Ryan Kaine

by Kerry J Donovan

  “Based in Paris, ESAPP is run by a chap by the name of Maurice LeMaître. I met him once when doing some work for NATO. A charming individual and well-respected in the industry. The polar opposite of Sir Malcolm Sampson.”

  “Thanks for the lesson in weapons manufacturers but what’s that got to do with … wait a minute, Maurice LeMaître? Is he Grand-père Mo-Mo?”

  Kaine raised an index finder. “Got it in one.”

  “So, her real name’s Sabrina LeMaître?”

  “Not necessarily. He’s so well respected, everyone in the company calls him Grand-père Mo-Mo. It turns out that our young IT expert carries out the occasional undercover mission for ESAPP, as well as for the French government.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “She’s a real life spy?”

  “Let’s just leave it at that and be grateful she’s on our side, shall we?”

  “Fair enough.” She jumped to her feet. “Don’t know about you, but I need some food before I can face wading through the system and the dossiers. What do you fancy for lunch?”

  “A cheese salad baguette would be nice, thanks. Give me twenty minutes to have a play and I’ll follow you up.”

  Kaine watched her climb the stairs to the ground floor before turning his attention to his laptop. He started banging on the keys, trying to take his mind off the way she seemed to float over the treads, moving with smoothness and grace, and barely making a sound.

  Chapter 4

  Thursday 22nd October — Afternoon

  The Villa, Aquitaine, France

  After a light lunch on the terrace, taking calories in with the view, Kaine and Lara returned to the office. For security and confidentiality reasons, he didn’t allow hard copies of the documents. For the same reasons, the laptops needed to remain in the office. Reading from the screens was tiring on the eyes, but security took precedence over comfort and being in close proximity to Lara could hardly be considered a chore.

  While Kaine scan read the dossiers, she familiarised herself with the intricacies of the new software system.

  After three intensive hours, and with his eyes and brain tiring, Kaine took his leave and carried out his regular afternoon security sweep of the property. He masked it to any passing fishermen or casual beachcomber as yet another workout of an exercise freak.

  He jogged the perimeter to check the function of the electronic defences—with Lara confirming the calibrations of the surveillance system—and finished with sprint-jog intervals along the beach. At no point did he venture more than five hundred metres from the villa, but even this distance, a maximum of two minutes flat out over the dunes, was too far. To do his job of keeping her safe, and maintain a half-decent level of fitness, the training was essential, and he insisted she spend the time locked in the panic room. When they first arrived, Lara baulked at the idea, but after telling her a little of his experiences in the world’s flashpoints—keeping the details light and non-specific—she reluctantly acceded to his request.

  As usual, he followed up the outdoor routine with thirty minutes of high-intensity exercise in the villa’s makeshift gym—a corner of the second spare bedroom. He punched light and heavy bags and lifted free weights, but his eyes maintained a constant vigil on the surveillance feed running into his smart watch and on the room’s dedicated monitor.

  While he was inside, Lara took to the veranda and soaked in the late afternoon sun.

  Exercise completed, freshly showered, and feeling as relaxed as he could under the circumstances, Kaine lay, stretched out on a bentwood recliner, in his matching set of brilliant white Lacoste shorts and tennis shirt, ostensibly reading a paperback. But beneath the peak of his baseball cap, and behind his dark glasses, the words swam on the page. He couldn’t concentrate to read. After more than twenty years as a military man, many spent in the thick of major theatres of war, Kaine found it impossible to switch off the defences, even in so idyllic a place.

  Despite the fortress-like setup, with the nearest neighbours more than a fifteen minute walk away on either side, and a mesh of electronic tripwires blanketing the dunes, he couldn’t relax, not fully. Lara, lying on her recliner at his side, was his responsibility and he could never fully rest while there was even the remotest chance of her being at risk.

  Besides, one of the reasons his eyes refused to concentrate on the pages was the way she filled out her spray-on, one-piece bathing suit. He found it impossible not to stare.

  As though she could read his thoughts, she removed her sunglasses and looked at him.

  “You haven’t turned a page in five minutes. Something wrong?”

  He hiked his shoulders and shook his head. “Not really. I’m always like this between operations. The quiet before the storm, you know? Never did learn to relax.”

  In the fluid motion worthy of a dancer, she sat up, swung her long legs off the recliner, planted her bare feet on the deck, and leaned forward.

  “Living so much on the edge isn’t good for you. Stress is a killer.”

  Still lying flat, he eased a crick in his neck. “I’m used to it. A way of life in my business.”

  “You can’t even take a splash in the sea without turning it into a training opportunity, and you’ve exercised twice a day every day since we arrived.”

  “I need to keep sharp. Stay in shape, you know?”

  “Your shape’s not too bad.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  She tilted her head to the side, her eyes alighting on his chest and staying there.

  “I’ve been studying your swim stroke.”

  Kaine lowered his shades and looked at her over the top of the frame. To match her eye level, he dropped his feet onto the deck and sat up, only he did it with a damn sight less ease than Lara, and much more grunting.

  “You’ve been studying my swim stroke? Really?” He tried to avoid sounding incredulous, but failed miserably.

  Frown wrinkles appeared around her mouth. Kaine half expected her to growl.

  “Yes, I know. I’m hardly the best swimmer in the world, but I’ve been online studying swim dynamics—”

  “Swim dynamics?”

  “Listen, buddy,” she said, jabbing an index finger at his chest, “you don’t have to be a great swimmer to be a decent swim coach.”

  Smiling to diffuse the growing tension, he patted a hand in the air. “You’ve got me there. So, you’ve been looking at online swim coaching sites?”

  “I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my time than increasing my knowledge base. And don’t worry, I used Sabrina’s security interface. ‘Safe surfing’ as you keep insisting.”

  Smart woman.

  “Good. And as a matter of interest, when did you do this internet searching?”

  “Before Sabrina’s monitoring system went live. While you were running around outside. And don’t worry, I kept the office door closed, too. As you insist.”

  Smarter woman.

  She never stopped astonishing him. He’d been worried about her safety, and she’d been following his advice to the letter. The perfect client. The perfect partner.

  The perfect everything.

  “Excellent. So, you have something to say about my swim stroke?”

  Her expression became thoughtful and then morphed into serious professional concern. Along with her fitness and self-defence classes, he’d have to add a fieldcraft module on maintaining a poker face.

  “You crab thorough the water a little. It took me a while to work out why, but it’s because you pull a lot more efficiently with your right arm than your left. In fact, your left arm reach is a great deal shorter than your right. How’s that rib injury?”

  He forced a smile and said, “Good spot, but that’s normal for me, a long-term stroke weakness. I’ve always been more efficient on my right side during the catch and pull phase. It’s down to my being right-hand dominant and has nothing to do with the cut you stitched together so expertly.”

  “Okay, take off your shirt and let me see.”


  He hesitated for a second.

  “Don’t be shy, Ryan. I am a doctor.”

  “A horse doctor.”

  “You weren’t so picky when you crashed into my clinic.”

  “Touché.”

  Reluctantly, he did as she instructed, and almost as a reflex, tightened his abs, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  Lips pursed, Lara ran gentle fingers over his skin.

  “See?” he said, trying to breathe normally. “Good as new.”

  “Not bad. The scar tissue is reasonably smooth and supple. Shouldn’t cause any long-term discomfort. Make sure to keep it clean. To be honest, I’ve never seen a faster healing process, not even on horses.”

  He pulled away. “Comparing me to Dobbin? Nice one.”

  The thread-like lines on her forehead deepened. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I was making a point that with the number of stitches you kept popping when you were running around saving our lives, I’d have expected the scaring to be deeper and wider. Uglier.”

  The fact she saw his actions as life-saving, and had never blamed him for dragging her into his screwed up life in the first place, confirmed her angelic status.

  “Don’t worry about it, Lara. What’s one more scar to add to the collection?”

  The marks of half a lifetime spent in battle hadn’t worried him before, but he’d never really cared about what a woman might think of them before either. Under her keen gaze, they felt ugly, embarrassing.

  As she continued her gentle examination, he stared out over the water and remembered all the missions he’d been involved in, the people he’d saved … the ones he hadn’t.

  She leaned back and studied him full length. “Is that why you swim in a singlet and never take off your top in public? So many scars?”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “More or less. Wouldn’t want to scare off the neighbours.”

  She stretched, shielded her eyes from the sun, and made a great show of scanning the empty dunes and the lonely expanse of beach.

  “What neighbours?”

  Kaine sighed and took a sip of lemonade. The ice cubes clinked—a happy sound that brought memories of simpler times. His mother used to make lemonade and they’d sit in the garden on long, hot summer days playing host to every kid in the neighbourhood. Ma would relax in the sun while they played football, cricket, or endless games of chase and British Bulldog. He couldn’t help smiling.

  “You have a decent body, for an older guy,” she said. “Pity it doesn’t see much sun.”

  He tried to pull down the tennis shirt, but for some reason, it stuck to his skin. Eventually, he untangled it enough to free his arms and grab his glass. He took a large gulp of the lemonade and crunched on an ice cube.

  “The sun and I don’t get on,” he said at last. “I’ve spent too much time in too many deserts.”

  He didn’t mention that someone walking around a quiet coastal town in France looking as though he’d been standing next to Daniel during his stroll through the lions’ den, didn’t exactly merge into the background. Military fieldcraft basics: blending in is an essential part of staying alive.

  “And anyway, who are you calling an ‘older guy’? We’re not that far apart, age-wise. Born within eight years of each other. I even know how old you’ll be on your next birthday.”

  Her smile fell. “I never told you my age. Or my birthday.”

  He tapped the side of his nose. “That sort of information won’t stay hidden for long, not with the contacts I have at my disposal.”

  “Don’t you dare ask Sabrina to hack my personal details. Some things are best left unknown.”

  Oops, too late.

  As soon as he’d had a spare minute after their initial life-changing meeting, he’d found out everything he could about the veterinarian.

  For operational purposes, of course.

  She took a breath as though to say something else, but shook her head and stretched out on her lounger once again, lips together, skin glowing in the light reflecting off the water.

  The longer she remained silent, the more uncomfortable he became.

  The time would come when they would have to make a decision—soon, but not now. Lara needed time to consider her options. After all, she was a young woman, a professional. How long could he expect her to spend lying in the sun on an extended holiday from her real life?

  He’d love nothing more than for her to be part of his life forever, but she deserved better, much better.

  Because of his oath to The 83, the course of his life would be forever dictated by their needs. When he ran off to Scotland to search for the missing lad, Lara had been worried and upset, and for good reason. It wouldn’t be fair to keep putting her through the same thing time after time.

  He should have sent her away weeks ago, but having her beside him seemed the most natural thing in the world.

  Why couldn’t he have burst into the life of a bow-legged, wizened old geezer with a hook nose, brown teeth, and halitosis? Things would have been so much easier. He’d have set the old boy up with a new life somewhere safe and out of the way, like New Zealand.

  Kaine should have done the same for Lara. He should have built her a new identity, in a safe place, and ensured her safety, but no, he’d been selfish.

  Some days, he wanted to scream at the world for its cruelty. Other days, he wanted to dance for the colour she’d brought into his life.

  “It’s … getting late,” he said, jumping to his feet.

  “Yes, it is.”

  She pointed her toes, rolled her shoulders, and sighed happily.

  He stood tall over her and cleared his throat. “What do you fancy for supper? Eat out, or stay in?”

  “Do you mind if we eat in, please? I don’t really fancy getting dressed for the restaurant.”

  “Good decision. Barbecue?”

  Lara nodded.

  “Okay, barbecue it is.”

  She stretched into a comfortable, back arching yawn—which made Kaine yawn in sympathy—and settled into the chaise once again.

  “There’s no rush, though,” she said languidly. “I can wait an hour or so. This is so peaceful. Let’s enjoy the last of the sun.”

  “Keeping a hungry man from his grub? Fair enough, abstinence makes the stomach grow fonder.”

  She covered her eyes with a hand. “Oh dear.”

  “Sorry. Not one of my better jokes.”

  “You make jokes?”

  He winced. “Guess I deserved that.”

  Kaine drained the last of his lemonade. The ice had melted and diluted it down to mostly water. He lifted her empty glass from the table.

  “Another?”

  “No thanks, I’ll have some wine with dinner,” she said, and stared at him for a few seconds before letting out another gentle sigh. “Think I’ll carry on with my book for a while.”

  She hitched a smooth shoulder, took her e-reader from the table, and turned her back to him.

  The cold shoulder? Couldn’t really blame her. He needed a better joke book. Maybe he’d order one for Christmas: 1001 Jokes for the Modern Fugitive. It would be a smash hit.

  Kaine hovered over her, unsure of what to do next.

  “What’re you reading?”

  She touched the e-reader’s screen and it lit up.

  “Women’s fiction. A light romance. Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  He leaned against the back of her chair and glanced at the screen: Chapter 14, Jackie’s Dilemma.

  “You’d be surprised,” he said with forced enthusiasm. “I love a good soppy romance, me. Especially the ones where the recent divorcée has to take over her Great Aunt’s antique shop in the Yorkshire Dales. Towards the end she has to choose between the nice but boring doctor, and the devastatingly handsome, but dangerous rogue.”

  “Philistine! It’s not at all like that. Not anymore,” she said, shooting metaphysical daggers at him. “The genre can be much more realistic and gritty these days.”
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  “Really? Do tell. Care to give me the synopsis? What exactly is Jackie’s dilemma?”

  He drummed his fingers, waiting.

  “Jackie is a high-powered New York lawyer defending a banker accused of tax fraud. They’ve just had an argument and she’s stormed out of a late night meeting. Now she’s about to hook up with a guy in a bar.”

  “A guy in a bar? A ruggedly handsome biker who sweeps her off her feet and rides them off into the sunset, perhaps?”

  Lara lowered the e-reader and placed it face down on her flat stomach. “No, this guy’s a professional hit man who kidnaps her and holds her captive in a house near the sea.”

  “Ouch. Art mirroring life?”

  “Now I’m joking,” she said, lifting the e-reader again. “This one’s really about a woman trying to rebuild her life after the only man she’s ever loved dies in her arms.”

  “Ha! Told you.”

  “Yes, you did. Now, go fetch your drink and leave me in peace.”

  She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

  He wandered into the kitchen to replenish his glass, adding the merest hint of vodka for spice, and after a quick scan of the surveillance monitors, he returned to the deck, drink in hand.

  In his brief absence, the temperature had dropped enough for Lara to have tied a silk sarong as a beach wrap over her bathing suit. She’d discarded the e-reader and sat, looking out over the ocean. The cooling breeze pressed the silk against her body, folding it into her curves. Kaine couldn’t resist staring and was grateful she was concentrating on the glorious view of the Bay.

  He stood, watching her enjoy the lowering sun. The view was stunning, the reason he kept an eye on her was honourable and, for a brief moment, Kaine could relax.

  Reluctantly, he broke the spell, and stepped forward.

  “May I ask a question?” she said without turning or looking up.

  Damn it, she’d sensed his presence, and there he was, so proud of his ninja skills of the silent approach. Either he was slipping, or she’d picked up more from their fieldcraft sessions than he’d realised. He couldn’t work out whether to be disappointed in his failing abilities, or pleased with her improvement.

  He sank into his recliner and raised the back to match the level of hers.