by Karla Forbes
“You’re looking so much better,” he said, noticing the flush of colour in her cheeks.
“You’re not looking so bad yourself,” she told him, “the temporary tooth’s a bit wonky, but it’s better than the gap.” She tilted her head to one side as she scrutinised him. “Shame you shaved off the stubble, though. I quite liked it. It gave you an edgy look.”
He ran a hand thoughtfully over his chin. “Do you reckon? Maybe I’ll grow it back some time.”
She chuckled dismissively. “I doubt it. It won’t really fit your city image, will it?”
He helped himself to a biscuit. “I told you, I’m not going back. When you’ve faced death several times in one day, it makes you think about life and how it doesn’t come with a guarantee. You could wake up in the morning planning what you’re going to do in the evening but be dead by the afternoon.”
“You’ve never really told me what happened,” she said, suddenly serious.
“You’ve had your own problems to deal with,” he told her. “I still feel guilty about that.”
She put her mug to one side and sat down beside him, squeezing herself into a small gap by his side.
“Don’t feel guilty. It was my own fault.” A shadow crept over her face. “But sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever get the image of that poor woman out of my mind. It was horrible.”
He gave her a hug. “You will eventually. A few weeks sitting around your parents’ pool will help banish the demons.”
She wriggled around to look at him. “You don’t mind me going, do you?”
“Not at all,” he told her, “as long as it’s not goodbye for ever. Ed’s OK, I suppose, but he doesn’t smell as nice as you.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she laughed. “You don’t get rid of me that easily. We’ve been friends for too long.” She took his hand in hers and began stroking it absent-mindedly. “We didn’t spoil it by sleeping together, did we?”
Nick bit back the flippant answer that came to his lips. He knew what she meant. They had been friends for far longer than they had been lovers. Her decision to stay with her parents in Portugal for a few weeks had not just been to help her recovery. It was also, Nick suspected, to give them both some time to consider where their relationship was going.
“Whatever happens, we’ll always be friends,” he promised her. He was rewarded with a smile of relief that was almost immediately replaced by a look of uncertainty.
“Ed says that it’s too soon for us to get together. He thinks you’ve taken up with me on the rebound from Esther.”
Nick regarded her thoughtfully for several moments before answering, then folded her fingers gently into his own. “You and I… It’s early days. We’ve known each other for years, but in some ways it’s as though we only met yesterday. Neither of us can know how it’s going to work out between us. All we can do is take it one step at a time.” He squeezed her hand. “If I promised you more at this stage, I’d be lying to you. You do understand that, don’t you?”
She flashed him a beaming smile. “That’s exactly what I told Ed. Either it works out for us or it doesn’t. Relationships can be complicated, messy things, whereas friendships are much more straightforward.”
“If it’s uncomplicated friendship you want, perhaps you should get yourself a spaniel,” he suggested, wondering why he had wasted his pretty speech. Her feelings obviously weren’t as fragile as her older brother fondly believed.
“I could do,” she agreed brightly. “Although you’re a lot more fun in bed.”
He gave her a lascivious wink. “As soon as you’re well enough, we’ll have even more fun, I hope.”
“What are you going to do with yourself if you don’t go back to the bank?” she said, changing the subject.
“No idea. Something will turn up.”
She gave him a worried frown. “You’re going to be all right, aren’t you?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Well you know…” she said vaguely. “No wife, no job. You could end up bumming around.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said with a grin. “I’ve spent too long chasing a perfect life. From now on I’ll be quite happy to settle for less.”
“Oh well, you know best,” she said, her tone clearly suggesting that he didn’t. “At least you can walk past a police station now without hiding your face… What is it?” she asked, as his expression darkened. “You’re not still a suspect are you?”
“No, of course not,” he said, too quickly. “It’s just that Anson phoned me at home this morning asking to meet me this evening. It sounded serious.”
“Anson?” she asked.
“The spook from MI5.”
“What do you think he wants?” she asked, sounding alarmed.
Nick shrugged. “No idea. But there’s only one way to find out.”
***
Anson wormed his way through the crowd, protectively holding two foaming beers and a couple of packets of crisps. He plonked them down in front of Nick and gestured for him to take one.
“Cheers,” he said, raising a glass. “To threats averted and murderers brought to justice.”
“Let’s hope so,” Nick said, raising his own glass. “That Hubner’s a clever bastard, though. He’ll probably sack his lawyer, successfully defend himself and end up suing the government for wrongful arrest and being awarded sixty million quid in damages.”
“Not a chance,” Anson said with a chuckle. “He’s going down for a very long time.”
“So, what’s this in aid of?” Nick asked, indicating the beer. “Is this my official thank-you for saving the nation?”
Anson gave a snort of laughter. “If it’s thanks you want, you’re going to be disappointed. As far as the Home Office is concerned, nothing happened.” He took a gulp of beer and wiped his top lip with the back of his hand. “No, I thought I’d catch up with you and see how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” Nick said, helping himself to the crisps. “My wife’s left me, I’ve chucked in my job, and the house is on the market because I can’t afford to stay there by myself. But all in all, it could have been a lot worse.”
“Are you being philosophical or sarcastic?” Anson asked.
“Philosophical,” Nick said. “Having a maniac pointing a gun straight at you does that for you. Once you realise that you’re still alive, you stop worrying about the little things.”
Anson looked at him thoughtfully. “You don’t seem too upset by what happened.”
“I would have been if he’d pulled the trigger,” Nick quipped.
Anson took several sips of beer in silence. Nick waited, suspecting that he was building himself up to saying something.
“I could almost have believed you enjoyed the whole episode,” he said at last.
“Enjoyed myself?” Nick repeated in disbelief. “I was on the run, sleeping rough, feeling like shit and scared for my life. That’s not my idea of fun.”
“Let me rephrase that,” Anson said. “I could almost have believed that, in spite of your obvious discomfort, you found the experience… interesting.”
“Interesting,” Nick said, taking his time over the word. “Mm, that’s one way of putting it, I suppose.” He fixed Anson with a penetrating gaze. “I don’t think you invited me here to drink your beer and reminisce about the pleasures of being a fugitive. I suspect there’s a point you’re trying to get to.”
Anson gave him a smile of acknowledgement. “Are you going back to the bank?” he asked, appearing to change the subject.
“No,” Nick said, with conviction.
Anson nodded thoughtfully. “I thought not.” He took another sip of his beer. “Do you want to work for me?”
The question took Nick completely by surprise. “What?” he asked in disbelief.
“If you work for me, you’ll have to learn to listen to what I say. It’s important to hear things properly the first time.”
“I did hear,” Nick pr
otested, “but I didn’t understand.”
“It wasn’t that difficult,” Anson told him. “Do you want to work for me? It’s an easy enough question.”
“MI5, you mean?”
Anson helped himself to the crisps. “No. I’ve handed in my notice. I intend going into business for myself.”
Nick’s beer stopped halfway to his mouth. “Really? You surprise me.”
“To be honest, I surprised myself.”
“So why?”
“I woke up one morning and decided I’d had enough. I’ve been working for the government for too long, and I need a change. I’ve been talking to a few old contacts, and we’re setting up a security business...”
“Somehow I don’t see you patrolling factories with a torch and a dog,” Nick interrupted.
“Neither do I. It won’t be that sort of business. We’ll be dealing with the security issues for big companies and wealthy individuals.”
Nick began to understand. “You mean stuff like industrial espionage and kidnap negotiations?”
“That, plus a lot more.”
“And you want me to join you?”
Anson helped himself to more crisps. “No. I want you to do the ironing.”
Nick ignored the sarcasm. “Why me?”
“I think you could be useful,” Anson explained. “I was impressed with the way you tracked those men down and stayed with them whatever happened. You’re resourceful, tenacious and stubborn. You don’t give up when everything’s against you, and you stay calm and keep your head, even when someone is pointing a gun at you.”
Nick’s grin broadened as he listened.
“On the other hand,” Anson continued, “you’re foolhardy, pig-headed and amateurish. Not giving up is good, but not knowing when to give up is unprofessional. And the fact that you’re still alive is more down to luck than any great judgement on your part.”
Nick’s grin faded. “So why do you want me to work for you?”
“Another beer?” Anson said, indicating Nick’s empty glass.
Nick shook his head.
“Because,” Anson explained, “your good points outweigh the bad ones, and with appropriate training, you could turn out very well.”
“To do what exactly?” Nick asked, “Intelligence work? Pushing a pen? Making the coffee?”
“All of those things.”
“Will it be dangerous?”
“It could be. Have you tried my coffee?”
“How much will you be paying?”
“Not a lot to begin with. The Aston Martin will have to go, although you might be able to hang on to the yacht if you give up paying the mortgage and eating.”
“Hours?”
“Sometimes it might be 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.”
“Prospects?”
“You’re joking, of course.”
Nick raised a cynical eyebrow. “It’s a terrible offer.”
“The worst you’ll get,” Anson conceded.
Nick leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, deep in thought. Anson continued to sip his beer, saying nothing. The noisy chatter in the pub was swelled by the arrival of a large group of people laughing loudly and already well on their way to being drunk. Nick looked at them without seeing.
When he turned back to Anson, he was smiling.
“When do I start?”
www.darkstroke.com
darkstroke is
an imprint of
Crooked Cat Books
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
