Wolf's Lie

by Laura Taylor

  Satisfied with her response, Drew leaned over to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then lay back, his breathing slow and even. He wasn’t asleep, Lee knew, but he was comfortably relaxed, and she tried to remember if she’d ever just laid in bed with a man like this before. She couldn’t remember a single time. A bittersweet smile tugged the corner of her lips.

  And despite her placatory words, she knew her difficulties with her present situation were only just beginning. She’d fallen in love with Drew, she reluctantly acknowledged to herself. She had two targets to kill, both of whom were part of his canine family, and she had a duty to report the location of his home to the British division of the Noturatii, who would promptly raze the estate to the ground. Plus she had well and truly broken just about every protocol she could think of, getting emotionally involved in an assignment, questioning her master’s orders and allowing her enemy the chance to not only see her vulnerabilities, but to take full advantage of them.

  There was no way forward, and no possible way to go back.

  What the hell was she supposed to do now?

  It was getting on towards midnight when Thando led Kathy up the stairs and into the house’s modest living room. After her rather intriguing outburst, he’d sent Liam upstairs to get dinner for her, and once she was adequately fed and watered, they’d invited her to begin writing down what she knew about some of the international offices.

  “Where do you want me to start?” she’d asked.

  “Germany,” Thando replied without hesitation. Always Germany. That had been three hours ago, and now they were in possession of a long list of staff names and positions, diagrams of the main science building, the locations of all major security points and an overview of the science projects Kathy had been working on while she was there. There was plenty more she still knew, but it would take days, if not weeks for her to explain it all. The information would all be carefully checked, of course, as far as such things were possible with a facility as tightly guarded as the German Noturatii base, but it was a promising start.

  Now Thando gestured for Kathy to take a seat on the sofa and rearranged her cuffs so that her hands were in front of her and secured to a chain on the wall. Her feet were free, but that was as far as the liberties were going to go for the time being. Once she was secure, he pulled out his phone and dialled Analisa, who was still watching Gianna upstairs in the bedroom.

  “Phase two,” he said simply, then hung up.

  A minute or two later, the door opened, and Gianna walked in, her hands still cuffed, looking around in confusion. They’d just dragged her out of bed, after all. But the moment she saw who had arrived, all signs of tiredness vanished.

  “Kathy! Oh, thank god. Are you okay?” She rushed forward, Kathy looking no less surprised, and the pair of them embraced each other as well as was possible given the handcuffs.

  “You’re here?” Kathy said, too stunned to quite realise what was going on. “You’re alive! Why are you... how did...?”

  Gianna glanced over to where the three assassins were waiting patiently by the door, and her confusion turned into a mild glare. “You didn’t tell her? For goodness sake, didn’t you even explain what was going on?”

  “If we knew what was going on, that would be a good start,” Thando said drily. “While we don’t intend you any immediate harm, neither of you are safe, by any means. If the Noturatii get wind of the fact that you’re still alive, they’ll do their best to recover you both – with some very unpleasant consequences – and the powers that be in our organisation are still debating the best way to move forward. The future is uncertain, and I’m not inclined to make any promises I can’t keep.”

  “Wait a minute, just let me get this clear in my head,” Kathy interrupted. “So you’re the good guys? Gianna is helping you? You’re not going to torture me? Or threaten my family?”

  “You don’t have any family to speak of,” Thando reminded her, having already done his research on that side of things. “But for what it’s worth, no, we do not torture our captives. But for the foreseeable future, you will be subject to mild methods of restraint,” – he indicated the handcuffs – “and while you will be well cared for, you are most definitely to be considered our prisoner.”

  Kathy glanced at Gianna, who shrugged in a way that seemed to say, ‘It’s not the worst it could be.’ “I can work with that, I suppose,” she agreed.

  “Glad to hear it. Jane,” Thando said, turning to Analisa. As far as Gianna and Kathy had been told, Thando’s name was John, Liam’s was Jim and Analisa was Jane. Standard, common, unremarkable names that wouldn’t get any of them into trouble, should everything go pear-shaped for any reason. “It’s getting late. Could you take Kathy up to the second bedroom and get her settled, then Jim will come and relieve you. You’re due for a break. I’ll take Gianna back to bed and we’ll regroup in the morning.” While keeping the two women in separate bedrooms would create more work in keeping an eye on them both, it also eliminated the opportunity for them to conspire together, just in case any of this turned out to be something other than what it seemed.

  Liam headed off to the office to report to the Council on their second successful acquisition, and Thando waited while Analisa led Kathy up the stairs, then followed a minute later with Gianna.

  Once in her bedroom, she stood cooperatively by the rail that had been built into the wall while Thando adjusted her cuffs. During the night, one of her hands would be free, while the other was attached to a ring that slid along the rail. The arrangement was set up to allow her to lie comfortably in bed, or, by following the railing along the wall, she could access the ensuite bathroom adjacent to her room. It was secure enough for low risk prisoners, and it saved the assassins a lot of fussing about locking and unlocking cuffs every time someone wanted to use the bathroom. Even so, neither woman was ever left alone for more than a minute or two – hence sending Analisa to put Kathy to bed. They’d acquired a set of pyjamas for her, but given how little they really knew about her, they were not about to leave her alone to get changed.

  “Thank you,” Gianna said, a wealth of emotion in those two short words. “You’ll have realised by now that Kathy knows a surprising amount for someone in her position, and I hope that’s of use to you. But she’s also a good friend. It’s difficult to find allies in an organisation like the Noturatii. I’m not sure where all this is going to end up, but even having got this far means the world to me.”

  “Changing sides in this war is no small thing,” Thando told her as he checked everything was secure. “And despite your dislike of the Noturatii, you may have your share of doubts as we go along. Our methods are not always so different from theirs. Lives will still be lost, just on the other side of the battlelines. You may find a time comes when you want nothing more than to be done with the lot of us.”

  “Hence the security measures?” Gianna said wryly, tugging at her cuffed wrist. “I was never foolish enough to think I’d be able to just walk away. You could have just killed me when you first saw me. But you’ve given me the chance to set some of this right.” Looking uncertain about it, she reached up and placed her hand on his chest. The tips of her fingers gave a tentative stroke. “Perhaps you might... I was wondering if you would let me express my gratitude.”

  Gently, slowly, Thando reached up and took her hand, removing it from his chest. “I am an assassin,” he told her calmly. “I have dedicated my life to protecting my people, and I answer to my master’s call whenever and wherever they wish to send me. I cannot allow myself to be distracted by emotional entanglements.”

  Gianna blushed, but didn’t back down. “I’m not asking you for a long-term commitment. But even assassins must have desires.”

  Thando shook his head, his tone never wavering from a soft, peaceful timbre. “Although you were held in a situation against your will, you nonetheless tortured and experimented on one of my brethren. I do not now, nor will I ever entertain the idea of anything but a strictly p
rofessional relationship with you.” He stepped back and switched off the light, retreating to the pad on the floor where he would spend the night. “We’re going to have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I suggest you get some sleep.”

  Drifting comfortably, his mind fuzzy, Alistair sighed at the niggling reminder that he couldn’t just go to sleep here. There was a constant risk that he might inadvertently shift in his sleep, and so spending the entire night with a woman was never, ever an option.

  “How much longer will you be in England?” he asked, as much to keep himself awake as because he wanted to know.

  “At least a week,” Lee said. “Maybe two. I’d like to see you again before I go.” The words sounded hesitant, almost wistful, as if she was worried Alistair would say no.

  “I’d love to,” he told her, leaning over to kiss her again. “I have to go away for a couple of days, I’m afraid. I have a work meeting in London, but I’ll be back after that.”

  They lay quietly, listening to the soft rasp of each other’s breathing, and Alistair considered his next words carefully. He’d told himself right at the start that he wasn’t going to interfere in Lee’s life, that at the end of her visit to England, he would let her walk away. Saying what he wanted to say next broke all his self-imposed rules. And yet...

  “Lee?” he asked, breaking the peaceful silence around them. “If you hate what your father does so much, then why are you going back? Why don’t you leave and find somewhere else to live, or find another job?”

  Lee let out a sharp hiss and sat up abruptly. “And I suppose you think walking away from your entire life is so simple? He is a man of great importance, of great power. Where would I live? You say to just find a job as if this is an easy thing. You want me to stay in England? Without a visa? Do you think he would not find me? Where would I get money? This is just...” She leapt out of bed in consternation, throwing on a robe. Alistair jumped up after her, not bothering with clothes.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said hastily. He should have known better than to say anything. “I know it’s not that simple.” What had he thought was going to happen? That he would take her back to the Den and Baron would just agree to help her start a new life here? Il Trosa had extremely strict rules about who was recruited and who was allowed into their inner circle, and Lee most definitely did not fit the criteria. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She was tense and didn’t soften in the slightest at his embrace.

  “You barely know me, Drew. You know nothing of what I had to go through to get this far, and even less about what I will have to do to finish my current assignment. Don’t tempt me with fanciful dreams when we both know they will not come to anything.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again. Fuck, he should have listened to his own instincts in the first place. “I’m sorry. I just... I want to help you.”

  She turned to face him, her eyes glittering in the darkness, and he couldn’t quite decide whether or not the brightness was due to tears. “You can’t help me. My life is set on a track that is far beyond either of our control.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Alistair came to a stop in front of the Noturatii operative sitting behind the wide mahogany desk, pretending to look apprehensive about being in such a big, fancy office. In the back of his mind, he was actually thinking that the Council’s villa in Italy was more impressive than this, but of course ‘Drew’ wasn’t supposed to know that. “Good morning,” he greeted the man, as the young lady who had shown him into the office disappeared. “Drew Flemington. Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Logan Alexander,” the man introduced himself, rising halfway out of his seat to offer his hand to Alistair. “Thank you for coming. Please, sit down.”

  Alistair gave a nervous laugh as he did so. “Not often I’m the one being interviewed,” he said, with a forced smile. “Mostly it’s the other way around.” He was doing his best to act the part of the small-time journalist. While ‘Drew’ wouldn’t have been the slightest bit nervous about interviewing the local mayor or any one of a dozen small-time celebrities, ‘Logan’ was ostensibly from MI5, Britain’s domestic intelligence service; a big step up in the world for someone like Drew and enough to make even a seasoned journalist a little apprehensive.

  Of course, Alistair knew perfectly well who Logan really was. The article he’d written most recently had got the Noturatii’s attention for two reasons; it was a serious crime piece, a distinct break from Drew’s usual style, and it reported on the discovery by local police of what appeared to be a counterfeiting lab.

  In actuality, Alistair had two other professional personas that he used to write far more gritty, serious pieces, many of which were deliberately crafted to throw stumbling blocks in the Noturatii’s path, but for today, he was simply Drew, a little fish who’d just been thrown into a much bigger pond.

  “No need to be nervous,” Logan told him. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions about your article.”

  “Anything I can do to help,” Alistair told him. One of the easiest ways to seem nervous was to talk too much. Thankfully, Alistair had long ago mastered the art of using a lot of words to say absolutely nothing. “Surprised the heck out of me when I found it,” he told Logan earnestly. “I mean, that’s the sort of thing you normally find in London. Or Liverpool, or Manchester. Not out in the countryside.”

  “Indeed, very unusual,” Logan agreed. “And while we’re very grateful to you for alerting the authorities, there are a couple of inconsistencies in the reports I’ve received. Your article stated that the police discovered the lab, but according to the officers involved, you actually found it first and alerted them.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Alistair admitted awkwardly. “Really just a case of being in the right place at the right time. But I reported it the way I did because... well, in a small town, there’s a certain professional courtesy when dealing with news at that level,” he explained. “I have a number of contacts among the local police units, and they throw me a bone now and then, let me know about cases that would make for interesting stories. Nothing illegal, mind you,” he pointed out quickly. “They’re not giving me any confidential information. Just letting me get to certain media releases first, as it were.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr Flemington. You’re not in any trouble. The police and the media have always had to maintain a fairly close relationship. A rocky one, at times, to be sure; half the time we want the media to get information out to the public, and the other half we just want them to shut up!”

  Alistair laughed, as he was supposed to. “Well, I didn’t want it to seem like the police couldn’t do their job. So I reworded the article a bit, made it sound not only like the police found the lab, but that they were actually looking for it at the time. Makes them look good, makes the public feel safe to know the cops are doing their jobs; everybody’s happy.”

  “I understand completely,” Logan said genially. “I’m not criticising your professionalism. But no doubt you can understand that this discovery has opened an investigation into potential terrorist activities. There’s always been a market for people willing to sell false identities, as I’m sure you well know, and a lot of the time, it’s nothing more sinister than underage teens trying to get a free pass to buy alcohol. But the equipment in this lab was extremely advanced, so we wanted to speak to you directly, as you were the one to find it.”

  Logan was right; the counterfeiting lab had been an absolute work of art. The Den had paid significant money to their usual supplier of counterfeit documents to set up a fully functional lab in a rented building that the police could ‘discover’, and then Alistair could write an article on it for the local paper. Predictably, the article had been picked up by the district news, and shortly after that the Noturatii, in the guise of various ‘detectives’, had started knocking on his proverbial door.

  “So, let’s start at the beginning,” Logan said, consulting a report in front of him. “How did you happen to be in
the right place at the right time to find this lab?”

  Alistair shrugged. “A total accident, actually. I wanted to do a perspective piece. Bikies get a bad rap, and sometimes there’s a good reason for that, but you also get motorcycle groups doing charity rides to raise money for a children’s hospital, for example, or protesting some new oil rig that’s going to damage the environment. One of my contacts said he knew someone who could give me the other perspective on the whole thing, why people want to join gangs, what they get out of it, and to make the point that they’re not all drug dealers and criminals. So he set up a meeting for me, and I got there a bit early – I’m always early,” he interrupted himself. “I was early getting here today, so obviously… anyway, so I get to the meeting place, and there’s no one there. That’s fine, ‘cos I’m early, but I go knock on the door anyway, and the hinges are busted. So the door just kind of swings open. I’m a journalist, so of course I’m curious. I go in and look around a bit. I’m thinking this will make a great opening to the article; it’s a dim, rundown sort of building, it’s creepy, it’s got atmosphere, and I’m wondering why the guy wanted to meet me there, instead of, I don’t know, a coffee shop? And then I stumble into this lab, and I’m just thinking ‘oh shit, that was not meant to happen’. And then I hear people upstairs, so I just get the hell out of there, but on the way out, I realise I’ve got the wrong address, I was supposed to be next door! But by that time I’m totally panicking, so I just leave and call the cops later on from a couple of streets over.”

  Logan nodded sagely, jotting down notes as he went along. “How long would you say it was between the time you left the building and the time you called the police?”

  Alistair looked at the ceiling, recalling the day he’d done a frantic dash from the derelict house they’d set up to the coffee shop three streets away. He was a consummate liar, but this man could well be an expert in detecting those lies. To keep things as real as possible, they’d actually acted out the scene Alistair had just described, allowing him to ‘remember’ the events without his unconscious body language giving him away. “Eleven minutes,” he told Logan. “Well, no, actually, it was eleven minutes from the time I arrived at the house to the time I called the police. So that included when I was inside. Like I said, I got there early, but I didn’t check the time when I left. I was too worried about getting caught.”