through the early years of their marriage-before the politics had become a career and not a pa.s.sion-certainly would never have stooped to using drugs to get what she wanted.

In the end it had just been easier to put her doubts away for another day, so much simpler to accept the rea.s.surances of the woman she had trusted for 12 years.

She hadn't been very proud of herself for that when she'd woken the next morning with Naomi sprawled across two-thirds of the bed. But Cadie also hoped the upcoming vacation would be an opportunity for them both to do some re-evaluating of their lives.

And yes, she was forced to admit, there was a tiny bit of her that was terrified of leaving Naomi, should it come to that. It had been the longest, most significant relations.h.i.+p of her life. She had never lived alone, had never not been part of a couple, at least, not as an adult. The thought of saying goodbye to 12 years of history, to Naomi's extended family... Cadie had shuddered as she 'd lain in bed, listening to her partner snore.

There was Naomi's career to think of as well. They had worked hard for what they had achieved-and being an out couple had been a big part of that feeling of achievement. Though she had increasingly felt left out of the decision-making process, Cadie was still proud of what they'd accomplished, particularly in the early years of their relations.h.i.+p. No, for now at least it was better to make like Scarlett O'Hara and think about it another day. What could be better than three weeks alone on a yacht in a tropical paradise for focusing the mind on love?

That philosophy had worked pretty well for Cadie until the day of their departure, when the reality of Naomi's att.i.tude to the vacation slapped her full in the face. They had arrived at the international check-in lounge of O'Hare airport to discover a group of Naomi's closest friends gathered there to meet them.

All with their own luggage in tow.

"They're coming with us, " the senator had said offhandedly to Cadie 's enquiry.

"To Australia?" she'd asked.

"Yeah to Australia, and to the island, and on the boat," Naomi said impatiently. "Three weeks on a boat with just us sounded pretty boring to me, so I thought we 'd take along our own party. What's the problem?"

"Are you kidding me?" Cadie had exclaimed. "What happened to the romantic vacation for two we planned? And when was all this decided?"

"What's the big deal? They're good friends and it will add some variety. I thought you said you wanted to have fun. "

"They 're your good friends, Naomi, not mine. I don't see any of my friends over there, " she had gestured towards the casually clumped group, which was watching the couple interestedly.

"Well, whose fault is that, Cadie?" The senator leaned in, lowering her voice. "You're the one who decided you were too good for my friends. It's not my fault if none of your buddies showed an interest in coming along. "

"I'm sure if they'd known there was such an open invitation on offer they would have jumped at it, " she had muttered. Christ. She looked around the group and groaned inwardly.

Therese and Sarah, a couple of corporate attorneys from Chicago who shared Naomi's bad taste in modern art. Jason and Toby, the senator's PR team, whom Cadie had long ago silently dubbed the "Queens of Spin." Larissa McNeil, Naomi's former college roommate, and... Cadie winced. Larissa had a tall redhead hanging off her arm. A very familiar, tall redhead.

Cadie pulled herself back to the present. The redhead's name had turned out to be Kelli and, mercifully, she had utterly no memory of her New Year's Eve encounter with Cadie. Or if she had, she'd so far had the sense to stay quiet about it.

A sense of dread balled up in the pit of Cadie's stomach for about the millionth time since they'd left Chicago. All she had wanted was a few weeks to themselves so she could come to some kind of conclusion about where the relations.h.i.+p was going. Not to mention getting some badly needed rest and relaxation for them both. Instead, she had nightmare visions of one long intoxicated party, with no prospect of getting any sense out of her partner. At least they'd had the sense not to try and bring a stash into the country with them. Or she a.s.sumed they hadn't. She shuddered at the thought of what those cute little drug-sniffing beagles at Sydney International would have made of that.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent into Hamilton Island. In preparation for landing the captain has switched on the seatbelt sign. Please fasten your seatbelts, make sure your tray table is properly stowed, and that your seat back is upright."

Cadie smiled at the gentle Australian accent of the flight attendant coming through the loudspeaker. Some things were so similar to home, but the accent was an enchanting reminder that she was in another world.

The thought restored some of her excitement about the trip.

d.a.m.n it, she decided. I'm going to enjoy myself regardless. There's so much to see that's new and different and beautiful. I'm not going to let other people spoil this for me. Including Naomi.

She looked down at the senator and nudged her awake none too gently.

"Ww-wwhat, wha.s.sa matter?" Naomi mumbled.

"We're almost there, Nay," Cadie said. "It's time to wake up and get organized."

"Jesus, it's about time," she grumbled.

Cadie sighed.

Yeah. Including Naomi.

Jo was running late. She roughly tucked her dark blue company polo s.h.i.+rt into her khaki shorts and dove down onto the floor to see if her deck shoes were under the bed.

Yep. She pulled them on, grabbed her overnight bag, and ran to answer the front door. A personable young man greeted her with a grin.