And rightly so. Not one IT genius, but two working it. Husband and wife team that my bosses would dearly love to headhunt away from ASI. Not that that would ever happen.
Not now.
"That's my doughnut, red," a guff male voice growled as we walked into the staffroom.
"Does it have your name on it?" a blonde woman replied. "I can't see it anywhere. Wait! Could your name be Chocolate Sprinkles?"
"Babe, I may be all about the chocolate, but there's nothin' remotely sprinkled about me."
"Sprinkled," the woman guffawed. "I like it."
"Woman!"
Ben Tamati and his girlfriend Abi Merchant, aka Sarah Monaghan, aka Abi Monaghan. Aka several other aliases that had the New Zealand Police Force trailing a ghost for close to five years. Tamati was Māori, thirty years old and the best shadow stalker this country has probably ever seen. If he wasn't so opposed to authority, he would have had a stellar career in the Services. As for his woman, Abi Monaghan was twenty-four, daughter of a mob syndicate snitch, raised in a drug lord's compound, and then escaped and ran for five years, only getting caught when Tamati shadowed her at the request of the Police.
Both were excellent at blending in and not being seen. Both would suit my line of work perfectly. I'd be keeping a close watch on these two; if anyone could see through my façade, it would be a couple of shadow dwellers like me.
"Ben Tamati, Abi Monaghan, this is Charlie Downes, our new operative," Nick announced, breaking up the love spat in the kitchen.
"Yo," Ben said with a chin lift, dark brown eyes, tanned skin and prominent tribal tattoo making up the image of a fierce warrior. Not to mention the six pack he wore, visible through his faded ACDC t-shirt.
"Hi," the diminutive Abi said, offering a beaming smile that under other circumstances I would have found friendly. But right now I couldn’t afford to read more than a pleasant greeting into it. "It's great to have another female on the team," she added. Genuinely, I think.
"Great to be here," I offered, because it was expected. And, well maybe, because I enjoyed my job. The challenge. The danger. The secrets. I'd been doing it for so long now, I knew I'd never be able to stop.
"Finally we might have a chance at getting the Neanderthals to clean up around here," Abi advised.
"Neanderthals?" Nick and Ben said in unison.
"Red," Ben added. "It's not like you haven't got you're own changin' rooms. You don't have to keep stormin' into ours."
"I do not storm into yours!" she exclaimed. Nick started to shake his head and turn back toward the door.
"Come on," he muttered. "They could be at this a while."
"You stormed in there just last night," Ben argued.
"You were alone," Abi pointed out. "And there's no cameras in the showers."
Good to know.
Their voices dimmed as we progressed down the hallway, but I did hear Ben's last comment.
"Just as well, yeah? Otherwise they would've got an eyeful in control."
So much for a tight team. I'd just found the chink in ASI's armour.
Excitement rushed through me, thrilling me, buzzing me, making me feel more alive than I had been for months. Sometimes the length of time between assignments could drive you crazy. I'd been borderline certifiable when this one came up. But now that old familiar sensation of invigoration swept through me, and I knew for the next few days, maybe weeks, everything would be vivid, and loud, and wild again.
The game was on.
"Control," Nick announced, glancing up into a camera lens above the steel door. "Always present your face to either this camera," he advised, pointing to the one overhead, "or this one," he said tapping the dome on a camera to the side, "and knock."
That exhilaration was now accompanied by pure anticipation.
How many times had my superiors talked about this room? About its capabilities. About its demise. Governments don't handle the private sector out shining them in any domain, but in the area of espionage? You just became public enemy number one. I should know.
"Welcome to the brains of ASI," Nick said, pushing the now unlocked door open and walking inside.
I stepped into IT geek Nirvana, unable to take everything in at once and keep the people sitting in front of wall to wall LED screens in my line of sight.
Eric Shaw, ex-specialist in the SAS, could give me a run for my money, I knew. But Amber Shaw was an unknown. Twenty-two years old, former employee and partner to Mitchell Wallis, aka Jaxon Harding, half-brother to mob boss Roan McLaren, and former undercover cop. Eric may have still been sporting a knee brace from recent inflamed injuries, but I was well aware of his physical capabilities, even incapacitated to that degree. At thirty-one years old the ex-military genius had made a name for himself recently.
And that was on top of the name he already had behind the scenes.
"Guys, this is Charlie Downes," Nick announced. "Charlie, this is Eric Shaw and his wife Amber, both are in charge of control, which basically means they're in charge of ASI."
Amber smiled sweetly and Eric let out a huff of a laugh.
"Only when he lets us, Charlie," he countered, holding out his hand to shake mine.
I took it, and then shook Amber's, thinking these two made the most gorgeous couple I'd ever seen. Stunning green eyes in Eric, deep, rich chocolate in Amber's, and then don't forget the to-die-for bodies they both sported. But then, exotic dancing and an ex-military career tended to help with these kind of things.
"Charlie short for Charlene," Eric said with a grin.
"Ah, I wouldn't go there if I were you," Nick suggested, covering his smile with a big hand.
"Aw, come on!" Eric shot back. "Charlie knows we have no secrets here."
"I had guessed as much," I offered. "But if you keep it within these four walls, we'll get along just fine."
"Deal," Eric agreed, good naturedly. "Now, do you want to know what we dug up on you?"
I smiled, making sure it looked amused and not shark-like.
"Dazzle me with your skills, Mr Shaw."
"Twenty-nine years old," he started.
"Why do men always start with the age?" Amber queried.
I laughed, it was surprisingly natural. It surprised me so much I almost dropped my façade. But then, I wouldn't be who I was if I let shock dictate my actions.
"Why do women always want to hide their age?" Eric shot back. "Wear it with pride, sweetheart."
"What, along with our crows feet, you mean?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"Moving on," Nick murmured.
"OK, so we've establish Ms Downes is of a certain quite acceptable age," Eric said, smirk in place. "We also know she was born here in Auckland, New Zealand. Grew up in Pakuranga, moved to Wellington when she was fourteen, went to Victoria University and gained a Bachelor of Arts in modern languages. Snaffled up by the Navy not long afterwards, and served the past six years at HMNZS Philomel in Devonport, at the Naval College there. Her recent discharge has now meant our good fortune and the Navy's loss. Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Downes."
"Impressive," I said with a nod. But not unexpected. Only half the information was correct, the rest was a cover I'd had in place for ten years. Even the Navy thought I'd taught there.
But it was only one cover of many.
"Charlie officially starts tomorrow at eight," Nick said to Eric. Then turning to me he added, "So, if you don't have any more questions, thanks for stopping in today and enjoy the rest of your last afternoon of freedom."
"Because as of tomorrow morning, we'll own your arse," Eric supplied.
"It's not as bad as he makes out," Amber offered, sending a frown Eric's way.
"I'm sure I've had worse."
And that there was probably the only truthful statement I'd uttered since I arrived at ASI HQ an hour ago.
"I'm certain you're going to fit in just fine, Charlie," Nick said moving to the door of control. "Tomorrow will be orientation. A few assessments; fitness, firearms, and so forth. S
o, be prepared. You'll also meet the rest of the team then."
The rest of the team. Part of me was excited to be meeting the people I had only known to date by their profiles printed in a dossier. Part of me was shit scared. Because this was my first assignment on New Zealand soil in four years, and if there’s one thing a specialist learns quickly, it’s the fatality of lowering one’s guard. Being “home” was not an excuse to lower my guard.
I shook Nick's hand and said good-bye to Carmel at the front desk, her narrowed eyes doing nothing for my peace of mind. But grandmas don't frighten me. If anyone was going to blow my cover it wouldn't be a sixty-something old lady with a shotgun mounted beneath her desk.
My bike sat waiting in the underground carpark, next to several black Ford Territory SUVs and two matching black Honda CBR 650s, which I knew belonged to Koki and Brook. My cherry red Ducati Superbike 1199 Panigale stood out, and reminded me I'd have to switch to my backup Ducati Diavel after this. Black seemed to be the order of the day for ASI, and I was determined to only stand out as much as I wanted.
I'd just thrown a leg over and grabbed my helmet when the automatic garage doors began to rise, the clank of segmented metal echoing around the too sterile concrete space. Curiosity had me pausing. That and the distinctive sound of a Ducati.
I've always had a soft spot for the Italian bike manufacturer. Hondas are all well and good, Harleys are for a different crowd, BMWs have presence, Kawasaki, Suzuki and Yamaha look the part, but it's the Italians that really steal the show. Ducati being the premier pick in my mind.
There's nothing like the throaty purr of 1200ccs beneath your butt cheeks.
The Ducati that stalked into the underground carpark was pure animal. Sleek, sure footed, loud. A distinctive roar you could imagine a tiger having. Controlled, enraged, powerful.
And I froze. Perhaps the first time I have frozen when on assignment in my life. My helmet sat forgotten between my legs, my knuckles whitened where I gripped the outer edge of the face guard, my eyes all for the man who sat up straighter on his now parked Monster bike. Leathers hugging thick thighs, sunglasses covering what I knew from dossier photos to be the most stunning deep blue eyes, and a wide open smile across plump red lips. He removed his helmet completely, tucking it under one arm as he let his eyes roam the length of my body and back up to my face.
“The new girl,” he said, his voice deep and smooth like whisky.
I didn’t reply. Not from some ingrained sense of self-preservation. Not even because I’ve been trained to remain silent until my target bares a slice of vulnerable skin. But because I’d never had such a visceral reaction to another human being before. Never felt my chest tighten or my palms sweat. Or my pulse quicken at the side of my neck.
“How’d orientation go?” he asked, swinging a foot over the side of his bike with practised ease.
I said nothing. I just sat there.
He hesitated as he placed his helmet on his bike seat and then cocked an eyebrow at me, small smirk gracing fascinating lips.
Well, this was uncomfortable.
And entirely unexpected.
“Okaaay,” he said slowly. “The silent type. I like it. Too many people feel the need to fill in the silence, say something banal, and ruin their cool vibe in fifteen words or less.”
“Like you?” I queried, the words on my lips before I could vet them.
He chuckled, then ran a hand through already roughed up blond hair.
“Yeah,” he said on a huff of amused air. “Like me. So, I’m just gonna go in there.” He nodded toward the door to ASI itself. “And pretend we haven’t had this conversation. Sound good?”
I stared down at the helmet in my frozen hands, mentally shaking myself awake, and nodded my head. Pulling the helmet up, I flicked my hair out of my eyes and put it on, tightening the straps automatically underneath my chin.
“Nice meeting you, Adam,” I said, gunning the Ducati to life and drowning out any possible retort he could have made.
I was acutely aware of his eyes target locked on my arse as I roared out of the underground garage; I didn’t look back. And only as sunlight hit my visor did I realise I’d given myself away. I’d addressed him by name, before being introduced. A rookie mistake no one in my line of work would ever make.
What the hell was with that?
The roar of the Panigale rang out on the busy Newmarket street, competing with the thunder of my heartbeat, as I dodged in and out of traffic on Broadway. My mind racing and my pulse competing admirably with it.
It took three minutes and several kilometres before I could breathe steadily enough to talk without it being noticeable. I activated my Bluetooth device, said "Mal" into my helmet mouthpiece and waited for the reply.
"Talk to me," my handler instructed in his usual straight-up tone.
By the time I spoke, I was myself again. Efficient. Capable. Deadly.
"I'm in," I replied, dismissing the garage episode as inconsequential and disconnecting the call.
Chapter 2
After All, I’m A Professional
Adam
The new girl was strange.
But I couldn’t seem to stop staring at the last spot I saw her in. Arse clad in tight black leathers, chest pressed low over the tank of her Ducati, as she gunned it out through the garage door. I will be the first to admit I find leathers fucking attractive. Throw in a powerful bike between their thighs, blonde hair and a fuck me mouth, and I’m pretty much a gonner.
Why the hell did a chick like that have to start working at ASI?
I shook my head, grinned to myself and pushed through the door into the stairwell. Taking several steps at once I made Carmel’s desk in under twenty seconds flat. Not even puffed.
Or at least, I’d thought I wasn’t.
“Looking flushed there, Savill,” Carmel commented, hand snaking out from underneath her desk, where she kept her shotgun, in a move we liked to call “the magician.” As in, “now you see it, now I blow your head off.”
“Carmel, sweetheart. Just excited to be seeing you.” It was crap; I was clearly still malfunctioning from lack of blood to the brain.
I marched across the reception area, determined Carmel would not locate where exactly my blood had all drained to.
“Did you see the new girl?” she queried, in a blatant display of curiosity. Carmel was the curiosity queen.
“What new girl?”
Yeah, that’s the one, Savill. My blood might be redistributing, but clearly not back to my fucking brain.
“Could have sworn her timing was perfect,” Carmel muttered.
Perfect? Perfect for what? Sure as hell wasn’t perfect conversation, now was it?
I ignored Carmel and entered the code to the back of ASI.
“Doesn’t say much,” Carmel added, as the door unlocked and I started to push through.
I shook my head, bizarrely relieved it wasn’t just with me the new girl remained tight-lipped for, and only breathed a sigh of relief when the door locked again at my back.
I felt itchy all over, as though I’d rolled in a stinging ivy bush or eaten too many apricots. I even glanced down at the backs of my hands to make sure I hadn’t come out in hives. Yeah, that’d be good. See a sexy woman and develop an allergy to her.
Just my fucking luck.
I knocked on the door to control and stared up at the camera. The door clicked within seconds of my eyeballing the lens.
“There he is,” Nick said, from his perch on a bench to the side of the room, possibly looking down Amber’s low neckline, but I wasn’t sure.
“There I am, what?” I demanded, that itchy feeling having migrated to my mood now, it seemed.
“Snappy,” Amber commented, typing with one hand while playing with a joystick with her other; a multitasking skill that had every man in the place envious of Eric.
I stared too long at the delicate and intricate movements she was making, only realising the doucheness of the act when Eric coughed.<
br />
“You need to get laid,” he said, for the benefit of all in the room, not just my ears.
If anyone asked, I’d swear it wasn’t a blush that graced my cheeks. Fucking apricots.
I threw myself into a vacant seat and swung my boots up onto a table to the side, making myself comfortable.
“Can’t find any trace of him anywhere,” I offered, as way of debrief.
“So, that’s it?” Nick asked. “Can’t find your target, so you come back to base empty handed?”
“Hoped Amber and Eric had something more to go on,” I countered.
“You could have had that conversation over the telephone,” Nick shot back.
Eric started laughing. “He got a call from Brook.”
“Brook?” Nick asked.
“Yeah,” Eric said slowly, piercing green eyes taking in my overly casual stance and no doubt still fucking flushed cheeks. Pale skin, the bane of a blond’s existence.
“And what would the call from Brook have said?” Amber asked, finishing up with her original task and moving on to something to do with my case. The woman never sat idle for long. She was the best thing to have happened to ASI in years. And everyone knew it.
“That the new girl was here,” Eric offered, eyes still disconcertingly on my face. “And worth a look-see.”
“Fuck off!” I mouthed across the room at him.
“You meet her in the garage?” Nick asked.
“Let’s see,” Eric offered, before I could reply. And then promptly ran back the tapes of the garage and the new girl leaving.
“You dirty dog, Adam!” Amber exclaimed. “Are you staring at her butt?”
“I will not deny a certain fascination with a woman’s arse on the back of a bike,” I announced, rather expertly, I think.
Amber giggled; somehow the sound coming from her wasn’t grating. Nick just shook his head, while Eric manipulated the recording until we could all hear my fan-fucking-tastic conversational skills and the new girl’s complete lack of wonder.
“Well,” Amber said, once my humiliation was complete. “You sure know how to wow ‘em.”
“I have certain skills which are difficult to display via a video camera feed,” I replied, sinking into my new found role of office leech.
Sweet Seduction Secrets (Sweet Seduction, Book 8): A Love At First Sight Romantic Suspense Series Page 2