STING
Book Four
of the
Spark Series
Jennifer Ryder
STING
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Ryder
Published by Jennifer Ryder
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Jennifer Ryder is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs or musicians or artists mentioned in this book.
Louisa Maggio from LM Creations
Editing by Lauren K McKellar
Formatting by Max Effect
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
DEDICATION
In a way, Sting is a story of second chances.
It’s about letting go of the past, and putting your trust in fate.
This book is dedicated to those waiting for their second chance.
Have faith that it’s coming.
PROLOGUE
WILLOW
(Two years ago)
“We need to move now, Ms Scott,” orders the tall man in the grey suit that’s been invading my personal space for the last however many months. The face has changed over time, but the suit, somehow, is always a shade of grey. I really wish Peter were still looking after me.
I slide across the leather back seat of the black SUV. My hands tremble as I secure my seatbelt.
From the front passenger seat, the grey suit twists his muscular frame and hands me an envelope. “Here’s all the necessary paperwork. We’ve got about an hour’s drive before we put you on the chartered flight to Perth.”
I nod, unwilling to speak.
Perth. I couldn’t get farther away from Sydney if I tried.
Through teary eyes, I open the package, and glance over the papers inside.
Willow June Asher
I did everything they asked. I gave them the information they needed. I did the tests, the examinations.
I’ve risked everything, including my life. I’d do it again, but how will it work out from here? How do I start over, without any family or friends for support—and how do I do it with a broken heart?
CHAPTER ONE
RYAN
(Present day)
“That was some intense meeting back there,” I say. I rub my fingers over my forehead to release the tension as we walk down the long corridor. It’s by far the longest operations briefing I’ve ever sat through. There was a lot of detail to take in, but I was more than up to the challenge.
“Yup. A lot of ground work has gone into this one.” Pete ushers me into his office and closes the door behind us. “Anyway, welcome to the Organised Crime Taskforce, Clark. Glad we get to work together again.”
Pete and I go way back to the academy, and he’s been my controller on all of my assignments, bar one.
“Me too, man. I’ve missed your ugly face,” I joke as I firmly shake his hand.
He chuckles and squeezes my fingers hard in his large hand. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” He points towards the empty chair on the other side of his aged timber desk.
Pete sits down in his high-backed chair and slides a hefty white envelope across the wooden surface.
“We’ve let you keep your first name this time around. Your assumed identity is Ryan Palmer. Your flight leaves next week for Perth, and as we’ve discussed previously, you’ll be based in Fremantle. All the necessary details and contact information are in the Briefing Orders. As always, give me a call if you have any concerns or need anything. We’ll be keeping in close contact, and of course feeding you with any intel from the state taskforces.”
“Right. Thanks, Pete. Sounds good.”
I bite down on my lip to supress a satisfied grin. I always get a kick out of taking on a new assignment. I’ve had my share of shit jobs lately, but I know this one will be different. Leading up to today, I’d heard the talk in the ranks that there are some big fish involved in this one. The meeting today confirmed it. This operation, if successful, would be monumental in achieving the taskforce’s objectives, not to mention the drugs that would be off the streets.
“Our other covert operative, Mick Gallagher, will make contact two days after you arrive. There’s a fair bit of movement at the docks, and we’re going to need as many eyes in the area as possible. With any luck, your cover as an apprentice marine mechanic and working on the charter boat will get you more involved with the locals, and hopefully get you a bit closer to our POIs.”
The last few months working intensively with a qualified marine mechanic on the south coast, and having grown up around boats thanks to my father’s obsession with fishing, will no doubt work in my favour. This is a big opportunity, and I’m confident that I can play the role well.
There’s still a risk, though, that I could fuck this up. The locals might be forgiving, given I’m an apprentice, but the guys we’re watching? If they suspect anything, they won’t hesitate to put a bullet in my head.
“Thanks for the opportunity, Pete. I won’t let you down.”
“We know you won’t. Just try and avoid complications this time, huh?”
Fuck, I knew he’d bring it up. I fucked up on the last assignment and got involved when I should’ve kept away. This time around, I’m gonna let my head do the thinking. Not my dick. Simone, the clingy brunette, nearly fucked up the entire operation.
It’s not her fault. I need to be more careful.
“Will do.”
I shake his hand, walk tall out of his office, and set home to pack. When I say home, I mean Mum and Dad’s. I’ve had my house rented out the last two years, and luckily there’s still room for my shit at my parents’ place so I don’t have to have everything in storage.
Fremantle. You fucking beauty. It’s been ten years since I’ve visited, and it’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to go back to. I’ll have to take my surfboard. It’s been a few years since it’s had a workout. Hopefully I won’t make a dick of myself, remembering how
to use it.
****
Another teary goodbye with Mum and Cass at the airport. Some things never change. Dad stands stoically beside them, seemingly unfazed with the outpouring of emotion.
I lower my head and wrap my arms around Mum’s small frame, hugging her tight. “Come on. Don’t do this again,” I whisper in her ear.
She takes a step back and dabs a tissue under her eyes, then tucks her short blonde wavy hair behind her ear. Looking up at me with the same chocolate-brown eyes as mine, she smiles. Her chin quivers. “I can’t help it. You know I worry,” she says, her voice shaky.
“I’ll call when I can,” I promise her.
“Good. Just be safe.” She grips either side of my head in her warm hands, and kisses me softly on each cheek.
“Always.” I smile. She pokes at my dimpled cheek.
“Love you,” she says, and drills me with her tear-filled gaze.
Geez, enough of the emotions already.
I wink. “Love you too, Mumma.”
“Hurry up. You’re gonna miss your flight,” Cass chips in, play punching me in the upper arm as she sniffs. Mum steps back and I haul Cass into a hug.
“While I’m gone, try not to bust Jeremy’s balls too much, huh?” I say quietly.
“I do not,” she says loudly, and then whispers “bust his balls.” The giant smirk on her face always brings a smile to mine. I love riling her up.
“Not what I heard.”
She huffs her dark brown fringe, and kisses me on the cheek.
“They deserve to be caressed, treated with care,” I say through a chuckle, making a cupping motion with one hand.
She slaps my hand away and laughs. “Shut up, Dick.”
“Children,” Mum says, humour in her faux warning tone.
“Flight 476 to Perth is boarding now through gate nineteen,” a female voice blares over the speaker.
I turn to Dad, and nod as we stand eye to eye. “So proud of you, Son. You’re doing us all proud,” Dad says, offering his hand. He sweeps the other through his salt-and-pepper flecked brown hair. A trademark Clark move.
Dad, never one to show emotion, shakes my hand with gusto, and when I think he’s about to drop it he yanks me into a hug, which feels more like a stronghold.
This is definitely a memory of the old man I’ll be holding onto. He always pushed me, as a kid, was forever the hard task-master, but I’m grateful for it. I wouldn’t be where I am without him.
After another hug from Mum, I peel myself from her embrace and board the plane. Business class. They must have booked out the seat next to me because by the time we are cleared for take-off it’s still empty, and the rest of the cabin is full. I’ve already studied the Briefing Orders at length, but I open the folder up to run through them again. I focus on the main document, which has all the critical details. A few more hours of rehearsal alone and I will be Ryan Palmer. Having a photographic memory certainly helps.
Ryan Thomas Palmer. 26 years old.
Apprentice marine mechanic
Qualified automotive mechanic
Born Townsville, QLD
I breeze through the rest of the paperwork and flip through my wallet, complete with brand spanking new driver’s licence and credit cards.
By the time I arrive in sunny Perth, I’m pretty happy with the info I’ve covered. After the Mitchell Stone takedown, I’ve been working undercover for more than two years. This shit is certainly getting easier.
I take a maxi-cab to the safe house: an apartment a few minutes’ walk from the main street in town. Apart from my surfboard, I’ve travelled light. I’ve left all the suits and dressy gear at home, because realistically, I’m not going to be doing anything ‘formal’. I’ll be spending the majority of my time working on the boat with Mick, and gathering intel. Hopefully the long hours won’t screw me over as much as last time.
The apartment is furnished with basic bone-coloured lounges, timber stools and a small square wooden dining table with matching chairs. It looks and smells clean, an upgrade on the last place. There’s a set of car keys on the bench. Fuck I hope they’ve given me something decent. I enter the garage downstairs to find a stock-standard white Holden Ute with a metal tray, parked in the corresponding car spot. It’s nothing special, but it won’t attract attention. At least I can chuck the surfboard in the back.
I return upstairs, secure my paperwork and Glock in the safe, and then get changed into boardies, a T-shirt, and thongs. My new uniform. Grabbing a towel and my surfboard, I manage to get it out of the apartment without knocking a hole in the wall.
Beach time. I’ve got a fuckin’ good feeling that I’m gonna enjoy this assignment.
The mid-afternoon sun has a hell of a bite to it. Thankfully, the strong breeze and the waves quickly cool me down. I spend a good hour in the water, enjoying the calm and the soothing sounds of the crashing of the waves.
****
Day one of my assignment and the familiar niggling feeling in my gut returns like it does at the beginning of every job. The churning, coupled with need for my morning coffee, leaves me jumpier than an ice-addict. I mentally talk myself through my cover and stroll down some of the back streets, until I come across a busy café. There’s a row of small white tables out front with red, green and white funky chairs. The music is loud, but the general feeling of the place is laid-back. The pungent smell of coffee grinds is overwhelming. There’s a queue just inside the door, so I’m guessing this means the brew here is good. There certainly wasn’t a wait at the sterile-looking joint around the corner.
I line up and wait patiently as I creep closer to the counter with each order. The burst of steam from the machine and grinding of the beans fills my ears and comforts me, and I know my caffeine fix is only moments away.
The curvy redhead behind the counter warmly greets everyone like they’re old friends, winking and smiling, her iridescent hot-pink lipstick unmissable. Her black nametag bears the name ‘Gabby’ in white cursive writing.
“Well, it’s a good morning now,” the redhead says, her hazel eyes sizing me up when I move to the front of the line. She smirks, and readies her hand on the register. “What’ll it be, honey?”
“Large flat white, thanks.”
“That’s four dollars, please.”
As she hands me my change, her hot-pink fingernails graze my outstretched palm. The redhead then slides a square piece of paper across the counter and a small hand from behind the machine takes it. Apart from the noise you wouldn’t even know someone was there with the cups piled high on top.
A flash of messy blonde hair dashes out from behind the machine. “Is that take—,” she says. Her jaw goes slack as her pretty eyes scan from my chest up to my face. “Oh,” she whispers.
“Huh?” I say, leaning in closer to the counter, taking in an eyeful of her petite body and golden skin against the stark whiteness of her tank top. I don’t miss the growing blush that’s spreading across her freckled cheeks either.
She shakes her head and briefly closes her eyes as she huffs out a breath. “Sorry, take-away?”
“Nah, think I might stay?” I say and nod. Yep. Definitely staying.
“Um, sure. Take a seat,” she says and turns to her colleague. “Gabs, can you give him a number?”
“Oh, honey. I’ll give this one a number alright.”
I chuckle, and take the numbered metal-stand that she hands me. Blondie gives me a whisper of a smile and then returns behind the machine.
I lazily wander to the only vacant chair in the corner and wait impatiently for Blondie to deliver my coffee.
I’ve got a fuckin’ good feeling I’m gonna enjoy this assignment.
CHAPTER TWO
WILLOW
Gabs leans in close as I heat the milk. “Well fuck me breathless,” she says on an exhale. “Did you see those eyes?”
Tall and built like Captain America, he’s hard to miss. His sandy-brown hair looked as if he’d messily run his hand through it afte
r a shower, and those dark brown eyes? Sigh. “Amongst everything else,” I mutter.
“Oooh, honey. Those eyes are pure dark chocolate, and you know how hot I get for chocolate.”
Talking about chocolate being better than sex is a daily thing for her. I’d tell her she’s wrong, but considering the fact neither of us have seen any action for a while, I keep my mouth shut.
“You taking these orders out, Gabs?” Thankfully it’s the last of the morning rush. We’ll have a short reprieve until the tradies come in at smoko time, at around ten-thirty.
Her silver bracelets jingle as she leans her forearms on the counter and looks in the direction of Mr Brown-Eyes. As if he suspected we were talking about him, his gaze shifts to us. My cheeks heat up once again. I wish I could wriggle my nose and the redness would disappear. So embarrassing.
“Mmm, I’d like to but I’m afraid the poor sod would drown in a puddle of my drool. Just finished my period, and well, you know, I’m as horny as a frickin’ toad. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a repeat visit from this one. Some new images for the flick bank. I bet he’d look good in leather and jeans, or a sharp suit, oh, or just in the buff. Mmm, yeah. I think that’d be my fave—”
“Gabs,” I say as a warning. She often gets carried away with her fantasies. I swear she’d be awesome at writing romance, even without having a sex life. What I don’t want to tell Gabs is that I’ve already seen him half-naked. I’m not having that conversation with her. It’d be question after question, and she wouldn’t back down until she’d gotten every nitty gritty detail. She’s persistent like that, and I don’t like questions.
“What?” she says with a shrug. I can’t help but laugh. Thank God I have this buxom ray of sunshine in my life.
“Cheers for the visual, anyway.”
“Just being honest,” she says and blows me a kiss.
“Fine, I’ll take them out.”
First, I take two orders out to my regulars. I head back and pour his coffee, making an intricate leaf pattern with the milk as I pour it into the mug. My nerves show through, and I have to really concentrate on not spilling the coffee into the saucer as I carry it across the crowded room.
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