by Sofia Grey
“Where is she, Bea? This is really important. Where was she going?”
“To New Zealand, of course.” She made it sound obvious. “That’s where she said she’d find you.”
“Me? She definitely said she was looking for me?” After the day he’d had, what was one more piece of madness?
Bea paused, and glanced sideways. She couldn’t miss Clare approaching. “She told me she’d found the love of her life and had to go to New Zealand to be with him. I’m sure she mentioned your name. Charlie. Or was it Callum?”
*
Juli was hyper-aware of Jack’s touch. The noises from the conference hall faded, as they walked together. Voices spilled out from the first breakout room, but the second was empty. She led Jack inside and closed the door, before leaning against it.
“So.” She made her voice bright and friendly. “You’re leaving?”
He nodded—a small movement—his gaze fixed on hers.
They stood only inches apart. She longed to kiss him, but she had some questions first. “What’s happening, Jack?” Her voice cracked when she said his name.
He stepped forward and opened his arms, and she stumbled into his embrace. Closing her eyes, she pressed her face against his chest, slid her arms around his waist, and tried to merge her body into his.
Hard Fact Number One—she didn’t want to let him go.
“Juli.” He whispered her name, cupping his hands around her cheeks and lifting her face to his. He dropped his head and captured her lips in a kiss. The familiar heat sparked between them. He kissed her deeper, harder, taking everything she gave.
She was drowning in his kiss.
Her breath raced, and her heart pounded, and the kiss continued. Common sense declared they couldn’t stay here all day, but the reality of him pulling back made her whimper.
“I need to talk to you.” His voice was hoarse. “I have to leave this afternoon. There’s another job I need to go to. I wanted to tell you in person.”
“You’re off to Houston? Jean-Luc thought you might be going back to your base.” She was proud of how composed she sounded.
“Yeah.” Something like guilt flickered in his eyes.
Juli was instantly wary. “Is there a problem? I guess there must be.”
“There’s something I need to take care of. It’s not my choice to go.”
Hard Fact Number Two—he was lying through his straight, white teeth. She just knew.
Juli crossed her arms across her chest. She could walk away and try to forget him, or she could give him a chance to be honest. As honest as she was with Philip? Juli shoved that thought to the side and focused on Jack. “Is this something to do with last night? Coming home covered in blood? Are you in trouble?”
“I wasn’t covered in blood.”
“You had someone else’s blood on your shirt and no explanation why. Maybe tell me the truth?” Ouch. Did she mean to sound like a snarky housewife in a fifties sitcom?
“Juli.” He stepped forward into her space again and closed his hands around her shoulders. “I hate leaving you. That’s the goddamn truth. I wanted more time, to see if this could go somewhere, and that’s also the truth. I can’t give you details, but I want you to trust me. Okay? Can you do that?”
She wanted to. God, how she wanted to.
He smoothed his finger across her lips, and it reminded her of their first kiss, after the gelato.
She shifted her mouth to catch his fingertip in her teeth. He groaned, and then crushed her to him again, kissing her with a desperation she felt down to her toes.
They separated far too soon. He stroked her hair... Kissed her eyelids... Nuzzled her throat...
Hard Fact Number Three—she was going to make a complete fool of herself over this man.
“I’ll miss you, Jack.”
“Stay with Lucky. Don’t go anywhere on your own.”
She gazed at him. There was so much she wanted to say. “Will I see you again?”
He hesitated. “I hope so.” He pressed one last hungry kiss on her lips, and then pulled back. “I have to go now.”
Her tongue could have been glued to the roof of her mouth. She watched silently, as he reached for the door. Her eyes were hot with unshed tears, and her chest hurt when he strode down the corridor.
Chapter Sixteen
Daisy had a few hours to herself and decided to explore the city. It was a beautiful day in Wellington, and she found a sheltered position on the waterfront, out of the direct sunlight. A comfortable bench overlooked the harbour, with a well-equipped children’s playground behind her, and a swirly fountain to watch. She’d have to suggest bringing Callum and Poppy here. They’d love it.
When her phone rang, she answered it absently, expecting it to be Sylvie or Alex.
Charlie’s familiar gravelly voice swept over her instead. “Hiya. How are you doing?”
“Charlie?” She sat up straighter. “I’m fine. What are you up to? Isn’t it daft o’clock in the morning, in the UK?”
“Yeah.” He laughed softly. “Two-thirty, give or take a few minutes.”
The connection was clear. He could have been sitting right by her side. “What are you doing up at that time? Are you okay?” She hesitated. Voices echoed down the line. Where was he?
She heard the smile in his voice when he spoke. “It’s a long story. First, I think I wanted to hear your voice.”
Her heart melted. “It’s nice to hear your voice too.” Was this a late-night drunk-dial? He sounded sober. “Where are you, Charlie? I can hear noise in the background.”
“Would you believe I’m trying to sleep on a bench at St. Pancras railway station?”
“No way. What are you doing there?”
He explained that he’d called into Halligans and found someone masquerading as Joni.
Daisy froze. Joni. The number-one-suspect was back at the top of the list, and could quite possibly be here now. In Wellington. Shit.
“Before you ask,” he continued, “I’ve already told AJ. He said you were having an afternoon off.”
“Thank you. Gods. He must be freaking out.”
“At least he knows who it is now. That makes it easier.”
“I suppose.” She clung tight to the phone, wishing not for the first time, that Charlie was here instead of thousands of miles away.
Did he sense that she was anxious? He told her a ridiculous tale of how he’d blagged his way into the rehab centre, and pretended to be a drunken Irishman. And then, he’d taken a taxi to St. Pancras.
She couldn’t help smiling. “From Milton Keynes to London? That must be fifty or sixty miles. Wasn’t it expensive?”
“Daisy,” he chided. “What’s the point of having money if you don’t spend it?”
She couldn’t help a laugh. What a complete rock and roll thing to do.
He went on, to explain that he was waiting for the first Eurostar train of the day and it wasn’t worth the hassle of checking into a hotel for a few hours.
“But what about the funeral?” she asked. “Why Paris instead?”
There was a long pause. “I’m not going. I don’t really want to talk about it, babe.”
He sounded lost and alone, and easy tears pricked at her eyes. She longed to wrap her arms around him.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I’ve managed to book a flight from Charles de Gaulle in Paris. If I make all the connections, I’ll be in Auckland on Thursday morning.”
The day after tomorrow. She couldn’t wait. “Let me know what time you’re due in Wellington. I’ll come out to meet you.”
“That would be good. And yeah, let’s do the whole fish-and-chips thing again soon.”
She smiled through the tears that trickled down her cheeks. “Yes, please. It was magical. I’m looking forward to you coming back. I’ve missed you.” She’d been determined not to make a fuss, to keep her distance and not make any demands, but things had changed. Charlie sounded different, shocked and upset and very unhappy.
“I’ve missed you too, babe.”
Wiping her eyes, she tried sure not to sniff, and made her voice bubbly. She wanted to lighten his mood. “So what’s it like, kipping on a bench? I’ve never tried it.”
It worked—he laughed. They talked a little more. He asked what she was doing, how everybody was, and if Alex and Sylvie were okay. She told him the new security guys had arrived, that Sylvie’s morning sickness seemed to be under control, that Jack seemed to have a thing going with Juli Pascal, and that Alex was looking pretty happy. Charlie let her chatter on without interrupting. They only stopped because her phone battery was failing.
She walked into the city centre afterwards, found a quiet café, and hung out for an hour, dawdling over a giant cappuccino. In her head, she ran through their conversation again. It made her feel warm and fuzzy. He missed her. He wanted to hear her voice. For some reason, he was skipping the funeral, and that didn’t make any sense, but he was on his way back. To her.
Maybe Charlie was finally realising that what he wanted was right under his nose?
*
Now that Jack knew where to contact Yanni—at X-Cloud—it was just a matter of what to say. He needed a carrot to dangle. Or rather, a tasty piece of fish to hold out to the shark. He crafted a message and sent it from a new and anonymous email account.
I’ve heard your current courier is no longer in business, and I’d like to offer my services instead. We met in Madrid a couple years ago, and I’d like the opportunity to work with you again.
He signed it Andrew Grant from Serenity Support Services. When he infiltrated Yanni’s cell in Madrid, his code name had been Serenity. That should be enough to get Yanni’s attention.
Then he sat and waited for a reply.
It came surprisingly quickly, asking for a phone number to schedule a meeting. Jack replied, quoting the number of the burner phone he just acquired. After another tense delay, he received a text from an unknown number.
Meeting 11pm tonight. City centre. Location tba.
Knowing Yanni, he’d send the precise location a short while before the meeting, thus minimising the chance of surveillance. Meanwhile, Aiden’s guys in the UK were trying to unpick the differences between the TradeMe ads, to find a hidden message. Understanding the context of these messages could be key to Jack getting in and out alive.
This wasn’t the only issue on the table. While they were confident they knew the identity of the stalker, they didn’t know where she was or what her plans were. Joni arrived in New Zealand over a week ago. Her passport, in her married name of Joni Carruthers, was registered at Auckland airport before Alex’s entourage arrived in the country, and so far, she hadn’t left again. She could be, quite literally, anywhere. Aiden was liaising with the NZ Intelligence Services to run credit-card traces, and check ferry bookings and domestic flights. She had to be somewhere. It was just a case of finding her.
There was little to do but wait. Jack drank coffee and reviewed everything he knew about Yanni, but his mind kept wandering. It was damn near impossible not to think about Juli.
He felt cheated. They’d spent two nights together. It was not enough. Hell, a lifetime of her would barely be enough. The thought made him frown. It was as though they’d been together much longer than a few days. And how the fuck did that happen?
What if the op went wrong, and Jack ended up like Mika Rashwan, on a slab at the mortuary? Would Juli be told? Or would he fade from her memory and be relegated to a guy she once fucked?
He didn’t want that. He wanted to succeed, to take down Yanni and his cell, and to win the prize. To win Juli.
In order to stand the faintest chance of succeeding with this mission, he had to remain focused and alert. Her life may depend on it.
If he needed anything to sharpen his reflexes, it should be that.
Jack worked with the team, to make sure he was ready to go. His belongings were pared back to the bare essentials. Clean laptop and burner phone. Fake passport and ID. Photos of Rashwan’s body, and the iPod with the encrypted images, along with the kid’s other possessions.
The fuck-up at the airport was covered by the spreading of a news item about the sudden death of a tourist who’d just entered the country, and Casey’s agents planted a series of fake emails, suggesting that Rashwan was about to double-cross Yanni.
Now what they needed was news on the encrypted images, and it came minutes before Jack was due to leave for the rendezvous.
“Listen up,” said Aiden. “We don’t have much time. Whoever encrypted the images seemed to be using one of the commercially available packages, which is good news. We’ve managed to retrieve several key pieces of information. The message contained map coordinates, which we’ve identified as Paraparaumu Airport, a small airfield used for local charter and pleasure flights. And what looks like drop details for tomorrow at 02:30.”
This was promising. Jack’s spirits lifted a fraction. “Do we know what’s being dropped?”
Aiden hesitated. “This is where it’s a bit hazier. One of the images is damaged, and the data is scrambled. You might have to improvise. The best we can manage is 9K34. I’m sure you know what that refers to.”
“Yeah.” Well, fuck. He hadn’t been expecting this. “9K34 is the Russian designation for the Strela-3 missile, one of the MANPADS from the seventies.”
MANPADS—man-portable air defence missile systems—were routinely used by terrorists around the world, primarily for shooting down aircraft. The U.S. government had lost an embarrassing number of the missile systems in Iraq, and they were a valuable commodity on the open market. It seemed Yanni was expecting a delivery of some.
“Correct. It ties into our theories of Yanni’s dealing in the arms trade. These missiles may be old, but they still pack a punch. Just one will take down a 747.” Aiden paused and gazed at Jack. “Be careful. Chances are he’s brokering a deal with these, but for all we know, he might be planning to use them.”
*
To Charlie’s amazement, travelling to Paris was easy. He’d expected the same travel problems that plagued him in the UK, but the Eurostar ran on time, he made the local connection to Charles de Gaulle airport, and arrived in plenty of time for his flight.
And now, as he boarded a Cathay Pacific 747 and headed for the first-class lounge, he braced himself for the journey. Flying didn’t usually bother him. He’d flown with the band so often it was second nature, but this time, he had a lot to think about.
The flight attendant serving him champagne was as bubbly as the drinks she poured, and thrilled to have another celebrity on her flight. There was already a famous politician and a couple of Hollywood actors. Charlie smiled and gave her his autograph, then settled into his seat and let his thoughts run free.
AJ was his half-brother.
He’d been Charlie’s closest friend for most of his life. Perhaps it explained why they clicked so well together. If Charlie let his hair grow its natural colour, it was the same dark brown as AJ’s. Sam had been dark as well. Were there any other similarities? The love of music perhaps?
All the time he’d spent at AJ’s house, and he’d never guessed. It made him feel sick now, to think about Trevor—a man he’d looked up to as a model father.
How did Rodney cope with this? And how much did AJ’s mum, Kathleen, know? When she fed Charlie and made up a spare bed for him, did she know she was caring for her husband’s bastard child?
So many lies. So much deceit.
If AJ was his half-brother, then Sylvie was his sister-in-law, and Callum was his nephew. Jeez. He suddenly had an entirely new family. Their baby would be related to him—another nephew or niece. His head spun.
If AJ learned about this, surely he’d be destroyed. This would have to be a secret that Charlie eventually took to his grave.
Several glasses of champagne and one meal later, he was halfway to Hong Kong, when he finally opened the little blue envelope. It sat on his lap for the best part of an hour as he c
ontemplated whether or not he’d actually read it.
Inside, it held a single sheet of flimsy paper, the type used for airmail letters. Still he hesitated. This would be like opening Pandora’s Box. Once it was read, he could never return to his previous state of ignorance.
He switched off the music playing through his earbuds. The note deserved nothing less than total attention.
Dear Charlie.
By the time you read this, Alice should have told you the truth about your father. However, since she is a lying two-faced bitch, I’ll tell you anyway.
We’d been happily married for less than a year when I went to work on the rigs. It was good money, and it would set us up ready to start a family, but she couldn’t wait. Your precious mother had an affair with Trevor Hamilton, which resulted in you. He is your blood father, not me.
She begged me to forgive her, and I agreed to raise you as my own. It wasn’t hard, you were a good kid. She promised me that the affair was over; we’d never have to see the Hamiltons again.
Out of all the children you had to make friends with, why did it have to be Alex Hamilton? Seeing you virtually living at his house, sleeping under his roof, eating his food–I couldn’t believe it. And when I found out Alice was still seeing Trevor, I wanted to kill them both. It was only the thought of how it would affect you that stopped me.
If you have to learn one thing from this sordid revelation, it’s simple. Women cannot be trusted. They lie and cheat, to get what they want. The minute you trust a woman, you lose everything. I’m pleased to see you’ve already figured this out.
As a form of insurance, in case Alice gets scared and doesn’t pass on this letter, I’ve lodged a set of documents with my solicitor. If you don’t contact him within 1 month of my funeral, he’ll release the story to the national press. I have blood-test results, and proof that Trevor was your father and that your mother is a whore.
