Searching For You

By Robyn C Rye

After travelling the world for three years, Riley yearns to return to Australia when she faces a life-threatening situation.

An unexpected opportunity launches Riley into her own business, and while life is busy, the unsettled feelings return. Uncle Bernie, her guardian, encourages her to meet with her childhood friend and teenage crush; when it becomes apparent that Riley is ready to take off again. It saddens and disgusts Riley to discover that the kind, loving boy she knew as a child had grown into an arrogant, self-important playboy.

When her uncle and his new wife begin their honeymoon, Riley packs her ute and prepares to leave her home again. With no specific destination in mind, Riley heads to cattle country southwest of her home. On her first night away from home, Riley meets Adam at the local pub. He offers her the chance to visit his cattle station, and Riley accepts.

The attraction between Adam and Riley is intense. When Adam is called to a fire, Riley remains at his home until Adam relays a message to his foreman telling Riley to evacuate. Her arrival at the staging point begins a month-long stay, helping prepare food for tired firefighters and looking after Adam's crew.

Riley and Adam's relationship ends because of intereference, leaving Riley pregnant and alone despite her attempts to reason with Adam.

Can Adam and Riley overcome the hurdles in building a relationship, or has the anger and mistrust spoiled any hope for the future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: robyncrye
• Release date: May 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201082291

Book preview

Thank you for joining me in telling the story of Riley and Adam. I hope you enjoyed their story as much as I enjoyed recounting it.

If you loved the book and have a minute to spare, I would appreciate a short review on the page or site where you bought the book. Reviews from readers like you make a massive difference in helping new readers find stories like Searching For You. Your help in spreading the word is appreciated.

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Chapter One

Riley strolled through the stalls, occasionally stopping to inspect the wares. The massive array of clothing and fresh produce covered table after table. Riley knew that people could buy most garments at department stores for a lower price, so bartering was a way of life for the locals. Unfortunately, tourists sometimes got caught paying top dollar for inferior products. Still, Riley had been a frequent visitor at markets in every country she visited and was well-versed in how they worked. The crowd buffeted her as Riley wandered, letting the sun warm her. She was in no hurry, so she manoeuvred around the bustling crowd. A sudden pop sound reverberated through the marketplace, and people froze. The horde moved as one when the sound came again; people fled for their lives. Riley followed the fleeing crowd, ducking around trestle tables and cartons of produce in the faint hope of evading the bullets. Her flight was mindless; her wish not to die today drove her forward.

When the crowd veered towards the entrance, Riley hung back. The sound of the gun appeared to come from a different direction. Unsure of where to flee, she scanned the place. A shed off to the side of the passageway might give her refuge. Riley broke free of the surrounding hordes and raced towards the hut. She wasn’t foolish enough to think the interior was a safe hiding place. She suspected the assailant was moving through the market, eliminating people who tried to hide. Inside the building, she was as good as dead. If she squatted behind the building, she could see where the gunman was and move in response.

Crouched low, Riley could not see the shooter. Her hands trembled, and her heart thumped. She tried to take a few calming breaths, but her chest was so tight she could only take brief gasps. As her head swam, she feared she was going to pass out. Now was not the time to have a panic attack. Thoughts of Uncle Bernie’s distress at losing her at the hands of a madman with an automatic rifle steadied her. She had a gun; all she had to do was pull it from her backpack. With her hands trembling, she struggled to get the clips on the front of the bag open, but, at last, she pulled out her handgun. The weapon had been her constant companion for the preceding three years. When she first told Uncle Bernie of her travel plans, he insisted she carry a gun and be proficient in its use.  After travelling through war-torn countries and other places experiencing upheaval and violence, Riley ensured that she loaded her handgun and kept it accessible. She had not thought she needed protection in America but had packed it out of habit. A spray of bullets hit the front of the shed, and Riley crouched lower. She knew her handgun was no match for a maniac with an automatic rifle, but she was damned if she would die without a fight.

His footsteps sounded close; a chill rushed through her body, and she held her breath, afraid to move even a muscle. An eerie silence descended on the market, and Riley peeked out from her hiding spot. The shooter stood with his back to her as he gazed around, looking for more victims.

Mommy! a small voice wailed. Riley watched from her safe spot with horror as a small boy raced onto the road. A sobbing girl dashed after him, and Riley’s blood chilled as she heard the shooter laugh. When the gunman raised the automatic weapon, focusing on his new targets, Riley raised her gun and fired once, twice, three times. It took self-control not to empty the whole clip into the murdering scum. The man dropped to the ground, and Riley raced towards him, kicking the gun away from his lifeless fingers.

She sank to the ground, her entire body shuddering. Tears poured down Riley’s face; relief and remorse were warring with each other. Victims lay around her on the ground, some motionless and others crying in anguish. People poured out of hiding spots; a few assisted the victims, and others stood, too traumatised to move away. The sound of the sirens of the emergency vehicles snapped Riley from her daze. She needed to put the gun back in her bag because the law enforcement officers would shoot first and ask questions afterwards if they encountered anyone holding a weapon.

As she sat on the ground, shaking, the rough stones of the walkway pressing into her bottom and thighs, Riley decided she was going home when this nightmare was over. She had seen all that the world offered, beauty so intense that it made her gape in awe and poverty and suffering that made her question man’s humanity. Riley longed to wake up where the outside world was peaceful. She never fooled herself into thinking there was no poverty or violence in Australia, but she knew that the suffering caused by war did not happen in her home country.

Riley pushed aside her sudden bout of homesickness and focused on the awkward position in which she found herself. The officer walking towards her glared at her. She was under no illusions that the police would take her in for questioning but hoped they saw her actions as heroic and not criminal.

Mam, raise your hands and stand up straight.

Riley followed the instructions. Even though the officer could see no weapon, any deviation might still get her shot.

A woman raced towards the police officer, waving her arms. No, no, no, officer. Joseph raced out onto the road, and Sophia she followed to catch him. The man raised his gun. He was going to shoot my babies, and this brave woman shot him. This woman saved my children’s lives. She is a hero.

The officer scrutinised Riley.

If you shot the gunman, where is your weapon?

I put it back in my bag. I didn’t want you to see me with a gun and shoot me. Can I lower my hands now? I can hand over my bag, and you can retrieve the gun.

Leave your hands in the air. I’ll frisk you, and then you can lower your hands.

The police officer’s impersonal touch chilled Riley, and when he instructed her to lower her hands and hand him the bag, she sank to her knees, retching. Her entire body shook, and a sob escaped her mouth. She knew the police would take her into custody and grill her for hours despite what the relieved mother said.

Welcome to America. She mumbled to herself. She would catch the first Qantas plane home when law enforcement finished with her.                             

The procession of emergency service vehicles pushed through the small alleyways that comprised the marketplace. Riley watched in disbelief as the paramedics loaded stretcher after stretcher into the backs of the cars. Sirens screamed, and lights flashed as the ambulances speeded to the hospitals with their injured and dying patients. The officer took Riley into custody amid the chaos of arriving and departing ambulances. The officer placed his hand on her head and pushed her into the back of the patrol car. Earlier, a policewoman had cuffed Riley’s hands behind her back, and they drove to the station in silence. Once they reached the precinct headquarters, the officer led Riley through the foyer and corridor. The woman opened a door at the end of the passageway and led her into the room. The only furniture in the room was a table and three chairs.

Wait here, the woman said before turning and leaving her alone.

Riley sank into the hard-wooden chair. Her legs couldn’t support her any longer, and the ability to sit was welcome. Riley shivered; her entire body trembled. She wasn’t sure if her shakes were because of the chill in the room or a letdown after the adrenalin high caused by the shooting. The moment that she pulled the trigger repeatedly played in her brain. Her reaction had been instinctive, and although she realised there was no alternative to shooting the man, she still felt guilty for taking a life. She believed life was sacred, but did a monster deserve to live? After waiting for what seemed to be hours, Riley laid her head on the table. What the hell were the cops doing? Surely it didn’t take this long to find someone to question her? Fatigue swamped her, and she rested. She shot from the seat when a hand landed on her arm, waking her from her restless nap. A tall, imposing man stood over her, a look of disdain on his face.

Glad to see that the activities from this morning haven’t ruined your day. Riley let his sarcastic comment slide; there was nothing to be gained by aggravating the officer.

I’m Detective David Bevan, and I need to question you. I will tape the interview so there can be no confusion about today's events.

The Detective started the tape. He gave his name, Riley’s name, the time and the date.

Now, Miss Johnson, I need a timeline of the events culminating in you shooting a man.

Riley stared at the man and then shook her head; he had treated her with contempt, allowing her to languish in this uncomfortable little room, and now he was acting as though she was at fault.

Detective Bevan, tape this. Today I shot a murdering bastard who had killed many people. Most of the people in that market district consider me a hero. Instead of making sarcastic comments and treating me as a criminal, take off these damned handcuffs and get me a drink of water. I have been in this cubicle for hours while you swanned around doing God knows what. I am an Australian citizen, and before I give you any information, I want somebody from the embassy here.

Detective Bevan gave her an assessing look, and then, without comment, he rose from his seat and removed the cuffs. Riley stretched her arms and then rubbed the welts on her wrists. She winced. Detective Bevan walked from the room and returned a few minutes later with a water bottle.

We have notified the embassy, and they will have someone here in the next half hour. I’m afraid you must stay here until the consul arrives.

At least this time, I know you have a good reason for making me wait, unlike earlier when you thought isolating me for an extended time would intimidate me. The intimidation ploy might work on criminals but annoys innocent people.

Detective Bevan frowned at Riley and then left her to her own devices.

Riley wrapped her arms around herself, the chill in the room seeping into her bones. This morning when she dressed, she prepared for a day in the sun, not hours alone in a freezing air-conditioned room. Bustling outside the door raised Riley’s hopes that the envoy had arrived. Detective Bevan walked in, preceded by a woman. The envoy was a tiny woman, and the accent was pure Aussie. For the first time since the shooting, Riley smiled.

Thank God, an Aussie accent.

Detective Bevan scowled at Riley, but the envoy smiled and introduced herself as Meredith Severs.

I’m told you have got yourself involved in a tragic incident. We’ll sort this out in no time, I’m sure.

Riley wasn’t so confident but wanted to believe the woman.

Hours later, after repeating her version of events, Meredith Severs called a halt to the proceedings.

Detective, I’m unsure why Riley must continue repeating her statement. If you have interviewed anyone from the marketplace, they will corroborate Riley’s account of the incident. Would you be a happier man if Riley had continued to hide and allowed the shooter to kill many more people? You should say, thank god Riley had a gun and knew how to use it, and then release her. This repetition serves no purpose, and if you persist, I am inclined to suggest Riley hire a lawyer and answer no more questions.

That’s all very well, Ms Severs, but the district attorney may want to charge Ms Johnson with manslaughter. The gunman’s family will want justice for their slain family member. If I don’t have the facts, his case falls apart.

Manslaughter? Justice? Are you delusional, Detective? At the last count, the death toll was seventy-three, with more people hospitalised with life-threatening injuries. Stop grandstanding and release Riley now.

With poor grace, the Detective conceded, and he let Riley go on her way. As they made their way from the police station, the officer who had handcuffed her hours before approached Riley.

Detective Bevan had to go through the official processes, but I would have found a medal for you and sent you on your way if it had been up to me. Without your intervention, hundreds of more people could have died. I’m sure I’m saying what the market survivors say, thank God for a feisty Aussie girl with a handgun.

Riley gave a tired smile and touched the officer on the hand.

Thank you for saying that. I felt I had no choice but to shoot, but taking someone else’s life was daunting. It may take time to come to terms with what I did, but I’m pleased that the Detective didn’t charge me with manslaughter; that would have been a crummy way to finish a lousy day.

Before exiting the building, Riley waded through an area she heard an officer refer to as the bullpen. The room housed numerous desks; many officers were at their desks at this time of day. It stunned Riley when first one officer and then another stood to handclap her. Her face flushed as she listened to the standing ovation the room full of police officers gave her, and she nodded her head in acknowledgement.

Chapter Two

If you are visiting Brisbane, we hope you enjoy your stay, and if you are returning after a trip, welcome home. The welcome home from the pilot caused Riley’s eyes to well with tears. In her years away, never had she been happier to hear the screech of the wheels as they hit the runway. She was home. God, that sounded so good. Once she cleared customs, nothing would stop her from hugging Uncle Bernie and hot-footing it to the car.

Clearing customs was always an issue for Riley. Her lead-lined camera box, plastered with fragile stickers, raised suspicions when she entered a country, and Australia was no different. Riley waited while her luggage went through the X-ray machine and then prepared to open her bags for the customs officer to search. The man searched her hand luggage first and, finding no undeclared or illegal items, turned his attention to her strong box.

Please unlock the box, Miss.

Riley pulled the chain from around her neck and fitted the key into the lock.

I trust this container holds no dangerous materials or weapons? queried the officer.

No, it holds my camera, exposed and unexposed film. If the box weren’t led-lined, your X-ray machines would ruin my photographic equipment. While I’ve sent most of my exposed films home, my recent work and new films are in the box.

Once the officer unpacked the box and investigated its contents, he gave Riley the go-ahead, and she walked toward the exit. So many things told Riley she was home, not the least being called miss instead of ma’am. Riley looked for her uncle as she walked through the passengers discharged from another overseas flight. The group of people blocking her way parted, and she spotted him. Riley hauled her bags along, oblivious to the disgruntled folk who had to escape her way. Once she cleared the crowd, she launched herself at the middle-aged man waiting for her. The strain of the last few days caught up with her, and Riley burst into tears as his arms wrapped around her. He patted her back and made soothing noises until the sobs subsided and the tears dried.

Well, that was quite the welcome.