“Call my old number. The captain left a message on the machine when he couldn’t get through. I told my father I’d ring him when we docked. He’ll be expecting a call if he got the recording.”
He took a deep breath. “I haven’t told you my full story, Stel, but my father will. He has everything he needs to clear my name. I don’t know why it happened. I don’t even really understand how. But there’s a reason why I was freed after being sentenced to life. If the English courts can overthrow a conviction like that, then that same information will convince these assholes that I’m not going to murder downtown Sydney. That I had a reason. That my sentence was revoked. That my record should’ve been expunged. My father will help us be together.”
“I—I—” The thought of talking to the man who’d raised Galloway into such an incredible person intimidated me. Who was I? I was just the woman who’d crashed with him. The woman who’d done such a bad job of setting his broken ankle he moved with a permanent limp.
I wasn’t worthy.
But I’m also the woman who claimed his heart.
The woman who carried his child.
The woman who loved him more than anything else on earth.
If that didn’t make me worthy...what did?
G’s lips touched mine, kissing me hard. “Promise me, you’ll call him.”
I’d made so many promises in the past few days, I could no longer keep track. I’d promised to leave him while he was dying. I’d promised to love him, obey him, fight for him.
I’d also cried more tears than I’d ever cried in my life, yet I still had more to shed.
“I promise, G. I’ll call him. I’ll get this awful mess sorted out.”
His kiss turned vicious. “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me and being on my side.”
“Always. I’m forever on your side.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t stop my tears as Galloway kissed me one last time, kissed his daughter, hugged us tight, then disappeared with his jailers to be deported.
Chapter Seventy-One
...............................................
G A L L O W A Y
......
TERROR.
That was the only word I could use to describe the feeling of walking into the holding cell. Not that it was a cell compared to the last one I’d inhabited. This was more like a basic hotel room. A proper toilet with walls (not a metal pan with no privacy), a bed with sheets (not a cot with scratchy blankets), and meals served on crockery rather than slopped into plastic moulded troughs in a buffet line.
But nothing could change the fact that for a few incredible years I’d been free.
I’d been happy.
I’d been the best man I could ever be.
And now...they’d stripped me of everything.
Stolen my wife.
Kidnapped my daughter.
Robbed me of my family.
All over again.
Chapter Seventy-Two
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
The panic of having another control your fate. The dread of relying on strangers to fix it. The powerlessness of being alone.
That is my life.
My new life.
I want my old life.
When living another day wasn't dependent on bribing and bowing.
When fate was negotiable as long as we paid the right price.
Now?
I have no idea the cost of my future.
Taken from Narrabeen Apartments Notepad.
...
RING RING.
Ring ring.
I’d been obsessed with calling the number Daphne Moore had given me (courtesy of the information pack the captain had provided) for Galloway’s father.
The entire taxi ride to my new address. The entire run from journalists as they swarmed me. Even the moment of stepping into the cramped one bedroom apartment where cool porcelain tiles decorated the walls and the kitchen bounced late afternoon sunshine with its high gloss white cabinets.
It was sterile.
Unalive.
And I hated it because Galloway wasn’t there.
My prison guard left me once she was happy her task was complete. Placing the key on the kitchen bench, she murmured some nonsense apology about tearing my family apart and left.
She was wise to leave.
I’d allowed silence to be a curt form of politeness. I didn’t answer her awkward attempts at small talk. I didn’t glance at her when she touched Coco and made soothing sounds in the taxi.
I ignored her.
Because if I didn’t.
I’d kill her.
Then Galloway wouldn’t be the only convicted murderer.
My soul panged for Pippa, for my competent babysitter, while Coco screamed and cried with uncertainty over her new life.
I cooed her. I bounced her. I did everything I could to ease her tears while I yanked the phone off its cradle and dialled the number.
Everything felt too much. Too heavy. Too hard.
But I clung to the phone waiting, waiting, waiting for it to connect with my last hope.
“Hello?” a groggy voice answered.
Screw time zones. Screw sleep and rude awakenings.
I didn’t bother with introductions.