Authors: Denis Martin
Marked
Cully thinks life in small-town Cooksville will be quiet.
Then he meets Kat.
Athletic. Stunning. Intriguing.
But something is going on with Kat – Cully is certain.
He knows he should stay out of it, but he can’t.
Now Kat and Cully are caught in the middle of a deadly web.
And it’s too late to hide from those who hunt them.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her, but she didn’t even know I was there. She was sitting on the far side of the jetty, hunched up and staring at her feet. As if her mind was off on another planet.
An incoming tide gurgled softly against the piles, cool and quiet, but the deck above was hot and still, the air heavy with diesel fumes. My T-shirt clung to my back, sticky with sweat. Just the two of us there in that drowsy heat – the girl and me – waiting for the ferry. I lifted my eyes, glancing over the river towards town. The ferry was leaving the Cooksville wharf, angling across the channel against the tide. It was only a few minutes away. Good.
Suddenly, the wooden planks trembled under heavy footsteps. They were much too sharp and purposeful for a lazy Sunday afternoon, and I looked up. A man, heavily built and grim-faced. He came striding past me, stopping abruptly in front of the girl and glaring down at her with fierce bullyboy eyes. Reaching down, he tried to take her arm, but she shrugged him off, batting him away with her free hand. They were talking – or at least Bullyboy was, keeping his voice low. Words hissed between his clenched teeth and he reached for her again, more firmly this time, seizing her collar in a massive fist.
The girl seemed to know him, but they didn’t seem like family. Nothing to do with me though – I didn’t know either of them. No way was I going to poke my nose in and make a dick of myself. She was about my age, and if I hadn’t been so interested in her, I don’t think I’d even have noticed them. And, anyway, Bullyboy was probably her father.
But somehow I knew he wasn’t.
He looked up and realised I was watching. For a moment his eyes locked on mine. They were hard and frightening. He turned back to the girl, but his message had been clear – very clear.
Hey, kid. Mind your own business
.
I didn’t need any of this. Just wanted to get on the ferry – it was almost alongside now. I gathered up my backpack and moved towards the gangway, but Bullyboy was partially blocking the entrance so I stopped. Didn’t relish the idea of pushing past him. He glanced at me again, eyes bleak under a hawkish brow, and I felt my knees softening into jelly. He seemed even bigger close up, bull-necked and shoulders hunched forwards.
The girl flicked her hair back. At last I could see her face and my memory kicked into gear. I’d seen her before, sunbathing on the beach during the holidays. And she’d looked pretty good then too. She didn’t recognise
me
though. Her eyes were dark, and I couldn’t read anything in them. Couldn’t tell if she was frightened or angry. But she wasn’t asking for help.
The jetty shuddered as the ferry nudged heavily against the piles. Dropping her head, the girl twisted away from Bullyboy, wrenching herself free of his grasp. She hoisted herself over the guardrail and dropped onto the deck below. Softly, like a cat. Without a backward glance she made her way to the bow and sank into one of the seats at the front.
Bullyboy watched her. A sigh of irritation, and then he spun around. His jacket fell open, and I caught sight of a webbing strap over his shoulder. A bit strange, but then he seemed a very strange man. And scary. His eyes passed briefly over me with a flash of anger, and then he was gone, striding back to the parking area. A dark green Ford station wagon blinked its welcome, and I watched him getting into it.
I boarded the ferry, paid my fare and found a forward-facing seat in the stern. Didn’t want to be caught perving, but I wanted to keep the girl in sight. She was slumped forwards, like she’d been on the jetty. As far as she was concerned, I didn’t exist. A pity because she was a stunner.
I’d only seen her a couple of times on the beach. Even so, I wasn’t likely to forget her. If it hadn’t been for the hair shadowing her face earlier, I’d have remembered her straightaway. I didn’t have any idea who she was, but that wasn’t surprising. We’d only moved into the district a few weeks ago, so pretty well everyone I bumped into was a stranger.
There was something really weird about this girl though. Specially her eyes. They should’ve given
something
away. Fear, irritation, relief? But there’d been nothing. As if she’d highlighted all her emotions and then clicked send, firing them off to a distant galaxy. Like I said, weird.
And easy on the eye. The kind of hair that makes you want to reach out and run your fingers through it. Long and dark, almost black. Not the dull hardness that comes out of a tube – this was glossy.
I was a bit smitten, but I knew I’d be stupid to go chasing after her. If Bullyboy came as part of the package, it would be a good idea to steer clear of them both.
The ferry was underway again, almost in mid-channel, swinging in an arc across the river mouth with the incoming tide. I looked astern, across to the jetty, but the green Ford hadn’t moved. It was still sitting in the car park. The girl hadn’t stirred either, and I tried to drag my mind back to real life and away from crime-watch fantasies.
A cyclist was the only other passenger. He’d arrived just as the ferry was leaving and he was determined to sit with me. He was a tourist and wanted to check out the local area, but I wasn’t much help. I didn’t know any more about the Coromandel Peninsula than he did. Anyway, I was much more interested in keeping tabs on the girl. The cyclist’s BO suggested he’d been pedalling for several lifetimes without a decent wash, so I was glad it was a short crossing.
The girl beat me off the ferry and headed into town. I had plenty of time to kill so I dawdled along behind, hoping she wouldn’t turn and catch me stalking her. She wasn’t out for a stroll though – she was in a hurry, checking her watch as she walked, and I found myself upping the pace to keep her in sight. I felt a bit guilty, but I was enjoying the way she moved. Everything was the right shape, all the bits in the right places – and they flowed together beautifully as she walked. The trackies she was wearing were okay, but I couldn’t help wondering how she’d look in a pair of tight jeans.
She disappeared into the ice-cream parlour and, for a moment, I considered following her. Maybe get a gelato? Then I gave myself a solid mental kick and wandered further down the street to the internet cafe. Dad’s plane wasn’t due for nearly an hour, so I thought I’d send Mum an email while he wasn’t around to peer over my shoulder. She was in Germany touring with her orchestra. I wondered whether to tell her I’d been deserted for most of the weekend while Dad visited his agent in Auckland, but decided not to. She’d just get all fizzed up. Child neglect, parental responsibility – things like that. And I didn’t need her rushing home from Europe in a panic.
Duty done, I logged off and made my way out, pausing to pick up a chocolate bar from a rack on the shelf. The cafe owner barely gave me a glance. He was much more interested in earbashing an old bloke in a wheelchair about the vandals who’d been lighting fires around town. “So they like fires, do they? I’ll give them fire! I’ll bloody well roast their goolies off. Bloody kids.”
He was wild but he didn’t seem to blame me personally. He slid my change across the counter, and I escaped into the street. At the corner I stole a quick look back towards the big Gelato Heaven sign above the shop window. Couldn’t see the girl though. A shame.
I’d arranged to meet Dad on the seafront so I set off to the beach, dropping the chocolate wrapper in a bin as I passed. The metal drum was fire-blackened, and I thought maybe the cafe owner had a point – arson would be pretty scary if it’s that close to home. It’s not far to the beach, and I took the long way around, past the marina. I had time to spare even if Dad managed to catch the first plane, so I wandered around having a look at the boats. No point in hurrying – not when the person you’re waiting for has never been early for anything in his entire life.
Finally, I found some shade under one of the big foreshore palms and sprawled out on the sand to wait. Killed a bit of time listening to a few tracks from Brakspear’s Heavy Sweat and trying to read Dad’s latest book. Not too much joy either way. Dad writes science fantasy for readers who don’t have an imagination of their own. Weird stuff, but for some reason he always wants my opinion, so I was ploughing dutifully through a messy tangle of intergalactic warfare. Brakspear didn’t seem any better, much too dark and heavy for the mood I was in.
I unplugged myself and stuffed Dad’s manuscript back in my bag. The beach was quiet for a Sunday. It was hot even in the shade, but the barbecue season was still a fair way off and the water hadn’t warmed up yet. Even so, a few brave swimmers were freezing their vitals off at the far end. Out in front a handful of pipi gatherers were knee-deep in the river mouth shallows, trying to fill their buckets with shellfish before the tide came in.
The girl kept drifting back into my head. The man too. Didn’t know what he’d been after, but I was glad I’d had enough sense to keep my nose out of it. He’d made it clear that whatever was going on was nothing to do with me. And anyway, there’s no law against spitting fire in public places. But how come I’d been so sure he wasn’t her father? I mean, who
else
would he have been?
I watched Dad’s plane fly in overhead, but it was nearly half an hour after that before he turned up. In a way that was good. Time for my own thoughts. And by the time he joined me, full of apologies as usual, I’d convinced myself the girl’s problems had all been in my head. Bullyboy was probably Parent of the Year. Maybe I was the one who should take up fantasy writing.
I shook the sand out of my towel and followed Dad to one of the beachfront cafes. But later, as we were driving home, I found another thought growing in my head. It had been niggling at the back of my mind and I’d been shoving it aside – the black webbing strap I’d caught a glimpse of under Bullyboy’s jacket. At the time it had seemed a bit strange, but I hadn’t really given it much thought. Now I found myself picturing the shoulder holsters that cops wear on American TV shows. The ones they carry their guns in.
Get real, Cully. Nobody wanders around the Coromandel Peninsula packing a shooter. This is small-town New Zealand …
Much more likely to be a case for his phone or his iPod. Or his wallet.
But it
could’ve
been a gun.
The ferry’s too small for cars so we had to take the road home, right around the mangrove estuary. Even in Dad’s MX-5 it took us the best part of an hour. He wasn’t in a talkative mood, so I had plenty of time to think.
A gun? It
couldn’t
have been. Who’d be carrying a gun in a lazy little town like this? I mean, no one on that jetty was likely to threaten him. And anyway,
he’d
been the one packing all the aggro. It was nonsense, and I knew it. Tried to push it out of my mind. But it was like trying to keep your tongue away from a loose tooth – it kept creeping back.
I was glad when Dad broke into my thoughts. “How’re you feeling about school in the morning? You got everything ready?”