“Archer only kills who he’s told to kill,” Conrad said, unsure whether that was going to make things better or worse.
“Who paid you to kill my son?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Ravi?”
A guy stepped toward Conrad, pulled out a knife, and Conrad flinched. How long would it take his father to get someone here to help? He had two phones in his pocket. Should he try and call the police? And get my hand blown off? Why hadn’t he called them already? I’m an idiot.
“How did you know where to find Archer?” Conrad asked.
“A tip-off.”
“From who?”
“Let’s get this over with,” Ravi said. “We need to get out of here.”
“You going to confess to working with Lomidze?” the older man asked Archer.
“I’ve never heard of him,” Archer said.
“Kill all of them,” said the older guy.
“No, listen,” Conrad said. “We’re all being tricked here. Think about it. Your son has paid Archer’s broker to arrange hits on arms dealers. Archer told me he’d killed Mehmoud Nader, Jose Callas and Farouk bin Abdullazin. I assume they’re all your son’s competitors.”
The man nodded.
“On that last hit, Archer was shot at. After that he walked away from it all, much to his broker’s fury. I think Lomidze saw what was happening to his competitors and killed your son before your son had him killed him. Archer had nothing to do with it. His broker has been happy to sit back, take the money and watch everyone kill each other.”
“Makes no difference to the situation. Lomidze will die as well.”
“But the broker is the one you should be after,” Conrad said. “Did he tell you to go to Drayburn Castle? That you could pick up Archer there? Did you know that he had a group of men coming who would in turn kill you?” Lie, say whatever you have to, but keep talking. “They just missed you. They were blocked by a snow plow.” This had to be the most convincing performance he’d ever given. He didn’t have all the facts. A lot of this was guesswork.
“Then I’ll add the broker to my list,” Kipiani said. “I only have this shithead’s word for it that he didn’t kill my son. I’m not inclined to believe him and even if I did, he’s going to die and so are you.”
Conrad stepped back until he blocked Archer from view. He heard the shot at the same time as the bullet hit him and knocked him back into Archer. The chair fell over and broke. Conrad felt as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a giraffe—not that he’d ever been kicked by a giraffe. Fuck, that hurts. Breathe, idiot. Shit, I can’t.
Archer was gasping and groaning beneath him, struggling to get free and Conrad could hear yells and gunshots and people shouting and all he had to do was keep Archer safe. I can do that. He had to stay exactly where he was, under his protection, such as it was. Not that Conrad was physically able to move. No part of him worked properly, not his ears, eyes, lungs and especially not his heart, which seemed to have stopped. Fuck.
“Conrad, Conrad,” Archer gasped. “Oh fuck. No.”
He couldn’t have survived. The bastard had fired from point-blank range. He was dimly aware of the battle raging around them but all he could think about was Conrad. Fury swelled in Archer’s chest until fire ran along every vein. He strained against his restraints as if rage could provide him with the strength to break free. He’s dead and it’s my fault. The only truly good person he’d ever known. Archer already hurt all over but there was a new agony now, deep in his chest, stronger than any other pain.
When Conrad was wrenched from on top of him, he wanted him back, wanted to hold him. He wished himself dead, wished they’d fucking drowned him, wished Conrad had let him drown, wished he’d not stopped that day at Shennan Sands, wished he’d kept running. He lay on his back on the wet floor, his chest heaving. He didn’t care what happened now. They could all go fuck themselves.
“Archer.” A familiar face loomed over his.
The ropes that restrained him were cut away but he was too broken to move, too broken to want to try.
“I need help over here,” Conrad’s father shouted.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
He lost his hold on consciousness, tumbling into darkness.
Archer was aware of people messing around with him, sticking a needle in his arm, checking his blood pressure, carrying him, but he didn’t open his eyes. If he did, guilt would eat him from the inside out. It had already started. Christ. All these years, all the people he’d killed, and he was crippled over a guy he hadn’t killed? Except it was his fault.
He let reality slide again.
“Stop fucking around and open your eyes.”
Now he was imagining he could hear Conrad’s voice. Fuck it. Wasn’t that a future to look forward to? Living with a ghost.
“You’re not the only one injured. You should see the bruise on my chest. It looks like a map of America.”
What?
“Wake up.”
Archer opened his eyes. Conrad sat by the side of the bed wearing a green hospital gown. He had dark shadows under his eyes and looked like shit but he was still alive.
“Kevlar,” Conrad said. “Fantastic stuff. I’m going to buy shares.”
Archer licked his lips. “You’re not dead.”
“Amazing powers of observation.”
“Where am I?”
Conrad blinked. “Er…hospital.”
“I’d got that much. Which hospital?”
“Not sure. A private one, I think.”
“What time is it?”
“Ten in the evening. You’ve been out for over five hours.”
“Where’s Deefor?”
Conrad gave a strangled laugh. “You’ve just come out of a shitstorm and you ask about the dog?”
“Just tell me he’s okay.”
“He’s at my evidence gatherer’s place. I went to ask him for help. Luckily Sev and his mates weren’t badly hurt, just roughed up a bit.”
Archer pushed himself upright with a groan and grabbed the bottle of water from the bedside table.
“Not sure you’re supposed…” Conrad fell silent at Archer’s glare.
He drank the whole bottle and wondered if anything had ever tasted better. His gaze locked on Conrad. Maybe. He slumped down again.
“What the fuck did you think you were going to do with half a chair leg?”
“They might have been vampires.”
Archer laughed then groaned when it hurt.
There was a knock on the door and Conrad’s father walked in carrying two bags. “How did I guess you’d be in here? You should be in bed.”
My bed. Except Archer didn’t even have the strength to drag Conrad into it.
“Is everything sorted?” Conrad asked.
“No,” said his father. “We don’t have the spider.”
“What about the guy who shot me?” Conrad asked. “Kipiani? His men?”
”Dealt with,” his father said.
“Arrested?” Conrad asked.
“Yes.”
You lying son of a bitch. Archer knew they were closing ranks now, operating on damage control.
Archer stared at Conrad. “What the hell were you doing there anyway?”
“My evidence gatherer found out where you were being held. He told me to stay outside.”
“And of course you did as you were told. How well does he know you?” Archer didn’t try to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “You were nearly killed. I thought…”
Conrad had stood in front of him. Tried to protect him. Risked his life for his worthless hide. Oh fuck. Does he love me? Is that love? A willingness to die for someone? Archer had trouble believing it. It went against all his instincts but when he looked into Conrad
’s eyes and met his steady gaze, he felt more pieces crack inside him.
“What’s all this been about?” Conrad asked. “The older guy said Archer had killed his son.”
“I didn’t.”
“There were two big arms dealers in Georgia,” his father said. “Gregor Kipiani and Lomidze. When Gregor was killed by a sniper, his father investigated and discovered that three other dealers had been killed in the same way. He heard rumors that Lomidze was snatching territory, but Kipiani had no proof the guy was directly responsible for the death of his son. Someone sold him Archer’s name. That person or Lomidze tried to have Archer killed in Paris to keep him silent and we know what happened. They wanted him dead before Kipiani found him. Phoenix sold Archer’s location to Kipiani and Kipiani wanted Archer to confess to killing his son before he killed him.”
“And the identity of Phoenix,” Conrad said. “Is he George Kinsale?”
“We’re asking him.”
Conrad’s eyes widened. “You haven’t arrested him?”
“He’s denying any involvement.”
“Unbelievable,” Conrad snapped. “He’s orchestrated the whole thing. Playing one arms dealer off against the father of another.”
“Let it go, Conrad. We’ll deal with it. Right now you should get some rest. Both of you.” His father pointed to the bags. “I brought you some clothes.”
Neither of them spoke until after Conrad’s father had gone.
“It has to be Kinsale,” Conrad said.
“Not necessarily. But someone in the department, yes.”
“Who still wants you dead. Christ, do we have nine lives?”
Archer pulled the drip out of his arm and threw back the covers on the bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting out of here before I disappear or have an accident.” Archer unzipped one of the bags and groaned when he realized there were two dark suits inside. “Get dressed.”
Chapter Twenty
“Suits?” Conrad gave a short laugh. “Is that my father’s idea of getaway clothes?”
As Conrad pulled on the pants, Archer’s stomach lurched. He already had a thing for guys in suits, Conrad in a suit just made him desperate to get him some place to fuck. He immediately felt better.
“What went through your mind then?” Conrad asked.
“You don’t want to know.” Archer picked up a wallet, car keys and phone, and tucked them into his pocket.
“Why did my father give you car keys? Oh Christ. He wanted us to leave? He thinks we’re not safe here?” Conrad groaned.
“We’re not safe until whoever is behind all this is caught.” Maybe not even then.
Conrad slipped on his shoes. “So where are we going?”
“I have no idea. But we need to leave the hospital.”
Once the bags were in the bed and the covers rearranged, it vaguely looked as though he was still lying there. He turned to Conrad and forgot what he was going to say.
“Shit.”
Conrad frowned. “What?” He looked down. “My pants too short?”
“You look so fucking hot I want to push you down on that bed and fuck your heart out.”
When the only response from Conrad was a slight widening of the eyes, Archer breathed a sigh of relief. He knew Conrad was expecting him to switch and he would. Probably. But not yet.
“Do exactly as I tell you.” Archer sidled over to the door, cracked it open and checked the corridor. He could hear Conrad’s father talking to someone, presumably distracting whoever had been tasked with watching out for them. There was little point in waiting. Archer grabbed Conrad’s sleeve and tugged him out across the polished floor, through the door opposite and into the stairwell. There was no cry of alarm or sound of pursuit and he breathed a sigh of relief.
The stairs ended on the ground floor with no access to the basement where Archer assumed the car belonging to the keys would be parked. Or maybe there was no basement and the cars were outside. Conrad looked as exhausted as he felt. They had to behave confidently or they were done for, and there was bound to be another guy near the entrance supposedly for their safety, but they were safer elsewhere.
“Now what?” Conrad whispered.
“Just stick with me.”
Archer glanced left and right, chose left and headed down the corridor away from the reception area. Once they were around the corner, Archer spotted a bank of elevators with stairs next to them and pushed open the door. Moments later, they were walking through an underground garage. Archer pressed the remote and headed for the flashing lights. Two winter coats lay on the passenger seat of a silver BMW.
“Lie down in the back,” he said quietly and threw one of the coats over Conrad.
He drove up the ramp and out of the garage, the barrier lifting as he approached. There was no sign of pursuit. It had seemed easier than he thought it should be, though that was likely thanks to Conrad’s father. Archer programmed the sat nav for Blackfriars.
“Can I sit up yet?” Conrad asked.
“No, stay where you are. I prefer you flat on your back.”
There was a quiet chuckle from the rear seat.
Archer’s counter-surveillance measures were punctuated by the sat nav repeatedly telling him to do a U-turn before announcing it was recalculating. When they finally arrived at Blackfriars, he parked the car by a meter and switched off the engine. Conrad sat up and groaned.
“We have to walk now,” Archer said.
“Is it far? Can’t we use the underground?”
“I know you’re tired, so am I, but we can’t afford to draw attention. Look at my face.”
“Your usual ugly self.”
“I’m battered and I ache. I don’t want to walk either but it’s safer.”
By the time they’d walked along the embankment toward Waterloo Bridge, lingering every now and again to let those behind overtake, Archer was as sure as he could be that they had no tail. Conrad trudged silently at his side.
“You okay?” Archer asked.
“Let me think. I thought you were dead, my back’s making its displeasure very clear and I was shot at point blank range. I’ve had better days. I trust you have a plan?”
“Yes.”
Conrad huffed. “Going to let me in on it?”
“We’re going to a hotel near Trafalgar Square. I’ve stayed there before. When we reach it, buy a drink in the bar. I have a few things to sort out then I’ll join you once I’ve paid for a room. We can reach the lift from the bar without being seen by reception.”
“I don’t have any money.”
Archer gave him a handful of notes. “Buy beer. I like the taste on your mouth.”
After Conrad had walked into the hotel, Archer watched the entrance. When no one else went in for the next ten minutes, he walked away.
Conrad bought a beer and sat in a corner of the lounge so he’d see Archer when he came back. Assuming he came back. How had he known the elevator could be accessed from the bar without anyone seeing? Had he done this before with a guy? I’m jealous? Fuck. He wiped his mind clear and thought about their situation instead. All the facts and details were jumbled together and he tried to sort them into a logical pattern, a little like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Even if all the pieces weren’t there, there should be enough to make the picture clear.
Sometimes he went into court not knowing exactly what he was going to say. He could always feel what he was looking for but it often remained out of reach until something clicked. Conrad wanted to know the truth, felt compelled to uncover it. In that compulsion, there was little difference between him and Archer because Conrad showed no mercy in court. He grabbed witnesses by their metaphorical throats and shook hard until they spilled the truth. Archer likely wouldn’t worry about the metaphorical part.
If Kinsale was Ph
oenix, he couldn’t be allowed to escape. Conrad could see a scenario where the guy might claim the setting of one arms dealer against another had been part of his strategic plan, that Archer was the one who’d gone rogue and accepted money not to do a hit on Lomidze but to take out Gregor Kipiani instead. Conrad wondered how his father was going to sort this out.
After two pints, Conrad needed to take a leak. But if Archer came back he might think he’d gone, so he waited, crossed his legs, waited some more and finally had to go. He hurried into the bathroom, slammed the door of the first stall and unzipped. It was hard not to moan with relief. He fastened his pants, pulled open the door and washed his hands. As he moved to the exit, the door opened and he found himself pushed back inside a stall by Archer who locked the door behind him.
“I thought you’d gone.” Archer pressed him against the side of the stall and kissed him.
An odd sound burst from Conrad’s throat and was swallowed by Archer. He clutched at Archer’s shoulders. The kiss had the same gnawing violence Conrad had come to expect, come to want, and a hot rush of desire flashed straight to his groin. He lifted his hand to Archer’s face and spread his fingers over his cheek, reassured by the taste, smell, feel of this man.
“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Conrad gasped when they broke to grab air.
But Archer yanked him back, their tongues surging and tangling as they writhed against each other. Archer slid his hands onto Conrad’s backside and rocked their hips together. Even through their coats, Conrad could feel their hardness, erections raging, off the scale of desire and well into desperation.
“Told you to stay put.” Archer bit Conrad’s lower lip.
Conrad hissed with the sharp pain and tasted blood. He gazed into Archer’s face and saw something different, a hint of vulnerability, maybe the man beneath the one he’d revealed so far. The real Archer. Archer with his defenses down. His Archer.
He put his hand around Archer’s neck, rubbed his thumb against the hard bones of his spine and pulled him forward holding their mouths together. He instinctively knew this was a time to keep quiet, that Archer was getting his mind around something and needed to do that on his own.
Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2 Page 27