Seventh (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 1)

by Lewis Hastings

  For the first time in eons, actually for the first time, she relaxed and found herself talking about family, most of whom had drifted to the four corners of the world. Her father was ‘ex-job’ and had drifted to his own corner of the world, but in reality, was only miles away as the crow flew. She seemed guarded on the subject, so he made a diplomatic withdrawal.

  It was her turn.

  He waxed lyrical about his childhood and skilfully managed to avoid his formative years, swiftly arriving at his entry into the world of policing. She found herself placing pieces of the jigsaw, a piece here, another one turned and turned again until it dropped quietly into place. She knew he had skeletons, and the subject of his recently estranged wife was as raw and tender as her own paternal relationship.

  She felt that some of his jigsaw pieces needed to forever remain face down.

  They called a truce without saying another word.

  “Here we go. As I mentioned, it’s cheap – for London – but plentiful. You will not leave here hungry.”

  Her internal dialogue spoke differently.

  “I hope you leave here hungry for me, Jack Cade.”

  They found their table, surrounded by others and yet due to the bustling, noisy crowd they were also relatively isolated. It suited them both; they would have to flag any work-related conversations. They agreed immediately, chinking their Rioja-filled glasses together and ordered the eight-course meal for two.

  Cade checked his phone, nothing. Good. Roberts had total faith in his team and he knew them better than Cade, better than anyone. He’d turn it to silent. If it was important, they’d get hold of him.

  “You know Carrie, we didn’t get off on the right footing and for that I apologise. I had had one hell of a few weeks leading up to my secondment to the airport – all of which, let me say, seems eons away. I feel we turned a corner today.”

  She sipped her wine, allowing its slightly bitter taste to explode on the tip of her tongue before responding.

  “Jack, I can be a real cow when I want to be. Men treat me like dirt and therefore I reciprocate. But I believe in equality, I mainly hate all men. The boss? He’s different, a real softy underneath all of his bright ties and blarney. He looks after me, so I’m loyal to him. Don’t get me wrong, he’s the last person in the office I’d sleep with!”

  Cade smirked, “I thought that would have been Clive Wood?”

  God, what was he thinking? He slid his hands under the table subconsciously as she picked up her three-pronged fork and examined it playfully.

  “Relax Jack, a bit late there, remember I already did, and what a mistake that was. He’s fat and hairy and above all, Welsh. I’ve no doubt his on–off wife loves him, she’s Welsh too, so they probably make complete sense to one another during their passionate displays of frantic lovemaking, but I will never be visiting that particular entertainment hotspot again. I broke my favourite pencil that night.”

  He paused, still a little unsure whether he was reading her correctly, but took the chance.

  “I heard you almost broke the lead in his pencil too…”

  She burst out laughing, bringing the pulsating place to a brief standstill. Normal service was soon resumed, but O’Shea was still giggling a minute later. She was more attractive when she smiled; it was as if he had released her true persona.

  “You are a funny man, Jack. I like you. It’s been good working with this week, I’ve learned a lot. You are a great teacher; I hope I’m a worthy pupil?”

  It had been an incredibly short but conversely a rather long week and he felt slightly vulnerable, the location, the vibrancy, the wine all helped to relax him but he was aware of letting his guard down too far, too quickly. He became conscious that he was daydreaming.

  Here he was in court; three-piece suit and a pocket watch, meticulously recounting evidence to the masses. He could smell the wooden-panelled courtroom. The hint of much-worn leather powder from the iconic wigs created a haze in a shaft of sunlight that cut through the elevated and grimy window – all the better to keep prying eyes away. He turned to his side to see O’Shea, the Defence Counsel, dressed and ready for business.

  Well-polished black shoes, a smart black skirt, slightly too short, a white, crisp blouse sitting perfectly in place, its familiar detail pleated, hanging just so. Her black silk damask robe shimmered in the solitary ray of sunlight. She wore black, overly large glasses and had the customary short hairpiece in place. She was far from friendly, but deeply eye-catching, sassy and darkly sexy.

  She was leaning forward at her desk, her chin resting on her hands, attentive and wise beyond her years.

  “Your witness, Mr Cade.”

  “Christ, sorry, where was I?”

  Cade had re-entered the conversation, feeling as if he’d been absent for hours.

  “You OK Jack?” she asked

  “Yes, was just…thinking something through. This food is outstanding.”

  He leant over and topped up her glass and did the same to his.

  With the meal finished, Cade made good on his promise and picked up the bill. She was right. For London, it was great value. He tore the receipt into six pieces and dropped it in the nearby waste bin.

  They walked outside, O’Shea slipping her jacket on and involuntarily shivering.

  Cade noticed, “Do you want mine too? It’s cooler than of late.”

  The perfect gent.

  “Ah, the perfect gentleman, no I’m fine, a brisk walk will warm me up. I’m only ten minutes from here. I have a flat on Old Queen Street, just up the road from the Chilean Embassy. I’m a lucky girl; they are hellishly expensive these days. My landlord took a shine to me years ago and never asked for anything in return.”

  She stopped, half in a channel of light, half in a shadow and turned to Cade.

  “Look, I know it might be a little clichéd but would you like a coffee?”

  It was. He would. But should he?

  “Yes, that sounds lovely, why not?”

  Premature? Over-eager? He had nothing to prove and no-one to report to. He was now his own agent, and a free one at that.

  They arrived at a narrow one-way street deep in the City of Westminster. The last building, a refurbished Georgian four storey combination of commercial offices and a few flats, was where O’Shea lived. It was a street where wealthy, influential and occasionally famous people resided. Its black-brick Georgian facades were much sought-after and properties were starting to attract eye-watering price tags.

  She flashed a plastic card across the door entry system and entered the stairwell. Cade noticed three wire cages against the wall, traps for incoming mail. He assumed hers was the empty one. Heaven forbid it would be in disarray. He smiled at the notion of even her letters landing in the bottom of the cage in an aligned form.

  The door closed quietly behind them as they climbed the stairs to the very top. She opened her own front door and invited Cade into a surprisingly spacious apartment. He looked out of the front window; the city was coming to life now. She was within striking distance of some of the most iconic landmarks in the world, and he found himself nodding approvingly.

  “This is great, Carrie. What’s the rear view like?”

  “Better since I lost a bit of weight to be honest, Jack,” she replied without hesitation, stirring two cups of French roasted coffee and carrying them both towards where Cade was stood.

  “I meant…”

  “I know what you meant, I was being facetious. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  She walked through the flat and climbed another small set of stairs until they arrived in her bedroom. She opened the large Georgian window.

  “OK, over there is St James’ Park – lovely in the summer, to the left is Clarence House and further left is where my friend Elizabeth lives.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Christ, Jack, you must be tired, HRH…who were you thinking about?”

  He wiped his eyes and grimaced.

  “Oh, that Elizabeth
! How is she these days?”

  “She’s fine, sends her love. Come on, the coffee’s getting cold.”

  They sat for twenty minutes, chatting about this and that and that and this, dancing around, avoiding the blatant chemistry that was filling the room with alarming signals and heightened sexual adrenaline.

  With the coffee finished, she offered him an encore from her impressive drinks’ cabinet.

  “You are the guest, after you.”

  “On a school night, is that wise?”

  “Go on, I dare you, live a little.”

  “If I were a mercenary man, I’d have a measure of that Balvenie twenty-one-year-old port wood – that’s an expensive bottle.”

  “It’s a classic, a famous reviewer described it as something akin to gently touching the inside lip of someone you love or lust with your tongue. He said it was warming and sensual. Does that appeal to your senses?”

  She was flirting outrageously with him.

  “It does, but I should I swallow my pride and accept your hospitality?”

  She poured a healthy amount into a glass, simple with clean-cut lines and a heavy base. He tipped it gently into his mouth and let the liquid flavours erupt onto his taste buds.

  He looked up and said, “that is superb, you know your malts, shame they are getting so pricey these days,” leaning his glass forward and allowing her to refill it.

  “You only live once, Jack, there’s that quote, something about risking going too far…”

  Her sentence petered out; she placed her cup on the floor and gazed at Cade.

  “Jack, I think I want to have sex with you right now.”

  He was shocked; yes, he had been a little flirtatious, maybe too much, but her forthright nature took him by surprise. They’d only known each other for a matter of days. So, when she said she wanted ‘coffee’ she really meant it.

  “Carrie, I, er…I…”

  “It’s OK Jack, I understand, why would you when you can click your fingers and end up in the sack with Miss Bulgaria? I get it, I really do.”

  She looked horrified, embarrassed and humiliated. The evening was in dire danger of collapsing, folding in on itself like an earthquake-struck historic building.

  She went to stand, but Cade was swift. He stood first and placed both hands on her shoulders and then lowered himself down so that their eyes were level.

  “Now, just a moment, this is not what you think. I am not rejecting you. I’m actually a little out of practice here and for the record Miss Bulgaria as you call her has provided me with a text book opportunity to experience her Eastern European wiles at very close quarters, however, I have no desire to take up her offer. I am here to protect her, not abuse her trust. I am thinking about her this evening, but in a purely professional, utterly platonic way, OK?”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Once again, this bloody man had stopped her in her tracks. She leant forward and kissed him gently on the forehead. He smelled quite incredible, an intoxicating scent of vanilla, mandarin and tonka bean – he must have applied it hours ago and yet it still lingered; she found it added an instant suggestion of eroticism and arousal, and she wanted more.

  He took another mouthful of the Balvenie and placed the glass on a nearby Beechwood table.

  She lingered and kissed him again, this time would be different; he would taste of dried fruits, of honey and spice. He raised his head and met her lips full on; both of them held their eyes open, gazing directly into each other’s pupils.

  He noticed for the first time that the whites of her eyes were reddening and in turn altering her slate grey pupils to green. She was crying, almost imperceptibly, but crying.

  His heart rate increased and matched hers. For a short moment he remembered Elizabeth Delany and their clandestine moonlit union. It seemed like so many months had passed and yet unbelievably it was only a few short weeks before. God, he was becoming as bad as Penelope in his sexual conquests – the fanatical whore.

  He whispered, “what’s good for the goose…”

  She didn’t hear him. For the first time in many years she was in proximity to a man she found attractive, who she felt able to share her most intimate secrets and critically, whom she trusted.

  Cade was breathing shallowly, there was something intensely different about this girl; part of him knew he should pull away, leave the flat and try to recover some semblance of professionalism, but a much bigger part resisted, wanted to put a metaphorical finger up to the world, the job and everything that surrounded it and wanted to live the moment for all it was worth.

  He kissed the tears away and held her close to him.

  With her head on his chest she undid his shirt, tempting though it was to rip the buttons apart she resisted, she could feel that the moment was sitting on a knife-edge; a hint of imbalance either way could change things permanently.

  She also resisted taking the lead – after all it had led to Wood’s disagreement with a stationery object.

  Despite the rush of thoughts ricocheting around her head, she knew she had to ease back, allow him to take control. If he didn’t object, she would do things her way, but for now it was wonderful just as it was.

  He reciprocated, gently unbuttoning her blouse until it gaped open. He stood, causing her to follow his lead.

  He slipped the blouse over her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground. Instinctively she bent down to pick it up, fold it and place it on the arm of the sofa.

  He put his foot onto it and held it firmly in place.

  “Leave it. You can iron it tomorrow.”

  His dominant nature excited her – so much so that she did as she was told and left her still-pristine shirt where it had landed.

  Cade knew it was likely to drive her crazy – he’d seen her desk; disciplined, manically ordered. If she wasn’t a Virgo, she acted like one. Her home was no different.

  He smiled and kissed her again. She swallowed audibly, bit his tongue gently and removed his shirt.

  His hand ran expertly across her back, locating the fastener to her pretty and undoubtedly expensive white bra, and gently released its grip. His left hand ran up and under the lace, tracing the line of her right breast until the surface changed to his touch. She gasped and took a deep breath.

  Why was this man so gentle?

  His fingers traced circular lines around her nipple, over and over until her breathing became unrestrained. She was close.

  She pushed him backwards, “No, Jack.”

  He stood his ground, “Carrie, if you want me to stop then I will.”

  “Oh God no, please don’t stop, the other one is feeling…lonely, you must be even-handed sire.”

  It was a ridiculous medieval spur-of-the-moment thing that she would later find amusing, when her mind would inevitably return to the events of the night before.

  She blew air through her lips, exhaling, trying to regain control but was failing and if she were honest, she loved the feeling of helplessness.

  It was all he needed. His fingers walked across her cleavage and stopped on her opposing breast; she was so obviously aroused. He gently stroked her, quickening in time with her breathing until once more she implored him to stop.

  Regaining her normal breathing, she eased herself onto her knees. Looking up at him she said, “Just not yet, Jack? Please, I am so aroused, but I don’t want this to end. It’s been a long time since I…”

  He placed his palm across her lips applying sufficient pressure that meant she could either pull away or linger; she chose to stay. He held his palm in place and raised his other hand, putting his index finger to his own lips, instructing her to stop talking. She was breathing through her nose now, purposely, and perceptibly.

  She felt in control but stimulated like never before.

  He raised his thumb and forefinger, leaving the three other fingers across her lips, and gently squeezed her nostrils shut.

  Now her eyes gave a different message. They widened markedly, dis
playing a hint of fear but an over-riding signal of pure pleasure. As if to endorse that she approved, she nodded.

  ‘Leave it there, Jack Cade, I love every moment of this game.’

  She tried to raise her hands to undo his belt, but he dropped onto his knees and pushed her back against the arm of the sofa. She placed her own hands behind her back. She was raising the ante but overtly becoming more submissive.

  ‘You are in charge, Sergeant Cade. You are in charge.’

  He leant forward and whispered into her ear, “Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”

  She was verging on panic – but intensely willing – he unexpectedly allowed her some respite by removing his hand, allowing her to consume the air around her and recover.

  “Christ, Jack!”

  “Sorry, I thought you wanted me to…”

  “Stop! Stop it, man. That was incredible, please…do it again, but this time for longer. No, wait!”

  He was confused but intrigued. What had she in mind?

  “Those words you whispered, are they yours?”

  With his head tilted slightly and laughing at the ludicrous topic of interruption, he replied, “I wish. You were hunting for them earlier. They belong to T. S. Eliot. They are from a collection called Transit of Venus; when you get a moment, research the man behind the publication.”

  He got comfortable and then continued. “He was called Harry Crosby, a bon vivant and heir to an American fortune. He lived a decadent, hedonistic and open life; I think you, him and his wife would have got along just fine. But enough of that…”

  “Oh, would I Mr Cade? You think you know all about me do y…”

  He placed his hand back across her face, ending the bizarrely analytical conversation and commenced the powerful act of dominance once more, instantly stopping her in her tracks and sending oxygenated blood to her most intimate regions.

  With his spare hand, he emptied the whisky glass, holding the warming liquid against his lips.

  He lifted her onto her toes, discarded her bra and ran his lips against her neck, focusing gently on her larynx. She writhed, feigned resistance, and offered moans of encouragement. She was naked from the waist up. So was he.