by Laura Taylor
Nope, she concluded a moment later. It was pure physical skill. There was no blurring of his form, no crackle of electricity, though he was certainly capable of mixing things up with a few magic tricks, even if he was choosing not to now. So she tried to move faster, to grab hold of him to slow him down, to dodge and weave as lithely as he was.
And she failed spectacularly. If anything, she was even further from landing a blow now than she had been before. Fighting Silas had been like fighting a snake, lithe, slippery and fast. Fighting Andre was more like trying to grab quicksilver. It was there, but it wasn’t…
Caroline paused, acutely aware of her audience watching the fight and weighing up her skills. It seemed to her that Andre was being far tougher on her than he had been on Tank or Caleb. Why would he go out of his way to make her look bad?
But then, before her anger could get the better of her, she reminded herself that this was Andre. He wasn’t the type to deliberately humiliate her. So what was the point he was trying to make?
Fifteen years ago, if he’d tried to teach her anything with this technique, she would have thrown a tantrum and declared it to be entirely unfair – something she’d subjected Silas to often enough, much to his exasperation. Now, she stopped, replayed the fight in her mind, trying to analyse what she had done wrong, what she could learn from the failure… and came up with absolutely nothing.
“Okay,” she said finally, wiping sweat from her brow. “What am I doing wrong?” It was an effort to swallow her pride enough to ask the question. She was a seasoned fighter, after all, and a niggling part of her mind insisted that she was smart enough to figure it out on her own.
Andre quirked a smile at her. “Anticipation,” he said simply. “You fight as if you’re going to hit a person where they stand. Which is fine most of the time, because most people in a fight stay in relatively the same place. But when you start fighting people at my level, it’s not about where a person is. It’s about where they’re going to be. You need to learn to anticipate where I’m going to move to, and what I’m going to do next, and then arrange to be there before I arrive.”
His answer was completely baffling to her. But rather than deride or dismiss it, she paused a moment to give it some thought. And then said, “How?”
Andre grinned. “An excellent question. I’m so glad you asked.”
CHAPTER FIVE
18 Years Ago
Caroline stood behind her bedroom door, checked her uniform, shouldered her backpack, and attached a firm scowl to her face. She glanced in the mirror to check that everything looked as it was supposed to. Daggy t-shirt with ‘Dan’s Pizza Parlour’ printed on the front. Hair pulled back in a tight pony tail. Expression on her face that said she was bored and generally pissed off with life, and anyone who didn’t like it could go jump.
All set.
She opened the door and stomped down the hall, deliberately ignoring her brother Greg as she reached the living room. He was sitting on the couch drinking beer and bitching at his girlfriend about the fact that she was refusing to give him a blow job.
The chit would give in in the end. She always did. But at least this time, Caroline would be out of the house by the time she did it. Because there was never any guarantee that they would bother to go into Greg’s room when he decided to take his pants off.
“Look at the little princess,” Greg said as she passed through the living room. “All ready to go out and do some hard work. Aw, aren’t you just a special little worker.”
“Fuck you,” Caroline said, in the most disinterested tone possible. At seventeen years old, work was hard to come by, and her job at the pizza parlour was dull, a droning monotony at best, completely disgusting at worst. Last week, she’d spent an hour and a half cleaning mouldy pizza dough out of the bottom of the bins, and had come home stinking of garbage. She’d found lumps of dough in her hair for three days afterwards. But it earnt her a little money, and, more importantly, got her out of this God-forsaken house for a few hours.
Not that Greg had any appreciation for her efforts. He was unemployed, cruising along on government handouts, and of the opinion that anyone who did more work than absolutely necessary was an idiot.
But today, Caroline was more interested than usual in avoiding his attention. Because today, she wasn’t going to work at the pizza parlour, wasn’t going to get dough up her fingernails and come home with her clothes stinking of pepperoni.
No, today she had a job interview. Sales assistant for a clothing store. In reality, she knew, it was nothing more than standing behind the register and ringing up people’s purchases – people who were all buying clothes that were far nicer and far more expensive than anything Caroline could afford. But it was a huge step up from kitchen hand at the dodgiest pizza place in town, and the next step forward in getting herself the hell out of this piss-hole. Permanently.
Her backpack contained a respectable outfit, the one blouse she owned, pale blue and quite plain but with a nice, feminine cut, and a pair of plain black trousers. To avoid her brother’s attention, she would get a bus from her usual stop, then change buses the next suburb over, get changed in a public toilet and hopefully present herself as a decent, hard working young woman come time for the interview.
If she could just remember not to swear while she was in there.
In the back of her mind, she was a little surprised at her own tenacity at seeking a better life, given the chaos and violence all around her. Perhaps it was because of Old Joe, the war veteran who lived down the street, who told her each day without fail as she passed his house that she was turning into ‘a fine young lady’. Perhaps it was due to that one teacher in eighth grade who’d taken a genuine interest in her, told her that life was a gift, and that dreams could come true, if only you were prepared to endure a season or three of hell to get there. Perhaps it was because of that movie she’d seen, the one where the skinny little kid got beaten up all his life, but then came out years later to become a gold medal winning Olympic sprinter.
However the seeds of her rebellion had been planted, Caroline was clinging to them now, though some days she seemed to be hanging off the edge of a very high cliff by nothing more than her fingernails.
But this job could make the difference she had been looking for. A legitimate career move. A reliable source of money. A chance to prove she was better than her drug addicted, jail-bound family.
“Where the fuck are you going?” her father snapped when she reached the front door, and Caroline very deliberately stopped to crack her knuckles, feigning indifference while keeping him firmly within her line of sight. Never turn your back, she’d learned years ago, and that rule, among a handful of others she’d learned to live by, had spared her some of the more severe beatings of her young life.
“To work,” she said, her tone implying he was stupid. “Same as I do every week. Fuck, after six months, you’d think you’d have figured out that I have a job by now.”
He wanted to hit her. The glow of violence was bright in his eyes. But she’d learned to hit back by now, vigorous work outs filling out her body with thick muscles, combat boots on her feet able to deal hefty blows, and fading bruises on his face testament to her success in previous scuffles between them. So he hesitated, and Caroline took the opportunity to open the door and escape through the gap, not wanting to take the risk that he’d follow through and she’d have to go to the interview with fresh bruises on her face. About half the time he thought better of his attacks, having learned that Caroline was younger than him, quicker and had an attitude that gave as good as it got. But the other half of the time, usually when he’d been drinking, he forgot that she could fight back, and he’d have a go at her anyway, and while she was quicker, he was still stronger, meaning there was no guarantee she’d win any particular bout in the boxing ring.
Out on the street, she set a fast pace down the road, glancing back now and then to check that no one had bothered to follow her.
“There yo
u are, young lady,” Joe called cheerfully as she passed. “As fine a young woman as I’ve ever seen. You’ve got great things ahead of you, I’m sure!”
Caroline waved half-heartedly and called “Good afternoon”, unable to figure out how someone living in this neighbourhood managed to maintain such a positive outlook on life. Joe grinned back and raised his coffee cup in salute, then Caroline marched on, down to the bus stop, more determined than ever that this time, she was going to break free from her old life and make something of herself.
Caroline stared down at the letter in her hands and swore fluently. The owner of the café she was sitting in glanced up at her, the gruff old man no doubt ready to kick her out if she started causing a fuss. This was a rough neighbourhood, and he’d had too many cups broken, seen too many tables overturned to put up with riff-raff for long.
She hadn’t got the job. She’d found the envelope in the letter box this morning and, not wanting to open it at home where Greg would give her a hard time about it, she’d brought it here, where there was some peace and quiet, hopeful and excited as she’d read the first line. It said she’d come across well in the interview – she’d bloody well better have, Caroline thought indignantly. She’d tried her hardest to play the part of well mannered, respectful teenager who would be polite and helpful to the customers, and had even managed to get through the entire twenty minutes without cursing.
But the letter had gone on to explain that her interview had been unsuccessful; the lady had found another candidate with some prior experience in sales, so she was going with them instead.
Caroline resisted the urge to throw her coffee mug across the room. With one last, heartfelt “Fuck!”, she got up and left the café, sparing the owner the bother of throwing her out.
How the hell was she supposed to get anywhere in life when she couldn’t get anything better than a minimum wage, crap-arse job? She’d be finishing school at the end of the year and had hoped to be able to afford to move out of her hell-hole of a home by then. Maybe get a flat with some friends. Save up for a shitty car and start clawing her way up the ladder, like a drowning rat trying to escape the floodwaters.
Outside, she turned left, then stopped, turned around and went back the other way, wandering aimlessly down the street. It was still early, and being a Saturday, no one would care what time she came home. Or if she came home at all. More often than not these days she stayed at her boyfriend’s place. He was an arsehole, just like most men, but at least he didn’t hit her, just called her names and left his filth lying around his flat. It was a small step up from living with Greg and her father, Troy temporarily not her problem as he was currently in jail.
As soon as she got her own place, she’d ditch the bastard, but for now, spreading her legs for him a few times a week meant she could keep using him for a place to stay.
Movement caught her eye, and Caroline swore as she recognised the man across the road. He was following her, and trying to act nonchalant about it. Fuck, not again. Caroline kept walking, deliberately maintaining her pace, but out of the corner of her eye, she watched the man as he tailed her down the street. He was middle aged, tough and toned, but not like the thugs in the gangs, not like the drug addicts who hurled abuse at random strangers, not like the petty criminals who nudged closer to serious jail time every day. No, for all his tough exterior, there was something unique about this man. Something quiet, studied. Peaceful, even, if Caroline would dare to call it that.
But he’d also been following her for the past week, and ‘peaceful’ was not a word she was willing to apply to a weirdo with a tendency for stalking women.
She considered her options. She could call the police. But she hated them with a passion, having been harassed repeatedly in the past few years, the cops convinced she was doing drugs and determined to catch her out for possession, or even dealing. She’d never done drugs in her life. But she had seen the downside of that lifestyle up close and personal, a friend passing out and having to be taken to hospital after taking a bad pill. Another friend, raped after she’d got so high she didn’t know what was happening or where she was. Caroline had decided long ago that she was never going to go down that path. Not that the cops cared, no matter how many times she denied using.
She could continue to ignore the man, as she had done so far. He never approached her, never followed her home or showed up at school. Just watched her from a distance when she was out and about. And since she tended to haunt the same few blocks in her spare time, it wasn’t like it was terribly hard to find her.
Or she could confront the man. See what the fuck he wanted. And since they were currently in a public place, on a crowded street in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, there wasn’t likely to be a safer time or place to have it out with him.
Caroline was a tough bitch, hitting hard, taking no shit from anyone, telling it like it was, whether it was her drunk father, her thug of a brother or any one of the local boys getting in her face. She knew how to look after herself.
But she also knew how to avoid trouble. Don’t get into cars with drunk boys. Don’t linger in shadowy places. Don’t be afraid to ask the bouncer of the club to call you a cab, pride be damned, because having a three hundred pound gorilla babysit you like a toddler was still preferable to being snatched into a dark alley and raped.
There was a public square up ahead, wide open spaces, plenty of places to go if she needed to run away, so she kept going until she reached it, stopped beside the ugly sculpture in the centre of it, and turned, arms folded, eyes fixed on the man. His long hair was in a ponytail, a motorbike helmet in his hands, and he was wearing a red t-shirt – it was worth making note of these things, Caroline told herself, in case she needed to make a report on him later.
He paused when he saw her stop, and Caroline wondered what she was going to do next if he simply walked away.
But he didn’t. A moment later, he resumed his slow, easy pace, a calm confidence oozing from him as he crossed the square to reach her.
“What the fuck do you want?” Caroline snapped immediately.
“I mean you no harm,” the man said quickly. “I just want to talk to you.”
“Yeah, right. You get off on sneaking around with girls young enough to be your daughter? Cos I ain’t into that shit.”
“Not at all,” the man said, his accent starched and proper. “I have a business proposition for you.”
Caroline snorted. “A ‘business’ proposition? Well, you’re out of luck, cos I ain’t into that shit either.”
The man smiled, a strange look that was almost bashful. “You misunderstand. The business I work in has nothing to do with prostitution.”
Okay, she could humour him, Caroline decided. Since they were here, and he wasn’t being rude. “What is it then?”
“I work for a covert operations unit. The exact nature of our business is… somewhat delicate. But we’re always on the lookout for people with a particular skill set. A skill set that you seem to cover nicely.”
Was he winding her up? “Look, Einstein, I ain’t got no ‘particular skill set.’ I’m a kid from the wrong side of the tracks who’s just trying to finish school and get the hell out of this shit hole, so-”
“On the contrary. How long have I been following you?”
What the fuck? “A week.”
“When was the very first time you saw me?”
“Last Sunday. Outside the pizza place.”
“And what was I wearing?”
“A black leather jacket and jeans. And you had that motorbike helmet with you.”
The man looked briefly impressed. “Very observant. Last Tuesday you had a fight with a man outside the club on Nelson Street. He was twice your size, but you won the fight. Quite easily, I might add.”
Caroline shrugged. “Kick a guy in the balls, and they all go down pretty much the same.”
“And you’ve been getting solid grades at school. Impressive, given the difficulties you must have in co
mpleting your studies.”
What the hell? “You’ve been going through my school files? Look, you fuck-head, you’re messing with the wrong person. That shit is private, and you’ve got no right to-”
“Like I said,” the man interrupted, his tone sharpening just a touch. “I work for a covert operations unit. We have access to files that the general public could never get their hands on. Getting into your school files was as simple as a few clicks of a mouse.”
Interesting. Despite her reservations, Caroline was getting interested. “You work for the Government?”
“Not the Government, no. Our operations are a little more below the radar than that.”
“Are you criminals?” There was no way she was getting involved in some sort of crime ring, no matter how sophisticated they might be.
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
“All in good time. But first, I’d like to know a little more about your plans for the future. You’ve been looking for a job. Calling people about flats for rent. So tell me, Caroline, in an ideal world, what would your future look like?”
How the fuck did he know her name? “Who the fuck are you?” she demanded roughly.
“My name is Kendrick. I’m the leader of my unit. And we lost a few good agents recently, so we’re on the look out for some new recruits.”
