Hidden Secrets (Garrett Investigation Book 1)

by Claire Plaisted

  All colour slid out of Ana’s face in shock, “H-how did you know?”

  “That can be my secret,” he said, kissing her nose, “now get back to work woman and make me some food.”

  “Tell me Mal, how did you know?”

  “Your tattoo Ana, I saw it when you reached up to get the spices.”

  “Oh bugger, don’t tell anyone Mal, she is one of my undercover girls.”

  “You have more.”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out Mal, now behave. Go and get a bottle of wine; we’ll need a good cabernet for tonight.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he saluted, “What are you making?”

  “Lasagne with stir-fry, it’s the best you will ever taste too.”

  With ambience in the air…he wished; they ate at the kitchen counter; the lasagne was beautiful, he wished he could eat more.

  “You must have an Italian mother because that was divine Ana.

  “No Mal. I’m adopted. A White Russian couple who’d migrated to America brought me up. They were the perfect parents, except they couldn’t control me at all. From the time I was eight, they sent me to my aunt every summer. This is partly why I became an agent,” she shrugged, “what about you?”

  “I don’t remember my mother; she died when I was little. My father brought me up with the help of a nanny and my adorable housekeeper.”

  “Sounds like you had a fun childhood.”

  “Yeah, it was good. I just wish I’d known my mother better; she was beautiful and adored me from what dad said.”

  “Well, you turned out ok, I suppose,” she sniggered.

  “Charmed as always,” he said, grabbing her. She stood between his legs as he held her close feeling her heart pound, “sleep with me tonight Ana.”

  Her hands on his knees, she massaged his thighs, “Get much closer,” he moaned quietly, “and I’ll take you here and now.”

  “Hell no, Mal,” she backed off hurriedly, “dishes to wash,” she rushed away.

  “Not scared are you Ana,” he asked quietly, stalking her across the kitchen.

  “Keep away Mal,” she laughed, “Don’t you dare touch me.”

  “Hmm, I can’t resist a dare? I never turn those down.”

  Ana ran out of the kitchen grabbing the newel post as she raced round and up the stairs as fast as she could go. Laughing; she opened her door, slamming it in Mal’s face. She slid down her bedroom door calming herself.

  “Shit your fast Ana, let me in.”

  “Hell no, way Mal,” she snorted.

  “Excuse me boss, is everything all right. I thought I heard a noise,” Yuri smirked.

  “Fuck off Yuri, go check the perimeter.”

  “Yes sir,” he grinned.

  “Ana let me in please,” he pleaded through the door.

  She opened the door, peeking out, “go away Mal.”

  “I want you Ana. Let me in.”

  Opening the door, she looked him up and down; her eyes lingered on his groin, a small smirk touching her lips as she licked them, she looked back up into his face,

  “Wow Mal, you got a present for me,” she grinned with delight.

  “Let me in and I can show you, Ana.”

  They made slow passionate love that night; clothes dropping where they fell. Exploring each other’s bodies they finally lay together. Mal took her slowly to places she hadn’t known existed. He could wait no longer; he slid swiftly inside. Ana raised her hips, taking him deeper. Here they found their rhythm pushing each other over boundaries as they tensed, losing control tipping over the edge. Sleep claimed them quickly as they snuggled in each other’s arms their bodies moulded together as if they were one.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Boom, the whole house shuddered, waking everyone.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Bomb Mal,” quickly dressing exiting the bedroom they heard gunfire in the grounds. Looking at each other, they returned, grabbing their weapons rushing out on to the landing where they slammed into Yuri. Smoke swirling around them making them cough.

  “What the fuck’s going on Yuri?” snarled Malachy.

  “Stay right where you are, your study is no more,” he said grimly, “A grenade hit. My men are after the bastards. We got one, sadly a bullet in the head.”

  “Christ, this has gone far enough. Attacking me in my own home, they’re going to go down heavily for this,” growled Mal.

  “Yuri, got one alive…just, where do you want him?” came over his walkie-talkie.

  “Boss, presume you want a word,” he said raising an eyebrow.

  “Give him more than a bloody word. Get the asshole in the kitchen. I’ll just go and check out my study for damage.”

  “Believe me, it’s a right off, boss.”

  “Ana, go with Yuri see if you know our prisoner from any of your assignments.”

  “Hope you don’t mind if I smack him around while I’m at it,” she said furiously,” I hate having my sleep disturbed.”

  “Wait until I get there.”

  Crossing to his study, he opened the door, appreciating the luck of having solid wooden ones. It had saved the rest of the house from significant damage. All the smoke gone; he could feel the cool breeze entering through what was once a window; now an enormous gaping hole. No desk, no computer, nothing survived. Usually, he worked here each evening. It was his favourite room. His anger building he marched to the kitchen. “Where’s the bastard?”

  “Right here Mal,” Ana smiled evilly.

  “I’m usually a calm man,” he said as he smacked the prisoner in the mouth. “You’ll talk to us asshole. Who are you? Who are you working for?” The man spat blood out at them glaring, remaining silent.

  “Yuri, take him to the basement; you know what to do.”

  “Yes boss,” a sly smile crossed his face, “You want to come watch Ana.”

  “Yeah, should be fun,” rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

  “Did you ring Moran?”

  “No, wasn’t sure if it’s what you wanted.”

  “Thanks, Yuri.”

  Mal walked off taking out his cell phone he rang Moran.

  “Wha… who the hell is this,” Moran said sleepily.

  “Good morning, Detective. Malachy here, I’ve just had someone leave a gaping hole in my study.”

  “Wha…hang on, say again.”

  “A grenade hit my study about thirty minutes ago destroying it.”

  “Shit, be right over; what’s your address?”

  Giving Moran his address, he closed off his phone walking down to the basement.

  The basement consisted of storage and a small soundproof room. At one time the room had been his mother’s music room. All the instruments including the baby grand piano were gone. In the middle sat the man he’d hit, tied to a chair, bowed head, blood on his shirt.

  “You get anything new Yuri?”

  “Nah, the bastard won’t say nowt!”

  “How about some cutters, the large ones please Yuri.” Mal lifted the man’s head, looking into cold, calculating eyes making him doubt they’d get anything from him. Yuri handed the cutters to Mal. “Well, this is your last opportunity, or I’ll cut off your finger.” Placing the cutters around one of the man’s fingers, Mal asked him once more.

  “Who are you, who are you working for?”

  “Yuri better get a first aid kit; we don’t want him bleeding on the floor,” said Ana. “Not that I care.”

  “Five, four, three, two, one,” Mal snapped the cutters closed the man screamed as his little finger fell to the floor. “If you don’t want to lose another finger I suggest you talk to us.”

  “Fuck you,” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Oh well, you want a go, Yuri? I need to clean up a bit, or Moran will get suspicious about the blood.”

  Yuri grinned in pleasure, “Thanks boss, don’t get to do this often enough.”

  Mal handed him the cutters, leaving the man at the tender mercy of Yuri and Ana w
ondering how many fingers the man would have left when he returned.

  Just as Mal was coming back down the stairs, one of the security team opened the front door.

  “Detective Moran is here sir.”

  “Welcome Detective.”

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I’ll show you, Detective.”

  Opening the study door, he showed Moran the damage done to his study.

  “Christ, bet you’re glad you weren’t in here, not much left is there.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I’d been in the room, Moran.”

  “I’ll get a crime scene team to examine it in the morning. Did you find anyone on your grounds?”

  “No, I think my security firing at them scared them all off, presuming there was more than one person.”

  “Look, it’s five a.m. I’ll organise a crime scene team once I get back to headquarters. Keep this room locked down and get some plastic to cover the hole. We’ll see what class of grenade did this.”

  “Are you any closer to who’s attacking me yet?” He questioned abruptly.

  “Still digging, will let you know when I find something.”

  “Thanks.”

  Moran left. Mal returned down to the basement so he could see how they were going with their prisoner, wondering if they’d got anything else out of him.

  “He lost consciousness, boss.”

  “Any names yet?”

  “I think he mentioned something about a voice, nothing else so far,” stated Ana.

  “Hmm, how many fingers did it take?”

  “I took his middle finger off his other hand,” Yuri replied, “Ana took one of his little toes as a special treat.”

  “Oh well, might as well leave him for the rest of the night, lock up here, put band-aids on his wounds, go get some sleep. Get Quinton to wake us all at ten.”

  “Yeah, will do, see you later.”

  Guiding Ana back upstairs, back to bed they quickly stripped. Hot hands and mouths reaching for each other they tumbled onto the bed. Kissing, nipping Mal thrust deeply inside building them both up high waiting for their explosive energy to collide before collapsing into each other’s arms laughing they slept.

  Friday dawned a mild grey day. Today the funeral would be taking place. Garrett Towers would shut down for the day; office staff and associates went to pay their respects to Marigold Longburn’s family. Her death was a sad loss to the fashion industry. The service was lovely, her family having incredible courage standing together while her husband read the eulogy.

  News reporters were behind barricades. Family and friends mourned in peace. Ana had flashbacks from the day of the blast knowing how lucky she’d been. Her appreciation of life was growing. Since her conversation with Mal, she’d started to think more about her birth mother, wondering who was she, what had happened to her? It looked like she’d need a word with Malachy maybe she could use agency resources to find her.

  Puzzled by Malachy, Fletcher realised he was a stronger character than he’d realised. Evidently the grenade hit his house. There’s no way they could’ve messed up again. His phone rang, he finally got his answer.

  “What do you mean you didn’t all get away?” he shouted. “For fuck’s sake, can’t you lot do anything right.” Slamming the phone shut he glared at nothing in particular. At least the grenade hit Malachy’s house. None of his men would say anything. “Damn,” he muttered the Voice wouldn’t be happy.

  Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with the Voice. His hold over Fletcher was weakening. After all his network of people were loyal to him. One day he’d pinpoint the Voice’s location and blast him to hell and back. He’d report to the Voice, just in case he found out from another source. You could never be too careful.

  “Well done Fletcher,” said the gravelly voice, “I’m pleased with your success. Malachy must be getting nervous now. When can you get your hands on the virus? I’d like some to use,” he laughed.

  “Thank you, sir; I don’t like losing a man. That’s two this week.”

  “We’ll get our revenge son.”

  “Yes, we shall. I’ve organised a lab to reconstruct the virus to enable some testing. It’ll be up and running by tomorrow,” he smiled. “If I can’t duplicate the virus in time I’ll remove a vial from Haven Pharmaceutical’s research lab. All going well, I’ll have some ready in a pressure syringe by Wednesday.”

  “Wonderful, I want to watch this exercise in person, Fletcher.”

  “Your presence would be most welcome sir.”

  “Let me know when you’re ready to inject.”

  “Yes sir.” The link closed.

  Fletcher pondered on the word son. Why had the Voice called him son? A slip of the tongue or was this man really his father; he’d never had parents he remembered. He’d gone to private schools, the best teachers in all subjects. It was at school he’d met Philippe Haier. Philippe invited him to visit one summer. Fletcher saw two adults put their arms around his friend; astonishingly the adults did the same to him. It made him squirm uncomfortably. Philippe introduced them to his parents it was a shock to Fletchers system. He smiled remembering. It was the best summer holiday he’d ever had.

  “I need to find out the truth,” he muttered with no idea where to start. Fletcher was restless he thought back over his childhood wondering if he’d ever been a child at all.

  All he remembered was a white room with puzzles. At random times, a voice told him to put them together. He’d slept in a white room with a single bed; there were no adornments in the room, not even a mirror. Of course, he’d not known any difference until his holiday with Philippe’s family. Their interactions engrossed him, fitting them together like a puzzle bemused him. Perhaps he could ask Philippe to help with his search. Shaking his head from his wandering mind, he got back to work.

  Walking through the cemetery, they walked towards their car. “Ana, what time are you going to Trengrove?”

  “I’ll go in the morning Mal; you could drive me down?”

  “Yuri will drive you down. He won’t let me drive anywhere until this is over. Let’s get back to the manor and see how our prisoner’s doing. Crime scene people should’ve finished by now.”

  “Come on then,” she smiled, “let’s go,” her black suit damp from the misty rain they continued walking when a volley of gunshots broke out. Running zig zag in different directions, they ducked for cover, dirt kicking up behind them. Ana broke her heel as she fell to her knees bullets missing by inches as she rolled behind a headstone. In the background, people started screaming, running in all directions.

  “So much for high security; where the fuck did that come from,” yelled Mal in fury.

  Looking across at Ana, he saw her lying on her front, mud smeared over her; she looked up a shaky, but pissed smile crossing her face. Another hail of bullets smacked into the headstones chips of stone flying in all directions.

  “Where the hell’s security?”

  Sirens blasted through the air as police cars screamed to the scene; chaos ensued. The police were escorting people away from the scene, hoping for no serious injuries. Though Mal and Ana were safe, someone was still taking-pot-shots at them. Nobody dared approach until they found and eliminated the gunman.

  Yuri crawled on his stomach towards the wooded area at the bottom of the cemetery. He knew the shooter was hiding in the trees somewhere. The gunman’s camouflage was top-notch. Two of his men went wide to see if they could get behind him. With a bit of luck, they’d catch a muzzle flash when he shot again.

  Yuri was just at the edge of the trees when he heard more shots, looking up he missed the flash from the gun. Stepping into the woods, he approached where he thought the man was hiding softly and quietly without snapping twigs. Looking up, seeing nothing, his men approached, he cautioned them to stop using hand signals to relay what they’d seen. The gunman was in a tree further back, so well blended they needed to wait for more bullets to whizz over their heads. Watching car
efully, they aimed their guns at the tree, waiting to align them. A sudden volley of shots within moments of one another, a big thud, the gunman fell out of the tree dead.

  “Are you still there Quinton?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Get them out of here the area is clear. If you see Moran, tell him to get over to the woods fast, we’ve a body for him.”

  “Ok, moving out now.”

  Quinton ran towards Mal and Ana, talking to them for a few moments, they both got up running to Quinton’s car, he quickly ushered them inside.

  Quinton found Detective Moran, giving him the report from Yuri. Moran took off toward the woods with two of his officers. Quinton roared off in his car taking Mal and Ana home.

  “Well, wasn’t that fun,” sighed Ana leaning her head back against the headrest, “I need a long hot bath when I get home.”

  “Fun it bloody well wasn’t. I’m going to strangle Fletcher when we finally nab him. If anyone died this time, Fletcher will be dead himself. Who the fuck does he thinks he is it’s beyond me,” scowled Mal angrily.

  “Just don’t take it out on anyone else Mal.”

  “Sir, we’ve taken care of everything,” Quin grinned. “Don’t worry, we have a small surprise for Fletcher. He won’t be smiling by Sunday night,” smiled Quinton evilly.

  “I won’t ask, don’t tell. I’m sure I’ll hear about it soon enough.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Quin, call me boss, will you.”

  “Yes boss.”

  Pulling into the driveway, they were glad to be back, hoping they’d get some peace, and quiet, or both of them would be going to Trengrove. Shaking his head, Mal entered the house wincing at the noise of builders repairing his study window, so much for peace and quiet. Eyes closed for a moment, his head throbbing hard. Opening his eyes again he turned, walking out again, grabbing Ana’s hand as she walked up the front steps; they decided to stroll in the gardens.

  “I have to change Mal.”

  “Forgot you got wet and muddy, sorry, just walk for a few, all that noise is irritating,” letting go of her hand he shoved his deep into coat pockets jingling his keys.