The Four Horsemen Series Box Set: Books 1 to 3

by LJ Swallow

  Heath chews on his lip and stares behind me, losing all interest in our conversation. I shiver as if somebody standing behind ran fingers along my spine, then dug their fingers into my hair.

  I turn my head. A tall figure crosses the car park on the other side of the small space, head bowed against the rain. Heath steps closer to me, and I move away when his hand touches my arm. Personal space, much?

  Heath continues to watch the male figure until he rounds the corner and into the street, out of view.

  Blinking, he rubs a hand across his damp hair. "Listen, I need to go. I'm meeting friends, and I'm late. How about I find you tomorrow when we're at work and prove that I'm okay? Buy me a coffee then?" He lifts one arm, coat torn, revealing a chequered shirt beneath. "Maybe compensation for ruining my clothes."

  His taciturn face lights as his mouth pulls into a teasing grin, sharpening his cheekbones.

  My head spins at the situation. What am I supposed to do? I can't force Heath into my car and drive him to the hospital. I doubt I could physically move a guy that solid anywhere—it's a good thing he isn't still lying on the ground injured. I attempt to find words relevant to the situation, but speech fails me.

  "I'll be with my friends. If I collapse with internal bleeding, they can help."

  Shit. "Do you think you might?”

  "No. I don't. Park your car, go home, and warm up. See you tomorrow."

  I open my mouth to protest, but before I can utter a word, Heath hunches his shoulders and walks away through the rain. I watch for a limp, or in case he crumples to the ground. I've heard of male bravado, but this is ridiculous. Yet the whole time I spoke to Heath, he didn't wince once and was completely lucid.

  Completely bloody weird.

  If he's meeting up with friends, I guess he'll be okay if something does happen. I walk around to inspect my car again. I can't judge exactly how much damage there is, but there's definitely a dent.

  A dent to match the one in my confused mind.

  3

  VERITY

  I call myself a Faceless One. A drudge. Mindless job as a tech support team minion. Correct, I support the support team. I'm not allowed to offer help directly to the general public. Initially, I worked answering calls, but my forthright nature led to complaints. I prefer to lose myself in fixing computer code or identifying faults rather than dealing with the public. Most of the guys I work with have little interest in conversation beyond swearing about client stupidity, so I stick in my world for each eight-hour shift.

  My work cubicle is lost in the centre of the hive, besides two people I've worked with for the last two years. Debbie on my right, cubicle covered in family photos and her kid's drawings, and Don on my left, with his minimalist, super tidy cubicle he covers in crumbs every day when he eats the wrapped sandwich he brings from home.

  My style's closer to Don's, although I've adorned my monitor with cat stickers and pinned some arty postcards to the felt-covered, boxed walls around me. I did have a stress toy to squeeze, in the shape of a dog, but I stressed the item too much and the head fell off.

  Yeah, it's a joke throughout the world, but the phrase “have you turned it off and on again?” should be framed as the company motto in the corner of the room. Second only to “have you plugged in the modem?”

  Fun times.

  I spent yesterday evening shaking and sick following my encounter with Heath, eventually distracting myself with a mini-binge on Netflix. My blog inbox held messages to answer, but not in the mood, I ignored them. I'm in touch with half a dozen people in different countries who're helping me with my latest research into the background of Alphanet executives. People who don't think I'm crazy. Last night, my brain was too fried by my encounter with Heath.

  The dent in my car bumper was clearer in daylight. I'm no believer in superheroes or iron-skinned gargoyle shifters, but that's one hell of a dent. Maybe Heath's right, and my ageing car's bodywork isn't up to scratch.

  The clock to my right, outside the glass-windowed supervisor's office, ticks closer to break time. Which department does Heath work in? He must be on this floor if he's seen me around. The fact he's seen me around and remembered me flutters my stomach because, y'know, hot guy.

  After last night, I doubt he'll ever forget me.

  At lunch, disappointment joins my salad as Heath doesn't appear. I sit in the lunchroom, ensuring I watch people come and go rather than keep my head in a book. Paperbacks only for me—I spend enough time staring at technology. My overactive imagination considers he could be dead, or unconscious in hospital. Dismissing the thought, I return to work. He probably has more interesting people to meet.

  Shift over, I tramp across the car park dreaming of the time I'll be allocated a 9 to 5 shift and not leaving work at 9:00 p.m. I parked my beaten-up car where us worker bees are allowed, away from the queens whose allocated bays are a short walk from the entrance.

  "Verity!" The cultured English accent from yesterday calls my name, and I turn to Heath.

  His easygoing gait shows no sign my bad driving has any long-term side effects. I pause beneath a car park spotlight at the edge. He approaches, then halts a few feet away from me, finally allowing me to see him clearly.

  I blink. He's beautiful. I mean, I know that's a weird word to use about a guy, but good-looking or hot doesn't apply here. The symmetry to his face, the full mouth, the moss-green eyes fixed on mine all conspire to blank my mind. He isn't wearing a jacket today, but instead his work attire: a plain shirt stretching across his chest, with tie, trousers, and shiny shoes. The hair, damp yesterday, now settles around his face. I'm not big on long hair for guys, but Heath's covers his ears and reaches the top of his neck, bordering on too long for my tastes.

  Ha, listen to me, like I have a chance.

  He studies me in return, eyes searching mine, prickling my scalp. His eyes glisten in the twilight, and my attraction to him rises.

  "Hey." I attempt to sound relaxed and end up almost squeaking.

  "Sorry I missed you today, but here I am." Heath steps back, arms outstretched either side as if inviting an inspection. "Upright. Head and internal organs intact."

  "Right."

  "Seriously, I'm fine. I’m just thanking the stars you don't drive an SUV. Now that could’ve hurt. I do have some scratches though." He indicates his arm.

  "Yeah, totally unscathed wouldn't make sense." I voice out loud the thought I've carried.

  "Any chance you can drop me in town? My car's in for repairs today. I scored a ride from a friend this morning but don't have...." He trails off at my wide-eyed expression. "Oh, I can call an Uber. Just thought as we're leaving at the same time you'd be happy to repay me with a ride home."

  "No. I mean, yes," I say and cringe at my hasty response. "Sure. Where do you live?"

  "Drop me off in town, and I'll be good. I'm meeting some friends at the pub. Again. Usual evening." He grins, eyes crinkling in the corners. "You can join me if you like. Us."

  At least us doesn't sound like a date, although my chest twinged at his correction. "I'm not a fan of pubs."

  Heath scratches his cheek. "Right. Shame. A ride and buying me a pint would be enough compensation that I don't set my lawyers on you for damages."

  "What?" I narrow my eyes and detect whether he's teasing. Lying I can spot, teasing—no.

  "Kidding! So, can I?"

  Jesus, he's giving me puppy-dog eyes in a face like that? Nailed it. Now I'm half-convinced it's me he wants to spend time with, and I waver. "Jump in. It’s too bloody cold to hang around out here. I'll drop you in town, but I'll decline the offer of a drink."

  Heath spends most of the journey focused on his presumably new phone, and I glance at him as we stop at the traffic lights. The yellow streetlight strokes his face I swear could be sculpted by a mischievous god. His heavy brow is pulled down, and he pulls on his bottom lip as he reads.

  Rude, much?

  I clear my throat, pointedly, and he looks up. "Okay?"

&
nbsp; "We're almost there. I can drop you in the town square if that works?"

  The road through the countryside switched to better lit narrow streets leading by a small row of shops and into the tiny town centre. A statue of an ancient king is the focus of the square (the plaque with his story overwritten by graffiti tags) where teens often hang out in the evenings before the police move them on. Several pubs and small shops are opposite the square; the number of pubs in the town outweighs the shops two to one. Maybe not, but some days it feels like it.

  "You sure you don't want to join us?" he asks.

  "I'm driving, remember?”

  "You don't live far. Park your car and we can walk back. I'll buy you a coke."

  "I don't drink caffeine this late at night."

  Heath throws me a curious look. "Or juice. Or do you have someone waiting at home? Is that why you don't want to spend time with me?"

  Huh? "Just my cat." Or I did—I swear he moved into my neighbour’s place because I haven’t seen him for a week.

  "Cat?" He pulls a face. "I promise I'll be more entertaining than a cat."

  I glance at the time on my dashboard, 9:30 p.m. I haven't spent an evening out since Anna visited me from London. Anna, my best friend, I joke abandoned me for the big city. Sometimes I wish I'd left too, enjoyed the anonymity, but I doubt I'd enjoy the noise and crazy city life invading my head. I prefer peace—and an affordable rent.

  "Okay. One drink."

  His face brightens. "Awesome. I just don't think you should go home yet."

  Something in his words arrests me as we continue to the carpark outside my flat, as if a sad evening as a crazy cat lady isn't what he means.

  Heath walks alongside me, at a distance I’d normally be oblivious to; but with him, I fight drifting across the path to attach myself to his side. Not only has he forgiven me for threatening his life, but also he’s asked me to join him for an after-work drink.

  If only the clones could see me now.

  “What’s funny?”

  Heath looks down at me. Did I just snicker out loud? “Nothing. Just thinking about some friends from work.”

  My overactive imagination usually limits itself to theorising over which TV personality could be subtly brainwashing the masses; this time it’s focused on the remote possibility Heath’s interested in me.

  “Do you like working at Alphanet?” he asks.

  “It pays the bills.”

  “Isn’t it boring?”

  “I’ve been there three years now, I guess I like life staying the same.”

  “Hmm.” Heath holds an arm out and takes my elbow guiding me around a large puddle. “I doubt I’ll stay there long.”

  His action in saving my feet from a soaking surprises me, but not as much as the fact his hand stays against my arm a few seconds longer than needed. Close proximity to this guy sets my heart rate into overdrive and a desire for him to feel the same.

  “You’ve only worked at the place for three weeks,” I say.

  “I’ve more interesting jobs coming up. This is just temporary.”

  “Moving on?”

  “Probably.” He glances at me. “Maybe we should make the most of the time I’m around.” My eloquent response? Mouth hanging open. “If you want,” he adds.

  Time to turn on the lie detection. “Are you propositioning me, Heath? I only agreed to a drink at the pub!”

  He halts and digs his hands into his pockets. “Do you want me to?”

  Don’t ask me questions like that. I clench my teeth together to stop the blunt truth coming out, and I settle on, “You’re an attractive guy.”

  He smirks. “I know. And I’m not propositioning you. I find you intriguing. You’re different.”

  I wrinkle my nose. The truth. Damn, a girl likes the chance of a proposition. “Are you one of us?”

  His brow pulls down. “One of who?”

  “You said I'm different. Intriguing. Do you know about my blog?” I stiffen. “Or are you someone who’s trying to get close to me because I’m hitting on the truth?”

  “Wow, you’re paranoid.”

  “Hot guys don’t normally single me out for attention and tell me I’m interesting. I won’t fall for that tactic.” I narrow my eyes at him, and his face dimples as a smile grows.

  “Their loss. And no, I’m not MI5 attempting to seduce you into telling me secrets. Besides, if I wanted you to tell me the truth about something, you would.”

  My eyes narrow further. “Would I?”

  “Ah, Verity. People can be influenced by what they’re named, you know.” He laughs.

  “Like Heath? So you enjoy long walks in the countryside, then?”

  His amusement drops, and he walks ahead to the pavement edge. “If you’re only staying for one drink with me and my friends, we’d better be quick.”

  4

  VERITY

  The Kings Arms is the pub most popular with the locals who’ve never left town and spend every evening in the place. Most work dead-end jobs, one or two work here, or don't work at all.

  They're here now, huddled at their usual table ensuring their pints last as long as possible, and the music matches their tastes. The younger kids, many almost half their age, steer clear—they prefer the brighter and shinier Harvester pub a couple of streets away.

  One or two of them glance at me as I walk by. I know some in the group to say hello to, but that’s all.

  I weave through the crammed tables, following Heath, towards a table near the back of the pub, tucked away behind a wall displaying ads for the latest designer drinks.

  Two men look up and I halt, frozen, as if under a spotlight. One, spiked blond hair, welcoming smile on his face, takes a not-so-subtle look at the length of me,. The other, similar in colouring to Heath, but with messy hair, doesn't summon a smile as my accident victim introduces me.

  "This is Verity. Verity, Joss and Ewan." When neither responds, he adds. "The girl from work."

  "Yeah, thought so," replies the dark-haired guy, Ewan. He drops his gaze from my eyes to my mouth before looking back at me. "Hi."

  Whoa. Holy hotness. When I woke up this morning, I didn't realise I'd be invited to an evening with a smorgasbord of delicious guys. Maybe I should hit guys with my car more often. They look as if they share Heath's height, and certainly his build—and looks. Ah, crap, I'm staring. What the hell is with me that I can go from considering whether I should proposition Heath before he leaves town to considering what's underneath his friends' shirts? Lack of sex life and too many hormones, that's what.

  "Call me Vee."

  "Hey, Vee," says Joss and smiles. Ouch. More dimples.

  And no girls? I count the chairs at the table. Only two extra.

  "No girls," says Joss and I snap my head round as he grins at me. "Easy to read people's minds sometimes."

  Ewan flashes him a look, but Joss immediately drops an arm across his shoulder. "And much as I love these guys, our relationship is perfectly platonic."

  I cross my arms at his unnecessary need to indicate he's interested in girls. Ewan shrugs Joss's arm away and picks up his pint glass. "But not always friendly," he mutters.

  When Joss pinches his cheek, I fight a smile. Either Ewan's a grumpy drunk or isn't as friendly as Joss would like.

  Heath plonks himself on the stool next to Joss, leaving the seat besides Ewan the only one vacant. Oh great. I sit stiffly and shift my stool away from Ewan, catching sight of an impressive tattooed bicep beneath his black T-shirt. My attempt to move the seat surreptitiously fails as Ewan laughs softly in my direction.

  Heath disappears to the bar to buy a round of drinks, and I clasp my hands in my lap under the table, as the tension thickens around us.

  "Do you live in Grangeton?" I ask, grasping for polite conversation.

  "Near here," replies Ewan.

  Conversation closed, I delve around for something else, but I’m interrupted by Joss. "So, you're the girl who ran Heath down last night?"

  I
fight the heat crossing my cheeks. "Yes. And I have no excuse."

  Joss blows air into his cheeks. "That's one hell of a way to get a guy's attention."

  "Or a girl's," puts in Ewan. "Not many guys would throw themselves in front of a car so she'd pay attention to him."

  "Very funny. It wasn't deliberate. I didn't see Heath. It's not my fault he was loitering near my house."

  "Was he?" Joss straightens. "He must really want to see you."

  “I was kidding. Don't make him sound weird," says Ewan.

  "I live in the town centre, there’s nothing unusual about Heath passing my house,” I say as much to myself as them.

  But my heart thumps at the thought this wasn't a coincidence, especially considering his hints he wants to spend time with me.

  "A bit weird he wasn't hurt," I reply and watch for their reaction.

  Joss shrugs. "You've seen him. Solid guy. Reckon you'd need to hit him hard to do any damage. He says you only bumped him."

  Only bumped him? He was lying in the freaking road.

  "Well, he's okay and that's what matters," says Ewan.

  Did Heath plan this, and if he did, why has he invited me to also spend time with two other men? I need to finish the drink when it arrives and get out of here. However friendly they are, I'm not sure I want to end up in a position that involves me alone with them all.

  What if they all follow me home?

  I swallow down my nerves. My paranoia's out of hand recently: thinking I'm being followed, Heath hinting he knows about my research.

  "What's happening?" Heath places our two drinks on the table. "Is Joss teasing you?"

  "Just telling lovely Verity about your secret crush that caused you to pursue her across town."

  "Screw you," he mutters and sits beside me. "Sorry about my friend."

  "Hey, at least I'm not hitting on her!" says Joss with a laugh.

  "Oh, she wouldn't know what hit her if you did," replies Heath.

  Ewan snorts and Joss pulls a “ha ha” face.