Dangerous Echoes

Chapter One

Erika looked down at her hands. The handcuffs clanked against the bar on the table. Sighing, she lowered her head to the cold surface. It smelled of stale coffee and sweat. And was sticky.

She shot back. The stickiness—god only knew what it was—was now on her nose and forehead.

Perfect! Just perfect.

Where were her wipes when she needed them? Not that she could grab them even if her backpack was next to her and not out on the sergeant’s desk. She pulled against the handcuffs, a little kernel of desperation overtaking the self-pity. And the exhaustion she’d been fighting. Unable to get a flight to Bourke, she’d flown in to Sydney and driven the eight hundred odd kilometres to Echo Springs, not arriving until the middle of the night. She’d been ready to drop.

Then she had been arrested for breaking and entering.

She couldn’t believe Sergeant Cooper was still working, let alone dispensing his Jurassic-era small-town justice. What a joke! A heavy sigh burst from her lips. She could be here for hours waiting for someone to realise she’d been telling the truth and set her free. The waiting might drive her insane, let alone the stickiness on her nose.

Don’t think about it, Erika.

In an effort to focus on something else, she let her gaze wander around the interview room. It hadn’t changed much. The walls were still the hospital green they’d been, the black and white linoleum squares were still on the floor, the white squares now kind of browned. She clenched her glutes and shifted, trying to get more comfortable. The chair was new—moulded grey plastic—but just as uncomfortable as the old wooden one. The table was different. Stainless steel with handcuff bolts in the centre rather than the old dented wooden thing she’d scratched her initials into when she was younger.

There was no way she could work the bolt out so she could lift her hand and wipe the sticky stuff off her face. Oh god, now she was thinking about it again. Okay, think of something else. Anything else.

Peter. Where was he? Why had he sent her that text? And why on earth had she come back to Echo Springs, the place she’d vowed to never return? Of course, she knew the answer to that: to find Peter. And now look what had happened. Bad things always happened to her here. The town hated her, and she hated the town in return.

The handcuffs clanked as she moved. Her nose twitched and tingled. She ached to wipe it. No, best wait for the wipes to do the job properly rather than get it on her hands too. Jenny would say look on the bright side. Okay. What bright side was there to this? Perhaps she wasn’t here at all. Yes, that would be a bright side. Maybe she’d fallen asleep on the road and was now ploughed into the red soil on the side of the Mitchell Highway, hallucinating this nightmare due to a serious head injury. Oh god! She could be dying. Just like her parents… No. No. She couldn’t think of that. She wouldn’t. It was this place. It brought it all back, the memories, the nausea, the tension headache, the shortness of breath.

No. She wouldn’t let this happen. Not here. Not when at any moment one of them could walk in and see her losing it.

Her head spun. She was breathing too fast. She needed to calm down. She hadn’t had a panic attack for years, and she wasn’t chancing having one here. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. She could hear Jenny’s voice in her head telling her to go to her calm place. She pictured a meadow at the top of a hill, rolling green hills and valleys stretched out around her as far as the horizon. She turned, letting the blue of the sky sink into her soul, the sun warm her face, the scent of jasmine and eucalypts tickle her nose, the light breeze curl around her and lift the hair from her sticky neck, cooling the perspiration that panic had left behind.

She let go of one more breath as the peace surrounded her and opened her eyes. Okay. She was no longer shaking or hyperventilating. She was in control and reason had returned. Someone would be in here soon and this whole mess would be sorted and then she could get on with finding Peter and discovering why he’d sent the text asking for money. And why the hell he hadn’t told her Mabel had sold the family property. She frowned. It could have saved all this hassle. She never would have got the key from the shed to let herself inside and been caught in the kitchen by Mrs Patterson—an absurd echo of the past—as she’d been raiding the well-stocked fridge.

It was kind of funny, really. She might even laugh if she wasn’t so tired and worried about Peter. She only wished she could see Sergeant Cooper’s face when he found out her ‘story’ was true. That she was actually working on his side of the law now. Wouldn’t he feel like a dick? A part of her couldn’t wait to see him eat a little bit of crow when he finally did come in here to release her. It would even make the ribbing she’d get from her colleagues back in Melbourne when they heard about this—and they would hear about this—worth it. She was often astonished at how quickly gossip travelled to interested ears at work. One would think, being involved in the justice system, people would be used to keeping information to themselves, but that wasn’t the case at all.

The door opened. She looked up, expecting Sergeant Cooper and the brand of bluster she’d come to expect from him, but instead found herself looking into jade eyes, a colour she’d only ever seen on one person. Her mouth dried as her gaze dropped to the full lips, now outlined by a five-o’clock shadow and spread in a grim line she’d never seen on that laughing mouth before. His once-tousled brown curls were cut into a short back and sides with only a hint of curl on the top. The style emphasised the slash of his cheekbones and the squareness of his jaw. Her gaze took in the uniform, the blue a stretch across a chest that was much broader than the last time she’d seen it, the drill material of the dark blue pants emphasising just how long his legs were. He’d grown tall. Taller than she’d imagined. And he was a Detective Senior Constable by the stripes and insignia on his shirt. A policeman. It took her a moment to comprehend the fact. He’d been so savvy about people and given finesse to all their plans. She supposed it shouldn’t surprise her that he’d become a police officer. But here? No. She’d never imagined him still here, in this town. He was staring at her, as if waiting for her to move or speak first. She opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was, ‘Harts?’

‘Well, well, well. Erika Hanson. I never thought to see you back here again.’ He tipped his head on the side, skimming his gaze over her in much the same way she had when he’d walked in the door. That look made her forget the stickiness on her face or the fact she was handcuffed to the table. ‘What was it you said to me before you hopped on that bus? I’m never coming back to this hellhole again. There’s nothing worth coming back for.’’

Her head was buzzing. He remembered her words? ‘I had no choice.’

His lips moved into something that could have been a smile if not for the fact his eyes were cold. So cold she couldn’t repress a shiver.

‘We all have choices, Miss Chief.’ The way he said it slurred the words together so they sounded like mischief. Her super hero name. The one he’d chosen for her that nobody else knew. He was Cooperman and she was Miss Chief. They’d done everything together. And now he was looking at her like she was a stranger.

Something ugly crawled through her chest but she didn’t know what to do with it, with the feelings his attitude raised in her, so she simply shrugged. ‘I had to leave. I thought you knew that.’

Something flashed across his face before his expression blanked. He looked down at the manila folder in his hand. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Sixteen years have passed—it’s all water under the bridge, right?’

She shifted uncomfortably, certain she was missing something behind his words. ‘I put the past behind me.’

‘I got that when you never tried to contact me or anyone else here to tell us you were okay.’

‘I contacted Peter. And Daphne and Pip knew where I’d gone.’

He looked down at the folder again, his lips twitching, as if he was holding something back. ‘They didn’t tell me.’

‘I asked them not to.’

His gaze whipped up to collide with hers. ‘I see.’ His fingers drummed against the folder. ‘Not that any of that matters now. What matters is you breaking and entering Mrs Patterson’s house and stealing her food. Some things haven’t changed, right?’

‘This is a misunderstanding.’ If she was reading him right—and there was no guarantee she was—he looked unamused.

‘That’s what you always said.’

‘Well, half the time that was true. You know it. But this time, it’s completely true. I didn’t know Peter and Mabel had sold the house.’

His lips thinned. ‘I see.’ He crossed his arms and sat back, gaze raking over her in an unflattering way. ‘How did you get into the house? There was no sign of forced entry.’

‘I used the old key hidden under the flower pot near the back shed. It was still there.’

‘Why didn’t you ring the front doorbell?’

‘It was one o’clock in the morning. I didn’t want to wake them when I could let myself in. I was planning on talking to them in the morning after I’d had some sleep.’

‘Why did you come back?’

‘That’s not really any of your business, is it?’ He simply stared at her. She shifted again, more aware than ever of how uncomfortable the seat was. She didn’t like him looking at her like that. It reminded her of the way Sergeant Cooper, his dad, looked at her. ‘Peter sent me a text saying he needed my help.’

Hartley sat up straight. ‘What kind of help?’

She shrugged. ‘Something to do with money. I don’t know what. He didn’t respond to my latest texts, so I came here to see what the problem was. Now I’m here and given the family home’s been sold, I have to assume it’s a serious financial problem. If you just call Peter, he’ll be able to clear this up.’

He leaned forward, his hands moving across the table, almost as if to hold hers, but then he stopped. There was something in his eyes she didn’t like. She swallowed hard. ‘What? What is it? What’s happened to Peter? Where’s Mabel?’

His brows hitched. ‘Your gran’s in Coolabah Nursing Home, Erika. She’s not well.’

‘What? Peter never said anything.’ She looked at the door, almost as if expecting Pete to walk in, her heart banging loud and fast in her chest, making her take quick little sharp jabs of breath. She shouldn’t ask. She knew she shouldn’t ask. But she had to. ‘Where’s Pete?’

‘I’m sorry, Erika. Peter is dead.’

Chapter Two

Erika jerked as if she’d been punched, her dark auburn ponytail—so dark as to look like blood—flicked over her shoulder. Hartley waited for her to flick it back in irritation, something she’d always done in the past when her ponytail didn’t stay where she’d put it, but she didn’t move.

Crap. He really shouldn’t have been so blunt about Peter’s death, though, in his experience, there was never a good way of telling someone a loved one was dead. But he’d really screwed it this time. Seeing her again after all these years had done something to his head, like the world had tipped and his footing wasn’t quite steady. Which was why he’d been too blunt. And now look what he’d done.

‘Ms Hanson?’ He sat forward, concerned about how pale she’d turned. Concerned about the way she was staring at him but didn’t seem to be seeing him at all—a big difference from the way those astonishing hazel eyes had connected with his when he’d entered the room. Concerned about the way she was shaking her head, almost like she had water in her ear. Her lips were moving, but no sound was coming out.

He reached for her hand, touched her briefly. ‘Ms Hanson?’

Nothing. She looked right through him—very disconcerting.

‘Erika?’

Her lips kept moving, head kept shaking, and she was even paler now. He touched her again, this time covering her hand with his. It was icy. ‘Erika?’ He squeezed, thumb brushing over her wrist.

Her gaze was like a slap. ‘He can’t be dead. You must be mistaken.’

‘We’re not mistaken.’ He squeezed her hand again, holding tight when she tried to pull away.

‘But…but…he sent me a text. It’s why I came up here at the last minute like this. He can’t be dead.’

‘His body was found,’ he glanced down at his watch, ‘a few hours ago. There was a fire.’

‘A fire? He was burned? Then how can you tell it was him?’

‘His car was found at the scene and we found his wallet and identification in a jacket we found just inside the door. It’s him.’

‘You found his car? Are you saying this didn’t happen in his home?’

‘No. Your brother has been living at the Echo Springs Hotel for the last year.’

‘He has?’ She seemed completely baffled. How could she not know where Peter was living or that he’d sold Hanson House?

‘Yes.’

‘So, where was this fire?’

He coughed. He didn’t want to tell her what Peter had been doing when he’d managed to blow himself and his friend up. He let go of her hand and reached for the pad and pencil he’d brought with him. ‘Can you tell me about his text?’

Her gaze zeroed in on the pencil hovering over the paper as if accusing it of her brother’s death. ‘Why?’

‘It might help.’

‘Help who?’

He swallowed. ‘Us. To figure out what happened. Why Peter was… where he was. Did he ask you to come back here?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, throat working, mouth tight. ‘He asked for my help.’ Devastation filled her eyes. ‘If I’d got here faster, he would still be alive.’

‘Don’t do that to yourself. There was nothing you could have done. It was an accident by the look of things.’

‘An accident?’

‘Yes.’

Her eyes clouded with something painful. ‘A car accident?’

Shit. Of course she’d think that. ‘No.’ He reached out and touched her hand again, trying to get her attention back on him. ‘The text?’

She nodded slowly, swallowed hard. ‘He texted me asking for money.’ She shook her head. ‘But he couldn’t have been having money problems. Mabel was loaded and he had access to her accounts—he was her accountant and financial planner. At least, that’s what he told me.’ Her frown deepened. ‘If he’d sold Hanson House and the property, then there should have been even more money.’ Her fingers curled into her hands, making the handcuffs jingle. ‘I thought he was having a joke with me about needing money. I texted him back telling him I didn’t get the joke and I wasn’t amused.’

He almost smiled. She’d never been good with jokes. ‘You didn’t think he was being serious?’

‘With my family’s fiscally sound background? No. But then I got another text a few days ago, saying he was serious. He needed a hundred grand ASAP for something important. I texted him back, but he didn’t respond. I called him, but only got his messages. It was then I realised he was being serious and needed my help. Given he wasn’t answering any of my attempts to contact him, the only thing I could do was come up here and find out what was going on.’

For a moment, he thought she was going to drop her head into her hands and give in to a bout of tears, but her eyes became emotionless, like she’d shut herself off behind a wall. ‘I should have just sent him the money. I should have known he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need it. This is my fault. My fault.’ Despite the cold look on her face, her voice wavered.

He went to reach out to touch her again, to comfort her, the instinct so strong, but she jerked back as far as the handcuffs would allow.

‘What are you doing? Why do you keep touching me?’

‘I’m just trying to comfort you.’

‘Why?’

‘To show you I’m sorry for your loss.’

‘Oh.’

She looked so bewildered. His heart ached for her despite the anger he still carried. ‘What can I do?’

She