"Marjorie Riley approached you?" Kit said. "Had you met her before?"
"Yes she did, and no I hadn't," Carrie replied.
"But she knew who you were?"
"Yes," Carrie smiled, as if this was a good thing.
"Shit girl, she wants to know what you know. She didn't verify anything."
"That's an interesting take on a discussion you weren't party to." Carrie's lips were actually pursed.
"You are a dead woman." Kit threw the comment away.
"What are you talking about?"
"Oh sweetie," Kit moaned. "Euphemisms aside Carrie, you described Queenie Riley as a well-known Melbourne businesswoman in the same article that you called her dead nephew a career-criminal, an ex-con, a murder suspect and a crime lord."
"So? What's wrong with making that connection. They are related."
Kit squinted at her. "You're not from Melbourne, are you?"
Carrie looked surprised. "No, Perth. Why?"
"Because," Kit rolled her eyes, "while Gerry Anders is, was indeed most of the things you alleged, he was also a thug. And not the top thug. His sweet Auntie Queenie is the crime lord, Carrie; and your bloody editor should've known not to let you connect those particular dots."
Carrie frowned.
"So if you do go to interview her, don't go alone," Kit stressed, "because, unlike like me, that nice old lady will not hesitate to rip your toenails out to find out who your source is."
"Well, it won't do her any good to know who it is," Carrie stated.
"Why not? Is your source already dead?"
"No," Carrie was appalled. "He's..." she stopped herself just in the nick of.
Damn, Kit thought; and then she flinched and looked to the left and right, as did Carrie, to see whose mobile was ringing.
"Mine," Kit said, pulling her phone out of her pocket to answer it. "Excuse me a sec."
"O'Malley?" It was the liquid-gold voice of the sexiest woman in the known-universe and Kit's heart and stomach exchanged places in a tingly somersaulty-type motion which put her momentarily to the left of centre, until her organs oozed back to their rightful spots. Carrie-only knew what her face looked like while all that was going on, but judging by her expression, Kit's was peculiar indeed.
You okay? Carrie mouthed.
Kit nodded, held up a finger and moved away to talk to Alex Cazenove with less of the human race listening in. All in all, a lag in response time of about 3.4 seconds.
"Alex, honey," Kit breathed.
"Hello darling."
Kit melted all over again, but was almost ready for it this time. She wondered when this internal waterfall thing was going to stop happening; then reneged on that thought because she was quite certain she never, ever, wanted it to stop.
"Please tell me you're home," Kit said.
"Wish I could, Kit, but I'm still in Sydney. What is going on down there? Your message was weird, and believe I saw the Terpsichore on a current hysteria show on TV this morning."
"Serious shit is going on down here, Alex. But what's with you? Since when do you even recognise a telly, let alone turn one on?"
"There are strange dead men at Angie's and you want to know why I turned the TV on?"
"There was only one dead man, Alex, and he's gone now." Kit filled her in on all the gory details, minus the actual gore, and then asked why it'd been so long between calls. Thirty-eight hours to be precise. Not that she was counting.
"Katherine O'Malley, are you asking where I was last night?"
Kit could imagine the amusement in those grey and beguiling eyes so, "Yes," she admitted, but sheepishly because she didn't want Alex to think she thought she had the right to ask.
"Let's see, I had drinks with the irritating clients in a bar at The Rocks from five to seven, then dined with some-"
"Alex," Kit tried to interrupt.
"...old friends at their house, and I drank..."
"Alex."
"...way too much, so I slept on their couch and had to dash to my meeting this morning via the hotel..."
"Alex, I don't need to know everything."
"Why not? Aren't you interested in what I've been up to?"
There was definitely a smile in that tease, but Kit still couldn't admit there was nothing in the world that she was more interested in than everything that Alex Cazenove did.
So why can't you come clean, O'Malley? she asked herself.
Because, herself replied, it would be pushing the boundaries, asking for trouble, expecting too much from something so new and so...new.
She changed the subject. "Well I had dinner with Enzo last night, after he generously shared one of his new clients with me."
"Is that the case of the royal Russian?" Alex asked.
"Yeah. And damn feral feds sat in their car outside the restaurant this time, eating Macca's I think. The silly bastards will probably file a report that implies Enzo and I are having an affair now. I swear Alex, it's time we did something about these guys. This can't be normal."
Alex sighed. "I've heard of cases where the Feds continued to spy, on and off, for months after the wedding."
"Bloody hell," Kit swore. "I'm beginning to think the federal immigration-espionage sector must be solely responsible for the increase in employment that I thought the government lied to us about on a regular basis. I mean, if Bill and Ben the Flowerpot Feds have only been on Enzo's case for the four months, then the Lurking and Accountable-to-no-one Department must have a gazillion spooks on staff just to watch all the bad-bad people who want to become legit Australians."
"O'Malley?"
"Yes Alex?"
"Are you a little bit stressed?"
Oh wow, Kit thought, she still hardly knows me, yet she can sense stuff.
"A little," she admitted, "but only because of...well, everything really."
Alex laughed. "I have an idea. What are you doing tomorrow night?"
"Nothing," Kit said.
"Good. I can't get out of this damn follow-up trip to South Australia, but I could swing a late flight to Melbourne tomorrow, and a Sunday red-eye Adelaide. How about you meet me at the Tullamarine Hilton tomorrow evening."
Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes! Kit thought. "Oh yes," she said. "Tomorrow, that's Saturday, right? When, what time, what room?"
"Whoa, darling. As soon as I organise it, I'll let you know. Okay?"
"Good plan," Kit nodded.
Excellent plan, she cheered. And she's still calling me darling, which can only be good.
You are such an idiot, O'Malley, she added.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Yo, Kit."
Kit jammed her phone in her pocket and turned to the yo-ing Rabbit MacArthur, who was heading her way with Del and Brigit in tow. It took her a moment to realise that Carrie had escaped her remonstrating by nicking back to the relative safety of the press pack.
"If I can help your investigation into this mess, you just call me. Okay?" Rabbit offered, giving Kit a one-armed, around-the-shoulders