Page 191 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

Keith had “dealt” with that bastard swiftly, spent the night in lockup after his father’s replacement reluctantly arrested him, and then he’d had to endure Dylan and Hunter’s wrath the next day.

Marc didn’t doubt Big Mac deserved everything Keith gave him, but the last thing he wanted to see was his mate in the cop shop, charged with assault. The problem was, neither Marc nor Keith knew what Big Mac had done, and Harper wasn’t talking. If they both beat the shit out of Ronnie for just being a tosser, even one who’d planned to do something utterly repugnant and vile, they’d be in trouble.

Not only with the cops in Cobar, but with the Sullivans. Most likely they’d both be sacked. On the spot.

Hissing out a harsh breath, Marc slumped against the nose of Keith’s ute and shook his head. “I know you’re right, mate,” he said, studying the cottage. “But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to.” Keith’s answer was a flat growl. “I don’t either, but it’s the way it’s going to be. Until we talk to Hunter and let him know Big Mac’s being a dick, potentially a dangerous one, let him know what happened and what we thinkwould havehappened, we’ve got to keep our emotions in check. Got it?”

Marc scowled. “Got it.”

“Good. Go check the door first.”

Marc levered himself upright. “What for?”

Keith’s expression grew bleak. “I need to know it’s locked.”

With a nod, Marc jogged the ten or so meters between the ute and the front porch, his chest tight. Climbing the two stairs, he winced at the protesting creak of wooden floorboards beneath his feet. With slow movements, he reached out and wrapped one hand around the doorknob, giving it a gentle turn to the right.

Locked.

Harper had locked it after they’d left.

His old home, locked against the world…and him.

A shard of sharp pain shot through his chest. He’d spent his childhood in the cottage. Had never felt safer than when he was within its familiar walls. It had never been locked when he was growing up, and when Amy had moved in she’d never felt the need to lock it either. Locks weren’t needed on Farpoint Creek.

Until tonight, it seemed.

The sound of movement on the other side of the door jerked his hand from the knob. “It’s just me, love,” he said, raising his voice enough for Harper to hear him through the old wood. “I’m not coming in. Just wanted to check the door still worked.”

A long moment of silence followed. Silence except for the thumping of his heart in his ears. And then Harper’s soft voice answered, “It does. Thank you.”

He stood motionless, aching for her to open the door. To ask them to make it better. To tell them what had happened.

She didn’t.

What felt like a lifetime passed before he turned away from the door and walked back to Keith.

“Did she say anything?”

Marc shook his head.

Keith’s jaw bunched. “Okay, let’s go.”

Long, tense minutes later, neither uttering a word, Keith pulled the ute to a halt outside the main homestead.

For a split second, the potent urge to tell Keith to drive away, to convince him they should take care of Ronald themselves, surged through Marc. He opened his mouth, his pulse racing. And closed it again at the thought of Keith in jail.

Keith would not stop at a few punches. The fear in Harper’s eyes, the terror in her body when they’d stormed into her home, would haunt him. Marc had no doubt. Hell, Marc couldn’t shake it himself. If Keith and Marc caught up with Big Mac, the man would end up in the hospital, if not a coffin. Simple as that.

With a sharp sigh, he squeezed Keith’s shoulder. “C’mon, Blue. Let’s do the smart thing, even if it bloody well feels like the wrong thing.”

With a muttered curse, Keith swung open his door and climbed from the ute.

Marc’s gut dropped when Hazel answered their knock.

“Mr. Thompson.” She smiled at him, her softly seamed face warm and friendly despite the fact it was past six o’clock in the evening and she was being disturbed by two of her employees. “Mr. Munroe. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Is there something wrong? Is young Mr. Hill okay?” A frown pulled at her forehead, making Marc’s gut sink further. He hated distressing Hazel Sullivan. She was the closest thing to a grandmother he had, even if she was his boss. How would she handle being told about Big Mac and Harper?

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