Detained Read online

  Detained

  Detained

  Ainslie Paton

  From one of Australia's hottest new authors comes a story about an international scandal, a billionaire, and a fearless reporter who might just save the day...

  Confined in a cold, dull room in the depths of a Shanghai airport, a journalist chasing a career break and a businessman with a shadowy past play a game of truth or dare — deliberately not exchanging names.

  They tell each other their most painful secrets and burning desires. One dare leads to a kiss and a wild night of illicit passion, setting off a dangerous sequence of events, bringing exposure and disgrace.

  Only the brutal truth can save them. But it will also rip them apart. And it will take more than daring before they can build a new truth together.

  About the Author

  Ainslie Paton is a corporate storyteller working in marketing, public relations and advertising.

  She’s written about everything from the African refugee crisis and Toxic Shock Syndrome to high-speed data networks and hamburgers.

  She writes cracking, hyper-real romances about strong women and the exciting men who love them. She’s the author of Grease Monkey Jive and Getting Real.

  You can find Ainslie at: www.ainsliepaton.com.au and on Twitter @AinsliePaton when she should be writing.

  Acknowledgements

  Detained started with the concept of two people forced to be with each other in close confinement for an extended period of time. It was born of the idea that you can tell a stranger a truth about yourself that you’d hesitate to tell those closest to you. Think hairdressers and taxi drivers.

  Detained was possible because the members of Club BTA were behind me, giving me confidence I could do this, and not being too surprised when I did. A huge thanks once again to Clan M and our correspondent in Paris. You guys rock.

  For cultural references that enliven the story, wild clapping for: Confucius, Spiderman, Bruce Lee and Green Day.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  1. The Oh My God Particle

  2. Invalid

  3. Five Hours

  4. Strangers

  5. Seduction

  6. Collision Course

  7. Shangri-La

  8. Knowing

  9. Liar

  10. Success

  11. Froth

  12. Real World

  13. Spun

  14. Web

  15. Caught

  16. Shadows

  17. Abuse

  18. Tip

  19. Avalon

  20. Captured

  21. Proof of Death

  22. Unfinished Business

  23. Accused

  24. Steamed

  25. Road Trip

  26. Missing

  27. Trouble

  28. Freedom

  29. Confession

  30. Obit Writer

  31. Lost

  32. Spin

  33. False Memory

  34. What if

  35. Sleeping Beauty

  36. Not Alone

  37. Hell and Back

  38. Sanitised

  39. Home

  40. Headline

  41. Blockies

  42. Jigsaw

  43. Ahoy

  44. Favours

  45. Monster

  46. Rearranged

  47. Power

  48. Responsibility

  49. Detained

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  1. The Oh My God Particle

  “Ignorance is the night of the mind, but a night without moon and star.” — Confucius

  Darcy Campbell sat on her hands. The posture wasn’t pretty outside primary school but it was effective. A better alternative to violence. It was the bodily equivalent of biting her tongue. She did that too. After the screaming match she’d had with Gerry in the corridor, she knew Mark didn’t need any excuse to regret his decision.

  Mark Mason was a study in cool angry. He channelled plugged volcano, but his eyebrows had knitted. A hint the eruption, if it came, would be devastating.

  It was business as usual to see Gerry frothing at the mouth. Mostly his lather was theatrical. It was designed to remind everyone he was the paper’s most senior correspondent. But right now it was downright rabid. Gerry Ives was a man whose banner headline-sized ego had been stroked the wrong way and his fur prickled.

  Gerry propped his ‘years of long lunches’ bulk on Mark’s desk, wafts of cigarette smoke easing from the creases in his crinkled blue shirt. “She knows nothing about reporting business at this level.”

  Mark kept his frown steady on the Richter scale and his voice level. “Is that right, Gerry?”

  “Want to know anything about the ‘Oh my God’ particle, Darcy is your girl, but this isn’t special interest reporting.”

  “I’d hardly call science special interest.”

  “Don’t fuck with me. What’s she got I haven’t, apart from legs to her hairy armpits and good tits?”

  “I’m not going to respond to that, Gerry and neither is Darce. It’s beneath you.” Mark’s warning look was the kind you gave a dog about to steal a shoe to chew, right before you thwacked him on the nose with it to make sure he didn’t. Mark knew how much Darcy wanted to knee Gerry where it would hurt more than his 48pt-sized ego.

  “Why not? They asked for me. Me, our senior business correspondent, ex-Asia desk chief, twenty-five years in the business.”

  “They did and they expect you, so we’re not going to give them what they expect. The day it’s dial-a-reporter-of-choice is the day I retire.”

  “This paper used to be about in-depth, intelligent, investigative reporting. She’ll write about his flamin’ hairstyle, and what he has for fucking breakfast.”

  “Darcy will write about Parker Corporation and if what Will Parker has for breakfast is part of his extraordinary success, she’ll write about that too.”

  “Fuck. You’d be the worst managing editor I’ve ever worked with.”

  “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

  Darcy would’ve laughed but Mark hairy-eyeballed her.

  Gerry made a growl sound; part wet ashtray, part undigested sweet and sour pork, and threw his bulk into a chair. “I’m not being precious. I don’t understand why you want Darcy to do this instead of me. There aren’t too many genuine scoops left in this business. Not too many genuine opportunities to bring the world a story it’s not heard before. This Will Parker is a fair dinkum mystery man. He’s built a multibillion dollar business out of thin air, and no one knows who the fuck he is, where he’s come from or what he’s going to do next.”

  “That’s right. So it’s not like you have a head start knowing how to write the story.”

  “But I know how to ask the right questions. This is my turf and much as Darce is a gun, she’s not up to it.”

  “Jesus, Gerry! I’ve done my apprenticeship.”

  The words were bouncing around the room before Darcy realised she’d said them. She looked at Mark. There was a fight going on at the corner of his mouth, one side ticked up with the vague promise of a smile. He wasn’t going to shut her down.

  “I’ve been reporting for ten years. I’ve covered business, sure not at your level, Gerry. But I know the drill. I’ve worked crime, education, science and public companies. I’ve done bloody awful death knocks, and bat shit boring budget lockups. I’m damn sure I can interview a CEO and come away with a decent story.”

  “A reclusive superstar CEO about whom not a word’s been written that’s not pure speculation or conjecture.”

  Gerry had a point. Gerry always did, that’s why he was the country’s leading business commentator and Darcy was rattled by this whole thing.
One minute she was writing about particle physics, the next Mark wanted her on a plane to Shanghai to write the definitive piece on Australia’s most enigmatic businessman.

  This was the ‘Oh my God’ particle right here.

  But if she showed any sign of weakness, any twitch of confidence, Gerry would elbow her sideways so hard she’d be writing the racing guide. And if Mark, for all his apparent consideration and support, smelled a whiff of fear, he’d have no qualms reversing his decision.

  “I’ve got this, Gerry,” she said, looking at Mark. Mark who’d sign her expenses and ultimately approve her copy. And bounce her so hard if she fucked up, a job in a suburban paper writing about the need for more school safety zones would start looking good.

  Gerry’s head whipped around. “Sounded like your old man there for a minute, Darce.”

  Trust Gerry to bring Brian up. He’d never gotten over losing out to her father on the managing editor job at the Financial Record. Every chance he got he’d made a dig about it. The inference was always that Darcy only had a job because Brian pulled strings.

  Gerry glared at Mark. “I get copy approval.” He hauled himself upright. “I’m still business pages editor.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration,” said Mark. Now the shouting had stopped, he was doing his imitation of the earth cooling, brows going it back to their habitual position above watery grey eyes that’d seen too many pissing competitions like this. “Get out. And if I have to break up a racket like what just went down between the two of you again, I’ll find a way to bloody well dock your pay.”

  He would too. And there’d be nothing they could do about it. Mark was wily. If he needed to walk on water to run the paper he’d come up with special moves to keep his feet from getting wet. You didn’t survive as managing editor of the Herald without knowing how to out-manoeuvre, out-bully and outsmart a mob specialising in manoeuvring, bullying and being near criminally intelligent.

  Darcy let Gerry quit the office first. She wanted a word with Mark. He let her hover uncertainly while he read an email. He had a way of making you feel like you were taking up too much space on the planet.

  “What, Campbell?”

  “They asked for Gerry. You’re taking a risk on me and I want to know why.”

  “I’d better not be taking a risk on you.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Mark sighed. ‘You’re the investigative reporter, take a stab.”

  “Parker won’t be able to pick where I’m going with the story because my current resume isn’t on point. It’ll be harder to manipulate the interview because I’m an unknown quantity.”

  Darcy watched Mark for a nod or a meaningful blink. She got nothing. “You’re sending me because my tits are more impressive than Gerry’s.”

  He picked up his phone and thumbed it. “That’s my good little investigative reporter.”

  “I can’t believe...”

  Mark dropped his phone and zeroed in. Mean glare at two paces. “Will Parker is a thirty-something year old ghost. He’s never done an interview. The only reason Parker’s people initiated this is because he suddenly needs to build a local profile. The guy wants something and we don’t know what. We’re not his bloody PR agency, but that’s how he’s treating us. If we want the real story on why Parker wants to expand his interest here instead of China where he’s been based for the last ten years, we’re going to need to fight for it. And your tits are better than Gerry’s.”

  “You want me to seduce him?”

  “Come on, Campbell. Every interview is a seduction; you know that. You learned that as a cadet. Hell, you probably learned it at Brian’s knee. Yeah, I want you to fucking seduce Will Parker. Seduce him so he flashes his soul and all his grubby business interests at you, so you can stick ‘em on page one, and wreck any chance he has of ripping off the Australian public in his quest to make another billion.” Mark took a lungful and expelled it impatiently. “Is that clear?”

  “As glass.”

  “And you get I’m not actually telling you to flash your tits, or sleep with the guy?”

  “I do. Anyway he might be gay and my tits are not that good.”

  Mark’s hand went to his head in a gesture of disbelief. “Fucking might be gay.” He refocused on her, and it wasn’t humour he projected. ”Darce, you always did know how to push the point. Go meet a deadline. Don’t disappoint me.”

  It wasn’t till she was back in the corridor that Darcy allowed herself to feel exhilaration. Her heart was fuel-injected; her head, helium high. She was going to interview Will Parker. No—she was going to seduce Will Parker with nothing but her intellect. And when she’d broken the secrets of Parker Corporation, no one would say she skated by because she was Brian Campbell’s daughter, and any media job she wanted to name would be one step closer.

  By the time she got back to her desk, her smile muscles were fatigued and her stomach was flip-flopping. If she was going to seduce Will Parker with anything other than a plunging neckline and a too short skirt, she had work to do.

  2. Invalid

  “Learn as though you would never be able to master it; Hold it as though you would be in fear of losing it.” — Confucius

  “Miss Campbell, your visa is invalid.”

  It wasn’t that the Chinese immigration official spoke poor or heavily accented English. What he said was perfect clear, but perfectly obscure at the same time.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. The Chinese Embassy in Sydney issued this visa. How can it be invalid?”

  “Your visa is invalid. You will be detained until we can solve this problem.”

  “Detained? No, you can’t hold me.”

  The official handed Darcy her passport and immigration card. “You are welcome to return to Australia.”

  She tried to hand them back. “No. I have business in Shanghai. I’m sure my visa is valid.”

  “Your visa is invalid. If you wish to enter into China you will be detained until we can solve this problem.”

  “Where will you detain me? How long will you hold me?”

  “Here at the airport until we solve this problem.”

  “But how long might that take?”

  The official shrugged. “The paperwork must be in order before you can enter the country. If you wish to think about this, you must stand aside.”

  Standing aside was less threatening than being detained. Darcy had travelled widely through Asia and Europe, and even in Africa had never once been detained for a visa irregularity. She stood aside, in limbo between the queue of passengers and a barrage of immigration officials. Not that she had another choice. The passenger behind her had already taken her place at the counter.

  She was rapidly assessing her options as that passenger was replaced by another and it became obvious she’d stand there all night unless she made another decision. Before another changeover could take place she stepped back into the line.

  “I’d like to enter Shanghai. I’m sure my visa is valid. I trust you’ll only detain me until you can make contact with the embassy in Sydney to confirm my details.” She felt vaguely stupid for crossing her fingers while she said that.

  The official raised an arm and another uniformed officer stepped forward. He motioned for her to follow, leading Darcy down one corridor after another until she thought they’d surely emerge somewhere in the middle of the Bund. So far, being detained was likely to give her blisters and a sore shoulder from tugging her wheelie suitcase. Getting out of detention without assistance would probably require breadcrumbs. How thoughtless of her not to have dropped them.

  At the door to a nondescript room in a nondescript corridor, the official stopped and motioned to her to enter. “You will be advised when your visa has been validated.”

  “How long will I need to wait?”

  “Not long.”

  “How long?”

  The official smiled, revealing jumbled teeth, as if that might make his lack of information more palata
ble. “Not long.”

  He opened the door, stepped inside the darkened room and turned on the lights. Then he was off down the corridor like he was being chased by a swarm of bees.

  The room was windowless. There was a table and a scattering of regulation plastic chairs, a brown couch and a water dispenser, but no cups. There was also a small bathroom with a toilet and basin. It was about ten degrees colder than it was in the rest of the airport.

  Welcome to Shanghai.

  She threw herself on the ugly couch. She was tired from the ten hour flight. She was hungry. She had the beginnings of a headache from the amount of cramming she’d done—reading up on Chinese business regulations, and what little there was publicly available on the privately held Parker Corporation.

  She’d spent most of the flight with what might be pictures of Will Parker scrounged from files and internet image matching services taped to her upright tray table. If this was Parker, he was tall, had dark hair, a square jaw and glasses. He wore a business suit well; and an expression of superiority better. In a tux with a glamorous Chinese woman on his arm, he was definitely social pages drool-over material.

  The only thing Darcy was drooling over was the thought of her hotel room, being able to have a hot shower, and stretch out full-length in bed. At least she’d brought a wrap. She dug it out of her wheelie bag and snuggled into it. It was a poor substitute for the overcoat she’d have packed if she’d known her damn visa was going to be invalid, and she’d end up in a freezing cold room somewhere in the backblocks of Pudong airport, where she might well starve to death because they forgot about her.

  How long was how long realistically likely to be? Worst case, she’d spend the night in detention. But surely not. Surely someone would phone Sydney tonight, and sort it out.

  Thank God she’d taken the Friday flight. She had the weekend to get over the detention ordeal before she needed to front at Parker’s office for her interview.

  She sat shivering on the couch. When her stomach rumbled audibly she stood and paced about the small room. Damn, this wouldn’t do. There was no way she was spending the night here. She got to her feet and went for the door. She’d find someone who could fix this mess, if she had to stand in the corridor and scream fire till someone showed up.