 
### Table of Contents

Title Page

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

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Also By R.J. Boyd
Shades of Misty Blue

A Romance of Fate and Destiny

R.J. Boyd

This is an IndieMosh book

brought to you by MoshPit Publishing  
an imprint of Mosher's Business Support Pty Ltd

PO BOX 147  
Hazelbrook NSW 2779

https://www.indiemosh.com.au

Copyright 2019 © R.J. Boyd

All rights reserved

**Licence Notes**

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author and publisher.

**Disclaimer**

This story is entirely a work of fiction.

No character in this story is taken from real life. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is accidental and unintentional.

The author, their agents and publishers cannot be held responsible for any claim otherwise and take no responsibility for any such coincidence.

Cover design and layout by Ally Mosher at allymosher.com

# Chapter 1

It only felt natural to want to sit on his lap. Her little voice was telling her to wrap her arms around his neck, to kiss his cheek and nibble his ear. And it didn't seem strange that the huge crowd in the auditorium was looking at her with fascination, or that they all seemed to be laughing and jeering in her direction. Why should it? He was the love of her life. The music was the lure and this was their song.

Hold me in your arms, kiss and caress me.

Whisper in my ear, tell me you love me.

I'll be here beside you, the whole night through.

Hold me in your arms, my one and only...

Kristy combed her fingers through his hair and kissed his neck. She snuggled her body into his, allowing herself to become intoxicated by his scent, and feeling herself becoming warmly alive by their closeness. For some reason or other, it didn't bother her that he wasn't reciprocating her public display of affection. Her little voice was controlling her will, until the music stopped.

She recoiled to reality, instantly springing off his lap and into the aisle. Where the hell was she, and who was this man whose lap she had been sitting on? Her nostrils flared. She glared at him, her eyes shooting daggers. He was definitely handsome, but the amused grin on his face mocked her to the core. She jerked her head around looking for her bearings. Her seat was a dozen rows back and her friends were beckoning to her with hysterical gestures. What was so goddamn funny?

Kristy glanced back at the stage as she moved quickly away. The hypnotist was having a field day. Perhaps she was under his spell. The last thing she clearly remembered, was walking up to the stage with her hands clasped tightly together. She had stood in line beside twenty or so other people, all suffering from the same affliction, to have something whispered into her ear. She remembered falling backwards to be caught by the magician's voice, to be then guided into a seat with her name on it. After that, it was as if she were in her own dream world, acting out various fantasies. Oh God! She had been his subject and under his spell. What other embarrassing things had she done?

"Oh, you were so great Kristy," said Lauren, reaching out to guide her into the seat. "Do you remember what you did?"

"No... well kind of. Everything is like a dream. What was I doing sitting on that guy's lap?"

"The hypnotist gave you a suggestion, that when you heard a particular piece of music playing, you'd automatically be out of your seat, looking for and grabbing hold of the first male you were attracted to. Then you would kiss and cuddle that person as if he was your partner. But when the music stopped, you would spring off his lap and wonder what the hell was going on."

"Ohhhh...! How many times have I done that?"

"That was your third time, and the second time with the same fella. Cute isn't he?"

~ ~ ~

"You didn't have to be so obvious!" reprimanded Amanda.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Blake. "I had no control over the situation."

Tonight was to be a make-up night. It seemed as though all they ever did was fight. He had only been dating Amanda for a few weeks, and although she satisfied the majority of his qualifying criteria, her insane jealousy was becoming all too much.

"I couldn't very well throw her off my lap, could I?"

"It was more the way you were looking at her. She didn't have to single you out. Two out of three occasions is more than just a coincidence. You know her from somewhere before, don't you?"

"Come on Amanda, I've never seen the woman before in my life. Look, this conversation is ridiculous. Every time we go out somewhere together, you accuse me of wanting to have an affair with any female who looks in my direction."

Blake had to admit to himself though, it was pretty coincidental that the young lady had sought him out a second time. The hypnotist had previously stated that subjects under hypnosis were compelled to be their true selves. They didn't lie or hide their feelings, and if this were the case, then physically she must have been drawn to him. He felt flattered and warmed by the attention. It would be intriguing to see if the scenario repeated itself.

~ ~ ~

"I'm so embarrassed."

"The show isn't over yet, and you're still under his spell."

"But I'm sitting down here with you," confirmed Kristy with a hint of panic in her voice. "I'm part of the audience. He can't get me up again. I won't go."

"Not true. He has queued your brain to respond to various posthypnotic suggestions."

"Like what?"

"Like when you hear him asking, 'where is my flock', you will instantly stop what you're doing and bleat your way back to the stage, to sit in the seat with your name on it. It's not over for you yet."

How had she gotten herself into this predicament in the first place? This was all Lauren's fault. _"Come along, we'll have a good time, we'll have a few laughs,"_ she had encouraged. The problem was, she was supposed to be having a laugh at other people's expense, not the other way around. Not that she wasn't feeling good. Strangely enough, right here, right now, this was the best she had felt for ages. This outing had allowed her to get out of the house, to give her a short break away from her dying cat, Misty Blue, and for that distraction she was thankful. It seemed lately as if her whole life had dropped into a big black hole of emotional despair, with no way out. Why couldn't she just wake up one morning to find that the poor animal had died in its sleep? Why did it have to reach this stage of being forced to have Misty Blue put down?

In hindsight, there was little wonder she had made such a good hypnotic subject. When asking for audience participation at the beginning of the show, the hypnotist had said that to be a good subject, it was necessary to be able to side-track the conscious mind. He had said it was important for the subject to have the ability to concentrate and focus on something else, so that his voice was talking directly to their subconscious. _"Now clasp your hands together and throw them out in front of yourself,"_ he had instructed with a demonstration to show everyone what he expected. _"Now I want you to relax, and concentrate with all your thoughts and attentions on the minute flickering of any one of those fluorescent lights on the ceiling above you."_

She had participated in the experiment along with everyone else. The minute flickering of the light had somehow misdirected her mind, off onto a sad tangent of thinking about Misty Blue's depleting life force and how it was showing up in her eyes. Consciously her mind had been distracted, and she certainly wasn't aware of the hypnotist's ongoing suggestions of how her hands were being stuck together, how they were acting like a vice and were squeezing together tighter and tighter. He had suggested that it would be impossible to take these hands apart when he offered a challenge, and it was truly as if she had awoken from a dream to discover that she couldn't. It was as if they had been glued together, and in spite of her best attempts to separate them, she realised with a touch of panic that it was impossible. She'd had no other choice than to follow the other susceptible subjects up on stage, to allow him to unlock the condition with his mental key. Somehow it hadn't ended up as simple as that, and now she was under his control until the end of the show.

"He didn't have me doing that, did he?" she asked, watching in disbelief as a fellow subject munched into an onion with the belief that it was a juicy apple.

Kristy screwed up her face. The power of the mind was fascinating to watch. She could almost taste that onion's hot pungent odour, almost feel its acrid oil squirting her in the eyes. The poor bloke was ripping into it with relish, and heading for his third mouthful, before the hypnotist could compose himself and literally snap his fingers to break the illusion. He then allowed everybody to observe his subject's repulsive reaction, before whispering something into his ear, to have him drop blissfully off to sleep once again. No, she wouldn't suffer this indignation. She would resist his suggestions. Lauren had told her the key words. She would listen very carefully, and be aware and forewarned to be able to actively resist his control. She didn't have a hope in Hades.

When her call came, it was an instinct to respond, like a mother's reaction in response to the wail of her baby. It felt strange, totally irresistible and compelling, but natural that she should be out of her seat in a flash, to be bleating like a lost lamb and moving towards centre stage. It was coincidental however, that she should turn her head and bleat at the exact spot where she had previously sat on the handsome stranger's lap. Although fleeting, the glance was long enough for her to recognise a silent amused smile on his face, which would burn into her memory for a long while. Once up on stage though, she gave a spectacular Stella performance. Her rhythmic routine in the dance of the seven veils had the audience on their feet. They were screaming and whistling for an encore. They loved her. Why shouldn't they? She was the world's best. They had queued for hours and paid a lot of money just to see her perform, and wow, their accolades felt so good.

The hypnotist continued to weave his magic. He juggled his now thirteen subjects from one scenario to the next, with each act having the effect of putting his participants deeper and deeper into their hypnotic state, and deeper and deeper under his control. The audience lapped it all up. Their cheering, laughing and clapping serving as a tool to spur on and encourage his subjects to greater heights as they moved from scene to scene. Suddenly she felt so cold. Where was she? Somewhere in the Antarctic? And who were these people she was clinging to? It didn't matter who they were, she needed their body heat. Then it got so hot. Who were these same people now crowding her space and making her feel so annoyed? Oh God, the heat was so oppressive and suffocating. But now so calm and drifting deeper and deeper asleep. Going back to relive the joyous excitement of receiving her first bicycle as a little girl, and then onto the feeling of losing her first tooth. Somehow, her dreams then skipped forward to her teenage years, and the feelings of that first high school date.

The memories were all so real. She could see, hear, touch, taste and smell their very existence. It was as if she were actually there reliving the moments, and being guided through them by a craftsman who led her from one emotion to another. The hypnotist was that craftsman, a brilliant technician who was an observer of human reactions. He very quickly moved from one scene to another to avoid any lingering abreactions from his subjects. It was inevitable though, that sooner or later his suggestions should open up doors of association, which would have her reliving the pain of Jeremy's death. His suggestion, when it came, was in no way sinister. It was merely her interpretation of that suggestion which made her response so dramatic. It was an abreaction the hypnotist wasn't expecting.

"Feel the sadness of saying goodbye and of that last kiss." he instructed.

She began to wail mournfully and deep from the pit of her stomach. She awoke from her hypnotic sleep, locked onto the visual imagery of that last kiss. _"I will love you forever Kristy,"_ he had uttered with his last breath and desperate squeeze of his hand. _"Don't go. Jeremy. Please don't go and leave me,"_ she had sobbed. It was as his bloodshot distant eyes had started to flutter, that she had desperately seized upon the opportunity to leave his departing soul with the touch of her lips and taste of her breath. Sorrowful tears, containing the spiritual essence of her life force, flooded over her cheeks and rained down upon his face, as with that last kiss, she bade him goodbye.

Kristy sat in the chair with her hands covering her face. She sobbed uncontrollably. The hypnotist's assistant attempted to calm her as her two closest friends, Lauren and Simon, left their seats to rush up the aisle towards the stage. The hypnotist took command of the situation. He masterfully dropped his other subjects into a sleeping pattern, before addressing and reminding the audience of what he had said prior to beginning his show about abreactions. He walked over to Kristy's two friends who were assisting her exit from the stage, to give them his personal assurance of her well-being, before carrying on with his performance.

Kristy leant her head on Lauren's shoulder, as they walked towards the back of the auditorium and the exit heading out into the lounge area. She was conscious of everybody's eyes upon her, and once again, her eyes caught those of the mystery man. A thin compassionate smile sat encouragingly on his lips. She must look awful to him, with her swollen eyes, smudged mascara and a tear stained face, but her return smile thanked him for his understanding anyhow. His face did somehow seem familiar, but then again, so did a lot of people here tonight. After all, this was the local sports club, and these people could easily be just the locals she passed by in the streets every day.

~ ~ ~

Blake felt the physical whack of her fist on his thigh muscle, before he heard her acid tongue.

"There you go again!"

"Come on Amanda, have a bit of compassion. The woman has just been traumatised."

"And of course you can make all the difference to her."

"For goodness sake, all I did was smile."

"Your job has made you soft in the brain. You deal with animal suffering, not human suffering."

"Well sometimes, I obviously have difficulties detecting the difference," he snapped back.

Good, that comment put her in her place. Now maybe they could enjoy the rest of the show in peace. Amanda's current source of aggravation was now leaving the auditorium.

~ ~ ~

"I have to go home Lauren," she blurted as they walked out the swing doors of the auditorium.

"You were thinking of Jeremy and that last kiss goodbye weren't you?"

"Oh Lauren, it was so real, it was like I was actually there. I can still taste his lips."

"Sweetie, you've got to stop this. Jeremy was my brother and Simon's best friend. We know he wouldn't approve of you mourning over him, like you have for the past two years. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why are you torturing yourself?"

"I've got to go home. I've got to be alone. I'll catch a taxi."

"It's that bloody cat isn't it?"

"Lauren, that bloody cat as you put it, is the only living memory that I've got left of Jeremy, and it's dying. I've got to get her put down tomorrow. How do you think that makes me feel? My life can't start again until this is all over."

Kristy began to sob gently. Misty Blue had been Jeremy's gift to her, but it had always been his cat. The thought association was all too much.

"Come on then, we'll drive you home," said Simon sympathetically.

"No, please. I need to be alone. You two see the show out."

With that comment, she was gone, hurriedly exiting the building and heading for the taxi stand. She stepped into the first cab in the queue, knowing she'd just left her two dearest and loyal friends feeling helpless and upset. 

# Chapter 2

Kristy bolted in the front door. The vision of Jeremy on his death bed still haunted her. She flung her bag onto the kitchen table, kicked off her high heels, then dashed straight into the lounge room to drop beside the cane basket on the couch. She spoke softly and lovingly to Misty Blue, as she slid her hands under the absorbent towel to lift her frail body and cradle it to her chest. A strong smell of animal urine wafted to her nostrils, creating a gagging reflex which smarted her eyes and left her blinking profusely. Misty Blue raised her head in a wobbly motion, in an attempt to overcome the power of the medications she was on. Her actions were so pathetic that genuine tears streamed down Kristy's face.

She sat stroking the cat tenderly, holding it comfortable against her beating heart, and talking in a soft tone to calm the frightened look in its eyes. Eyes so large and so sad, pleading for help. Eyes which reflected the awareness that its life force was running out. All Kristy could do was to calm the panic into quiet acceptance. She knew that when tomorrow morning came, that she had to submit to the animal's will and ease it out of its misery. The vet had warned her one week ago that liver and kidney failure was imminent, and yesterday's visit had confirmed exactly that. Misty Blue was sliding fast. Drips, pain killers and sedatives were now of no real benefit. It was inhumane to carry on like this. The animal had to be put down. She had selfishly pleaded for one more day, electing not to go to work, but to stay at home instead to spend their last day together. She had been cheated, her quality time had been robbed. With the high dosages of medication required to alleviate her discomfort, Misty Blue couldn't stay awake for very long at all.

It was a last minute decision to go to the club. She had to remove herself temporarily from the situation. It hadn't worked. The hypnotist had seen to that. Now all she could see and feel was the déjà vu experience of a loved one dying all over again. Suddenly she felt so guilty, with a genuine concern she'd abandoned the poor creature for her own selfish reasons. No more. She would sit here with the animal all night. There would be no more drugs, no more intravenous drips. She would hold this little soul in her arms, until the end.

~ ~ ~

Blake had dropped Amanda off, and as he drove home he was feeling somewhat troubled. Troubled, firstly because of Amanda's obsessive behaviour and public display of jealously, and secondly because he was being haunted by the mystery female who had made herself at ease on his lap. It was strange that he could smell her perfume on his shoulder, and yet not detect any hint of Amanda's. He also felt frustrated that she had fled the scene with her identity virtually intact. He knew her occupation, although that didn't seem much of a consolation. The hypnotist had asked the group to perform their daily jobs, and had then asked them individually what it was that they were doing. She was a rural journalist, but that was all he knew about her. She had left before the end of the show, whereupon the hypnotist had woken his subjects, to ask their names and thank them personally for being such good sports with their participating.

He had considered finding out who she was by asking her two friends, and the timing was right when Amanda had excused herself to visit the rest room. The couple had stood only a couple of metres away, slowly edging their way towards the exit with everyone else, when his opportunity had arisen. He had raised his hand with a gesture of grabbing either one's attention, and had for a split second made eye contact with the male, only to be coldly dismissed with a look which emulated the jealousy of his own companion. He had read the signals all wrong. The mystery woman's two friends were not a couple at all. He had struck a dead end.

Tomorrow was the start of the weekend, and with his illusions now shattered, he was determined he would spend his time doing what he wanted to do, and not what others wanted him to do. Amanda had requested, no, Amanda had insisted he would be picking her up, to take her for a drive to the botanical gardens for a picnic over the course of the weekend, but in light of the fact she had behaved badly tonight, he seriously doubted if he would accommodate her demands. How was it possible he had allowed himself to become entangled in her web in the first place?

Monday was to be a big day at work. He had been assigned, as the senior investigator for the Animal Protection against Cruelty Organisation, the APACO, to investigate, document and prosecute if necessary, a large battery laying hen operation on the outskirts of Sydney. There would be a police presence and a nominated media crew covering the on-site visit. The property in question had been well targeted in the past by animal liberationists, but now, due to the concerns of a whistle blower and the request of a selected independent politician, it was time for an organised campaign. It was time to bring public awareness to this cruel intensive system of production.

He had the power. His organisation could shut this place down. And along with the continual ongoing support of the media, public outrage and a conviction through the courts, they could be influential in changing the entire industry system, to see caged production being replaced by more free range and barn laid enterprises with far less stocking densities. Amanda was not going to manipulate or upset him again, not before such an important test case.

# Chapter 3

Kristy slept restlessly. Misty Blue's frail body lay across her stomach, with her tiny head draped unceremoniously over the cusp of Kristy's forearm, dribbling saliva and snorting spasmodically between long rasping shallow breaths. She had done the best she could to make them both comfortable on the couch for the long night ahead. The two corner room lamps had been left on, the air conditioner was running on low heat, and she'd covered them both with a travel rug before resting her body back to make the best of a bad situation. But her head had refused to shut down.

It seemed so unfair. This cat was only three years old. It had been Jeremy's gift to her, a couple of weeks after her miscarriage. The very moment he had presented the kitten to her, she had known exactly what it was he was attempting to do. At first she had refused to have anything to do with the replacement therapy idea. It was far easier to remain locked into that black emotional hole of despair, with its grief and feeling sorry for herself. When she finally saw the light though, she realised how selfish she had been. Jeremy had also been in pain. The mischievous little fluff ball was his compensation, and his way of coping with their loss. By this time however, a bond had been formed between 'the kitten with no name' and her grieving husband.

It had been so sweet, thoughtful and patient of Jeremy to wait so long for her to name the little critter. He had known that sooner or later her maternal instinct would shine through, and knew that she would already have had a name picked out. She had named the kitten Misty Blue because of her unusual smoky blue colour. They had become inseparable. Jeremy had said that whenever she was ready, they would try again for another child. She had let too much time go by. One day, only too soon, Jeremy fell sick and was hospitalised. And then Jeremy had died. It had been her blackest hour, and this cat was his only living legacy.

Somehow the vivid darkness of the night passed, to become the greyness of the dawn. Kristy woke with a kinked neck. The warmness of fresh urine soaking through her sleeve, with its strong ammonia smell, had stirred her senses. It was 7.30am. The vet surgery was only open between 8.00am and 10.00am on a Saturday. The time had come, but it was all too hard to change clothes, or even freshen up. It would feel great to hop into a shower and scrub off the misery, but right now that would be counterproductive, as she knew it would return. She didn't even want to look into a mirror for fear of seeing how bad she must look, with puffy swollen red eyes and smudged mascara, she was already depressed enough. No amount of showering, cosmetics, or change of clothes could possibly hide what she was feeling inside. What she really needed to lift her spirits was a hot cuppa tea, but that also would have to wait. A cold glass of orange juice would have to suffice.

She carried Misty Blue's moist and shivering body to the kitchen to offer her a drink first. Turning the tap on over the sink, she adjusted the temperature of the water until it was just right, and then filling the palm of her cupped hand, offered it up to the animal's lips. Out came the little pale tongue. In a vain attempt, she licked once, then twice. Kristy felt her laboured swallowing reverberate right through her arm, to crawl up her skin and prickle the hairs on the back of her neck. Misty Blue's best attempts to drink, had failed. Groggily she shook her head, coughing, spluttering and snorting as though the water had created a spasm in her lungs.

All at once she felt guilty about having removed the drip. The poor creature was dehydrated, but was unable to swallow. How could she possibly justify drinking, let alone holding down a glass of orange juice. Her own sustenance would have to wait. It was time to act, and it was important to be the first patient at the surgery when it opened. She started to move, operating on auto pilot, to find herself at the linen closet ferreting out another old towel. Unceremoniously, she dumped the urine saturated one in the garbage bin as she headed for the front door with the car keys in her hand. She was halfway out the door when she stopped dead in her tracks, simply standing there as if tottering precariously on the edge of a cliff.

For some reason she thought of Jeremy, and in that instance rushed into her bedroom, opened up one of his drawers and took out what had once been his favourite jumper. She discarded the towel and then wrapped Misty Blue lovingly within the jumper's soft woollen fibres. That jumper had not been washed since the last time he had worn it. It had been tucked away out of sight, not to see the light of day, until today. Today, right now, as tears flooded into her eyes, she had the strength. She could smell his odour and sense his essence. It felt so right. It not only comforted her, but had an overwhelming effect upon Misty Blue.

~ ~ ~

It had been a restless night for Blake. The mystery woman had gotten the better of him, and for some reason or other, his brain just wouldn't shut down. She had felt so comfortable and secure sitting on his lap, and now at 8.00am in the morning doing his first load of washing, he was reluctant to throw that shirt, with her perfume still lingering within its fabric, into the wash. He sniffed the collar one more time, letting his head get carried away with its intoxicating essence.

"Who am I kidding," he said out loud. "Ships in the night."

He cut the thought process, dropping the shirt into the now thrashing and foaming waters of the top load washing machine. However minutes later whilst vacuuming the floor, his brain twigged to the possibility of a long shot. She was a rural journalist and there was a court appointed newspaper journalist and photographer assigned to his investigation. The pertinent paperwork was in his car. He stopped what he was doing and headed outside, the housework could wait. He actually felt excited and anxious as he flicked open his briefcase, to pull out the official papers and flip through their pages to find the document relating to the consent of entry onto a premises. He glossed over the written paraphernalia with its legal and technical information, to find the paragraph he was looking for with its list of names attached.

"This document, with the court's seal, dated, blah, blah, blah, overrides and counteracts any trespassing or infringement rights to the Windsor property at blah, blah, blah, owned and operated by Joe Scar and trading as Scar Poultry. The following personnel have right of entry the premises on Monday the blah, blah, blah, for the purpose of investigating Animal Rights Issues."

APACO representatives;

... Blake James - Inspector

... Brian Adams - Vet

... Howard Goode - Video Cameraman

Media representatives;

... Kristy White - Journalist

... Simon Black - Photographer

His spirits soared. Could it be possible? At least the journalist was a female, so the idea wasn't entirely ruled out. How many female journalists were there working for a rural newspaper? Surely that was pretty much a male dominated sector of reporting? It had to be her. Well at least he would daydream about it being her, and that would get him through the weekend and make Amanda's company a little more bearable. Anyhow, a dawn raid at 7.00am on Monday morning would tell the story, and either way, whether it was her or not, it would still be an interesting week.

What was the suggestion which had reduced her to tears anyhow? Something about feeling the sadness of saying goodbye, something about a last kiss. This woman was a sensitive individual who was not afraid to express or show her emotions. The mere thought of her sitting on his lap, kissing and cuddling him and exhaling her hot breath on his neck, sent a tingle of excitement rushing through his body. Just for a second, he wished that he could salvage that shirt and inhale her perfume one last time. Monday morning really couldn't come quickly enough.

~ ~ ~

It was only a five minute drive to the vet's surgery, and Kristy didn't falter with her momentum, or hesitate with any lingering thoughts about what she was doing. Cradling the cat in her arms, she pushed the front door open with her foot and fronted up bravely to the receptionist counter, and the solemn face of her veterinarian. He knew why she was there. No words were necessary. The distant pleading look in her eyes, and her lack of personal hygiene no doubt reflected the hopelessness she felt, and the decision which she'd finally made. A thin smile of compassion showed on his face as he reached out to touch her arm as a gesture of understanding. Where had she seen that look before? Right now though, it didn't matter.

He guided her into one of his clinical rooms, to leave her standing beside a stainless steel operating table, while he turned away to prepare the concoction of death. She was conscious of him rattling around with keys and locks to his medicine cabinet, and she tried to distract her mind away from what he was doing, but it was impossible. A sense of urgency had engulfed her body. How could she possibly concentrate on anything nice? She was about to have her cat put down. No! She was about to kill her cat. There was no other way of thinking about it. Kristy tried desperately to fight off the emerging tears. She had to be strong, had to see this through. After this though, she would never cry again. And after this, there would be no more animals in her life.

The vet turned, she was aware of that, but she couldn't see his features or see the expression on his face. All she could see was the syringe. It looked so intimidating, so final. She felt her body go weak, felt an uncontrollable trembling rush through her psyche. Oh God, she couldn't stop shaking. Misty Blue could sense it too. She looked up at her with those sad frightened eyes and with the pink of her tongue showing. Kristy's eyes filled with tears and her nose began to run.

"You're doing the only thing that you can do," the vet offered as sympathy. "Why don't you leave her here with me and come back in an hour or so?"

"I can't let her die alone," she sniffled.

She locked her eyes onto Misty Blue's. She looked so lost and alone in that big jumper. Lovingly, she stroked the animal's head with her thumb, as the vet moved into her space to pick up the front shaven paw and searched for a vein.

"She won't feel anything," he assured. "She'll simply just go off to sleep."

Then it was done. The syringe was empty, and the vet turned away. Misty Blue's eyes flickered, and then with a slight shudder and the stiffening of the animal's body, her little heart shut down. Silent tears cascaded down Kristy's cheeks, to once again splatter over the body of another dearly departing soul.

~ ~ ~

Simon was waiting for her when she arrived back home. He had let himself in with his own key, and was sitting in the sun on the front veranda with a cuppa in his hand as she pulled into her driveway. In a way she was pleased to see him. He had been Jeremy's best friend, and since Jeremy's death, it was only too obvious to everyone that he was now in love with her. She worked with Simon every day. He had been the logical choice as the photographer for all her assignments from the moment Jeremy had died. He assumed their closeness would eventually meld itself into a relationship, and it was flattering that he was waiting in the wings for her, but at this stage she didn't have any deep romantic feelings toward him. His company and sympathy right now though, would feel good.

"Hi babe," he greeted, as she stepped out of the car. "Thought you could do with a little company. Sorry I wasn't here earlier. I didn't expect to find you gone."

"I had to finish it Simon. It was so awful."

She hugged him long and hard. Strangely, the tears were all gone. She felt sad, but somehow relieved.

"Would you help me bury her?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, breaking contact. "You go pick a spot out and I'll take care of the rest."

She didn't have to pick a spot out. She knew exactly where she wanted to lay Misty Blue down to rest. Two years ago she had planted a camellia shrub in the backyard, as a tribute to the memory of Jeremy, and it had flourished in its location. She would bury Misty Blue close by, and also plant another camellia shrub, with a different flowering colour, beside the animal's final resting place.

That night she slept peacefully. A section of her life had truly been put to rest. She drifted off to sleep with wild fanciful dreams of her arms being wrapped around a mystery man's neck. His indistinguishable face and understanding smile not only haunted her, but it also lured and taunted her to come closer and closer.

# Chapter 4

Of course, it had to be raining. What a way to start the week. Blake was sitting in his car, romanticising over the notion of possibly coming face to face with the mystery woman who had captured his imagination at the hypnotist show the other night. He was feeling somewhat foolish, like an overzealous schoolboy waiting for his childhood sweetheart to turn up. Where was she and her photographer anyhow, or for that matter, where was his crew and the police? It had gone 6.30am and he was the only one here. He had the right address, there was no doubt about that, besides, it would be impossible for anyone driving along the road to miss an operation this size. He was just being too anxious that's all, the arranged meeting time was for 7.00am.

He poured himself a freshly brewed cup of coffee from his thermos, to watch its vapours curl upwards with the currents to fog up the front windscreen. As he sipped his drink, he wiped the condensation off the glass with the back of his hand, and then wound the window down a couple of centimetres to allow a little ventilation into the internal confines. There was nothing joyous about bleak days. The chilling wind outside, which was driving the rain, would almost certainly be coming off snow, it sure had a bite to it. He knew however, that once inside the controlled environment poultry sheds, the reverse would exist.

It seemed coincidental that this assignment had come up whilst he was still in the organisation, and also somewhat conflicting that he should be assigned to the investigation. The fact that he had previously been an owner operator of a small battery laying hen farm for a number of years, would also no doubt eventually come up. There would be the insinuation made, that he couldn't make a go of it, and that he was now being vindictive towards the industry because of the sour taste which had been left in his mouth. It was no secret at the time when he'd joined the organisation, nor had it been when he was elevated to the position of senior inspector, that he was opposed to battery laying hen operations. That was clearly on his record.

The truth of the matter was, there was no sour taste in his mouth at all. He could clearly see the industry from both sides. Intensive production was fine, just so long as the operator followed the recommended husbandry and management criteria, and kept their stock in good health and condition. In all fairness, his opposition was a case of awareness. In the end, it simply boiled down to basic animal rights. Surely no one could accuse him of being soft or unreasonable. He'd grown up with the hardship of the land for the first thirty five years of his life, but the sideline poultry enterprise had been the turning point which had pricked his conscience. Perhaps also, it had been the catalyst for him to leave the land, thus enabling him to secure a rewarding and challenging job with an organisation such as the APACO, who defended those animal rights.

He would never be able to forget what had first precipitated the change within him though. It was that first and only impressionable weekend in the company of Sylvia. She was visiting from overseas and had accompanied his best mate's girlfriend out to his property, as a sort of blind date for the purpose of a bonfire and barbecue. They had arrived late in the afternoon and had immediately settled in around the open fire. He had hit it off with Sylvia straight away, she was not only beautiful, but was also a very spiritual person. They had chatted for hours and long into the night after the other two had gone to bed, and it was only the next morning, as he had given her a tour of his poultry facility with its battery layer operation, that things had soured. She was horrified, and had left him with a haunting revelation.

_"Think about this,"_ she had said with disappointment in her voice. _"What goes around, comes around. One day your soul could be assigned to return in the body of a chook. It could be you, jammed into a prison cage that size with a couple of other inmates. Only difference is, you could be stuck in there with an intelligent brain."_ She had walked out of his life, never to be seen or heard from again. She had left him with a new interpretation on being kind to dumb animals.

~ ~ ~

"Here we are," said Simon, slowing down to pull off the road. "There's the APACO vehicle."

He nosed his vehicle in behind the station wagon which was pulled off to one side of the locked front gate.

"We're obviously waiting for the police to show."

"Hey, get a look at the size of the chain wrapped around the gate."

"Yes impressive. You'd better get a photo of that, and one of the police cutting their way in."

"I know my job babe. You find out what's going on, and I'll get my gear ready."

Kristy was just about to open the door, when another vehicle magically pulled off the road to join the queue, followed seconds later by a police car nosing itself right up to the gate.

"Show time!" she said, stepping out into the driving rain to unleash her umbrella.

Kristy moved awkwardly. She fumbled with one hand in her coat pocket, checking for the tape recorder, whilst battling with the other to hold the umbrella steady against the swirling wind. Finding her footing on the muddy surface, she fully zipped up her parka, dragged the coat's hood over her head, and then proceeded carefully in the inspector's direction. She could already feel her jeans absorbing the cold rain, and cursed herself for not having a full length weather proof coat and broad brimmed hat, just like the APACO inspector was wearing. It didn't matter. Soon they would be inside a dry chook shed and out of this pouring rain and bitterly cold breeze.

"Hello, I'm Kristy White," she said, forcefully propping the umbrella over her shoulder and turning her back into the wind as she looked up into his face. "I'm the appointed journalist covering this operation today."

"And I'm Blake James, from the APACO."

The handshake was very brief, and he couldn't clearly distinguish her facial features, as she constantly moved her head about and squinted to avoid the twisting wind. Her face was also partially covered by that stupid hood, and although the early morning skies were still grey and overcast with the sun not yet up, her eyes had a sparkle of life and familiarity within them which screamed to be noticed. This had to be her and his heart was beating erratically.

"You've obviously been briefed as to your role here today?"

"Yes, but can we talk about it inside?"

Blake scanned her face the best he could, looking for some sort of recognition, but there was no time to ask personal questions, the police sergeant and his sidekick were approaching. It was rather cute though, the way wisps of her hair escaped from behind her hood, to wildly lash out at droplets of rain on her eyelashes. It caused her to blink profusely, before catching them with her hand and tucking them back where they belonged.

"Sergeant Thomas of Windsor police," said the gruff voice who had entered their space. "And over there is constable Williams," he added, throwing his head in the general direction of his sidekick holding the bolt cutters.

Although Blake briefly introduced Kristy and himself, the stony faced sergeant was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to be sociable. He obviously resented being out in this weather and with this detail. Or perhaps it was his sidekick who was the problem. He drew back his sleeve to look at his watch. It was one minute past 7.00am. The sergeant was a stickler for punctuality.

"We'd better get on with it then," he barked.

"There's one party not accounted for sarge."

Blake swung his head around to see who from his team was missing. 'Bloody hell,' he cursed under his breath. Why was it always the vet? The camera man was always on time.

The sergeant raised his eyebrows as he twisted his head around to growl at his junior constable.

"Then we'll have to go in without him, won't we? Can't stand around in this weather all day. Cut the damn lock. And Mr James," he said addressing Blake with a commanding voice so as others could hear. "I'll need you to come with me while I serve the warrant. You can present whatever paperwork you have and answer any questions which may arise, but the others will have to wait down by the sheds. I don't want anyone entering any buildings or doing anything, until the owners have been given the opportunity of co-operating."

With that said, it was done. The chain was cut and they proceeded as a convoy down the front driveway, to pull up outside the first big shed. Blake then got out of his car and changed seats with the constable, then the sergeant drove them both up the one hundred metre slippery gravel road with its slight incline, to pull up outside the front of the manager's house. Stepping out of the police vehicle and looking back, he was relieved to see the vet's car pulling in to join the others down by the shed. His professional opinion was essential to this assignment.

They were greeted at the front door by one very confused and alarmed farm manager. The intimidating sergeant stood silently by while Blake introduced himself, explained what was going on and issued the guy with the organisation's official paperwork. The manager kept emphasising that he wasn't the owner and didn't have the power to allow them entry. He was clearly flustered and at a loss as what to do about the situation. The sergeant asserted his authority and made it very simple for him by thrusting the warrant in his direction.

"This is a court appointed warrant. The persons nominated on it have right of entry. The police are here to enforce that they do their job unhindered. You have five minutes to voluntarily assist and unlock the sheds, or we'll be doing it for you."

With that ultimatum being delivered, no other words were necessary. They left the speechless farm manager standing on the veranda of his residence, with paperwork in hand and contemplating his options, as they stepped back into the police car and drove back down to the sheds.

"Do you think that you'll be here for long?" asked the bored sergeant.

"If it's as bad as our whistle blower and senator claims, then we'll have to document and videotaped everything. Possibly a couple of hours, maybe a little longer. Does your shift finish soon?"

"9.00am."

"Looks like you could be scoring a bit of overtime."

"Yeah! Great day to be sitting around in the cold, freezing my arse off."

"Got plenty of coffee in my car if you're interested?"

"Well I wouldn't say no."

"Are we giving the farm manager his full five minutes?"

"No, bugger him. It was only a courtesy gesture. He's probably packing his bags right now. He'd be well aware of the trouble that's brewing, and know he'll be the fall guy when this becomes public. Besides, if he's rang his boss, he's probably already been sacked. We'll have his lawyers out here very soon, so I suggest you take advantage of your immunity."

A sense of urgency swept over Blake to get on with the job. It was true what the big sergeant had said. The farm manager wasn't about to incriminate himself by being forced to face the cameras and answer questions, particularly with a journalist being present. He slipped out of the car into the driving rain, to be followed by the others mimicking his response, to make their way to the overhanging cover of the first shed. He could see the journo talking out loud into her hand held recorder as she approached, but once again it was impossible to get a good look at her face due to her umbrella constantly moving about and blocking his view. The confirmation as to who she was, would have to wait until after they were inside the shed, and that was about to happen right now.

The video cameraman began filming, and the photographer's camera flashed as the constable fiendishly cut the lock and threw open the heavy door. The convectional current effect was immediate and dramatic. Humid hot stale air rushed out in a swirling cloud of suspended dust and fine feather particles to engulf their bodies, as the colder outside air hauled itself in along the floor to create more turbulence. A flood of sixty watt light bulbs illuminated the sheds confines, and its glow cut a path of murkiness into the outside world to highlight the intruders. Everyone stood transfixed, allowing their senses to be individually assaulted. It was only after the squealing of the bone dry hinges stopped, and the door finally banged home with a resounding thud and its echo had died away, that the incredible noise of the approximately twenty thousand laying hens in the shed could be heard.

They all started their squawking at the same time. It was amazing the noise couldn't be heard from outside with the doors being closer. The rain on the galvanised roof and the howling of the wind, had done a good job of muffling whatever noises escaped through the dense polyurethane insulation which was sprayed onto the internal walls of the building. With the noise and the thermal currents came the smell. Ammonia and methane gases produced by fresh manure, blended itself with the hydrogen sulphide of rotten eggs. Its heavy and lingering aromas oozed out to attack the nostrils, to gag the breath and to smart the eyes.

Blake sucked it all in. The smells and their associations came back to him as if it were only yesterday. To everyone else it would be just one awful rotten smell, but he knew of their blends and their trouble shooting points of origins. Somewhere tucked in that aroma was the distinctive smell of death, and a lot of it. He could sense the decaying maggot ridden carcasses, and almost taste the putrefaction of the rotting flesh at the back of his throat. Strangely enough, he caught himself smirking. This would test the woman's constitution.

"I'll help myself to your coffee, if that's still ok," said the veteran cop looking for an out. He'd obviously smelt enough death in his time.

"Yeah, knock yourself out. The thermos is on the front seat and the wagons unlocked."

Blake nodded to the vet, to confirm he was set to go, and with a twirl of his finger to his video recordist as a signal to begin filming and recording again, led the way through the open door. He glanced briefly at the journo as he moved off. She looked solemn and uncomfortable, and just for a second, her eyes locked onto his and he thought that maybe she had recognised him. It was definitely her, of that he was now sure, but he would let her absorb the shock of what she was about to see first before approaching her. How would she react to the whole situation though? Would she be thinking that her gender was on trial, and be concerned that maybe she was the weak link in the group? Blake was sure she'd be out to show them all that she had the stomach to do a man's job. After all she was a rural reporter, surely she'd seen death and animal misery before. Perhaps though he was reading the signals all wrong, but if that were the case, then why was he conscious of the thin smirk on his lips.

~ ~ ~

Kristy had seen that look on the inspector's face. There was something disturbing about his, 'I know something that you don't know' smirk, which twigged in her brain as being familiar. Sooner or later she would confront him face to face, without the hat on, or the collar of his weather proof coat turned up, then she would know if she had met him before. In the meantime it was important to get the job done, and that's what she would be focusing on. That, and her best attempts to resist the temptation to hurl her guts out. Oh god, it stunk so bad.

Tentatively she stepped within the shed's confines, to partially unzip her parka and pull the collar of her jumper up over her nose. Yes, that was a lot better, now at least she wasn't gagging. She moved forward, following slowly behind the APACO inspector, getting her bearings and silently cursing and resenting the guy for wearing gumboots.

Sneakers! Why in heaven's name would she be wearing sneakers? She knew they were going to a poultry farm, and to one which had been targeted for animal neglect. It was her own fault that the wet manure was squelching up near her ankles, that the bottom of her jeans were wet, and that the putrid smelling slop was already seeping into her shoes. How sickly and stupidly embarrassing. Temporarily she hated the guy in front of her, and hated this assignment. They were only ten metres into the first shed for goodness sakes, and only in the first row. There were heaps of rows to go and four other sheds to contend with. Crap! Crap! Crap!

"Enough Simon!" she snapped out loud. "If I wanted you to take a picture of me, then I'd ask you."

He laughed out loud at her discomfort. She felt the blood vessels in her neck surge.

"Sorry babe. Need one for the scrap book."

"How can you be joking around? Don't you find this absolutely disgusting?"

She couldn't help herself. She felt as though she was looking for a fight and Simon was provoking her. Absent-mindedly she slogged forward, not looking where she was going with her head turned to chastise him.

"It isn't good," he threw back. "But then again, I'm wearing boots."

All of a sudden, in that moment, she despised him. The contemptuous bastard was making light of her. She glared at him. He turned away. And it was then, at the height of her frustration and anger that the inevitable happened. As she turned her head back to face the direction in which she was going, she lost her footing and slipped off the cement path and into a quagmire of the wet putrefying slop under the cages. With her body weight behind the mishap, she sank quickly to lose firstly her ankle, and then half of her shin before she could properly react.

# Chapter 5

Kristy grappled frantically for support, clinging to the rusty layer cages as she wavered unsteadily to free the stuck leg, and to overcome the suction which held it there. She was aware of Simon snapping pictures in the other direction, but was unable to catch his attention, and for some reason or other, although her head was screaming for help, there were no words coming out of her mouth.

In those few desperate seconds of struggle, she was conscious of the chooks in the immediate vicinity going berserk, leaping up and down, bashing their heads and necks through the tops of the cages and squawking in distress. She was also conscious of their eggs rolling off the layer trays to fall splashing into the quagmire below, and conscious of herself losing balance all together to end up in the same filth. Only seconds later, as her body twisted with its downward momentum and she began to topple over, she was saved by someone's arms grabbing her forcefully from behind. Those arms slid roughly over her slippery parker, to squash her breasts before locking under her armpits and supporting her upright. Those arms stopped her from falling, and in the process saving her from total humiliation.

She twisted around to face her saviour. It was Blake, the APACO inspector. They stood face to face, chest to chest with his arms still around her. He had that grin. She knew that face. She had sat on this guy's lap at the hypnotist show. Her mouth opened with indignation, just as he raised his hand and wiped some gunk off her face with the pad of his fingers. She spluttered, tongue tied, unable to verbalise. He had saved her from a lot of embarrassment, but had taken it upon himself to touch her face without her permission. And that grin was still there, and that irritated her no end. Why didn't he say something? Why couldn't she say something? She had to acknowledge him, but first of all she had to re-cup her boobs back into her bra.

"My foot's stuck," she said, shuffling her shoulders around and attempting to feign what she was actually doing, by leaning on his chest with one hand and jiggling the other at her undergarments.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

The brazen bastard. Damsel in distress and he was being flirtatious. She looked him defiantly in the eye, but knowing she was unable to keep the softness of her own from showing. Wow! His eyes were so gorgeous, so alive with vitality and depth. She felt a flush of colour rise to her cheeks. There was no wonder she had sought him out at the hypnotist show. She smiled, making the final adjustments and feeling considerably more relaxed now that her boobs were realigned.

"Could you help me?"

He started to chuckle. It was delightful, and it blended in with all the other cackling noises of the livestock in the shed. He seemed strangely right at home in this environment.

She glanced over in Simon's direction. He was still oblivious of what was going on, his back was still to her as he talked to the vet and snapped pictures. He would be so jealous that another man was touching her, and equally devastated to know that she was enjoying it.

"You lean yourself across my back," he said bending over to get a grip on her lower calf. "And lift your leg as I pull on your jeans."

Blake rocked and swivelled her stuck leg, using a similar motion to that of his own body, to finally break the vacuum seal, and then with a squelch and a plop, out it came.

"Sad about your sneaker," he teased.

Strangely she didn't feel irritated by his sense of humour, or by the fact that she had lost her sneaker. Quite the contrary, she felt exhilarated and alive. She relaxed her sodden foot down onto the cement path and let him stand up so that he was still forced to hold her.

"Maybe you can extend your chivalry and retrieve it for me."

"Put my hand down there and pluck out a smelly old shoe? No way. I'd rather eat a raw onion."

She giggled at his comment. The visual imagery of a fellow subject doing exactly that at the hypnotist show burnt bright in her mind.

"I'd bet that if I could hypnotise you, then you'd do it for me."

Blake flinched nervously. Her face was so gorgeous, her eyes so alive and she had just acknowledged that she knew who he was. Was she also sensing what he was feeling right now and reciprocating it? She was raising her hand to touch her face, was she being self-conscious of how she must look to him?

"Oh! I think your hands bleeding," he said, noticing a blood smear on the cheek she had just touched.

Kristy brought her arm down, opening her palm, as his hand came up to catch and support hers. She didn't pull away, and allowed him to explore the wound.

"You must have ripped it on the rusty wire of the egg trays as you fell."

He gently massaged her hand, bending it this way then that, to expose the extent of the cut. His hands felt manly and strong, not effeminate at all and she could sense them elsewhere on her body. How was it possible, that this man could violate her space and touch her in the most basic of ways, and yet have such a profound effect upon her? She had muck all over her and was missing one shoe in a quagmire which had swallowed her leg. She had a cut on her hand from a rusty piece of wire, in an environment which stank of death and disease and was rife for infection. Outside the weather was miserable. Inside the atmosphere was horrible and depressing to say the least, and yet, here she stood with her heart fluttering and practically in the arms of a total stranger. She couldn't wait to tell Lauren.

"We'll have to dress this right away. Have you recently had a tetanus shot?"

"I actually had a booster last year, so I should be covered."

It seemed as if time had stood still. How long had it been since she had stepped in that bog hole? In reality it was probably only a minute or so, but they couldn't stand here like this forever. He was still holding her hand and looking into her eyes, and she was allowing him to do so. What had happened to her fear of intimacy? It was then that he smiled mischievously and started to chuckle.

"What's so amusing?"

"We have to even up your war paint. Do you mind?"

She didn't object, or resist his actions as he raised her open palm and gently smeared a streak of blood down the other cheek. He then stepped back, letting go of her hand, to ogle with glee at his masterpiece.

"There you go. Now you look the part of being blooded in battle."

"I think I've been humiliated enough for one day, thank you very much."

Blake sighed. Oh dear, he'd offended her. He'd overstepped his boundaries. He really shouldn't have been fooling around.

"You're honestly not mad at me, are you?"

"No. I'm mad at myself. I've got to do a story and I can't even walk around. Now I'll have to borrow Simon's car, drive home, get cleaned up and then come back again. Can you help me get out of the shed so I don't have any more mishaps?"

It was an invitation he couldn't refuse. She placed her arm over his shoulder and he put his around her waist to hold her upright. They moved off, with him supporting her weight, and with her hopping along to keep her unprotected foot off the floor.

"I can do better than that," he offered. "I always carry a change of clothes in the wagon, with a spare pair of gumboots. If you like..."

The jab to the ribs came out of nowhere. It took him completely by surprise. It really hurt and he nearly let go of her.

"You bastard!" she shouted.

He had offended her sensitivities yet again. He raised his eyebrow at her, but smiled nonetheless as he caught sight of a movement out of his peripheral vision. Simon had seen what had happened and was on his way. And he didn't look happy.

"I saw you smirk before we walked into the shed. You knew I was wearing sneakers. You knew that something like this would happen... didn't you? Why didn't you offer me those gumboots before?"

He was speechless. She was justifiably angry. It was his fault and he should have offered her those gumboots before entering the shed. Why hadn't he?

"What's going on?" demanded Simon.

He approached cautiously, with arms spread apart and body language expressing hostility. He glared from Blake to Kristy and back again. He was obviously rattled, his brain no doubt speculating the worst scenario of what had transpired prior to finding them together like this.

"Is that blood on your face?" he snapped. "And where is your shoe?"

The vet and the cameraman who were standing behind Simon were smirking at her war paint, but Simon was not amused. Someone had violated his territory and touched his property.

"Simon, I'm all right. I lost my footing and stepped into bog hole, and that's where my shoe is. I also ripped my hand on some rusty wire, and now Blake is helping me out to the car to get a change of clothes and a pair of gumboots."

"Well you look bloody awful. I'll give you a hand."

Blake twisted with the pretence of adjusting his weight, and above the background muffled sounds of thousands of chooks, he whispered quickly and loudly enough in her ear, for only her to hear,

"Well, I think you look hot. Have dinner with me."

This time it wasn't an obvious vicious jab, but a pointed jab nonetheless to the same ribs, and also camouflaged by the subtle movement of adjusting her weight. But it didn't end there. Calmly and in control, she opened her mouth to speak in a chastising and authoritative manner to Simon, whilst her fingers latched onto, and pinched the skin of his already bruised ribs.

"Simon, I know that I look bloody awful, and I don't need you to point out the obvious, and I don't need your patronising attitude or your assistance either."

Blake squirmed as she squeezed his bruised skin. She could sense his discomfort. She could sense both their discomforts. She was killing two birds with the one stone and she continued with the onslaught.

"What I need for you to do is to take plenty of snap shots. I'll be back shortly to continue this assignment, with a clean change of clothes and a pair of gumboots. Okay!"

With the word gumboots, she looked Blake squarely in the eyes and sharply twisted his pinched skin before letting go. The relief was instantaneous, the pain was not.

They moved off at her command, leaving Simon standing with his hands on his hips and looking somewhat humiliated at having been dressed down.

"Hey babe," he yelled after her. "Bring me back the wide angle lens, will you."

She didn't acknowledge his request, but a smirk of satisfaction showed on her lips.

"Why is it that you blokes are so big on saving face?" she asked rhetorically.

Blake smiled to himself. He had met his match. His ribs were sore and bruised, but he felt so alive.

# Chapter 6

The cold air that greeted them at the mouth of the shed was revitalising to say the least, it screamed with an urgency to hurry. Kristy's sodden and exposed leg was the first body part to feel the instant cold. It felt like a cast of tingling numbness had been newly applied around her ankle, and it was setting quickly.

"We'd better get you out of those wet jeans as a priority," he said releasing her to stand on her own.

"I'm not changing here!"

"I'm not suggesting that you do. The way I see it, you've got one of two choices. Either change in your friend's car and drag that putrid smell in with you, and that wouldn't be a pleasant aroma to have lingering in the fabric of his interior, or change in the feed shed right over there."

He pointed to a shed barely thirty metres away, with large silos and hoppers extruding from its exterior.

"It won't be locked and at this time of the morning there won't be anyone in there. You'll find it pretty dusty, but you'll be out of the wind and it will be dry, and there should also be a tap and basin on the front wall."

She suddenly felt ungrateful.

"Look, I'm sorry if I snapped at you. I really do appreciate your assistance."

"That's okay, I understand. I'll rendezvous with you over there in a couple of minute with the change of clothes and a sexy pair of gumboots."

~ ~ ~

Kristy smiled at him as he turned to walk away, wondering to herself if there was any subliminal messages in his words or in his actions to help her out. Perhaps in some way he was planting a seed of suggestion in her mind? He knew how susceptible she was to suggestion, be it in a verbal or non-verbal way, he'd observed her performance at the hypnotist show. But no, surely he was just a nice bloke being light hearted and comical about an embarrassing moment. What was she getting so suspicious about anyhow?

She picked up her umbrella and cautiously stepped out into the driving rain to slip and slush her way slowly to the feed shed. She wasn't about to hurry, wasn't about to make a further fool of herself by falling over. Reaching the shed in one piece, she prized open the huge sliding door, just far enough to allow herself to squeeze in sideways. It was still quite dark inside, so she stood motionless for a little while, listening to the sound of the rain pelting on the corrugated iron roof, and allowing her eyes enough time to become adjusted to the filtered light. When they did, she found the light switch and flicked it on.

Blake had been right, it was as dusty as buggery. The cement floor was literally covered with a blanket of fine grain powder, as was everything else. Her wet feet were already caking themselves, with layer upon layer of the gluten type product with every new step she took. Kristy scanned the immediate vicinity, getting a bearing of where she was in relation to everything else in the shed. Augers and chutes seemed to run in every direction to various hoppers and hammer mill type machinery, and pallets of bagged produce with bales of lucerne hay appeared to grow upwards from out of the floor. This was definitely a man's domain, it oozed testosterone. And as prophesied, there was the wash basin and tap attached to the front wall. The table and chairs positioned close by were an unexpected bonus.

Up until right now, she really hadn't had the chance to absorb the overall scene which she'd come to witness. Firstly, she'd been side tracked by the bitterly cold conditions. Secondly, her senses had been overwhelmed by the poultry shed's internal conditions, which had resulted in her embarrassing slip into a quagmire of foul smelling slop. And thirdly, as a result of that unfortunate accident, she realised she had an attraction to the knight in not so shining armour who had come to her rescue. All in all, it had been an interesting diversion, but a bad start to such an important assignment. With dry clothes and a pair of gumboots, and the knowledge of what she was now up against, she would start again, and she would portray an emotive story with all the added horrors of what she was yet to see and experience.

And suddenly she couldn't wait any longer. She had to start cleaning herself up. That putrid liquid was being absorbed through the skin of her feet, and along with the odour assaulting her nostrils, it was beginning to make her feel a little sick. She stripped off her parka, knowing that she could wrap it around her thighs when she heard Blake come through the door. Off came the solitary sneaker, the rotten socks, and then the jeans. Oh God, she could never wear any of these items again.

The basin turned out to be a pleasant surprise. It was one of those old world, pre-washing machine cement washtubs, which contained two compartments, both of which were large enough and deep enough to stand in. It was obviously not only used as a hand washing area for the employees, but also as a receptacle to wash and clean implements in, so she didn't feel guilty with what she was going to do. And she didn't care how cold the water was either, she was going to scrub that smell out of her legs. There was plenty of sanitised liquid soap in the dispenser on the wall, with a grubby, but dry wash towel hanging nearby which she could use to dry herself with. And there was no reason why she couldn't be cleaned up before Blake even arrived. She had seen him stop to talk to the sergeant prior to entering the shed, so he would still be a few minutes away.

Dragging a chair up to the bench, she climbed onto the seat and stepped into one of the tub with both feet, twisting her body as she did, to sit down on the edge of the other tub. This was perfect. She turned the tap on, and braced her body for the shock.

~ ~ ~

"Could be a while longer than expected sarge," said Blake. "There's been a mishap with the journo. She kind of got bogged in chook shit, and has to be cleaned up a bit before we can start again."

"Off to a good start then. How does it look in there anyhow? Didn't smell real good."

"Put it this way, on a scale of one to ten, it's hovering around the one mark."

"So you'll be closing it down?"

"Too early to tell yet, but it sure looks that way."

"Sounds like you'll be treading on some mighty big toes."

"Yep. A whole industry of toes."

"Does that bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. My job is all about animal welfare and animal rights. This industry's intensive production system has a very poor track record. It has to be cleaned up."

"Sounds controversial. You may be setting yourself up to be the fall guy for the bureaucrats if anything goes wrong."

"And that's the exact reason why I insisted upon a court appointed newspaper journalist to cover this assignment, and hence also the reason why you are here to enforce that ruling. As an APACO inspector, I don't need a warrant to enter any premises where there is a suspicion of animal abuse. At least this way, there's a paper trail and a lot of witnesses."

"Clever move, and it sound like you'll be needing all the help you can get. I reckon you'd better get back to that young filly and butter her up a bit."

"Yeah you're right. She's probably freezing her butt off in that cold tin shed."

Blake pulled his hands away from the police vehicles window, to straighten up and depart, only to see a number of other vehicles heading their way.

"Oh! It must be seven thirty, here come the workers. You'd better send them home, we can't have any interference or aggravation until we've finished our inspection."

He left the sergeant and his sidekick to do their duty, while he ferreted through his station wagon to retrieve the spare bag of clothes and the extra pair of gumboots. A couple of minutes later as he headed back towards the shed, he observed the workers cars doing an about turn, to drive back the way they had come under the direction of the constable. Blake threw a thumb up and a smirk in the direction of the grinning sergeant, who was sitting high and dry within the confines of his police vehicle with a steaming cuppa in his hand. He could practically read his thoughts, 'It didn't make much sense to have a dog and bark too.'

Sliding the door open with a gap just large enough to squeeze through, he quickly stepped into the shed, pulling the door shut behind himself, to be then stopped dead in his tracks as he turned around to be confronted by a scene which he certainly wasn't expecting. The sensual sight of a woman lathering her long shapely legs with liquid soap confronted his eyes. She was eloquently poised, sitting on a waist high bench with one foot in the washtub cocked sideways, and the other resting on the tubs middle divide with the toes being massaged. She was a shimmering mirage in a mist of rising steam, and maybe the visual impact had something to do with the adversity of the surroundings, or maybe it was her vulnerability, but for whatever the reasons, he found himself fantasying about her. He pictured her as she had been at the hypnotist show, sitting on his lap, arms around his neck, her hot breath in his ear and with her perfume intoxicating his primal senses.

She was only ten metres away, and had obviously not heard him, or sensed him enter the building. And that was not surprising, the noise of the rain on the galvanised iron roof and the whistling wind outside were constant. Besides, it was obvious she was lost in a world of her own, and totally engrossed in the steaming hot water which was fogging up her immediate vicinity. He felt guilty, feasting his eyes on her as he meandered closer, but he couldn't help himself. What was he supposed to do? He didn't want to startle her, but considering the predicament he had found himself in, that was going to happen anyhow. He wondered if he should back track, and make a racket as though having just walked in, but it was now too late for that. He was too close, only five metres away. He had to say something.

"Hello," he said banging loudly with his fist on the tin wall.

She was startled all right. Her reaction similar to that of being snapped out of a hypnotic state. She quickly composed herself, to pull her legs together and sit up prim and proper.

"You could have called out from the door," she snapped, looking around for the dirty towel which she'd neglected to secure.

"How was I to know you'd be taking a bath," he shot back.

He placed the bag down on the table, to extract a fleecy towel and hand it to her in the cold awkward silence.

"Sorry, you caught me by surprise. I didn't expect to find hot water, and it felt so good to clean myself up. I guess I lost track of time and forgot what it was that I was actually doing."

"Well if you'd stayed in there any longer, your feet would be totally wrinkled."

She smiled at his comment, automatically holding out her hand for support.

"Could you give me a hand down?"

She had draped the towel around her waist, but it did little to tame his imagination. He felt his face flush with colour, and the sensation of prickly heat radiate over his body as he took her hand.

"What happens if your boyfriend walks through the door and finds us like this? Perhaps it would be best if I go."

"Simon's not my boyfriend, and nothing is happening here. If it is, then it's only happening in your imagination."

Was she serious? Nothing was happening here? Yeah right. Was she playing games with his emotions and suggesting that he was a dirty old man, or was she perhaps insinuating that he couldn't be honourable or trusted? Did she think that this was a one way street? No way. She had compromised herself by attempting to get cleaned up before he had shown up with the change of clothes.

"Is it my imagination that I'm helping a semi naked woman out of a washtub... I don't think so?"

She started to giggle, and deliberately kicked soap suds in his direction as she stepped out of the tub and onto the seat of the chair. Staying where she was, she reached over to the table and dragged the bag and gumboots closer to herself, gesturing at the same time with a twirl of her finger, for him to turn around so she could properly dry and dress herself. He did the about turn to face the door, crossing his arms across his chest and feeling like a eunuch guarding the princess.

"I still think you're hot," he said, flinching his shoulders with the expectation of receiving a clout behind the ears.

"And dinner?" she asked.

"I know this great little place," he threw back over his shoulder. "Nothing by comparison, or as grandiose as this of course, but it has a superb atmosphere with a side show to boot."

"I'll bet the side show involves a hypnotist... right?"

"You gave a great performance, really."

"You're only saying that because I sat on your lap."

"Because you sat on my lap twice, and because you hugged me, kissed my neck and ran your fingers through my hair."

"Okay, I'm done," she remarked dismissing the line of conversation.

He turned. The epitome of glamour she wasn't, but she still looked cute in gumboots and khakis. He raised his eyebrows and humoured her by taking hold of her extended hand, to allow her to parade her wares on the pretend cat walk.

"Wow! You look smashing. Tell me, what's it feel like to get in my pants?"

She giggled at his comment. It was delightful and he didn't want this fantasy to end.

"I've tried yours, now you try mine," she responded pointing to her jeans laying disgustingly uninviting on the cold cement.

"I'll pass this time around," he chuckled, but then added. "Me lady, may I help you down?"

"Why thank you kind sir."

Her accent was that of a southern belle, but what happened next certainly wasn't what she would have been expecting. He grabbed her firmly around her thighs with both arms, lifting her into the air and away from the chair, to then slide her down his body until her feet found the floor. She came to a stop with his arms locked behind her, and with her body pulled in close to his. A weak squeal of surprise had passed her lips by the time they came face to face. He only hesitated for a split second, to gauge her reaction to her physical predicament, before giving her a quick peck on the lips. Then just as quickly, he set her free.

"Come on," he said, looking at his watch and dismissing what had just happened, "it's 7.40am. Everyone will be wondering where the hell we are."

Of course she was flabbergasted and lost for words, and that was so unlike her. This was all her fault, she could admit that. She had allowed this to happen, and she hadn't instinctively retaliated to show any signs of disapproval. Hopefully no damage had been done and she hadn't led him on. He still had that larrikin smile on his face, so he wasn't too embarrassed by what had happened, but what he had just said was a dose of reality, and a reason for concern. It was late, and everyone would be wondering where they were. Now it was time to get moving and do the job which she was assigned to do. This was a high profile piece of journalism and she needed to focus.

Blake zipped up his bag, and then picked up the wet towel and her discarded clothing, to throw them into a blue pull tie garbage bag which was part of his travelling arsenal. What the hell did he think he was doing? The timing of this was all wrong. He shouldn't have been flirting with her, and certainly shouldn't have kissed her. The last thing he needed right now was any sort of distraction. This was an important assignment and other people were depending upon him. He had to be professional, had to focus, had to push all these feelings to the one side for the time being.

He led the way out of the shed, to pause for a moment as he closed the door behind them.

"I'll meet you inside where you had your mishap. That quagmire is a fine place to start documenting. I'll just drop this stuff off," he said gesturing to the bags, "and you'd better slap a bandage of some sort on your hand now that it's clean, just to stop any further infection."

He glanced briefly, almost bashfully into her eyes with a thin smile of apology for his curtness, before moving off into the driving rain, holding both bags in the one hand while securing the hat to his head with the other. He was a few metres out and still on the move when he twisted his head around, to shout back over his shoulder in her general direction, "Don't forget the wide angle lens."

Kristy stood watching him walk away. She was waiting for his trail to go cold, allowing time for his footprints be swallowed up by the murky water on the ground. She was allowing distance to come between them before moving off and breaking any connection which may have been formed. It's exactly what he had just done.

# Chapter 7

His video recordist, Howard, was waiting for him when he walked inside.

"Where have you been boss? That cameraman from the newspaper has been going ballistic. You weren't porkin' his girl in the haystack were you?"

"Is he pissed off?"

"You'd better believe it."

"Well that's unfortunate. The last thing we need right now is a conflict of interest. See what happens when you throw a hen in amongst the roosters."

"Yeah, a cock fight. Anyhow, I've got some great footage, this place is a concentration camp of animal misery."

"Good. We've got to document everything, and we've got move fast on this. Where's the vet?"

"He reckons he'll be quarantining the place. Said there's signs of respiratory disease and gastrointestinal infections everywhere. I counted one hundred and ten dead chooks, still in their cages, in this row alone. There are plenty that look really sick, and a lot of those are being picked to death as we speak."

"Howard, do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, he's off somewhere running around collecting samples. Said he was also going to look around the other sheds to try and find an incinerator or organic composter, or whatever method it is they use to dispose of their carcasses."

"Well that'll be a waste of time. The dead are obviously dragged out and dropped into the manure under the cages."

"Yeah, got some great footage of that, with all the gore. You know squirming hairy maggots, blowflies, green putrefying bodies and that sort of stuff."

"I thought this assignment would be right up your alley. Look, we're waiting for the journo to arrive, we need her on our side. Anyone can argue that a disease outbreak will pull their stock back in condition, and that's justification for a quarantine and an eradication program, but not for a prosecution."

"Well, if smell is any indication to go by, then I say guilty in the first degree."

"Yeah, well there's plenty of evidence here to suggest these chooks have been chronically neglected to the point of cruelty, and that their welfare has been compromised. And it could be argued that the birds are now diseased because of that neglect. But we've got to document and prove malicious intent to get a conviction."

"You mean like four chooks being jammed into a cage that's meant for two."

"Yes."

"Like the weak and injured ones, with their entrails being picked out, not being removed from their cages?"

"Exactly. See what I mean, you've never been in a layer shed before, but you can see the cruelty."

"Like chooks being dehydrated and not laying because a water line been broken," said the female voice from behind them.

Blake turned to face Kristy and her solemn sidekick. Simon was silent and standing behind her. He'd obviously been hauled over the coals for his bad behaviour.

"Yes, and very perceptive of you to observe that."

He smiled at her attire and continued.

"From this quagmire right here, where the water line is broken and where you lost your footing, to right down the other end, there are practically no eggs in the trays. If you look at the individual laying hens from this point on, you can see that they have entered a state of physical distress, with many of them sick or dying or even dead. This is due to a deliberate lack of maintenance, and this is what constitutes neglect and cruelty. However in the big picture, with an operation of this size, we have to prove that this sort of incident, and others like it, are not isolated ones. We have to show proof that the neglect is endemic and wide spread."

They listened intently to what he had to say. Even Simon was captivated by the ramifications of what they were actually dealing with, and the more he talked, the more the reality hit home.

"Look, it's irrelevant that this bloke owns a hundred thousand chooks. That doesn't diminish the responsibility he has for each and every individual laying hen. Is the health and condition of any one laying hen in here, any less important than someone else's companion dog or cat? No, it isn't."

Kristy felt a sense of gloom descending itself upon her. Looking at the scale of what Blake was referring to, she couldn't possibly imagine the overwhelming grief of her own Misty Blue's misery, multiplied by one hundred thousand. Blake was right. Surely she could be just as passionate about this as he was. Animals had rights, and she'd be writing the most informative and emotive piece of journalism that she possibly could, to guarantee that message got through.

~ ~ ~

By the time they had adjourned for a coffee break, it was 9.00am. So far they'd been through three sheds, to witness and document similar and progressively worse scenarios in each structure. The vet had finished his job and was about to take samples back for immediate analysis. He wanted the property quarantined straight away, and was suggesting that all government departments should be involved, starting with the work cover authorities for unsafe work practices, through to weights and measures and the health department.

"Isn't that kicking the man when he's down?" asked Howard with a fiendish delight.

The vet, Brian Adams, went on to explain that their little organisation was not only taking on the might of the poultry industry, but also the department of agriculture with all their associated bureaucracies.

"You attack their institutions, then you also threaten their elevated titles and fat cat salaries," he said. "They're not going to take that laying down. If the powers to be don't manage this correctly, then there's bound to be legal action and possibly court appearances for everyone involved. It's best to go in armed and share the blame around."

"I agree," said Blake. "Will you have your pathology reports back, and be available for a meeting at the office by 10.00am tomorrow morning?"

"Oh yeah. I have no doubt about the outcome of what we're looking at. I'll also be dropping off tissue samples to the poultry research facility as soon as I leave here, for conformation of that expected finding, and I'll also put them on standby to attend the meeting tomorrow."

It would be fair to say there was an element of excitement. All at once the adverse weather conditions didn't seem to bother any more. It was as if they were all being bound together with a common noble cause and were now acting like a team. After the vet left, the four of them sat in Blake's station wagon out of the weather, drinking coffee and reflecting on their findings. He and Howard sat in the front, Kristy and Simon in the back.

"Do you know," said Howard directing his comment to the journalist, "if you count the two coppers, then we could be called the magnificent seven. How would that be for an attention grabbing headline... the magnificent seven ride again... seeking justice for their feathered friends?"

It was a light hearted, but typical comment that would come from Howard's mouth. Kristy threw a look in Blake's direction with an expression that said, 'is he for real,' but laughed it off anyhow.

"I don't think so," she replied. "But I'll take the suggestion and file it where it's most appropriate."

Blake smiled at her response, but held her eye contact. There was something on her mind which she seemed reluctant to ask. That questioning look had been on her forehead ever since they'd stood by the quagmire in shed number one, an hour and a half ago when he'd first began highlighted the neglect and cruelty which was occurring to the laying hens.

"There's a question on your lips," he said, not being able to take the inquisitive look any longer.

"I was wondering how it is, that you know so much about battery laying operations? Surely your organisation doesn't teach you those husbandry practices, or the fault finding techniques you showed us today."

"No they don't, and to answer your question, I was once owned and operated a much smaller battery egg laying operating than this, but that was some time ago."

"Oh!" she exclaimed somewhat disappointed. "Just like this?"

"No, not just like this."

He was aware he was raising his voice, but he couldn't help himself.

"I had natural ventilation and lighting, with a maximum of two birds per cage. I was always conscious of the fact that my birds were my living and that it was necessary to keep them healthy. No! Not just like this."

Kristy was somewhat surprised. She'd obviously hit a raw nerve.

"Sorry, didn't mean to upset you. I was simply after some background information on your experience, that's all. After all, in your capacity as an inspector, you are the judge, jury and the executioner for the APACO."

"I'm none of those three. I simply document the facts and report my findings."

He appeared defensive and evasive, maybe also not willing to accept accountability for his actions. She would continue to push his buttons and see what came of it. Simon would love that, he'd suddenly kicked to life. There was a smirk on his face, and the scent of blood he could smell was Blake's.

"So you hide behind the shield of your banner, is that it?"

It was a low blow. She'd practically called him a coward and had backed him into a corner.

"I have no voice as an individual. Of course my opinion is masked behind the flag of my organisation."

"Do you accept that you alone, as investigator and spokesperson, are accountable for the decisions made by you in the name of your organisation?"

She had to question herself as to why was she being so cruel towards him. Why was she trying to make him squirm? Was it just the investigative reporter coming out in her, or was there more of a sexual undercurrent here than she realised? She did feel strangely turned on.

"Then the answer is yes. I am willing to accept the responsibility of my actions, and take all the flack as the result of my decision."

She smiled broadly at him. Good, now she could add conviction, accountability and conscience to his character list.

"That's all I wanted to hear. We'd better get together sometime very soon before this article goes to press. I need some additional background information on you, and your organisation as well."

Kristy was conscious of Simon glaring at her. He knew that Blake had rattled her chains, and he didn't like what was going on, one little bit.

Blake didn't have time to respond to her invitation. There was a timely tap on the fogged up window, to break the rising tension he was feeling between himself and Simon. It was the sergeant.

"Mr Scar is here with his solicitor. He wants to have a word with you."

"Did you show him the warrant?"

"Yeah, still wants to see you though. I'll meet you over there."

Blake watched the big fella turn away, before winding up the window and shutting out the blast of cold air.

"This should be interesting. I'd better go and face him."

"I'm coming with you," announced Kristy bouncing into action. "I have a pocket tape recorder, and you may need an extra witness."

There was no argument. She was out of the station wagon before Blake or anyone else could object.

# Chapter 8

Huddled under Kristy's umbrella, they slipped and slid their way over to the cover of the first shed's overhang, where the sergeant, Joe Scar and somebody who looked like his legal representative were waiting. Blake wasted no time introducing himself.

"Hi, I'm Blake James, inspector for the APACO," he said throwing out his hand in Joe Scar's direction. "And this is Kristy White, our media representative who is covering our activities today."

"What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?" challenged Scar, going for the throat and ignoring Blake's gesture.

"Settle down Joe, I'm handling this."

The reprimand had come from the guy wearing the grey suit who was standing by Scar's side. He took Blake's hand with confident authority and a firm shake.

"I'm Barry Dexter, Joe Scar's solicitor. There seems to be an activity going on here today which we are unaware of."

"The sergeant assures me you have viewed the warrant. So it appears that you do in fact know what is going on."

"You smart arse!" shouted Scar. "I'll get you for this."

"I haven't done anything yet, and as there are witnesses present, you'd probably be well advised by your solicitor to keep your threats to yourself."

Scar moved forward with his fists clenched, and although the sergeant saw what was going on and raised his eyebrows, it was the solicitor who stepped forward to restrain his client.

"Will you keep your mouth shut Joe," he ordered, before then whispering something in his ear.

"Mr James," the solicitor asked, redirecting his attention back onto Blake. "The possible outcome of your investigation today, would likely be what?"

"Let me put it to you this way, APACO stands for Animal Protection against Cruelty Organisation. The name says it all. We are an organisation who deal with animal rights. You know, neglect, abuse, cruelty, that sort of thing. My job is to be their observer. I document and video tape, and I have the power to do so without the owner's permission, and then I report my findings to the board. It is their decision whether to prosecute or not, not mine. We have scheduled a meeting tomorrow morning at 10.00am, to discuss all the issues of this case prior to submitting evidence to the board. Does that answer your question?"

Scar was seething. He couldn't help himself. He was under attack and had to lash out in spite of his solicitor's best attempts to prevent him from doing so. He moved forward once again with his fists clenched.

"You're a bloody smart arse. I've heard of you. You want to close me down, along with everyone like me in the industry. I'll see you humiliated and destroyed. I'll sue you and your friggin' organisation. Get off my property, and take that bimbo and her recorder with you."

"Sorry Mr Scar," said Blake a little too sarcastically. "We have a right to be here for a little while longer yet."

Enraged, Scar then turned his attention towards Kristy with a mouthful of obscenities and finger pointing.

"What! You don't think that I can get at you, bitch. I can get your mother, your father and your children. You better run while you can, and take this prick with you."

Blake redirected his focus back onto the solicitor, deliberately ignoring the ranting and ravings of Scar. He could froth at the mouth, verbalise and vent as much as he wanted to, just as long as the hostilities didn't become physical, and if there was a possibility of that happening, then the sergeant was close nearby to take action and intervene.

"Mr Dexter, I strongly suggest you contact my organisation's legal eagles and take this matter up with them. Neither myself nor any member of my team will be intimidated or threatened by your client. We, just like the sergeant here, are simply doing our jobs. You may like to point that out to your client when he settles down."

The next move was only too obvious and expected. With a gesture for him to follow, the solicitor moved a few steps away from the group, out of everyone's earshot so that their conversation couldn't be heard. Blake co-operated but couldn't contain his smirk. He flashed a glance at Kristy as he was being guided to the perimeter's dry edge. Although she was a seasoned journalist who would have experienced the worst of human behaviour, that didn't stop her from looking scared or feeling intimidated, and he had to admire her for holding her ground, and her tongue.

"My client," stated Dexter slowly and with a fake sincerity, "is not a bad man. Okay, we admit that things could probably be a bit better, but it's nothing that can't be fixed. You know what I mean."

The solicitor paused to make sure that Blake was following his drift.

"My client would consider making a generous anonymous donation to you people, for your commendable caring attitude. And of course, something equally financial substantial to your organisation as well, as a sign of good faith for its dedicated work. In return, we would ask that maybe you didn't see things so clearly today."

"Come on counsellor," frowned Blake. "I'll pretend we didn't have this little chat. Your best shot is to negotiate with the organisation. You go talk to them. But I do appreciate the offer. It's made me feel important and justified in what I'm doing."

With that Blake departed, leaving the solicitor shaking his head and looking like the rejected party. He could immediately read Scar's body language. The owner of the poultry farm knew his attempt at financial bribery, to cover up what was going on, had failed. Blake returned to the other three, to stand beside Kristy and look Scar squarely and defiantly in the eyes, before then directing his attention to the surly policeman standing close by.

"Sergeant, my crew are about to finish its inspection. Could you see to it that we are not interrupted or harassed any further please?"

Calmly he took Kristy's arm by the elbow, to turn her around and head back towards the car to where Simon and Howard were waiting. He tapped on the window, and then still holding onto her elbow, meandered off ahead of the other two, to wait for them at the mouth of the fourth shed.

"I'm still shaking," she said speaking for the first time. "He was very intimidating. It didn't seem to bother you."

"Well, I deal with this sort of behaviour every other day. A lot of it was bluff, so don't lose too much sleep over it."

"But he threatened me, and you as well."

"Yes, but he also knew you were recording the entire conversation, and that there were witnesses, including a senior sergeant of the police force who was standing right beside you. If he had any intention of following through with his threats, then he wouldn't be incriminating himself. He was cunningly sowing the seed of fear in your mind of what can happen to people, that's all."

"But he could send someone else to do his dirty work."

"Yes he could, but don't you think you're being a little paranoid. You haven't done anything yet, you haven't written or published any derogative articles about what you've witnessed. If a suspicious stranger comes knocking at your door, or pulls you up in the street, or you start receiving anonymous phone threats, then that's a different story and then it's time to be concerned. Right now, he's just a barking dog, and they usually don't bite."

"Why did the solicitor pull you aside? What did he want?"

"He was offering us a bribe to overlook what we've seen today."

She didn't have a chance to respond. Howard and Simon had arrived, and as they did, it was obvious they'd also picked up on her negative vibe and demoralised body language. Her altercation with Joe Scar had had a flow on effect. It had momentarily tarnished everybody's initial enthusiasm, including his own.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get finished up here, so we can all get home to a hot shower."

~ ~ ~

Kristy had followed his lead, but she was troubled. Blake hadn't had a chance to elaborate on the bribe issue. She doubted though if his character would allow him to accept money for turning a blind eye. He had also used the words, 'offered us a bribe,' so that obviously included her, but she hadn't been consulted, so it was logical to assume the offer had been turned down. Besides, he was well aware he needed her on his side. Without her independent horror article spreading through the newspapers to swing the tide of public opinion, he would be left holding the bag by himself. There was no wonder he had been a little reluctant to admit his own accountability. It was the APACO hierarchy who was accountable for whatever actions were ultimately taken. But in the end if things went pear-shaped, he knew, just like Joe Scar knew, that he would end up being the APACO's fall guy and ultimately face the firing squad on his own.

It was an ugly business, with the reality of that ugliness stemming from what was happening right in front of her eyes in this very shed, and that ugliness now took on a different light as an overwhelming gloom descended upon her body. There were so many hurting and miserable creatures under the one roof, with souls trapped in feathered bodies and small cages. She was surrounded by doomed creatures sentenced to a confinement of boredom and routine, never to see the light of day or to feel a fresh breeze on their plumage. All this cruelty for the sake of economic production, and legally sanctioned by faceless power brokers far removed from the realities of the here and now.

Oh God, this was so depressing, and suddenly so noticeably oppressing. The stench was only now ironically filtering through, to tickle the gagging reflex at the back of her throat and find the nauseous spot in the pit of her stomach. The heat and humidity were crawling under her clothing and all over her skin like a smothered brush fire, and the relentless squawking and screeching of restless and discontented chooks was driving her to total distraction. Her Misty Blue had been in pain, but she'd done something about it. She had to get out of here, she couldn't take any more.

"I've seen enough. I've got to go," she blurted, forcefully repelling the urge to hurl her guts out.

Simon took one look at her clammy and ashen appearance.

"Jesus babe, you're as pale as a ghost."

He grabbed her arm, to support her weight and stop her from going down on her knees, and then assisted her movement down the aisle. Blake was close by and he'd seen and heard what had happened. His shoulders dropped and he looked really unsettled she was leaving, but she had no choice, and the thought of abandoning him made her feel even worse than she already was. Heading for the exit, she sidestepped him in the aisle.

"Give me a ring later on," she grimaced through clenched teeth.

# Chapter 9

"Simon! For heaven's sake. I don't need to be dressed down by you. I'm cold and I'm wet. I stink of the smell of death and I feel as sick as a dog. I've been threatened, humiliated and embarrassed. I've trudged around all morning in crap, I've fallen in crap, I have crap all over me, and right now I don't need any more of your crap. Okay!"

"Yeah all right! You know he's the bloke from the hypnotist show, don't you? The one that you fell all over."

"Yes Simon."

Kristy took a deep breath, rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. From now on she would be taking her own car out on assignments. She had become too dependent on Simon over the past two years. It was true he'd been Jeremy's best friend, and that he'd given Jeremy his word to look after her until she was back on her feet again. But now, if she could, it was time she cut that umbilical cord of dependency. It was also true that she had some sort of an attraction toward Simon, and she wasn't about to deny the fact. There had been a number of occasions in the past, when he'd introduced her to his girlfriends, that she'd felt the twinges of jealousy, so she must have some sort of feeling for him. Although maybe, it was the jealousy of losing her only male friend to another woman which were creating those feelings. Or maybe subconsciously she was trying too hard to hold onto Simon's prior connection with Jeremy, and was not allow him to share those feeling with anyone else.

Perhaps on Simon's part though, this was all one big game to make her realise that if she didn't pay attention to him, then one day she could lose him for good. However for whatever the reason, she couldn't ever remember herself being as jealous towards him, as he was towards her right now. And for goodness sakes, she hadn't even been on a date with the Blake.

"He's no good for you," he said pulling into her driveway.

"I don't get it. For the last twelve months, both you and Lauren have been trying to get me out into the social scene, but the very moment I do, and find myself attracted to a guy, you show your jealous streak. Why would you want to destroy the little light within me that's trying to shine?"

"I just don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

"Simon, nobody in your eyes will ever be good enough for me. Jeremy asked you to keep an eye on me, and to help me be happy again. Can't you be happy for me?"

"So you're ready to start dating again, is that it?"

"I guess so. Blake sparked something inside me that's been dead for a long time."

"I saw the way that you were looking at him. You never look at me like that, or let me touch you in the way he was touching you."

"Simon, I'm sorry. I like you a lot, but I guess you've always just been Jeremy's friend, and I suppose it would feel like I was cheating on him, if things went any further with us."

She felt like a real heel, her choice of words had been cruel. Now he was wounded and looking for some sort of guidance. She couldn't give him any, she was confused about where she was heading herself. It was an awkward moment, and although she'd offered him an invitation to come inside for a quick cuppa, he said he had to leave. He was going back to the office to upload the hundreds of images from his digital camera onto his computer, to then work through their images to find the ones with the most impact to match the article she was writing. She in turn had responded that she was going to take a long hot bath, before then listening to her voice recorder and beginning to create her most emotive and scathing piece of journalism to date.

She had thanked him for bringing her home, and after getting out of the car and he had driven away, she stood out in the open on her driveway for a few very long seconds. The rain had eased considerably, but the wind was still biting and the skies still grey, and she allowed the bleakness of the weather to settle over her. It didn't seem to matter, she was already wet and cold. She was hoping for some sort of message or sign from the universe, a whisper of advice carried on the wind, a rumble of thunder, a guiding ray of light, anything out of the ordinary to tell her what to do next. She received no answers. She was now on her own.

~ ~ ~

After Kristy and Simon had left, he and Howard continued their documentation. They finished up their inspection of the property within the confines of the feed shed where he had previously kissed Kristy. A warmness circulated through his body as he visualised her sitting on the edge of the washtub with her shapely calves lathered in bubbles. The imagery of hot running water forcing steam upwards and out of the tub, to wrap itself like a cloak around her body, locked itself into his memory banks. Its misty currents had swirled between her widely parted thighs, to warm her sexual centre, to capture its primal scent and leave it lingering imperceptibly in the air. What chance had he had? He had been a victim of her pheromones.

"What do you want me to film here boss? All the machinery and any safety issues?"

Howard's question broke his trance. Blake moved his head around, breathing in the air. It was gone. There was no vibrational essence of her life force left in the shed. It was just the visual association. He let the very brief image of her smooth inner thighs, with their waxed bikini line and white satin panties fade away.

"Yes, and we need to estimate how much feed is on hand. They obviously mix their own rations, so we'd better get a few samples for analysis. I don't like the brittle nature of the eggshells, or the yolk colour for that matter, so there's something fundamentally missing out of the formulation which is dragging down the health and condition of these layers."

"Probably meat," mocked Howard. "They're bloody cannibals."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe they're not getting enough protein, or simply not enough feed. The problem is, without physically being here to observe their husbandry practices for a week or so, we'll never know. All we can do is analyse what is available and document what we see on the day."

By late morning they had finished their inspection, packed up their belongings and were in the process of heading back to the office. After driving through the front gate, Blake pulled over to one side to allow Howard to pass, but as an afterthought stopped him before he could leave.

"I'd like a backup copy of that video," he said to his offsider as the guy pulled his car to a halt and wound down the window.

"Standard operating procedure boss. One on file and the other into the safe."

"No, I mean a third copy. One for me to hang onto, and that's just between you and me, okay."

Howard was a larrikin who may have acted like a clown most of the time, but he was no dummy, he knew his job and was a loyal employee. With a wink and a nod between squirts of the accelerator, he shouted back above the noise of his own revving motor.

"Mum's the word. See yar back at the ranch."

With that being said, Howard flashed a quick look up the road in both directions for oncoming traffic, before dumping the clutch. Red sloppy mud, and goolies the size of marbles spewed out the back of his tyres like projectile vomit. It arched a graffiti type swarf across the saturated grassy landscape, as he broadsided up onto the bitumen of the main road. He throttled back to correct his drift, and then powered away fish-tailing on the slippery surface, to dangerously redline the engine with every racing gear change of his manual gearbox.

Blake shook his head, chuckling out loud at the kid's foolishness and being thankful he hadn't been in Howard's firing line. He watched him being a two bob lair, with his fist waving victoriously out of the open window, until he had disappeared from sight. With all being silent again, Blake swung the gate shut, secured the shoot bolt and draped the heavy chain through its mesh to give the illusion of being padlocked. And then, just for a few long seconds, stood where he was in the open to let the weight of the atmosphere descend itself upon his body. The wind was still fresh, the skies still grey, but the rain had eased considerably, downgrading itself to a squally drizzle. But now, unencumbered by his gumboots, full length waterproof coat and broad brimmed felt hat, it felt as if he were vulnerable and unprotected from all external stimuli. But it wasn't the weather that was bothering him.

The reality of the battle ahead, and of where his protection and defences would come from, wasn't as simple or as easy as putting on protective clothing. It was a comforting thought though, to have a paper trail which implicated others involvement, and to have the support of an empathetic journalist of a newspaper with such an incredible distribution and readership base. But now, to secure his own documentary video, although not ethical, was surely the best protection he had. So why was it then, that he was still feeling so uneasy?

Beginning to feel the cold, he got back into his station wagon and headed off without the same enthusiasm as his predecessor. Maybe it was the journalist's involvement in the whole scheme of things which had him bothered. He had rattled her chains, but so had Scar in a different way. Was it possible Amanda was right? Had he gone soft in the brain? Was he more worried about Kristy's welfare right now, than he was about the feathered creatures he'd come to investigate? Newspapers thrived on corruption, allegations and scandal. If there was any sort of cover up or mismanagement happening, particularly on a government level, then they would want it reported. How strong an individual was she though, to report the facts? Joe Scar had tested her constitution, and his prognosis would no doubt be that she would crumble with intimidation, but Blake wasn't so sure about that.

True, he'd seen her fall apart on stage with matters of the heart, but he'd also seen her stand defiant in the chook shed, witnessed the lash of her caustic tongue, and had personally been on the receiving end of her retribution. His ribs were testimony to that. It was too early in the game to take bets on what she may, or may not do, but one thing was for sure, she would write the article, her newspaper editor would see to that.

The worst possible scenario, was that she'd water it right down and gloss over the emotive and welfare issues of the laying hens, to do a sympathetic article on the poor struggling egg producer battling for survival in a heavily regulated and competitive environment. An article that explained how an industry, which was regulated by the auspicious and creditable department of agriculture, could be overshadowed by the super watchdog powers of a pseudo governmental organisation like the APACO. Without a doubt, if this was handled all wrong, or if he got offside with this woman, or if she crumbled to the intimidation of the enemy, then he could end up with egg on his face, big time.

# Chapter 10

The journey to the office didn't take that long, and before he knew it, he was in the building and being bailed up by the receptionist. Jim Worthington, his boss and state manager, wanted to see him the very moment he came through the front door. Dropping off his briefcase, Blake made a direct bee line for the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. The sergeant had been a bit liberal with his interpretation of the words, 'yeah, knock yourself out.' He had literally drained the thermos, and the first thing Blake needed right now before seeing his boss, was a hit of caffeine. His head felt fuzzy and his thoughts seemed scattered and disorientated. Perhaps he'd had an overexposure to all the methane, ammonia and hydrogen sulphide gases within the shed and it had poisoned his blood, but for whatever the reason, a cup of strong coffee would go a long way to rectifying the situation.

Ten minutes later he was on his way, and feeling one hundred percent better, and more focused than he had previously been. His boss was waiting impatiently for him and didn't waste any time beckoning him into his office.

"Come in Blake, and close the door behind you."

"What's so urgent?" he asked, pulling up a chair.

His boss recoiled a little, stepping back and raising his hand under his nose

"Phew...! Mate, you smell really bad."

"Yeah, well it was a shitty assignment. The stench has obviously impregnated my clothes, which is surprising, because I was all covered up with a long weatherproof coat and gumboots. Unlike like the poor journo, she..."

He started to chuckle with the imagery of what she had been wearing, and of her unfortunate mishap, but then the smile drained from his face.

"Damn it! I was so looking forward to a hot shower and a change into clean clothes. It just dawned on me that I can't. I gave my spare set to the journo."

Blake immediately pre-empted the question on his boss's lips, as his mouth parted to match the furrows on his brow.

"She literally dropped herself in a quagmire of chook shit. It was so embarrassing for her, it was the least that I could do. Now it's my misfortune. I'll just have to stink until I go home."

"Well that's the least of our concerns right now. Seems you've stirred up a real hornet's nest. I've had hostile phone calls coming in from every direction all morning."

"Hang on, let's backtrack a bit. I've stirred up a hornet's nest! What's that supposed to mean, that I'm in this all on my own? I thought we were a team."

"Let's not play with words..."

His superior leaned forward from his seat, to stretch his clasped hands across the table. "There are accusations made against you, that you acted with incompetence, that you were disrespectful and judgmental, and that you also abused your position in regard to the law with a vendetta mentality. Mr Scar wants you removed from your position."

"You mean sacked?"

"Yes. He wants you sacked without entitlements. He also wants a written apology from this organisation."

Blake started to laugh. It was all too ludicrous.

"And you're taking this seriously?"

"I'm asking you what happened."

"Well thanks for doubting me. We knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. We knew there would be some disgruntled producers objecting to change and out to discredit our organisation. Joe Scar's operation will be the first of many to come under the spotlight, but this developing conflict with him, is all about him saving face. I'll bet there was no mention of the bribe he offered."

"Quite the contrary, his solicitor said that you pulled him aside and said something like, 'pay up, or suffer the consequences.'"

"Well there you have it, it's his word against mine. I shouldn't have to defend myself. My integrity over the past five years should speak for itself. Now it's your move Jim. You going to drop this? Do you want me off the case?"

Blake sat with defiance, his arms spread wide, palms exposed and eyes challenging, feeling as if he were under attack.

"No, I'm not going to drop this. This is an investigation, sparked by a whistle blower, and commissioned by Senator Green to satisfy an election promise pledged to his constituents, and it's one that's based on the animal welfare and the environmental platform which finally got him elected. Its findings are to be tabled in Parliament, you know that."

His boss was spelling out the situation. He didn't want any crap flowing downhill to land in his lap either.

"Currently with your background, you are our resident authority on poultry farming. You are our only creditable and independent investigator. I had to ask."

"Well before you do any more speculation or jump to any more conclusions, take a good look at the video, listen to my commentary, and then tell me if I've gone overboard with my observations."

"Yes, I intend to do that. Howard is making a backup copy right now, so as soon as he's done, I'll take a look at it. Is it as bad as the vet says?"

"Oh yeah. He wants a whole host of other government departments involved."

"That won't be happening. This is a closed shop. Animal welfare only."

"Fair enough. What about quarantine?"

"I've not long been off the phone to the poultry research facility, and before that to the head honcho in the department of agriculture. The research facility already agrees with our vet's diagnosis. Their crew will be out there this arvo, and if it checks out, which they have no doubt it will, then the property will be immediately quarantined. An eradication campaign of diseased birds could be implemented as early as tomorrow morning."

"The fat cats in the department, what do they have to say?"

"Let's just say that they don't like our involvement in their territory one little bit. They want a lid put on it straight away."

"Damage control."

"Doesn't look good for the industry, particularly now that Senator Green is championing his animal welfare and the environmental rights agenda. They were really pissed off to find out about the journalist being out there."

"They can't shut out the media. The tax paying public has a right to know what's going on, besides, she's an independent journalist who doesn't have any ulterior motives."

"That's exactly what everyone's worried about. They will also be attending the meeting here tomorrow with Mr Scar's solicitor, and they'd also like the journalist to attend, with nothing published and all leaks stopped, at least until after the meeting."

"They! Meaning who?"

"The head vet at the poultry research facility will be attending to give us the status quo, and our vet will be there to keep him honest. The senior poultry field officer from the department will also be attending. That's your counterpart and the one who you will be sparring with, so I hope your video is as good as you say it is. The head honcho for the department of agriculture will also be here, so that gives you some idea about the seriousness of what's going on. He's my opposite number. And of course Mr Scar's solicitor will be attending, as hopefully will be your journalist friend, Mrs White."

"Should be interesting. All those thorns and only one rose."

"Yes, and as it appears that you are already on a level of intimacy with the young lady, could you make it your job to see that she attends the meeting, and that she isn't about to submit a forward article to print."

"My pleasure," smirked Blake, feeling the warmness rising. "What about the senator's involvement?"

"We are his eyes and ears. I've already notified him what's going on, and I'll be talking to him after the meeting."

"We are going to prosecute, aren't we?"

"We..." he said for the first time smiling. "Have absolute autonomy to prosecute as we see fit, but keep this in mind, fifty percent of our operating finance comes from state and federal funding. There is still a high degree of politics involved, and there are always deals being played behind the scenes. There's more to this than meets the eye if the head of the agricultural department is coming to the meeting. Look, it's no good flexing our muscle just because we can, particularly if it means that we ultimately come out the loser."

"So we'll be horse-trading tomorrow, is that it?"

"Only if it comes to that. Oh, and I'll need your written report by 5.00pm this arvo."

"The other matter of my integrity, and the accusations?"

"Sergeant Thomas's witnessed account of what took place whilst on his assignment this morning, will also be on my table by 5.00pm this afternoon."

"Good. I'd better get on with it then."

Blake rose from the table, nodding his head with the satisfaction of knowing that his paper trail was paying off.

~ ~ ~

The long hot bath was divine, and Kristy didn't feel one bit guilty about rorting the company's time to indulge in it. Nor would she feel guilty about ringing her editor and chief to report that she wouldn't be in for the rest of the day, but that she would instead be spending the afternoon at home working on the assignment.

After Simon had left, she had kicked Blake's gumboots off at the front steps, then hung them upside down, speared lengthways by two splintered and weather-beaten tomato stakes which were supporting a weakly rooted shrub close to the veranda's edge. She'd left them there looking sad and dejected and at the mercy of the elements. An undercurrent of feeling ungrateful for their use had surged through her mind at the time, but she didn't want that vile smell seeping into the floorboards of her veranda, to linger there forever and a day as a bad memory.

Upon opening the front door, she had tiptoed into the laundry to discard every stich of clothing from her body, throwing each item into the washing machine as it came off. Naked and shivering, she had dashed into the bathroom, to turn on the hot water tap over the bathtub and to throw in a small quantity of crystallised bath salts. She had waited, kneeling on the bath mat, crouched over the tub, sloshing hot water around its cold interior surface until the tub's temperature had lost its shock factor and had become inviting. With the tap still running and only a few centimetres of frothing water in the bottom, she had impatiently stepped in with both feet to squat on her haunches.

In reality the water's temperature was probably only tepid, but to her freezing feet it felt as if she had stepped into red hot lava. A burning and tingling numbness, similar to what she had experienced back at the chook shed, had ignited in the souls of her feet to shoot an instant message to her brain. She had swung and grappled to the edge of the tub, feet in, feet out, dancing up and down in a mad frenzy until the sensation had passed. Then she had settled down to adjust the temperature of the water, allowing it to get hotter and hotter, as the tub got fuller and fuller, and the room steamed up more and more. Before too long, her body had become as hot as the tubs water, and the taps had been turned off.

A misty calm had engulfed the room. She lay with her eyes closed, her body relaxed to follow the tub's contours, with only her head protruding above the water line. For a few long moments she lay very still, not moving a muscle, feeling safe and euphoric within the security of the tub's embryonic womb and allowing her body to feast off its host. Soaking therapeutic heat opened up the pores of her skin, to diffuse the toxins and dissolve the tensions trapped within their matrix. Volatile essential oils escaped their crystal prisons to find their way to her nose. Their delicate scents invaded the back of her throat, to overpower and drive out the lingering images and aftertaste of a couple of hours ago. Bubbles snapped, crackled and popped with a white noise chorus of musical harmony. A sound so silent and subtle, it drowned out the squawking misery of the thousands of chooks which still reverberated in her ears.

She drifted, totally relaxed in the lifeboat of her mind and at the mercy of her senses. The first physical movement, when it occurred sometime later, was an autonomic one, and one which occurred below the bubbled surface of the water. Slowly and rhythmically her hands moved with a mind of their own to softly touch herself. Smouldering latent feelings, so long ago suppressed and buried below the surface, were now erupting deep inside her. She moaned softly, gently massaging her breasts, teasing and rolling her swelling nipples between thumb and fingers, feeling her body coming alive and screaming for attention. She drew breath through her mouth, panting shallowly and moistening her lips with her tongue, to slowly move it in rhythm with her middle finger as it glided tormentingly within the slippery corridor of her parted thighs.

He had done this to her, and now she couldn't get him out of her mind. She could still feel the sensation of him picking her up off the seat in the feed shed, to slide her down his body until her feet touched the floor, still feel his hands locked behind her body with their sexual centres pulled close together. His eyes had been so alive, searching and piercing into hers with a soul recognition of having travelled a thousand light years to be with her. He had stolen a kiss, a peck on the lips. It had been inappropriate at the time, reactive, short lived and lost in the moment. Now she wished it had been passionate, forceful and demanding, with an urgency of something to hang onto and yearn for. If there was such a thing as the right time to move on, and for the right reasons, then surely it had to be now. This torment and sexual tension couldn't go on any longer. She would arrange to meet him tonight. She had a legitimate reason to do so.

Kristy opened her eyes with all good intentions of returning to reality. Mist still hung heavy in the air, steam still rose from the water's surface and bubbles were still being created from bath salts. The tranquil and enticing atmosphere seemed too perfect to waste. It wouldn't hurt to fantasise for a while longer. The self-guilt trip of thinking about Jeremy wasn't working any more. He was fading and she couldn't hold onto his image, it kept breaking up and being replaced by Blake. It was Blake's image which was now holding her here and not letting her out of the bathtub. To hell with it! It had been forever since she had felt like this, and it had been forever since she had last touched herself. She settled back and closed her eyes.

# Chapter 11

The washing cycle had long finished by the time Kristy had returned to the land of the living. She had thrown the clothes in the dryer, and had settled herself down in front of the open computer with a mug of hot milk chocolate on the table beside her, when the home phone rang. Caller ID displayed the incoming call as a private number, but she answered it anyhow. It was Mr Dexter, Joe Scar's solicitor. She was somewhat taken back, and the hint of concern would have flowed through in her voice.

"How did you get my home number?" she asked.

"Mrs White, your late husband's number is still listed in the directory. You don't have a silent number."

She felt her body turn to jelly with a woozy feeling floating in her stomach. White was a common name and there were thousands listed in the electronic white pages, but he knew of Jeremy's existence, and of their history. He knew her suburb, her street and the house number of where she lived. That also meant that Joe Scar knew. She felt her pulse pounding, as a silent panic reached out to touch the back of her throat and tickle itself into her voice.

"What... What do you want?"

He chuckled at having spooked her.

"Now, there's no need to be alarmed. I'd like to have a little chat with you, if it's convenient?"

"You going to offer me a bribe to tone down my story?"

"Now why would I do that, besides, you're probably recording our conversation. No Mrs White, I thought that maybe we could appeal to your journalistic sense of fair play."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well maybe you're biting off more than you can chew. Mr Scar has been operating within the industries parameters, so maybe there's no story here at all. Perhaps this is just a witch hunt and a political manoeuvre on behalf of Senator Green and his flunkeys, to get attention and endorsement of votes at Mr Scar's expense."

"Your Mr Scar threatened me."

"Did he? I was unaware of that."

"You were standing right beside me when he lashed out, so was the sergeant."

"Oh that. That was Mr Scar's Italian way of blowing off a bit of steam, that's all. Surely you couldn't have taken what he said seriously?"

She didn't like this conversation one little bit. He was insulting, sarcastic and patronising at the same time. His tone possessed a strong cryptic undercurrent, to instil yet more confusion and fear into her.

"Get to the point Mr Dexter."

"I've insisted that you attend a meeting at 10.00am tomorrow morning at the APACO headquarters, so that you can see for yourself, the real agenda of what's going on here. My client is merely a pawn in a much larger political game. We ask that you hold off on your story, and quell your enthusiasm to be bed partners with the likes of the APACO, at least until after the meeting."

"My newspaper's been commissioned to do a story on the role of the APACO in championing the cause of animal rights, and from what I've witnessed today, they deserve to be heard."

"That may be true, however be very careful where you tread, and where you seek justice Mrs White. In the end, it may be your own well-being which is in jeopardy."

"Is that a threat?"

"You seem confused Mrs White, perhaps I should make this conversation a bit simpler for you. Everything that goes on inside the industry circle, can and will be contained, and that includes any fiasco with the APACO. You are the third party involved here. You are outside the industry circle, and yet you can do a lot of personal damage to my client, and to others like him."

He briefly paused, allowing her time to digest what he'd said, before continuing.

"Your article may point the finger at my client as being the bad guy. As such, he would lose the respect of his friends, his peers and the community. To the likes of my client, that's about as bad as things can get. Do you get the drift of what I'm trying to say?"

"You're warning me for my own good, to back off."

"I'm advising you, that as the third party involved in all of this, you'll be on your own and without any protection."

"I think I've heard enough. Goodbye Mr Dexter, and please don't ring me at home again."

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she heard him say as she dropped the receiver.

It was fair to say that she was rattled and suddenly felt ill at ease. However, she was a journalist, and a damn good one, so why was she having second thoughts about the direction of this story. She had an obligation to her newspaper, and to her readers to present the facts as she witnessed them, even if that came at someone else's expense. That's what reporting was all about, and she wouldn't be softening the impact of her story, or backing down in the face of threats and intimidation either. But she would gladly show up to the meeting with the power brokers tomorrow, to hear what Mr Dexter had referred to, as the real agenda.

Kristy settled herself down, and drawing upon the vivid images of this morning field trip, and the narration of those events on her voice recorder, began transcribing notes onto her computer. Her determination to seek justice for the poor feathered creatures who had no voice of their own, and who were being so cruelly neglected, bounced back as she listened to her own emotional narration. She found a new inner strength, with a voice that overrode any niggling concerns she may have had in relation to Joe Scar or his associates. She would write this article in memory of Misty Blue, with Misty Blue's silent suffering as her motivation.

By the time the second phone call came in on her home phone a couple of hours later, she was on a roll and felt unstoppable. As before it was a private number and she was reluctant to answer its call, but after the fifth ring, curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had snatched up the hand piece with a simple 'hello'. At first she didn't think anybody was there, and said 'hello' two more times, before feeling the cold prickle of fear tickling down the back of her neck. By this time, the other party knew that he had rattled her, and when he answered, he spoke slowly with a thick European accent, devoid of any emotion.

"Gunna get yar bitch. Yar betta ring yar friend. Betta get him to check his brakes."

Then the phone then went dead. She remained motionless at her desk, listening to the vacant tone, as fear turned itself into rage with adrenalin still pumping into her body. She wanted to shout back through the phone and abuse him, wanted to thrust her hand down the receiver and grab him by the throat, to choke his airways and punch the living daylights out of him. She slammed the handpiece down onto its cradle, however the action did little to soothe the fury that she felt. Then she was out of her seat, on the move, pacing up and down the room and stopping only to breathe deeply, until at last, the endocrinal surge had quelled and her pulse had eased.

The rage she had just felt, then turned itself into concern. These threats were directed at her association with the newspaper, so she had better ring Simon, just to be on the safe side. Surely the caller didn't mean Blake. The voice had said 'friend', and the caller wouldn't be aware of any association, but both Blake and herself were in this thing together, so they would be lumped together as the enemy. She'd ring them both. Scar had threatened that he could get her, her friends or any member of her family at any time. Was this just a forewarning of what could happen, a wakeup call to let her know that he was serious?

She rang Simon's mobile. He was still at the office digitally enhancing and sorting through hundreds of images on his computer. After the way things had been left between them a couple of hours ago when he'd dropped her off, he was pleased that she had rang, but chuckled off her suggestions that he was in any real danger. To ease her mind though, he would check it out and get back to her straight away. It was a different tone of voice that spoke to her a couple of minutes later.

"Bloody hell Kristy," he bellowed. "There's brake fluid all over the damn car park. Some mongrels cut my brake lines."

It was now obvious she had to take all threat seriously, and as a follow up to what had just happened, Simon would organise a tow truck to pick up his vehicle, alert the security guards and call the police. The authorities would no doubt check the CCTV surveillance cameras and find nothing out of the ordinary, but at least the tampering would be on file. In the meantime, she would ring her editor and explain what was going on. She had to get his approval anyhow, to attend the meeting tomorrow.

Of course her editor was delighted. She knew that he would be. The whole senator and public office connection smelt of wheeling and dealing and the misappropriation of public moneys within the corridors of the bureaucracy. Was she okay? Could she handle this by herself? Did she want support? Did she want a security guard posted outside her house? Could she possibly secure a copy of the APACO video as concrete evidence of where this all began? It was nice that he was also genuinely concerned with her well-being, even if it was a secondary consideration. She'd assured him that for the time being, at least up until tomorrow's meeting took place, that she'd be okay.

And just like that, she was back on a high again. She now had approval to carry on with her assignment. Her dear friend Simon, although rattled, was okay. And Blake, the new interest in her life, was safe and blissfully unaware of what was going on in her camp, and that strangely added to her excitement. He didn't know it yet, but he was coming to her place tonight for a debriefing, and if he played his cards right, then it could be a night for them both to remember. She went back to bashing the keyboard. It had been one hell of a day, and it wasn't over yet.

~ ~ ~

After his meeting with big Jim, Blake had gone straight to his office and rung the newspaper. He didn't have Kristy's mobile number, for although there'd been plenty of opportunities to swap contact details this morning, she'd left the site in a hurry before they'd had a chance to do so. He assumed she would have gone home, showered and changed and then returned to the office to start on her article. He'd assumed wrong, and for security and privacy reasons, the receptionist, rightly so, wouldn't give out her home phone number, or her mobile either for that matter. She would however contact Kristy via both e-mail and text on his behalf, and have her ring him back on his mobile. Five minutes later she called, and there was excitement in her voice.

"Hi, sorry for the run around," she said going straight into an explanation. "I know I asked you to give me a ring, but I neglected to give you my mobile number this morning, and I'd also like to apologise for rushing off the way I did. I was feeling a bit green around the gills, but I'm okay now."

"There's no need to apologise. It's nice to hear your voice."

"It's nice to hear your voice too, and I was going to call you, but you just beat me to the punch. I was hoping you might like to come around to my place tonight, to discuss your background within the organisation with me."

"I'd be delighted, what time?"

"How about around 7.00pm. I'll text you my address."

It was done, the invitation had been accepted and now it was too late to be withdrawn. She felt a surge of internal warmness with a flush of colour rising to her cheeks, and although there was a temporary silence on the other end of the phone, she could sense his heart beat and a rising warmth of expectation which seemed to be burning her ear. When he spoke it was in a softer and tenderer tone.

"I missed you after you left."

"I've been thinking about you too, all afternoon."

"Before I forget, I've been asked to invite you to a 10.00am meeting tomorrow at our office."

"Thanks for the courtesy, but I've already been rudely instructed to attend."

"By whom?"

"Scar's solicitor. Said it was in my best interest to be there."

"Wow!"

"Yes. He said I have it all wrong, and that I shouldn't be bed partners with your organisation."

"Well, maybe not with the whole organisation. You could be selective."

She giggled, she couldn't help it. She knew what he was insinuating, but it was Howard, the organisation's crazy little cameraman, who jumped into her mind. The image of bedding down with a guy who got his rocks off by taking perverse pictures of dead and rotting, maggot-ridden chooks, was all too much.

"What's so funny?" he chuckled.

"I was thinking of Howard. He's a strange little man."

"Yeah he is, but at least you know whose side he's on."

"So, he'd do anything for you?"

"Within reason. Why do you ask?"

"I'd like a copy of what he filmed today. Any chance?"

"No! That would be unethical," he said quiet emphatically. "You'd have follow protocol and formally request a copy from the organisation."

He immediately felt guilty at having snapped. Howard was in the process of downloading a copy onto a USB flash drive specifically for him, without going through the proper protocol.

"Sorry, that probably sounded a bit harsh. Why would you want a copy?"

"It seems there's more of a story involved here than simply meets the eye. My editor thinks that your footage, with your commentary on it, would be good insurance against any possible litigation which may come our way after our ongoing articles go to print. I know you're not aware of it, but I was threatened by an abusive phone call earlier on. It was a warning which resulted in Simon's brake lines being cut."

"You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm serious. Scar's solicitor seems to suggest there's bureaucratic power play going on, and that it all comes at the expense of his client."

"Unfortunately that's probably true. The big wigs are coming in tomorrow to do some sort of horse-trading. You're very fortunate to be able to attend what should be a closed shop. They must be either very wary of what you intend to write, or very sure of your support."

"Well whoever they are, they now have my undivided attention."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, for the time being, but earlier on I was concerned that maybe it was your car which had been tampered with."

"That's so sweet. You were concerned for my well-being?"

"Well, I figured I owed you."

"For the bruised ribs?"

"No," she giggled. "You deserved that."

"Because I let you get into my pants?"

He was chuckling with a delightful larrikin laugh which was revving up to be a belly laugh, and was being spurred on by her infectious giggle. She truly felt like a giddy-headed school girl and was revelling in his mischievous humour.

"No, for the gumboots silly."

"Just goes to show you," he teased. "It always pays to carry extra rubbers."

Tears rolled down her face as she bent over to alleviate the stitch in her side. Wasn't it just like a man to have extra protection on hand? It didn't matter that they were talking about rubber gumboots. The thought of his rubbers, which she had already used, and which were now speared lengthways and upside down on two tomato stakes outside at the mercy of the weather, was all too much. The verbal foreplay was well under way, and by the time the call had finished, she knew she was well and truly looking forward to tonight.

~ ~ ~

The cheesy grin was still showing on Blake's face a few minutes later, when Howard came bolting through the door of his office without bothering to knock.

"That look tells me you're gunna get lucky tonight boss."

Howard closed the door behind himself, and flashed a quick look around the room to see if they were alone.

"You're gunna pork that journo chick, aren't yar?"

"Nothing to do with you."

He stepped forward slipping his hand into the coat pocket to pull out the pirated USB flash drive.

"That Simon dude's gunna be real pissed," he challenged.

"Nothing to do with him either."

"So I was right. Yar gunna swap spit and all that other stuff with the journo chick."

"Howard, give me the damn flash drive."

"All right boss, no need to get testy. I was only joshing."

With a grin from ear to ear, Howard passed it over and turned to go.

"Well done young fella, and mum's the word, you know nothing about this."

"About what boss?" he asked, poker faced.

After Howard left, he slipped the flash drive into his brief case. He would remove it when he got home and secure it in a safe place. After tomorrow's meeting its existence may very well be irrelevant, but until then, it would act as his security blanket.

Sometime later he had finished his preliminary report, and although it was still early in the afternoon, he felt justified in clocking off for the day, as he had started work at the crack of dawn. Big Jim was watching Howard's video on his computer, as he entered his office to drop off the report.

"This is great stuff," he remarked pausing the play. "It vindicates whatever actions we decide to take, and gives us plenty of leverage for negotiation. There's no wonder your Mr Scar doesn't want this to go any further."

"He'll blame his farm manager."

"Of course he will, but Mr Scar is the owner of the enterprise and the buck ultimately stops with him."

"I'm off for the day Jim. I'm seeing the journo tonight, to give her a little extra background information on myself and the organisation, and she'll also be coming to the meeting tomorrow."

"That was an interesting piece of footage of you both. If you don't mind me asking, is there something going on between the two of you?"

Blake was puzzled, and his expression no doubt reflected that fact. All he could think of was of the episode in the feed shed. Had Howard followed him there and filmed the events leading up to that stolen kiss? Suddenly he felt a real reason for concern.

"The footage of you rescuing Mrs White from the quagmire."

"Oh! Did Howard get all that?"

"I particularly liked the bit where you are holding her hand. She'd obviously cut it on the rusty cage wire, and you're both gazing into one another's eyes, you know, right after you jiggle her leg out of the slop. It made a great zoom in shot. I must compliment Howard on his filming technique. Actually, at that point, I thought you were going to kiss her."

Big Jim had put him on the spot and was lapping up the opportunity of seeing him squirm. And if he was to be truthful with himself, he did feel somewhat uncomfortable and embarrassed about the revelation. His mouth was stunned to silence, the school boy smirk couldn't be suppressed, and his brain was racing at a million miles an hour to relive the moment. How long had he gazed into her eyes for, and what else had Howard captured on his zoom lens. His boss carried on with his teasing.

"The symphony of music in the background didn't do the scene any justice, but nevertheless it left me feeling romantically fulfilled. She's a very attractive lady. I look forward to meeting her tomorrow."

Blake grinned, a little unsure of how to respond.

"I don't quite know what to say, couldn't we edit that bit out. I'm quite sure nobody would want to see it."

"Now that would be tampering with photographic images and be inadmissible in a court of law, if things went that far. Sorry, it stays. Besides, it shows your softer more compassionate side."

"Well, I'm embarrassed enough. I'm out of here. See you tomorrow."

He turned on his heel and headed for the door, only to be stopped by Jim's inquisitiveness.

"I'm curious..."

Big Jim stopped mid-sentence and waited for Blake to turn around and face him before going on.

"What was it that you did, or said to Mrs White, to provoke her enough, for her to punch you in the ribs? I must say, you took it very well."

A smile as large as the man's features spread itself across his face as he waited for Blake to respond. He no doubt wanted to hear that Blake had suggested something inappropriate and had received the equivalent of having his face slapped for his troubles. Blake smirked, finding his feet again and reaching for the door handle, threw his response over his shoulder. "I'll leave that up to your imagination."

He quickly stepped out of the office, closing the door behind him, but heard the tail end of Jim squawking something about having a great night, but to be sure he got some sleep as tomorrow was an important day.

He could feel a surge of exhilaration in his body as he moved quickly towards his station wagon in the car park. Howard was a real larrikin, and he'd have to think of a suitably embarrassing way of returning his prank, to even the score. Maybe he could introduce him to Amanda. No, that would be too cruel. And what was he going to do with Amanda anyhow? Without an invitation or any forewarning, she would take it upon herself to come over tonight, just to see how his big day had turned out. He had already made the mistake of telling her too much, mentioning the fact that there was a female journalist turning up, and she had questioned him over and over again as to who the journalist was. He had told her repeatedly that he didn't know anything, emphasising that the journalist was just a name on a piece of paper, and someone he had not heard of before, been acquainted with, or ever met, but she still hadn't believed him.

Amanda was an insanely jealous woman, and if she found out this journalist was the same woman who had sat on his lap twice at the hypnotist show, then his life wouldn't be worth living. If she got hold of the flash drive and watched the video, then she would come to the same conclusion as big Jim had, but the outcome would be exponentially worse. It would be blown out of all proportion with him being accused of having an affair with Kristy then and there in the chook shed. And in all honesty, those suspicions wouldn't have been far from the truth. He would have to hide that USB flash drive in a place where her distrustful mind couldn't accidently stumble upon it.

But the concern surrounding Amanda insane jealousy, instantly left his mind the moment he opened the car door to get in. The moisture laden foul stench which lingered within the vehicle's confines from this morning escapade, with the four of them sitting in his station wagon having a morning coffee, assaulted his nostrils straight away. First thing was first. He had to go home to shower and throw his clothes in the washing machine, clean and deodorise this car and sanitise his gumboots before doing anything else. He couldn't turn up at Kristy's place and be conscious of this odour lingering all over his body and clothes. That associated smell would trigger unpleasant memories of this morning's event, and would surely kill the mood before it even got going.

Blake pulled out of the carpark, turned left into the street and headed towards the lights at the main road. If he organised his time right, then he could also meet Amanda at the coffee shop in the mall this afternoon, to weasel his way out of seeing her tonight. She knocked off work at 4.00pm, so he could spend an hour with her, and still have plenty of time left over to go home and get ready to go out again.

# Chapter 12

After she had gotten off the phone to Blake, she couldn't settle to get back into her assignment. It didn't matter anyhow, the release of her first article had been put on hold until after the meeting tomorrow. Blake was now her distraction. He had her juices flowing and she couldn't get him out of her mind. It seemed as if she had long ago forgotten the excitement of the dating game, with its verbal innuendoes and sexual undercurrents. So if she couldn't settle, then she would go with the flow and prime herself even further for tonight. It was still early enough in the afternoon to go to the hairdresser and have something done about her split ends, still early enough to buy something casual but sensually delightful for an evening at home. After all, it was part of the game to feel good about yourself, and this was a new beginning.

And it was also inevitable, that sooner or later they would crisscross each other's path in the same shopping centre, to eventually run into one another, but the concept of that scenario hadn't even crossed Kristy's mind. Before that moment became reality though, she had already been to the hairdresser, and worked her way through every clothes store in the complex, before finding a wonderful little boutique shop and securing the special dress with the wow factor which she intended to wear tonight. She was on an all-time high, feeling wonderful about herself, and had decided to treat herself to a cappuccino and a slice of cheese cake at the coffee shop in the mall, to finalise her outing before going home.

So when she entered the coffee lounge via the side door and sat down, she was in a dream world of her own and not paying any attention to the other couples already seated. Straight away the waitress was upon her, and it was not until after she had placed her order and her senses had become acclimatised to their surroundings, that her ears had then tuned into the sound of his voice. She swung her head around to see him sitting half a dozen tables away with his back to her. He sat opposite a very attractive woman, and although he held onto one of her hands across the table, his slouching body language suggested frustration and disinterest.

"Amanda...!" she heard him say with obvious disdain in his voice. "Why must you always do this to me?"

"It's always my fault, isn't it Blake? Always my fault that you chase other women?"

Kristy smiled at the dressing down. She shouldn't have. The woman saw her expression and took personal offence by shooting daggers in her direction. Kristy turned back around, pretending it was none of her business, but she couldn't help overhearing what was going on, and in the half empty lounge, nor could anyone else. It was then that she remembered where she'd seen that look on the woman's face before. She had been the female sitting beside Blake at the hypnotist show. All at once she felt trapped and wished she could slip out of the premise without being seen.

"Amanda you've got to stop this jealousy. It's destroying our relationship. I had no idea that the woman who sat on my lap at the show, would be the same woman I'd end up meeting this morning."

"I don't believe you."

"And I don't know why I bother to be so honest with you?

"You've arranged to meet the cow here this afternoon, haven't you?"

"What...!"

"Why must you always hurt me? Why did you have to bring her here?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Kristy cringed, sensing the woman was about to create a scene. She knew Amanda was pointing in her direction, she could practically feel Amanda's finger sticking in her back like a long bladed knife.

"I suppose that woman sitting there, is a figment of my imagination, is she?"

Kristy sat very still, wishing the floor would swallow her up so she could magically disappear.

"Kristy White, is that you?"

Blake's almost zealous tone was full of genuine surprise. She turned, looking at him with an awkward embarrassment. She had to be diplomatic, but she had to leave.

"Oh hello. I was just leaving."

"Would you like to join us?"

He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, knowing that his ludicrous invitation would be declined. His facial actions at any other time though would have had her in stitches.

"It seems to me that you two have some unresolved issues to deal with."

"Blake, I don't want her sitting with us," snapped Amanda.

Kristy was already out of her seat and on the move as she directed her comment in Amanda's direction.

"Don't worry dear, your company is far too hostile for me, besides, I don't like being referred to as a cow."

"You keep away from him!"

She was halfway out the door before stopping with the realisation she hadn't paid for the order which she hadn't yet received. She hesitated, to reach into her handbag to find her purse as she caught Blake's eye. He looked whipped and exasperated.

"I'll take care of it," he said, waving her on her way.

~ ~ ~

Kristy hastily retreated from the coffee lounge, to distance herself from the horrible scene. This was the fourth time today she'd been threatened, and the second time today where she'd felt as though she'd abandoned Blake. She was grinning to herself however, as she stepped into the open-air carpark to make a bee line for her vehicle. Poor Blake, he was trapped like one of those chooks in the cages. How had he allowed that to happen? Was it his compassion for the dumb creatures who couldn't defend themselves, which had lured him to her? He obviously wanted out, she'd heard him suggesting a couple of times that the relationship wasn't working. Any normal woman would have taken the hint and said goodbye. But Amanda wasn't a normal woman, she obviously had an unstable personality with jealousy, rejection or abandonment issues, and any breakup would have to come from Blake. But how was he going to do that? Kristy found herself snickering at her own little voice, which was suggesting that Blake take Amanda to the APACO pound, to have her interned and put up for adoption as an unwanted or unloved pet.

But with all joking aside, she had to question the reason as to why she was feeling so annoyed. Did she think that Blake, or anyone else out there in the universe who were worthy of her attention, would be sitting at home alone just waiting for her to come into their lives? It didn't work like that. Of course everybody had somebody, no matter how dysfunctional the relationship was. She had Simon to contend with and Blake had already witnessed his jealousy. What she had just witnessed going on between Blake and Amanda, was merely the other side of the coin.

Kristy talked herself around her uneasiness, and by the time she had reached her home she was feeling much more relieved. Amanda had nothing to do with her, she was Blake's problem, and Simon had nothing to do with Blake, he was her problem. It was as simple as that.

~ ~ ~

"Amanda, I'm going. You've embarrassed me enough," said Blake attempting to rise.

She grabbed him by the arm, holding on tightly, attempting to force him to sit down again.

"Please don't go. She'd gone now."

"Can you hear yourself?"

"I'm sorry alright?"

"Amanda, can you hear how possessive and jealous you are?"

"I said I'm sorry, alright!"

"Yeah, well you keep saying that. And I'm sorry too, but I'm going."

"All right, we'll go then. Walk me to my car and then you can go home."

He took a deep breath, flinching as she wrapped her arms around his elbow, to cling close by his side as he approached the counter to pay the bill. The woman felt no shame, but at least she had the decency to keep her mouth shut as he offered to pay for Kristy's order. The counter girl said it wasn't necessary and flashed him a sympathetic smile as she handed over the debit card receipt. No words were necessary, but he could practically read her thoughts, she wanted the disruptive woman with the mental health issues, out of the coffee lounge and away from other patrons as soon as possible.

"What's in the bag darling?" she asked, pulling him in even closer as they stepped out into the mall.

"You know it's a bottle of wine."

He'd been honest with Amanda, telling her he was going around to the journalist's house tonight for an urgent in-depth interview, and that he wasn't about to turn up empty handed. He'd bought the bottle of wine before meeting her at the coffee shop, and well before Kristy had innocently turned up to muddy the waters and allow Amanda to work out who she actually was.

"Were you planning a romantic candle lit evening?"

"Well if I was, it would now be ruined due to your little performance, wouldn't it?"

A cold shiver pasted through his psyche. Amanda had a suspicious and devious mind, and in all honesty, her suspicions were not that far from the truth, he had been hoping it would turn out to be a romantic evening with Kristy tonight.

"You seem a bit on edge. I'm sorry if I ruined your night, but I'll make it up to you and drop by a little later on after you get back, just to make sure you're okay."

Blake stopped, he couldn't take it any longer. He disengaged himself from her grip, to face her front on.

"Amanda, I want you to listen to me. I can't go on like this anymore. This isn't working and I'm putting a stop to it right now."

"No Blake please."

"I'm sorry it's come to this, but I don't want to see you anymore. It's over. Do you understand? Go and find yourself someone else to torment."

"You don't mean that," she said cold faced. "It's her isn't it? She's done this to you. She'll pay for this."

"Nobody has done anything to me. You have to move on with your life. Goodbye."

It seemed like the cruellest thing that he had ever done. He walked away leaving her standing all alone in the middle of the shopping mall. He could feel the cold stare of her eyes and sense the knives of resentment stabbing him between the shoulder blades as he moved away. She wasn't about to take this lying down, and upon reaching the stairwell down to the car park, he was forced to turn one hundred and eighty degrees, to look back in her direction, and just for a split second as he descended the stairs, his eyes locked onto hers. She simply stood where he had left her, unmoving, staring at him in silent defiance with a body language portraying that of a victim. She had left him feeling extremely unsettled, more so than what the likes of Joe Scar or his boys could ever do.

He knew he should have handled it better. He should have perhaps taken her to counselling, or have asked more questions as to why her previous relationships had fallen apart. It was true he'd only know her for a few weeks, but there was a very good reason why Amanda was like she was. He should have found out and he should have tried harder to help her, to help them both. Now it was too late. He had drawn a line in the sand, and now he would just have to wait and see if she would cross it. He had no doubt in his mind that she would, and all of a sudden it wasn't his own welfare which he was worried about, it was Kristy's.

# Chapter 13

It was around 6.15pm by the time he'd finally cleaned himself up for the second time today and was ready to go out. He still felt terribly uneasy about how things had finished up with Amanda. The altercation had put a dampener on tonight's romantic interlude with Kristy, and if anything, he was looking for an excuse not to go, but he had given his word he'd be at her house by 7.00pm, and as she hadn't rung to cancel, he really had no other choice. He found it impossible to believe that she would feel comfortable around him after what had happened. Why couldn't she just ring and say that tonight wasn't a good night, or make an excuse that she had a splitting headache or something, and say that she would catch up with him after the meeting tomorrow?

It was still too early to leave, and feeling so unsettled, he aimlessly wandered around inside the house, killing time by doing a bit of cleaning, watering the indoor plants and such, in an attempt to distract his mind. It wasn't working, so he opened the back sliding door and stepped out onto the veranda to look at the night sky. The clouds had moved on and were now replaced by a crystal clear canopy of three dimensional blackness which reached out to infinity. And the previous bitting southerly winds were also gone, replaced by a different kind of barometric movement, which descended itself over the body like a fog and attack from every direction.

He shuddered involuntarily, slipping his hands into his pockets and moved off to do a lap around the veranda of his house. Everything was so damp with moisture and the snails were out in their droves. Their bodies adorned the veranda like pebble stones, and the exploding sound of their shells with a misplaced step, along with the grinding slimy texture under his shoes, were both sickening and frustrating to say the least. Tomorrow morning when the sun came up, their bodies would begin to decompose and smell, and not long after that would come the hordes of ants. What was he doing out here in the cold dampness of a winter's night anyhow? At the very least he could have turned on the veranda lights and not be squashing garden snails under his shoes.

Using his hands on the railing for support, and flicking snails left and right with his sliding feet, he slowly moved along the eastern side of the veranda. By the time he was half way along, his eyes were becoming accustomed to their night vision, and the street lights at the front of his house were now weakly filtering through the garden trees. Their soft glow illuminated his path and sparkled off the slimy iridescent snail trails, which illogically all led from the direction of his garden to the sandstone walls of his house.

Reaching the front north eastern corner of the veranda, he stopped, to simply stand in the cold semi-darkness and observe their strange instinctive behaviour. It was right then that his peripheral vision caught the movement of someone sitting in a car across the street. That somebody appeared to be watching his house and logically had been there for some time. All the windows of the vehicle were fogged up from the inside, with the exception of the driver's which was wound half way down to get a clear vision in his direction. The sole occupant's features were indistinguishable, as was the make and model of the car. Both were cloaked by the cover of darkness, and camouflaged under the overhanging canopy of a giant peppercorn tree on the other side of the street.

Blake looked at his watch. It was 6.30pm. He would soon have to go, but questioned himself if the mystery person was waiting for him to leave so that they could possibly ransack his house? He thought of the warning given to Kristy to leave things well alone, and thought of Simon's brake lines being cut to emphasise that warning. Maybe he should have put his car in the lock up garage, rather than have left it sitting on the driveway, but maybe it was already too late for that. This was a very quiet street and a cold damp night, someone could have already snuck up and tampered with it without being seen. Surely though, he was being paranoid, the taxing events of today had over stimulated his imagination. But if that were the case, then why did he sense that creepy feeling of being watched and of being stalked.

The other party wouldn't be able to see him, so that gave him some sort of advantage. He was standing on the veranda at the corner of the house, protected by both the darkness of the night and the darkness of his background. The stalker would be watching the front door, or for any movement of his car a good thirty metres away to the left of where he was standing. And the stalker certainly wouldn't suspect that it was now he, or she who was being observed. He looked at his watch, it was 6.37pm. This was ridiculous, how long could he keep this up for? The cold was settling into his bones, snails were slimming all over his boots, and it was time to go.

It was only timely, at that exact moment of indecision that his next door neighbour, Mrs Shimmer, should come out of her house to start up her car, and without allowing any time for the motor to warm up, drove out of her driveway. Her headlights cut a beam straight across the road and into the darkness, arcing a flood of light onto the stalker's vehicle as she came up out of the gutter to turn left onto the street, and just for a couple of seconds, the stalker was spotlighted in its sealed beams. It was Amanda, sitting behind the steering wheel of Amanda's car. She had her hand up attempting to shield her face against the flooding light, and although he could see her mouth moving, he could only imagine what she was saying.

Blake felt an instant annoyance building within himself. He withdrew the way he had come, showing no mercy to the slow moving creatures underfoot, to enter the back door with his imagination in overdrive. Was it her intention to follow him to Kristy's place, to find out where she lived? Perhaps she would even return to his house while he was out, and trash it as an act of revenge. What was he to do? He looked at his watch, it was 6.45pm. This woman wasn't about to let go, and it would be fruitless to approach her to ask what the hell it was that she was doing. That would no doubt provoke another confrontation. He couldn't go out, not now. He'd have to ring Kristy and cancel tonight's rendezvous.

~ ~ ~

"How did I know it would be you?" she answered softly.

"Were you expecting me to call?"

"I was actually. After that little fiasco in the coffee lounge this afternoon, I reckoned you'd be too embarrassed to face me."

"Yes, I am embarrassed and I'm sorry you had to witness that 'little fiasco' as you so colourfully put it. And I'm also sorry that I to have to cancel our date tonight. I was so looking forward to it too, even had a nice bottle of red to bring, but now it doesn't feel right, if you know what I mean."

"It did kind of take the edge off, didn't it? Do you know, she was the fourth person to threaten me today?"

"Yeah, she's definitely hard work. I've only known her for a few weeks, and now I don't seem to be able to shake her."

"You make it sound like she's a disease. She's probably harmless, you know."

"Maybe, maybe not, but I know she's definitely upset. The reason why I'm not coming over tonight is because she's stalking me. She's sitting in her car on the other side of the street watching my house. I suspect she's waiting for me to go out, so she can follow me to find out where you live, or she's waiting till I go out so that she can trash my house."

"Oh come on! I don't need any more crap."

"That's why I'm not coming over."

"How did you get involved with her in the first place? You must have known that she was a bit strange?"

"No I didn't. There was a little bit of jealousy and possessiveness right from the word go, but nothing out of the ordinary. Well, not at least until I'd slept with her for the first time. Then it was too late and I was trapped. You saw her in action this afternoon, so you know what I'm talking about."

"What happened after I left?"

"We had a bit of a scene outside in the mall. I told her it was over and walked away. She wasn't happy that's for sure."

"She blamed me didn't she?"

Kristy's tone had changed to one of genuine concern, and he had to honest with her without frightening her too much.

"Yeah, she kind of did. What's why I'm not leading her to your place."

"Oh this is just great. What have you been telling her about me?"

"Nothing really. I think she assumes that because you singled me out at the hypnotist show, and because of the coincidence of meeting you again today, firstly at work and then at the coffee shop after work, that we've had an affair going on behind her back all along. I guess in her twisted way she sees it as betrayal."

"And sees me as the other woman, 'the cow' who's led you astray?"

"Probably."

"So when I turned up at the coffee lounge this afternoon..."

"Yeah, that pushed her right over the edge."

"How was I supposed to know you'd be there?"

"Hey, nobody's at fault here. We all live in the same area and probably visit the same shops. It was inevitable that sooner or later our paths should cross. It's just unfortunate that today had to be that day. Look, I'm sorry that you're involved. I'm sorry that I'm involved. The woman's got issues and I don't really know what they are."

"Have you thought about dropping her off at your shelter and having her put up for adoption as an unwanted and unloved pet?"

To ease the tension, they made light of the situation for a while longer before terminating the call. Kristy was going to ring her friend Lauren, to explain the dilemma she was in, and to see if she could come over to keep her company for a while and maybe even spend the night. Before getting off the phone though, she'd thanked him for being so thoughtful about her well-being, and emphasised how much she was really looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow.

~ ~ ~

After the call, he sat in silence at the table for a while, stretched across its surface with his chin cupped in the palms of both of his hands. With a sullen face, his eyes partly closed and the two middle fingers of both hands massaging the temporal muscles of his skull, he was contemplating what he should do. Strangely though, his heart actually went out to Amanda. She was a wounded human being who needed professional help. He really didn't expect that she would do something stupid, like bashing hysterically on his front door and begging to be let in, or tapping on the window to have him open the curtains to find her standing there like a crazy person. Surely that sort of fatal attraction stuff only happened in the movies, surely she would satisfy herself that he wasn't running to the arms of another woman and would eventually go home. She had to go home, he wouldn't be able to get any sleep until she did.

By 8.30pm she was still there, so he turned off all the lights to give the impression that he had gone to bed, and then snuck out onto the back veranda and up to the corner of the house where he had been before, to observe her behaviour. Five minutes slowly ticked by, as did ten, then she did something which totally mystified him. Quietly and without any hesitation, she opened the door of her car, got out, crossed the street, and then casually strolled down the driveway to place an envelope under the windshield wiper of his car. She then stood stationary for a couple of seconds, like an animal of prey, rotation her head, looking and listening for any signs that she had been detected, before moving off just as casually as she had arrived.

He didn't like this game she was playing, but couldn't help admire her coolness and control over the whole weird situation. Why hadn't she just slipped the envelope into his letter box, or snuck up the driveway earlier on to slip it under his front door? He watched her body disappear, to glide across the street and to merge like a shadow into the darkness of her vehicle, before starting the engine and cruising away as if it were a Sunday drive. As tempted as he was to retrieve the letter, it could wait till morning. It was obviously her intention that he should find it then, covered with frost and looking dejected with its contents feeling cold, wet and soggy. Oddly, he found himself smirking with the same perverse fascination as he had experienced earlier this morning, upon seeing the journo entering the chook shed wearing sneakers.

He role-played the events of the next morning, suppressing the temptation to walk outside and retrieve the letter, to then read it over a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. He would play the game as it was meant to be played, but without the unsettling surprise of finding it as he was about to head off to work. And he knew that Amanda would be thinking of him right now. She'd have her mobile close by and turned on to take his reactive call, but she wouldn't be getting one, and that would probably infuriate her no end.

What he saw when he stepped outside and approached his car, was exactly what he had visualised last night, but nevertheless, it still had an impact and still brought a smile to his face. The letter and its placement had been designed to be symbolic. It drooped over itself in the middle, no doubt giving the impression that its spirit had been crushed and that it was being held against its will. Blake raised its sodden torso upright, to lay it flush against the windscreen so it wouldn't tear. A murmur of amusement escaped his throat as he saw the smudged imprint of a woman's lips on the sealed under side. Fascinated, and knowing that he was probably reading too much symbolism into what was going on, he almost lovingly removed the envelope from under the wiper blade, to study the embossed kiss.

The lips were full and had been placed in a sensuous just parted position. The amount of vibrant red lipstick used had been overdone, but that was no doubt for effect and designed to wipe off onto his hands, as it already had. The smudge was also no doubt deliberate, and gave the impression that the kiss had been stolen away. The capital letters S.W.A.L.K. were arched above the lips and written with a black water based texta. They were effectively diluted by the moisture of the early morning dew and drawn down by gravity, to leave the impression of mascara diluted tears running down a face. He felt a touch of sadness at the woman's expression of pain. There was no wonder she hadn't put the letter in the mailbox, or slipped it under the front door. She was expressing her creativity. This was living art.

Carefully he peeled open the envelope's flap, splitting the kiss in the middle, to take out its solitary folded page. The scent of Amanda's perfume rose to his nostrils. He could clearly see where she had sprayed it onto the paper, the alcohol and essential oils had impregnated the page and also smudged the blue biro written words. He couldn't help himself. He raised the letter to his nose with both hands and inhaled its bouquet. Its essence was still fresh and sweet. It lingered in his brain and danced a tingly tune as sweet memories of their time together came rushing back.

Lost in the moment, he opened up the letter, folding back its damp page, to release an assortment of very small colourful and glittery paper stars. Some remained stuck to the moist page, whilst others sprinkled gracefully onto the bonnet of his vehicle, to be held captive there by the early morning dew. Totally mesmerised by what was going on, he anxiously scanned his eyes over the whole page, half expecting nasty words and threats to fly out and slap him in the face. But there was none. With bated breath, he started at the beginning.

My darling Blake,

I pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I realise that I do have a problem, and it is one which has divided us. I am too ashamed of myself to ask for your forgiveness to your face, for fear that you will send me away again. That is a pain which I could not endure a second time around.

I so desperately wanted to see you last night, but couldn't find the courage to walk up and knock on your front door, or to find the right words if I had. I hope that you are not offended by the manner in which I have hand delivered this message. I knew of no other way.

Please forgive me. I will always love you.

Amanda. x x x x

Blake read the letter a second time. He felt warmed by her sentiments, and intrigued by the depths to which she had gone to make amends for the situation. At least it explained what it was she was doing, sitting in her car out in the street last night. It was strange behaviour, he would be the first to agree with that, but Amanda wasn't cut from the same cloth as everyone else, then again, neither was Kristy. That's what made them both so interesting.

Folding up the letter he put it back into the envelope. There was no time now to analyse, or to dwell on the ramifications of anything, and there was no time to change his clothes or wash his hands. For the time being, the lipstick would have to stay smudged on his jumper and jeans, and the perfume would have to stay impregnated in the skin. Right now he had to get to the office. Today was going to be a big day.

# Chapter 14

She really didn't have an excuse for being late. Not that she was technically late for the meeting, it was only 9.50am as she parked her car behind the APACO building. She still had ten minutes up her sleeve, but it was a far cry from the good intention of arriving thirty minutes prior to the meeting, so that she could be mentally organised to meet the players one at a time as they came in. There was an advantage in being able to pre-assess attitudes of diplomacy and likely personal rapport, prior to throwing a bunch of strangers with conflicting interests all together into the same room.

Males of course behaved particularly badly in front of a female. Their fluffed up egos and testosterone wouldn't allow them to show any signs of weakness. They were forced to put on a show of their own dominance by prancing around, locking horns and bunting chests, and she seriously doubted if today would be any different.

Kristy made her way up to the receptionist, to be told she was the last to arrive and that they were waiting for her in the boardroom, down the hall, last door on the right, go right in. She had blown her opportunity, now she would be the one being assessed as she entered the room. She walked the short distance, but hesitated briefly at the door with her hand on its knob, to overhear a heated remark from the other side.

"Well, if you blokes did your jobs right, there would be no need for us to interfere, would there?"

It was Blake getting wound up. She smiled to herself, taking her hand off the knob with the pretence that she was searching for something in her shoulder bag, and not eavesdropping.

"Why the bloody hell would you want to involve the newspapers?" challenged the other party.

"Mate, your industry stinks, and you blokes aren't cleaning it up. This diseased property should have been quarantined a week ago. Besides its Senator Green you should be directing your anger towards, not us. He's the one who wants the publicity."

"Well, the last thing any of us needs right now is a bloody female journalist, with a bleeding heart to screw us over."

It was the united boys' club chuckle which riled her more than anything. It never failed to amaze her, that no matter how heated a male argument got, if somebody threw in a sexual innuendo, it always broke the tension and united the enemy at its lowest common denominator. She rapped twice, and quickly stepped in to close the door behind her.

"Sorry, I'm obviously late..."

She glancing at her watch to let them all know that she wasn't late at all and that it was rude of them to start without her. It was three minutes to ten.

"I'm Kristy White, the bloody female journalist with the bleeding heart who's here to screw you over."

The silence was deafening. They all sat around the oval table as if in shock, just gawking at her with their mouths open. Even Blake was stunned to silence.

"I assume that vacant seat is for me," she said pointing in the chair's direction and capitalising on the awkwardness. "Don't rise gentlemen, I'll find my own way there, thank you."

It was a grand entrance and totally unnecessary. Her timing and harsh words had taken them by surprise, and now they jointly felt embarrassed and guilty about participating in a sexual inference which put a face to a name.

"Mrs White, my apologies. Please join us, and allow me to introduce you to everyone."

Big Jim jumped out of his seat to greet her with a warm handshake.

"I'm Jim Worthington, state manager of the APACO and your host for today's proceedings."

~ ~ ~

Blake didn't hear any more of Jim's formal introductions, he was totally mesmerised by Kristy's self-assured beauty. Sure, he'd previously seen her in the chook shed amongst the muck and smell of death and all rugged up against the cold, and she had captured his attention then, but nothing like this. Even the memorable experience of seeing her sitting in the steaming wash tub of the feed shed, lathering her legs and practically naked from the waist down, paled to insignificance.

Right now her petite body swayed across the floor with a casual easy gait oozing confidence. A red pleated woollen skirt moved in symphony with her hips. Its hemline rocked and crashed like waves upon her kneecaps, to be then dragged back with an undercurrent of movement with every step she took. Skin toned nylons, glistening under the florescent lights, covered her shapely calves which were stretched taunt by red three-quarter high heeled shoes. Their body-hugging nature presented a shimmering mirage of silkiness which stimulated the imagination and cried out to be touched.

Blake couldn't take his eyes off her as she stopped to shake hands and make brief conversation. Her face was so open and bright, her scapula length honey-blond hair pulled back at the front and sides. Its movement not as noticeable as a swinging teasing ponytail would be, but more of a subtle sliding action to complement the existing hypnotic delights and of her swaying mid-centre. A movement nevertheless, to further torment the imagination.

"... and there's Blake James, who of course you've already met."

The introduction broke his ogling. She held out her hand as she had for everyone else.

"Lovely to see you again Blake."

"Hello, we'll chat later," he responded, with a nod and a quick handshake.

Wow, she was so close and smelt so nice that he could have bitten her. Was he the only one feeling like this? If the truth was known, besides for field assignments, she probably went to her office work place looking like this every day. Not that she was overdone. With the exception of a little mascara and light eyeshadow, there was very little other make-up on her face to ruin her natural look. She was a professional woman and her choice of clothing merely reflected winter, so what was the big deal? She would probably look just as hot in a pair of old faded jeans and a ratty tee shirt.

He finished off filing his mental picture. She had reached her seat and it was all about to begin. He quickly lapped up the imagery of her body-hugging cream woollen jumper, with its long sleeves and rounded neckline sporting a gold chain and heart shaped pendant. Splashes, of what looked like red butterflies on the wing, imprinted the fibres to break up the barren creamy landscape. Not that she needed their highlighting. The topography of her own well-defined and shapely breasts was anything but barren, and had no doubt caught everyone's attention.

~ ~ ~

Kristy took her seat, looking at her watch and smiling to herself. The introductions had only taken a total of three minutes. It was now 10.00am on the dot and the meeting could officially begin. Opening up her bag to drag out pen and pad, she was aware of the awkward silence and eyes upon her as they waited for her to settle before commencing. She glanced around the room to apologise for the distraction, to let her eyes come to rest on big Jim's.

"Well, we'd better get started then," he said taking her expression as a cue.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth, when the next action of removing her hand held tape recorder out of her bag, to lay it on the table in front of her and press the record button, ignited a powder keg of controversy.

"Come on, this is bullshit. We're not having every word of this meeting recorded."

It was Jack Sproul, the senior poultry field officer for the department. Kristy's mouth dropped open with surprise, but his reactive comment amused both Scar's solicitor and Blake.

"I might remind everyone," jumped in big Jim. "Mr Scar's solicitor wants Mrs White here, as do we, acting on behalf of Senator Green. What's your objection Jack?"

Jack pointed to his boss, the agriculture department's head honcho, sitting by his side.

"My objection would be the same as Mr Tanner's. We as an industry group cannot afford negative publicity. It's bad enough the senator commissions your organisation, but to have you join forces with the likes of a newspaper, to have them misinterpret and twist our words around to print whatever tripe they like, well that's not on. They have no idea about how the system works. No offence to you Mrs White, but I object to any journalists being present."

There was a few short seconds of silence as Jack and Kristy exchanged glances and a curt smile, but Blake couldn't hold his tongue, this was his sparring partner.

"Come on Jack, you're insinuating that we do a bad job, and I resent that. We represent the poor dumb creatures which are exploited by the likes of your industry. If you blokes policed your own backyard and looked after the health of your livestock, then it could be a win win situation for everyone concerned."

"Righto fellas," jumped in big Jim. "There's no need for this to degenerate into a slanging match. Let's narrow the field a little and dispense with the immediate matter at hand. Mrs White has already been out to the farm and seen the conditions. Let's get the update of where we are with that problem and what's being done about it, before we move onto the politics of its implications, and of Mrs White's involvement."

Brian, the APACO vet, and Albert, his counterpart from the poultry research facility, then gave their identical findings. They were both out of the political loop, and had no trouble communicating or agreeing to the methodology of solving the problem. As of 6.30pm yesterday afternoon, the property had effectively been posted as quarantined, the gates had been locked with appropriate signage, and security personnel had been posted to prevent all unauthorised comings and goings. The eradication of diseased stock had already begun this morning, and would continue until the crisis was averted. A bulldozer was also on site and trenches were being dug. Carcasses would be buried and quick limed in these trenches every day, and once full would be backfilled to a suitable depth.

On top of that, a heavy medication program with electrolyte supplementation through the drinking water, had been implemented this morning and a no-feed principal would also apply. Fumigation through fogging, and quick liming of the manure under the cages would be carried out simultaneously with the eradication. The program would be sustained for ten days only. In the event of failing to restore suitable health after this period of time, the sheds would be sealed up, and as the last resort all birds would be gassed to death. It was estimated that twenty percent of the stock had to be destroyed immediately.

"That's twenty thousand birds," remarked Kristy, jotting it down to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "That's a big operation to perform in ten days."

"The majority of it will be done in two to three days, Mrs White," corrected the vet.

"By... by how many people?" she asked, overwhelmed by the staggering statistics.

"There are twenty personnel out there right now."

Kristy was flabbergasted. She tried to imagine twenty thousand feathered bodies all lying dead in the one location. That was the equivalent of one whole shed, from the five out on the farm.

"How..."

She was lost for words, and could tell by everyone's expressions as she looked for answers in their faces, that they all knew she couldn't comprehend what was going on. She could recognise the empathy in Blake's eyes with her mounting anxiety, just as she could sense the concern on the two bureaucrat's faces. Her reaction would be typical of the multitude, and they didn't want her reporting this sort of stuff to the ignorant general public to discourage their eating habits.

"How do they... how do they..."

"Kill the birds," broke in Blake to save her the pain of using the words. "They either wring their necks or rabbit punch them, whichever is the easiest."

She was conscious of her own silence, and of the colour draining from her face. Blake must have thought that she was lost for the interpretation of what a rabbit punch was, but her eyes weren't pleading for his gory details. She was thinking of the twenty thousand feathered souls that were now in the process of joining her own Misty Blue's.

"It's a dislocation of the head from the neck and spinal cord, without actually removing the head from the body. It's used so that blood doesn't get shaken all over the place. You can use the edge of your hand with a quick karate chop action, or carry a 'donga'. That's a waddy stick, a length of..."

"I get the picture Blake!" she snapped with a hostile glare in his direction to cut him short.

"Perhaps you would like to go back out to the property and observe the operation first hand as it unfolds Mrs White."

The offer had come from big Jim, as some sort of token to appease her sensitivities.

"The APACO role is finished here," butted in the department's head honcho. "You no longer have any jurisdiction over that property."

Big Jim counterpunched, defending his own organisation.

"With all due respect Mr Tanner, I beg to differ. We are not governed by jurisdiction or policy. Where animal welfare is concerned, we have the right and the autonomy to enter any premises at any time, and we certainly have the right to see an operation through to its end."

"Your boy here," blurted the department's head, directing his attention and finger towards Blake, "is interfering and throwing petrol on the flames by allowing and encouraging this journalist to be out there in the first place, to publicise something which is better off left well alone."

The gauntlet had been thrown down and Blake had no other choice than to jump into the conflict and defend his actions.

"Don't point your finger at me mate, and tell me that I'm interfering, or tell us our jobs. If you people looked after your own backyard in the first place, then we wouldn't be having this meeting"

"The property is now under quarantine. It is now being handled effectively by my people. Your job is finished, so leave it alone!"

"Leave it alone! Who are you kidding? You have the gall to threaten me and my organisation. Let me tell you this mate..."

Blake was passionate about his responsibilities, and the department's head honcho was getting under his skin. He was on the edge of his seat, getting wound up, with fire in his eyes and his finger pointing back in the head honcho's direction.

"I can get in my car right now, and drive out to that property and sight a dozen inhumane methods of having those creatures put down. Right from the way your operator's drag those chooks out of their cages, to the ineffectiveness of killing them, and right through to how long it takes for those birds to die. Do you think for one minute that they all get their necks broken in one easy swing? Ha! Do you think they're all dead by the time their bodies are thrown into that pit and covered up? Yeah right."

Blake couldn't help himself. He was on a bombing raid. The target had been viewed, the green light was on, the flaps were open and the bombs were away and there was no way of stopping and no chance of turning around until the belly of the plane was empty.

"I suspect that you've never in your life participated in, let alone observed an eradication campaign under way. Let me assure you, it's not a pretty sight. I could video tape your sanctioned barbaric methods and prosecute your department in a court of law, any day of the week. So don't you sit here, all high and mighty with your fat cat salary and preach to me, because when push comes to shove, your word means nothing. At the end of the day, you're only here only to protect your fat arse."

The fuse had been lit and the table erupted into a degenerative slanging match.

"Okay people..."

Big Jim jumped to his feet, banging his open hand forcefully onto the table a couple of times to grab everyone's attention.

"I know we've only just sat down, but let's take a breather anyhow and have a spot of morning tea. But before you break..."

He waited again for everyone to settle.

"We've now had an update on the operation that's under way. So if there are any questions you need to ask, to either of these two fine veterinarians, then you'd better grab them now before they head back to the farm."

# Chapter 15

Chairs scrubbed on the wooden floors, as bodies rose to make their way to the urn and biscuits. Kristy was making her way towards Blake, just as the department's head honcho skulked close to his side.

"I'll have your job for this sonny boy," he said in a lowered voice.

Blake turned, snarling at him.

"Pay attention mate, I'm not in your department and you don't employ me."

Kristy was a little too close not to overhear the comment, and she probably smirked a little too obviously for the department's head honcho not to see, or to be irritated by.

"And I'll be talking to you about damage control a little later on young lady," he said quiet openly before moving off.

"I look forward to your interpretation of those words Mr Tanner, they should look good in print."

He stopped mid stride, took a deep breath and clenched his fists, but didn't turn his head or say a word before moving off again, however she knew he was cursing at her under his breath. In a way, he reminded her so much of Joe Scar.

"Did you lose your cool back there?" she asked. "Or was that some sort of role playing you were up too?"

"A bit of both I suppose."

"Seems to me, and to everyone else, that you hit him pretty hard."

"That bloke oversees this states entire agriculture and livestock departments. He isn't here to play tiddlywinks, besides, I only love-tapped him."

"Thanks for standing up for me."

"Probably won't be the last time today. Look, about the gory description earlier on, you know, about the rabbit punch. It was intended for Tanner's benefit. He looked really shaken up, I had to go with it and push his buttons. I'm sorry if you thought I was being callous towards you."

"It's truly horrible, Blake."

"I know. Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'll be fine as soon as I can get a cup of coffee."

"You look really hot by the way," he said to change the subject. "Have dinner with me?"

"Haven't we already played out this scene? What ended up happening to your friend last night?"

"She eventually went home."

They were both unaware of the third party who had snuck up on them, until he'd spoke, directing his conversation towards Kristy.

"My apologies for intruding upon a personal conversation Mrs White, but I thought I'd just let you both know how much I'm enjoying the opening proceedings..."

It was Joe Scar's Solicitor. He stood close by with a cup of tea and biscuit in hand.

"It's marvellous, I haven't had to say a word yet. How are you anyhow Mrs White, you looked a little ill at ease earlier on?"

"Well, it wasn't a pretty scene that was being described, was it?" she said, as Blake excused himself to get them both a cuppa.

"It's only the tip of the iceberg, Mrs White. It can get far uglier than that."

"Let's cut the crap counsellor, and stop all this cryptic nonsense. Your client had somebody contact me with a threatening phone call, and had my friend's brake lines cut. You have my attention. Exactly what is it that you and your client hope to achieve?"

"Well to begin with, I know nothing about your allegations..."

"Of course you don't."

"But my client ultimately wants immunity from prosecution of course."

"So if he's not prosecuted, then in the eyes of the law he's done nothing wrong, and we can't put his name in print, is that it?"

"I think you're starting to get the picture Mrs White."

"You want me to pretend that there's no story here? You've got to be joking. I have the green light from my editor and chief."

"Oh there's a story here all right, and a good one at that, but my only interest is to keep my client's good name and identity intact, and out of print."

"That could be difficult to do."

"Not if there's no prosecution."

It only seemed timely that Blake should arrived back while they were having the conversation around Joe Scar's possible prosecution. He handed her a coffee, with eyebrows raised and a frown on his forehead while laying a saucer of sweet biscuits down on the table beside her.

"Did I miss anything? Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Mr Dexter was about to enlighten me as to the real agenda here today."

"Oh I think you'll discover that all on your own Mrs White. You're a good reporter, and a very attractive one at that," he added as a double compliment. "The events are unfolding very nicely. It shouldn't be very hard for you to follow."

"Is it possible that your organisation won't prosecute Blake?"

She looked at him with disbelief, as he deliberately chewed a mouthful of biscuit to avoid answering the question, or to stall for time to come up with an appropriate answer.

"That's a really horrible thing that's happened. Surely your organisation can't turn a blind eye to it?"

Scar's solicitor didn't give Blake the opportunity of responding.

"It's a regular occurrence Mrs White, and something that the general public doesn't find out about. It's only because Senator Green wants the publicity that everybody's now in damage control. How do you think it is that the department can swing into action so quickly and efficiently with their quarantine and eradication procedures? It's because they've had plenty of practice. Isn't that right Mr James?"

She looked at Blake for conformation. Her eyes challenging him to say that it wasn't true.

"Unfortunately it does happen quite frequently."

"So you may not be prosecuting?"

"Kristy, I don't know. It's not up to me, I'm one of the pawns, not one of the players."

"So the video showing all that neglect and animal cruelty will be ignored?"

"It's leverage Mrs White," smirked the solicitor. "And by the way Mr James, I'll be asking that all electronic and hard copies of that video be deleted or handed over, as one of the settlement conditions. I'll also be arguing, as will Jack, the poultry industries senior field officer, that the neglect as you call it, was a simple knee jerk reaction in combating the early stages of disease."

Blake started to laugh and it disturbed her deeply. This was all a game, and in spite of his moral convictions, he knew it was a game, and a game which he more than likely couldn't win. There was no wonder he was stirring the pot. He intended to play the game the best he could, and squeeze out a good story for her in the bargain. What riled her the most however, was the fact that the real victims and losers here, were the poor dumb chooks which he was trying to get justice for.

"And one of your other conditions, would of course be my dismissal without any entitlements?"

"Naturally Mr James. Nothing personal you understand, but somebody has to be the fall guy. I mean, there's always a fall guy, and unfortunately for you, your vendetta to get even with the industry which has left a sour taste in your mouth, has been your undoing."

"Nice manoeuvre. You should be rubbing shoulders with the department's head honcho, he just swore to take my job too."

They seemed like a comfortable little duo. The two boys were bunting at one another's chests, joking around and jockeying for position over a cup of tea and a biscuit. It seemed all too bizarre and surreal to be happening. But on the other side of the room, three other men were in a heated debate and at obvious loggerheads with one another, as they constantly glanced and gestured in Blake's and her direction. She didn't like the negative energies which were emanating her way, and strangely, she felt more comfortable in the company of Scar's solicitor right now, than what she did with the two government bureaucrats. Big Jim was no doubt attempting to palliate their hostilities towards Blake's attack on their integrity and job security, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Looks like your comments earlier stirred up a real hornets nest. Your poor boss looks really frazzled."

"Yeah, but he can handle himself. He's a diplomat and a darn good negotiator. He'll get us a good deal for us at the end of the day."

"Just keep pushing buttons Mr James."

The solicitor tapped him on the shoulder with an encouraging grin, before wandering off in the direction of the other three men. Kristy waited until he was out of earshot before speaking.

"You're a strange character," she commented. "I seem to be getting mixed signals about who you really are."

There was a touch of admiration in her voice as she put her cup down, to free up her hands so she talk with their movements.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you seem to be so much in control, so strong with conviction and direction, so passionate about what you do. But on the other hand there's this, 'I'll cop it on the chin' attitude, which I just can't fathom."

She genuinely had to admire him, he stood out from all the rest. He was a true champion of animal rights, and wasn't afraid to speak his mind or tread on toes to get results, but he was also a compassionate and caring man with a heart of gold.

"I've thought a lot about that kiss," she said softly, edging her way into his space.

Blake weakened, dropping his guard. Her body was too close and its language too intimate not be noticed, but right at this very moment, he didn't care. He looked down into her eyes and locked onto their beauty as his brain searched for a suitable response. He thought of the stolen kiss, and broke the eye contact to glance at her lips. They quivered with a hunger and the expectation of his gentle touch. He couldn't accommodate them, not now, not here. Quickly he flashed a look in the other group's direction. They were distracted amongst themselves and unaware of the intimacy which was happening on the other side of the room, that is, with the possible exception of Jack. Jack's fleeting glances hinted of something more than just simple curiosity.

This was crazy, all of a sudden he couldn't think rationally. A flush of heat surged over his body, to prickle his skin uncomfortably and entice him to want to itch. Then just as quickly as the sensation had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the lure of perfume infiltrating his airways, to hook the olfactory receptors at the back of his nasal cavity, to leave him feeling light headed and carefree. He was a victim of his own endorphins, trapped in the moment with his eyes being hypnotically drawn to her exposed neck. So smooth and inviting, it teased and called his name from behind wispy lashes of glistening hair.

He couldn't help himself. He raised his hand and flicked the honey blond locks to one side with his fingers, and ever so quickly and gently, bowed his head and placed a soft kiss on the side of her neck. She didn't flinch, but as he withdrew from her space, he could see colour rising to her cheeks and a flush of goose bumps flash over her skin. Feeling like a foolish and guilty schoolboy, he glanced a look in the direction of where the others were congregated to see if they'd been caught out. The grin on Jack's face told him he had.

"There's another to add to your collection," he chuckled softly.

Kristy wavered on her feet, the trance broken. She felt light-headed and knew her face was flushed with colour and that her temperature was rising. His actions, although not totally unexpected, broke all acceptable protocol. It was naughty and exciting and it left her body feeling alive, however it did little to break the mounting sexual tension.

"Do you make a habit of stealing kisses Mr James?"

"Leave them begging for more, I always say Mrs White."

"If you don't intend to please, then you shouldn't tease, I always say."

"I still think you're hot..."

"And the mood is about to be broken," she commented. "Looks like the next round is about to begin."

# Chapter 16

Big Jim started right away.

"It seems logical that we now address Mr Scar's position, and our intended prosecution of him. I have seen and heard the commentary on the video, and I believe as Blake does, that we should go ahead and prosecute. Let me assure you gentlemen, if this goes to court, they won't like what they see."

He twisted his body in the seat, using his hands as a pointer as he continued.

"Mr Dexter who is representing his client Joe Scar, obviously thinks otherwise, as does Mr Tanner, the agricultural departments head man, and Jack Sproul, his senior poultry field officer for the department. It is their argument, that it was the disease which led to the neglect, and not the other way around. They are also inferring that our inspector, Blake James, wasn't suitably qualified to pass judgement on a commercial venture, and should be disciplined accordingly for creating this furore in the first place. We can look at the video, but it obviously won't change anyone's mind set, so the floor's open for discussion."

Kristy was first to ask a question.

"If there was no welfare issue to begin with, then how come twenty thousand laying hens are now about to be destroyed, with a heap more to follow?"

"Mr Scar was already in damage control when the APACO interfered," responded the solicitor. "He reported his suspicions to the poultry research facility, saying that his stock could possibly be diseased and asked for their assistance. I have a copy of that report."

Blake started to laugh.

"Oh yeah, when were they notified?"

"9.00am Monday morning."

"Yesterday! Well isn't that coincidental. We were already on site with a warrant which was issued three days earlier."

The poker faced solicitor opened his arms wide to acknowledge that fact.

"Yes that is true. The farm manager made the decision late Friday evening, when it became obvious that his methods weren't controlling the disease. Unfortunately government departments aren't open over the weekend, so there was nothing that could be done about the situation until 9.00am on Monday morning when they opened for business."

"Perhaps we should hear what the farm manager has to say about the whole situation?"

"Unfortunately he has been dismissed from his position for incompetence, and has already vacated the premises without leaving a forwarding address or any contact details."

Both Jack and the department's head honcho were smirking with satisfaction at the unfolding court room drama, but Kristy was still at a loss as to what was going on.

"So your client, Mr Scar, supposedly volunteered that his stock was diseased, and therefore had no other choice than to submit to the department's quarantine and eradication program," she asked for clarification. "He financially comes off the loser, is that correct?"

"Yes Mrs White, he comes out the loser big time, and that is prosecution enough, don't you think? You've got to remember that we're talking about a large commercial enterprise here. We're not talking about a solitary dog in somebody's backyard."

Blake saw the opening and jumped right in.

"Let's deal with all the facts than shall we. To begin with, it's the tax payers' money that forks out for all the costs associated with the quarantine of the property, and that's not chump change we're talking about. There is also a slush fund created by the industry, through a levy imposed upon every poultry farmer, which helps pays for any replacement stock."

He let those simple facts sink in, before going on.

"Furthermore, if Mr Scar hasn't got some sort of insurance in place to cover these sort of contingencies, or for loss of income, than he's a fool and a bad businessman. What's more, in the interim, this character gets a holiday until his property is cleaned up and given the all clear. Then on top of that, he gets industry loans, subsidisation and support until he's back on his feet again. All in all, a pretty soft landing if you ask me."

The room was silent. The solicitor's bluff had failed. Kristy looked around the faces, from one to another, to direct her attention to the only other man in the room who could possibly give her a straight answer, to the guy who had given her a special look earlier on, Jack Sproul, the poultry industries senior field officer.

"Is that correct Jack?"

"That is the policy, yes. It was created to give our industry group a safety net, but I don't know about the income protection which he may, or may not have carried."

"He had no such policy," broke in the solicitor. "Well... we all know what insurance premiums are like, don't we?"

She caught Jack's look of disbelief at the solicitor's answer, but said nothing further. It was obvious to her that Barry Dexter would do and say what he had to, to clear his client's name.

"So without some sort of income protection, he would come out the loser, is that correct," she asked Jack in a much softer tone.

She was feeling ashamed with herself for having harshly judged Jack. His face was honest, he was eager to talk to her and she could sense that he was genuinely attracted to her. He came across as the silent background type whose feelings would be easily hurt. She kept her eyes upon him as he answered.

"Oh yes big time. If that were the case, then we're talking hundreds of thousands of dollars until he gets back into production again."

"Blake!" asked Jim for conformation of such a large dollar value.

"Couple of weeks quarantine, a couple of weeks of stabilisation and rest, a couple of weeks to clean out the sheds and get ready for the point of lay pullets to come in..."

"There's six to eight weeks already just to get to that point," interjected Jack, nodding his head in agreement.

"The real problem however, begins with such a large replacement order, even if they are in staggered batches. There wouldn't be that number of point-of-lay pullets just floating around in the market place."

"They would have to be ordered from the hatchery," offered Jack again.

"He's right. Worst possible scenario of having to replace the lot could cost Mr Scar five to six months of time and income. Yes, without income protection, and with the laying farm being his only source of income, he'd be in financial stress"

"So, a lot of money then," asked big Jim again.

"Put it this way, if you believe what Mr Dexter is saying, then it would make our piddly maximum fine of ten thousand dollars, plus court costs, look insignificant."

"My point exactly Mr James. My client has suffered financially enough. He does not have income insurance, and he did not deliberately set out to cut his own throat by neglecting his stock. That would be foolhardy. And he doesn't deserve to have insult added to injury, by being hauled through the courts to have his good name tarnished by bad publicity. Look, what happened on Mr Scar's farm could happen to anyone, and I won't allow your organisation to make him the victim."

"I take your point and I agree with you in part Mr Dexter," responded big Jim. "However I still have to pass all of this onto, not only the board, but also to Senator Green, to seek his counsel whether to prosecute or not.

The department's head honcho was waiting in the wings, and came in for the jugular.

"That's BS. You're bluffing. Your organisation has the autonomy to make its own decisions and my senior poultry field officer will swear in a court of law that your boy got it all wrong, and we all know who they'd believe. You can report back to your bleeding-heart senator that your boy bungled his assignment and has been duly dismissed for his incompetence. You tell that publicity seeking greenie, that this industry is in good hands and to take his witch hunt someplace else."

The solicitor sided with the department's head honcho, to further stir the pot, emphasising that the senator was only after cheap publicity and votes at the expense of his client.

"He needs a conviction," spat out the department's head honcho. "And he needs this little lady to write an emotive article, sensationalising what she has seen, and have it published in a national newspaper to get his voters on side. That would make him look like a crusader in their eyes, and allow him to big note himself on the floors of parliament."

Blake sat silent, it was all true. He looked at the concerned face of his boss, admiring his judgement to tell a white lie about the senator having the last say, even if it did make him look a bit foolish. All the cards were now coming out on the table and only Kristy was left to appreciate the full picture of what was going on.

"So the senator is the bad egg?" she asked to nobody in particular. "He's the reason why we're all here together?"

"By Jove, I think she's finally got it," wisecracked the department's head honcho, much to Jack's distaste.

"So maybe my newspaper should also be going after him."

The department's head honcho's tone and reply was much more subdued.

"Well you shouldn't be helping his short term political career by undermining an industry which has effectively been operating for over seventy years, and one which keeps improving. We have an established system in place Mrs White. Politicians come and go, and believe me, this bludger won't last long."

"So let me see if I've got this right," she said. "Just so I know how it is that I happen to be here, and what it is that everybody expects from me. Quite frankly I'm getting the impression that everybody is manipulating and using each other."

She glanced around at the supercilious grins as she started her summation.

"The senator wants to draw attention to himself and gain free publicity at the expense of the poultry industry. He needs the APACO to prosecute to be able to get that publicity, and he doesn't care who they prosecute. It just so happened the timing of events were right for it to be Mr Scar's turn."

"Smack on Mrs White, luck of the draw," said the solicitor.

"Maybe, maybe not," broke in Blake. "Your client does have a bad history."

"Let her go on," prompted big Jim to short circuit an argument.

"However a prosecution, or any number of prosecutions is ineffective unless it is accompanied by damaging publicity. That is where I enter the game. It just so happens that I was picked, because as you so aptly put it Mr Tanner when I first walked in..."

Kristy turned her notepad pages back to the start.

"I'm the bloody female journalist with a bleeding heart to screw you over."

They all laughed together as they had done the first time. Jim broke up the jocularity with his now familiar line.

"Sorry Mrs White, please go on."

"My existence as a journalist upset Mr Scar and his solicitor," she said giving Dexter the evil eye. "Their initial reaction was to offer Blake and his organisation a bribe to induce them to turn a blind eye. When that didn't work, they began a campaign of intimidation with threats which would ultimately result in a colleague of mine having the brake lines of his car tampered with."

Everyone in the room looked at the solicitor with disbelief. He quickly denied the allegations.

"Careful Mrs White. I know nothing about that. I simply insisted that you should attend this meeting today."

"To see the real agenda, as you so eloquently put it Mr Dexter. Okay, so now I see the picture. You've drawn my attention to the bigger fish that are swimming around in the pond. However, to get your client completely off the hook, he has to be found not guilty of any animal welfare neglect or abuse allegations directed at him by the APACO. Which in turn means that I can't print your client's name, or any association to him in any article that I may happen to run."

"That's all we're asking for," repeated the solicitor directing his comments toward big Jim. "Immunity from prosecution."

"As I also understand it, the two bureaucrats are on the same side. Neither of them wants bad publicity, they simply want everything to stay as it is within the confines of their own industry. I can also understand that they don't want any external interference, and can appreciate in particular that they don't want a newly elected politician, or any other animal welfare group for that matter, upsetting their status quo."

She took a breather for a few seconds as they waited for her to wind up her findings. Events had come full circle.

"I currently appear to be the thorn in everybody's side. Because of Mr Scar's action, my editor is now totally invested and demands some sort of a good story, so I can't back down. It seems to me though, that if the APACO lets Mr Scar off, then he wins but they lose, as does the senator at the expense of the industry bureaucrats. If that is the case then there's not much of a story for my newspaper. But on the other hand, if the APACO goes ahead and prosecutes, then they win and Mr Scar loses, as does the bureaucrats at the expense of the smiling senator. Of course for my paper's sake, and for a good ongoing story of political skulduggery, that outcome would work the best."

Big Jim rose from the table to make an announcement.

"Well put Mrs White. Everyone wants an outcome, and that's why we're meeting today to short circuit any nasty events. I think it's now time to negotiate gentlemen, but we might take a short break first to collect our thoughts. Blake, can I see you for a moment."

He pulled Blake aside to leave Kristy with the solicitor idling off in the direction of the urn and biscuits once again. Jack and the departmental head stayed where they were to talk in soft tones.

"We can't go through all this and come out empty handed," said big Jim.

"I know that boss. You do whatever you have to do."

"They may insist on your dismissal."

"Then tell them that you agree. Give me a week's holiday and then re-employ me with another title and more pay."

"Done," he grinned. "But we'll have to let Mr Scar go."

"He'll come across with a good donation. I've already mentioned a figure of ten thousand dollars."

"Yeah that was great, but could be a bit rich."

"He was willing to offer me a bribe yesterday, and he threatened the girl. That's real cheap to keep his name out of the papers."

"True, and the bureaucrats don't want any aggravation either. No reason why they shouldn't contribute something from their slush fund, just to put an end to this."

"What do you suggest?"

"We could do with a new van, or maybe upgrade our x-ray machine."

"I'll leave all that up to you Jim, that's what you're good at."

"They won't want you at the table while we're negotiating."

"The journo shouldn't be there, or Jack either, it's too incriminating."

"Jack won't be there, but Mr Dexter won't let Mrs White leave until after we drop our pending action. She's actually the ace up our sleeve for the moment. I'd better have a little chat with Mr Dexter right now."

Big Jim headed off in the solicitor's direction. Dexter had rotated around for a one on one talk with the department's head honcho, so it was probably timely that the three negotiators got together informally before going behind closed doors. Kristy was now being entertained by Jack and it was blatantly obvious he was interested in her. She was chatting and laughing quiet comfortably, with body language suggesting she was reciprocating his advances, and Blake had to admit to himself that he was feeling the twinges of jealousy.

"Looks like we'll be sitting the next round out," he said reaching for a cuppa.

"I'd like to know how it all ends," she commented.

"I think you'll be privy to a bit more, but Jack's part and mine may be over. Bit of a horrible mess you've got out there mate."

It was the first opportunity he'd had to talk to his counterpart, without his guard being up, since being introduced this morning.

"Yeah, it isn't pretty that's for sure."

"Well if you get caught short with manpower and need a hand, then feel free to give us a holla. We're all on the same side."

"I appreciate your sentiment, and there's no hard feelings, but you may not be around to follow that offer through."

Blake laughed at his seriousness.

"Come on lighten up Jack, it's all one big game. Besides even if I'm not around, the organisation will be, and we really don't mind pitching in. After all, fifty percent of our funding comes from state and federal revenue, so in effect it's the taxpayers' money, just like yours."

"That's interesting," interjected Kristy. "Where does the other fifty percent come from?" "Donations. Donations from caring folks like yourself, or from organisations who may happen to feel charitable."

"Talking about charitable, that group over there looks anything but."

"They're arguing about you Mrs White," said the smitten Jack.

"What about me?"

"You've seen too much which can benefit Senator Green's cause. They know you have to write something, the question is, what will you write?"

"The truth of course."

"Then maybe you should experience and see the whole industry, and not just one section of it as Senator Green would have you do."

"That's a very good idea, I'd like that."

"Perhaps you should begin where you left off. Come and see for yourself the quarantine and eradication campaign in full swing. Then you will have an appreciation of the lengths we go to, to protect our industry from disease. I'm quite sure Blake would guide you through it, if he's still around after today, and even if he's not, then I'd be more than delighted to be your guide."

In that instant, Kristy saw her bargaining position, the path of her article, and a way of repaying Blake and his organisation. Bugger the senator, he wasn't here to represent himself or his interests, as these others were. He was a manipulating overlord who used others to do his dirty work, and all for his own very selfish and shallow reasons. She smiled with a true personal satisfaction for the first time today, letting her mind wander as Jack and Blake chewed the fat.

She was actually pleased that Blake hadn't come over to her house last night. Lauren had turned out to be uncontactable, but Simon had turned up on her door step unannounced at around 8.00pm. First and foremost he wanted to fill her in on the saga of his brake lines being cut, with an investigation which had led to a dead end anyhow, but more importantly, it had given him an excuse to see her. He'd bought her a bunch of flowers, to thank her for her warning and concern, but had also brought along a bottle of wine.

After the way things had been left between them earlier that morning when he'd dropped her off, it had been nice to see him face to face, to set thing right and to get their relationship back onto its old footing. And although she'd already eaten, she still brought out the finger nibblies, in an attempt to stop herself from getting tipsy from drinking too much and saying things that perhaps she shouldn't be saying. She had said them anyhow, letting him know that he was a gorgeous guy and a good friend who she couldn't possibly do without, that she was sorry for how she'd treated him, and that she never wanted to ever hurt him again.

She had opened up to him, confessing her newly surfaced feelings towards Blake. And he had listened without interference, or without any jealousy as a good friend should, and for the first time, she'd kissed him good night. It was a quick kiss on the lips, followed by a soulful hug and a thank you on the steps of the front door as she was seeing him off. It was a kiss that probably said more than just, good night dear friend, however it didn't linger or contain any sexual undercurrents. And she didn't apologise for her actions either, but instead made some throw away comment like, "now look what that wine's made me go and do," to which he'd laughed and responded, "it's so good to see you like this again. Jeremy would be so pleased." It felt as if it had been Simon's approval which she'd been seeking all along, and his words last night, told her that she had travelled full circle. She loved him dearly and always would.

"Looks like the next round is about to get under way," said Blake.

The revelation startled her back to reality as the trio marched over and big Jim spoke.

"We've kind of reached an agreement amongst ourselves, which warrants a little more discussion with Mrs White. These discussions don't require you two chaps to attend, but for the next thirty minutes or so, it would probably be a good idea to stay close by just in case the situation changes."

"Ok," confirmed Blake. "If Jack's interested, we'll grab a change of scenery and duck across the road to the cafeteria, where I'll shout him to a decent cup of coffee."

Blake could see Kristy's alarm bells going off. She shifted uncomfortably in the knowledge that her main ally was leaving the fray, but she also knew he was on her side, and she knew where to find him when she came out of the meeting.

# Chapter 17

"So," said Jack, five minutes later as they sat outside on the park bench with cups of coffee in their hand. "Tell me about Kristy White."

"What you're asking, is do I have anything going on with Kristy White."

"She's a very spirited and attractive lady."

"Yes she is, and no, I don't currently have a relationship with her, but that's not to say I'm not interested."

"I saw the way you two were looking at one another, before you kissed her on the neck earlier on. Have you been seeing her long?"

"I only met her yesterday Jack, so she's a free agent."

Technically he'd met her on the Friday night at the hypnotist show, and although those four days seemed like it was an eternity ago, she was already under his skin and embedded in his psyche.

"So you won't be offended if I throw my hat into the ring and vie for her affections?"

"That's mighty courteous of you to ask my permission Jack, but it's really not up to me, is it?"

Blake was starting to feel annoyed. He knew his counterpart had just offered him a challenge to a real game where negotiations didn't take place, a game of emotions and of the heart where the loser came out as the loser. He instantly felt a nauseousness in the pit of his stomach, as he visualised the two of them physically close together as they had been less than fifteen minutes ago, chatting and laughing on the boardroom floor with Kristy reciprocating his advances.

"I just didn't want there to be any misunderstanding, or hard feelings between us, that's all," responded Jack.

For a few long seconds there was silence as they both sipped their coffee and soaked up the glorious late morning sun, but his mind was still being tormented elsewhere. The imagery yesterday of Kristy sitting in the wash tub and of the stolen kiss, became fuzzy and somehow melded itself into the debacle at the coffee lounge with the ramblings of an insanely jealous woman. The imagery not so long ago with the closeness of their bodies as he had kissed her neck, somehow morphed itself into a scene of Jack being with her, and with Jack kissing her neck.

"We'll find a job for you at the department if you're put off."

Blake was genuinely surprised and warmed by Jack's sentiment. Jack was perceptive enough to realise that something was troubling him, but he'd misinterpreted his brooding quietness as a concern about losing his job.

"Why would you do that? I was under the impression that we clashed with our opinions."

"Not at all. You're very good at what you do. That bastard deserves to be prosecuted."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence Jack, and for the offer, but I'll be hanging onto my job one way or the other. I can assure you of that."

"Just so long as you know, just in case things go sour."

"We could turn out to be good friends, do you know that?"

"Or maybe arch enemies if we chased the same woman."

Kristy was the new common denominator in both their lives, and for a few minutes they chuckled about their rivalry, with Jack opening up a little about his past. Like so many others, his heart had been broken, but those wounds had since healed and now he was out in the social scene once again, searching for that special woman to make is world complete. He came across as a likeable and decent human being, and nothing like the image he had projected not long ago whilst in the company of his employer Mr Tanner, the agricultural department's head honcho. Blake wondered if he could somehow side track Jack from being interested in Kristy, by introducing him to Amanda, but that would probably be too cruel. And what was he going to do about Amanda anyhow, now that she had written that letter? It had only been her possessive jealousy which had made her undesirable and challenging to deal with in the first place. Now that she had taken the first steps and acknowledged she had a problem, perhaps she could outgrow, or modify her behaviour.

He broke his thought process. Kristy was dodging traffic and bouncing her way across the road towards them. Jack had seen her too and was also admiring her beauty. How pathetic they both must look. A visual imagery of two pups being restrained by choker chains on long leashes, and seeing their mistress coming towards them, sprung to his mind. The closer she got, the more excited the pups got, to lung in her direction, to leap off the ground with tongues flapping and tails wagging, and whimpering for her attention to be picked up and cuddled. He felt just like one of those pups.

"What's going on?" she asked.

She looked from him, to Jack, and back at him again waiting for an answer. She was perceptive enough to know what was going on. She knew they'd been talking about her, and knew they were both waiting for her to turn up.

"Oh nothing," he answered "We were just waiting for the messenger."

"Well it's all good news. Everyone comes out a winner."

She was busting out all over for someone to ask.

"Well?" they both asked in unison.

"Well, you get to keep your job."

She touched him on the arm as she spoke, bubbling with delight as if it were all her own doing.

"Oh, and before I forget, Jim wants to see you as soon as possible."

"There must be more," prompted Jack. "You're bouncing out of your skin."

"Yes there is. Thanks to you Jack, I get to do a complete exposé on the whole industry, from the grass roots level, right up to the parliament step with all its political wheeling and dealing. Then I get to make up my own mind about Senator Green. Oh, I'm so excited. Mr Tanner wants you to guide me through it all, and to take me wherever it is I've got to go."

Blake grimaced. She really didn't have to make her appreciation to Jack so damn obvious. She didn't have to touch him. The cunning bugger, he'd instigated this, he'd set the whole thing up. No wonder he had asked those questions about her earlier on.

Blake knew that he shouldn't be feeling like he was, but he couldn't help himself. It was the look she was sharing with him right now which was stirring the unrest of the green-eyed monster within him. It felt as if she had taken a pointed stick and was jabbing it in his direction to deliberately provoke the creature. He had to be happy for her though, and of course Jack was delighted. She had released his choker chain first.

"Then perhaps we should take advantage of this glorious day, and slip out to the farm right now, to see a not so glorious sight before it's all gone," suggested Jack.

The conversations from then on became all mixed and muddled, and churned around in Blake's head like mud.

"I'll follow you out in my car then."

"Nice to have met you Blake."

"What about gumboots and protective clothing."

"No worries, it's all supplied at the front gate."

"Yeah, nice to have met you too Jack."

"I'll need a video of what I see."

"We have our own cameraman."

"We'll do lunch another time."

"Don't forget that Jim's waiting for you."

"See yar."

"I'll ring you later."

"Bye."

Then, just like that, she was gone, whisked away by the victor.

~ ~ ~

Kristy was on automatic pilot, and was being swept along by the current of events which were unfolding around her. Before she realised what she was actually doing, she was in her car, following Jack out of the car park. She had left Blake in the lurch, virtually running out on him and abandoned the connection which they'd previously formed. What did he expect from her anyhow, and what was she feeling so guilty about? She was a free agent. She didn't owe Blake or anyone else an explanation. Besides, this was her job, and Jack had presented her with a golden opportunity to do a complete story. She couldn't pass that up, and if she was excited about spending time alone with Jack, then that was also her business. But that's what this was all about, wasn't it? Blake was jealous another man had focused his attentions in her direction. In a way she should have felt flattered, but if anything she now felt slightly annoyed.

She pulled up behind Jack at the exit of the car park, and waited for him to give way to the oncoming street traffic. Quickly she looked at herself in the rear vision mirror, to grab a tissue, fold it, and dampen its point with her tongue, to wipe a smear of mascara from the corner of her eye before then reaching for the lippy. It wasn't as if Blake had been strictly honest with her either. Sure, he said Amanda had eventually gone home last night, but there was more to the story than that, wasn't there? Did he think she hadn't noticed the smudged red lipstick on his jumper and jeans? Did he think she couldn't detect another woman's perfume on his body and clothing? There was something amiss, but she wasn't going to question him to come clean with an explanation.

Kristy rolled her lips and dumped the lippy, Jack was moving off. She followed a few seconds later, dipping the nose of her car into the gutter and turning left into the street. The lights up the road to her right were red, so there was no oncoming traffic and she had plenty of time without any distractions to power away up the street, but she couldn't. Jack had made sure of that, he hadn't accelerated away, but instead was moving slowly in the curb side lane and waiting for her to catch up. It would have been so much easier if they had turned right, away from the cafeteria, instead of to the left. Blake still sat there at the same bench, and she had to cut straight across his line of vision, and within ten metres of his physical body. She couldn't ignore him, couldn't pretend that she was distracted by traffic, or that she was oblivious to his location. Jack had made it only too obvious by tooting his horn, with a wave of goodbye in his direction.

He had a thin smile on his face, but his body language reflected the anxiety of a spooked animal which was unsettled and primed for flight. What was he thinking, as he raised his hand in silence to wave her off, that he wasn't going to see her again? He had the same lost and confused look on his face now, as he had yesterday when she'd abandoned him in the chook shed before Simon had driven her home. "I'll ring you tonight," she mimed loudly with a wave from behind the wound up window. The broad grin that radiated across his face was instantaneous, and his whole demeanour changed to that of an excited pup. She watched him in the rear vision mirror as she picked up speed and sped away, feeling a warmness radiating through her body as she observed him bounce off the seat, to stand on the footpath edge, looking in her direction and waiting until she was out of sight before crossing the road. His insecurities reminded her so much of her dearly departed husband in the early days of their relationship.

~ ~ ~

He felt sure he'd read her lips correctly as she'd sped away. She said she would ring him tonight, so why was he feeling so conflicted. What did he want from her anyhow, her oath in blood? She was a free agent. If she wanted to see Jack and spend time with him, then surely that was okay, but she didn't have to have sounded so keen about going off with the guy. Anyhow at this point, she was only researching information for a series of articles, and Jack was only in the picture as her guide. Jack however had made his intentions quite clear, and if the truth be known, it was probably Jack's challenge which was rattling him most of all.

Blake pushed his way into the front door of his building and headed for Jim's office. He tried to reinforce in his brain that she said she'd ring him tonight, but that still didn't alleviate the disquiet he was feeling. He knew that Jack would be spending a lot of time with her over the next couple of days. All was fair in love and war, and Jack would be taking advantage of the situation to ask her out on a formal date as soon as possible.

"Come in Blake."

Big Jim was bubbling with the same excitement he'd just seen in Kristy a few minutes ago.

"Struth," he said offering Blake a scotch. "If your bottom lip was any lower, you'd be treading on it."

"Sorry, is it that obvious?"

"The little lady upsetting you?"

"She's gone off with Jack."

Big Jim started to laugh.

"Oh come on. It's obvious to everyone how smitten she is with you, and you of her. I saw that on the video, and saw the way you were both looking at one another earlier this morning. I reckon you might be overreacting. Jack's just a temporary thorn in your side, that's all."

"How temporary?"

"Till the end of the week, then she's off to Canberra. I don't know if Jack's chaperoning her or not, but the department's head honcho has organised a guided tour for her to see how things work in his neck of the woods."

"So it all worked out?"

"Yes, we got our generous donation from both parties and you got to keep your job. Mrs White was quiet insistent about that, she's a really good negotiator."

"And the senator?"

"I'll have to tell him of our finding, and also inform him that we won't be prosecuting, and the reasons why. He'll be expecting the news anyhow, but with all the controversy he's caused, he'll still be viewing it as a personal win. He certainly rattled some minister's cages, and in his underhanded way he's let his peers know that he shouldn't be taken too lightly. I have no doubt in my mind that your little lady will prove to be as much a thorn in his side, as you currently feel Jack is in yours."

"Thanks Jim, I know that we don't always see eye to eye, but I do appreciate your sentiments."

"She gorgeous Blake. It's a shame Mr Scar's solicitor impounded our only two copies of the video Howard filmed yesterday. She may have appreciated seeing the way you both looked at one another, you know, as a keepsake for the future."

Blake smiled warmly with the association of the thought.

"Yeah, that's a real shame," he responded.

~ ~ ~

Kristy was still thinking about Blake's reaction, right up until she reached the point where the freeway started. The sign displaying, Windsor - twenty kilometres, with an arrow pointing straight ahead, cut the psychoanalysing process. All at once, the horrible reality of what she had already seen and experienced yesterday, and of what was waiting for her to see as Blake had described it, came crashing into her mind.

She attempted to mentally and emotionally prepare herself for what was to come, psyching herself to be the detached professional journalist which she had to be, to get through the battle which was just up ahead. Twenty minutes later they were at the front gate of the property. 

# Chapter 18

They entered the gate to be signed in, and issued with gumboots and protective disposable plastic head to toe one piece suits, where one size fitted all. The suits felt really weird, particularly with a skirt on, but at least the plastic was of a frosty white colour and not transparent, otherwise it would have proved to be really embarrassing. The fork of her suit sat particularly high, to pull uncomfortably at her crutch and pucker out her bulky woollen skirt underneath. It gave the illusion that she had a pear shaped body and was anything but flattering, but then again, the sight that she had come to see today, was also anything but flattering.

They headed towards the first shed with Jack chattering away excitedly and creating small talk. The whole picture had changed. The images and psychological impact were nothing as compared to those of yesterday, and that probably had a lot to do with the contrast of the weather. The huge doors were also open at both ends, and the whole shed was full of natural light and ventilation. Upon entering the mouth of the shed, it was obvious to Kristy that now, without her senses being overloaded and assaulted, it would be possible to be analytical, just so long as she kept her distance from the slaughter.

"I thought that maybe we'd get a bite to eat after all this," said Jack. "Perhaps an early dinner to talk about what you should see, and for me to give you a bit of background information on what's going on."

"That would be nice thanks Jack, but let's just wait and see how I react to this death camp first. I may end up not feeling like doing anything."

This was like déjà vu. An attractive man offering her a dinner proposal amongst an environment of dead, dying and diseased chooks. But this proposal was different. It lacked the barbaric dramatics, the reactive spark and passion of the moment. This proposal was civilised and pre-empted.

Jack had started his introductory talk by the time they had reached the spot where she had lost her footing in the quagmire only yesterday. Oh God, that event, and what had followed had been so exciting and charged with so much sexual tension, that it would be impossible to duplicate, and even more impossible to capture those feelings again. How had Blake made her feel like that?

"So, the fellas firstly make their way along the aisles, just eliminating the obvious diseased fowls..."

Of course she was listening to him, and what her brain wasn't taking in, her tape recorder was capturing anyhow. But her mind was elsewhere. She was observing his mannerisms, his professionalism, and whatever else it was about him which she was attracted to. Perhaps though, she was using him as a yardstick for comparison to Blake. Two men in the same situation, both good looking and masculine, both intelligent, caring and charming, and both attracted to her. One ignited an instantaneous sexual spark, the other didn't, but surely that didn't matter. She knew that she could quite easily develop deep feelings for both of them.

"Then the motorised trailers come through, and they throw in the dead..."

Blake currently had a distraction with Amanda, and from what Jack had already offered of himself, he was a clean-skin without any ties at all. She knew the two men had been talking about her, and could sense there was already a rivalry in place. It would be interesting to see what Blake's next move would be, particularly now that Jack had control over her for the next couple of days. Perhaps he would throw in the towel, and she didn't want. Or perhaps he would turn out to be just as jealous and possessive as Amanda was now, and as Simon had previously been, and she didn't want that either.

"What happens to all the eggs?"

"They'll all be dumped and broken under the cages, and then quick limed."

"There're hundreds of thousands of them. It's such a waste."

"Yes, but it's all necessary. Nothing is allowed off the place while it is in quarantine, so if you want an omelette, you'll have to cook it right here," he chuckled.

He had a sense of humour, she liked that. And she liked the fact he'd been sensitive enough to deliberately choose isles to walk down, which had already been worked and cleaned up of dead carcasses.

"When do they get destroyed?" she asked.

"Well the feed has already been turned off and the water is rationed, so in a couple of days there will be no more laying, and that's when the eggs are destroyed."

To emphasise his point, Jack picked one up, to juggle it around in his hands while he talked.

"That's also when the fumigation and general sanitation begins, so if you want an egg fight, that'd be the best time to come back."

Having said that, he then deliberately fumbled and dropped the egg, to watch its fragile shell explode onto her white gumboot and spew yellow yolk all over the place.

"Woops," he said cheekily. "Clumsy me."

Kristy responded, snatching up an egg in each hand, but resisted the temptation to start hurling them. She consciously quashed the adrenalin surge of excitement, but grinned at his playful attempt to involve her in his flirting process. He was a lot like Blake with his larrikin mischievous ways. It would be impossible not to warm to him.

"Come on then, now that you've got a smile on your face, it's time to see what we've been skirting around."

He led her towards the shed's exit, steering her deliberately away from the carnage which was occurring on the other side. She had no desire to see the method used in the killing of the birds in an up close and personal way, but it was a normal human reaction to be drawn with morbid fascination to a horrible scene. As they began to exit the door, her head instinctively turned in that direction, and her eyes locked momentarily onto the mechanics of what was going on. To the workers, it was no doubt just a routine boring job of rhythm. Open the cage, ignore the confusion, drag out the chook, swing the donga, drop the chook, don't look back and then do it all over again, and again. The aisles behind the workers were literally littered with white feathered bodies. The ones way back lay unmoving, the ones mid-distance still twitched, while the ones recently cast aside, danced and threw themselves about with their death throws. The sight gave new meaning to the saying, 'running around like a chook with its head cut off.'

Kristy felt her stomach tighten as she swallowed hard to resist the rising nauseousness. Jack grabbed her by the arm as she went down on one knee to alleviate the churning cramp in her stomach. Resting her head in the palm of her hand, she closed her eyes tightly to block out the vision, breathing rapidly and panting through her mouth while swallowing hard to stop the taste of rising bile. It did the trick, her stomach cramp eased and the sensation passed. She took a deep breath and stood to her feet.

"Sorry," she apologised. "That wasn't very courageous of me, was it?"

He still held onto her arm with a genuinely concerned look on his face.

"Perhaps I'd better not take you to the burial site then?"

"No, I'm sure I'll be okay. It's not the dead ones. I think it's the callous disregard for the poor creatures in their dying that's got to me."

She was thinking of the contrast of how she'd lovingly held Misty Blue in her arms, with a tear drop to send its little soul off on a new journey.

"Well, we won't look back," he said, shielding her body from the sight, to guide her off in the direction of the working bulldozers.

As they walked the hundred odd metres towards the trenches, Kristy was conscious of the continual coming and going of the motorised trailers with their dead feathered cargo inside, but really paid no attention to them, at least not until she had reached the current burial site.

"This is how we dispose of the bodies..."

They stood on the edge of the crumbly precipice, looking possibly four metres down upon a sea of bodies. It gave the illusion of a rocking hypnotic ocean, with a sickly magnetism to draw her into its heart. Thank goodness Jack was holding onto her elbow, and now gripping her even tighter as a motorised trailer roared into view to make her nervously jump. It reversed into position only metres from where they stood, and Jack had to speak loudly above the noise of its tilt trailer hydraulically lifting into the air to dump its cargo. Lifeless forms tumbled and crashed from its bowels without dignity, their bodies separating from each other to thump unceremoniously onto the loose earthen pitch of the trench, to then roll ungracefully and splash into the wobbly feathered sea.

"This pit will hold about five thousand birds, and then we'll start on another..."

So many bodies all in the one place. Such needless waste. Scar was responsible for this. He had gotten off without prosecution. Where was the justice?

"Then we'll quicklime the lot, back fill and compact everything with the bulldozer..."

This wasn't fair. She had laid her Misty Blue to rest with dignity and love. She had grieved for the animal's soul, and was going to plant a camellia shrub as a reminder of what they'd shared together. This wasn't right, nobody was going to plant one tree, let alone twenty thousand trees.

It was then that the dehydration and the magnified heat inside of her plastic suit, joined forces with the sound of the buzzing blowflies and the rising smell of death from the pit, to hit her all at once. Jack was quoting some disgusting scientific fact about the containment of leachate and its seepage into the substrata, something about the dissolving of poisonous gases as a result of decomposition of the bodies, when she'd first projectile vomited. He certainly hadn't been expecting it, neither had she. It came out of nowhere, no doubt precipitated by the accumulative effects of her senses being overloaded. She couldn't stop, and even after her stomach was empty, she continued to dry retch. All she could think about was that she was dying, that nobody cared, and that her body would be dumped into that pit of despair.

Jack had to drive her home in her car. She was so physically debilitated that her vision was blurred, she was light-headed and her body was left shaking and weak. He had kindly stayed with her until her crisis had passed, and even after his assistant had turned up to pick him up, he'd only left with her insistence that she would be fine. After they had left, she had turned off her mobile, taken the house phone off the hook, and had lain down under the covers of her bed for an hour's rest.

# Chapter 19

It was his fault Kristy hadn't rung. She simply didn't want to talk to him, he had probably come across as being too needy. If anything he had been sulking and acting just like Amanda, but without the verbal abuse. He had thought about ringing her, but that wasn't the arrangement, and he didn't want to take the risk of her not answering his call, to let it go through to voice mail. What message would he leave if it did? And what would she think - that he was checking up on her and Jack? Well that wouldn't have been too far from the truth. Perhaps the two of them were already out for the evening, having a meal and a glass of wine while discussing business and getting to know each other.

Blake stopped the thought process. He was being over the top and creating scenarios in his head which would only lead to torment. Jim was right though, he was smitten by her, and she was under his skin like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Jack had won the first round, so he may as well put them both out of his head for the time being. And it wasn't any good procrastinating about what he had to do right now either. Amanda was waiting for him to turn up. She was delighted he had rung, and if he wanted to be strictly honest with himself, he was using her as a reason to not only get out of the house for a while, but also as a distraction to stop himself thinking about Kristy.

He drove the short ten minutes to her house and pulled up in the driveway, to see her come bouncing out of the front door and down the stairs to greet him.

"I'm so pleased you came over," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck.

He had to admit, the welcome did feel good, but Amanda was like that, she could make him feel really special, just as long as there was no other woman around.

"I'm only here to talk about what you wrote in your letter. I can hang around long enough for a cup of coffee, but then I've got to go"

She looked stunning, she always did, and just for a couple of seconds his guard came down and his willpower nearly crumbled to the scent of her perfume. He disengaged her arms from around his neck.

"Are you seeing her, Blake?"

"No Amanda, I'm not. I'm not seeing anyone and I'm not seeing you. I meant what I said yesterday about it being over between us."

"But you have come to see me, and you forgive me, don't you?"

She seemed physically relieved as she wrapped her arms around his elbow to guide him into the house. There was something different about her approach, which indicated she needed to share something with him, so he went with his instinct.

"Yeah, I suppose I do. Everybody gets a bit needy and over the top sometimes, and they usually end up doing crazy things."

"My relationship counsellor said the same thing. I went to see her again this morning. She said I still have an abandonment issue which I need to come to grips with, and that I still roleplay and identify as the victim."

She was being strictly honest and his heart went out to her. He had no idea she was seeing a counsellor, but something had been triggered in that consultation and now she needed to get that something off her chest. She sat close by his side on the couch, clasping his hands as she begun to relive the freshly churned up cycle of abandonment events which were holding her captive. She stared vacantly into her lap, seeing herself as the unwanted child who was desperately seeking, firstly her mother's love, and then that of her father's.

"My counsellor is using hypnotherapy on me to change the way I perceive things. The truth is, my mother never wanted me, and she constantly reminded me of that fact. She botched two abortion attempts before I was even born. In her eyes, I became the wicked child who was always in the way. As a result, I was always being punished, or being locked in my room while she made out with drunken strangers, or being left on my own while she went out looking for company."

Blake felt his own mood swing as his shoulders physically slumped.

"I always thought it was my fault, always thought that I didn't try hard enough. I was only seven when she dumped me at my father's place. Except for a tattered photograph that I carried everywhere, I'd never seen him before, and as it turned out, he didn't want me either. I was just another burden. I became the whipping child for his de-facto wife and her two older brat children. I remember the day, and what I was doing at the time, when I tore that photograph up."

Amanda's body was physically shaking as the little girl inside her dredged up the memories.

"One day they just dumped me in a shopping mall and moved interstate. That's when I became a ward of the state and was shifted from foster home to foster home. Nobody wanted an older child, particularly one who had been abused and neglected and who was obviously mentally disturbed. I was institutionalised until I was sixteen, and then I was kicked out onto the street. It seems as if all my life, I've been seeking approval and begging for other's forgiveness."

Blake's heart felt black. He was aware that he had to take some of the responsibility for triggering those dark thoughts of abandonment.

"Of course my first marriage started to fall apart very quickly. I was, as you put it - too needy," she said raising her eyes for the first time to look him in the face. "So, it wasn't long before I was looking for signs that he would abandon me. That's when the possessive behaviour began, I suppose. Of course in the end, he also went away, as did a couple of others, including Colin before you. And now it's your turn."

Blake wanted to assure her that everything was going to be okay. He wanted to wrap his arms around her body and hug her tightly, dry her misty eyes, kiss her lips and calm her troubled soul, but he couldn't. He didn't want to mislead her by playing games with her emotions. She had taken the first steps in her psychological and emotional recovery, and the last thing she needed right now was a lover or a relationship.

He massaged the palm of her hand with the sadness of his heart, as he tried to imagine how horrible her childhood must have been, and of the fears and phobias she had been forced to carry every day of her life as a result of that upbringing, but he could not. But he could see her reactive behaviour as a reflection of that abuse, and desperately wanted to seek justice for her. He wanted to stop her pain, wanted to prosecute someone, but the real perpetrators of this hideous crime were now lost within the system, and just like Joe Scar, were immune from prosecution.

"What else did your counsellor have to say?" he asked tenderly.

"She advised me not to have a relationship for a while. She said I'd continue on the same path of self-destruction, floundering from one relationship to another as I have been, unless I recognise why I'm doing, what I'm doing. She said I had to establish a real friendship, and be able to talk openly about my past to that friend. Other than my counsellor, you're the only person in my life who I've ever told this stuff too."

"And why are you telling me this stuff?"

"Because I know you care, and I know that you'd understand my pain. You see it in your work place every day."

With tears emerging in her eyes, she looked overcome with emotion, but she was skirting around the issue of what she really wanted to talk about. She wanted his help in some way, but was afraid he would walk away and reject her if she asked.

"The counsellor said that I've got to establish a network of friends to help me through this, but I don't have any."

It was true. In the short time that he had known her, she had never talked about friends, just made comments about acquaintances she worked with.

"Because of your abandonment fear?"

"I suppose, and because I was always being moved around. Nobody ever stayed long in my life, and when I did find someone who I thought was special, I'd go and ruin it by being too needy and distrustful about losing them."

She was speaking from the heart and doing a good job of holding it all together without bursting into tears. She had all but accepted that he'd joined all his predecessors in the abandonment of her desperately needed love and attention. She wasn't allowing herself at this stage the possibility of that reversing, but she did want something from him. She wanted his understanding and his compassion. She wanted his friendship. He looked softly into her eyes through his own blurred vision.

"I can help you," he said. "I can be your friend, if you like."

The outburst was immediate and dramatic. Its origin came from deep down inside the pit of her stomach, to emerge shaking and throttling her vocal cords with a mournful gasping cry of emotional release. Her body shook involuntarily with a fever pitch crescendo and tears flowed freely.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in close, as she doubled over into her lap, with one hand holding her stomach and the other covering her mouth. She blubbered, struggling for an apology which couldn't create the words, before giving in to the force which had control over her body. He rocked her gently, but remained silent, feeling his own body tormented with a sadness and being held captive by the overflow of her pent-up emotions. How could he leave her like this? She was a human being in pain who had just reached out for his help. He would do the right thing, the honourable thing. He would help Amanda through the healing process, no matter how long it took. He owed her that much. Kristy would have to wait, and if she found someone else in the meantime, even if it were to be Jack, then so be it. He couldn't walk away, not this time.

Eventually the raging fire of emotional release burnt itself out, and with Amanda physically exhausted, they both sat huddled together under a blanket on the couch. It felt secure and comforting, without any intimidation or innuendo, without any false promises or suggestion of a magic cure. Amanda talked softly and non-stop about the things which had happened to her in her life, constantly stopping to seek his assurance and reinforcement that he would help her through what she had just started.

She'd eventually fallen asleep on his shoulder, where at that point, he'd eased her down onto the couch, placed a cushion under her head and thrown another blanket over her, before letting himself out and driving home. Amanda was well aware, and under no illusions that their relationship was now one which was based on friendship only. She insisted it was a new intimacy which she was looking forward to very much. And to that end, he was taking tomorrow afternoon off work, to meet and support her at the counsellor's suite for a regression hypnotherapy session. 

# Chapter 20

She had intended to ring Blake last night. She had only lain down for an hour's sleep yesterday afternoon after being so physically sick, but the next thing she knew, the alarm had gone off and it was 6.00am this morning. Jack was due in one hour to pick her up, to take her through a chicken hatchery, and she was still in yesterday's clothes and as hungry as a horse. As a result, the day had started out at a breakneck speed and it had continued on from there, and it was everything Jack said it would be, and a whole lot more. There was so much to see and experience, so much information to take on board, and before she knew it the major part of the day had simply disappeared.

She had attempted to contact Blake late in the afternoon, when Jack had taken her to a nearby research and development facility for a tour. He had constantly been on her mind, and she felt the need to explain and to apologise to him for not phoning last night as she said she would. Jack had been momentarily side tracked with other issues, and she had seized upon the opportunity to not only ring him, but to also report in to her editor and chief at the same time. She had firstly rang his mobile, and with it going straight though to voice mail, had assumed it was turned off and had not bothered to leave a message, whereupon she and had then rang his land line number at the office, with the hope that he'd be sitting at his desk doing paperwork. She was somewhat surprised when his boss, Jim Worthington, picked up the phone.

"Mrs White, how lovely to hear your voice so soon after our meeting. I hope Jack's giving you the good oil, and the royal tour."

He was a likeable character, and she giggled at his expression.

"Yes it's a fascinating industry with so much to see and take in."

"Is there something I can do for you Mrs White, or were you looking for Blake?

"I was actually, is he there?"

"I'm sorry, no he's not. All his calls have been diverted to me for the afternoon, and just between you and I Mrs White, he's actually taken the afternoon off to see some sort of a counsellor."

"Socially or professionally?"

Big Jim laughed spontaneously at her question.

"That's what I asked him. All I got was a chuckle."

"Perhaps he's falling apart with the pressure."

"Not our Blake, he thrives on this sort of stuff. Perhaps it's you Mrs White, perhaps you've short circuited his system."

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh come on Mrs White, you're a beautiful lady full of charismatic charm. I saw the way he was looking at you, it would have been a bit hard for anyone to miss, don't you think?"

"Why Mr Worthington, you flatter me, but looks can be deceiving."

"Yes they can, but if I still had a copy of that video on a USB flash drive, I'd send it to you as a keepsake."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the original video which Howard shot on site yesterday, and its only backup copy. Both were impounded from us, and destroyed by Mr Dexter as part of our deal with him to give his client immunity from prosecution. There was a great piece of footage on that video, with a beautiful zoom in shot of you and Blake which showed the one hell of a spark which was igniting between you both."

"What shot!!? You're pulling my leg."

Kristy felt a sudden surge of panic. Had Howard filmed them in the feed shed, with all the events leading up to that stolen kiss?

"No, I'm not pulling your leg, but Blake was. It was the episode where you fall in the quagmire of fowl manure, and then fall into his arms."

"Oh God! And you wanted to show that to everyone at the meeting?"

"Only if I had too. It was part of the package, but getting back to the original question, no, Blake is not contactable this afternoon, and I've just been handed an urgent matter to attend to, so I'll have to go. Lovely to hear from you Mrs White. I'll pass along the message that you rang."

Was their chemistry that obvious to everyone? And exactly what was on that video that was worthy of mentioning, and what was Blake doing visiting a counsellor? There was no denying that he had captured her attention and stirred up suppressed sexual feeling. She'd even entertained the idea of sleeping with the guy. But what would happen now? Jack was pulling the strings and keeping her on the move for the rest of the week, and then she was off to Canberra for a few days. The trail would be getting colder with every passing day, and if she didn't see him before she went away, then maybe the spark would extinguish itself and die. And Blake knew that Jack was not only interested in her, but was also socially available without any ties or baggage to take advantage of the situation. Maybe he would give up the chase and not bother to contact her at all. Maybe it would be better all round, to just let things slide and let events take their own course.

"Are you ready to go?"

It was Jack cracking the whip.

"I've arranged for us to spend the rest of the afternoon here, there's a lot for you to see. Then there's this little function, with after work drinks and nibblies that you've really got to attend. It's an update on the eradication and quarantine program at the infectious disease control sector of our facility. You'll get to meet with, and to talk to the guys who have their fingers on the pulse. They're the ones who can inform you of the potential disease threats, and give you the financial statistics on the broader economic ramifications to the poultry industry as a whole."

That was it. Now there was no contacting Blake tonight.

"And tomorrow we'll be starting a little earlier, so that we can view a poultry processing plant in operation. Then we'll be doing a tour of a couple of its associated industries, so it'll be kind of a long day."

She took a deep breath, but smiled nonetheless. This was the nature of the beast, and Jack was its master. Now she had no choice. Now she would have to go with the flow, roll with the punches, and let destiny take its course.

Before Kristy knew it, the day was over and another had started. Jack had kept her on a whirlwind tour over the next three days which had also included the Saturday. She had started early and arrived home late and exhausted every night, feeling dazed and confused with her feet hardly having time to touch the ground, let alone having long enough to lie in bed. Jack said it was important for her to pick up as much background information as possible, by viewing every facet of the working industry, before heading off to Canberra early on the Sunday. Mr Tanner, the department's head honcho, had arranged a whole cross section of politicians and political advisers and analysts for her to talk to over the next week. He wanted to make sure that she was as well informed as she possibly could be, before writing her series of articles.

# Chapter 21

Thank goodness, she was back home. Ten days had passed with Jack being her constant companion and chaperone, with a bona fide expense account which put her own company's to shame. They had eaten at the finest restaurants and stayed at five star hotels, all courtesy of the taxpayer. Jack had been the perfect gentleman. How could she not have been infatuated by, and attracted to him? However for what it was worth, Blake had never been far from her mind. She had kind of left him hanging in the lurch, and still felt somewhat guilty about not closing off that chapter of her life without an explanation. Now an eternity of time had passed by and it was all too late. He would know that she had been away with Jack anyhow, and right now she didn't have the courage to ring him, nor the time to feel conflicting emotions.

Today was Friday, and she only had until Monday morning to get her first journalistic instalment, of a series, into her editor and chief. This weekend would be totally consumed by collating all the information she had gathered, both from her notes and her voice recorder, before then attempting to write the very first article. Jack had joked, that after tonight he would leave her in peace for a while. He said he'd enjoyed their time together very much, and was looking forward to seeing her again at 8.00pm at the local sports club, to meet Simon and Lauren, her two closest and dearest friends.

~ ~ ~

Blake slapped on some aftershave, looking at himself in the mirror, and reflecting on the circumstances that had led to tonight's social gathering at the local club within the hour. In a way, and in light of the events which had transpired, it was probably for the better that Kristy hadn't contacted him. He had received the message from big Jim, to say that she had rung whilst he was taking Amanda to see the counsellor, but that had been the last contact, and although he still thought of her, the overriding urgency to contact and see her had passed.

In those past ten days, Amanda had made great strides with her therapy, and for his part in that, he felt very honoured. He had willingly sat in on a couple of her sessions to role-play various social situations, and had observed the hypnotic regression sessions with great interest, to marvel at the way in which the hypnotist had changed Amanda's perception of what had happened, by softening the blow to make the outcome less traumatic. Through post hypnotic suggestion, the hypnotist had enforced that friendship was the key to her recovery. She had asked him to encourage Amanda to meet his friends, as a precursor to that process.

They had ironically became very close over the past ten days. If anything, he was feeling the conflicting pangs of both pride and jealousy at her renewed confidence to get out and enter the social fray. She openly acknowledge that he was out of bounds, and that was now beginning to evoke feeling within him in the other direction. However, rightly so, she needed to find a new beginning that didn't already have stale water flowing under the bridge. He was now perceived in her eyes as her confidant, and as her first truly dear friend who knew everything about her. To Amanda, it was as black and white as that, and it was something to be jealously guarded.

As a sort of test to see how she would react to his friends, he had taken her to his workplace two days ago. It was a Wednesday, the only afternoon of the week when everybody was required to be in the office at the one time, so he'd swung by her place of work late in the afternoon, to pick her up and take her back to his, for the last social hour of the day. Although his fellow workers knew of her existence, nobody had ever met her before, and prior to Wednesday it was something which she would never have agreed to anyhow. He had introduced her as his good friend Amanda, and she'd passed with flying colours. He had no doubt that she would, she was a stunner, and on par with Kristy as far as looks and presentation was concerned.

There was no need for anyone to know about her black past, or the reasons why a certain comment or look might trigger a slight reaction or unrest within her. That was their secret alone, and as far as everybody was concerned, should they ask, he'd only known her for a few weeks and had never slept with her. She was getting over a relationship break up when they had first met and wasn't ready to jump straight back into another, and as a result, they had developed a platonic friendship which they'd come to value. It had all made sense to everyone, except of course, to Howard. He said that it was all a load of horse shit, and that she must be a lesbian, but that was Howard.

They had made arrangements to get together on Friday night at the local sports club at 7.30pm. The club was having an open night in the auditorium to present a diversity of live music in its variety of forms. There would be a number of local musicians belting out their stuff as part of the community's 'live for music festival,' so at least there would be some sort of atmosphere, and there was no intention of making it a late night.

Big Jim would only be staying for a short while, as he had to pick up his wife when her shift finished at 10.00pm and wouldn't be coming back. Brian however was bringing his wife, who also happened to be a veterinarian working in private practice, and they were both looking forward to the evening very much. Howard on the other hand, being footloose and fancy free, was coming on his own. He reckoned that if Amanda wasn't gay, and wasn't interested in Blake, then he'd be the one showing her the good time. Including Amanda and himself, there would be six at the one table.

# Chapter 22

It was surprising the number of people who were already in the auditorium when he arrived at 7.15pm. From the moment he walked in, the memories of his last visit to the club two weeks earlier came flooding back. Then it had been the hypnotist show, and then, in that table over there, and in that seat, he'd met Kristy for the very first time when she'd sat on his lap. He really should have phoned her. He had an excuse to see her, he still had a pair of jeans, two socks and one sneaker of hers to return. He grinned to himself. The entire incident in the chook shed had been captured on video, and thanks to Howard breaking the rules, he now had a copy of that video on a USB flash drive. He would have to drag it out one day to refresh his memory of the impact she'd once had upon him.

Finding his way to the bar, Blake bought himself a beer, and then secured a table well back from the stage where the music would be thumping, and in a location away from the main traffic area, but just to the right of the auditorium entrance. It would be easy to see his friends as they came in, and it would be hassle free position for them to come and go as they pleased. The tables were all ten seaters, so there was a strong possibility they'd have to share their table and their company with strangers, particularly if the auditorium kept filling up the way it presently was. It didn't matter, it would add to the atmosphere. They were just lucky, to be early enough to get a table at all.

Although they came in their own vehicles, Big Jim, Amanda and Howard virtually arrived at the club at the same time, and after being processed for admission, walked through the auditorium doors together. Amanda looked smashing, and was being dogged by Howard nipping at her heels as they approached.

"We might as well stop the games baby. I know you want me."

She slipped in alongside Blake, rolling her eyes at Howard's comment.

"Big crowd," she said touching him on the arm. "See anyone you fancy?"

It could have been a loaded question, but she seemed genuine enough. God she looked so good. It would be hard not to want to protect her.

"Night's only early, but I notice you have an admirer."

"He's a strange little man."

"Yeah, but he's harmless."

"Can I get you a drink baby?" teased Howard

"No!"

"Brian's not here yet," commented Jim.

"What do you expect, he's always late. I don't know how his wife puts up with it."

"How about a Bacardi rum to get you in the mood?"

"I'm thinking."

"You don't have to think when you're with the love machine."

"Howard give it a break," said big Jim. "You're pestering the lady."

"Only trying to be sociable, boss."

"Well, I'd like a drink, how about getting me one?"

"Show me the colour of your money."

Jim pulled out a fifty and handed it to Howard.

"Get yourself something. Blake will have another, I'll have a scotch, and Amanda, what would you like my dear?"

"I will have the Bacardi thanks," she said warming to big Jim.

"Don't go away," said Howard touching Amanda on the arm. "I'll be back in a flash."

"With my change Howard," shouted big Jim at the departing blur.

"Don't take him too seriously," said Blake. "He's a nice kid in a grown up's world."

"Here's Brian and Janette now."

Jim waved in their direction, and then signalled their arrival to Howard as he stood in the drink queue chatting up some young filly. Howard grinned broadly, slowly raising the birdie finger with a gesture implying, "yes, I can see Brian and Janette, I know what they drink, now leave me alone, I'm chatting up a sheila." Amanda couldn't resist and giggled at his antics.

"That boy really lacks respect," said Jim, "I should fire him, but he's so good at his job."

By the time Howard had finally returned with a tray of drinks, the music had already started and the room was filling up with patrons very quickly. He had been the talking point of the group, but of course he knew that, and loved the attention. He laid the drinks down on the table and let his presence be known.

"Here's your drinks gang," he said. "And there may be a young lady joining us soon, so I'd ask that you all be on your best behaviour and take stock of your manners."

"Are you thinking of cheating on me already Howard?" asked Amanda.

"Sorry babe, but you had your chance. The Love God waits for no woman."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"You swallow your pride and grab the big boy sitting beside you, or..."

Howard stopped mid-sentence, his mouth open and eyes staring straight over Blake head to the four people heading their way.

"Well I'll be a monkey's uncle," he said tapping Blake urgently on the arm. "Here comes that gorgeous journo with that Simon dude you pissed off."

Blake swung his head around, his eyes bulging, his jaw dropping.

~ ~ ~

Kristy didn't expect to run into Blake, and when Jack had said, "Oh look, there're Jim and Brian, and they have a couple of vacant seats," and had started to move in their direction, it still hadn't twigged to her, as to who Jim and Brian were. She had met so many people over the past two weeks that Jim and Brian could have been any one of them. And it wasn't as if Blake hadn't crossed her mind, quite the contrary, he was the one person who had jumped to the forefront of her brain as she walked into the club's auditorium. After all, this was where it had all began between them both. However, it wasn't until they were halfway across the floor that she finally recognised who Jim and Brian were.

In that instant her heart skipped a couple of beats, before kicking to life again with a brutal surge of adrenalin pumping into her system, to leave her vibrating with energy and primed for flight. Suddenly she was hyper-aware of everything going on around her in slow motion. Pumping music seemed to fade away into the background and her own footsteps seemed to take forever, as her brain frantically attempted to work out who else was at the table with Jim and Brian. Dopey Howard, the video cameraman was there. He was raising his hand with his finger taking aim in her direction. His mouth moved up and down and there was a surprised look on his face, as his other hand tapped someone on the arm who had their back turned to her.

Subconsciously, she already knew who the other person was. She just wasn't prepared for the possibility that this could actually happen. Her acceptance of who the mystery man was, came a split second before he swung his head around to look in her direction. His movements were preceded by his seated companion, Amanda. How could she ever forget that face, or the threat that came from the mouth of the face? Initially Amanda looked blankly at her, before the recognition hit. Then there was a rapid chameleon change of expression that encumbered, not only the initial emotions of surprise, agitation and jealousy, but also acceptance and welcome. Her reaction left part of Kristy's brain somewhat confused and troubled and searching for more information, while the rest of her brain reacted to the sight of Blake's surprised reaction to their coincidental meeting once again.

Oh God, he looked so good. Why hadn't she contacted him? It wasn't as if she didn't have a legitimate reason to see him. She still had a pair of rubber gumboots, a pair of khaki trousers and a pair of his socks to return. All of a sudden though, she felt desperate and unprepared, felt self-conscious in Jack's presence, and uncertain of Amanda's reaction.

~ ~ ~

"G'day again," gushed Jack bubbling with genuine excitement to do the rounds of hand shaking and greetings.

Kristy stopped short of entering Blake's space, her eyes wide and her heart now pounding vigorously as he rose to greet her.

"Hello."

Her nervousness wasn't half obvious, was it? What was wrong with her? Squeaking like a trapped little mouse with a one syllable salutation, and standing there with her hands behind her back as if waiting to be chastised?

"Hi."

Blake's reply came with his attempt to clear the frog wedged in his throat.

"Simon, good to see you again."

Ironically, he didn't hesitate to move forward to shake Simon's hand, but had denied himself any physical contact with Kristy. What was wrong with him? Was he feeling that insecure?

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend," asked Simon with his eyes fixed on Amanda.

"Of course, sorry."

Blake turned back to place his hands on Amanda shoulders.

"Simon, Kristy, this is my dear friend Amanda."

Blake assumed by Simon's mannerisms that he had a score to settle by immediately trying to connect with Amanda, but the look in Amanda's eye indicated something very different. He smirked to himself and returned to Kristy.

"Been away for a while?" he asked.

"For a while."

Yeah right, thought Kristy. What he's really asking is, 'have I been away for a while with Jack.' Who is he to question me anyhow? He's here with Miss Psycho. And what's Simon up to, chatting to the psycho? Is he trying to make me jealous?

"Heavens no," laughed Amanda in the background. "Blake and I are just good mates."

"Your friend, are you going to introduce me?" asked Blake, noticing the redhead standing behind Kristy with her eyes seemingly following Jack's every movement.

"Oh. Lauren, I'm so sorry," exclaimed Kristy stepping to one side. "This is Blake. Lauren and I go way back."

"Hello, I remember you from the hypnotist show," said Lauren.

It was then that Amanda heard her cue, and saw the perfect opportunity to break the ice.

"And I'm Amanda," she said jumping out of her seat to extend her hand. "I'm a friend of Blake's."

She shook Lauren's hand and then turned towards the very confused Kristy.

"Hi," she said holding out her hand. "We've never been formally introduced, but I'm Amanda."

Kristy took her hand. What was happening here? The last time they had met, this woman had threatened her, and now Blake and Amanda were acting like good friends. She looked at Blake with pleading eyes, but it wasn't the right time for explanations.

"Mrs White, Jack, would you and your friends like to join us," asked big Jim, gesturing towards the empty seats.

"Well, I'll catch up to you in a little while for a dance," said Simon, before moving off with Kristy and Lauren towards the other end of the table.

Amanda waited just long enough for them to be out of earshot, before whispering in Blake's ear, "I know that you like her very much, and that's fine, but what are we going to do about Jack. Seems to everyone here that he's already got his brand on her."

Blake smiled at her inclusion of the word, 'we.'

"Yeah, it could be a bit of a challenge."

"Promise me something," she asked, talking more openly. "No matter what, we'll always remain close intimate friends, right? That's the pact we've made. That means that I can tell you anything, and that you can tell me anything. Right?"

"Yes, but what are you driving at?"

"Then, I'm telling you that Lauren has the hots for Jack, but at this stage, neither Jack nor Kristy have noticed. Kristy has got it real bad for you, but she's confused about us. Jack however is a fair player, and he'll bail out and step aside for you, if that is Kristy's intention. But, he won't make a move on Lauren unless he gets the signal, which he won't, because Lauren won't betray her best friend. Then you've got Simon. Simon would like to be in love with Kristy, but she won't allow it. They have a relationship something like you and I now have. Simon is attracted to me, but that's upsetting Kristy because he is also her friend, and she doesn't want to see him get hurt. At first impressions, I feel a chemistry with the guy, and would like to follow it up, but the last thing I need right now is a rejection. I fear that Kristy might reveal to him, what you may already have told her about me, and that may scare him away."

Blake shook his head, frowning and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"How do you know all this stuff? You've only just met these people."

"Years of psychotherapy and counselling darling. I pick up this sort of stuff up in a flash."

"So you're saying what?"

"I'm saying that if everything is to turn out the way we'd like it too, then we've got to get Jack and Lauren together."

"Now, where is my sheila supposed to sit?"

It was Howard, back from roaming the club and twigging to the fact that all the seats were now occupied.

"On your lap buddy," someone replied to the amusement of those around him.

"Ok, sounds good. Well who's up for a dance then? I've got to show off me style if I'm to draw the chicky-babes. Come on Mrs W, I know that you can shake a leg," he said, having already moved over to where she was sitting, to grab her by the arm.

Kristy cringed. Oh God, she was out of her seat and being led away by Howard before she knew it. Anyway it was probably a good thing, she had to get away from the table and think. This night wasn't turning out as it should. She thought she had a comfortable, safe and mature thing going with Jack, but that was immaterial compared to what she was now feeling. Jack kept her emotions calm, but Blake inflamed them. Why? He hadn't done nothing wrong. Why did she feel as though she wanted to throttle him, to beat his chest, to curse him and to beg him to go away? Or was it the exact opposite she was yearning for? Did she desperately want him to reach out and grab hold of her and not let her go, just like they did in those old movies? Is that what she wanted, perhaps even craved for? Is that what she was afraid of, that she may actually have very deep feelings for him, perhaps even be in love with him?

Was she using Jack as a safety net to protect those feelings? Oh God, she probably was. Was Jack too blind to see what she was doing, or was he perhaps more perceptive than she realised? He never got annoyed or impatient with her, had ever overstepped his boundaries, and had never pushed her sexually beyond a good night kiss. Jack was no dummy. He knew he had stolen her away from Blake and knew there were unresolved emotional issues between them both. He knew he would have to wait until she had squared things away with her feelings, before he had any chance with her. In actual fact, he'd been very patient with her.

Kristy glanced toward the table. The two men who were causing all the conflict in her head were now comfortably chatting away like old friends, and looking towards the dance floor in her direction.

# Chapter 23

"Looks like you won the first and the last round Jack," said Blake casting his eyes in Kristy's direction.

Jack threw his head back and laughed.

"Don't be too sure about that, she's still hung up on you. Just because we're friends, and I'm sure that we will be for a long time, I'm telling you that I didn't even get past first base with her, and that's just between you and me."

"Oh come on Jack, what do you take me for, some sort of an idiot?"

"It's the truth. It's your move. I'm in check."

"Well, if that truly is the case, I might happen to point out that her best friend Lauren is silently smouldering over you."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, but she won't do anything about it for fear of betraying her best friend."

Jack turned swiftly in Laurens direction, to catch her checking him out.

"She's one hot little dish. I'll see if I can grab her for a dance while Kristy's occupied."

"Covering your bases Jack."

"I just told you, I'm in check, I'm snookered. It's your move, it's your shot."

The delight and excitement on Lauren's face was instantaneous. However, she nervously looked around for confirmation that Kristy was still on the dance floor, before jumping out of her seat to weasel her way with Jack to the other side of the floor. Amanda had been right on all counts. Simon was now sitting in the seat right beside her and chatting her up. The odds were looking better.

~ ~ ~

"You move a mean hip and toss a good leg Mrs W," complimented Howard.

"Howard, that video footage you took in the chook shed, did you capture a shot of me and Blake in it together?"

"Oh yeah, very romantic Mrs W. I can't understand what you're doing with that Jack dude. Big Jim said that it was Oscar winning stuff, you know, lighting just right to catch magic moment and all. Big Jim said..."

"Howard enough. You don't happen to have a spare copy lying around do you, just between you and me?"

"No can do Mrs W. Mr Scar's bird got both copies."

Oh crap! If only she could go back to where it all began, just to see her first reaction, and that damn spark that everyone was talking about. Even the stolen kiss now seemed so far removed.

"Howard, what's the story with Amanda?"

"Wow Mrs W, you got it real bad. Boss says they're just good friends and that there's nothing going on."

"You believe that?"

"I reckon he's real sick on you."

"That's a really nice way of putting it Howard."

"Ok, we're done Mrs W, chicky-babe at five o'clock has zeroed her sights on me."

Howard stopped his jiggering, to do some sort of gesturing language towards the young lady. She interpreted it to mean, "You're up next. I'll be back in a flash, just got to walk the lady home first."

He guided her back to her seat, but before dismissing her, whispered in her ear.

"About that video, there may be a spare copy, talk to the boss man."

She twisted in her seat, reaching out for his arm and silently screamed, "Howard" as he slipped away in reverse gear with a gesture of zipping up his lips.

"The truth is out there Mrs W, but I know nothing."

So Blake did have a copy. Yes, it made sense, he would have done that to cover his backside in the first place. Scar's solicitor had said something about its existence being a negotiating tool. Suddenly she felt extremely agitated. But what was she so annoyed about? And where was Jack and Lauren? Jack was probably at the bar and Lauren had more than likely gone to the ladies' room. No, she hadn't, her shoulder bag was still sitting on the table. What was going on?

Then she remembered how Lauren had reacted when she'd first introduced her to Jack. She'd gone unusually shy and quiet, and come to think of it, Jack had given her that fleeting look of mutual attraction. No, it couldn't be! She swung her head around, and sure enough, on the other side of the dance floor, she could see Lauren's red head bobbing up and down to the delighted look on Jack's face. What was going on? Simon had deserted her also. He was sitting comfortably close to Amanda, chatting and laughing and oblivious to anything happening outside their little closed off world. She had been robbed of her friends and she felt betrayed. But why should she feel like that, when the man she wanted to see and spend time with more than anyone in the world, was now approaching to sit beside her?

"Hello, are you avoiding me?"

"No!"

"You look annoyed."

"I feel annoyed."

"Perhaps you're hormonal?"

The glare cut him down, it wasn't funny.

"Sorry, just trying to lighten the load."

"What were you and Jack talking about?"

"Nothing really, we were just chewing the fat."

"Are you two taking bets on me?"

"No."

"You don't sound too convincing."

"Are you annoyed because he's dancing with your best friend?"

"No!... well maybe."

"Why would that upset you?"

She glared with hostility at him again.

"What are you, my therapist?"

"Sorry, I'm only trying to help."

"What's the story with Amanda?" she asked, changing tack.

"Wow, you do have a few issues to deal with, don't you?"

"Who told you that?"

"I know a great counsellor who does hypnotherapy, perhaps she can help."

"Is that why you went to see her?"

"I went to help a friend out. Who told you?"

"To help Amanda out, she's a changed personality."

"Amanda is my friend, just like Simon is your friend. What's your problem?"

"I feel betrayed."

"Why, because your friends are having a good time and you're not?"

"No... maybe."

"What's wrong with my company?"

"Nothing, I suppose."

"But you're mad at me.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know... I just am."

"Would it help if I told you that I missed you?"

"No."

"Well, I did. I've thought about you every day over the past week and a half."

Her eyes softened temporarily, but then flared up again.

"That's because you have a video to gloat over."

"What... what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the footage which Howard recorded on his video camera in the chook shed. The one with you and me in it. The one with the great zoom in shot that captures 'the spark' that everyone seems to be talking about. You had a spare copy made to cover your backside."

She was hopping mad and Blake was stunned to silence.

"You had a pirate copy made, Blake," asked Jim. "Sorry Mrs White, none of us are eavesdropping, it's just that you are both talking pretty loudly."

Like a spell had been broken, they both disengaged from their verbal skirmish, to look around and realise the live music had stopped, the dance floor was momentarily empty and all their friends were back at the table and silently witnessing what was going on.

"Sorry Jim, we break a lot of rules in our business, and I..."

"I understand. You'd better run a copy off for Mrs White, and while you're at it, run another off for me so I can show my wife."

"If it's that good, then I'd like a copy too Blake," said Brian's wife.

Kristy was fuming, but everyone else was enjoying stoking the fire, of what must have looked like a lovers spat.

"What's going on here," she asked with emerging tears. "Is everybody... have all my friends turned against me?"

"Come on Kristy," said Simon. "Nobody's turned against you. It's obvious to everyone that you're in love with Blake. Why won't you just admit it to yourself?"

"Because... because I'm not!"

"Oh yes you are."

It was Jack. He'd appeared out of nowhere, to stand beside her and gently run his hand over her shoulder.

"After spending ten days with you, I should know. And I for one am not going to stand in your way."

"And Blake's in love with you," affirmed Amanda. "And I should know that."

Kristy stood stunned by all the revelations, feeling alone and embarrassed with tears flooding into her eyes.

"Look, you've got to work this out this on your own," said Lauren. "Jack and I are off to the club's restaurant for a meal, and we're taking Simon and Amanda with us, so you sort it out."

"Hey dudes," said Howard, emerging from out of nowhere and coming in on the end of the conversation with his young floozy in toe. "A lot of sexual tension happening here."

"Not now Howard," chastised big Jim.

"Only one way to kill this sort of tension," smirked Howard. "Got to set the beast free."

"Howard that's enough!"

"You'd all like that wouldn't you?" snapped Kristy, glaring around at the snickering faces of her friends. "It's what you're all thinking isn't it?"

"What honey? What are we all thinking?"

Lauren had asked the question as she moved into Kristy's space to pick up her bag, and then drape it over her shoulder with an action as if to say, "we know you're leaving, but don't forget your bag." It was a goading tactic to drag out a quick confession, and it worked.

"That I need to have sex with the guy," she blurted.

Kristy stood stony-faced and watery eyed, staring at the smirking faces of her friends as her brain went haywire with the ramifications of what had just taken place. She felt foolish and ashamed at her behaviour. The little girl inside her was panicking and wanting to run to her room and hide.

"Honey, that wouldn't be so bad you know," said Lauren softly.

She didn't hear anything more, she was consumed with emotion and covering her face to hide the tears of frustration which were freely flowing. She quickly started to move, blindly battled her way through the rowdy auditorium to get to the outside world.

"Let her go," said Lauren reaching out to stop Blake from following.

"Someone's got to go after her."

"She'll be all right," assured Simon. "Trust us, we know her a little better than you do at this stage."

"But she can't drive like that."

"She came in a taxi, and she'll go home in a taxi. She'll be fine."

"Why don't you join the four of us for a meal," offered Jack.

Blake looked at the two new couples. It was nice to be considered, but in all honesty, they wouldn't want him tagging along to ruin their evening.

"Thanks for the invitation, but that would probably be a bit selfish of me, besides I still have other guests here at the table, but I might borrow Lauren for five minutes before you head out, if that's all right."

# Chapter 24

Kristy burst through the front door and threw herself onto the couch. She dragged a blanket up over her body to feel protected and secure, and wished Misty Blue was still alive and sitting in her lap so she could feel the caressing vibrations of her purring. What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she feeling like this? Her path was clear of any obstacles to pursue Blake, everyone was on her side, yet she'd somehow turned it all around and slapped him in the face. How confused must he be feeling right now, and why was she harbouring hostilities towards her friends? She should feel happy that both Simon and Lauren had discovered someone they were both interested in, and both on the same night. That was reason for a celebration in itself.

She had been the one who had dragged them both down for so long. They had also suffered through the loss of Jeremy, and they had both supported her unconditionally with their own self sacrifices. Neither had had a lasting relationship since Jeremy's death, and whenever either found someone they were half interested in, they always downplayed their excitement for fear of offending her sensitivities. They had both been lonely and without companions long enough, and now that her path was without obstacles, they wanted a life without tiptoeing around her emotions. How selfish had she been, to have suffocated her friends for so long? It was the loss of letting go of that special selfish bond with them both, which now had her feeling like this. How could she ever make it up to them, and how would she be able to approach Blake and apologise for her behaviour, let alone explain it?

She lay her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. It had only been two weeks ago that she had first met him, and yet it seemed, not only to herself, but to everyone around her, that they were meant to be together. She had entered his world to do a simple assignment, and now she could not leave. That stolen kiss with him in the shed had seen to that. It had set off a chain reaction of events, which had the past colliding with the present. She touched her lips and they began to tremble. She thought of what she had done to Simon and Lauren, and her eyes flushed with tears. She thought of Jeremy, and her chest began to heave. She thought of Misty Blue, and then she cried.

~ ~ ~

It had been a long night for Blake. The five minute chat with Lauren had turned into a twenty minute revelation of Kristy's painful history. He had finally let Lauren go, with a better understanding of the psychology of how Kristy ticked. It seemed as if everybody was on his side and that it was a foregone conclusion that they would ultimately be together, with the only barrier being, Kristy's own acceptance of the fact.

Lauren had advised that he should drop over in the morning, and he intended to do exactly that, but his visit had to have an emotional impact if he were to secure the prize. He had no doubt in his mind he had deep feeling for her, and had stayed up all night wondering how to get his message across. It had been 2.30am in the morning, whilst silently strolling around his veranda in the dark and cold, when the idea had come to him.

~ ~ ~

Kristy awoke to the sound. It was 6.00am and still very dark outside. There was something crying out, or in pain, and that something was scratching at, or rattling at her back door. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she came out of her sleep with her eyes wide open, to flick on the bedside light. She listened intently. There it was again. The noise was definitely like a clawing sound, of something trying to get in through the back security screen door.

Curiosity and concern got the better of her. Jumping out of bed, she threw on her dressing gown and hurried towards the back door, flicking on lights through the house as she went. The laundry light was the last to go on, and as she flicked its switch, she heard the sound of something moving away and crashing heavily through the bushes with its retreat. All was silent as she stood motionless, not moving a muscle inside the closed door as she listened for the sound which had woken her from her sleep. It must have been the next door neighbour's dog scrounging around on her back porch which had caused the noise, and it would explain the crashing sounds as it dashed to get away. She cursed softly to herself. Why couldn't they fix that hole in the fence and keep the mongrel in their own backyard?

She was just about to go, and had actually turned off the laundry light when she heard the faint noise. It was more a sad squeak than anything, but it stopped her dead in her tracks and had her opening the door at a breakneck speed. Her mouth dropped open with surprise, and tears instantly sprang to her eyes with the realisation of what she saw on the other side of the screen door. Oh God it was adorable, and lost and frightened. Its eyes so large and pleading. Its body so small and vulnerable. It looked up at her with a familiarity of recognition that overshadowed its fluffy ginger coat and the weakness of its frightened cry. It was only a baby, she couldn't leave it out there all alone in the cold darkness of the night.

Kristy opened the screen door, stepping out to squat on her haunches in front of the little kitten. Her heart was aching, as memories and emotions came flooding back of her own little Misty Blue. The affirmation that she would never have another animal in her life, was fading quickly into the blackness of the night. Without hesitation, she reached out with the back of her hand, to have the kitten move cautiously forward to first sniff and then lick her fingers. She felt a warmness surge through her body, and a smile grow across her face as her hands secured its fluffy little body.

"Hello little fella," she sniffled, lifting it to her chest. "We'd better get you inside, and get you a drink before that nasty dog from next door gets hold of you."

Before going back inside though, she stood for a few long seconds, stroking the animal and looking around the darkened back yard. The sun would be up in a little over and hour, then she'd be able to see what damage that dog had done to her plants. It was strange there hadn't been more of a commotion though, that next door neighbour's dog hated cats. There wasn't anything she could do about the situation right now, so she slipped back inside, opened the fridge, poured some milk into a glass and popped it into the microwave to warm it for a few seconds. While she waited, she lovingly stroked the kitten's quivering body, to reactively feel it flinch with fright, at the sound of the side gate rattling.

"Easy baby," she said, a little perplexed and hesitant herself. "It's probably just the possums finding their way home."

With the temperature of the milk just lukewarm, she poured it into a saucer on the floor, dipped the kitten's nose into it, then sat back and watched with a maternal pride as the baby lapped it up. It was a thirsty little soul. Its eyes moved constantly, looking for and expecting danger, with its body shaking involuntary and primed for flight. Its wits were keen and senses alert, and when it stopped lapping, to lift its head momentarily with milk dripping from its whiskers, to react to the noise of a car starting up across the street, Kristy laughed with glee. She was never up this early on a Saturday morning, but surely it was just someone going to work early.

Kristy showered, dressed and then made breakfast for herself, whilst all the time amusing the kitten. She had no idea, as yet, what to name him. All she knew was that she felt marvellous. The kitten had been a godsend. It somehow meant that her life was on the move again, and now she could get on with living. All she had to do now was to confront her genuine feelings for Blake. She would settle in first and do a few house chores, then she would ring Simon and Lauren to apologise, before then going around to see Blake and attempting to sort things out.

It was turning out to be a glorious day, so she set about pulling back heavy curtains and opening doors to let a little fresh air and sunlight into the house. She was distracted and giggling out loud at the antics of the kitten at play when she opened the front door, to be startled by seeing a large woman standing there with her hand extended and knuckles about to knock. The woman held a large bouquet of flowers, and was quick to apologise for having alarmed her. She was under instructions from the other party, to have the flowers delivered as soon as possible, and to pass on a message that the sender wouldn't be too far behind. A padded envelope containing a card and a hard short object accompanied the flowers. She already knew what the short hard object was. It was a USB flash drive, which hopefully showed the video in the chook shed, which she'd made such an issue of.

The flowers, well they were roses of course. Red roses, a dozen of them, accompanied by a card that simply read, "Please forgive me for what I may have done." They were beautiful, and there was nothing to forgive. If anything she should be the one begging his forgiveness. She placed them lovingly in a vase of water, before then curling up on the couch with the kitten of no name and inserting the flash drive into the USB port of her laptop computer. She moved the curser, tapped the mouse, opened up the file and waited with baited breath. He had eliminated everything but the scene in question. The whole three minute production was as beautiful as Jim said it would be.

Initially, she viewed the performance as though watching a movie, and not seeing herself or Blake in it at all. She allowed herself to be swept up in the moment, with the recognition of two long lost souls and the ignition of a spark between them both. It was only while she was watching it a second, and then a third time, that the ramifications of what she was actually viewing came to light. She had been watching herself fall in love with Blake, in the most awful of conditions. Howard had captured the facial expressions and the eye contact with unmistakeable clarity. How could she ever have doubted her heart?

Suddenly she was in a flap. He would be here very soon, and oh God, now she wanted to see him so desperately. There could be no more barriers, no more misunderstanding. She didn't want to lose him again. This time he had paved the way. He had sent the roses, and sent the video with a message that he wouldn't be far behind. He could be here any minute. What to do? Make a cuppa. Yes, she would make a cuppa and sit in the backyard sun with the kitten and wait for him. That way, she would be calm and in control when he turned up.

Kristy made the tea, and with the kitten snuggled to her breast, wandered outside. That's when she noticed the bush to see that it had been flattened. Curiosity turned itself into concern as she went for a closer inspection. Putting down her cuppa, she hugged the kitten tighter to her chest. There were footprints. No, there were boot prints through her garden. All at once she felt a surge of panic. Somebody had been in her backyard last night. No, somebody had been in her backyard at 6.00am this morning. That was the noise she had heard in the bushes. It wasn't the next door neighbour's dog at all. There was a peeping tom, or a prowler on the loose in her neighbourhood.

Deep in thought, she didn't hear Blake's car pull up outside in the street, or hear him knock on the front door. But she did hear him call out, and come through the side gate as it rattled shut, to then stand at the corner of the house, silent and unmoving, waiting for her reaction. She also stood riveted and unable to move, her brain banging away at a million miles an hour, attempting to connect the rattling of the side gate to a chain of events.

He looked uncertain, as if wanting her forgiveness for something that he may have done. His written words, accompanying those beautiful roses, screamed across the horizon of her mind as the kitten softly purred in her arms. A misty vision blurred to a flood of tears as she started to move in his direction, her footsteps jarring all the pieces into place. There had been no prowler, no peeping tom.

It had been Blake who had been in her backyard this morning. It had been Blake who had abandoned the kitten on her back doorstep, to then wake her up by making scratching noises on the back screen door. He had just been clumsy, hiding and leaving in the dark, that was all. His written words, "Please forgive me for what I may have done," were now apparent. There was nothing to forgive. He had just given her the most beautiful gift of all. He had allowed her to discover for herself again, what selfless and unconditional love and companionship was all about.

Kristy closed the distance, tossing her free arm around his neck. With tears flowing over her cheeks, she kissed him for the first time, soulfully and passionately from the heart. There were no words required. The video said it all, and his wonderful secret and gift of life, was safe with her.

# **Also By R.J. Boyd**

**_Justice is Personal (The Jamie Wells saga Book 1)_**

Forty years ago a young woman had been gang raped and murdered. Five years ago there was an Inquest into her death, with a finding of insufficient evidence to commit anyone to trial. The gang had gotten away with murder. But a chance encounter with one of the suspects, by the brother of the dead woman, were about to see events turn full circle.

**_Justice is Closure (The Jamie Wells saga Book 2)_**

In a sequel to, 'Justice is Personal,' Jamie Wells continues his quest to get justice for his sister Laura. Since the inquest, he had executed two of the three surviving suspects. Now he's pursuing the last man. His quest for justice would see him form an unlikely alliance with a female investigative reporter, to hunt down other sexual offenders.

Available as an ebook from your favourite on-line retailer.
