Page 61 of Masquerade

“The Minister for Health may not be on top of the detail about the status of the land, but someone in her office should have been talking to the Minister for Agriculture’s office. If they’d done the most cursory check, they should have seen the potential for this to blow up in their faces.” She wiped her fingers on a serviette. Elliott wouldn’t get clear of this dirt as easily.

“I’ll warn George to start putting out feelers to the government.” Liam’s gut told him they’d found their answers. “Tell them we have information they need to know.”

“Which Minister?” she asked.

“Health? Agriculture? Maybe the Premier? We’ll leave that to George.” Liam punched the air, confident if he and Billy’s team got all their puzzle pieces lined up, George would get them the entrée they needed to the halls of power. “Our job is to provide the geological survey and the detail and timing of suspect land purchases. Not just Elliott’s. I’m betting some will turn out to be made by Futureproof Mining proxies. Corruption and community unhappiness so close to a state election. We’ve found our angle. More pizza?”

She smiled what he privately called her billboard smile. Sunshine and seduction.

“I think I’m ready for dessert.”

CHAPTER TEN

The storm had builtin intensity since Liam had taken the wheel in Newcastle, heading south. A relentless venting of nature’s wrath. The windscreen wipers made little impact on the torrential rain. Buckets of water were being thrown at the car, and gusts of wind swirled across the road. Liam gripped the steering wheel to keep them in their lane. The storm’s power throbbed in his blood, exhilarating and, at the same time, a warning. A truck passed at high speed, and a wave of water cascaded over them, reducing their visibility to zero.

“Want to take a break?” Liam covered Kate’s hand with his, snapping his back to the steering wheel when a wind gust hit from the other side. He’d felt her tension in the brief touch.

“Maybe we should. It’s ferocious.”

“Is your cottage near here?” Liam asked. Rory had described it as cosy. Not that Rory’s opinion was relevant. But a cosy hideaway for a few hours, with a reprise of this morning’s lovemaking, had appeal.

“It’s off the main road a bit.” She wasn’t encouraging, squirming beside him and pushing herself closer to the window.

“Further than the next service centre?” He squinted through the windscreen, daunted by her disinterest. “Because that’s the only other logical spot to take shelter.”

“I haven’t got my key with me,” she apologised.

Her refusal sounded off. Every country house he’d known had a spare key hidden nearby. A lie made no sense. Maybe it was messy? Maybe she really didn’t have the key? Maybe she didn’t want to share her bed with him?

“Anyone nearby who checks the place when you’re in Sydney?” Now he was pushing.

“I’m up most weeks,” she said, making the absence of a key even odder. “There’s a neighbour, but she’s away.”

He hauled in his dismay. Maybe he was rushing her. “You called it a bolthole—a place to escape and hide. I can understand if you don’t invite visitors there.”

She shifted more in her seat, as if she couldn’t get comfortable, her gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead.

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