by Ally Blake
Fully expecting a blanket “not on your life” and a lecture on the importance of security, she’d found herself disappointed when Armand had suggested she ask Jonathon.
When Jonathon had told her to do whatever her heart desired, Armand’s response was instant. Storm clouds rolled in and he’d grunted at her like in the days of old. Lucky she enjoyed that side of him. The caveman in the designer suit.
Deciding it was between them, she’d given Armand a quick kiss on the cheek before shooting off to the Yum Lounge. Surrounded by food and coffee, and a fort of chairs to keep the scavengers away, she’d powered through acres of code.
Either the problem was deeply hidden in striations within the code, or Jonathon, in fact, had himself a fantastic new product. She’d felt productive either way, until she’d headed back to the office to find Armand still fuming.
“Still don’t want to tell me what has put a bee in your bonnet?” she asked.
He rolled a shoulder, checked his phone again and moved a little further up the train platform.
She rolled her eyes and followed, not about to let him go back into his mental man cave. For she couldn’t quite work out how she’d managed to lure him out of there in the first place and wasn’t sure enough of her own allure to know she could do it again.
“Armand, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Nothing important.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“And yet I have nothing more to add.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Is this the way it’s going to be? Because I’m not going back to your place to hide in my room. I can do that at Zoe’s.”
His attention finally shot back to her. He reached out and took her by the elbow. Began to draw her in—
Then his phone rang. He looked at her—she could have sworn it was a look of fraught despair.
He let go and answered the phone. “Jonathon, I’ve been trying to get you all damn day.” Then he turned and moved further up the way.
Giving in, for now, Evie watched as two of the triplets she recognised as belonging to Frazzled Mum chased one another across the platform. She glanced back to find the mum coming along behind them, one boy asleep in the pram, the other seats filled with discount shopping bags.
Evie looked to see where Armand had gone when she saw he had stilled. His mouth moved as he spoke on the phone, his eyes on the boys as if he were a tiger preparing to pounce.
One toddler had hit the yellow line—the one behind which grown-ups knew to wait. The other, on the other hand...
Evie stepped forward, a country girl’s instinct to help warring with a city girl’s learned response to stay the heck out of other people’s business.
Then the ground beneath her feet began to buzz, and rumble, and the clatter of metal wheels on train tracks split the air.
Everything from that moment happened in a blur.
Toddler number one stopped at the yellow line. While toddler number two saw his chance to win the race and kept on running, waddling to the edge of the platform before tipping right over the edge.
Someone screamed. It might even have been Evie.
The taste of bile rose up in her throat as fear and horror slammed her from all sides, her vision contracting to a tunnel as she ran to grab the other boy.
Before she was anywhere near him, Armand was at the edge of the platform, his coat flying out behind him like a cape.
Everything from that point slowed—as if it had been choreographed for a movie. He scooped up one toddler under his arm, handing the boy off to a random stranger. Then, with a glance up the tunnel, towards the now heavy rumbling and screeching of the oncoming train, he leapt onto the tracks.
Evie’s heart slammed up into her throat. Her legs collapsed out from under her till she stumbled to her knees. But she didn’t stop, crawling towards the edge, her usually sharp mind in a tailspin.
She would have followed him too—right over the edge—when out of the corner of her eye she saw the mother, mouth open in a silent scream, a bag of apples spilling from the pram and over the edge of the platform.
Evie was on her feet, with suddenly superhuman strength stopping the crying woman from hurling herself and her other boy onto the track too.
Then, with the screech of brakes and a siren tripped no doubt by Armand’s leap, the commuter train braked hard as it barrelled into the station.
Evie slammed her eyes closed as she was hit with a blast of air from the train as it passed—relentless, unstoppable—smacking against her over-sensitised skin till she felt as if it was going to peel right off.
A million years later, the train finally stopped.
When Evie opened her eyes, it was to find the doors remaining closed. The people inside looking bewildered, talking and pointing towards the source of the siren splitting the otherwise deathly silence of the station.
Then, through the translucent train windows, she saw, on the far platform on the other side of the tracks, dark hair, a suit jacket, no tie. Armand. Hands on his knees, breathing heavily.
“They’re okay,” she said on a sob, grabbing the mother hard. “Both of them. They’re okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look,” she said, pointing through the gaps to the other side of the train, where an official in a blue uniform had a crying two-year-old in her arms.
The mother broke down, her cries racking her in deep, thankful sobs.
The stranger to whom Armand had handed the first toddler came up to Evie and the mother. The mother grabbed her child, too shocked to say thank you.
The stranger gave Evie a look. A mix of shock and relief.
To which Evie mumbled, “You have no idea.”
* * *
It was ages, for ever, before the doors opened and the commuters poured onto the platform, the siren still wailing.
Evie shifted to see through the window to find a mob of security guards with unhappy faces and dark uniforms talking into walkie-talkies and sweeping commuters back up the stairs, leaving the far platform clear.
In the centre was Armand. Organising, retelling, looking for all intents and purposes like a general. Till each guard shook his hand, or slapped him on the shoulder, then slowly moved away.
Armand stood looking out into the dark, dirty well of the gap where the train now stood. He brought a hand to his mouth, held it there a moment, before wiping his face hard and putting both hands on his hips.
Then he lifted his gaze.
Through the dusty double windows, he found her.
The storm in his eyes...it had cleared. His shoulders were back. His breaths long and deep. As if he’d woken from a slumber.
“Let’s get her to her baby,” the stranger beside her said.
Evie nodded, taking the pram while the other stranger comforted the mother and they herded her towards the lift that would get them to the other platform.
Evie kept glancing over her shoulder, trying to catch Armand’s eye once more.
She’d always known her brain was special. Quick and curious and clever. But in that moment, when the world had been about to tip into the worst kind of tragedy, compared to Armand her thoughts had been sluggish, like wading through thick mud.
He clearly didn’t like to think of himself as heroic—merely fulfilling his duty—as a son, a Frenchman, a friend. Didn’t mean Evie couldn’t quietly think it for him.
* * *
Evie managed to find a tight smile as she explained to the guard that both she and the woman with the pram needed to get down to the platform, investigation scene or not, and that nobody was going to stop them.
Her heart was thundering by the time the lift doors opened. When she saw Armand—big, dark and cool as a cucumber—the urge to run into his arms was only stoppered by the number of police with guns in their holsters milling about.
<
br /> In the end it didn’t matter, as Armand made a direct beeline for her. And said, “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Excuse me?”
Armand took her by the elbow and dragged her into a quiet spot around the corner by the stairs. “I saw what you were about to do. You were about to climb down there yourself.”
“And?”
“You would have been killed.”
“You made it.”
“I am trained for that kind of thing!”
“Really? Is there a Rescuing Toddlers Who’ve Fallen onto Train Tracks Only Moments Before a Train Zooms into the Station battalion in the French Foreign Legion? That’s lucky.”
His cheek twitched but there was no humour in it. “This isn’t funny.”
“I never said it was, Armand. I’m the one who should be doing the yelling here, but I’m not because you were amazing. So amazing I could jump your bones, right here and now.”
He looked at her with solemn dark eyes and she remembered belatedly what he’d told her about his ex. About how she’d been stuck on him “playing the hero”. Dammit. That was not what she’d meant at all.
She was just deeply glad he was okay.
“We can go,” he said, stepping back.
“Great. I just want to check on Frazzled Mum.”
Which she did. The woman’s husband was on his way. All three of her children had crayons and colouring books. And she was cradling a hot cup of tea.
She found Armand scowling at the bottom of the stairs, and without having to say a word they headed up to street level, where a car awaited them.
* * *
Not another word was said on the car ride back to Armand’s apartment. There were no words. Nothing he could say he would not wish to take back. The tension was loud enough, shimmering in the air around them like a mirage.
Once they were through the door the tension spilled over, and before he knew it Armand had Evie with her back to the wall and her leg around his waist as they kissed as if it was their last time.
He pulled back, dragging in breaths, placing a hand on the wall behind her head to steady himself, his jacket and hers in puddles at their feet. His shirt missing a button. Her hair like a wild, dark cloud about her face. His eyes lifted to hers and he’d never seen such emotion in his life.
Confusion and lust, worry and fear.
She sank a hand into his hair, holding him in place.
He waited for a continuation of the argument from the train station. In his experience that was how these things went.
But her voice was soft, emotional, rough as she said, “Take me to bed.”
And just like that Armand’s heart cracked in two. “You scared the hell out of me, Evie.”
“I know.”
“I scared the hell out of me too.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t worked in the field in a long time. I wasn’t sure I could ever again. But since you...because of you... I feel like that part of me is back. That I can contribute. That I can help. I couldn’t have done that without you.”
“I did nothing,” she said, her voice cracking. “I just stood there and watched. That little boy is alive because of you.”
“And I,” said Armand, “feel alive again because of you.”
For this woman had switched him back on. Calling to his humanity, to the innocence he had spent years trying to bury. Leaving him looking not to yesterday, to regret, to how he could have done better, but to tomorrow and whatever it might bring.
“Armand,” she croaked as a single tear rushed down her cheek.
He kissed it away.
Then lifted her off her feet and carried her to his bed. Where he felt every sensation, every touch, every smile and every tear in three dimensions and technicolour and made damn sure Evie felt the same.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AFTER SPENDING THE weekend in bed, Evie somehow made it to Monday.
She made herself a little nest on the couch at work—piling cushions around her back until she was comfortable. She made sure the plate of neatly lined-up chocolate buttons was within reach, clamped her headphones to her ears, found the playlist she’d made to connect her to the job and got to work.
Or at least she tried.
It was hard with Armand sitting behind his heavy wooden desk, banker’s lamp streaming golden light over his sleek profile. Knowing the missing tie was all down to her.
“Need something?” he asked.
She quickly looked back at her laptop. “Hmm?” came her response, as if she hadn’t been wholly attuned to his every blink, every breath, every scrape of fingernails over the stubble on his jaw.
Even after the transcendental weekend, during which Evie could safely say she’d never felt more real, more understood, more cherished by another human being in all her life, Armand was in a mood.
Not that she minded. It was that darkly delicious, stormy-eyed, messy-haired gravity that had drawn her to him in the first place. The urge to go over there, to climb on his lap and tame the tangles was a strong one.
“Everything okay over there?” she asked.
He didn’t say a word.
“Armand?”
When he remained silent, still a niggle of concern edged its way past the bliss as she realised he was deep inside his cave. The person she had been a few weeks ago would have left him there and backed away quietly.
But she’d been willing to accept very little for so long—with regards to work, living arrangements, friendships. And he was the one who’d made her realise it didn’t have to be that way.
She could risk big. She could close her eyes and leap. And falling wasn’t always bad. Falling could be the ride of your life.
She put her laptop on the coffee table and ambled over to his desk, put both hands flat on the top and said, “Armand, if you don’t tell me right now why you are so gloomy I’m going to make you.”
He looked up and a glimmer flashed into his eyes before being swallowed by the storm. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Scream? Stomp my feet? Go to Jonathon?”
The absolute quiet of his response sent a chill up her spine. This was no brooding; it was completely devoid of the passion that made him care so much.
Her gaze dropped to the papers gripped in Armand’s hand. “What have you found?”
“Nothing.”
She lifted a foot, ready to stomp, hoping to get a laugh out of him, or an answer. Anything but this stillness.
Then from one second to the next she realised what he meant. And the breadcrumbs in her mind lined up in a perfect row.
“There’s nothing wrong with the program, is there?”
Armand slowly shook his head.
Evie smacked the table and bounced back. “Ha! I knew it. I mean, it was odd that I hadn’t found even a single breadcrumb by now. Just a line of code here and there that needed streamlining. First I thought it was because Jonathon knew his stuff—that he’d bought some seriously sophisticated programming. But I had begun to think I was missing things because I was distracted. You are very distracting, you know. Now I can stop feeling guilty on that score. What do we do now?”
“We don’t have to do anything.”
“We have to tell Jonathon. He’ll be stoked.”
It took a few moments for Evie to realise that Armand had not said a word. He just gripped that piece of paper so hard his knuckles had turned white.
And it hit her. “He knows. He always knew.” She threw her hands in the air and paced. “Why? Why would he do that to me? To us? To you? Was that the test? To see how long it would take us to figure it out?”
She stopped pacing and stared into the middle distance. “That might actually make sense.”
Head spinning, Evie landed back on the couch with a bounce
.
“Wow. Does this mean...?” Her waterfall of words came to a stop as she realised exactly what it meant. “It’s over. The contract. The project. The team. No man—or woman—left behind.”
She tilted her head to find Armand watching her. He looked—not sad, not angry. He looked empty.
Her skin came over cold, clammy. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“I had begun to suspect.”
“When?”
“A few days ago.”
“A few... What?”
“The fact that I had found nothing—or more precisely that you had found nothing... It was too clean. Almost as if it had been homogenised. Like one of your games. Virtually real, only completely not.”
“And why didn’t you tell me then? In the shower this morning? On the train?”
Could it be because he too was feeling the squeeze around his chest, not knowing what this meant for them?
No. Not Armand. His response? “Because it’s my fault.”
Evie flinched. “What? No. Jeez, Armand. Not this time.”
She pulled herself to standing and moved around behind Armand’s desk, sitting on the edge. “Stuff happens. People fall pregnant, fall in love with the wrong people, die of aneurisms before they are even thirty. No matter how clever you are, how prepared, how big and strong, you can’t protect everyone from everything. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Jonathon’s.”
She reached over and pressed the red button on Armand’s phone and yelled, “Jonathon!”
“What can I help you with, Ms Croft?” crooned his disembodied voice.
“Why don’t you come on over and I’ll tell you all about it?”
“I’ll see you in a jiffy.”
Evie shrugged at Armand. “See, we can sort this thing out in a jiffy?”
“Evie,” Armand said, lifting out of his chair. No longer empty, his eyes were stormier than she’d ever seen them.
Her belly quivered at the sight. But she didn’t have the chance to decipher if it was fear or lust making it happen as Jonathon burst through the door holding a coffee mug in his hand.
He took one look at them, Evie perched on Armand’s desk, and Armand standing by her side, and smiled like the cat who’d found the cream. “What can I do for you?”