Little Girl Lost Read Free

Creek Hotel was more for the long-term residents of the town. And for families. The Harley owner either didn’t know that or else he didn’t care.
    Max resisted the urge to run his fingers along the shining paintwork of the hog. As a rule, Harley owners didn’t like people touching their machines. Max didn’t want to start anything with this guy, not yet at least. He walked up the stairs into the pub.
    The fans above the long wooden bar were not turning. By Queensland standards it was positively cool for this time of year, but spring wouldn’t last long. It was getting hotter every day. There were a handful of people in the bar, but Max knew them all. He nodded to acknowledge their hellos, and stepped up to the bar.
    ‘Well, hello, Max. Nice evening, isn’t it? Not too warm for this time of the year. The long-term weather forecast says we’re in for a really hot summer. They say that as if it’s something special. Or some kind of surprise. But I ask you, when did we ever have anything but a really hot summer. OJ?’ Trish Warren, the owner of the pub and its chief barmaid, was in her mid-sixties. A short, grey-haired woman with shrewd eyes and a mind to match, she knew he never drank beer when he was in uniform.
    ‘Thanks, Trish.’
    Max cast a quick glance through the doorway from the public bar to the lounge. It was empty. Turning back to the bar, he noticed a half-finished beer slowly dripping condensation onto the highly polished wood of Trish’s bar. A leather biker’s jacket hung over a nearby bar stool. A black and red full-face helmet sat on top of it.
    Trish placed a glass of juice in front of Max, following his glance to the beer.
    ‘I see what’s going on here. You’re looking for the Harley rider?’
    Max shrugged.
    Trish grinned. Max knew that grin. It usually meant Trish was up to something. She nodded her head in the general direction of the toilets at the back of the pub.
    Max picked up his juice. He would wait. He braced himself for a verbal downpour from Trish. The publican was a good woman. Some said she was the heart of this small town. But she talked like no one Max Delaney had ever met. He had no idea how her husband Syd had lived with it all these years.
    But Trish said nothing. With a smirk twitching the corners of her mouth, she went back to polishing glasses.
    Max’s instincts went on an even higher alert. When Trish wasn’t talking, something was up.
    He caught movement from the corner of his eye. He slowly turned to look at the figure walking towards him from the direction of the toilets.
    The Harley owner was wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt, but looked nothing like any biker Max had ever seen. His first thought was how did someone so small and frail manage a big bike like the Harley? She was tiny. She would barely reach Max’s chin. And she was thin. He could see the shape of the bones on her shoulders. Her breasts were small but shapely under the tight white fabric of her top. Her hair was a dark mahogany colour, caught into a ponytail that hung halfway down her back. It was slightly ruffled, no doubt from wearing a motorcycle helmet. Max just knew her eyes would be green. They couldn’t be any other colour. Not if there was any justice in this world.
    She should have been beautiful, but she was a little too thin and something about the way she walked robbed her of her beauty. She kept her head down, her shoulders hunched as if she was trying not to be noticed. She knew he was watching her, and glanced in his direction. Her eyes were indeed green, and reminded him of a wild animal, poised to fight or to run. But there was something else in those eyes. Something that suggested she was stronger than she looked. Something that suggested she could be dangerous.
    She slid back onto her stool and reached for her glass. Her fingers were long and thin and devoid of either rings or polish on the nails. They looked as fragile as a bird’s wing. She raised the beer and took a long