Oh fuck. I do. I want more.
Archer was still for so long, Conrad worried. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he forced out. “There are things that can help with premature ejaculation.”
Archer nipped his ear. “You’re the one who comes fast.”
“Not when I fuck you,” Conrad snapped back.
“Point to prove now.”
“Now?” Conrad asked.
“Well, not now, obviously. I’m a little occupied.”
He tightened his grip on Conrad’s waist, slid partway out and then thrust hard, driving Conrad into the wood. The next push glanced off his prostate and Conrad moaned. He found himself flexing back into Archer’s lunges, his knees hitting the door, his back hurting and he didn’t fucking care. He couldn’t think, he could only dance to his libido’s tune.
Somewhere in the sensible part of his brain, he was counting the number of times he’d allowed Archer to fuck him. The number of times he’d done what he thought he’d never do. He grunted as Archer’s cock lunged in and out of his arse. His muscles clenched around the invader and Archer cried out. Conrad thrust his hips back, helping to impale himself, and when Archer nailed his prostate again, Conrad matched his cry.
“Conrad,” Archer whispered his name into his ear. The first time he’d used it and the sound of it rolled around Conrad’s head and dropped slap bang into his heart. Fuck.
Chapter Sixteen
Back in the house, Michaels relieved them of their coats, and Conrad saw Archer glancing around. “Where are the bags?”
“I’ve taken the liberty of putting them upstairs,” Michaels said. “I’ll hang your coats in the drying room.”
“Where’s that?” Archer asked.
“Down the corridor, second on the left.”
“Thank you.” Conrad smiled at him and turned to Archer. “Want a shower?”
“I need to speak to your father first.”
“Why? Going to ask for my hand in marriage?” Conrad grinned but Archer didn’t crack a smile.
“We shouldn’t have done that,” Archer said.
Conrad’s stomach roiled. “Why the fuck not?”
“We wasted time.”
“I didn’t think it was a waste of time.” Conrad couldn’t keep the scowl off his face.
“We need to tell your father everything.”
Conrad gaped at him. “Are you crazy?”
“No.”
“He won’t believe you.”
“Yes, he will.”
Archer pushed open the door of the drawing room and Conrad followed him inside, his heart pounding. His father put down his newspaper as they approached and rose to his feet. Deefor lay in front of the fire. He wagged his tail once then settled again.
“Are you going to tell him, or am I?” Archer said but he was speaking to his father not Conrad.
“Tell me what?” Conrad’s heart lurched uncomfortably in his chest. His gaze shifted between the two men. “Do you know one another?”
“Yes,” Archer said.
What the fuck?
Conrad saw the moment his father realized the futility of denying it. He dropped down in his chair and Conrad sat on the couch. Archer settled at the far end. He couldn’t help but notice Archer had avoided touching him. His father leaned back and crossed his legs. Why do they look so calm while my mind is jumping?
“How do you know my son?”
“Conrad rescued me from drowning a few days ago.”
Only days?
His father snorted. “He can barely walk. Set that up, did you? Let him think he’d done something heroic?”
Conrad clenched his fists.
“He did do something heroic,” Archer snapped. “He risked his life to save mine.”
“And that would resonate with you, wouldn’t it? Heroic deeds.”
What does that mean?
Archer’s mouth tightened into a thin line.
“How do you two know one another?” Conrad asked.
Archer glanced at him. “Remember I told you a gray-haired guy asked me if I could shoot to kill and showed me the video of a girl being raped? The guy who recruited me into the SIS? It was your father.”
Conrad wasn’t easily shocked, but that floored him. My father? Over the last few days he’d begun to think he’d done a side shift into a parallel universe because the surprises just kept coming. He didn’t consider for a second that Archer was lying even before he saw the anger on his father’s face.
There could be only one conclusion. “You work for the intelligence service,” he said to his father. “Christ. All these years I thought you were a boring civil servant who spent your days worrying about farmers and silage and green energy and instead you were in the secret service.”
“Nothing we speak about can be repeated. Do you understand, Conrad?” His father turned to Archer. “You shouldn’t have told him anything.”
Archer’s face stayed blank. “He tortured me.”
Conrad hid his smile.
His father cleared his throat and turned to Conrad. “I do some work for the Department for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, but I mainly work for the SIS.” He stared at Archer. “Was your arrival here planned or coincidence? Have you used my son to get at me?”
“Why would I want to get at you?”
Conrad’s stomach churned. When they were in the pub, Archer had seemed surprised to learn he’d been brought up not far from there, but was it an act? Doubts snuck back. Had everything been planned? Even the near drowning?
Archer faced Conrad. “I haven’t used you to get at your father. I had no idea of your relationship until we arrived here. You don’t have the same names. You didn’t tell me you had a title. I didn’t Google you because I was worried about alerting anyone monitoring me and so putting you in danger.”
“Then am I to conclude this is purely a social visit that came as a surprise to us all?” his father asked.
“Not social,” Conrad muttered under his breath. “We’re running.”
His father’s eyes narrowed.
“Have you called anyone and told them we’re here?” Archer asked.
“No.”
“Is that the truth?” Conrad pressed.
“I’ve spoken to no one. I think you’d better start at the beginning.”
“Do you have any weapons?” Archer asked.
“Why?” his father snapped. “Going to shoot me?”
Conrad could feel the tension radiating from Archer.
“Everyone here could be in danger,” Archer said. “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes. A handgun and a couple of shotguns. Now explain what this is about.”
“We have people trying to kill us,” Conrad said. “Someone is after Archer and a different someone’s after me.”
“You realize how paranoid that sounds,” said his father.
“We found out why someone tried to kill me with their car.”
His father gave an exasperated sigh. “You told me it was an accident.”
“Did you believe me?”
“I know the police investigated your claim and found no evidence it was deliberate, but…well, they said you were so insistent so I had a guard put on your door.”
Conrad widened his eyes and turned to Archer. “That’s why they couldn’t get to me in the hospital.”
“So who tried to kill you?” his father asked.
“The brother of Jason Morgan, an eighteen-year-old I’d prosecuted after he’d mown down a mother and child. Jason was killed in prison a couple of months ago by someone I also happen to have prosecuted. His brother, Dave, heads a family crime syndicate in London. It looks likely he’s behind the attempt on my life.”
“How do you know this?”
“It’s complicated, but A
rcher found out.” Conrad glanced at him. It was Archer’s story to tell, not his, but the guy sat tight-lipped at his side.
“That’s who’s after me,” Conrad said. “And Archer? Someone tried to kill him on his last job.”
They all started at the knock on the door.
Michaels walked in. “Dinner is served, my lords, sir.”
Deefor jumped up and Conrad’s father stood. “We won’t let the food get cold.”
“My wife would never let me hear the end of it,” Michaels said.
Conrad doubted he could eat a thing. All that kept rattling through his head was—my father works for the SIS.
A fire was blazing in the hearth of the small dining room Conrad remembered using when he was a boy. The cutlery glittered, there were flowers and candles on the table and the napkins had been folded into the shape of swans. All except his. Conrad’s lips twitched. He used to like to fold his napkin himself. Mrs. Michaels had once spent an hour showing him all the designs she knew.
He waited until his father had taken his place at the head of the table before he dropped into his chair. Michaels bustled around with wine.
“There,” Conrad said, propping the misshapen napkin up with his knife and fork.
“A lovely frog, my lord,” Michaels said.
“It’s supposed to be a swan.”
“Oh yes, my apologies. A perfect swan.”
A dying swan. Conrad dropped the napkin on his lap.
Once Michaels had left, his father cleared his throat. “Your turn, Archer.”
Conrad stared across the table at him. Christ, the guy has a poker face.
“A couple of months ago, I carried out a hit in Paris on Farouk bin Abdullazin. Arms dealer. I killed him and then was shot at from another roof.”
Conrad’s father stopped eating. “Who was your broker?”
“Phoenix.”
“Ever met him?”
Archer huffed. “What do you think?”
“I think you’d better begin at the point you resigned from the intelligence service.”
Conrad listened as Archer went through everything. His father kept stopping him to ask questions. It staggered Conrad that he’d never seen this side of his father. He seemed a different guy. Younger. Sharper. More energized.
Archer eventually got to the point where they’d called at the pub and explained how surprised he’d been when Conrad said his family was from around there. Even more surprised when he’d come face-to-face with the guy who’d recruited him.
They paused when Michaels came in to remove the plates they’d emptied of pâté, and then served salmon and roast vegetables. Conrad noted how little Archer and his father had drunk. When he reached for the bottle to pour himself a second glass, Archer caught his eye and gave a little shake of his head. He heard Archer in his mind—we need to stay alert.
“List your hits again of the last year,” Conrad’s father said.
Archer went through them and named the brokers.
“Who did you think you were working for?” his father asked. “Did you even care?”
“I only cared that the targets deserved what they got. I never knew the client, but because of the nature of the jobs I suspected sometimes it was the SIS, maybe the CIA, SVR or DGSE.”
Conrad recognized the latter as the French external security bureau. The SVR was Russian. “Why don’t they get their own people to do their dirty work?”
Archer twirled his wineglass by the stem and put it down without drinking. “Countries like to keep a step away from this sort of action on their own soil. It’s easier to blame someone else. Plus I’m good. I don’t miss.”
His father let out a heavy sigh.
“What was that for?” Conrad asked.
“I believe everything you’ve told me,” his father said to Archer.
Now it was Archer’s turn to sigh.
“As far as I know, all those hits but three were sanctioned by the SIS,” said his father.
Archer sighed. “Fuck. I was beginning to wonder. I’ve been working for the intelligence service all this time?”
“Not for those three hits, though they were on our radar.”
“How do you know?” Conrad asked his father.
“I’m a member of a committee that meets to approve or deny assassinations.”
Oh Christ.
“Did you really think you could walk away?” his father asked.
Archer looked as though he wanted to throttle his father. “Yes, I really did.”
“Let me guess which three weren’t sanctioned,” Conrad said. “The arms dealers all brokered by Phoenix.”
His father raised his eyebrows, then nodded.
“It was Phoenix who told me about Jason Morgan,” Archer said.
“His price?” his father asked.
“Won’t be paid.”
A look passed between Archer and his father that Conrad didn’t understand.
Conrad addressed Archer. “Maybe my theory was right. A dealer wants his rivals out of the picture and has paid highly to achieve that.”
“And didn’t want me adding two and two together.” Archer put his knife and fork neatly on his plate and nodded to Conrad. “Eat while you have the chance.”
Conrad put a morsel of fish in his mouth and chewed. “I don’t understand why you had three different brokers if all the other hits were sanctioned by the SIS.” Conrad glanced at his father, who sat back in his chair looking as if he enjoyed listening to them thinking things out.
“Maybe there aren’t three brokers,” Archer said. “What if it’s all one? Phoenix. Shit. This has been set up to make me believe I was working independently when the SIS was pulling my strings all along.” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “You must have thought you were so fucking clever. Playing me for years.”
His father leaned forward. “I understood why you wanted out after what happened on the mountain, but you took the bait when it was offered. We’d trained you. We didn’t want to lose you. Everyone got what they wanted. You are very good at what you do and well paid for it.”
“Until I became expendable.”
“I don’t know why that would be. Usually, an operative would have the same handler. The names Phoenix, Sayeed and Devros are not ones I know. They might well be the same person. Did you ever talk to the others?”
Archer frowned. “I corresponded by email.”
“If Phoenix ordered all the hits, he’s behind the ones that weren’t sanctioned too. Doesn’t that tell you who he is?” Conrad asked.
“I’m not privy to the identity of the handlers,” his father said.
Conrad wondered if that was true.
“If Phoenix finds out we’ve talked to you, you’re in as much danger as us,” Archer said. “Even if he doesn’t, you are anyway because Conrad’s your son and I’m with Conrad. This has to be about money. A crooked broker used by an arms dealer to eliminate his competition followed by the elimination of the person who did the hits so there’s no trace of what he’s done. While I’m still alive, he knows I’m putting two and two together. It can only be a matter of time before I’d work things out, especially now I’ve come to see you. You can find out his name,” he said to Conrad’s father. “If we were traced through our calls or emails to this locality, this is the obvious destination. Assuming I’m right, I think Phoenix will tell Morgan where Conrad is and kill three birds with one stone.”
The door opened, Archer sprang to his feet, and Michaels came in carrying a cake.
“Sit down,” his father said.
Archer sank back into his chair. Make a note. Sits for cake. But Conrad’s head was reeling. Archer had to be feeling even worse.
Once the plates were cleared, Michaels gave them each a slice of dessert.
“Carrot cake.” Conrad smiled
at him. “Thank Cook.”
“Certainly, my lord.”
“Michaels, I need you to do something for me,” his father said. “Constantinople.”
Conrad heard Michaels’s sharp intake of breath.
“I could…return, my lord.”
“Thank you, Michaels, but no.”
“How are you going to get dressed in the morning? Despite my best efforts, you still need help.”
His father laughed. “Don’t make me give you the word twice. Take the dog.”
Deefor ran to Conrad, jumped up and put his paws on his leg.
“Leave the dog,” Archer said.
Michaels cast Conrad’s father a despairing glance but left the room.
“What was that about?” Conrad asked.
“Our code word in case I ever needed them to leave quickly. They’ll take the Land Rover and stay with his sister in the village.” He rose to his feet, moved over to the window with his phone and spoke quietly into it.
Conrad wondered who he was calling.
“We should all leave,” Conrad said when his father had finished. “Go to a hotel for the night. Call the police.”
“No,” Archer said. “We’re better off in the castle.”
“I don’t want this to be Custer’s last stand.” Conrad shuddered.
“We’re in a castle surrounded by water,” said his father. “Unless whoever comes arrives with a pontoon, boat or wetsuits, they have to use the bridge. We can defend it.”
“We’re better off staying in the building,” Archer said.
His father turned away from the window as the sound of a car engine faded.
“Why are you so sure someone will come?” Conrad asked.
“Because this is an opportunity to make a clean sweep,” Archer said. “He won’t want to miss it.”
“We should go upstairs,” said his father. “We can see better from there.”
“Get your gun,” Archer said.
“I already have.”
Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 Page 22