By the end of the fourth day of doing much of the same thing, I arrived home exhausted. Accessing individual shipping manifests and cross referencing them against dock records involved a lot more than I thought. I understood the need for security. Dad had explained before that piracy being what it was, there were always people out there willing to buy information on shipping lanes, cargo manifests, and trade routes. Closely guarding this information, in addition to the number of other measures, made some small contribution to minimising the threat. But still, it took me half an hour of arguing with the tech guy, who insisted that I needed approval of a second board member to access those records. When Tom simply cracked his knuckles in front of him like he was gearing up for a fight, the tech manager, Terry, caved. After that, we’d started at the most recent records and worked backwards. The fact that we were completely unfamiliar with the documents slowed us down considerably, and having to save everything to a flash drive for the MI5 guys to take a look, didn’t help. When my stomach started to sound like a creature from Aliens, Tom had called time and phoned for Eli.
My mood hadn’t improved at being delivered back to Dad’s place either. Tom insisted we stay there because of the high level of security Dad had installed together with a panic room. He also didn’t want the Russians to clue into the fact that we knew about the bugs. He assured me they were only audio, but knowing that everything I did, every move I made, was being listened to, literally made my skin crawl. Every day I’d come home, throw together a meal for us both and go straight to bed after, but that couldn’t continue. Sensing my fatigue, Tom requested that Eli go back out to grab us some food after dropping us off, and I agreed happily.
After the quickest shower in history, I found myself sitting on Dad’s designer black sofa, in my favourite brushed cotton, unicorn pyjamas. I was squirming all over the place when Tom walked in carrying, what I assumed from the smell was, Chinese food. My jaw literally dropped open at the sight of him in loose sweat pants. A black T-shirt stretched across his torso. I was salivating over him and the takeout. Both were equally edible.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. “And what the fuck are you wearing?” he added as an afterthought.
“What? You don’t like unicorns?” I asked, aware of the hurt in my tone.
“Is that what they are? They look like rhinos. And why are you breakdancing?”
“I’m trying to get comfortable. Aunt Elizabeth brought some stupid designer in to do up this place for Dad. Apparently, the sofa is for decorative purposes only,” I said, reaching for my phone.
“What are you doing now?”
“Ordering a beanbag. I’m not wasting money on a sofa when I have a perfectly comfortable one at home,” I said, wondering if I could find an Elmer themed beanbag just to fuck up the living room décor.
“Will you order one for me?” Tom asked, squirming on the instrument of torture as he sat down next to me. Eventually, we compromised by pulling off some of the cushions and eating at the coffee table. Finally, with a full belly and some stupid comedy playing on the TV, I began to relax. I must have drifted off for a little while, because I woke to find my head lying on Tom’s shoulder. His body was as stiff as a board. Instantly, I jumped away from him, and we looked at one another. The space between us was tense and thick with the intensity of some force I couldn’t even begin to describe.
Electric.
Magnetic.
Addictive.
It compelled us both. Millimetre by millimetre, we edged slowly closer, as we both fought against the unthinkable. When I was close enough to smell the subtle scent of his shaving soap, I closed my eyes, just in time to hear his phone buzz.
Tom
The alert notified me someone was at the gate and moments later the buzzer sounded. Activating the camera feed to my phone, I clocked a guy wearing the uniform of a well-known parcel delivery firm. Dialling Will’s number, I waited for it to connect but didn’t speak. I didn’t have to. They knew the place was bugged.
“Plates are clean and registered to the company. Thermal imaging doesn’t show anyone else in the van. No sign of weapons, ’course we’d need a pat-down for sure. No bulky coat or easy place to hide one though. You wearing Kevlar?” he asked. I scoffed then coughed straight after to cover.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he replied. “Your call, boss.” I disconnected the call, then pressed the intercom to talk to the driver.
“Yes?” I barked
“Parcel for Miss Tatem,” he replied in a friendly manner.
“Give me a couple of minutes to put some shoes on. I’ll meet you at the gate.”
“No problem.”
I checked the video feed to see if he went back into the van, giving him an opportunity to reach for a gun. When he simply pulled out his phone and relaxed against the pillar, I went to my bag in the hall and pulled on some training shoes.
“You expecting any deliveries?” I asked Sarah, as she followed behind me.
“No. Nothing,” she replied, her arms folded tightly across her chest in a movement that told me how nervous she was. I handed her my phone that was still streaming the camera feeds.
“Anything happens, anything at all, you take this into the panic room and you don’t open it up until my boys get here, okay?” I instructed.
Her hand trembled, but she took it regardless. “If there is trouble, just remember to combat roll into the daffodils. We’re not due rain for a couple of days, and I don’t want to have to wash blood off the driveway. I hear it stains if you don’t get it out quick,” she said.
And it happened. I gave her the smile she’d been trying so hard to pry out of me. At every turn, when I expected fear, I found steel. She surprised me, and I was a man not easily surprised.
“You have a lot of metal for someone so small,” I told her. It was probably the only compliment I’d ever given a woman.
“You need to stop judging people’s strength by their size. When the storm comes, sometimes the fragile flower will still be standing, long after the sturdy tree has fallen.”
“You read that on a cushion somewhere,” I accused.
“Illustrated it in a children’s book actually. I’ll get you a copy.”
As always, I couldn’t tell whether she was yanking my chain or she meant it.
“I’m not big on reading.”
“Don’t worry, it has lots of colourful pictures, and you’ll never learn the big words if you don’t practise,” she said, being a smartarse.
“You do remember I have a degree, don’t you?” I reminded her.
“Well I don’t, and it isn’t nice to show off, so go and get my parcel for me before the man who may or may not shoot you gets cold,” she ordered, and I smiled again. We had our own bugs in here too, so no doubt MI5 and my guys were pissing themselves over this. Reaching once more into my bag, I pulled out my 9mm Browning HP, tucked it into the back of my sweat pants, and made for the door.
“Panic room,” I reminded her, and went to leave as she grabbed my bicep.
“Be careful,” she whispered, showing me her concern behind the bravado.
“Piece of cake,” I replied and left, shutting the door tight behind me. For a second, I allowed myself the thought that Nan had been the only person to ever utter those words to me. After that, I was all business. As I strode down the driveway, my mind worked overtime, noting detail after detail that might prove useful later. Seeing me coming, the driver straightened and reached for his parcel. It was long and thin and would fit easily through the bars.
“Do I need to sign anything?” I asked, gesturing towards the box.
“Who are you?” he asked, his tone a little cautious.
“Security,” I replied, watching his movements closely.
“Sorry, my instructions are only to deliver this directly to Miss Tatem. She needs to sign for it,” he said.
“Miss Tatem’s in bed. Either you give it to me or you take it back with yo
u.”
“Shit,” he said on a sigh. “Look I don’t want to have to come back tomorrow, but I’ll get in serious trouble without this signature.”
“I’ll sign her name, and nobody will be any the wiser,” I replied.
Reluctantly, he handed me the pen and clipboard. I scrawled something that probably bore no resemblance to her autograph, and we swapped items through the bars. He’d been gone for a few minutes when a black Range Rover pulled up sharply in front of the gates. Crash left the engine running while he hopped out, gave me a quick nod, then jumped back in the car with the package and drove off. With one last look around, I jogged back up to the house.
“Oh good. You’re alive. How’s the driveway looking?” Sarah asked me as I entered.
“Still spotless.”
She gave me a confused look as she noticed my empty hands, but I put my finger to my lips, warning her to be quiet.
“Want to find out who your parcel’s from?” I asked, waving my arms and shaking my head in an emphatic no. The frown disappeared when she realised what I wanted her to do.
“Ah, no, that’s fine. Leave it on the hallway table and I’ll open it later. Shall we finish the end of the movie?”
“Sounds good,” I replied casually. “Coffee first?”
“Tea please. I don’t like coffee.”
“Who doesn’t like coffee?”
“Err… me.”
“Weirdo,” I called out as she went back to the living room, making her giggle. Usually women giggling pissed me off. It was a noise reserved for kids, not grown fucking women. Especially not women trying to work their way into my bed. When Sarah did it though, all bets were off. It was a sound that bypassed my brain and went straight to my cock. I’d only known her a couple of weeks, and already I knew I was in serious trouble. My reluctance to form any kind of meaningful relationship wasn’t just based on the job, though that was definitely a part of it. Truth was, I honestly didn’t think I was capable of it. My entire life I’d had the capacity to simply switch off certain aspects of my psyche. Empathy. Fear. Regret. I could storm a room, take out every one of my targets as I looked them in the eyes, and still sleep like a baby at night. To some, that would make me a monster. To the British Army, it made me the perfect soldier.
On the rare occasion a casual hookup had turned into a regular repeat, the woman always seemed to want to spoon or cuddle or some shit I didn’t do. Despite assurances that they were fine with nothing more than sex, what they really wanted was emotion. Attachment. A human connection. I got it. I totally did. I just wasn’t capable of it. Things usually ended in tears, because I wasn’t good at the “letting them down easy” shit either. The difference with Sarah? For the first time in as long as I could ever remember, I had no control over how I felt for her. This thing between us was like a vine. I didn’t remember planting a seed, but the more time we spent together, the more it grew. Now I had to chop it down before we were so totally bound together that I couldn’t let her go. Because one day I would have to.
In an effort to convince myself that she was no different to every other girl I’d ever met, I tried to pinpoint what it was about her I was so attracted to. For a start, she was fucking beautiful. And I wasn’t talking the fake tan, Botox-induced, silicone-filled kind. Her long mahogany hair curled at the ends, just like her thick, silky eyelashes that framed the prettiest big, blue eyes. Her skin was pale like porcelain, and her body was curvy in every place mine was hard. So much so I knew our fit together, if we ever had sex, would be perfect. Just picturing her tonight in those fuck ugly pyjamas made me hard as a stone. Her beauty was natural—ethereal almost, because it came, not just from her looks, but from the fire inside her. The humour, the spunk, the strength that constantly challenged me. My plan was an epic fail. She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met, but that didn’t matter. And when Will texted me to confirm that the parcel was on the doorstep, I was reminded why.
Putting her tea down on the table in front of her, I handed her the delivery I’d retrieved.
“As your security, I’d prefer you to open this in front of me,” I told her, for the benefit of everyone listening in. She nodded, then peeled the red silk ribbon from the long, golden box. Inside was a single stemmed red rose and a neatly printed card.
“What does it say?” I asked.
She swallowed hard before replying. “It says, ‘Be ready for me tomorrow, Sarah. I’ve missed you, and I’m very much looking forward to meeting your new boyfriend. Love Always, your favourite Russian’”
She let go of the card and leaned back against the sofa, absently rubbing her almost completely faded bruise without even realising it. After staring into space for a moment, she turned to me and whispered, “You won’t leave me alone tomorrow, will you?”
“Not even for a second,” I promised. Instinct had warned that the parcel was bad news and to bin the fucking thing before she ever saw it, but that wasn’t how this was supposed to work. She needed to look afraid. She needed to feel afraid for the Russians to really believe that she was in it all the way with this deal. I couldn’t shield her from all the shit that she had no business seeing, but I wouldn’t leave her.
In fact, it would take a great deal of composure to stop myself from gutting that fucker as soon as he walked in the door tomorrow. Guys like that never stopped at assaulting a woman once. He was a weak man who needed to hurt someone to feel stronger. I didn’t want to knock him around like he’d done to Sarah. I wanted to cut out his liver with my hunting knife. Only the knowledge that I might get a sanctioned chance to put a bullet between his eyes held me back.
“Listen to me. I know you’re starting to freak out now. I can see it in your eyes. But you need to keep dealing with shit the same way you have been doing and keep it together,” I said.
“I don’t know how to do that. When something bad happens, I’m going to freak out. Who can control stuff like that?” she asked, panic bleeding into her voice
“The girl who was talking about stuffed elephants in the same office where she’d gotten a beat down. Same girl who giggles at being called a weirdo while living in a house she hates that belonged to her dead father. You compartmentalise fear. Put shit in boxes. Whitty banter, dark humour, use whatever you’ve got and get the job done.”
“I can do that,” she whispered, resolutely. Then, without saying another word, she threw her unicorn-clad arms around my body and hugged me. Shocked again, I didn’t have a chance to hold her back before she was gone and heading upstairs. Stuck in the same spot, I watched her go, absolutely certain those unicorns were actually rhinos.
The next day, I expected things to be tense and edgy, but Sarah came downstairs all business. Quiet but calm, she remained the same all the way to the office. As we rode the lift, I could feel the tension coming off her in waves, but she didn’t break at the thought of seeing Vasili again. She didn’t even falter. When the lift doors opened, she put one sexy, black stiletto in front of the other and sashayed her arse all the way to the end of the corridor. Only when we reached her office did she pause for a moment at the doorway, before going all the way in. As I followed behind her and shut the door, I saw the reason for her hesitation. Leant against Sarah’s desk with her arms crossed aggressively was the evil aunt herself.
“It’s like you’re the harbinger of doom,” Sarah wearily said to her aunt, as she took off her coat and scarf and folded them over the back of a chair next to the one I’d taken. Walking over to the kettle, she boiled water for my coffee and her tea, which had become part of the working day routine.
“Charming, Sarah. What a lovely way to greet your closest relative, and what on earth are you doing with a kettle in here? This is completely undignified,” her aunt replied, reaching over the desk to press the intercom button. “Victoria, could you come in here please,” Elizabeth snapped.
Seconds later, Victoria appeared, having most likely broken some kind of record to arrive that fast. The fear of Elizabeth’s wrath must hav
e been a great motivator.
“Have you seen this?” Elizabeth said, waving disdainfully towards Sarah’s tea station.
“Cup of tea, Victoria?” Sarah asked casually, for once not letting the old crone get to her.
“Err, no thank you, Miss Tatem,” Victoria replied. “And yes, Ms Tatem, I’ve noticed Miss Tatum’s hot beverage making facilities. I have assured her many times that I’m quite prepared to make her a hot drink, however frequently she wishes, but Miss Tatum prefers to see to herself.”
“I’m thirty years old and perfectly capable of sorting myself out with a cuppa. Besides, with the amount of tea I drink, you’d never get any work done, Victoria. Now, you’re welcome to stay for this car crash, but feel free to go back to doing whatever you were doing before we so rudely interrupted you,” Sarah reassured her as she handed me a coffee in the black mug she’d bought me that read, “Always be you, unless you can be a unicorn. Then, always be a unicorn.” Without asking, she handed the bitter old trout tea in a plain white mug, and I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed by it.
“Honestly, it’s like you were raised by wolves. Tea should only ever be loose leaf and served in a bone china mug with a saucer,” Elizabeth reprimanded, while Victoria slipped away quietly.
“Well, this is made from tea bags in the only spare mug I have, so do me a favour and drink it. Middle ground, remember?” Sarah replied. I smirked that some of her gumption, which seemed missing this morning, was back.
“Very well,” Elizabeth said. “Now I want to talk with you about Saturday night.”
“What’s happening Saturday?” Sarah asked, sipping tea that was way too hot from a mug that read, “I can be bright or early. Pick one.”
“Really, Sarah? What’s the point of you having a secretary if you don’t have her check your diary? The Tallingers are hosting their annual charity fundraiser and the board is invited. Your friend, however, is not,” she said, then drank her tea while regarding me contemptuously over the top of her mug.
City Under Siege Page 6