Getting Real

30. Danger



When the driver coasted into Collins Street, Jake knew they had another problem. There was a crowd of media with cameras and microphones waiting outside the Luxotel driveway, ready to descend on them the minute they pulled up. Shit.

The driver said, “Mate, want me to keep moving?”

Jake wanted him to transform into a bloody tank and blast the problem away. He wanted to keep Rie tucked into his side and get her to safety, and never feel so washed in fear and wrung of hope again. Watching while Rie was attacked, not knowing if he could stop it was worse than any panic attack he’d ever had because it was real, not an imaginary threat, and because someone he cared for might’ve been hurt.

He smoothed his hand down her back. She’d gone limp against him. “Yeah. Give them the slip. We’ll find another hotel to hide out in.” Ten minutes later, they pulled in to the quiet drive of The Mercury, and Jake helped Rielle out, holding her hand as they made their way to the reception desk.

He asked for discretion and a suite and got them in swift order. All the way to the room, she kept a tight hold on his hand, her fingers threaded through his. She was still trembling and there was a jagged hyper-vigilance in her gaze; her eyes flitting sharply around, on the lookout for more trouble. Given what she’d just been through, she was coping well.

It struck Jake how resilient she was. Her strength and capability having nothing to do with her armour, and unrelated to her tough girl act, instead coming from her very core. Thinking about it produced a kind of awe in him, and a corresponding shame for having made an issue of how she managed her appearance. Was it the book or the book jacket that was more important?

In the suite, she released his hand, but didn’t move away from him.

“Will you hold me?”

He gathered her against his body, chasing her deep sigh with one of his own. Now they were safe. He’d have held her forever but she broke away and headed for the bathroom saying, “I need a shower.”

That gave Jake time to hit the phones. He called Rand and got voicemail, leaving a message to say where he and Rielle were and warning him to avoid the Luxotel. He called Sharon to discover she was already at the hotel with the rest of the group. They’d beaten the media contingent and were in their rooms, shaken, stirred, bruised and angry, but essentially not hurt. He called Ron’s office, the publicist and the tour lawyer. He called the police and the network. He scratched out an inventory of the gear and instruments they’d lost. He rang room service and ordered coffee and food.

When Rand called, he sounded frenzied, talking fast like he did when he was ready to go on stage and the adrenaline was pumping. “Is she okay?”

“She’s says she’s not hurt. She’s so friggin’ brave I can hardly believe it.”

“They don’t build them any tougher. It’s not just an act you know.”

Jake was at the window; the Yarra River and the city spread in front of him. “Where are you?”

“With Harry’s crew. I’m coming to you now.”

“Sharon is with the others. They’re fine, shaken but not hurt. She’ll give us the all clear.”

Rand said, “What the f*ck happened, Jake?” with both the aftermath of shock and resignation in his tone.

“I should’ve gotten you out of there earlier.”

“Not your fault. I should’ve listened to my own head. I could see it was going wrong.”

Jake watched a garishly painted gondola take on a load of tourists. Maybe that’s where he should be. Out there with the ordinary punters, not here with the performers where he felt responsible for things turning to shit. “If you want me out, I understand.”

“F*ck no!” Rand sounded savage. “I need you to deal with this.”

The gondola pulled out from the dock to begin its pleasure cruise, as out of place on the Yarra as Jake felt in the conversation. “No problem.”

Rand said, “See you in ten,” and clicked off.


Rielle ran the shower water hard, hot and long and she scrubbed her skin til it flushed pink and the ugly itch she’d felt from those hard hands that grabbed her rinsed away. It wasn’t the first time she’d been manhandled, but it was the first time security had failed to step in quickly. That had been really f*cking scary. The two who got her were drunk, high, whatever, but detached from reality enough not to be thinking straight; not to know there was little chance of getting away with hurting her. She’d hurt them too, as well as she could, with a hard kick to the jaw of one, an eye gouge to the other; but two of them, that was dirty pool.

She knew they’d be caught. She just hadn’t known how long she’d have to struggle on her own before help came. She could hear Rand yelling, she could see the cops on their way and she thought from the look on Jake’s face he might take the whole brawling mass on alone just to get to her.

If that look—fear, rage and vengeance was Jake’s offer of friendship, he’d earned a lifetime of it in return. Then the tenderness he’d shown her when the danger had passed, holding her, soothing her, was another thing altogether. More than friendship, but what else? She wasn’t sure and was too exhausted to work it out. She wanted a drink, to see Rand and to sleep. Then she might be able to think about what Jake’s touch and the look in his eyes had been telling her.

She’d lost a couple of earrings, her hair was in bad shape, pulled and yanked out of style, half the pins she’d used to style it missing and she didn’t have the tools to repair it or anything fresh to wear but the hotel robe. She finger combed the shampoo tangles and towel dried her hair, leaving it loose down her back. She gave her face a once over—no obvious bruising, but a smattering of freckles showing through what remained of her airbrushed makeup. She’d have to reapply it later. And the marks on her arms were no worse than those she gave herself practising the trapeze or the pole.

She belted the robe and left the bathroom, finding nearly everything she wanted in the room outside: hot coffee, burgers and chips, pizza slices and chocolate mud cake—a feast of comfort. And there was Jake, an unreadable expression on his face, something between concern and wonder. There was Harry, holding her favourite shoes, scuffed but they’d clean up; and there was Rand, her rock, her constant. She threw herself at him and he hugged her close, folding to rest his face on her wet hair.

“Jesus Christ. That was f*cking close to real bad,” he said.

She nodded into his ribs.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

She looked up. “I’m fine, two against one though. I need more training for that.”

“You can have whatever training you want, but you’re not ever going to have to go through anything like that again. I’m a f*cking halfwit. All this relaxed security because it’s Australia crap. If I’d have been more vigilant this wouldn’t have happened.”

Rielle shook her head. “You couldn’t know that it would get so out of hand. You can’t turn us into prisoners over one incident. We tried it remember, we hated it.”

“Yeah, watch me.”

“No. We’ve had years of doing it our way, and no trouble. This was just a f*ck up. We can’t let it change things.”

Rand huffed out a breath. “I’ll think about it.” But she knew from the tightness in his eyes, he’d already decided. Security would be stepped up no matter what she thought.

Watching the siblings, seeing the power of their connection, Jake felt like he was intruding on a private moment. He found it hard not to stare at Rielle, to watch for signs of her falling apart. He busied himself pouring coffee and handing Harry a plate with a slice of pizza.

“They’re something else aren’t they?” Harry said.

“I guess they had to be,” he said, struggling to keep his gaze averted. “You wouldn’t want to be the one who came between them.” He handed her a napkin. “Are you worried about that?”

“A little,” she admitted. She frowned, taking a bite of pizza, but then her expression brightened as Rand and Rielle came across to the table.

Rielle said, “I love you for the hot chips, Jake.”

Heat filled his chest as he looked at her no jewellery, messy, wet hair and her bright violet eyes. She was a fighter, a survivor and clearly starving, when she could well have been catatonic with shock, rolled in a ball and sobbing her heart out—halfway to a lifetime of nightmares and trauma counselling.

They feasted on the burgers, chips and pizza. They ate chocolate cake and avoided talking about the morning. Elsewhere in the city, the promoter, the network, the police and several lawyers were working out where the fault lay and what the damage was.

A call from Sharon confirmed the media stakeout was still going strong. The best plan was to stay put for the afternoon while she arranged a third hotel unknown to the paps for the group to settle into. Rand’s overtly cheeky expression signalled that idea was fine with him. He phoned reception and organised his own room, giving Rielle another long hug and taking Harry’s hand in his as they left.

With the business side of the event over, Jake was suddenly without a purpose. He stacked plates, tidied the room, dawdled about, uncertain what to do. Rielle looked exhausted, curled up on a sofa. Sleep would do her good, he was better off to leave her to rest. Trying not to disturb her he went to the door, but she called him.

“Jake, don’t go.”

He stopped, hand on the door latch. “You should sleep, Rie. I’ll come back later, bring you some clothes, and take you to the new hotel.”

She sat up, tousled and sleepy, voice crackling. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

He came back into the room, taking the hand she’d stretched out to him.

“Will you lie down with me til I fall asleep?” she asked, childlike need showing in her eyes.

He nodded, not sure he could speak without his voice betraying his feelings. It was hard to swallow past the tender ones that’d jammed up in his throat when he looked at her. So very brave and strong, and letting him see her like this, without any defences.

She led him into the bedroom and they lay on the bed together. Rielle in the thick robe that swamped her body and Jake fully clothed but without his boots. He opened his arms and she snuggled back against him, he spooned around her, one arm under her pillow and her head, the other over her waist.

“This all right?” he said gently, against the curve of her ear.

She said, “Hmm,” and he knew she was relaxing, drifting. He felt her breathing slow, but when he thought she was asleep, she whispered, “You really are my friend, Jake. Thank you,” and the remaining tension left her body.

She didn’t seem to need a response, and he didn’t have one for her. Lying there was almost more dangerous to him than seeing her violated on stage had been. He was her fan; he was her friend; he was her champion. He was irrevocably anything she wanted him to be.