"Well," he said. "That was telling. Now do it again and don't hold back this time."
A new magazine was placed beside the PSM. I stared at it for a few seconds and then cleared the old cartridge and reloaded the gun.
"One thing," Jason asked, when I'd steadied the gun to re-fire. I lowered the weapon, and then hastily flicked the safety, angry at my faux pas. A Naval trained officer would have hit the safety first, before lowering the gun.
Apparently my mistakes today were not over.
"Why did you hold the last bullet in check?"
I lifted my eyes to his and decided to answer honestly. "I wasn't sure where the next round would come from."
He stared me for several long seconds and then nodded his head.
I was certain I'd just given him an insight into Lieutenant Downes that he hadn't as yet had.
I couldn't regret the tell; part of laying down a cover was to improvise. But I knew in my heart that explaining the tick was an encounter I needed to avoid at all costs.
Jason Cain saw too much and he'd just seen a shadow of the ghosts of my past.
My past, not Charlie Downes'.
I lifted the pistol, flicked the decocker, and fired off nine rapid shots. By the time I'd returned the gun to its resting place, the new target was already flying. Within seconds Cain had ripped it down from its clips.
Murmurs started up in the galley. I flicked a glance towards the voices, never turning fully away from Cain in the process. The crowd had grown. Now not only Abi, Koki, Brook and Eric were present from ASI. But also Adam and Ben.
And that wasn't counting the hangers-on. I used the moment to put names to the faces, only having recognised them for their connections outlined in a dossier before now. Genevieve Anscombe, Jason's sister. Kelly Quayle, her co-worker and best friend. Evangeline Rowe, Nick Anscombe's wife. And Dominic Anscombe, Genevive's husband and brother to Nick.
I pushed all superfluous reactions to this interesting intel aside and watched as Jason moved the target to lie over the top of the first one I'd fired.
The holes matched up. Perfectly.
"Fucking hell," he muttered, raising his deep blue eyes to my face. "Is this a party trick?"
I smiled. It was forced. I was just all kinds of fucked up today. "A girl's gotta have something to show for herself," I said, a little too vehemently.
Cain shook his head; dumbfounded.
I'd taken a risk, after making one hell of a misstep. Mal would rip me a new one if I included this in my report. Of course, my reports to Mal were going to be very circumspect from now on.
I had to run with my instincts. And my instincts were yelling at me to duck. Just what exactly I was evading, I couldn't yet tell.
But I did know ASI was more of a challenge than we in the Department had first thought.
And I was in desperate need of a cover that would wear their perusal well. Not that I suspected anyone was checking deeper than their initial pre-employment checks. But my gut was telling me it wouldn't take much for them to do so.
Hell, even Carmel had her doubts.
I needed an additional layer. My shell was in danger of cracking. My cover - carefully chosen and constructed for this assignment alone - was not going to be enough. Normally, a ramp up in layers would have to be approved by the handler in charge of the specialist.
I considered myself handler-less. As close to a rogue as I had come.
No. Lieutenant Charlie Downes, teacher at HMNZS Philomel for the past six years, was not enough. I needed to included the two years prior.
Every cover has a fallback. Mine was those first two unaccounted years before being hauled into Naval Training College.
"What were you before you were an instructor?" he finally said, falling for my trap so easily.
I almost felt bad for him. Almost.
"Classified."
His eyes met mine and a type of understanding was shared between us. Despite my story being a cover and little else, it did hold a modicum of the truth. I used that knowledge, that honesty interwoven into the lie, as I met that assessing look in his eyes.
I held his stare on equal footing. Jason Cain filled in the gaps as I'd known the ex-SAS soldier could only do. I might have been able to do this with Eric Shaw as well. But he wasn't as much of a potential hazard as Cain. At least, not right now.
I needed Cain on my side. His support would go a long way to convince Eric as well.
"If I were to place a Colt or a Glock in your hand," Jason asked, setting the target sheets to the side, "I'd get the same result, wouldn't I?"
"My specialty is hand to hand combat. Short range, not long distance." Ava was the sharp shooter, not I.
Jason nodded. "OK," he said at large. "You'll do."
The gallery erupted into applause. So unexpected, my whole body jerked in surprise. I hadn't forgotten them. Fuck, I knew when each one of the spectators breathed or shifted about. I just hadn't considered their approval.
Most of them I didn't even know. Well, not personally, anyway. The other half, I'd only just met.
There was something about ASI that was inclusive. Something alien and foreign to my mind. I had no former experience to call on. Just training that had me responding with a wave and a bow.
The clapping was joined with cheers; some of them on the more crude side. Koki or Brook, I didn't try to separate them. Singling one out from the other was currently unnecessary, and I'd resorted to the most basic of needs and desires.
Survival mode, my trainer would have identified. Which made me realise I was in more danger than I’d consciously thought.
I scanned the crowd of onlookers, as Jason packed away the PSM and target sheets - the session and my assessment over now - and realised what had set my instincts, even those I subconsciously had, off.
Adam and Ben weren't clapping.
I moved my attention off them as quickly as it had arrived. Turning to Jason with a smile, forcing myself to place the threats at my unprotected back, for fear of discovery and reprisal.
"So, what's next, Captain?"
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" he queried, good naturedly. "Well, as it so happens, I believe we have a fitness assessment to see to now."
"And you'll be taking it?"
"Not up to an Army beat down?" he teased back.
"Just worried I might show you up in the ring, as well."
"Ouch!" He shook his head, and opened the door out of the firing range. The sound of those in the gallery also moving let me know my audience wasn't over yet either. "Would you prefer Ben? His tactics often include the use of a taiaha. And he wields it well."
I did not fancy facing off against the Māori right now. Not if my suspicions were correct. This would require delicate handling. I'd laid the groundwork for a deeper cover with Jason, I needed to know more before I pulled Adam or Ben into my web as well.
Something was off, and the specialist in me had me preparing for the worst.
My time at ASI was under threat; I needed to work as fast as humanly possible now.
Following Jason down the corridor towards the gym I became surrounded by the hangers-on, laughter and rapid fire conversation pouring over me like a warm wave on a tropical beachside. Smiles and pats on the back, words of congratulations and, in the case of the curly headed blonde I knew to be Kelly Quayle, awe laced with a strange type of familial respect.
"Fan-fucking-tastic!” she exclaimed. “I don't think I've ever seen Jase wordless around guns before. Tell me how you did that. It's gotta be something I can learn. If only to show the prick who's the boss now and then."
"With a gun, Kels?" Genevieve asked. "I'm sure he'll quake in his boots if you pick a firearm up."
"We'll all quake in our boots, sweetheart," Dominic, the lawyer brother, drawled.
"Hey! Do you mind?" Kelly, or Kels, said. The outrage was only half-arsed and entirely wrapped up in a brightly coloured bow of long standing friendship.
"That type of weapon mastery take
s years of practice, Kelly," Eric advised, making a spot between my shoulder blades itch, knowing he was at my back and close enough to hear the comments as well.
I forced my steps doggedly onward, following Jason, pretending to hang on every word. All the while deciding how best to defend myself if the shit suddenly hit the fan and I was forced to extricate out of these too enclosed walls.
"At least eight years, at any case," Adam added, making me glance over my shoulder involuntarily, and meet his eyes.
He winked back, throwing me off balance. Making me doubt the danger I'd just seen up in the gallery. I scanned the crowd for Ben as I turned forward again. But the big Māori had vanished from sight.
One less opponent to battle.
Or one more hidden hazard to avoid on my way out.
A thrill raced through me; inappropriate, given the circumstances, some might say. But I'd never shied away from a challenge. And the more dangerous, the more lethal that challenge, the better in my mind.
Sounds became sharp and distinct. Movements were picked up in my peripheral as astutely as if I was viewing them through a magnifying glass. Smells suddenly meant more - the hint of gun residue on a palm, the oil along the edge of a serrated knife. I tasted metal on my tongue; adrenaline flooding my system. My fingers tingled with the itch to touch; a gun, a weapon, flesh to flesh.
This was as close to being alive as I ever came.
It was with a smile that I entered the gym a few minutes later, having changed into tight fitting yoga pants and a cropped sports bra. Wolf whistles sounded out from the area set aside for the gawking crowd. A quick sweep of my eyes told me that Ben had not returned, and that Adam was the one waiting for me in the centre of the ring.
Loose limbed, barely there singlet tight across the pumped up muscles of his torso, running shorts and bare feet. It was the bare feet that seemed to attract my attention. Not the nagging worry that the change-up of opponents meant something. Or the fact that I'd soon have my hands on his skin, slicked with sweat, senses heightened.
I licked my lips and scanned the room for Jason Cain. He was in deep conversation with Eric. Neither looked happy.
The warning bells escalated to a clanging din inside my head. My heart beat too hard not for it to be noticeable. For ten years I've prided myself on not showing emotion. For ten years I've been a calculated machine; only displaying what I wanted to be seen.
I blinked slowly. Let a long, measured breath out in one continuous burst of air. Stretched my neck from side to side. Jumped up and down on the tip of my toes. And walked into the ring.
I was a hostile in enemy territory. And they knew. How they'd figured it out, I couldn't fathom. And if it changed my plans, I wasn't yet certain. I still had an assignment. I still had orders I should be following.
I met Adam's eyes; felt myself falling into them against all reason. All logic. I didn't want to happen what I knew had to happen. I didn't want to hurt this man.
My gaze flicked over all the people standing at the corner of the gym. Koki and Brook didn't yet know, or were immaculate actors. I didn't credit them with that delicate skill, so ignorance was the only explanation for the jokes and dirty comments still spewing from their lips.
Bets were being placed between them and the hangers-on. Dominic Anscombe shaking hands with Kelly Quayle as the diminutive woman smirked up at him from under long lashes. Her money was on me. His on Adam. Neither knew I was a wolf in the sheep's pen.
So, Eric, Jason and Adam were aware. That would mean so was Nick Anscombe and I'd guess Ben, as well. Very soon the entirety of ASI would be on alert. Shutting me out. Calling me out. Or simply throwing me out.
I had one chance and one chance only.
I looked toward Adam. He met my gaze with a challenge of his own.
This was going to hurt.
Chapter 13
Black Didn’t Even Cover It
Charlie
He feinted right, then threw a quick jab toward the left. I let the hit land, taking the sharp sting of pain with gritted teeth and a burst of heated air.
The surprise that flickered over his handsome features was shuttered too quickly for most people to register if it had even been there. I spun around and landed my heel to his stomach, pushing him back a few feet on the mat.
The audience was silent. I couldn't spare them a glance. It's harder to throw a match than to win one. I needed my wits about me.
Adam and the rest of ASI had to think I wasn't a professional. At least, no more than a lieutenant.
"That was sneaky," Adam murmured, almost too low for the on-lookers to hear. "They teach you that at Philomel?"
"In a manner of speaking," I said just as quietly, just as intimately, then threw a one-two combination, followed by an upper cut.
A round of "Oohs" and "Ahhs" came from the audience. Adam just shook his head to clear it and smiled.
"You're quicker than I expected," he said, conversationally.
I was a lot of things he hadn't expected and we both knew it.
I winked at him, and laid myself open for a surprisingly deft side kick and round house swipe. My face hit the padded mat and his body landed on top of me.
"Give up yet, Lieutenant?" he whispered in my ear.
"Underestimated me yet, Stalker?"
He stilled above me, then jumped up in one fluid glide. Heat was replaced with empty air down my spine. Adam bounced on his toes until I was upright again and then effected a ready pose. The fingers of his right hand beckoned to me slowly.
I smiled. Shook my head, while flexing my aching jaw. Then limbered up, mirroring his stance in the middle of the mat.
The audience was forgotten. Our eyes locked for a suspended moment in time. And then we were nothing but flashes of movement, bursts of expelled air, grunts and groans as we grappled. Rolling over the mat, never quite finding purchase, a fleeting grasp, an "oomph" and then we were moving again.
Twice I pegged him to the ground. Three more times I let him pin me. He was good. Better than I had warranted. Whether that was due to Nick Anscombe's training or an inherent skill learned from the school of hard knocks, I wasn't sure. He was fast and strong, and knew some moves that weren't taught on your average self defence course.
He was also a little dirty, landing hits a gentleman would never think to use; a skill I greatly admired.
"Give up yet?" he asked, breathless, panting, sweaty, and if I wasn't mistaken, not just a little desperate.
A reflection of me. Which had me feeling all sorts of unusual and unwanted emotions when I realised.
We'd been at this for at least forty minutes. Ten minutes longer than my punishment for being late was meant to be. A second round of coffees had even been handed out in the crowd, and Nick had now joined Eric and Jason off to the side in head bent to head, murmured words of heated discussion. My last passing glance of the scene had let me know Koki and Brook were still on the out.
Maybe they feared their reaction. Maybe they'd be given the news in private because Nick wasn't sure yet how to proceed. I crossed dismissal off the list, which left only two. Shutting me out or calling me out.
Adam hadn't hinted at a thing throughout our fight. He'd given as good as he got. Not held his punches, at all. But he had gripped me seconds longer than necessary. He had whispered his taunts in my ear, not from any distance away. And he had moulded his body to mine when given the opportunity; letting me feel him; hard, unforgiving, in command.
I was a little in awe of Adam Savill by the time Jason called "time." And I was sure he was a little in awe of me. Under normal circumstances - at least, what passes for normal circumstances for me - I would have had no issues using Adam as back up. We might have been pitted against each other in this fight, but I'd recognised a fellow dirty brawler. His movements had mirrored mine on more than one occasion. Often he'd utilised combinations I would have used to throw my attacker off. He’d stolen my moves. He’d surprised me again and again. And not once did I feel I was
n't working to hold my own. In other words, we'd matched.
We'd fit.
Like a glove.
A round of applause brought us both out of the moment. I hadn't realised we'd been standing, mid-grapple, faces inches apart, chests heaving with the exertion and lack of air. Cheeks flushed for more than just one reason.
"Well done," Nick advised. "Some nice moves there. I'm glad the Navy hasn't eased up on maintaining fitness levels in their officers."
I was the one to step away, instantly feeling chilled once we'd parted. It could have been the ice blue in Nick's eyes. Eyes that hid their mistrust well, but still left me feeling out of sorts.
But I was more inclined to think it was the absence of Adam. His warmth. His presence. Him.
He'd turned away when Nick had stepped onto the mat and was wiping a towel over the back of his neck, shoulders taut, back straight, muscles flexing in agitation.
He'd not liked losing time there as well.
"A fair pass, I'd say," Nick added. "You agree, Jase?" he looked back toward Cain, who was watching the scene with arms crossed over buffed chest, scowl in place. It meant nothing, from what I'd learnt so far. Jason Cain often scowled.
"A pass," he agreed, with a curt nod of his head.
"Some of those moves couldn't have been Navy issue," Nick pressed, his attention back on me, as I reached for a bottle of water.
I cracked the cap and tipped the bottle to my lips before I answered. I needed time to think.
He hadn't cleared the room, so the hangers-on were all still present. Granted, laughing and talking, paying up on bets - Adam was declared the winner due to the number of drops - a few watching with interest, but most too caught up in the celebration to notice what was about to go down in the middle of the mat.
I shook my head, eyes still warily locked on Nick's. "They're not," I said, waiting to see if I'd have to elaborate.
"I didn't think so," he replied steadily, and then turned away to look toward Adam. "Congrats, Savill. You did us proud."
Sweet Seduction Secrets (Sweet Seduction, Book 8): A Love At First Sight Romantic Suspense Series Page 11