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  Six Degrees Series, Book One

  Sandy Smith

  Contents

  Thank you

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Published by Sandy Smith

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Home Copyright ⓒ 2019 by Sandy Smith

  Cover Art by: Cate Ashwood

  Beta Reading, Editing, Formatting and making all the words pretty by LesCourt Author Services

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law

  First Edition

  October 2019

  Thank you

  And a note to readers

  To my editor Mary Anne Hinkle, my complete gratitude. Thank you. Turning the voices in my head into words on the page isn’t easy. But turning my random stream of consciousness into a pretty story is priceless. Thank you for your hard work and endless patience. I wonder if LesCourt keep a leader board in the office of the authors whose work requires the most corrections… it would be kind of cool if they did. I’ve never won anything before.

  To my readers. Thank you for taking a chance on my stories. Please keep in mind that I have used a little bit of artistic license regarding how the police work.

  Enjoy.

  Chapter One

  KY

  I passed the bartender some cash and looked around, hoping to catch Antony before the bar got too busy. After a few minutes of waiting and making small talk with the bartender, Antony wandered back from the stairs that lead to the private club downstairs. He wiped up a few tables, greeting customers on the way. It wasn’t exactly my scene, but something was exciting about the bar. I’d never been to Platform before, usually meeting Antony somewhere a bit closer to home. And a bit more my speed. The music was loud but not so loud that you couldn’t be heard. I already felt too old to be in those clubs where the music was so loud you could feel it inside your head. Antony had told me it was cowboy night, but it was still too early for the dancers to have started. He grinned as he walked up to me, engulfing me in a hug. He might have been smaller than me—nearly everybody was—but he knew how to hug. He smirked as he pulled back.

  “Glad I finally roped you into coming.”

  I groaned inwardly at Antony’s horrendous pun and replied it wasn’t by choice. He slapped me playfully.

  “Everything here is consensual, sweetheart.”

  I smiled at him. He could turn anything into an innuendo, make any comment sexual. I always admired his confidence, and envied it a little too. That confidence and flirty nature had always helped him professionally and never seemed to do any harm personally either. The bar might not have been my sort of place, but God, I missed my old friend. We had both been so busy lately that we had been limited to texts and the odd phone call.

  We were still exchanging banter when I lost track of the conversation.

  A small group of men at a nearby table were cheering and yelling at each other. Although I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, it sounded like friendly banter. Two of the guys pulled their shirts off and started flexing. Obviously, some sort of a bet was happening.

  Antony shoved my shoulder, and I looked at him. “Huh?”

  He laughed. “I was just asking if you were right here by yourself for a sec while I grab some more ice for downstairs. I don’t want Dale carrying the bucket with his sore shoulder. But I think I could have gone and come back, and you wouldn’t have even noticed.”

  “Sorry,” I replied, a little embarrassed at having been caught blatantly ogling the guys. Well, not so embarrassed I didn’t sneak a few more glances waiting for him to come back.

  As I reached for my drink, a hand started running up and down my arm.

  “Wanna play?”

  I turned to see a young man smiling at me. By young I mean I needed to ask Antony how strict they were on ages at the door because I wasn’t sure this kid was legal yet, let alone old enough to be in a place like this.

  “Umm, how old are you?” I blurted out.

  Fuck, Grandpa, give it a rest.

  “Well, that depends on how old you want me to be.”

  I glared at him without a word. It was a look that was very handy at work and, it would appear, with club twinks.

  “Fine, I’m nineteen.”

  “Thanks but no thanks. I’m happy to buy you a drink, but I’m not interested in anything else.”

  “Sure. Why not? I’ll have a vodka and pineapple juice.”

  “Sweet tooth, huh?” I nodded to the bartender who had heard the drink request.

  The twink shrugged. “I do, but that’s not the only thing pineapple juice is good for.”

  Thank God I had just swallowed my mouthful of water, or he would have been wearing it. I was pretty sure that was a myth, but I didn’t want to encourage him by continuing the conversation. I thought I might have been a little out of my depth there. I’d never really considered myself a prude, but I felt a bit old in clubs, preferring to hang at pubs or with friends at one of our houses. Or at home. Alone. Alone was totally fine.

  Thankfully, Antony saved me and dragged me back to his office.

  Antony sat up on the desk with his legs folded under him and fiddled with a large envelope.

  “Ant,” I groaned, using his old nickname, “I already told you I can’t hack into someone's computer for you.”

  Part of Antony’s carefree façade slipped for a minute, and his voice was smaller when he speaks again. “I’m not sure what else to do if you won’t help me.”

  “It’s not that I won’t—that’s not fair. Even if I had the skills to do this, which I don’t, I would lose my job.”

  Ant nodded sadly and lowered his eyes at my tone as he slid off the table. “Okay, you’re right, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “You could just go to the police,” I reminded him gently, yet again.

  He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I mean officially, and you know it.”

  “I can’t, and you know it.”

  As he turned towards the door, I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I’ll contact Alex, but no guarantees, okay?”

  His smile was a bit more relaxed this time. “Okay, thank you,” he said sincerely and hugged me once more before walking me out to my car. After another quick hug, I hopped in my old car and headed back to the station.

  I texted my friend Alex as I walked back into the office, letting him know what Ant needed. Alex was my best friend and little brother all wrapped in one crazy, freakish package. I knew him from when he was six, but we became close when he came to live with his grandparents permanently at age thirteen. He might ha
ve been ten years younger than me, but he was so mature for his age that the age gap never impacted on our friendship. He always knew I was gay, and I was the first person he voluntarily came out to when he was fourteen. We might not have seen each other every day, but our bond hadn’t lessened because of the distance. He would always be family, no matter where his job took him. Given how often he flirted pretty closely with the law as a teenager, I was both relieved and surprised when he made the decision to join the Australian Federal Police. I wasn’t naive enough to think he didn’t do anything illegal anymore. I thought he was simply getting smarter as he got older, and considering he was a gifted child, the idea was actually almost scary.

  After hours of equipment management reports, heading upstairs from the equipment cages was even quieter than normal, it was even quieter than normal heading upstairs. I was startled for a moment when the locker room door opened as I was walking past, and Ian wandered out. Ian was my Squad Commander with the New South Wales Police force, where I was Team Leader.

  “Sir.” I nodded.

  “Rixon,” he acknowledged with a grunt.

  We walked to the lift in silence, and when I pushed the button for the fourth floor instead of the carpark or ground floor, Ian commented, “You guys were off duty hours ago. Go home.”

  Not entirely different to hundreds of other conversations we’d had.

  “I’ll go home as soon as I finish. Besides, you’re still here.”

  Ian shook his head with a smirk but didn’t bother continuing the conversation. He knew my answer, and I knew his argument: if you didn’t have a balance between work and home, both would suffer. In principle, I agreed, but if I was going to do a job, I wanted to do it well. If that meant double-checking some of the team’s equipment or finishing the odd report after hours, then that’s the way it worked. Ian was the same way, which was why, with the duty officers out, we were probably the only two people in the building other than cleaning staff.

  And to be honest, the new guy, Grayson, was good at his job but a goddamn pain in the arse to work with. Hence why I had ducked out to catch up with Antony, preferring to come back and do my work in peace once the others headed home. The oldest son of a high-ranking police officer, Brooke Grayson seemed to be under the impression that he was more important than he actually was, and we should all know it. Half of my energy was spent each day either trying to stop my team members killing Grayson or trying to talk myself out of killing him. And I didn’t have anything or anyone to go home to, so what was the rush to leave?

  Finishing up the report I wanted to have done didn’t take me long, and after shutting down the computer, I grabbed my bag and headed to the twenty-four hour gym across the road. Spending the day doing reports was draining, but if I didn’t get some actual exercise in, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.

  I pounded the punching bag, trying to shift my weight between two legs, like lead after my leg circuit. As I shifted forward for a combination punch, sweat ran down into my eyes, stinging. I leaned forward for a moment, my gloved hands resting against the bag as I tried to catch my breath. I heard a familiar chuckle beside me but didn’t have the energy to lift my head.

  “Your technique sucks hairy balls there, sunshine.”

  “Fuck you.” I chuckled and caught the towel Leah threw me. Wiping my face did little as the sweat continued to pour into my eyes.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so. I’ve got the muscles, not the dick, dude.” Leah is the manager of the gym, an MMA fighter, and one of the sweetest women you could ever meet. “You good?” she asked quietly.

  I nodded between gulps of water. Watching the young guys who took over the punching bags, I stepped away from the bag and leaned against the wall. They’re strong but slow.

  “You know they were too scared to ask you when you’d be finished,” she teased. “Apparently you’re a little frightening.” She snorted with derision.

  “Was I dropping my left again?” I ignored her teasing. I was well aware most people found me intimidating. I used it to my advantage and had no intention of changing it.

  She shrugged, still watching the young guys. “A little at the end, but I was mainly just teasing. Mmm, I do like white shorts.” She referred to one of the young guys who had taken his shirt off, his arse perfectly showcased in a pair of loose white shorts.

  “Amen, sister.” I punched her lightly on the shoulder as I headed to the locker room.

  Chapter Two

  I stood and looked at the school encouragement award on the floor beside the bed. Excellent handwriting. Good luck in year 1 next year. How long had I been standing and staring at it? A noise in the hallway startled me, and I looked around the room getting my bearings again. I was standing in Bailey Short’s bedroom. Bailey and his sister had been missing for four weeks, and finding them was my team’s job.

  I looked once again at the row of photos on the shelf. The family with a few of the father’s work friends. The family with Uncle Jeff and Aunt Stacey. A Christmas party: Bailey sat on Santa’s knee, and Aimee stood on Santa’s other side with three of their cousins. Bailey and two of his cousins around a campfire, toasting marshmallows with Uncle Jeff and the shoulders of another family member. All the kids holding Easter baskets full of eggs. The parents, Aunt Stacey, and Aunt Kylie holding up champagne glasses. In the background, a few people sat on chairs, with Bailey sitting on someone’s lap.

  It wasn’t the first time I had looked at the photos, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Grayson was taking photos of each of the pictures individually, so at least we wouldn’t have to upset Mrs. Short next time. Nothing obvious stood out; they looked like photos of happy kids in a happy family. And yet something kept drawing me back. My gut feelings rarely let me down, and my gut was yelling at me. Something here could shed light on the disappearances.

  My phone beeped with a message, but once I saw it was Tim, I shoved it back in my pocket, turned my back on the photo gallery, and made my way to Bailey's sister’s room. Aimee’s room was simpler, no toys filling every space. It was clean and neat, almost bare. Not what I would have expected from a teenage girl. Although I wasn’t an expert on teenagers, and I certainly wasn’t an expert on girls. I glanced around at the pink walls, the bookshelves holding school textbooks and scented candles. Just like her brother, Aimee had rows of family photos on the shelf about the empty desk. But where Bailey had six or seven photos, Aimee had dozens. More family occasions. One with a few girls Aimee’s age in swimmers, but Aimee was in a long-sleeve rash shirt and board shorts.

  Grayson had finished up and was outside, but I needed another minute.

  “She used to love going to the beach with her friends,” a quiet voice said from behind me. Penny Short stood in the doorway, seeming smaller than when I first met her a month ago. I didn’t know if it was only that her clothes looked baggy, probably because she wasn’t looking after herself, or maybe grief really could make a person shrink.

  She walked over and stood next to me. Arms still wrapped around herself, she stood and stared at the photos.

  “She was always the grown-up one. She became very sun-conscious these last few years, always had a long-sleeve rashie on so she didn’t get sunburnt. Her friends would run around in bikinis all day, and Aimee did when she was younger, but not in the last few years. She was very careful.” As time went on, she had begun to speak of the kids in past tense sometimes.

  She sniffed and continued in a near whisper. “She loved the beach. Do you think that’s where they ended up?”

  I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Short, I’m still working on the assumption that I’m going to find Aimee and Bailey safe and sound. I can’t even imagine how hard this is, but giving up isn’t an option, so we are going to keep looking. I really am sorry that I had to upset you by coming back again, but I just needed one more look at their rooms.”

  She muttered something and walked back out of the room. I spent a few more minutes studying the photos before offering my apologies again
to Mr. and Mrs. Short before heading back to the station.

  Later in the day, I was sitting at my desk when my phone rang. Tim. Again. I let the call go through to the message bank but texted him back to say that, unless it was urgent, I would call back later. A few minutes after, my phone rang again, and I sighed, knowing I wasn’t getting anything done with all these interruptions anyway. After starting at four o’clock this morning for a raid, my eyes were starting to hurt looking at the screen. “Yeah?” I answered, impatiently.

  “Detective Rixon,” I heard a familiar voice say. I sat up straighter, even though he obviously couldn’t see me.

  “Sir, sorry about that. How can I help you?”

  “I hear you’re heading back to Aimee Short’s school tomorrow, but can you drop into my office at midday please?”

  What was going on? “Yes, of course Sir. Can I ask what it’s regarding?”

  “No. I’ll see you tomorrow,” was the direct answer before the line went dead. I sat back in my chair, and after a few more minutes of staring at my desk, I stood and headed home.

  The next day I stood in front of Alicia, the executive assistant from hell, waiting for her to acknowledge me. Very few people in the world intimidated me. Unfortunately, Alicia was one of them. Eventually, after I had time to check my fingernails for dirt, smooth my shirt, and subtly shine each shoe on the back of my calves, she looked up and asked how she might help me.