Identity Crisis (Blood Brothers #4)

by Manda Mellett

  So, I avoid her after acknowledging her pleasant greeting and, swiping my card through the reader, enter through the security gates. Taking the lift to the third floor, I pause at the coffee machine to grab a drink before heading into the conference room where we hold ‘morning prayers’, the name given to our regular early Monday morning meeting. This normally takes the line of a general catch up, an update on current assignments, and, hopefully in my case today, the allocation of new ones.

  “Good weekend?” A slap on my back has me turning, and I acknowledge Jon Tharpe, one of the partners, with a grin and a jerk of my chin.

  “Great and yours?” As I give the practiced and expected, if not quite truthful response, an image of the sub I’d seen subjected to wax play comes into my mind. I shake my head to dismiss it. “I saw Mia at the club on Saturday, Jon, with Donovan.” I pause, and we share a grin, each of us remembering their first inauspicious meeting. Then I politely enquire, “Pregnancy going okay? She must be due any day now.” It’s something of a miracle that she conceived, and I know everyone’s behind the couple in making sure it proceeds smoothly this time.

  “She’s still got three weeks to go. On one hand, I can’t wait, on the other, fuck, I think I’m more worried about it than she is.”

  “She’ll be fine,” I hasten to reassure him, “She’s a strong, brave woman.”

  Jon laughs in agreement, then adds a comment about how his weekend was spent buying up last minute stuff for their expected addition as we make our way to the meeting just in time to be called to order by Ben, the senior partner. Noticing Ben’s staring intently at me as I walk in, I concentrate on hiding my residual limp, knowing his eagle eyes will be assessing the way I’m moving. It makes me hopeful he’s considering putting me out in the field soon. I know he gets the medical reports, but hope he’ll prefer to rely on the evidence in front of him rather than the, in my view, overly pessimistic predictions of the medics. As a good employer, Ben is sometimes known to be over-cautious with his men, but fuck me, I hope he can see it would be bad for my mental health if he doesn’t assign me something soon. I’m going stir crazy stuck in the office.

  It’s the day after the weekend, and Grade A is an informal place to work. Our roles as Close Protection Officers often require intense concentration, the slightest loss of focus could mean injury or death to the client or the CPO themselves. Back at base we tend to relax, so it takes Ben a while to shut down the individual conversations about what everyone did on their days off, and to get all of our attention. Used to the shenanigans, I pass the time flicking through the documents that have just been downloaded to my tablet in front of me, hoping that I’ll see my name somewhere on the agenda. I don’t. Fuck.

  Curbing my frustration, I look around the table, noting who’s here. There’s Jon and, of course, Ben. Ryan’s seated a little way down the table, and Harry, Nat, and Seth are also present. Vanessa’s sitting opposite me, and Nafisa next to her―the pair making up our office support staff―which means almost the full top team is present today. Jason Deville, the other senior partner, is still absent, engaged in work abroad. In fact, he seems to have been missing in action during all my six years with the company. I’ve never seen him, and sometimes think he’s a figment of everyone else’s imagination.

  A surprise additional attendee is Hunter Wright. Although a paid employee of Grade A, we all know that he’s working for the British Government in some capacity or other, even if no mention of that is ever made outside the third-floor offices and this conference room.

  Hunter’s report is first on the agenda, and I listen carefully as he fills us in on the current situation in Amahad, the country where I was working when I got kidnaped and shot six months ago. Despite the horrific position I’d ended up in, I do have a fondness for the country where I’ve often been assigned to provide protection for the Emir and his family, as well as security for their oil operation, so I’m interested in Hunter’s summary of what’s happening in the region. I listen, making notes on my tablet of facts I’ll need to remember.

  “What’s your view on the current risks at the oil field development, Hunter?” Ben asks a direct question. “Is our team big enough on the ground in Amahad?” Having recently found oil under the sands of Amahad and its neighbouring countries, getting the drilling for the wells underway and establishing a pipeline to take the liquid gold to the coast is a risky venture in these troubled times. A target for terrorist attacks.

  Hunter’s eyes tighten before he gives his considered response, “I think so. Neighbouring Alair is supplying part of their army, and Ezirad seems quiet right now. I’m going out there again next week, so I’ll keep you informed if anything changes.”

  “And anything from Amir al-Farhi?”

  Shrugging, Hunter gives only a vague reply. “Most of the world’s governments are hunting for him. We can only do our best to stay on guard.” They’re referring to the number one terrorist, responsible for so many terror attacks across the globe. Only last year al-Farhi had plotted to fabricate reports falsifying the results from the original test wells, making people believe there was no oil to be found in Amahad and, as a result, causing discord amongst the desert tribes. When the truth came out, instead of causing civil war, the tribes had become united in the potential exploitation of the wealth under their lands. But none of us would be stupid enough to believe Amahad had heard the last of the international terrorist.

  “Okay, on with the agenda then…” Ben’s interrupted by a knock on the door. He tilts his head, his brow furrowed. Team meetings are sacrosanct, confidential, and normally never disturbed. We all turn off our phones when entering, guaranteeing no interruptions from that quarter, unless it’s for something critical. He glances around the table, sharing our puzzled looks. Then, as if deciding no one would butt in without good cause calls out, “Enter!”

  The door opens cautiously, as if the messenger is frightened to put his head in the lion’s den. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” starts David, Ben’s personal assistant, rather sheepishly. He wavers on the threshold as though uncertain whether his message is significant enough to intrude on us or not. “But there’s a bit of a commotion in the lobby. Sean needs to get down there as soon as possible.”

  Me? A commotion? What the fuck? “What’s up, David?” I’m as puzzled as Ben and annoyed at the disruption to the meeting. I wanted to get on with discussing the new assignments.

  “Sorry,” his hands flutter apologetically, “I don’t know the details. But I think it’s personal.”

  Personal? For me? Jon snorts beside me, “You forget to wrap it up, man? Is that your baby mama down there?”

  I should have guessed he’d jump to something like that. I thump his arm, “Shut it!”

  “Probably an angry husband!”

  “Fuck off, Ryan.” I scoff at the light-hearted ribbing.

  “Or an angry wife!”

  Even I smirk at the amusing comment. The ribaldry round the room is not unexpected, but I give an exaggerated sign of resignation and get to my feet. My reputation precedes me. If only they knew the truth. I haven’t dipped my wick since before the shooting.

  Ben nods at me, his head tilted to one side in question, unable to completely suppress a look of annoyance at the disturbance to our meeting, but giving me his permission to go find out what’s so important David’s felt the need to disturb us. Ignoring the remainder of the snide comments still coming from various quarters and flipping a two-fingered salute over my shoulder as my parting shot, I leave the room with nothing more than mild curiosity, to find out what the fuss is all about down in the lobby. Whatever it is, Sandra will probably be having a field day.

  Chapter 3

  Vanessa

  Monday morning team meetings can go one of two ways. They can be as boring as hell or edge of your seat gripping, depending what cases we’re currently working. The time we were trying to locate the erotic fiction writer Mia Fable, who’s now the wife of one of my bosses, Jon, and who
’d been kidnapped by a dangerous stalker, definitely came under the heading of the latter. It had quickly become a matter of life or death, and being part of that team was nail-biting and exhilarating, particularly as we won out in the end. But today’s agenda holds nothing like that. Having helped prepare it, I already know it’s comparatively boring stuff coming up, and no exciting new assignments of note either. At least none which will be assigned to me.

  When will Ben relent, and assign me my own client? I keep asking, but to date have only received non-committal answers, which is frustrating seeing I’ve worked so hard over the last couple of years. I’ve completed all my official training, have got my firearms’ certificate, have proved proficient in a number of different martial arts and, a few weeks ago, finally received my SIA license, making me a fully qualified Close Protection Officer. But the partners continue keeping me close to the office. True, I’m the only female CPO on the books and don’t have a military background like most of the others, but that shouldn’t be holding me back. And if my sex was any part of the reason I’m being kept office bound, I could threaten to take them to the employment tribunal.

  Not that I would, of course; I enjoy working here too much, even though it’s amongst a group consisting predominantly of overly protective males. For now, it seems I must remain content with being the in-house ‘go to’ expert, together with my colleague, Nafisa. Nafisa and I work with logistics, extracting information from computer systems. Together we map coincidences and join sometimes obscure pieces of information to give the CPOs on the front line the intelligence they need to do their jobs. Most of the time it’s damn boring, but oh, so necessary and exciting; particularly when we’re doing our part and working against the clock to save a life. But it doesn’t stop me craving to be out there, putting my new skills into practice.

  Prayers start at nine. As usual, I leave my desk ten minutes early and arrive before anyone else, carefully carrying my near over-flowing cup of coffee. While officially anyone can sit where they want, except for Ben’s place as Chair, of course, being creatures of habit we tend to navigate to the same positions. Seating myself opposite the chair Sean normally takes, I bide my time, and then, when he eventually enters the room, greedily soak in his tall, slender frame and roguish good looks. I’ve waited all weekend for this chance to feast my eyes on the man who haunts my dreams and is the image I see in my mind when I allow myself time with my battery-operated boyfriend. Oh, the fantasies I have about him. Whoops! Now I have to cast my eyes downwards and pretend to study my screen, in case he glances across at me and correctly interprets the red flush that’s come to my cheeks betraying the inappropriate direction of my thoughts. Christ, now that would be embarrassing!

  Sean Cooper joined Grade A soon after I started, and for the first four years I admired and lusted after him from afar. Then, when my one attempt at a relationship came to such a disastrous end, even he could no longer tempt me. I’d sworn off men. Or so I thought.

  While he’s been office bound and we’ve been working in closer proximity over the last few months, I’ve found myself regaining that earlier attraction. There’s just something about him which draws me in, even while knowing I’ll never have a chance to be more. He’s so self-assured, well-built and handsome, any woman would want to fall at his feet. And often do, if the conversations I overhear have much truth to them. What chance would I have? If, in all these years, he hasn’t looked at me twice, he’s hardly going to start doing so now. I sigh, my hand covering my mouth, pretending to hide a yawn. Eye candy, that’s all he can ever be. But while others might resent Monday mornings, I look forward to them as they signify five days ahead working with Sean.

  As conversation goes on around me, I cast another quick glance at him, soaking in the sight I’ve been waiting for since Friday evening, and then take a moment to give equal nods and smiles at all my other colleagues who are now in their seats. It’s my usual ploy, I work hard on not giving myself away.

  As we wait for the various discussions to cease and jokes to be laughed at, I consider the members of the team. Jon, Ben, and the absent Jason Deville are co-partners in Grade A, but Jon and Jason also part-own an exclusive BDSM club in South London. As employees, if we have such an inclination, we can join without having to cough up the very hefty membership fees. Most of the men sitting around the table haven’t been able to resist the offer and have become members, and I happen to know Sean is one to have taken up the opportunity.

  So far, I’ve not been able to summon up the courage to join myself, but my fantasies often lead me there. If I was brave, and took the leap, could it be a way of getting him to notice me? For Sean, I understand, that lifestyle is an important part of his life. Since Mia’s stalker case a year ago, I’ve known secrets about him that even Sandra doesn’t know. As part of the investigation, when Sean had been tasked with going into the seedier BDSM clubs to expose a wannabe Dom, I’d been called on to research similar clubs and activities, and admit what I learned intrigues me.

  My position in the company means I know a lot about the employees and partners of Grade A, more so even than Sandra, the nosy receptionist who could probably get a dead body to give up his secrets. Such as the fact that Sean’s unusual, even in the lifestyle he’s chosen. Not only is he devastatingly handsome, but he's also a switch; meaning he can be a Dominant or a submissive. And as if that isn’t enough, he isn’t particularly selective as to which sex he played these roles with. I risk a quick look across at him, recalling the rumours I’ve heard about how he likes variety. Perhaps he’s just looking for the right person to settle down with. And though I doubt I could ever be that special someone, it does nothing to dampen my attraction to him. Damn hormones!

  Allowing myself a quick daydream, I know exactly what role I’d like to take with him. I just need the man to see me as a woman, not a piece of office furniture! Without thinking, I exhale a long breath, loud enough to get a few looks thrown at me.

  “Keeping you up, Van?” Jon jokes from across the table.

  “Late night?” Ryan, sitting next to me, nudges me in the arm and winks knowingly.

  Shaking my head in response and thinking, I wish, I notice the man who’s captured my interest hasn’t once glanced my way. Oh well, par for the course. Sometimes I think I must be invisible.

  Ben coughs, and at last gets the meeting started. I force my thoughts back to where they should be, and concentrate on Hunter’s briefing about the situation in Amahad. We might joke and laugh our way through, but our work is serious and having up to date information is imperative.

  The abnormal interruption of the meeting comes as a surprise to us all, particularly as it’s a personal matter concerning Sean. Ben’s assistant knows better than to interrupt for anything trivial, so immediately I know it must be serious. Bemused, I look on as Sean gets to his feet and leaves the room, unable to dismiss my feelings of concern as he derides the teasing thrown at him with the contempt, in my view, it deserves. Even after he closes the door, the comments continue.

  “A tenner says it’s a dissatisfied lover.” Jon throws a crisp ten-pound note into the centre of the table.

  Dissatisfied? If Sean leaves any lover wanting I’d be very surprised. Not that I would know what satisfied feels like if it jumped up and bit me.

  “He’s got a woman in trouble.” Ryan’s opening his wallet and extracting an identical note.

  “He’s got a speeding fine.”

  I would have thought Ben would have been above all this, but he puts his money down too.

  “Insider knowledge, Ben?” Jon narrows his eyes, then his lips curve as he grins at his partner’s response.

  “Fuck no! But we all know how he drives!

  As laughter rings around I frown, being worried about the man in question, I can’t help myself. “You lot are awful! What if his mum’s had an accident or something? Shisk! It might be something dreadful!” It’s common knowledge that Sean adores his mother, his only relative. And we all apprecia
te the delicious cupcakes she bakes and sends in with him occasionally. Even if just a whiff of them makes me gain a few kilos.

  One corner of his mouth twists and turns down, and after throwing me a sheepish glance of acknowledgment, Ben bangs his hand on the table. “Van’s right. Come on, let’s move it along now. Anything that’s our concern we’ll know soon enough.” He eyes the pot on the table. “Van, if it is something serious we’ll donate the money to charity, okay?” His eyes question me. At my nod of agreement to the compromise he continues. “It’s probably none of our business and we’ve got important things to discuss here. Next item on the agenda then.”

  After such an unusual interruption, I have difficulty trying to concentrate during the rest of the meeting. To everyone else, Sean’s a well-respected work colleague and friend, but to me, at least in my head, he’s something more, and I can’t suppress the flicker of worry inside me. I hate myself for even thinking it, but if something awful has happened to Sean, he might need a shoulder to lean on. And I’m certainly willing to make myself available for that. Whatever has happened, if he needs support, I’m determined to be the one to provide it.

  Chapter 4

  Sean

  Though I successfully hid it from the rest of the team, my leg is giving me jip today, and as I stand in the lift, pressing the button for the ground floor, it throbs with pain. That I’m not as fit as I hoped I’d by this point makes me hit the side wall with my fist in frustration. Fuck! I think back to that bastard St John-Davies and can almost feel the bullets tearing into my legs once again. I’d been powerless and helpless at the time, handcuffed, with six men all targeting me with their guns. If only I can get rid of this pain, I might also be able to escape the recurrent nightmares about that day.

  The aching I’d been trying to conceal momentarily takes my mind off the strange summons to the reception area of our building. But as the lift descends floor by floor I force memories of the past which I can’t change out of my mind, and turn my thoughts instead to wonder what on earth I’m going to find at my destination. It must be something important if it was enough to cause David to break into our sacrosanct meeting.