by Amanda Rose
I get dressed, which takes a while thanks to a plastered foot that refuses to fit easily through the trouser leg. After a lot of prodding, I'm finally ready to begin the day.
Luther and Ben are waiting in the kitchen, and so are two mugs on the table. I raise an eyebrow.
"You said you wanted both," Ben shrugs and Luther chuckles as he sees my indecision at what to drink first.
"What do you want for breakfast? We've got cereal and toast, but I could also make you some eggs or pancakes," Luther says, an empty bowl in front of him. I don't want to make too much of a fuss, so I go with cornflakes and a banana from the fruit basket in the centre of the large kitchen table.
My throat is still sore, but eating is getting better with every meal. Hopefully I'll be able to speak again soon.
Once my hot chocolate is inside my stomach, I take the mug of tea between my hands and look at the guys expectantly.
"What does she want?" Luther asks Ben, who shrugs.
"No idea."
I sigh in frustration. Isn't it obvious?
I pull out my phone and signal them to do the same.
Em: What is the job? Why am I here?
"You still haven't told her?" Luther asks.
"I've not had a chance yet. And I was planning to do it with you two there."
"Well, Alistair is out for the day, so we either have to wait until tonight or we do it now without him."
I type quickly before they continue their conversation without me.
Em: Now.
Ben sighs. "Let's go into the living room. I'll take your mug, Emily."
Again I'm surprised by his awareness. Most people wouldn't have noticed that with my crutches, carrying a drink would be hard.
I follow the two men into the living room, taking the same seat on the sofa as yesterday. Again, Ben helps me put my leg up. I could get used to this. I don't think anybody has ever been this caring.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Luther rummages through a folder he's taken from the bookshelf. "We need you to sign an NDA first. This is not something to leave this room, okay?"
He hands me a pen and a stack of papers, neatly stapled together at the top.
"Take your time reading through this. I know I'm probably the only person who ever reads the small print in contracts, but I want you to know exactly what you're signing."
Ben huffs impatiently. "All it's saying is that this is a secret, that you will have to keep the secret whether you take the job or not. If you take it, you will have to sign a more extensive agreement."
Enjoying his impatience, I carefully read through the contract. In the end, it turns out to be exactly what Ben said. It doesn't even mention anyone besides the three guys. Here I was hoping to find out more about who they're working for.
I sign it and hand it back to Luther, who checks my signature and puts it back into the folder. I wonder how many other people's contracts are in there.
"Do you want to explain or shall I?" he asks Ben, who sighs again, as if this is all one big chore.
"You do it, you're better at this kind of stuff."
Luther takes a seat on the sofa between me and Ben. I notice how he's careful to leave enough space between us that he doesn't touch me.
"I don't know how much Ben has mentioned, but if I know him at all, it won't have been much." Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Luther doesn't let him interrupt. "Alistair, Ben and I work in intelligence. We're part of a government agency, operating under the command of the Serious Organised Crime Agency, or SOCA. We're specialising in gang crime in Edinburgh, but because of the nature of it, sometimes we're working all over Scotland and the UK."
I type on my phone.
Em: You're police?
"Not quite," Ben says, seemingly annoyed that Luther didn't manage to get the point across. "Think more like secret service."
Em: Spies?
"We don't like that word," Luther chuckles. "It's too negative."
"Yeah, we prefer James Bond," Ben adds with a smirk. "Except that our codenames aren't 007, 008 and 009."
Em: What are they?
"Later. You wanted to know about your job?" Luther asks and I nod. "As part of our current investigation, we're needing help with translation. It's sensitive material so we can't go through a normal translation agency. We also don't want to have to employ three different people to cover Italian, Albanian and Russian. There's a reason why our team is small."
Em: Brain, muscles, Ben?
Luther laughs while Ben looks annoyed. "I will let you know that I am the leader of this team. So be careful what you say."
He winks, totally destroying the effect of his previous statement.
"On paper, yes, but in real life, I'm the leader," Luther stage-whispers.
Em: I still don't get why you'd go through so much trouble to employ a translator.
"We don't just need someone sitting in an office, doing the translations for us," Ben explains. "We need someone who can come with us as an interpreter, someone who's smart and can look after herself."
I huff and type on my phone.
Em: Do I seem like I can look after myself?
"You've taken self-defence and kickboxing classes. You've had a rough upbringing and still managed to get a first class degree at university. You speak four languages fluently. And you managed to live on the streets for several weeks in the midst of winter. So yes, I think you can look after yourself."
I wordlessly point to my leg and Luther takes my hand, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Anyone could have ended up in that situation, Emily. You were unprepared, you got injured, you had no choice to defend yourself. Hell, they say you managed to hit him several times. You fought, and that's what counts. And you're not cowering in a corner right now, you're here, ready to create a new future for yourself. I'd say, we'd be lucky to have you on board."
I don't know what to say, even if I could speak. Luther doesn't know me, and yet, he knew exactly what to say. He made me feel better with just a few words. He's mentioned the attack, yet I'm not scared again.
Ben clears his throat. "At the beginning, when I found out you were living rough, I thought that might be an added bonus. The homeless community is a great asset in finding out information. They're not noticed, and when they are, they're usually ignored, but they see a lot. Having a contact on the streets seemed... beneficial. And you looked innocent enough, someone who's not used to it, who would talk to people who've been homeless for a while, trying to get their advice. And who, in the process, might talk to some of the gangs we're investigating. "
There it is. They want me to live on the streets again. This is not about me getting a new life. They want me to stay in my old one, help them with their intelligence, whatever that means, while still being in the same fucking situation. No, I'm not going to do this. At the hospital they offered to get in touch with social services to get me some temporary accommodation while my leg healed. I should have just accepted that and not followed Ben into the unknown.
I get up, almost falling onto Luther's lap while trying to find my balance, and limp to the corner where my crutches are parked.
"What are you doing?" Ben asks. "Do you need the toilet?"
I'd love to tell him exactly what I'd like to do with his head and the toilet, but I don't want to waste any words on him. I walk out of the room towards the studio. This was all a dream. I should have seen it coming.
When I've finally made it through the long hallway and into my little flat, I lean against the door, closing my eyes. I'm not going back on the streets. With my leg, I'll be an easy target for any pervert wanting to stick his dick somewhere.
"Everything okay?" a soft voice asks and I jump, forgetting about my ankle, stumbling, falling - into Alistair's arms. "Woah, easy, girl. I didn't think I was that scary."
He helps me up but I step back, bringing some distance between us. Maybe this is why Alistair was so cold from the start. He didn't want to form any attachments to someo
ne they'd send away again soon. Now, I better do the same.
“I was just bringing you some clothes I got,” he explains, but I interrupt him.
"I'll leave," I whisper hoarsely, walking to the wardrobe where I put my coat.
Alistair steps in my way. "Where are you going? Shall I drive you somewhere?"
Why is he suddenly so friendly? This is making it harder.
I shake my head, cursing the collar still stabilising my neck. I undo the velcro at the back and pull it off, exposing my skin to fresh air again. It feels good.
"What are you doing? What's wrong?
"Leaving," I say again, slipping into my coat while balancing on one leg.
"But you've got nowhere to go. Didn't those two idiots explain? Even if you don't take the job, you can stay until we can find you an alternative." He runs a hand through his white blonde hair, clearly not sure what to do.
His words almost make me pause, but no, I will not be thrown out again. I will leave on my own terms this time. Maybe if I go back to the hospital, they can talk to the housing people like they said they would before I was discharged. It's not even noon yet, so I have a few hours to find somewhere to stay the night.
I look around the room. There are no other possessions here that I can take with me. It was a dream, nothing more.
I turn to leave, but Alistair is blocking the door, arms crossed in front of his chest.
"I'm not letting you run away just like that before you tell me why. It's not safe. Let me get the others and we can have a chat, okay?"
I shake my head and immediately regret it as my neck muscles protest. Alistair notices my sharp intake of breath and looks at me with worry in his eyes. "You were only released from hospital yesterday and they said that you need to give yourself time to heal. Don't make any rash decisions now. Let's talk about this. Give us a chance to help you."
I blink away the tears threatening to come into the open. "I. Don't need. Help," I try to say, hoping he'll understand my hoarse voice. "Won't. Be Used."
His eyes widen. "Nobody is planning to use you. Why would you think that?"
I groan in frustration. I can't explain, and I don't want to. Just let me go.
I try to push past him, but me and my crutches are no match against Alistair. He stands his ground, not letting me squeeze past.
"Fuck you," I curse, surprised at how well my voice is working just now.
Instead of answering, he takes out his phone and presses a button on the side.
"Emergency button," he explains with a grin. "They'll come running any second now."
And true to his word, I can already hear doors slamming in the distance. Moments later, footsteps racing along the corridor, followed by knocking on the door.
"Al, what's going on?" Luther shouts from the hallway.
"Is Emily alright?" Ben sounds just as frantic.
Alistair shoots me a conspiratorial smile before answering loudly. "You two upset our guest. What the fuck did you do?"
Silence follows. Then Ben, sounding totally confused, responds, "We gave her the contract. And told her about her job."
Alistair looks at me. "Is that right?"
I nod.
"But that's not what made you upset?"
I shake my head.
"Lou, what did Ben say?" Alistair shouts. He could just open the door to make communication easier, but it looks like he's enjoying himself.
"Just what we'd discussed... And he told her that he thought she was clever and resourceful, and that she would... oh... damn."
"What was it?" Ben growls rather impatiently. It would be funny if it ... well, wasn't.
"You told her that she would be a great asset living on the streets. Right after you got her away from there. So now she probably thinks you're going to send her back. Make her sleep rough again."
"True?" Alistair whispers to me and I nod. "Is it okay if they come in? I think it's time to talk about this properly. No running away. No misunderstandings. If you still want to leave afterwards, I won't stop you."
I think for a moment, then nod. What do I have to lose?
"Guys, you can come in now. But be nice!"
He steps back and leads me to the bed where we sit down together while the other two enter the room, looking sheepishly. Ben takes a chair and places it in front of me until he can look straight into my eyes.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." I raise an eyebrow, challenging him to continue. "I didn't mean that we'd send you back, make you homeless again. I told you at the beginning that you could stay with us, and that is still true. What I was talking about was what we intended before I met you. Before I could put a face, a personality to the woman I had read about in your file. I didn't think you'd be so innocent" - I laugh mirthlessly at that - "and after what happened, I would never, ever let you live like that again."
I signal to Alistair to hand me his phone, and I open a message to type.
Em: It's not your choice.
I pass the phone to Ben and he reads it out loud. He sighs. "True, it's not my choice where you live. But right now, I can offer you a safe place to stay, and if you don't want the job, then you can stay nonetheless, no strings attached. I don't want you to live out there. Not you, not anyone."
Em: That's not what it sounded like earlier.
"That was Business-Ben speaking. Me, the real Ben, wouldn't want to send someone to sleep on the streets, unprotected, just to get some information we could likely get in other ways. It was just one of many options, one that we discarded. So you don't need to fear us throwing you out. That won't happen. Promise."
Alistair grins. "In the end, it's my decision anyway, it's my house. And I'm hereby giving you this flat rent-free until you no longer want or need it."
"Why?" I whisper. How am I supposed to believe that a random stranger would give me a room, for nothing in return? People just don't do that. There's always a condition attached, even if it's not obvious at first glance. Humans are not a selfless species.
"Ben, do you want to tell her?"
"No. You do it. I'm going to make us some tea." He gets up and leaves the room without a further word of explanation.
"He doesn't like to talk about it," Alistair explains. "His sister died four years ago from a drug overdose. She was sleeping rough in Glasgow and we think she may have been prostituting herself. They only found her two days after she died. Ben hadn't heard from her in weeks and didn't even know how bad she had it. He's been blaming himself ever since." He sighs. "So that's why he would never make you leave without any plans of where you were going to go. As I said, you can stay for as long as you want. And if you want to work with us, there's even a pay package included, so you could move to your own place, if you wanted."
Luther stage-whispers, "It's a pretty good salary."
"That it is." Ben chooses this moment to return with a tray of four steaming mugs. One of them has a little hat of cream on top. He made hot chocolate again. I could cuddle him for that. And for losing his sister that way. No wonder he was so persistent the first time we met.
I almost rip the mug away from him, licking the cream off - to the great amusement of the guys.
"No spoon," I mumble, using my tongue instead to remove more of the cream. First the cream, then the hot chocolate. I don't like it when it melts and then builds a film of fatty circles on top.
Ben holds up a spoon that must have been on the tray. "I could give you this, but it's much more fun watching you without one."
I stick out my tongue - still covered in cream - and he laughs, warming my heart just as much as the hot chocolate. He's a good guy.
Once I'm finished, we sit in comfortable silence. I ask Alistair to pass me his phone again.
Em: I'm going to stay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
There’s a violin on the piano and it's calling to me.
I found this room just opposite of the living room, and it's filled with instruments and bookshelves. There are drums in one
corner, a guitar on a stand in another, and in the middle, the grand piano. I didn't expect there to be a music room in this house.
The guys are still in the kitchen, discussing the news we watched after breakfast, so I dare to step closer and run my fingers over the polished wood. A violin. I haven’t played one since… No. I step back and almost run into Alistair, who’s staring at me curiously.
“Do you play?” he asks, a seductive melody swirling in his voice.
I shake my head and look down on the floor.
“Would you like to try?”
My heart gives a little jump. I’m given the chance to hold a violin again – but then my heart remembers and shudders. This will rip open too many old wounds. And I’ve got enough to deal with as it is. Besides, I might not be able to play anymore; it’s been years.
"No. Thank you. Can I work today?"
Today, the week of silence is finally over and I can talk again. Granted, it still feels uncomfortable and I won't be holding monologues any time soon, but I'm relieved to no longer having to rely on typing on a phone.
For the past two days, the guys have been forcing me to sit on the sofa with my leg up, doing nothing but reading, watching tv and listening to music. Alistair showed me some of his favourite video games, too, but quickly got frustrated at being beaten. I didn't tell him that video games were what got me and my ex together, and that we played most evenings.
Alistair loves computers. He's got several, and according to Luther, they all have names. As a child, Al's skin was even more sensitive than it is now, so playing in the sunlight resulted in painful rashes. Even now, he spends most of the day inside while the other two do the field work.
"I'm too memorable," he said when I asked why. "Ben blends in everywhere, and Luther in some circles, but with my looks, people keep remembering me when they shouldn't. I can't go around asking questions without being noticed. So instead, I do the coordination from here and let them do all the walking."