Mark Doyle was an architect and he was taking advantage of the many wonders of the technological era to work from home. So essentially, we would have nothing better to do than spend the whole day inside the complex.
"We'll settle in tonight, and tomorrow we go by their gym to sign up. They have an Olympic size swimming pool," he said.
"I go jogging every morning. Not sure if going to the pool is a good idea," I said hoping he wasn't going to ask why.
"Why?"
I had done my best not to get to this point.
"Because my scar might be visible."
He almost asked where it was, but didn't. Either because he had read the report or he sensed my discomfort, he didn't press.
"It's on my butt," I said abruptly.
He just looked at me inquiringly. I sighed. I had to tell the story.
"A small-time drug dealer got too nosy about my involvement. He was sampling his own product and he got paranoid. I hadn't done anything to make him suspicious but he started accusing me of working for the government and that I wanted to implant him with a chip to track his movements. It didn't help that for the first time in our dealings, I brought a new guy. My initial investigation was Vice related, but when I got involved with a drug Cartel, they sent me someone from Narcotics. The idea was that I'd stick with the human trafficking ring and he'd move into the Cartel. Anyway, the paranoid bastard came at me with a gun and instead of disarming him efficiently… I fought him off like a girl. We got into a tussle and the gun went off. Long story short, now I have the scar from a gunshot on my left cheek."
"Why didn't you disarm him?"
The same question my handler had asked, when I was still in hospital on my stomach in the hospital bed. That was one of the basic moves we were taught at the Academy. Not to mention that I had a martial arts background that came in handy in every combat situation I've ever been.
"Mecause I didm't wamt to break covr," I mumbled the words.
This didn't work with my parents when I was a kid and it didn't work for Sophia either.
"You got shot because you didn't want to blow your cover?" he asked incredulous.
"To be fair, he probably would have shot me anyway."
"Not if you had disarmed him previously."
"I guess. Can we not talk about it? At least until we're out of here. Sophia is a nice girl who hasn't even seen a gun in her life, let alone get shot."
"If Sophia ever got shot, Mark would probably tie her down and never let her leave the house," he said.
He had meant it as a joke, but I got another frisson when his words conjured up the image of him tying me down. Maybe there was something in the water or in the East Coast air to make me react like that. I'm a vanilla girl who is perfectly content to have robust vanilla sex. I knew myself not to have daddy issues or any inhibitions that I needed to act out. One of the perks of undercover jobs was the amount of therapy and de-programming you get once you're out and you have to go back into a police environment.
At least, I thought I knew myself.
Chapter 7 Daddy's girl
Nicholas
The image of the blond girl tied down, gorgeous and helpless clouded my mind for a while. My many demons were usually securely walled away in the corner of my mind that not even my shrink got to see most of the time. This time I couldn't even blame Dvorak for my reaction. Bondage was my own fantasy and I never allowed myself to play it out.
"How do you call your father?" I asked in a vain attempt to distance myself from the danger zone.
"Noah," she said. "I told you they're hippies. We called them Noah and Eve. When we said mom or dad it was our way to let them know we wanted something."
"You can't call me Mark," I said. I was damned if I told her to call me Daddy although I wanted to hear her moan the word to me.
"I know. That would defeat the whole purpose of our mission. I'm ok with Dad, if it's ok with you."
"Fine," I said.
She shifted position in her seat and I kept my eyes on the road but my peripheral vision was focused on her long, tanned legs. She was wearing short jeans cut right under her butt. Apparently she wasn't concerned that someone might see the scar that way. Out of respect for a fellow officer, I didn't wonder exactly how high on the butt was the wound. She leaned over to the dashboard and jumped from station to station until she found a vintage radio she liked. The song was Bob Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone. Not one of my favorite songs, but I could see the appeal for her. The song I tried very hard not to hum ever since I met her the day before, was California Girls.
I lowered the car window and talked to the guy manning the security booth. She took advantage of my back being turned to stretch. I may have had my back her to her but that didn't mean I didn't hear her squirming in her seat. When I turned back to her I could see her trying to cover the pouting and tension. According to her role, Sophia didn't like to give up her childhood room in Manhattan for a villa in the world's most boring neighborhood. We both knew that Sophia shouldn't be a happy puppy for a while. Until she made a friend in the new place. Someone who would sympathize with her situation. Her cover was tailored to get close to Anna, and gain her trust in the event of a rapid extraction.
"Here we are," I said when we got to our house.
Our arrival was timed to coincide with Dvorak coming back from work. We were still going back and forth between house and car getting stuff inside when he pulled over. He watched us as he drove by, then again when he got out of the car.
"Where are the chargers?" I asked Sophia, stopping her before she got back into the house. "This box is empty."
I shoved the box labeled 'Chargers' into her hand. She was in the perfect spot for Dvorak to see her, and I was in the perfect spot to watch him, although I was facing my daughter. I looked in her eyes without seeing them, my full attention focused on the man watching us from his front door. Watching her.
"Daaad, relax. They're already inside. They were in that nice box with the cherry blossoms on it."
"Sophia, why did we bother to label the boxes if you're just going to ignore them?"
"That box was way prettier, and I wanted to make sure we don't forget them. Again."
"So we just wasted space carrying an empty box."
"Not empty." She took off the cover and removed the cardboard at the bottom of the box. "See?"
A row of chocolate bars was neatly stacked under the false bottom. She took one, tore off the wrapping and bit into it.
"Chargers for humans," she said with her mouth full.
I shook my head smiling at her. She looked adorable and for a moment I forgot about the killer watching us until I saw the door close in my peripheral vision. The suspect had witnessed our little improv session. I handed her the box, went to the trunk to get the last suitcase and pressed the button on the remote to lock the car. Sophia sauntered inside, munching on her chocolate bar. Those jeans were too short for comfort.
Maybe we should have spent longer talking about what to wear. I was aware of fashion trends, I could recognize brands and styles, but I didn't feel entitled to advise on a teenager's wardrobe. I trusted Katherine's choices, but she probably didn't take into account that I had to live in the same house with our young colleague. Katherine knew me and loved me but sometimes she didn't think I was quite human. For the moment, I just had to hope that in the many suitcases there were some long, not-form fitting pants and loose tops to conceal her shapes. Her clothes had to match the victims' clothes, but I needed some respite inside the house.
Her voice came from upstairs, sounding gleeful and crystalline.
"I call dibs."
She ran out onto the landing and motioned me to come up.
"I want this one. Dad, please, this has to be my bedroom. It just has to."
She kept talking as I walked up and she grabbed my hand when I still had two stairs left. I took them in one step and followed after her as she dragged me into what was certainly going to be her bedroom.
> "The closet is amazing and just look at that sunset."
She opened the curtains in one swift move. The room was bathed in shades of red. Including her body. I didn't want to think of the five bloody crime scenes that brought us to this place. I came next to her by the window and looked out. Dvorak's house stared back at us. Did the killer look at us from behind its darkened windows? She squeezed my hand tight and I did the fatherly thing. I put my arm around her shoulders. When she cuddled into me, I pressed my lips against her temple. She trembled, clutching at my shirt just for a second before stepping away.
"Soooooo?" she asked, twirling like a ballerina on one foot. "Is this my roooom?"
I pulled back the curtain smiling. She wanted me to play along, so I did.
"Yes, baby. The room is yours."
Skye
I nearly lost my balance when he called me baby. I had barely contained a moan during that quick hug. That voice though… Low. Husky. It did things to me.
"Thank you," I said. "Let's see yours."
I bounded out of the room without grabbing his hand. All the rooms in the house were furnished, but there were no personal touches, not even linen on the beds. That was the first time either of us would set foot in that room. There was no reason to be anxious about going into his bedroom. Nothing except the way that sounded - his bedroom. It had his bed in it.
The bed was pretty much all that fit in that room. And it was a narrow one at that. Who had chosen the furniture for his house? My room had a queen size bed and this one had a twin bed. Probably that one was meant as the master bedroom.
"It's so much smaller. Would you rather take the other one?" I asked when he came in.
He shook his head.
"It's fine. I'm used to single beds since I was in the Army. Besides, I don't plan on bringing anyone else over."
His smile was sad, like a man's who still dealt with the loss of his beloved wife. I was in Sophia's skin and she wanted to hug her dad. I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tight.
"I'm here, daddy. Everything will be fine."
He stroked my hair a few times, then he put his hands gently on my shoulders.
"Maybe we don't have to be in character all the time."
I let him go immediately. My cheeks burned with shame at his delicate reprimand. That was my process. Full immersion into character and no contact with my handler for at least a week. I couldn't switch between my role and myself as easily as changing channels on my TV. But I was playing in another league now, and I had to up my game to match his skills. Yes, that was it. I had to be Sophia for the mission. It had nothing to do with the fact that Sophia had a right to hug her daddy whenever she felt like it.
"Sorry," I said. "So, it's ok for me to take the room with the view of Dvorak's house?"
"Sure. The study is on the same side of the house and I can watch him from there, too. I'll bring the suitcases up to unpack. He goes to the gym in half an hour and I have to be there."
The plan was for him to try to get Dvorak's attention at the gym, to get the introduction done and start building a report. I followed him out of the room.
"Woods?"
He turned his head back to me. He had a haunted look that blurred the line between his character and himself.
"Please tell me if I'm out of line or I'm not doing something right. I've only been undercover once before. You've done this a long time, so help me out."
"Ok."
He didn't ask me to tell him if anything bothered me. He was so sure he was above reproach. Smug bastard. Maybe I didn't have as much experience as him in undercover work, but I knew a thing or two about long stakeouts. He was going to get pranked until he cried uncle.
*
I was still unpacking and arranging my many girly possessions when he knocked on the open door.
"Going to the gym," he said and he left after I nodded.
His gym clothes were not very flattering. I was ok with him not wearing lycra pants, but the baggy t-shirt was making him look twice the size he was. I had hugged him twice that day, so I was quite familiar with his body. He looked massive because of the loose clothes he wore, but underneath he was pretty well toned. Even his dress shirts were bigger than they needed to be. He hadn't asked for my help when he chose the wardrobe for the mission and I'm sure he hadn't asked for Katherine's opinion either. My thoughts drifted for a few minutes, imagining what clothes I'd buy for him.
I finished making my bed and went downstairs to prepare dinner. We didn't have a TV in the kitchen, so I looked through my phone for appropriate cooking music. The only times I cooked for more than one person was when I was still living with my parents. I pressed play on the Home playlist and The Mamas & The Papas started to sing California Dreamin'
By the time I heard the front door, I was dancing on the sound of Horse with No Name. I poked my head out of the kitchen to tell him about dinner. His t-shirt had a dark v-shaped stain on his chest and his hair was sticking to his head from the sweat. Everyone on the force was required to pass strict physical exams so he couldn't get exhausted from a simple workout at the gym. He had to make Dvorak think he was weak and out of shape. He had to be relatable without presenting a threat. Dvorak would not react well to another predator close to home.
"Food's ready if you want," I offered.
"After the shower," he said on his way upstairs.
A few moments later I heard a noise in the pipes signaling that someone had turned on the water upstairs. My imagination was going to get me in trouble sooner or later. Without my consent, my mind presented me with the image of Nicholas freaking Woods, naked, in the shower, his skin glistening, his muscles flexing and relaxing under the water running over his body, his eyes closed, allowing the tension and bad thoughts to melt away. My bad thoughts didn't melt away. That was no way to think of a colleague.
Think, dammit! ight, colleague. Equals. Pranks. I went to the sink and turned on the hot water full blast. It was the sort of stupid thing Jack and I did to each other back home. The challenge was that the one in the shower had to keep quiet to make the other one think it didn't work, and of course to get away without a lecture from Eve and Noah. I strained my hearing for the telltale sign of a man suddenly under ice-cold water, but I was disappointed. Maybe Army life had made him accustomed to cold showers as well as small beds.
I was chopping up mushrooms for the salad trying so hard not to think of Detective Woods in uniform. These days, we wore our uniforms only at the funerals of our colleagues who died on duty, but in my mind he was not wearing his police uniform. That was too weird for words. I had never had a thing for men in uniform before, and there I was, preparing dinner for a man I hardly knew and daydreaming about him as well. My hips were swaying to the music of Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit".
"I hope those are regular mushrooms," he said.
The knife slipped and a thin cut appeared on my skin. Instinctively I sucked at my finger.
"Funny," I said with a smile. "They're organic, that's all. Do you want me to turn off the music?" I asked and reached for my phone. "Most people don't like hippie flower power music with their dinner."
He put his hand over mine, like he had in the interrogation room. I was not getting used to his touch. The shiver that went through me was even more intense than the first time. And more localized. He was touching my hand and I felt a tingle in my breasts and an ache between my thighs.
"I'm not like most people," he said.
His voice was huskier than usual, as if he tried to make me uncomfortable. He brushed his thumb over the back of my hand. He reached out and pulled my other hand away from my mouth. The cut was shallow and it wasn't bleeding.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Joan," he added the name after a short pause.
At first I didn't even recognize my own name. It sounded so alien coming from his lips. Then I realized that Joan Baez was singing Diamonds and Rust from the phone in our linked hands. That was the first time I shared my H
ome playlist with anyone. It felt unnervingly intimate. The sensation lingered even after he released me. I brought the salad to the table and he lined up plates and cutlery. His movements were fluid, natural, his body language lacking that intensity I used to sense in him. He made me relax and find my own natural rhythm. The problem with that was that I was falling back into the real me, the flower power child Joan Skye Walker, not the bratty selfie-generation Sophia Doyle.
"I know you said we shouldn't stay in character all the time, but I think you should call me Sophia," I said. "I need to get used to reacting to the name. I'm… I… don't want to be myself when I'm undercover."
He looked at me with more sympathy than I felt I deserved after lying to him again. I was used to going to great lengths to protect my cover and although it wouldn't be easy, I could probably handle being myself inside the house and Sophia on the outside. The danger came from the way he was affecting the real me, and I desperately needed him to not know that.
Chapter 8 First evening
Nicholas
It was probably nice to have an identity that felt comfortable enough to keep all the time. I did not want to be Mark Doyle all the time, a man who had lost the love of his life and he had manipulated his naïve daughter into moving with him so that he wouldn't be afraid and lonely. It took me long enough to get used to being Nicholas Woods, but at least I knew my demons. I didn't need to invite new ones in my head.
She was a sweet kid and I could give her a break. I was going to call her Sophia until the mission was over. If I was right about Dvorak, it wouldn't be long. The man was tittering on the brink of a complete meltdown.
Her playlist filled the silence between us. Some of the songs were too old even for me, so probably they were already vintage when her parents grew up. I'd like to meet Noah and Eve -Walker. They had to be an interesting family. Skye hadn't manifested any tension when she mentioned them. Hippies they might have been, but they hadn't pushed her away for choosing to join the police.
Darkening Skye (Under Covers Book 1) Page 3