God. Everything had been fucked up by this stupid flu. Two deals gone haywire in as many days. In Jack’s absence, McIntosh was probably copping it for authorising the tail. Ethan, too, was undoubtedly regretting showing up this time—not the first time, either, though Jack had usually been able to salvage something good from those previous times. He didn’t think he would this time, however. Sadly, heading back to the Office and sorting out the mess he’d made of his job took priority.
And if McIntosh found out Ethan had been here while Jack was compromised, then it wouldn’t just be this op under question.
Jack rolled to his side, his back to Ethan. In the morning, he’d thank Ethan for his help, suggest it was time he went on his way and then go take responsibility for his actions at the Office, so his Director wouldn’t have to. It was a completely screwed up situation but Jack would have to deal with it as best he could.
Even though his mind was made up, it took forever for him to fall asleep. It didn’t help that Ethan didn’t sleep, either, and Jack couldn’t tell if the sense of alertness coming from the man was Ethan thinking Jack still needed to be watched over, or disgruntlement at all the ways Jack had disappointed him this time.
When sleep did arrive, it was restless and hectic with nonsensical images, blurring Ethan into a progress report to his directors at work; replacing McIntosh with his father, their disapproving frowns exact replicas. Director Alex Tan angrily informed Jack that not blowing Ethan was a breach of their agreement. An unseen person announced Dixie Normous to a scathing audience, the curtains opening on Sheila chewing cud and spitting.
Startled awake, Jack found himself looking at the implant overlay, watching as it reported the results of the cognitive model. Which shocked him the rest of the way to awareness.
Jack sat up fast, his head spinning only a little bit. Fuck. He’d somehow managed to initiate a model without realising it. How long had it been running? The entire time he’d been sick, or only part of it? A properly conducted model required a deep trance state and usually only lasted several hours while the implant accessed a defined set of memories. During the process, Jack had often experienced flash-back like episodes, coming out of it occasionally rattled. However, thanks to the altered mind-state, he’d not been able to act on those memories, hadn’t been able to hurt anyone with them. All bets, however, were off with a model that had somehow managed to run while he was mostly conscious.
Unless . . .
The bed was empty but for him. No Ethan anywhere in the bedroom. Getting up, Jack scouted the rest of his place, feeling strength return to his limbs as he moved without pain for the first time in what felt like forever. Relieved he was better, Jack was nevertheless upset to find no trace of Ethan at all. No mugs sitting in the draining rack from his morning tea. No fastidious tidying of all the small, inconsequential things Jack left wherever. No lingering scent of gun oil at the dining room table from Ethan cleaning his weapons. Nothing to prove he’d been there at all in recent times.
Had Jack dreamed it all? Had his fevered mind and unfocused implant conjured a realistic Ethan Blade out of nothing more than memory and desperate want? It had been nearly five weeks since Jack had seen him last and that hadn’t ended on an entirely positive note. All Jack had wanted since Ethan had vanished from the Gold Coast was to see him again, to say all the things he hadn’t been brave enough to say then.
A fist pounded on the front door. Casting aside his confused thoughts about whether or not Ethan had been there, about whether or not Jack really wanted something beyond fucking and friendship, he went to the door and keyed on the small screen beside it.
The fisheye camera above his door gave a view of the hallway all the way back to the stairs and lift at the far end. Standing in the middle of the image was Harry, staring at his phone, his other hand raised to thump on the door again.
“Fuck.” Jack unlocked the door just as Harry knocked and opened it. “Morning, Harry,” he grumbled.
“Morning, Jack.” Harry flicked through another page on his phone, then looked up at him. His eyebrows went high and his jaw dropped. “Wow, you look like shit.”
“Thanks. I feel like a sparkling rainbow.” Jack stepped back and let him in.
Harry snickered and came in. “You do know unicorns shit sparkling rainbows, right?”
Jack glared at the back of his head. “I assume you’re here to haul me back in to work.”
“Nope. Just a check-in. Make sure you didn’t die or anything.” Instead of leaving now his mission had been satisfied, he went and parked his arse on a stool at the kitchen counter. “You’re mobile and mostly sensible. Guess it can’t have been an honest-to-God man flu, huh.”
A memory of being forced onto his stomach followed by a sharp sting in his arse made Jack hesitate over his answer. Had he recovered naturally or had Ethan helped? Not quite at the stage where he felt he could grope his own arse in front of Harry, Jack headed for the bathroom.
“Stay there,” he told Harry in his best dog-training voice. “I’ll shower and then you can drive me in.” He might feel better but he wasn’t about to risk taking the bike.
“No rush, mate. McIntosh gave you another day off.”
Jack locked the bathroom door behind him. Shoving his shorts off, he turned around before the vanity and, up on his toes, tried to get a look at his left cheek. Sure enough, right in the meatiest part, was a small bruise around a tiny red dot.
He sank down and rested his naked butt against the cool marble. Ethan had been here, which meant the vague images of him being exasperated with Jack were real. And the totally embarrassing moment when Jack had had to leave him primed and cocked, and then do absolutely nothing about it. No wonder Ethan had gone before Jack had woken up. Insulted however many times and not even getting what he’d come for.
“Fuck it,” Jack muttered, and got into the shower.
If Ethan finally decided it was all too difficult for a few orgasms that he could probably get elsewhere with half the trouble, then it was probably for the best. He wouldn’t have to risk getting into the country without being detected, wouldn’t have to suffer through Jack’s moods and wouldn’t have to make dangerously fast exits when it all went pear-shaped. Jack wouldn’t have to worry about him or make agreements with a director he didn’t respect and end up on dead end assignments like Delta Subject. It was for the best.
So why did Jack want the door to the shower to open so Ethan could slip in and join him?
That fantasy didn’t come true and Jack finished showering alone. Dried off alone and pulled on a suit alone. If he had to face down at least one, but more likely two, pissed-off directors, he should probably look like he took the situation seriously.
“Now you look like a sparkly rainbow,” Harry announced when Jack stalked past him on the way to the front door. “Storm cloud included. Seriously, you have another sick day owing. Maybe you should take it?”
“Let’s go, princess,” Jack snapped and regretted it. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong.
They may have only been working together for a couple of months, but Harry’d had a crash course in the Tao of Jack, so he just slid off the stool and followed him out. “Any word on when I’ll get my T-shirt back?”
Jack frowned, recalling agreeing to swap shirts with Harry before heading into Slayed, but after that . . . “Yeah, probably should just get a new one.” That way, even if Jack found it somewhere, he could happily consign it to the nearest incinerator without feeling guilty.
Harry shrugged. “Likewise, mate. Yours didn’t last the night, either.”
“What happened to it?”
“You don’t remember?” Harry hit the down button on the lift, then did a double take at Jack opening the door to the stairwell. Sighing, he dutifully followed his field leader down two flights of stairs. “That’s probably for the best.”
Refusing to feel the blush creeping up his neck, Jack muttered, “I wish people would stop saying that to me.”
&nbs
p; On the drive to the Neville Crawley Building, Harry got Jack up to date on the current situation at the Office. Which was, basically, nothing out of the ordinary. Harry and Scott had reported in after dropping Jack off at home, McIntosh had granted Jack his sick leave and that was it. Harry had spent the next day ensuring none of their activities had been noticed by other agencies and submitting the operation details to the unit leader. He hadn’t even been called to task about breaking protocol and following Delta Subject.
As Harry drove them down into the underground carpark, Jack suspected McIntosh, Tan and Keri Sing were waiting to explode all over him. Putting the blame where it was due. And the only defence he had was the results of a half-arsed cognitive model done while he’d been wracked with fevers, probably with compromising images of Ethan thrown in for good measure. Until he was able to access the results, he couldn’t risk letting anyone know about it.
Not willing to show up at McIntosh’s office sweaty and aching, Jack took the lift to the tenth floor, Harry by his side.
As they stepped out into the carpeted hallway, Harry said softly, “I’m with you, boss. All the way.”
The support was appreciated and Jack told him so with a grunt. However, Miller informed them Director McIntosh wanted to see only Jack. Leaving Harry sitting dejectedly on a chair in the waiting area, Jack went in to face the consequences.
“Jack, sit.” McIntosh didn’t have her glasses on and her sky-blue eyes watched him critically as he did as instructed. “How are you feeling?”
“Perfectly fine, ma’am. I’m sorry for the way the operation went down. I’m the only one to blame for it. Both Harry and Scott registered their objection to me going into the club, but I overruled them.”
“Thank you for being so candid,” she said. “Harry and Scott both submitted reports to that effect as well. However, Harry did insist he was to blame for not realising just how sick you were before you went into the field.”
Heartened by his second’s support, Jack nevertheless said, “Still not his fault.”
McIntosh snorted softly. “I think I’ve noted in the past how stubborn you can be. No reprimand will go Harry’s way over this mess.” Her eyes went a little steely as she gave Jack a pointed look. “Consider yourself officially reprimanded, Jack Reardon.”
Jack blinked. That had to be the least painful reprimand McIntosh had ever delivered. She was fair, but tough. Granted the whole Blade-Harraway affair had been bigger than this one on the order of magnitudes, but five months later Jack was still treading lightly around McIntosh, even after his actions had been cleared by the director in charge.
“I must inform you that you are no longer working with Keri Sing’s unit. However you accomplished it, Jack, you have your wish. Delta Subject is no longer our concern.”
Christ. Hearing that should have made Jack’s morning, but it felt like a bitter defeat. His first job as a field leader and he failed spectacularly. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you know who’s taking it over?”
“Not at this point. It may be they’ve finally worked out Delta Subject isn’t worth the time, or they’re keeping it within ETA. Either way, it’s not our concern anymore. Everything your team gathered has already been handed over. Once you file a report on the nightclub, that will go to ETA as well.”
Nodding, Jack asked, “And Tan? Do I have to face him over this?”
McIntosh gave him a chilly little smile. “No. The moment he declared you off the job, I declared he had no access to you on this matter. Any other agreements you have with him are still yours to deal with, though.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His first op as a field leader may have gone tits up and he may have been removed from the job entirely, but at least he’d escaped with his director’s backing still in place. He would just have to be extra careful to not piss her off for a while. And when Ethan returned, Jack would do everything he could to make sure he didn’t leave again.
About the Author
L.J. Hayward lives and writes in southeast Queensland, Australia. That is, when she’s not in the lab cackling like a mad (always provoked!) scientist or talking about herself awkwardly in the third person.
Website: http://www.ljhayward.com/
Twitter: @lj_hayward
Acknowledgements
I feel like dittoing the Acknowledgements on the previous novella. All the same people have been just as awesome and supportive, Layla Reyne, Erin McLellan and Allison Temple. Thank you again and forever! This time I also want to give a big shout out to everyone who’s stuck with me throughout this process. You are all amazing! We’re up to novella two and things are still going forward. Yay us!!
Books
Death and the Devil
Where Death Meets the Devil - Jack Reardon, former SAS soldier and current Australian Meta-State asset, has seen some messy battles. But “messy” takes on a whole new meaning when he finds himself tied to a chair in a torture shack, his cover blown wide open, all thanks to notorious killer-for-hire Ethan Blade.
Where Death Meets the Devil :Coda – Ten hours ago, Jack Reardon completed the messiest case of his career. Lucky to get through it with his life and a promotion, all he wants to do is catch up on missed sleep. Which won’t happen thanks to a bothersome house-invasion from assassin extraordinaire, Ethan Blade—who is also the reason he almost lost his life and job.
Bargaining with the Devil, A Death and the Devil Novella - Meta-State spy Jack Reardon believes it’s all been taken care of. He has his verbal agreement with his boss to “keep Blade happy,” and Jack is more than willing to do his best in that regard. He also has his bargain with Ethan, to keep seeing each other whenever they cross paths. Small victories, interspersed with exploding bombs, smashed cars and miffed co-workers, all while consorting with an international assassin.
Night Call
Blood Work - Matt Hawkins kills monsters for a living. Slay and pay. Werewolves, trolls, the occasional ghoul that gets a bit too big for its grave; but basically, whatever nasty critter crosses his path. Mostly, he kills vampires. While he’s made something of a living out of it, he doesn't even need the promise of cash to take down a vampire. Sure, it’s a nice bonus, but vampires are his personal crusade.
Demon Dei - It's been six months since the harrowing conclusion of Blood Work and Matt's waiting for the fiery repercussions. And waiting. And waiting. Even if no Big Bad wants revenge, shouldn't he be in hot demand? Like the lawyer who wins the unwinnable case. Or the mechanic who works out what that clunking noise is in your car. Instead, Matt finds himself struggling to maintain his career as the Night Caller. But things are about to get nasty in a big, big way.
Here Be Dragons – (short story) Sunday. Day of Rest. To anyone not Matt Hawkins, vampire-slayer extraordinaire, that is. A short story set in the world of Night Call, between the novels Demon Dei and Rock Paper Sorcery.
Rock Paper Sorcery – Vanquishing vampire Primals and defeating Demon Lords is one thing. They’re dangerous in an obvious, tooth and claw way. But when a sorcerer comes to town chasing a murderous rogue, Matt Hawkins is faced with something he doesn’t know how to deal with—competition as the city’s resident badarse supernatural warrior.
When the Devil Drives Page 10
