She nodded in agreement. “I can do that. If you have another laptop, I can transfer the information into a document that I can share with him, so we can collaborate easier.”
“Sure thing.”
They smiled at each other, and Paul couldn’t shake the feeling that they made a good team.
He grabbed his phone, the only one he was certain would have an untraceable line because of the modifications on it, and called his boss. He put it on speaker as it rang so that Christine could listen in.
“How are you guys settling in?” Duncan’s voice answered. Paul wondered if the man ever just said ‘hello’.
“Not bad. Christine is here with me. She’s organised all the information that we’ve got, and the two of us have come up with a possible suspect of sorts.”
Duncan grunted. “Go on.”
“Based on a few factors, we think that at the very least Disik and Sons, or someone that works for them, is very suspicious.”
“So, what do you want the next move to be?” Duncan hadn’t even questioned their judgement. It was what made Soldiering On successful. Duncan hired good people, and then trusted them to do their jobs. Trusted their instincts as much as his own.
“How would you feel if I went on a little bit of a virtual intel gathering mission?”
He held his breath as Duncan didn’t answer for a moment, clearly considering the consequences.
“Seems like the smart course of action,” he said eventually. “We can’t make any kind of move unless we are sure it’s them.”
“I’ll get started right away.”
“Is that it?” Duncan’s voice came from over the line.
“Have you found out anything more about the Vovks?”
“Not much, but I’m still looking.”
Christine moved forward. “Can you share what you’ve got with me so far? I want to collate all of our information so we can cross reference more easily, so everyone is on the same page.”
Duncan was silent. “Sure,” he said eventually, clearly surprised. “I think you should call Destiny now, too. Let her in on what’s been going on. See if she can’t run a background check on Disik.”
“Will do,” Paul agreed. They hung up, and Paul immediately dialled another number. He called Destiny’s office number, figuring that there was no way that they—whoever they were—would have that number tapped. His own line, he trusted was secure.
He felt Christine’s curious look. He knew she was about to ask who Destiny was, but before she could open her mouth, the phone clicked and a female voice answered.
“Hey, Paul. Haven’t heard from you for a while.” The woman was gently admonishing.
“Sorry Des. I’ve been busy.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” she hummed, clearly not believing him.
“I have Christine here. She’s a new client.”
“Hi, Christine,” said Destiny.
“Hi,” Christine replied.
“Paul, I didn’t know you were working from the office these days,” Destiny said, the words almost a question.
“I’m not. Christine is in danger, so I’m her personal bodyguard since we’ve gone to ground.”
“Ah,” said Destiny in a speculative tone.
“It’s actually why I’m calling,” Paul said hurriedly before Destiny could ask any questions.
Destiny sighed. “I should have known this wasn’t a social call.”
“Will you help?” Guilt gnawed at Paul, but he persisted nonetheless.
“Maybe. Depends on what it is. You do know that my new access to police databases is not for your benefit. And I do have actual work to do.”
“Just wondering if you might be able to run a few background checks on some suspects for us.”
Destiny grunted, thinking. “I suppose. Gimme their names.”
“There’s a man named Disik, first name—,”
Destiny cut him off. “Oh, no.”
Christine’s heart stuttered at the firmness of her voice.
“What?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know why, but almost every cop in this precinct has a hard on for a guy named Disik, and it isn’t a common name.”
“Any idea why?” Paul’s eyes were serious.
“No, and I can’t go looking. They often put flags in the system for anyone that searches for their people of interest. They’d know that I was looking into it.”
“Well, that certainly makes things more interesting.”
“Take it from me,” Destiny continued. “Don’t get the police involved in this. If it’s the same Disik, then I’m sure that they’ll let their own personal vendettas get in the way of whatever is fair and just. Any other time they’ve been so invested in a person, the outcome of any case involving them has been at least a little suspect, from what I can find out.”
“I guess we are on our own with this one,” Paul joked half-heartedly.
“Sorry, boo. I wish I could be more help.”
“It’s all right. This might actually put us on the right path.”
“Call me if you need anything else.”
“Will do.”
They hung up, and Paul looked over at Christine. “Well. That certainly puts a new spin on things.”
Chapter 9
Christine was entering the last of the information into her spreadsheet—including what they’d learned from Destiny—when she heard a clatter from the next room. It was followed by a harsh groan of frustration. She set the laptop aside and went into the study to find Paul with his chin perched on his fisted hands, glaring daggers at the computer screen. The keyboard he’d been using was askew, having landed towards the edge of the desk when he’d quite obviously thrown it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as she moved further into the room. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand on his shoulder. It was the first time that she’d deliberately touched him. Despite the normal, casual gesture, it felt oddly momentous.
Paul didn’t give any hint that he’d noticed.
“I can’t get anything out of their systems.”
“Is their data too protected?”
He sighed, dipping his head so he could rub his eyes one-handed without lifting his elbow from the desk. “Possibly. But to be honest, I think that it is more likely that they don’t store anything of use on their servers.”
Disappointed tension filled her. “We’re back at square one?”
He turned to look at her, and her hand fell from his shoulder. His scar caught the light and stood out in stark relief against his face. “Maybe your idea of breaking in wasn’t such a bad one.”
The beginnings of a smile tugged her mouth, until she saw the serious look on his face, not a hint of teasing. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Yeah. It looks like these guys are old school when it comes to file storage. Hard copies all the way.”
“You don’t expect me to—“
He barked out a harsh laugh of surprise. “No, I don’t think either of us would be particularly stealthy. Duncan will choose someone that’s available and capable.”
Paul immediately dialled Duncan, and Christine wandered out of the room while they discussed specifics. By the time she’d made lunch for them both, the plans were in place. Apparently, someone named Blake was going to break into the facility later that night, and Paul would monitor the security cameras from Station Alpha.
It seemed completely far-fetched, like something out of Mission: Impossible. Though, hopefully with fewer guns and lasers.
“So, what do we do in the meantime, while we wait for tonight?” Christine asked. She put Paul’s lunch down on the cleared space in front of him.
“I have to make sure I have access to their security feeds before go time, but other than that, I have no plans. Did you have something in mind?”
“I thought we might…get to know each other a little,” she murmured, feeling like she was navigating the dangerous pathway out the front. She could very well be stepping into a minefield.
Or, worse, a puddle of embarrassment. She hurried on. “I mean, we might end up being here together for quite a while. It makes sense for us to be more familiar with each other, right?”
She didn’t let him know that she had ulterior motives. But how else was she meant to find out whether her attraction to him was a product of some hero complex she’d developed, or if it really meant something? Or if he even felt the same way?
Not that she was under the illusion that she was being subtle. And the dumbfounded look on Paul’s face reinforced the idea that she’d just made a fool of herself.
But, then, he smiled. Light entered his eyes, warm despite their chilly colour. “Sounds like a good idea,” he told her. His voice was even, but Christine couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pleased by her request.
“All right,” she said, unable to keep the answering smile from her face. Not wanting to.
“Why did you take the job with Disik?” he asked.
“You want to start now?” She laughed lightly, amused by his eagerness.
He shrugged. “Why not?” His eyes danced, unashamed.
“All right, then. I’ve been a PA for various companies and individuals since I left college. I like to change things up, so I mostly take jobs that require me to do one big task, or set up processes and systems, and then move on.” The truth of her job hit her like an electric shock. She’d never allowed herself to settle in and get comfortable. She had specifically arranged her life so that she could never get close to the people she worked with or for, never be at ease in her own life. She kept moving on to different projects, never settling down long enough to build something.
It must have been intentional. She thought of her friends, the ones that liked her well enough, but never gave her a position of importance in their lives. Was that partially her fault? Did she keep them at arm’s length, always giving herself the option to move on?
Paul was still waiting patiently as her revelation buried itself into her mind, refusing to be dislodged. She tried to push it aside, focus on the man in front of her. Where was she?
“So, for Mr. Disik, I was meant to digitise his old files, sort them all into an easy to understand categorisation system that he could follow, store the hard copies of the files in an easily accessible way, and then move on. While there, of course, I did other duties for him, like run errands, take dictation, write notes and letters, that kind of thing. He talked about me possibly dictating his memoirs, but I put it off, told him I’d talk about it when I’d done the other work.”
“Sounds cool. I bet you were never bored.”
“You had and have a far more interesting job than mine.”
He shrugged. “Once you’ve lived in the midst of a war, you tend to long for a less interesting life. Interesting is not all it’s cracked up to be.” His voice was gentle, wholly without judgement.
A prickle of shame slithered up the back of her neck at her insensitivity. “Of course,” she murmured.
“I like this job a lot better,” he told her. It felt like a peace offering. “It’s mostly safe, and I can live the action vicariously through the others.”
“I’m glad you made it through the war and are safe now. I can’t imagine what it was like.”
He sighed. “It was what it was. I didn’t mind it so much. Not until the last mission. That coloured my view of it, I have to admit.”
“What happened?” She kept her voice soft.
His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I suppose I walked into that question. It wasn’t anything spectacular. Just another firefight. I just happened to take a couple of bullets that day. But one hit near the base of my spine and that was it. No more walking. And no more beauty pageants.” He gestured to his face, smiling to bypass the seriousness of the conversation topic.
She shuffled to the edge of her chair, drawn towards him. “I don’t know about that. There’s probably at the very least an eye model competition of some kind. You’d take out the championship in that no question.”
He blinked and a surprised laugh startled out of him. He met her gaze and from the intensity of his gaze with those piercing eyes, Christine could tell he was staggered.
“You like my eyes?” A hint of teasing was in his voice, but more than a little confusion.
“Hasn’t anyone told you that you have the most extraordinary coloured eyes?”
Those eyes caught hers, and Christine raised her hand as if to draw her fingers across his brow and down his cheek. His breath hitched, just at the edge of her hearing. She stopped her hand in time, it hung uselessly for a moment in mid-air before she dropped it back into her lap.
His eyes were yearning as they searched hers. She didn’t know what her expression showed, whether the jumbled mix of hope, confusion, and fear played across her eyes like it did her mind. Eventually, Paul gave a small smile that seemed to convey a trace of disappointment, and looked away, releasing her from the power of his gaze. The spell of intimacy between them was broken.
“So, what do you like to read?” he asked, and they were back on safer ground. The oddly intense moment had passed, and Christine didn’t know whether she regretted the outcome or not.
“How did you know I was a reader?”
“I saw that you were drawn to the books on the bedside table in your room, and back at my apartment.”
She nodded. Perhaps Paul had as much trouble keeping himself from watching her as she did him. “Crime thrillers are my favourites. I like to live on the edge. Vicariously. Though now that I’ve experienced the real thing, my reading tastes may change.”
“I bet you always figured out who the bad guy was before the characters did, right?”
She laughed. “It’s just a matter of putting all the clues together and then rearranging them until they fit. If it was a good writer that valued careful plotting over ridiculous shocks and twists, that is. You can’t really predict those.”
“Well, hopefully we’ll be able to do the same in real life. Find the bad guy before the end.”
“That would be nice. If only I knew what I did to send whoever it is after me!” she burst out, her frustration spilling forth in an unexpected torrent. “I live such a boring life. There is no reason for them to want to kidnap me, or hurt me, or whatever they are trying to do.”
“There must be a reason, but that isn’t on you. They decided to act this way, regardless of whatever choices you made. You aren’t to blame for this.”
He leaned forward, and Christine thought for a crazy moment that he was going to kiss her. Instead, he captured her hand in his and squeezed it tight, offering her comfort. His face still hovered close to hers.
“It’s going to be all right,” he promised in a low voice that shook with some suppressed emotion. “We’ll figure this out, and then you’ll be home free.”
Her lips kicked up into a smile as she squeezed his hand in return. “I trust you.”
Perhaps both of them were feeling the odd atmosphere in the room. Certainly, Christine felt that she needed distance, and time to digest all the fluctuating emotions of the last hour or so. Paul, too, seemed to retreat into himself.
“I’ll let you get to work,” she murmured. Paul nodded in reply and spun his chair around so it faced the computer screen. As she walked out, he was dragging the keyboard back towards himself.
Chapter 10
Christine walked into the office in Station Alpha at exactly 10:55pm. Blake was meant to start his break-in at 11pm, and she didn’t want to miss it.
She’d spent the majority of the last few hours pondering her newfound revelation about herself. Her friends, her job, her life, all of it now seemed entirely temporary. As if she could just pick up and walk away whenever she felt like it. It couldn’t be a coincidence, this she knew. But she also wasn’t entirely sure how or why she’d built herself into this impermanent world, like a house of cards that she could knock over whenever it all got too much.
Had it been her parents’ early deaths? So soon afte
r her awkward high school years, where she’d never felt quite comfortable in herself? She’d rebelled against her parents in those years, been an unhappy teen, and that hadn’t endeared her to her peers. Then, her parents had died before they’d been able to rebuild their relationship.
Had she had a particularly bad break up that she hadn’t realised had affected her?
She had dismissed that last one, realising that her relationships with men had also been emotionally muted by her inability to let people get close to her. Sex, she could deal with. But she’d always held herself back, and anything involving deep emotions had been avoided at all costs.
Eventually, Christine had concluded that her retreat from the pain of emotional attachments had begun even before her parents’ deaths. They had both loved her, dearly, but they had also taken great pains to make sure she fit into the world that they’d always felt apart from. They hadn’t wanted her to face the same discrimination that they had when they moved to the United States from Puerto Rico, despite their good English. Having an accent and non-white skin was enough for them to be labelled as foreign—often ‘Mexican’—and therefore not American enough to succeed.
Her parents had moved into a predominantly white neighbourhood, sent her to a school with few other children of colour, and refused to speak Spanish at home. As a consequence, her connection to her family’s culture was poor at best. She didn’t speak much Spanish, even now.
She had never felt quite at ease with the white children surrounding her, but nor had she truly belonged in her parents’ world, either. She’d been lonely, torn between two worlds, neither of which she fully understood. Two worlds that both found reason to believe that she wasn’t enough. That she didn’t belong.
It became clear in her later life that the reason her parents had done this was that they hadn’t wanted her to be seen as a stereotype; particularly the fiery Latina. They had taught her to rein in her emotions, display no signs of temper. To dress conservatively. To be as white American as she could possibly be despite her skin colour and to fit into that world as much as she could. But to never let her be emotionally free, a stereotype that often plagued Latina women.
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