Beneath the Skin Read online

  BENEATH THE SKIN

  MELISSA JAMES

  www.harlequinbooks.com.au

  Sydneysider Melissa James is a former nurse and has worked as a waitress, store assistant, and perfume and chocolate demonstrator. A highly successful Mills & Boon author, Melissa has over 20 romance titles published. Four of these were romantic suspense with Silhouette Intimate Moments (two of which won Romantic Times Top Picks). Under the name Lisa Chaplin, Melissa writes Napoleonic and ancient historical fiction.

  To Kate de Brito, my first critique partner—you were

  the first to read this book.

  To the people whose stories in my UNE course, and at Survival Day

  concerts, so inspired me that this is my third published book telling your

  stories: the Aboriginal people of Australia. Elly and Rick are fictional, but

  they’re part of all of you. Survival brothers and sisters, beneath the skin.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Author’s Note

  PROLOGUE

  Medical Clinic, Pitjantjatjara Lands, Central Australia

  ‘There you are.’ The doctor covered the ragged line of stitches on the boy’s leg with a dressing. ‘Don’t get them wet.’

  The dark-skinned boy on the examination table grinned. ‘Thanks, aunty.’

  The young woman with honey skin and an almost-beautiful face acknowledged the courtesy title with a nod and smile. ‘No worries, nephew.’

  The boy’s father stood at the opening of the modified humpy house just out of the blazing desert sun, head down and feet shuffling, waiting until the elder of the clan spoke. The old man standing just inside the clinic reminded her of the land that surrounded them: wiry and tough, with a straggling beard, minimal clothing and a sudden burst of unexpected colour in the red, yellow and black bandanna around his head. He smiled in her direction, showing the gaps in his teeth. ‘You been good help durin’ your stay. We’re glad you come by, niece. The nurse here is good, but a doctor’s always needed.’

  The doctor smiled back. ‘I’m glad I could help. Forgive my not knowing the Arrernte language. I’m one of the Eora people.’

  ‘Almost nothin’ left of that language,’ the elder remarked sadly. ‘All fadin’ now.’

  She nodded. ‘We’re city folk now, the Sydney people. We have our stories and memories, but …’ She shrugged, not knowing how to finish.

  ‘The Dreamin’ keeps its power, niece, even now,’ the old man said, voice gentle. ‘Better times will come for us. We know how to wait. Five year ago, this town was a mess. Now we’re doing better. It will happen for you, too. Just believe.’

  She glanced up, remembering just in time not to look into his eyes. The Pitjantjatjara people of Central Australia considered looking into a person’s eyes an unpardonable rudeness—the eyes were mirrors of the spirit, and belonged to each person alone. ‘I hope so, uncle, but the way is hard to see.’

  ‘There’s a place here for you, niece, if you wanna stay.’ His offer was made with a sense of delicacy.

  She gulped, pressed her lips together hard, as if in pain.

  The old man flicked a swift glance at her. ‘You’d be safe here. Nobody could find you, if we didn’t want ’em to.’

  At his insight, she gasped and withdrew further into herself. She shook her head, but could not—or would not—speak.

  ‘We would help you, if you ask.’ There was compassion in his voice.

  ‘I can’t put you all in danger, uncle,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re not blockin’ just us, are you? Keeping everything to yourself’s a way of life now,’ he said very quietly. ‘You give and give, but won’t take anything back but a place to sleep, some food. Won’t even give us your name.

  ‘Common enough thing,’ he went on. ‘I seen it with loads of the Stolen Kids. Even if they find their way home, most of ’em don’t know who they are or where they fit in.’

  She shook her head, keeping it bowed. ‘I wasn’t stolen, uncle. I was one of the lucky ones.’

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced at him.

  ‘Not so lucky, I’m thinkin’. You say nothin’, but the silent screams are louder than words.’ His gnarled hand patted hers. ‘Damage.’

  She closed her eyes. ‘I can’t burden you with my problems, uncle.’

  ‘Or put us in danger,’ he repeated. ‘Seen this before, too. Whoever he is, runnin’s like breathin’ to you now. You bolt from one place to another, changin’ your looks and your name, but still only feelin’ safe when you’re alone.’

  In less than twenty words, he’d stripped her life bare. She only knew she was reaching to twiddle her missing hair when he said softly, ‘It’s gone, niece. Thinkin’ it’ll take a few years to grow back, too.’

  Her hand dropped to her lap, and didn’t move again.

  After half a minute of silence, the elder spoke again. ‘It’s all right, niece. I know you gotta go. Don’t worry about us. I’ll prepare the people for whatever comes this way when you’re gone.’ He stood, and put a hand on her hair: a moment’s benediction. ‘Go with a blessing, niece. You’re not alone.’

  With a strangled thanks, the young woman fled the hut.

  CHAPTER

  1

  Macks Lake, Southwestern New South Wales

  A commotion erupted outside his office.

  Detective Sergeant Adam Jepson frowned, taking in the scene through the window between his office and Macks Lake Police Station reception. Their rookie constable, Simon Wynn, and Senior Constable Barry South—Baz for short—were leading in a woman in handcuffs.

  What could she have done in sleepy Macks Lake to merit the cuffs? They hadn’t used them on a woman since they’d found the girlfriend of an ice dealer holed up in a bush cabin with the guy and all his equipment. The girlfriend had gone berserk during the bust, beating the crap out of Adam and his drug squad mates, who’d come down from Sydney for the nick.

  This woman wasn’t fighting her cuffs; she seemed to be having too much fun to bother. Her laughter touched the office with the ripe colours of an outback sunset, and Simon and Baz had dopey, almost drooling grins on their faces.

  After three years on an inner-city beat before transferring to the Federal Police, he knew the look: her skin, the hue of dark honey, and her big, coffee-coloured eyes were a dead giveaway to her background, though her dusting of freckles showed European heritage too. About five-nine or ten, late twenties, with a lush body that showed her indifference to the half-starved look dictated by fashion. The outfit was over the top: the faded denims clung to her curvaceous bottom, and the white crop top was too short, leaving far too little to the imagination, and a hooker on his old beat could have worn those chunky-heeled boots. The hair didn’t suit her, either – the loose chestnut curls didn’t match the rich tone of her skin, or her eyes.

  The whole look sat wrong.

  He was missing something. Something about her … She didn’t seem the type to want to draw attention to herself with dyed hair or tight, sexy outfits. If she was, she’d have packed on makeup, too, but she was bare-faced.

  As Adam watched, he thought he caught a moment of dread hidin
g beneath her impish sparkle.She’s terrified of something—or someone.

  He strode out to the open office, breaking the party atmosphere. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘… so that’s when I—oh!’ The woman turned and smiled in the friendliest way. ‘Hi, Adam! Long time no see!’

  So that was her tactic, playing everyone’s best mate. It might work on some men, but he wasn’t one of them, letting his hormones do the thinking.

  Hold on, how did she know his name? He hadn’t worn a uniform in years, and had no name badge … He frowned. ‘That’s Detective Sergeant Jepson to you, Miss—?’

  ‘Oh, come on, you can do better than that, Old Sobersides.’ A roguish dimple appeared as her mouth quivered.

  His brows snapped together at the annoying nickname his station-mates had given him. He sent a brief glare to Simon and Baz, who both took a prudent step back. ‘What’s her name, and what are the cuffs for?’

  ‘Don’t blame them, Adam. It was my idea.’ The woman’s voice was deep and husky, a rich, throaty alto that hit his nerve endings with a gut punch. She wasn’t quite beautiful—more memorable than pretty—but she was making him react in ways he didn’t want to remember. ‘I wanted to see if being in cuffs was as much fun as you said it was.’

  Me? He barely held in the incredulous question, but smothered chuckles filled the office. Another glance at her caused something inside him to shift, leaving him off-kilter. No—she’d had him on the back foot from the start. It was like a dream he’d had once of flirting with a stranger in a corner of a crowded, smoky party: he could hear the others, could see them in his peripheral vision, but he and this woman in cuffs before him—it was as if they were alone. What was it about her that left him so disturbed? Beneath the rare burst of masculine hunger her presence had generated in him, the sense of dread grew.

  His best mate in Macks Lake stepped forward. ‘Hello, Miss—um. I’m Senior Constable Rick Mendham. And you are …?’

  The woman didn’t even look at Rick, or notice that he, too, was of Aboriginal descent. ‘Talking to Adam … sir,’ she said curtly.

  So she has a problem with men. Yet for some reason, she trusted Adam. Only God knew why, but the certainty grew. She’d come here for him.

  ‘And did you have fun, ma’am?’ he drawled, trying to shake off the desire he knew was bloody unprofessional as well as stupid. But he couldn’t shake the sense of desperation every time he looked at her. The feeling wasn’t his, but hers—and his instincts whispered that dismissing her would be more than stupid. It’d be downright dangerous.

  Help me, Adam. Don’t tell anyone.

  ‘Mmm.’ She sighed, her expression dreamy. ‘We’re more alike than I’d imagined.’

  The smothered chuckles around the room made him tighten his jaw again. They weren’t alone. ‘What the—what are you talking about?’ Him and thrills, compatible? Yeah, right.

  Not for years, at least …

  Even thinking about his past made him frown. If he’d once been a stupid kid, he’d buried that part of himself years ago. And it wasn’t getting a resurrection any time soon.

  The woman flashed him an odd look, a mixture of reproach and shared mischief. ‘Has it been so long for you? What about the time you cuffed your mate to that flagpole, naked, at the academy … not to mention what you and your best man did with the cuffs and that, um, exotic dancer on your buck’s night?’ She grinned. ‘But maybe I shouldn’t mention that in front of all these cops. You can still get pinched fourteen years after the deed, can’t you?’

  He felt a hot flush cover his face as laughter erupted around them. How did she know about that? Those stories had been beneath the sod so long, even he’d forgotten them. ‘I don’t know where you got that from, but stick to the point. What’s your name, and why are you in handcuffs?’

  A comic look twisted her face. ‘Uh … speeding?’

  A crack of laughter broke from behind the open door of the senior sergeant’s office.

  Adam blinked. ‘You were brought in by these constables—you were cuffed—for speeding? I don’t think so. What’s really going on?’

  Help me. Please. Her silent cry screamed so loud in his brain now, he could almost hear it, and yet she was laughing, along with everyone else in the station. But he knew something was terrifying this woman, and she couldn’t afford for anyone else to know. So she was hiding it with this ridiculous practical joke. But why had she chosen him, of all people, to be her confidante?

  He must know her from somewhere. But he could swear on a stack of bibles he’d never met her.

  The woman’s eyes sparkled as if she’d heard his thought. ‘It was serious speeding, Adam—thirty over the limit.’ Beneath the laughter, her eyes begged. Go along with me. Please.

  There was no DUI involved—she was stone cold sober. ‘Nobody’s cuffed for thirty over the limit,’ he barked, and wanted to kick himself when he saw her eyes darken further. Terror. Pleading beneath the smile. Help me.

  ‘Then they frisked me!’

  ‘They did what?’

  Simon fled to the doubtful security of his desk. Baz, at least twenty kilos heavier and a fair bit shorter, held his ground. Almost. One or two more steps away, until his back was against the counter.

  ‘I asked them to,’ the woman replied, managing to sound earnest and merry at once. ‘I wanted to know what it felt like to be arrested and frisked. It was properly done, according to the book. And it was exciting, being a crim for an hour,’ she added, grinning in cheerful apology as the laughter erupted again. ‘There’ll be no repercussions. I promise. I’ll pay my fine like a good girl, and I won’t mention my little adventure outside the station.’

  Adam flicked a look at Baz and Simon. In this quiet country station that only had six cops because it covered a few hundred square kilometres, boredom was the norm. No wonder she had ’em wriggling like fish on a hook.

  ‘You realise these constables would lose their jobs for going along with your so-called fun, if word of it ever gets out?’

  She smiled again, but it held a touch of pity in it, like the popular kid in school wanting to share her fun with the class nerd. ‘C’mon, Adam, this will never go outside the station walls.’ She sighed, her coffee-dark eyes filled with something akin to compassion. ‘Poor Adam. She really did a number on you. You don’t trust people anymore, and you’ve forgotten how to laugh.’

  The quiet words shocked him into silence. Whoever she was, this woman had known his wife. Who was she? Why did the fear behind her eyes lock him into her game, compelling him to play? He didn’t know, but whatever danger lay hidden behind the jokes, she desperately needed him to play along—for now.

  His mind raced, trying to find the right answer. ‘You’ll be laughing from a cell if you don’t cut out the act and give me your name.’

  She clicked her tongue, but her eyes softened with relief. ‘Adam Stephen Harold Jepson, you’ve forgotten the good manners Aunt Irene and Uncle Adam taught you to display before a lady. Shame on you.’

  He reeled back. ‘How do you know my grandparents—and my middle names, for that matter? Who the hell are you, woman?’

  Rick stepped forward again. ‘Hi, Miss—um. As I said, I’m Senior Constable Rick Mendham, and you have the apologies of the Macks Lake Police Service for Detective Sergeant Jepson’s lapse in manners. He usually isn’t so rude to old friends.’ He clicked his fingers, and a sheepish Simon handed him the keys to the cuffs. ‘You know, the PR that might come out of this little adventure of yours would be awful. You wouldn’t want to make trouble for us poor country coppers, would you, sister?’

  Another flicker of dread shadowed her eyes. It hovered for a split second, then she grinned at Rick, so carefree, Adam wondered if this woman was an actress. ‘No booze or drugs, and no resisting arrest. Better watch your back—and your job, eh, brother?’

  Rick’s smile warmed and softened. ‘Where do you hail from?’

  Now the smile was genuine, yet Adam was st
ill haunted by all she was keeping unspoken. ‘My grandmother’s Eora, from the La Perouse mob. I’m a Sydneysider. You?’

  A moment’s hesitation before Rick answered. ‘The Mendhams are Paakantyi people, from the Darling River near Broken Hill.’

  Adam frowned. So she was from Sydney? She knew his family; that much was obvious. She had to be related, if she’d called his very conservative grandparents aunt and uncle; but if any of the hundred or more relatives he had in Sydney had Aboriginal background, he’d never heard of it.

  Whoever she was, he’d had enough of her game. ‘Well, now you’ve had your fun, Constables Wynn and South can give you your ticket. Then you can cause trouble for the cops of another town, and leave us to our boring lives.’ He didn’t like this woman—he was almost sure of that—and he sure as hell didn’t like her effect on him.

  She only winked at him. Coupled with that megawatt smile, her lush sensuality hit him like a perfume. The other scent—a fear so primal he couldn’t ignore it—sat with even less comfort. Please help me.

  ‘But I came all this way to enrich your boring life. It’s been thirteen years since we last met, and you trussed up in a monkey suit. It was the most tedious affair I ever had to sit through. I thought my good mate Claudius’s wedding would be a right old hoedown. You shouldn’t have let Sharon and the Jepsons bully you into the boring conventions.’

  Claudius? Only one person had ever called him that stupid nickname—and a sudden burst of memories he’d kept dammed up too long became a flood. Everything made sense, right down to the ridiculous outfit and cheeky smile. ‘Elly?’

  ‘In the flesh.’ Her shimmering eyes alight with affection, she ran around the counter, flung herself on him and snuggled right in.

  He swore silently as his body tightened in swift, hot reaction. Well, after all these years, it was comforting to know he was still a man, but his libido picked a hell of an embarrassing time to let him know it was still a functioning part of his anatomy. He was so hot and hard against the softness of her belly there was no way she could mistake his reaction, even through his jeans and hers.