For the Fight

by Leah Ashton

  Then, as she combed out her hair, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Then stopped and properly looked.

  She was smiling. Like, a proper, satisfied, smug, guess what I just did smile.

  She shook her head – maybe to shift the smile? And that idea was so ludicrous that a giggle burst out of her throat.

  Then a laugh.

  After today, of all days, she was laughing.

  After a day packed full of self-doubt and self-recrimination – and topped off with fear – she was laughing.

  If having sex with Nate could do that, if it could genuinely shift the fear that had so consumed her and replace it with memories of being shoved up against the wall until she came, well … it couldn’t be a mistake, could it?

  She’d sent him out of her room in a whirl of fury at herself for what they’d just done, fury at herself for opening herself up to being hurt by Nate again.

  But she hadn’t done that. Not at all.

  Because it was a one-off thing, of course. Never, ever to be repeated.

  She was in control here.

  As long as it never happened again.

  Lou was woken from a dreamless sleep by the jarring beeping of the hotel’s clock radio. Then, for the first time in years, she didn’t check her phone as soon as she awoke – given it was in an evidence bag somewhere and all. Without her phone to distract her, she was dressed in the same pencil skirt and blouse from yesterday in no time – although her clothes had now well and truly lost their shiny new clothes appeal.

  Nate knocked on their adjoining door as she did her hair, but Lou didn’t respond – and he didn’t knock again.

  The knock on her hotel door of the CPP officer Lou did pay attention to, and soon she was in a briefing in a third hotel room, a larger suite with a dining table and enough chairs for Oscar and a selection of other E-SWAT team members that Lou was introduced to in a flurry of surnames.

  And, of course, Nate was there too.

  He sat down in the seat directly beside Lou’s – which made sense, given it was Nate and herself being briefed.

  But still, it wasn’t ideal. She was close enough to identify the familiar scent of the hotel’s soap on his skin, and the entire right-hand side of her body prickled at his proximity. And being that close triggered memories of being even closer to the man beside her. So, so much closer …

  “We recently received some intel from our guy inside with the Notechi.” A tall, willowy woman spoke – Senior Sergeant Cripps, from the Covert Operations Elite SWAT team – and her brisk tone snapped Lou’s attention back to the far more appropriate present. “It wasn’t safe for him to contact us until early this morning, but he’s confirmed the detective’s assumptions. The shot last night was intended as a show of strength. They’re not happy we shot one of their men, and they want us – and the other OMCGs – to know they are armed and prepared to retaliate.” Cripps tucked her long black hair behind her ears and curved her lips into a subtle smile. “However, they also don’t want the scrutiny of a murder investigation. Our guy is confident that Brayshaw, or Rivers, won’t be targeted again.”

  “Confident?” Nate asked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his broad chest, an absolute picture of scepticism.

  “Very confident,” Cripps confirmed. “And this agent is very, very good at his job, Rivers. He knows the outcome of his advice.”

  “Which is no more bodyguards, right?” Lou asked. She sensed Nate’s tension beside her.

  “That’s correct,” Oscar interjected. “With no further threat, we can reassign the CPP team.”

  It all sounds so sensible. A simple reallocation of resources – which it was.

  But those resources had kept her safe.

  “What if he’s wrong?” Nate asked, voicing what Lou was thinking as he leaned forward in his chair. “What if this guy has no bloody idea at all, and you take his advice, and Lou ends up dead next time?”

  Cripps was clearly unimpressed. “I trust my team,” she said firmly.

  “But he didn’t warn us about the shooting, did he?” Nate continued, no longer hiding the bite in his tone. “Fat lot of good he did for Lou then.”

  “Nate—” Lou began.

  “Last time I checked, being clairvoyant wasn’t on the undercover agent selection criteria, Rivers,” Cripps said sharply. “You may remember our agent was involved in the briefing yesterday. When he returned to Notechi headquarters, he worked all night to get the intel we’ve received, with your safety his highest priority. I trust him. My recommendation is that you trust him too.”

  Nate’s nod was tight, as was his jaw.

  “We trust him,” Oscar said.

  Lou didn’t really hear much else of what was said after that. But five minutes later, she was out in the hallway again, with Nate and Oscar.

  “Get your stuff,” Oscar said, before turning on his heel. “Be at the hotel carpark in five, a car will take you back to HQ.”

  Then he was gone.

  Just like it had been at the bar, Nate stood no closer to Lou in the hallway than Oscar had, yet Lou was just so aware of him. She’d never consciously thought last night might have scratched some Nate River’s itch and now he’d no longer have this impact on her. But still, it annoyed her that clearly wasn’t the case. She wanted to be in control of how she felt around him, and her body kept betraying her.

  “I don’t like this,” Nate said.

  Neither did Lou, but instead of agreeing with him, she shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance. “Doesn’t really matter if you do or not, Nate.”

  She walked the short distance to her hotel room door. Nate followed, but he didn’t stop at his door, instead taking the few steps to join her outside hers.

  “You’re okay with it?” he pressed. “No bodyguards. Everything back to normal. You sure?”

  Lou nodded, her gaze on her hands as she slid the room key into the lock and then swung upon her door. “Mmm-hmm,” she said, which sounded kind of like she was agreeing.

  Her head wanted her to agree – the logical part that told her Elite SWAT didn’t make these decisions lightly, and if they believed her safe, then she was.

  But the rest of her just couldn’t. All the tension Nate had helped her eradicate last night was back, tying her stomach up in knots.

  Someone shot at me last night, and no one really knows for certain if they’re going to do it again.

  Although at least her hands were steady on the door as she turned to face Nate, still standing, watching her, in the hotel hallway. If her hands had been shaking, she knew Nate wouldn’t have walked away.

  How did she know that?

  She didn’t. Of course, she didn’t.

  And it was dangerous to start thinking she might know anything about Nate at all.

  Her gaze flicked upwards to meet his. “We need to hurry or Oscar is going to get cranky.”

  Nate opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if he had something to say, but couldn’t decide if he should say it.

  But she didn’t prompt him. Continuing a conversation about the fact he clearly thought she was still in danger wasn’t going to help her head convince her roiling stomach all was well.

  And also, last night’s apology, and today’s concern, it kind of pissed her off. Both the fact he suddenly gave a shit about how she was feeling, but also – mostly – her reaction to this belated consideration.

  It felt good to have him worry about her. Even as she’d refused his apology last night, it’d felt good he’d cared enough to articulate it.

  “Just don’t worry about me, Nate.” Lou said firmly.

  He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, clearly frustrated. “How can I not, Lou? You walked away from me last night, and next minute you’re way too close to a bullet, I—”

  “No,” Lou interrupted. “You’re misunderstanding. I’m not telling you I can look after myself, or anything like that. I’m telling you that you don’t get to worry about m
e. I don’t want you to worry about me, or pretend to worry about me, or whatever it is you’re doing. Okay?”

  Lou stepped into the hotel room fully, and let the door swing shut.

  Nate blocked it with his hand before it closed all the way.

  “What the hell does that mean, Lou?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at him. His jaw was tense, his gaze demanding.

  “It means, leave me alone,” she said simply.

  “But last night—”

  “Isn’t going to happen again,” Lou finished. “Life goes back to normal. E-SWAT is a big place, we’ll probably rarely see each other.” She shrugged, as if last night hadn’t been unforgettable. “Yesterday was an intense day, and then last night only happened because of the day we had. It’s done, it’s over, so let’s just move on.”

  Nate looked like he might say something, so she cut him off the best way she knew.

  “You know, kind of how you moved on twelve years ago, right?”

  Physically, he didn’t react at all. No sharp intake of breath, no change to his expression.

  Eventually, he nodded – a sharp, mechanical movement. “Fine,” he conceded. “If that’s what you want, Luella.”

  Then he let go of the heavy door, and it swung shut with a final thud.

  If that’s what you want, Luella.

  Lou swallowed strangled hysterical laughter. Of course she didn’t want Nate to leave her alone.

  If she was honest with herself, she wanted more than anything for Nate to sweep her up in her arms and tell her everything would be okay.

  But, he wasn’t going to do that. And even if he did, a fat lot of good it would do if the Notechi really wanted to kill her. Or kill Nate, for that matter.

  No, last night had been good.

  Incredible, her subconscious corrected.

  Yes, that too.

  It had served its purpose. Maybe it had even been cathartic.

  But she knew now why she’d hated last night when Nate had called them a team. She’d hated it because it was how she’d used to think of the two of them, all those years ago. She’d imagined a whole future for them both, together. As a team.

  But Nate had never really been into her delusional Nate & Lou team back then, and the team he spoke of now – or implied in his concern for her – was just as fanciful.

  She was much better off alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Years ago, Elite SWAT had transported an old weatherboard cottage to the sprawling rural property in the Perth Hills that the team used for pretty much every type of training you could think of. There was enough space out here for the snipers to practice shooting over kilometres, for the tactical guys to fast rope out of helicopters, and for the bomb squad to blow up whatever they felt like.

  Usually, Nate liked coming out here. Especially on a day like today – when the sun was shining, and he wasn’t under the scrutiny of assessment. In theory, this was his playground. Here, he got to do all the fun stuff of his job without having to worry about the complications of either real criminals, or innocent civilians.

  But today, he just wasn’t feeling it.

  He stood outside the cottage, in full tactical gear: black overalls, balaclava, body armour, helmet, boots. The only difference between today and his standard operational attire was that his assault rifle had bright blue splashes all over it because it’d been modded to shoot paint rounds.

  (Although, those things still hurt like a bitch if you got in their way).

  The cottage was pretty beat up, having had the door battered down an infinite amount of times, and a million flash bangs deployed in its interior. But it served a purpose, and today, Nate’s tactical team were using it as refresher training for a mock hostage situation. A few of the guys standing around him were balls of restless energy desperate to get going and to receive Oscar’s feedback. Oscar and one of the trainers would observe their progress through the house from a small demountable office nearby that streamed video footage throughout the entire cottage, and the whole team was miked up.

  It was a precise, high pressure, exercise, and Nate knew he was very good at it. He was team leader today, a role he routinely had on real jobs, and a role he relished.

  And the reason he relished the job was because he was so passionate about what he did and so focused on every detail.

  But today, he really couldn’t give a damn.

  Today, all he could think about was Lou.

  And not so much the naked version of Lou - although that version certainly got quite a bit of play time – but the Lou who had looked him in the eye this morning and told him to leave her alone.

  Clearly, and unambiguously.

  She really, truly, wanted him to leave her alone.

  And Nate couldn’t work out why that shocked him.

  Because, objectively, he knew he’d hurt her. He absolutely understood why she’d still be angry. Of course, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

  But last night …

  The more he thought about it – and he’d thought about it a lot today – the more impossible it seemed it had happened at all. Why, when she wanted nothing to do with him, would she fuck him?

  Her excuse that she’d used him for what she’d wanted didn’t sit right with him. It hadn’t felt like purely a physical exercise. There had been – as there always had been between them – an intensity that was more than just wanting to jump each other’s bones.

  It had always been like that between them, even that very last night all those years ago. He hadn’t left because that’d waned. The night he’d left he still hadn’t even got close to having enough of Luella Brayshaw.

  Last night only proved nothing had changed in that regard.

  So, he still wanted Lou.

  And no matter how angry she might still be with him, she didn’t hate him enough that she didn’t want to touch him. And she definitely didn’t hate him touching her.

  “You with us today, Rivers?”

  Nate blinked, and focused his gaze on the man before him: Cam Westinghouse, or ‘Fridge’, who’d been on the train yesterday. He was a tall, stocky guy, with sandy blond hair and adorable dimples that everyone at Elite SWAT gave him shit about.

  “Yeah, mate,” Nate said, pulling himself together. “Of course.”

  He needed to focus. The other team were out of the house, and he needed to get his team ready.

  He needed to do his job. Just as yesterday he’d been so fucking focused on Lou he’d almost let Carey kill his ex-wife, today he was letting Lou distract him again.

  Distract him from the job that’d been his dream since he’d been a kid.

  The same dream job that had pried him from Lou’s warm bed twelve years ago.

  He held up two fingers as he faced his team. “Two minutes,” he called out. Until go time.

  Each member of his team echoed back: “Two minutes.”

  Time to get to work.

  Today had literally been the most boring day of Lou’s career.

  Clearly, there was no specific need for her to be at Elite SWAT, so really it was no wonder she’d ended up pretending to be a terrorist yesterday. It seemed highly likely she’d been assigned here purely because they had spare desks. It was literally a place to put her until she requalified to carry her firearm, and so today she’d done a lot of filing, audited the bomb technicians’ computer equipment, and put in a new stationary order for the third floor.

  There were people employed to complete all those tasks who already worked at Elite SWAT – and they were very nice and willing to find miscellaneous tasks for her to complete – but it all felt very much like being the awkward work experience kid.

  So yeah, pretty humiliating for a thirty-three-year-old senior constable.

  In her lunch break, she’d gone and bought a new phone, having zero interest in retrieving the phone Carey had used to terrorise his wife and everybody else on that train.

  Having her
own phone again helped – marginally – to quell the fear that still bubbled if she allowed herself to think about it. After work, as she drove the twenty minutes home in her silver hatchback, she knew if she was suddenly surrounded by a fleet of Notechi on black and chrome motorcycles, she could at least call Nate before they killed her.

  No. Call the police. Not Nate.

  Apart from the not insignificant detail of having deleted his phone number from her contacts many, many years ago, Nate was about the last person she would call, ever.

  Except he’s the first person you thought of …

  Albeit in that very specific scenario.

  Given he’d prevented her death at the hands of a man who turned out to be a Notechi on the train yesterday, maybe it made sense she’d think of him should the Notechi come after her again?

  Yeah, right.

  Lou gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  Nate had returned to her life for less than forty-eight hours and she was already allowing herself to be consumed by him.

  As if her mind hadn’t drifted to what they’d done last night as she’d filed meaningless papers that should’ve been archived in 1993. As if it hadn’t drifted a lot.

  So that had pretty much been what had played on loop in her brain today – the amazingness that was having sex with Nate, interspersed with worrying about being murdered on her evening commute home.

  Lou pulled into her driveway without incident. She lived in a tiny two-bedroom 1890s worker’s cottage on the edge of Fremantle, with a cute postage stamp of a front yard paved with recycled brick and scattered with mismatched pot plants mostly full of succulents or herbs. She loved her house, with its sunny yellow weatherboard walls and white window frames that had been an absolute bastard to paint – but tonight she’d rather it looked a little less adorable and a lot more secure. She didn’t even have an alarm system or a security screen protecting her (beautiful) stained-glass panelled door.

  She felt mildly ridiculous as she checked over her house – checking under her bed, and inside every cupboard for lurking Notechis. There were none.