by Adam Carter
“Strangely enough, no. I have a rather nice life here, thank you very much. I assume Dalton is one of us and she’s the one you think’s stupid enough to commit to something like that?”
“Indeed.”
“Then good luck finding her, Jeremiah. And if you ever come across information about Barrows, you know where to find me.”
Jeremiah nodded and made to leave, although now the sword was not at his throat he felt safe enough to ask a question. “Who is he? To you, I mean?”
A dark cloud passed across Lake’s eyes then and Jeremiah wished he had not asked at all. “He is an old ... acquaintance,” she said. Jeremiah knew not to push it any further.
CHAPTER TWO
“Why do you keep asking me that? Just ... can’t we just go back to the way we used to be? Please?”
Rachael Webster had never been in love. There were several times when she thought she had been, but after the bruises had healed and the tears had dried she realised that hadn’t been love. She had suffered an abusive upbringing she didn’t like to talk about, and had wound up on the streets, using the only assets she had since she had no talent. Her self-esteem had never been great, and her constant string of relationships with drunks didn’t help it any. At the time she had thought the streets were the lowest she could go. She was hooked on heroin and had no other means to earn a living. She tended to sleep in doorways, the gutter, back alleys: wherever she fell over really once the needle had gone in and the pain was taken away.
But all that had changed the day she had met Tamara Uddin. Tamara ran the streets of a certain neighbourhood Rachael had wandered into one time by mistake. Tamara did not take kindly to women plying their trade on her patch, but Rachael hadn’t been doing anything of the sort. She was just sort of wandering through and collapsed. Some Good Samaritan working girls had taken her to Tamara, not knowing what else to do with her, and Tamara had given her a bed for the night. Rachael had awoken to strange, clean sheets and a warm atmosphere. It was the safest she’d ever awakened to in a long time, perhaps even her whole life.
Tamara had explained who she was, what she did, and that under no circumstances was Rachael going to stay on her patch. Rachael had thanked her, stolen a wad of money from Tamara’s purse, and split.
The money went into her arm that night. When Rachael awoke the following morning to the chill air and damp trousers where she’d slept in a puddle, her heart sank at the thought of having stolen from the only person who had ever really shown her kindness. So Rachael went out to work, and when she had the money in hand she did not go to her local dealer. Instead, with shaking hands and an unsettled heart, she returned to Tamara’s patch to give back the money she had stolen.
It turned out Tamara had known full well Rachael had stolen her money, had put it there to test her, and had been rather disappointed when Rachael had indeed stolen it. That she had found the strength of will to bring it back instead of buying more heroin gave Tamara hope. She took Rachael in, cleaned her up and got her off the drugs. It was difficult, the most difficult thing Rachael had ever done in her life. But she had wanted it, had needed it, and Tamara was always there for her. Stern, abrasive sometimes, but always with her best intentions at heart.
Tamara Uddin was a good woman, and Rachael loved her just as much as did all the other girls who worked the streets beneath her.
Then one day Rachael had been forced to stay in a house with a man named Charles Baronaire. He was a police officer and he was assigned to protect her. She hated him, they didn’t have anything in common, and he was kind of creepy to boot. But over time her hatred softened to care, her anger turned to passion and somewhere along the line Rachael Webster had fallen in love. At last she understood what love was.
To say that Baronaire was an unconventional man would have been like saying elephants had more than average-sized ears. Once they had become lovers she had discovered even more about him, for he had revealed cold, disturbing things about who and what he was. He did not seem certain about everything, but he made assumptions and stuck by them. Charles Baronaire was not like ordinary men, and Rachael found that both exciting and terrifying. He had odd abilities, was all but omnipotent during the night, and she often caught him crouching beside a rat or a dog as though sending it off on an errand or receiving a report. He also had a strange metabolism, for he did not eat and drink the usual sustenance of human beings. His tastes were shockingly fearsome whenever she thought about it during the daylight hours, but highly sensual when he performed them during the night. Rachael tended not to think about them during the day.
But for the past few weeks Baronaire had taken to a moodiness which was out of character for him. Sure, he was dark and depressing and seldom ever smiled around people, but there was another side to him Rachael had come to know and love. He was very thoughtful, and generous to a fault. He remembered her birthday when she herself had all but forgotten it, and had taken her away for a magical Christmas break when she had expected him to be working at his bunker; the bunker she was not supposed to know about but which he had told her about anyway.
Baronaire had no secrets from her, and she had none from him. But now he was asking something of her she found unsettling and he would not tell her why.
She knew he had a colleague called Jeremiah, and that Jeremiah was someone he desperately did not want her to meet. Jeremiah was like Baronaire, and she knew he was trying to protect her: likely Jeremiah would try to take her for his own and she wasn’t all that certain she would be able to stop him. Baronaire and Jeremiah were searching for a woman named Josephine Dalton, but Rachael did not know why, or what they intended to do once they had found her. It had something to do with his job, that much she did know, but Baronaire was telling her strangely little about his plans.
And now he had asked her, not for the first time, to tell him everything she knew about Tamara Uddin. She had the feeling he meant Tamara ill, possibly even intended to kill her. That was the one thing Rachael would not have. Tammy had saved her life – more than that, she had saved her soul – and Rachael would not betray her for anything. Or anyone.
“I’m not asking much,” Baronaire snapped. “Just information, that’s all I want from her.”
“And unless you’re willing to tell me why you want that information, the answer’s still no.”
Rachael put her foot down, literally stamped it, and Baronaire growled in frustration. He was a tall man with an overbearing nature, dressed in smart trousers and creased shirt, over which he wore his trademark trench coat. They were in Baronaire’s flat, which was just a stopgap until they could afford a bigger place. There wasn’t much to it, the tap dripped constantly in the bathroom and the cracks in the ceiling seemed to widen each night; but it was a home and Rachael loved it for what it was, not hated it for what it wasn’t. Baronaire was approaching his mid-thirties, was possessed of stern craggy features and inquisitive but cold eyes. He wore his dark hair short and couldn’t stand facial hair. Physically he was every girl’s dream: it was the obsession she could have done without.
But still, she thought as she took a deep breath, love what you have, not hate what you don’t.
“Charles,” she tried in a softer tone, “just tell me what you’re doing. Please, just trust me.”
“I do trust you, Rach.” He took her hands in his own and stared deep into her eyes. She felt her heart melt a little, but her resolve not at all. “Once this is over, honey, we’ll move away. We’ll be a proper family, and we’ll be happy.”
“I’m happy now, Charles. Whatever you think you have to do, you don’t need to do it to make me happy.”
“You can’t want to work the streets for the rest of your life, Rach.”
“No.” They had talked about this. Baronaire had been surprisingly understanding about her need to work. It wasn’t that she enjoyed what she did, but she had been doing it for some time now and it had become the norm for her. Once they had enough money she would stop, get a proper job. S
he would bury her past and never mention it to anyone. She and Baronaire had a dream that they would indeed move away, far away, where no one knew them. They would start over, raise a family. It was something they had talked of many times, lying in bed at night, planning for a better tomorrow.
But it was tomorrow they were planning for. There was no need to try to force it to come today.
“I won’t hurt Tamara,” Baronaire promised. “Does that make you feel better?”
“No. It doesn’t. Because I don’t trust Jeremiah.”
“You’ve never met Jeremiah.”
“Because you won’t let me meet him. Because you don’t trust him.”
She could see she had him with that one because he looked away. When he looked back it was with a certain amount of resignation. “It’s for the best, Rach. And one day you’ll thank me for it.”
“Thank you?” She did not understand what he meant, but it didn’t matter. Staring into those pale grey eyes she felt herself walking on clouds. Whatever Baronaire intended for Tamara, it didn’t matter at all, because he would be there for her, always looking out for her. She would do it, she would do whatever he wanted of her, because she loved him and she wanted to please him so badly it ached inside. And all she had to do was ...
The breaking of the eye contact was painful, and Rachael fell backwards. Her hand was stinging as well and she realised she had unconsciously slapped him. The euphoria within her mind was dissipating, the cloud turning to rain, and anger welled up within her. She swore at him. Loudly.
“Sorry,” he said, rubbing his sore jaw.
“Sorry?” she raged, following it with a string of curses she usually got paid good money to use. “You promised me you’d never do that to me. You promised me, Charles! And the instant something doesn’t go your way, the very instant I disagree with you about something, you go ahead and do it anyway!” She thumped him again, on the chest, and while her repeated blows were ineffectual, they got her message across and released some of her anger at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not stopping her at all.
Soon Rachael ran out of energy and she pulled back, breathing hard, her eyes narrowed, but she had run out of words to express her rage. Among Baronaire’s many abilities was that of hypnosis. How he could employ such a thing was a mystery, but she had always believed him when he had vowed never to coerce her into anything.
“You’ve changed, Charles,” she said in a small voice which threatened to crack. “Whatever you’re trying to do here, it’s not you. And it’s going to get someone killed.” When he looked away she realised with a sinking feeling of absolute horror that such was his entire point. “Who?” she breathed, not even knowing whether any sound had escaped her lips aside from a cold rush of air. “Who, Charles?”
But Baronaire was no longer looking at her. She could see his body trembling, with fear or anger she could not say, but his fists were bunched by his side. He was staring at the floor, at nothing, and she knew that whatever was troubling him, he would not share it with her. They had passed that stage in their relationship now where they shared everything, and she was afraid because of it.
“I have to find Jeremiah,” he said at last, his voice deadpan. “See whether he’s located Dalton yet.”
“Charles, listen to me. Look at me.” He did not, tried to go for the door, but she took him gently by the arm and with stern fingers physically turned his chin so his eyes found hers once more. She could see them shaking, could see the tears forming, and knew he regretted having violated her, regretting so much going back on his word. Whatever he was planning, whatever he wasn’t telling her, it was breaking him apart inside. It was all down to Jeremiah. She knew that much at least. Jeremiah had been pushing him to do something, something terrible, for years now, and it seemed as though he was finally willing to comply. That the two men were planning to murder someone was appalling to her; but not as appalling as the thought of losing the man she loved.
“OK,” she said, her voice breaking. She swallowed and tried again. “OK, I’ll talk to Tammy. I’ll ... find out whatever you want to know.”
He took her hand in his own, and she closed her eyes at the raw emotion such contact caused within her. She desperately wanted to help him, but she would do nothing to hurt Tamara. “Just ... Just don’t make me choose between you, Charles.”
“No. You’re right, Rach. It’s too much for me to ask.”
“But you’re not asking. I’m offering. That’s what you don’t seem to understand about this relationship, Charles. We’re in it together. Once we leave everything behind we’ll have each other, and no one else. Tammy, Jeremiah, Dalton ... none of them matter. One day we’ll bid farewell to them all and start off on our life together. So long as we have each other, none of them matter.”
Baronaire kissed her hand and smiled. She could see some of his uncertainty drifting away. “I love you, Rach.”
“Should hope so. Here.” She held out his mobile phone. He frowned as he took it. “Call him,” she said. “You want to check up on him, so call him. Then you and me, we have better things to be doing tonight than scheming.”
Baronaire smiled, tossed the phone onto the table and took Rachael in his arms. “Suddenly I don’t much care what Jeremiah’s doing tonight.” He kissed her and as he pressed her body to his Rachael could not help but be surprised as ever at how warm he was, how sensual were his lips, how hot his breath. For Rachael knew things about Baronaire, and all of this went against everything she had ever thought about his kind. Which meant she was likely wrong in all her assumptions. But she did not care, for he was hers and she his, and that was all she cared about. The rest, she figured, could wait until the morning.
Curled up in the corner, their great black dog Blackie watched them with unblinking eyes.
CHAPTER THREE
DCI Sanders was no longer a priority. Jeremiah had learned about Sanders in the sixties, when he had first established Operation WetFish. He had tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that it wouldn’t affect him, but the more Jeremiah learned about the department the more he realised there was something obsessive about Sanders. Sanders dreamed of a London utopia, and while there was no chance he would ever achieve it, he was certainly making a good go at it. Jeremiah knew that as soon as Sanders learned about him he would want Jeremiah dead. The obvious thing for Jeremiah to have done would be to leave London. He had not been born in London, had not even been born in England, and in all honesty it did not really bother Jeremiah all that much where he lived. He had fought for the United Kingdom, however, had defended her shores on more than one occasion, and he considered his nationality to be British. Still, there was more to England than London and he very much doubted Sanders would have tracked him clear across the country even if he had learned of his existence.
And then Jeremiah had discovered something disturbing. Sanders was already well aware of people like Jeremiah, fully accepted their existence in fact. And the more Jeremiah had delved the more he became disturbed. Sanders had already killed one of his kind, and from what Jeremiah could piece together it had been an entirely one-sided execution. If Sanders had killed one of Jeremiah’s peers with so little effort it meant Jeremiah would have to live in fear the rest of his life. Every knock at the door could be an assassin, every creak on the stairs the boot of an officer. That was no way to live and so Jeremiah had done the only thing he could. He recruited Baronaire and joined WetFish, getting as close to the Devil as they possibly could. For a man obsessed concentrates only on what is in front of him, not the shadow he casts behind.
Dalton had changed all of that, because here was suddenly someone who existed without Sanders’s knowledge. She had infiltrated WetFish some time ago without the DCI realising she wasn’t exactly the same as other humans. Jeremiah had not noticed it either, and he knew the female of his species was far deadlier, far more powerful. She had fooled him, toyed with him just as she had toyed with the others at the bunker. Jeremiah h
ad wanted to use her just as he was using Baronaire, but she was proving elusive. She had given them so many clues to the destruction of Edward Sanders, but seemed wary of herself joining the fray. It was unsettling that she was not confident enough in their ability to succeed to physically side with them.
However, now that Jeremiah had happened upon Catherine Lake perhaps he did not even need Dalton. Lake would be as powerful, and she seemed handy with melee weaponry. Pitted against Sanders Jeremiah’s money would be on Lake. And if Lake perished, it would not affect their plans any. Sanders would not be able to connect Lake to any of them, and Jeremiah could continue his search for Dalton.
As determined as Jeremiah was to enlist Lake, and as reluctant as she was to join their crusade, there was yet another factor Jeremiah was now considering. Richard Barrows. Barrows was a name from Jeremiah’s distant past, someone he had known intimately long before Baronaire had ever come on the scene. Barrows had disappeared long ago and Jeremiah had truly thought him dead. He had such fond memories of when he, Richard and Nathaniel had travelled the lands, taking what they wanted, lording over the simple, frightened people. But the past was gone and Jeremiah was not fool enough to try to reclaim it.
If Lake was correct, however, and Barrows was alive, it was possible he could himself be recruited.
Jeremiah was broken from his reveries by movement beneath him. He had been perched in a tree waiting for this, and all thoughts of the past fled his mind as he concentrated on the here and now. Starling was beneath him, furtively jumping from shadow to shadow, scampering in a specific direction. No doubt Lake had sent him on some errand or other, but Jeremiah doubted she maintained constant contact with him. He felt confident he could intercept Starling without Lake being made aware. And even if she did realise, she had already refused to help Jeremiah, so he didn’t much care what she thought.