by A. Nybo
“A specialized bodyguard.”
“Right.”
“My understanding is that you know everything you need to know. There is a dangerous criminal after you and Henri. Nate and I are here to assist in your protection.”
“Nate, huh?” Birch was done for now. His head hurt too much, and he figured he’d need an entire waterboarding setup to get the real story from Jason.
“He went to the safe house last night to secure it and get it organized. You’ll meet him when we get there.”
“Great. I can’t wait. Can we stop at a pharmacy?”
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes.”
They parked at a mall, and the thought of having to walk through throngs of people to buy clothes made Birch’s head pound harder. He sighed, and Jason studied him for a few moments. “Tell me what size you are, and I’ll go get you some clothes.”
“Whatever size these are.” It had been so long since he’d bought clothes he had no idea, but the thought of trying clothes on was enough to bring on a bout of nausea. He opened the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I just need air.”
“Are you going to be sick?”
“Maybe.”
Jason got out of the vehicle and opened the back. He rummaged around before he returned to the front seat. “Here.” He held out a bottle of water, a sick bag, and several press-packed tablets.
Birch tried to read the writing on the back of the foiled tablets.
“You’ll probably just make your headache worse trying to read it. One is a painkiller, and the small one is for nausea. Put that one under your tongue and let it dissolve.”
Birch stared at the tablets for a moment. “What sort of bodyguard has basic medical training?”
“A well-trained one, mate.” Jason winked and opened the car door. “I’ll be back shortly.”
With his seat back as far as it would go, Birch closed his eyes, but the spinning sensation threatened the return of the medication he’d just taken. Merely resting his gaze on the dashboard helped calm the spinning, but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes open for long. It seemed he’d just closed his eyes when the back door of the car opened. Seeing Jason throw a pile of bags into the back seat, he realized he’d fallen asleep at some point. How he wished he could go back there.
As he slid in behind the steering wheel, Jason carefully handed him another bag. “Pick one.”
Birch was pleased to find a smoothie rather than the expected coffee. “Thanks.” He waited until Jason had pulled the vehicle out onto the road before handing the other drink to him.
They arrived at the safe house a short time later, and all Birch wanted was to lie down. Barely aware of his surroundings, he noted the house was a regular-looking family home. He was introduced to another man-mountain called Nate, who wore a pair of trousers that seemed to be made of pockets sewn together in an orderly fashion. Although six foot even, Birch was beginning to get a complex around all these huge men.
Jason directed him down the hall to a room. Birch closed all the curtains and snuggled down with his sick bag. Concussion was a bitch of a thing, but it wasn’t the first time he’d had one and guessed it wouldn’t be the last.
IT WAS dark when Birch awoke, and he was thankful someone’d had the forethought to leave the door ajar, otherwise he would have been left fumbling around an unfamiliar dark room in search of a door or a light switch. He guessed Jason must have been checking on him.
A voice he identified as Jason’s drifted down the hall. It grew louder, demonstrating Jason’s obvious frustration. “That is not an answer, Henri!” At the mention of Henri’s name, Birch strained to hear what was being said, but the one-sided nature of the conversation suggested Jason was on the phone.
“Look, you need to come in now. Nate and I are both here, and Staff Sergeant Sayer says only he and one of the others know where the safe house is.” There was a protracted silence. “Okay, well, how long will it take you to get here?” More silence. “Are you even still in Ontario? Never mind. If you won’t let us come to you, just make sure you get here. If you have any problems, anything at all, call us. Okay?” Jason paused. “All right. See you then.”
“Is he on his way?” That voice must belong to Nate.
“Yeah. He’s leery as, but I guess you can’t blame him.”
“Not me, bro. Don’t know if coming in would be my choice either, if I was in his place.”
Birch was surprised by the quiet sincerity in Nate’s voice. And why would anyone choose going it alone rather than having protection? That just made no sense.
“What’s his ETA?”
“Zero two hundred,” said Jason.
ETA? Zero two hundred? Who spoke like that? Were these guys military? But then he supposed any profession could adopt the twenty-four-hour clock. It wasn’t as if the military owned it. His personal clock generally worked on day and night. Horses didn’t much care what hour it was. The owners on the other hand…. Shit!
Birch rose cautiously and waited to see what his head was going to do before turning the light on. His phone sat on the bedside table, and he flicked it on to find it was 7.00 p.m. Not too late to call and apologize to the owners whose places he hadn’t shown up to today. He decided to call ahead and cancel the next few days as well. Regardless of what happened with this whole Russell thing, there would be no way he’d be working with horses with a concussion. He sipped on the bottled water before starting the arduous task.
When he’d almost completed his list, he heard tapping on the door and looked up. Having paid no attention whatsoever when he was introduced earlier, except to note another huge guy who wore pockets on his bottom half, he guessed the man with cropped blond hair, a square jaw, and tombstone teeth standing at the door performing the international gesture for eating was Nate. Birch nodded and finished his phone call before venturing out into the main house.
“Feeling better?” asked Jason.
“I was, but after inventing a fall from a horse and reenacting it so many times, I almost believe I’m suffering the injuries.”
“Falling from a horse half a dozen times would hurt like hell.”
“Closer to a dozen. I’ve booked off for the rest of the week.”
“Why didn’t you just tell the truth?” asked Jason.
“I would if I knew the truth. But since I don’t, it was less frustrating to have everyone believe I’d fallen off a horse.”
Nate covered the barb like a pro. “You must be pretty good if you have that many clients in a week.”
Birch shrugged but then wished he hadn’t as pain radiated from his shoulder blade.
Nate put plates and cutlery on the breakfast counter, next to containers of takeaway food. “I hope Chinese is okay. I haven’t managed to do the shopping yet, so we had to make do with what was available.”
“I’ll tell you in an hour or so,” said Birch, only half-joking. “With all these accents, I feel like I’ve moved to Australia.”
“As good as,” said Jason and then thrust a thumb Nate’s way, “But he’s a Kiwi, aka New Zealander.”
“Australians always try to claim us,” said Nate. “They recognize quality when they see it.”
Jason made a show of choking on his food. “They’re our poor cousins.”
“Are you a specialized bodyguard too?” Birch asked.
“You don’t believe me?” Jason asked.
“Was that you hinting to Nate here that that is what you told me?”
Nate laughed. “Was it, Jason?”
“Well, what would you call us?”
“Forget I asked,” said Birch. Since they were going to play games, he’d pick it up another time when he was able to think a bit more clearly. “Right this minute I’m finding it hard to give much of a fuck, really.”
Not waiting for a response, Birch took his food and went to sit in the living room, away from the others. He was glad when neither of them offered to join him. Their muted voic
es travelled in from the open-plan kitchen and dining area, and it was obvious their discussion wasn’t meant for his ears. He didn’t care.
The smell of the food seemed to feed into both his hunger and his nausea simultaneously. He ate slowly and had eaten about half of what was on his plate before his stomach began to churn. Deciding he’d had enough, he took more painkillers and returned to bed.
He was awoken sometime later by angry voices making a half-hearted pretence of being quiet. Recognizing one of them as Henri’s, he was immediately awake and alert. Checking his phone, he noted it was almost three in the morning.
“Do we have to do this now? Tonight?” Henri spat.
“If not now, then when? Can I even trust that you’ll be here in the morning?” argued Jason.
“What does that mean?”
“Are you having me on?” Jason had given up trying to keep his voice down. “I don’t hear from you for two months, you don’t answer my calls, and then out of the blue I find out you’re on the other side of the planet.”
“What do you want? A written schedule of my movements? Because if that’s what you’re after, why don’t you ask Russell? He has no fucking trouble keeping track of me!”
“A little consideration. I need to know where you are!”
“For fuck’s sake Jason, I’m not your girlfriend.”
“You should be so lucky, arsehole!”
“Really?” The ice-cold contempt Henri injected into that single word sent a prickling warning through Birch. He sounded like he was about to land a killer blow. “I would love nothing more than to come home every night to someone so consumed by guilt they couldn’t bear to look me in the eye.”
“You’re a fine one to talk,” yelled Jason. “Look at you! You can’t even trust anyone enough to tell them where you are!”
Thinking they were going to come to blows, Birch leapt from bed and raced out into the living room. His head thudded between each step.
“And look at the good that’s done me!” Henri yelled.
The moment Birch stopped in the doorway, both turned their glares on him, and he felt the hefty weight of their anger. With over a decade of horse training behind him, the calm balance needed for dealing with hairy situations came as second nature to him. He needed to redirect them. “Where’s Nate?”
“He’s outside!” snapped Jason.
“At three in the morning?”
Jason’s sigh was the break Birch was looking for, a sign he was letting go of his anger.
“Making sure no one followed Henri.”
The palpable aggression was dissipating, and Birch turned to Henri. He looked like a wild man with his unshaven face, mud-splattered boots, and jeans. His T-shirt was stretched out of shape and sported a tear near the hem. Thick hair trailed down his back, a handful falling over one shoulder to rest on his chest.
“You have a sprig in your hair.” Birch didn’t know what he expected in response to his bizarre statement, but Henri’s steely gaze burnt into him. “You look like you could do with a shower and a sleep.”
Henri bent and snatched up his rucksack before stalking from the room.
“Did he know that was waiting for him when he arrived?” asked Birch.
“Who the fuck knows where his head is at!”
Birch held up hands of surrender. He’d merely wanted to know if Henri had willingly walked into Jason’s wall of anger. Given Henri’s unpredictable behaviour so far, he might have run headlong into it singing and dancing for all Birch knew. However, there was also the possibility that facing an argument might have been why Henri had needed to be convinced to come to the safe house.
“It’s late,” Birch said. “I’m going back to bed.”
Chapter 5
HENRI’S EYES flew open to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside table. It was still dark, and there was no doubt in his mind who was calling. Regardless, he picked up the phone and looked at the number. He didn’t know whether Russell really had that many phones, or if he somehow organized a different number to display, but it was never the same number twice.
He hoped Russell appreciated the irony that it was his own actions that ensured Henri never accidentally answered the phone to him. How Russell had gotten his phone number this time, he couldn’t begin to fathom. If he thought he could throw the fucker off by getting another number, he would, but it would likely cause him more difficulty than it would Russell.
When the phone stopped vibrating, he waited for the beep that indicated a message. Self-disgust surged when he dialled his message bank. In the beginning, he’d deleted the messages without listening to them, but as they kept coming, morbid curiosity got the better of him—and continued to get the better of him.
I really miss you, Henri. You’ve been such a huge part of my life for so long. I miss seeing you. I miss hearing you. One of my favourite things about you was that wild look you got in your eyes….
Henri hung up. He knew what came next, and he didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t bear to hear it. He’d made the mistake of listening to one of the many messages Russell had sent over the last few days in its entirety, and something inside him had broken.
Whether he’d lost consciousness, lost touch with reality, or something else entirely, he didn’t know, but when awareness returned, he found himself curled on the ground, crying.
Since then, the tears that had dried over a year ago had returned to sit just below the surface, waiting for a feather to scratch the top off. He hated himself for reacting to Russell’s taunts, but that he responded to them so profoundly scared the hell out of him.
He needed to harden the fuck up—of course, that was easier to say than do. It wasn’t like there were any “how to harden the fuck up” directions floating around. One of the many therapists he’d had once told him, “Remember, Henri, the world is not out to get you.” The guy was clearly a miracle maker; it was a miracle Henri hadn’t shoved his head through a fucking wall. He didn’t need a psych degree to know it didn’t take the whole world to fuck someone up. A single person could manage it just fine; he was living proof.
Tipping his head back, he exhaled. Why did he keep listening to Russell’s bullshit? Was he trying to go crazy?
Some irrational part of him clung to a vague belief that if he could withstand what had become a barrage of messages and listened to the content without breaking, he would somehow be immune to their power.
Intellectually, he knew it didn’t work that way, but emotionally, he was heavily invested in the idea—maybe because at this point he couldn’t afford not to believe it. The thought of living the rest of his life under the curse of Russell left him wondering if it was worth it. If the past few years were anything to go by, it wasn’t. But then, could he really judge the future based on the past?
MORNING SUN filtered onto the back porch through the trees that bordered the yard, and Birch sat with closed eyes, enjoying the warmth on his face. The sound of muffled yells from inside the house put him on instant alert. Jason and Nate were both in there somewhere. He hoped.
Birch rose and entered through the back door, closing it quietly behind him. He listened but couldn’t hear any movement. His heart rate ratcheted up. There should be some sound from one of the others. He tiptoed through the great room into the hallway and stopped. Still no sound. Rounding the corner, he started when Jason emerged from the nearest bedroom. Birch released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“It’s all right,” said Jason. “It was Henri having a nightmare.”
Birch’s eyes were drawn to the shoulder holster Jason was wearing over his T-shirt. This shit was getting too real, and guns made him nervous. “You thought you’d need a gun to wake him?”
“Get used to it, Birch. Now Henri’s here, there’s a lot more likelihood Russell will show up.”
A little shaky, Birch retreated to the kitchen, where he found Nate at the start of the lunch preparations—a pastime that obviously also required firearm
s.
Since he’d heard no noise from the kitchen when he came in, he guessed Nate had been listening as well.
Birch eyed Nate’s trousers. “Do you go to a special store to buy pockets?”
Nate looked down at his lower half. “Ridiculously brilliant, aren’t they? The problem is, you can only put soft things in these pockets at the back,” he said as he twisted to indicate which ones, “or it hurts like hell when you sit down.”
“They must weigh a ton if even half those pockets are in use at any given time. Maybe you could fill them with air pouches in case you were stranded at sea and your boat got blown up. They could be floaties.”
Nate laughed and shook his head in mock disbelief. “I believe you’re looking for the term ‘air floatation device.’ Have you come to help with lunch?”
“How could I resist such a hopeful request?”
“That transparent, was it?”
“I think it was the sudden change of subject that clued me in. Don’t you like to cook?” Birch looked at the uncut vegetables next to the chopping board and moved in for the kill.
“Not really. Do you?”
He cast a wary look at Nate before he turned his attention back to the carrot he was chopping. “I’m not answering that on the grounds it may get me assigned to the cooking of every meal.”
“I’m not a fan of your cunning right now.”
Birch helped with lunch, and they had almost finished eating when Henri emerged, freshly shaven and showered. His wet hair hung past his shoulder blades, and he wore clean sweatpants topped by a long-sleeved shirt that hung open to reveal a T-shirt beneath. Despite it being past midday, he looked wrung out, and Birch wondered how much sleep he’d actually gotten.
After lunch and the cleanup, Birch decided to return to the porch and found Henri sitting in one of the chairs, his leg jiggling. Since everyone else seemed strangely tolerant of Henri’s peculiar mood swings, Birch decided to try again. “Mind if I join you?”
“Go ahead.”
Birch sought a subject that might bring them some amusement. “What do you do for fun, Henri?”
