Echoes of Daniel: A five-minute romantic thriller
Bronwyn Parry
Echoes of Daniel
A 5-minute romantic thriller by Bronwyn Parry
Copyright
Echoes of Daniel was originally published in the Australian Woman’s Day magazine in 2010.
This edition published by Bronwyn Parry.
Copyright: Bronwyn Parry 2010, 2015
Cover image copyright: Bronwyn Parry
ISBN 13: 978-0-9941970-1-6
ISBN 10: 0994197012
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Title
Copyright
Echoes of Daniel
Thank you!
Other books by Bronwyn Parry
About the author
Echoes of Daniel
There were at least two of them, and they were gaining on him. He kept a brisk pace, weaving through Sydney's peak-hour pedestrians, slumping his shoulders to disguise his height. At the corner, he slipped into the crowd waiting to cross, but went left instead of stepping off the curb as the light changed. Fifteen yards down, a group of a dozen tourists spilled from a hotel, milling on the pavement. He swung around them and through the hotel doors, casting a glance back to check for his pursuers... and in that short moment of distraction, he collided with his past.
Instinctively he raised his hand to steady her, but his apology died on his lips as the shock of recognition hit. Fifteen years, far too much to explain, and he had to stumble across her, here, on the other side of the world from Scotland, when he had criminals after him and stolen data in his pocket.
White-faced, wide-eyed, she stared at him. "Daniel?"
Her exclamation drew attention from those around. But if anyone connected them, she'd be in as much danger as him.
"I'm sorry, ma'am." He dropped his hand from her shoulder, stepped away, and lied to the only person he'd ever cared about. "You've mistaken me for someone else."
Confusion clouded her eyes, swiftly hardening to disbelief. She knew him, just as he'd known her, in that first instant. Fifty years could pass, and they'd still recognize each other.
A teenage boy stepped to her side. "Are you okay, Mum?"
Mum? As recognition slammed another punch into his gut, he had to draw on every element of training and control not to react. The lad's age. The dark, wavy hair. The hazel eyes that shot a protective warning at him. Mairi's swift glance between them.
With no time to absorb the shock, no time for even one of the million questions racing in his brain, he stepped backwards, put distance between them, and protected them the only way he could – by denying them. He looked straight at her, the small hope that somehow she might still trust him struggling to exist. "I have to go," he said, and added the only truth he dared, "I'm very sorry."
The elevator chimed behind him, and he swiveled on his heel and strode to it, leaving her without explanation, just as he'd done, all those years ago. As the doors slid together, he saw one of his pursuers enter the hotel, scanning the lobby for him.
~~~
Her legs suddenly weak, she let Rohan guide her to a chair.
"You're shaking, Mum. Are you hurt?"
"I'll be fine. It was just... a shock." Seeing the ghost of a man who'd drowned in the North Sea and shattered her dreams. She could still feel the bitter wind on her skin, see them towing the burnt-out wreck of the fishing trawler into the harbor, hear the policewoman's voice explaining there were no survivors. A lifetime ago. Her son's lifetime.
And because she didn't lie to her son, she pulled her wits together and explained, "He looked very like your father. But it wasn't, of course." Of course it wasn't. She managed a shaky laugh. "I guess I haven't got over him, yet."
But Rohan's concerned gaze was the image of his father's, a constant bitter-sweet reminder that she'd never get over him. She smiled to reassure him. "Let's go – we've got a bridge to climb, and a city to see."
"Excuse me, Madam." Absorbed with Rohan, she hadn't seen the two men approach until they spoke beside her. One waved an ID card briefly. "We're from the Federal Police. The concierge said you were just talking with a man."
"I..." Maybe her nerves were too much on edge. Despite their neat suits and the glimpse of official ID, her protective instincts jangled to alertness. But they were police, and the man wasn't Daniel. Couldn't be Daniel. Because Daniel wouldn't be in trouble with the police.
"The man who bumped into me? For a moment I thought he was someone I knew once. I was mistaken."
"He got into the lift over there. The middle one," Rohan said, and she saw both men look at him, hard, before exchanging glances. One strode away to stare up at the floor indicator above the lift, his phone to his ear.
"That's helpful, mate. You're visiting from Ireland, Mrs...?"
The misinterpretation of her accent shouldn't have irritated her. "McDonald. Doctor Mairi McDonald. I'm taking up a position with an outback health service this week."
"Good." He did a quick scan of the lobby, and nodded to his colleague. "Would you mind stepping this way, Doctor McDonald? Just somewhere quieter for a couple of questions."
Puzzled, she followed him to the lift, Rohan beside her. The short seconds of the unexpected encounter replayed through her mind.
No, her imagination hadn't added that softened accent, an echo of Daniel's. Nor had she imagined, she was certain, the shock flickering in his eyes when he'd recognized her. Recognized her. And she definitely hadn't imagined his sharp intake of breath when he'd seen Rohan.
"I have to go. I'm very sorry." Ambiguous words, yet meaningful. Denial and disbelief evaporated. It had to be Daniel. But what the hell was he caught up in?
She and Rohan and the two federal police officers were the only occupants in the lift. As the doors opened into the basement carpark, one of the officers took her arm.
"This way, Doctor McDonald."
The car park for an interview? It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. And his hand on her arm was too tight. She stood her ground. "No. Tell me what is going on, first. And I'd like to see your ID again, please."
"You're coming with us, Doctor McDonald. And this..." he reached in under his jacket and drew a gun, aiming it at her, "is my ID."
