The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  “His reasoning notwithstanding, the Surrey officers felt that Millar was too calm. The home was too tidy. All documents and papers were in order. Mrs. Millar had not been seen by anyone other than her husband for some time prior to the holiday. He had ample opportunity to dispose of her on their automobile trip, for which he could not provide an itinerary. Clearly he was not involved in your attack, but the case in Surrey remains open.” He closed his notebook.

  “Maybe those detectives should see if any of the widows who appeared in his court have disappeared,” Jenny said with a shiver.

  “Indeed. That concludes our official visit.” Wyrick stood and gestured for Mackeson to do the same. “Mrs. Sinclair, I have a question of a more personal nature. The material on your dining room table: What is it, and from where did you obtain it?”

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I guess you could say it came from my grief experience,” she said. “I lived it. Then I wrote it, with additional thoughts, in the hope that it might help other people.”

  “What are you planning to do with it?” he asked.

  “Print and distribute it, why?”

  Wyrick glanced back at Simon and Mackeson, who were conversing about something they both found humourous. He cleared his throat and looked away briefly. “My wife,” he said and stopped.

  He’s uncomfortable, Jenny thought, which means he has feelings. She felt a pang of guilt for calling him a humanoid.

  “She has cancer,” he said quietly. “She couldn’t tolerate the last medication they gave her, and as a result, her prognosis is not good. I’m afraid I may have need of your writing in the not too distant future. I’ll remit whatever is required.”

  “Sergeant Wyrick, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I should have copies available in a matter of weeks. And there’s no charge.”

  “You’ll ring me then, when it’s ready?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Thank you.” He looked again at the other two men. “Mackeson!” he called. “We’re keeping Mrs. Sinclair from her holiday.”

  Mackeson joined him, and the detectives left. Simon turned to Jenny. “We’ll have a quick lunch, then I’ll replace your bandages and load your things in the Audi. Our drive will take several hours.”

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  Jenny was confused. Simon had driven the Audi out of the garage, but he wasn’t accelerating, and he was going the wrong way. “Simon, where are we going? This isn’t the way to Kent.”

  “We have a stop to make first. Somewhere you need to go. Trust me.”

  He headed down Ellerdale and stopped where Ellerdale curved, right where – “Simon, no. Please, no,” she begged. “I just want to get away and forget.”

  “Not going to happen if we don’t do this. Jenny, the attack took place in your neighbourhood. You can’t avoid these streets.” He stepped out of the car and opened her door, extending his hand. “We’ll do this together.”

  She gripped his hand, but he had to pull her to her feet. She felt too lightheaded to stand straight. She felt his arm, firm around her waist.

  “Breathe,” he said. “Count and breathe in, count and breathe out.”

  “One,” she gasped. “Two. Three. Four. Simon, why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because facing your fear is the only way to cut it down to size.”

  “Five. Six. Don’t let go.”

  “Look, Jenny,” he said gently. “It’s just a street.”

  She straightened slightly. The faint feeling had passed.

  “Are these the trees you described? The one with ivy on the trunk? And the fir?”

  “They must be, but – they look so ordinary.”

  “Exactly. Easy peasy. And the pavement?”

  She looked down. “No blood stains. I might never have been here. But I know now why she seemed so tall. The street goes uphill. I was below her.”

  He relaxed his grip on her waist. “We’ll walk to Fitzjohns, then back. So you’ll know you can do it.”

  She held his hand to make sure he walked with her. She remembered how absorbed in thought she had been, not concentrating on each step as she was now, but when her feet crossed the spot where the attack had taken place, she felt no panic, just the deep exhaustion that came with long sought after relief and a corresponding gratitude for the man next to her who had engineered it. She put her arms around him. “I’m okay, Simon. Thank you.”

  He kissed her lightly. “Off to Kent then.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Simon Casey paced. When they arrived in Kent, Jenny was chuffed about their suite in the hotel, exclaiming over the fireplace in the room, the huge footed bathtub in the adjoining room, and the flat screen TV they could see from the bed. Hotel d’Italia: She liked that also, the paintings of Tuscan landscapes on the walls and the promise of Italian cuisine. She’d showered before leaving Hampstead, so she’d kicked off her shoes and said she only needed to freshen up. He wasn’t certain quite what a woman meant by that, but he’d always thought it was a shorter process than a shower, so he told her it sounded good to him. While he waited, he wondered: Should he order champagne?

  He stopped pacing and thought back. She’d held the map and navigated while he drove through London, but when he turned onto the A20, she’d fallen asleep, knackered, he guessed, from the emotional hurdles she’d had to clear recently. No matter; he knew the way from there. From the A20 to a ramp, then a roundabout, and he was on the M25. Past Sevenoaks, she woke. “We’ll arrive in about twenty,” he told her, glad to see her smile. The check-in process was efficient, and they were escorted to their room. More smiles.

  He shrugged out of his shirt. He hated waiting. On the Job they planned, they got kitted up, they were transported, and then they waited. Time slipped away while they listened for the “Go! Go! Go!” that would signal that the mission was on. The real work began then, the movement of the team, the short bursts of intense action. He had learnt to accept the waiting, but he had not learnt to like it.

  He found himself pacing again and realised that she’d been in the loo for more than a few. He didn’t hear water running. He approached the door and knocked lightly. “Jenny? You all right?” When the door swung open, he saw her sitting on the edge of the bath, still partially dressed, her face pale. “What’s this?”

  “Simon, I haven’t changed my mind, but – I’m a little scared. My heart’s going a mile a minute.”

  He sat down next to her and put an arm around her. “No need for fear. We’ve already been together.”

  She leaned into him. “Yes, but when we – we – you didn’t stop to look at me, and we didn’t even take off all our clothes, and – ”

  “Full stop, Jenny.”

  “But I have scars and bandages, and I want you to think I’m beautiful, and I don’t want to disappoint you, and it matters so much more now!”

  “Jenny, a line here and there doesn’t signify. Not to me.” He thought for a moment then asked with a smile, “How do you know I’ll stop to look this time?”

  She appreciated his attempt at humor, but it didn’t calm her. She put his hand on her heart to show him what she still felt.

  He didn’t speak right away. “My first jump,” he began. “I was afraid I’d not hear the crack of the chute when it opened, my heart was beating that loud. And I’d closed my eyes as tightly as I could.” He paused. “Preparation is the key. Preparation of your mind and preparation of your equipment.”

  “How do I prepare my mind?”

  “You already have. Your mindset – ours, actually – is love.” He moved his hands to her shoulders, felt the tension there, and gently kneaded her muscles. After a few minutes he moved her blouse out of the way and kissed the places his fingers had touched, then the sides of her neck and her ears. “Waiting to jump is harder than jumping, but when it’s time, we’ll jump together,” he said.

  “You won’t let me go splat?”

  That made him smile. “No. Just
close your eyes and hold on.”

  She put her arms around his neck, and he carried her to the bed. “No worries, love. When I first met you, your wounds hadn’t healed, remember? But you looked lovely to me even then. Nothing’s changed, except I think you trust me a bit more.”

  That brought a smile to her lips: a Simon Casey understatement.

  When he saw it, he leant over her and kissed her, softly, tenderly, then waited, his lips less than a breath away from hers.

  She felt her anxiety ease, only to be replaced with an entirely different kind of tension. She kissed his mouth, his rough cheek, his mouth again. She no longer cared what he saw; she wanted him to know how much she loved him and she couldn’t show him with her clothes on. “Simon, I think my equipment is ready,” she whispered.

  Who needed champagne? He began to remove the rest of her clothing, one piece at a time, kissing what he uncovered, whispering her name, wanting her to feel loved. She was slim, shapely, even lovelier than he remembered. The reconstructive surgery she’d had on her shoulder had minimised the damage there, and the scars on her torso were no more than thin threads against her pale skin. He saw the contraceptive patch on her abdomen and felt a pang of regret. Best to be safe, of course, but if she fell pregnant, she would need to stay with him, and he was not yet sure of her.

  “You might want to lose your jeans,” she said into his ear.

  He stripped off and kissed her again. He heard a squeal.

  “Simon, I’m ticklish.”

  Resolving to locate all those places in the days ahead, he resumed his lovemaking. The soft sounds she made were like extra kisses, and she surprised him by humming slightly as she pressed her lips against his skin.

  He was over the moon: The woman he loved was naked beneath him, her mouth open for his kisses, her heels digging into his backside. No more holding back, no more waiting. “Jenny,” he gasped.

  She clung to him, managing to tell him how overwhelming she thought it was and how much she loved him. When he started to shift his body to one side, thinking he might be too heavy for her, she tangled her legs in his and begged him to stay with her a little longer. He did, pushing her hair out of her face and giving her light kisses. Serious kisses followed. She sucked on his tongue, and he felt his groin tighten again. “I can’t get enough of you,” he said. When she called his name, he was beyond words. His body alone would have to tell her how much love he felt.

  She had forgotten how much she liked feeling a man’s weight. When he finally rolled to his back, she felt exposed, vulnerable, bereft. Needing to prolong their feeling of closeness, she turned on her side and put her head on his shoulder and one arm across his chest. “Simon,” she whispered, “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time. I just didn’t know what they were. I wish – I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realize I loved you.”

  He chuckled softly. “Two of us then.”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love again, and certainly not with another policeman. Your work is far more dangerous than Colin’s was.”

  He heard what she had left unsaid. “Jenny, I’m trained. Armed. Briefed. I don’t go in alone or without intel. And now I’ve the best reason in the world for being careful.”

  “We’ll have to make each day count.” She ran her fingers across his chest. “You didn’t like me at first, did you?”

  Women always wanted to talk after sex. For the first time it was no bother, no bother at all, because it kept her close to him. “When we met, how I felt about you wasn’t the issue. Your health and safety were. But you didn’t think much of me either, as I recall.”

  “I was afraid of you. You were so direct, so unyielding, and you never smiled.”

  “And now?”

  “I feel like I’ve come home.” She snuggled closer. “Simon, are you happy?”

  He’d not have used that word to describe himself until now. “Yes.”

  “How did you find this place? Did you choose it because of my interest in Italian?”

  “Rang my mates. Davies knew about it. His folks had been here.”

  “So they all know we’re here?”

  “And what we’re doing,” he smiled. “Traylor bet that I wouldn’t let you out of the room. Davies bet that I wouldn’t let you out of bed.”

  Blushing slightly, she kissed him. “Simon, what do you love about me?”

  He thought for a moment. “Your resilience. Your smile. Your defiant chin. Your ability to surprise me.” With a mischievous smile he added, “Your shape. When you were in witness protection, I very much liked watching you work out.”

  She swatted him playfully. “You told me those exercises were physical therapy!”

  “For you they were. For me they were entertainment.” Her skin was soft, warm, and smooth. He didn’t want to move away from her, but the time was late, and he wondered if she were hungry. “Are you ready for room service?” he asked.

  She couldn’t restrain a giggle. “I think I’ve already had it,” she said.

  Laughing with her, he reached for the In Room Dining menu on the nightstand.

  After reading through the extensive offerings, she decided to try the breaded cheese risotto appetizer followed by a Caesar salad and pasta with Bolognese sauce, all items she could manage with one hand.

  “No dessert?” he asked.

  “Maybe later. What are you having?”

  “Crab and spinach risotto and cioppino di mare. And champagne.” He pulled on his jeans and watched while she donned a tank top and knickers.

  When their food was delivered, she inhaled deeply, enjoying the aroma of the Italian herbs, and realized that happiness had a smell, something that floated on the air that you breathed. During her marriage to Colin, happiness had filled the flat, as if fresh coffee were forever brewing or prime rib roasting. Her happiness with Simon was an unexpected joy, like turning a corner and finding that the bluebell buds had burst into bloom and were surrounding her with their fresh fragrance. But floral aromas faded. She wanted happiness that would cling to her so strongly that its scent would remain on her clothes no matter how many times she washed them. Indelible.

  He ate slowly, enjoying his meal but distracted by her scant dress. After they finished the Italian delicacies, she cuddled beside him. Her knickers were black. Lacey. “You’re overdressed,” he said.

  A slow smile spread across her face. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Rise to the challenge.”

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  Jenny dreamed that Simon was kissing her neck and her cheeks. A good dream, for a change; she’d had a bad one she wanted to forget. This wasn’t a dream, however. She was awakening, very slowly, from a deep sleep. He was clothing her with kisses. Her body heavy, she felt his hands, warm on her skin. “Don’t you ever sleep?” she murmured.

  “Not when I’ve something better to do.” The caresses continued. “But you don’t have to move. Let me do the work.”

  How could he make her body feel so good when she was too tired to open her eyes? Finally she stretched and turned toward him. It was all the invitation he needed. He took her as lovingly as he had prepared her. “Oh, princess,” he whispered. “I missed you.”

  “Princess? I’m a commoner.”

  “Not to me.”

  She felt as if he had given her insides a soft squeeze. She rested her head on his chest, felt his arm encircle her, and fell asleep to the lullaby of his heart.

  CHAPTER 44

  Simon woke first and looked over at Jenny. He had often tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss her. And more. Many times he had wished that he, not Sinclair, had been the one to teach her to trust a man with her body. He had wondered if her rape still affected her, if there were any residual effects. He’d seen one: She’d left the light on in the loo, explaining that she didn’t like being in the dark. No bother for him, of course. He’d wanted to see as he touched her and as she touched him. She hadn’t d
onned her nightdress, but he would not have objected. Whatever she wore could be removed easily enough when the need arose.

  He smiled, remembering her initial shyness. Once under way, however, she had been eager. Amid the passion, he had wanted to know her preferences, and she had said, “Again,” when he demonstrated her choices, and then, between breaths, “Both!” He had laughed then, as he had when she had named in Italian the body parts she knew and made up names for the ones she didn’t. As their lovemaking became less hurried, she had queried him as she touched him, wanting to please. He’d wished he had the words to tell her what she meant to him, but he was struck silent.

  He folded the bedsheet back slightly, admiring her shape, naked except for the bandages on her hand and arm. They put him in mind of her recent danger and his possible loss, and his heart skipped a beat. If he lost her now, when they had been together for such a short time – he didn’t want to think on it. Perhaps he should engage MacKenna on a regular basis! Again he was reminded of Sinclair, her shock and grief at his death, and the special ability she had to recover from the worst life threw at her.

  Even after the night they’d spent together, he couldn’t quite believe she was in his bed. She was lovely with her lashes closed and her face relaxed. Once past her shyness, she had been lovely in passion also, a mature woman showing no restraint, her hair falling forward as she moved above him. Once during the night, however, he had woken to her cries of alarm. “Sshh. I’m here,” he had said. “Bad dream?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” she’d asked through her tears. “I’m with you, and I’m happy. Why would I have a nightmare?”