Breaking: Fall or Break, Book 2

by Barbara Elsborg

  Archer ran in a wide curve to avoid an expanse of shallow water left by the retreating sea. Discovering how someone had found out who he was might lead him to more answers. Once he’d stopped working for the SIS, the Secret Intelligence Service, a few years ago, he’d fiercely guarded his identity, but if it was them who wanted him dead, or the CIA, or even worse, Mossad, he couldn’t escape. All he was doing was delaying the inevitable. One slip and he was done for.

  A thought that dragged him straight to Chris and the mountain, and as the memories of what happened that day flooded his head, he stumbled on the sand, tripped over a small ripple. One slip. One error. He shuddered. Fine one moment and then not the next. For all he knew, a killer was on his way to Marram Cottage right this minute. A problem not just for him but for Conrad. It was those sorts of thoughts that kept him on edge and destroyed any chance for a normal life.

  He increased his speed as he ran at the edge of the sea. As long as someone wasn’t chasing him with a gun, at least he had this. The sheer exhilaration of moving fast under his own power was hard to beat. The increased endorphins in his brain gave him a natural high, the exercise strengthened his heart, lungs and muscles, helped his blood circulate more efficiently, and kept him trim.

  But it was more than that. He’d survived in the business as long as he had because he was an overachiever. Everything had to be done to an increasingly high standard. Assembling and disassembling his rifle. Judgment of distance. Accuracy of his strikes. His ability to lie still and wait like any predator. The tougher the challenge, the better. Life was fucking tough. Running faster or farther, tackling more difficult routes allowed him to set goals and strive to meet them, enabled him to feel satisfaction in something other than completing a mission. Now he had the hardest job of all. Surviving.

  For a while he managed to zone out and let running be the only thing in his head. He increased his speed until he seemed to fly over the sand. When he reached the end of the beach where waves pounded the rocky headland, he paused to take in the power of the sea, the slam and hiss of the surf. Water surged into a fissure in the rocks before pouring out again. He wondered if it was a cave. Not a good place to hide with only one way in and out, particularly if it filled with water, but if that wasn’t the case, for a temporary hiding place, it could prove useful. Archer sighed. So much for letting running be the only thing in his head. Everywhere he went, in everything he did, he looked for an escape plan.

  He turned and ran back, Deefor bounding along at his side, his mouth open, tongue lolling. The dog occasionally looked up at him as if to say—is this the fastest you can go? The beach was deserted, not even another dog owner sharing the space. It really was the sort of place Archer might think of living if he ever felt safe enough to settle down. If he lived long enough.

  By the time they walked into Marram Cottage, Conrad was up and with someone, and Archer moved straight into alert mode.

  “How about another three reps?” a guy asked.

  Archer registered it must be a physiotherapist and allowed the tension to leave his body. The guy would do better ordering Conrad to do another ten, threatening him if he didn’t.

  “Good job.”

  Archer rolled his eyes. Did that come with a high five and a cookie? He filled Deefor’s bowl and drank a glass of water. Registering he was tracking sand across the kitchen, he took off his running shoes and walked barefoot to the door of Conrad’s bedroom.

  The physio was a big guy. He had his back toward Archer. Conrad was on the floor trying to do presses and struggling. Archer moved away before Conrad saw him. He slipped upstairs to shower and when he came down, the physio had gone. Conrad sat white-faced on the bed in gray shorts and T-shirt.

  “Want some breakfast?” Archer asked.

  Conrad put his hand over his mouth and lurched for the bathroom.

  “Maybe not yet.” Archer walked away from the sound of retching.

  By the time Conrad appeared, dressed in pants and a shirt, Archer had cooked bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes.

  “I’ve done enough for you. You need more than muesli. You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

  “No.”

  “After you’ve eaten, we’re going for a walk.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “I didn’t ask you if you wanted to. We’re going for a walk.”

  A muscle twitched in Conrad’s cheek but he sat at the table and started to eat.

  Good. A step in the right direction. A point to him. “I went for a run this morning.”

  “I know. I saw you.”

  “How the fuck could you see me?”

  “I crawled upstairs. Too bad you weren’t there.”

  Archer laughed, a big raucous belly laugh that he hadn’t heard himself produce for a long while. He spotted the smirk on Conrad’s face and felt his stomach lurch. Game on.

  It took them an age to get out of the house. Conrad had to get his trainers on, his coat, his hat and his gloves before they headed down the path with Deefor. When Conrad stumbled, the temptation to take his arm was strong but Archer resisted. The temptation to push him down, rip off his pants and fuck him was even stronger, but he was going to resist that too for the time being. Instead, he walked at Conrad’s painfully slow pace and he listened and talked and distracted so Conrad didn’t think about the distance they were covering.

  “Gray seal,” Archer said and pointed.

  “You sure?”

  “I have very good eyesight.”

  “It might be the common seal not the gray one.”

  “And what’s the difference, smart arse?”

  “The common seal’s nostrils nearly touch in a V-shape. The muzzle is shorter and the head rounded.”

  “Oh. Maybe it was a whale.”

  Conrad let out a choked laugh. Archer liked making him laugh, liked that Conrad made him laugh. He’d done more smiling over the past twenty-four hours than he had in years. Maybe he was finally unwinding. Maybe he’d finally found someone to help him unwind.

  “The gray seal is the UK’s largest carnivorous mammal,” Conrad said.

  “Not the polar bear in the Highland Wildlife Park?”

  “Shit, I missed the word native so technically you’re right.”

  “Keep going. You’re slowing down.”

  Conrad groaned. “I need to turn round.”

  “Get to that piece of driftwood. Stop dragging your feet.”

  By the time Conrad reached the five-foot bleached branch he looked on the point of collapse, but it was only when he turned that he faltered. As he began to fall, unable to right himself, Archer reached out to steady him.

  “Thanks,” Conrad said.

  Let him go. Why didn’t he? Archer’s mouth was inches from Conrad’s hair, close enough to smell the coconut shampoo he used until the guy jerked away and stared in the direction they’d come.

  “Jesus. How many miles did you make me walk?”

  “One. Well, two by the time we get back.”

  Conrad groaned but Archer saw the shine in his eyes.

  It wasn’t good for him to want someone, something so much. It was a weakness and Archer despised weakness. This walk reminded him how injured the guy was but he wanted to break his resistance, feel him break, wanted Conrad to want him as much as Archer wanted him.

  Archer admired few people. He had no time for politicians or celebrities. Sportsmen who were at the top of their field, yeah, they impressed him, or rather their single-minded dedication impressed him. Their greed didn’t. One target of a few years back who’d seen Archer, understood what was coming and accepted death with a calm dignity—that guy had made an impression. Now Conrad, who quietly struggled to walk in a straight line without limping, impressed him too. He wouldn’t give in to his injury and he wouldn’t give in to Archer.

  Not yet. But when he d
id, it would be perfect.

  Archer wanted to make him want him, then consume him, and then…what the fuck follows that? Leave him? Archer walked behind as Conrad steadily made his way back down the beach. The “leave him” bit didn’t sit comfortably in Archer’s belly, but what future could there be for a barrister and a retired hitman who’d spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder? No, he’d keep the memory of this time with Conrad safe inside him. Something that was just his until the violent end Archer expected caught up with him.

  Conrad’s legs and back were killing him. He couldn’t believe how far they’d walked. He’d been distracted and guessed that was the point. Not just distracted by the conversation, but by the allure of Archer walking next to him, the strength of him, the thought of fucking him, and even though he didn’t want to admit it, of being fucked by him. Conrad wanted him, but there was no way he was going to play prey to Archer’s predator. This guy would chomp him up and spit him out. Hopefully not literally.

  Archer picked up a stick and threw it for Deefor who raced off, but then merely sniffed the stick and made no attempt to bring it back. When they reached it, Archer threw it again but Deefor still didn’t fetch it. Conrad picked it up, white spots dancing in front of his eyes as he bent over. He chucked the stick, shouted, “Fetch,” and Deefor immediately ran to get it and brought it back.

  “What the fuck?” Archer snapped.

  Conrad laughed. He couldn’t help it. “At least the dog knows who’s in charge.”

  “You ungrateful little runt.” Archer pointed an imaginary gun at Deefor. “Bang, bang, you’re dead.”

  Conrad gasped as the dog rolled onto his back and stuck his legs in the air.

  “Bang, bang, bang,” Archer said and Deefor waved his front paws.

  After a moment, the dog got up, shook himself and ran down the beach.

  “That’s some party trick,” Conrad said.

  “Not one I taught him.”

  “Did they tell you where he came from? Some hitman’s dog?”

  There was a pause before Archer answered. “They didn’t know. He was found wandering. No collar. No microchip. No response to details in the paper.”

  “He must have belonged to someone to have learned that.”

  “Maybe he was too much trouble to keep. Maybe the hitman that owned him met a sticky end.” Archer pointed to the gap in the dunes. “Look. You made it back in one piece.”

  “We’re not at the house yet. There’s still time for me to have a heart attack and die.”

  “Before I fuck you? That’s rather selfish.”

  “You’re not going to fuck me.”

  “You’ll beg me to fuck you.”

  “Why don’t you hold your breath while you’re waiting?”

  Conrad had just taken off his coat and shoes when he heard knocking. As he reached the front door Archer jumped down the stairs and pulled him to one side.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Archer whispered.

  “What do you think? Someone knocks and you answer. That’s what doors are for.”

  “You have no idea who it is.”

  “I don’t think murderers knock.” Maybe they just lie on the doorstep and wait.

  Archer moved to the hinged side of the door as Conrad opened it. He looked like a cobra, tense and coiled, ready to strike. Christ, did I frighten him saying that someone was trying to kill me? Though he didn’t seem the type to be frightened.

  Conrad didn’t recognize the guy who stood on the step. He was short and plump, his brown hair thinning on top but lush at the sides. He looked nothing like a murderer and Conrad had seen a few of those in court, though the dangerous ones generally looked the most innocent.

  “Mr. Black? I work for the Northumberland Gazette. I wanted to talk to you about rescuing the surfer. I understand you’re recovering from an accident. Do you—?”

  Archer slammed the door shut.

  “Damn,” came the quiet comment from the other side of the door. “In case you change your mind, I’ll slip my card through the letterbox.”

  It landed on the mat. Archer picked it up and ripped it in half. A moment later came the sound of a car engine starting and pulling away.

  That was interesting. Conrad had no intention of talking to the press but it seemed Archer was even less keen.

  “I could have been on the front page.” Conrad huffed. “My fifteen minutes of fame. Probably in line for a medal.”

  “And whoever tried to kill you would have seen it online, discovered your whereabouts and come to finish the job. They’ll have a Google alert running for your name. You want to take the risk?”

  Archer seemed different, even more intense, and what he’d said was true. Though Conrad still didn’t understand why they hadn’t come for him while he’d been lying broken in the hospital. Even his suspicious mind told him he could be making this into far more than the simple slip of a foot onto the accelerator that it might have been. Then again…

  “No, I don’t want to take the risk.” Conrad limped into his bedroom and lay down.

  “We’re doing the same walk again this afternoon,” Archer called out from the door.

  “No, I’m fucking not.”

  Conrad gritted his teeth as he trudged along the sand, Deefor on one side, Archer on the other.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be spouting words of encouragement?” Conrad asked.

  “Do you care what I think?”

  Yes. “No.”

  “So what’s the point?”

  They reached the end of the beach and Conrad hoped for a rest but Archer turned and started off again.

  “I’ll be too tired to fuck,” Conrad snapped.

  “All you have to do is stick your arse in the air.”

  “In your dreams.”

  Archer shrugged and Conrad walked after him, trying to keep up. Even through his annoyance, he knew he was improving, his paces lengthening, his legs moving more freely, though the pain was getting worse, probably because he was pushing too hard. But a couple of days ago, he’d still been using the crutches, now he was a lot closer to running. A little closer.

  “Shit,” Archer said and dropped back to his side.

  “What?”

  “Keep walking. There’s a photographer in the dunes. I’m going after him. You go back to the house with the dog. Take my shoes.”

  Archer kicked them off and sprinted away before Conrad could say anything. He couldn’t see anyone but it didn’t surprise him. There was no way he could stop an article appearing in a paper. Slamming a door in a reporter’s face was only going to make him curious.

  Running up sand dunes was fucking difficult, even barefoot. Archer’s feet were constantly searching for pockets of stability to allow him to move forward. Standing still was not an option. If he paused, he’d slide back. Once he’d negotiated the first wall of sand using clumps of marram grass as stepping stones, he ran down the slope and powered up the next. As he reached the top of the dune, the guy wasn’t far away. He was wearing shoes that would be full of sand and also trying not to drop his camera. Both issues would allow Archer to catch him.

  Archer’s speed took him halfway up the next dune and he brought the guy down so they sprawled on the slope and slid. The man was middle-aged. Another point against him. He was gasping for breath. Even if he’d been fit, Archer would have still caught him.

  “What do you want?” The guy’s chest heaved.

  “Why were you taking pictures of us?”

  “I wasn’t. I was taking shots of the sea and the castle.”

  “I want the memory card out of your camera.”

  “Get lost.”

  Archer wrapped his fingers around the collar of the guy’s jacket, squeezing tight enough to cut off much of his air supply. Even then, the guy didn’t let g
o of his camera. He tried to bring it up and hit Archer. It would have been so easy to snap his neck but instead, Archer thumped him in the gut and dragged the camera from his grip as the man slithered even farther down the slope.

  He opened the flap at the base and pulled out the card.

  “There’s other stuff on there I need,” the guy gasped.

  “Tough.” Archer dropped the camera and walked away.

  The memory card was still in his pocket when he got back to the house. He’d considered burying it in a sand dune but wanted to be certain it never turned up. Scissors were a more effective method of disposal.

  Conrad sat at the kitchen table nursing a coffee. “Did you get him?”

  “Yes.” Archer chopped up the card and tossed the pieces into the bin.

  “So who is it you don’t want to see your face?”

  Archer put on a puzzled look. “I was doing you the favor, not me.”

  “The press can get my picture off Google.”

  But not mine because I suspect you’ve checked.

  “Right.” Archer cleaned the sand off his feet. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  He poured himself a coffee. This was the problem getting involved with someone who had a brain. Conrad didn’t trust him.

  Archer sat opposite him. “I was thinking of you. If whoever tried to kill you is looking for you, you really don’t need your picture in a local paper. Too easy to find you. But you’re right. I don’t either. Sometimes I have to pretend to be an employee at the company. Doesn’t do for people I’m investigating to know what I’m up to. They’re far less likely to let me get close.”

  Conrad looked satisfied with that, but Archer was aware he’d just spouted a load of crap to a guy who was a barrister.

  “How are you feeling?” Archer asked.

  “Like some sadistic fucker has made me walk up and down a beach. Twice.”

  “Damn that dog.”

  Conrad snorted and then groaned. “My back is killing me.”

  “Think another massage would help?” Wasn’t I going to leave?