How fucking cosy; all three of us still standing, aware shit was about to go down. Arms folded over chests, eyes wary, bodies at the ready. You could have heard a pin drop.
If not for the sound of my thumping heart.
I took a breath, but didn't get to speak. My wingman flying in to cut off the attack. Maybe he could see I was flailing. A situation that was as alien to me as it was to Ben, no doubt. Still, it was him who beat me to it.
"Adam's bein' followed," he announced in his customary drawl, taking one of the two seats on our side of Nick's desk. Immediately the tone in the room changed with that one move, but not the look of wary caution on Nick's hard mug.
"First time you noticed it was last night?" Nick asked, still standing.
I nodded, unable to shift my feet from their spot. I would have sat, going with Ben's attempt to calm things the fuck down. But I couldn't move. I wasn't usually thrown off my game like this, but usual was a past tense for me now.
"On my way home," I replied, voice steady, even if my pulse rate was not.
There were consequences to coming clean to Nick. I was familiar with them, even if I had never been subjected to this kind of spotlight before. I'd seen others stand here, face off against him. I knew what the fall-out could be. And part of me was desperate to not join the lofty - or not so lofty - heights of that particular club.
"What time?" he asked. And here's where things would get interesting.
"'Bout half one."
Nick sat. It was almost an exclamation point. So sudden and full of meaning.
"Where had you been?" he asked, not looking at me or Ben, but moving some papers on his desk as though that lame-arse motion alone would cover his suspicions.
ASI was like a family; we knew too much shit about each other. Like the fact that on a night off, after a week of night shifts hunting my prey, I'd hit the sack early. Trying to get at least some pretence of a normal life.
I ran a hand through my hair and sat down in the last available seat.
I may not have wanted to face my mistakes under the chilling assessment of this man I had the honour of calling my friend, not just my boss. But there's a line in the sand you cross at some point in these things; no going back now.
And I am not a coward at heart.
"Maraetai for a ride," I said, keeping my eyes trained on Nick, on the one person who had seen potential in me and allowed me to find it in myself.
He didn't look back.
"Alone?" he asked. Ben sat ramrod straight in his seat; no lounging with a leg slung over an armrest, like he'd normally be. He was alert. On guard. But whether he was waiting for Nick to explode or me, I wasn't sure.
"I was not alone."
It was a hell of a lot easier to say than I'd thought.
I waited for the question. The one Ben had asked this morning and the one I expected any sane person to demand, as well. But Nick Anscombe was not necessarily sane.
"Could the tail have been on your companion?"
Ben turned his head slowly to look at me. It wasn't difficult to meet his arched brow look. Charlie had already abandoned me by the time I felt I'd picked up a tail. If they'd been after her, they wouldn't have followed me.
"No," I said, not elaborating further.
I should have known better. This was Nick Fucking Anscombe, after all.
"Tell me everything," he said, and once the words were spoken, I knew I had no choice. It was a relief, really. You didn't hide things from Nick. You didn't lie. You didn't hedge. If he asked you a direct question, he expected a direct answer. Common courtesy would have said the same.
But it wasn't just respect that made you want to answer honestly. It was the fact that every single one of us had Nick to thank for something in our lives. We owed him. One way or another. And loyalty always won out.
We were closer than a family. We had the love, sure, but we also had the trust. Nothing could tear that apart.
Besides, it just confirmed my earlier epiphany. I'd crossed that line; I'd made the decision now to confess; there was no going back.
"I went for a ride with Charlie," I said, and felt more than saw Ben's shake of his head. No doubt with a "stupid motherfucker" thought running through his brain. "After we parted ways..."
"Where?" Nick asked, not batting an eyelash at my admission. He had been the one to assign her training to me after all.
And suddenly I had a way to make this not sound as douchebag as it potentially was. It had all been training. Ben's and Abi's suspicions aside.
"We split up at Somerville," I provided, feeling more sure of my footing now. "I headed towards home, but sensed the tail around Parnell. Lost 'em in Epsom."
Silence. From both men. Ben, wisely, because now was not the time to harass the poor sod who'd been caught with his pants down. Nick, because he was digesting and would come to some miraculous conclusion, offering insight and much needed direction, and yet again saving the day.
"Who gave you the hickey?" is what he finally said.
Fuck. Forgot about that little giveaway. Probably now glowing with backlit red light like a fucking neon sign.
Fuck me and thank you, Lieutenant Downes.
Ben started laughing, but quickly coughed into his hand at the sharp look he received from Nick.
"It just happened," I managed to awesomely advise. Yeah, shit like that just happens. Right.
Nick ran a hand over his face.
"New girl and you get followed," he said, staring at the far wall as he leaned back in his seat. Now he looked like he was digesting and miraculous concluding. Incidentally, coming to the same conclusion as Ben.
"It's got nothing..." I started.
"E hoa," Ben interrupted softly. "You don't believe that."
I didn't know what I believed. But there was something about Charlie.
"OK," Nick said, after his eyes had made a quick scan of my face and features. Fuck knows what he saw there. "What are we potentially dealing with here? A plant?"
"Could be," Ben agreed. I just kept breathing through my nose; in, out, and in and fucking out. This shit could not be happening.
She sucked your cock on the Maraetai wharf and walked away. Who does that kind of thing?
Ah, fuck.
"But why? What cases have we got open right now?" Nick was saying.
"We have to assume it's got somethin' to do with one of Adam's," Ben suggested. "She's singled him out, after all."
Hunted.
Nick nodded. My head felt too heavy for my neck. I desperately wanted to place my face in my hands and pretend this wasn't happening.
"So, Mitchell Wallis' replacement and the new Chinese drugs we’re finding out on the streets," Nick said, referring to my current case load. "Who would want access to that?"
"Are we sanctioned?" Ben asked. Meaning were we doing this under the umbrella of the Police Force.
I watched as Nick shook his head. "This is personal. For Amber."
And there was that, of course. Amber had lived in fear of that man for too long. Lived under his "protection" and suffered for it. Nick looked after family. And Amber was family now, no denying.
"Need to check with Pierce, then," Ben advised. "Maybe there's someone in CIB followin' up on all that undercover shit."
Nick nodded. “Or these new drugs have been picked up in CIB Narcotics too,” he added, then turned chilling blue eyes as cold as ice to my face.
I held my ground, like any man would.
"What's your gut say?" The fact that he was still asking me that said a lot. I'd screwed up. But he wasn't ruling me out just yet.
And what exactly did my gut say? It said I'd felt hunted, that I'd felt ASI was being hunted, since the moment Charlie had arrived.
But it also said Charlie was in danger. Protect her!
"Fuck," I muttered. "We need to be on alert and we need to keep this from Charlie."
A small smile hinted at the edges of Nick's lips.
"That all?" he pressed.
<
br /> He wasn't going to like this...
"We need to keep an eye on her."
"Of course." I shook my head. His reasons were not my reasons for suggesting that.
"No, you don't get it," I pushed.
"Then enlighten me, Adam." Nick's voice was hard, unforgiving, authoritative. It was just what I needed to hear.
ASI was a business. A highly successful enterprise operating in a part of the underworld many people did not necessarily know existed. Nick had worked hard to make it what it was today. We'd all given so much to back him up and mould it into the place it had become.
It was a home.
It was a family.
It was a brotherhood and none of us would let it fail.
Fucking Charlie. Just what the hell was the woman up to?
"I'm scared, all right? Shit scared."
That hadn't been an act. I'd seen it in her eyes. About the one time those smoky greys had revealed something real.
If you didn't count the lust as being real, that is. And I did. It was very real. Just like Ben had said.
Charlie was real, and even though my mind was filled with concerns and queries, worry and suspicion, I didn't doubt that. What I felt for Charlie. And what I'd seen in her eyes at those two very different times.
Lust, attraction, desire. A connection.
And fear.
"There's something about Charlie," I started. Ben groaned. Nick just stared; icy cold and unforgiving. "Hear me out," I added.
He nodded for me to go on. Ben grunted, but didn't otherwise comment.
"Since the moment she's arrived I've felt like we're being hunted." I didn't add that I'd felt hunted in particular. Nick was only barely allowing me this moment as it was. I couldn't push him any further. "But underlying that sensation of the tables being turned," I pressed on, holding my breath, preparing for the inevitable shit hitting the fan reaction, "I also can't help feeling she's in as much trouble as the rest of us."
"That's bullshit," Ben exclaimed. Albeit in a gruff, quiet voice. But still an exclamation coming from him.
Nick didn't respond to his statement. Just said, "You sure it's not another part of your anatomy telling you that, and that part is not connected to your gut?"
OK, I deserved that.
"I'm sure," I said, laying my neck on the chopping block, and wondering how it had come to this after just one day.
One fucking day.
Nick sighed, staring over our shoulders at a picture of Auckland's skyline that took up most of the wall by his office door. The city we swore to protect in our own way. The city we all loved. The city we had risked our lives for in the past and would do the same again, if need be.
I waited. Ben didn't move, but that didn't mean the man wasn't thinking of something.
Nick said nothing.
And then, "This is how we'll proceed."
I let a breath of air out, unaware I'd still been holding it.
"We go on alert. Silently. Charlie is locked out of all top level decisions and considered a hostile in home territory. I'll get Eric onto your case, Adam, to make sure we've not missed another's interest. And I'll contact Pierce, myself, and see what he knows his end. We don't want to set off alarm bells in CIB, if we can help it. Amber will also do a thorough background check on your girl."
My girl. Despite everything, I warmed to that term.
Douche.
"More thorough than what we already ran," Nick added. "Because if you're right, Charlie has fooled us. And the Shaws won't take nicely to being duped. If there's something there, Amber will discover it."
I nodded, relieved Nick was in the know. The discomfort had been worth it, in the end. Then I had a sudden, disconcerting fucking thought.
"Are you gonna tell everyone everything that's been discussed in here?" I asked, feeling hot and itchy and not just a little fucked.
Ben started chuckling. Nick just smiled. It wasn't exactly heartwarming.
"You said it yourself, Savill," he announced. "There's something about Charlie."
Wait? What?
"We'll tell them you're just finding out what that something actually is."
"Um?" was all I could manage.
"Easy, e hoa," Ben said, slapping me on the back as he stood from his chair. "Now you've got an official reason to chase after her leather clad arse like a lovesick puppy."
Nick laughed. "Besides, if you shied away from the next hickey, what signal would that send her?"
God, he had a point. And why was I so fucking pleased about it?
"Anyway," he said, standing on his side of the desk, effectively announcing the end of the worst discussion I'd ever had to have in my entire life. "I trust you," he added. "I trust your instincts."
Fuck.
"If you say she's in trouble, I believe you."
Thank God for Nick Anscombe.
"At least, I'll give you forty-eight hours to prove as such."
Yeah, that's better. Hard, unforgiving and authoritative. The Nick Anscombe we knew and loved.
Chapter 12
This Was Going To Hurt
Charlie
We had an audience. Strangely, I wasn't surprised. ASI tended to do things together; a type of camaraderie I wasn't used to, and yet it made me smile. And, from the looks of it, not just the usual suspects. I had a feeling there were hangers-on here as well.
Plus the disconcerting and alluring smell of caffeine. As a distraction technique it was definitely novel. And bizarrely effective.
I walked into the firing range in a sedate, but controlled manner. One look at Jason Cain's face let me know tardiness was not a normally accepted behaviour in the Captain's army. I wasn't going to incite his rage further by sauntering. But I sure as hell wasn't going to run either.
"You're late," he said, as all conversation in the viewing gallery ceased on noticing my arrival.
"The garage was full," I replied, wondering where in the hell these people had parked their cars.
I counted them off inside my head, keeping my eyes on Cain and only allowing my peripheral vision to catalogue the potential additional hazards.
Three women and one man I had to work to identify. And four ASI personnel.
Interesting.
"Thirty," Cain advised. Meaning the number of minutes I'd have to face off against him in the ring.
"My apologies," I offered, with what I knew sounded like appropriate contrition. I could do emotion, if it was warranted.
I just couldn't do real emotion. Mine was all a consummate act.
"The PSM Pistol, 5.45x18mm,” he said, picking up a standard issue small firearm, a common choice amongst high ranking government officials, police, military and security forces. In Russia.
And an indication on how this "training" session would go down.
"155mm long," he added, turning the weapon over in his hand, making it look like an extension of his fingers. "Barrel length 84.6mm. Muzzle velocity..."
"Three hundred and fifteen metres per second," I finished for him.
Silence. Both in front of me at the range and in the peanut gallery at our backs.
"What does PSM stand for?" he finally asked.
Pompous Smug Meathead sprang to mind, but I held my tongue on that one. Cain was only doing his job. Testing me. Testing the Navy.
But I wasn't Navy. I was something else altogether.
"Pistolet Samozaryadnyj Malogabaritnyj," I dutifully replied. "Or Compact Self-Loading Pistol.”
He smiled. "Russian. One of your many languages."
I didn't smile back; it hadn't been an invitation to.
"Blowback operated semi-automatic pistol," he added. “Capable of penetrating fifty-five layers of Kevlar at realistic engagement distances. Any newbie recruit worth their salt can handle one."
The implied, can you?
He released the magazine, checked the chamber was clear, pulled down on the trigger guard, and slid the gun apart, and then placed the various pieces on the side tab
le at the main firing range.
I checked the target in the distance; he wasn't mucking around. I'd guess a good twenty-five metres away. Any handgun at that range was inherently inaccurate.
He was setting me up to fail.
I moved past him at his invitation - a sweep of his arm toward where the pistol lay - and checked the necessary components of the weapon.
Taking a slow inhale through my nose, picking up hints of burnt primer and more human scents that had long permeated the ASI firing range, I considered my options.
My cover was enough to allow me a modicum of expertise. A Naval officer would have received the standard basic training, including firearms and weapon handling of various types. But landing a solid hit to the centre of the target from this distance went beyond what my cover should allow me to achieve.
I could hit it. I knew without even trying I was that good. But the Charlie Downes who was working for ASI was not the real me.
I picked the pistol up, reassembling it in record speed. I checked that the decocker was in position, meaning the safety was on, and reloaded the ten round cartridge into the chamber. The manoeuvre took less than three seconds.
I replaced the gun on the side table. I may not be able to hit the target dead centre from this distance - according to my ASI profile - but I sure as hell wouldn't let an Army captain show me up in gun prep.
"Nice," he said, surprising me with the compliment.
He handed me some ear plugs and protective eyewear, donning his own set. Those watching no doubt wore ear protection but were far enough away to avoid the goggles.
"Have at it, Lieutenant," he said with a knowing smile.
The desire to show him up was all consuming. But I was better than that.
I purposely missed the centre of the target by four centimetres.
Then hit the same spot six more times.
Vanity, that bitch, held me by my bootstraps. I'd tripped and fallen. I made a hasty miss of a further two and three centimetres from the target for the next two shots to cover my mistake.
I left one bullet in the cartridge and lowered the gun.
Jason hit the button and made the target run towards us along the ceiling track. Silence reigned but for the screech of metal on metal. The target paper flapped as it came to rest before us; evidence of my accuracy - or purposeful inaccuracy - glaring us in the eyes.
Sweet Seduction Secrets (Sweet Seduction, Book 8): A Love At First Sight Romantic Suspense Series Page 10
