In Her Secret Fantasy

by Marie Treanor

Chapter Fourteen Have I just had the nicest PFO of my life? The question nagged her the rest of the way back to the house. He’d mentioned after the job and dinner but in retrospect, the rest of that little scene had felt horribly like good-bye. Before he’d even left Ardknocken.

  “I’ll be in touch.” That little phrase had a tendency to mean the opposite. If you were going to get in touch you’d no need to say it.

  Then what had the coffee been about? A thanks for passing advice and a couple of phone numbers to Louise?

  He was going after the drug dealers—the man on the island, and Len—and he didn’t want or need the distraction of a clinging woman.

  Do I cling? I don’t cling!

  And I’m so worrying about the wrong thing here. Whether or not I’m dumped, he’s up to something he doesn’t want me to know about, which has to be bad for him.

  Her stomach twisted with much more immediate fear. He was putting himself in danger. That was why he needed space now, whatever happened or didn’t when the job was done.

  She sped up, striding into the house in time to field the first call about the workshops. She got a sign-up out of it, and then, since it was nearly lunchtime, she went in search of Glenn. Izzy, who was cleaning the stairs, let her into the flat, yelled to Glenn and directed her to the downstairs study that had once been Glenn’s bedroom.

  It made a good study, with bookcases lining the walls, a sofa, two desks with laptops and a set of keyboards, behind which Glenn sat, earphones on, surrounded by wires and sheets of paper, in full composing mode.

  He glanced up in a distracted sort of way as she clattered down the spiral stairs, and pulled off the earphones. “What’s on your mind?” he asked vaguely, his hands still hovering over the keyboards.

  “Aidan,” she blurted. “He’s up to something.”

  “Cop,” Glenn reminded her.

  “He told me to stay away from Len.”

  “Good advice.”

  “I had to tell Rab the same thing. Whatever else he is, Len seems a vindictive shite.”

  Glenn nodded.

  Chrissy threw herself into the chair at his desk, glaring at him in frustration. “What’s Aidan up to, Glenn?”

  “You know.”

  “I don’t know all of it!”

  “He doesn’t want us to know.”

  “Then how can we help him? And don’t say he doesn’t want our help because—”

  “He doesn’t need our help,” Glenn interrupted. “If I had to guess, I’d say the guy’s used to working on his own, getting himself in and out of situations a lot stickier than this one. Give him space, Chrissy.”

  Her stomach twisted. Clingy woman…

  If she wasn’t dumped now, she had to end it. She couldn’t live with this every time he went away, knowing he was in danger. Whether he stayed with the police or went with private security to Iraq or wherever, he would do the same thing. And so would she. It could only get worse.

  She closed her eyes, and an image of his bloody corpse sprawled in a cave immediately forced them open again.

  “If it helps,” Glenn said, “he may look angelic, but he isn’t. I couldn’t take him.”

  Chrissy smiled unhappily. “You can’t know that.”

  Glenn shrugged. “I can guess.”

  “How?”

  “Something in his eyes. He watches, thinks ahead. Plus he’s got poise, speed, and he’s bloody strong.”

  Chrissy stared at him, searching his own hard, apparently brutal eyes. “Have you two butted heads already?”

  “’Course not. Call it recognition. That’s why I didn’t spot him as police. He’s like me.”

  Aidan, who’d been listening to Black’s phone through at least one earphone all morning, was forced to cut short his walk with Chrissy when Black called an unknown man.

  “He hasn’t got the shipment, and he won’t pay. Will I take him out the deal? Right out?”

  “Of course not, moron. Find the shipment.” The new voice spoke English with a decidedly foreign, though not easily placeable, accent.

  “He’s looking for it too,” Black said, which was what sent Aidan scurrying back to the boat.

  In hindsight, kissing Chrissy hadn’t been such a good move. He’d wanted to make an impression, ensure she remembered him and still wanted him when this was over. And she melted so deliciously in his arms, wriggling against him and kissing him back with such passion that he was hopeful.

  On the other hand, the inevitable bulge in his jeans made it difficult to walk let alone hurry back down the cliff side. But at least there were no strangers around the harbour when he arrived. From his phone, he set in motion the trace on Black’s new call, then settled down to wait, hammering the same nail into the same piece of wood on the cabin door, and then the deck, while he whistled and watched activity on the sea and on the shore.

  There were, however, no signs of a tiny boat puttering across the sea from the direction of the island. Instead, a strange, slightly battered and very dirty car drove into the parking area and stopped. Two men got out. James Black and his pal from the island.

  Aidan carried on whistling and hammering, pulled out the nail again and wandered onto the open part of the deck to set down the ravaged piece of wood. The two men were walking around the tiny harbour, muttering to each other and staring at the few vessels tied up there. Only old Tam was around to talk to them. He said good morning and got a slightly stunned response.

  Aidan straightened his back as if it hurt, then went and got his second plank for purposes of pointless mangling. He was damned if he’d actually take the boat apart when he might need to sail her any moment.

  The two neds walked towards him.

  “Morning,” Black said, presumably having learned from Tam.

  Aidan nodded amiably. “Morning.”

  “This your boat, aye?” Black asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Nice.”

  “Thanks. Needs a bit of work, but she goes.”

  “Where do you take the boat out to?” asked Black’s companion.

  “All over,” Aidan said unhelpfully.

  “Ever been over to the wee island just past the headland there?” He pointed across the mist.

  “Sure. Loads of times. I grew up here.”

  “How long does it take from here?” Black asked.

  Aidan shrugged. “Not long.”

  “Anybody live there?” Black’s pal asked sneakily.

  “Nothing there. Except occasional seals.”

  “You a wildlife man yourself?”

  “Not really. Took my girlfriend out to see them not so long ago.”

  Black’s eyes narrowed. “At night?”

  “Daytime,” Aidan said gently.

  “Mind if we come aboard and see your boat?”

  “Aye, I do mind, as it happens,” Aidan said. “I’m working on it. Come back tomorrow. Or the weekend might be best. Why, are you looking to buy?”

  He seemed to be doing a fine job of baffling and intriguing them. He was almost sorry when Black’s phone began to buzz. So, it seemed, was Black.

  “What?” he growled into it. The sound vibrated through Aidan’s left ear too. Beyond them, hurrying from the church side of the harbour, came Len.

  “Get away from him, you bloody idjits,” Len’s voice uttered in Aidan’s ear, almost hissing as if between closed teeth. “He’s ex-polis. I’ll look in this village. I fucking live here. Go and search somewhere else.”

  Black’s expression was murderous, but his mate nudged him, and he took a deep breath before saying reluctantly. “Aye, right.” He broke the connection and gave Aidan a rather ferocious smile. He looked like a crocodile. “Got to go. See you around.”

  Aidan nodded and wandered back to the hatch, picking up his hammer on the way. He began to whistle again, every nerve alert.

  Sure enough, Len wandered over to the boat. Aidan stopped hammering and came out into the open.

  “Hello, thought it was you,” Len said
disingenuously. He jerked his head towards Black’s car, now bumping its way towards the High Street. “Friends of yours?”

  “No. Strangers passing through. They seem interested in boats, but I’m not selling.”

  “Don’t blame you,” Len said. “This your retirement present to yourself?”

  “No, my dad gave me it for my sixteenth birthday.”

  “Generous.”

  “Formality, really. I’d been nicking it for years. It was his.”

  “Tut, tut. And you a cop, too.”

  “Not anymore. Wasn’t then either.”

  “You’re a flexible man…Aidan, is it?”

  “Aidan Grieve.”

  “Len Martin.”

  Aidan nodded.

  “Do boat trips, Aidan?” Len asked.

  “Nah, I like my space. And don’t go putting the idea into Chrissy’s head either, or she’ll have me wired into one of her crazy money-making ventures.”

  “Aw, come on.” Len smiled. “We all like to make money.”

  “Aye, money. Not the peanuts she’s talking about.” He nodded dismissively, went back inside the hatch and started hammering again.

  Len walked away. Aidan smiled. Hint of resentful, bent cop successfully conveyed.

  It was as he took the time to walk home for tea that Black’s phone rang again in his ear. “It’s in hand,” said the same foreign voice as before. “Go back to the usual rendezvous and wait for instruction.”

  “In hand?” Black squeaked. “Fuck, is he coming here? Fuck. He’ll stand out like a sore thumb, man.”

  Interesting, and alarming, that there was quite so much terror in his voice. They must work for one scary bastard. Or…did Black have reason to be especially scared?

  The voice on the phone spoke with contempt. “Of course, he won’t come anywhere near your shitty little operation. But someone who counts will. Me. And you’d better not piss me off.”

  The line went dead.

  Aidan flexed his fingers, absorbing the old familiar adrenaline rush. It was on. He’d sleep on the boat tonight. But first, there was the meal with his family—the least he could do, really. But he’d never been near his family in the middle of a job before, not even when he was with the regular police, and it felt bloody odd. Not to say tense, as if his very presence was endangering them. It wasn’t, of course; it was far too soon. But still, the sooner he was back on the boat, the happier he’d be.

  His mum hugged him when he came in, which was unexpected. She’d got used to him being around the last week and had stopped overreacting at the sight of him.

  “Good lad,” she murmured in his ear. He couldn’t make head or tail of that either until he walked into the kitchen and found Louise humming to herself as she peered at a casserole in the oven.

  “Why am I a good lad?” he asked her.

  “We’ve got someone from the council coming out on Wednesday, and someone from the NHS on Thursday. Mum thinks it’s a great idea and is convinced it’s yours.”

  Aidan raised his eyebrows. “When we both know it was Chrissy’s.”

  Louise straightened and hung up the oven glove. “Well, it was your push, however wrong the direction, that made Chrissy think. We were just drifting along, going further and further under.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Thanks.”

  He went to the sink and turned on the tap. “Don’t mention it. Glad to do something right by accident.”

  Louise laughed. “Tea?”

  “Go on.” As he washed his hands, he watched her, unspeakably relieved to see the signs of dissolving tension inside her. Her shoulders were more relaxed, the set of her mouth less tight. A bit of hope, a feeling of doing something, making things better for everyone. Her moment of happiness made him smile, and turning from the kettle, she caught it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Just glad to see you looking happier.”

  “You look happier too. Is that down to Chrissy as well?”

  His gut twisted. “You’ve lived here too long. I haven’t known Chrissy a week. Don’t marry us off.”

  “Don’t fuck it up,” she retorted.

  He blinked. Louise didn’t swear very often. When she did, it generally betokened strength of feeling. She was right, of course. Although he barely knew Chrissy, there was something different, something…special in his heart when he thought of her, when he was with her. Like the spark she’d talked of that had always been missing from her relationships. He’d cared for women in the past, felt their loss when, one way or another, he’d inevitably fucked it up, to use his sister’s apposite expression.

  The spark warmed him now. It might not lead to happily ever after, but wasn’t it worth pursuing? Seeing where it did go? How would he do that if he buggered off to Iraq?

  Maybe, she’d wait for him. She wasn’t like Julie, his last girlfriend, who hadn’t let two weeks go by before she’d started seeing other men. Chrissy had deeper loyalties, deeper affections. For a moment, he imagined coming home to her on leave, excited and deliriously happy to be with her again. She’d embrace him with her whole body and they’d have another couple of weeks together, maybe a month. More than they’d had already.

  Who was he kidding? He couldn’t make her wait, make her live like that. And deep down, something bleak surrounded this fantasy of his future. Was there no more to life than this boom and bust? Days of peace between lonely adrenaline rushes and squalid violence?

  For an instant, the last week rushed on him, swamping him. Home. Chrissy. The peace of the sea. He’d done stuff, a lot of stuff, that made things better for a lot of people. He’d learned a lot, developed skills, many of them unique. He didn’t want to waste those. He didn’t want to be a glorified bodyguard week in week out. He didn’t want to be killed in a foreign land. He wanted Chrissy. He wanted home. His home, his terms…

  “Aidan?” Louise said anxiously. “Are you all right?”

  He laughed. “Fuck, yes.”

  “Aidan! Language!” his mother scolded from the door.

  He stared at his tiny, irate parent. “How come you hear that perfectly, when the rest of the time you’re deaf as a post?”

  “Where’s the post?”

  Aidan laughed and hugged her on his way out to track down his dad.

  Chrissy stood by her bedroom window, gazing down over the beach beyond the village. No seals, not even the two she’d seen so often on the big rocks—when had it become quite sane to think of them as randy selkies?

  So, she was really going to dump Aidan, even before they were an acknowledged couple, because she couldn’t stand his job. Because she didn’t care for the glimpse of life with him that she’d just been shown: uncertainty, danger, long partings.

  It wasn’t ideal. What was?

  Depressed, she turned back into her room, vigorously combing out her wet hair.

  Weren’t a few weeks a year with Aidan, with a feeling like this, worth constant companionship with anyone else? If she wasn’t in love with Aidan yet, it would only take a feather to push her. The spark was there with a vengeance, like nothing she’d ever felt before, and if only she knew he felt it too…

  She threw down her comb and grabbed the ends of the towel wrapped around her body, opening it up to draw it back and forth across her back and hips. She looked like some slightly bedraggled pole dancer. Without the pole.

  Could Aidan really want this for more than a few days to pass his time at home?

  “Trust me,” he’d said. Trust him to come back? Not to dump her?

  “I should have said,” she told her suddenly still reflection in the mirror. “I should have found out how he really felt, brought all this stuff into the open. Or at least hinted…”

  She didn’t want to dump him. She wanted him. And if she suspected he felt that spark, that flame between them… Well, she didn’t know. She needed to know. They both did before all this angst ate them up. She didn’t want him to be angsty while chasing drug dealers and murderers.

  How coul
d a short visit break his cover? Hell, a long visit. She could at least see if he was at home. If not, she’d lost nothing. She’d walk in from the beach. Maybe she could even stay the night if he felt as she did.

  Her heart beat faster. The germ of an idea tingled through her, bold, reckless. If she was wrong… Well, wasn’t he worth the risk? If she was right, she could surely shock him into some truth.

  Of course, she could just go and ask him, but where was the fun in that?

  She smiled, tying her hair up in its sexiest messy style, and reached for her makeup. Just a little to add drama. Her skin felt smooth and clean and smelled good after her shower. She sprayed a little of her favourite perfume, and slid her bare feet into her best boots, the new ones her sister had given her for Christmas. Then she walked past the mirror to her bedside table and drew two foil packets from the top drawer. She dropped one in each boot, and went back to the mirror.

  “I am sexy,” she murmured in surprise.

  Fully dressed, with his boots still on, Aidan lay down on the cabin bed where he’d first made love to Chrissy, and forced his body to relax. No way would he sleep, but he’d learned to rest while waiting for action. Black’s last caller had been traced to Eastern Europe. Which still gave Aidan a couple of hours before any visitors were likely. And even then, only if they spoke to Len and to James Black and put their stories together.

  He’d left the light on in the cabin and on deck, so everyone would know he was here. He didn’t want anyone going near his home or Chrissy’s. He laid his phone on the pillow beside his head and closed his eyes, listening to the quiet sounds of the village, all overlaid by the soft rush of the sea: a car starting up in the main street; a couple of teenagers calling good-bye from the beach; Jenny Bain’s baby crying in the cottage across from the harbour; some raucous laughter as the pub emptied and footsteps, some of them steadier than others, made their way home.

  Quiet. His ears were perfectly attuned to the night. He’d hear any approach, however stealthy.

  And it came faster than he’d thought. From the direction of the beach. Grains of sand crunched softly under hard soles on the tarmac of the quay. One set.

  Surprised, he sat up and listened for more. He’d expected more than one. Perhaps it was Len arriving as back up. Or observer.