“You reorganised the closet and tallboy.”
His tone was light, but so soon after an encounter with Two, I almost distrusted it. “I can change it back if it’s not all right.”
Worry flittered through Jack’s eyes for a moment, then he gripped the back of my neck, fingers pushing into my hair. Familiar, affectionate, caring. I resisted but couldn’t win the fight and relaxed into the touch, wanting the love I hoped it conveyed.
“It’s perfect. Exactly what I wanted.”
Eyebrow arching, I asked, “Exactly?”
Jack pulled my head back. “Exactly.” And he kissed up my neck, leaving his coffee scent on my skin. I didn’t entirely mind. “Don’t you have a job to get to?”
“Eventually.” A couple more biting kisses, then Jack let me go and explained his plan for a demonstration at the LAC.
Pleased his grumbles about being undercover again seemed to be less, I let domestic issues consume me through breakfast. The simple pleasantness of it let me spill one of my deeper secrets when Jack asked about my reaction to him touching my head.
“I don’t recall much from my early childhood. I believe I told you once I was blind until I was six, or thereabouts.” Jack’s nod and silence didn’t sound alarms in my head, so I continued. “As such, I have no memories of my mother’s face. I have a vague memory of her singing. At least, I think it’s her. It’s a lullaby, so I choose to believe it was she who sang it to me. By far the strongest memory I have is her running her hand through my hair. Sometimes it was to comfort me. Sometimes to comfort her.”
My memories of that time were chaotic. Some I couldn’t tell if they were from my time with my mother, or the first several months with the group of Sugar Babies who would become my “family.” The touches to my head and hair, though, they were my mother. They had to be. No one in the other place ever had a kind touch. That was perhaps why I clung so hard to those few memories I had of the woman who’d birthed me, claimed she loved me, and abandoned me.
Jack’s expression was studiously neutral. It was one I had become very familiar with over the past year. First it had been common when he’d been trying to not show his anger or frustration with me. More and more often, however, it appeared when he was feeling those things on my behalf, directed at those he perceived as a threat to me, physically or emotionally. I hated that I was the reason he felt that pain and rage, but it was also a relief. If Jack felt that way, then it was all right I did as well. It gave me hope that he wouldn’t reject me for all the things he didn’t yet know.
Perhaps I could give him something more. Correct a lie of omission and see how he reacted.
“Sometimes, it was neither of those things. Those times, she would stroke my head as I was falling asleep, and say, Paul, ma petite erreur.”
Jack had made it clear that he believed my accent made me British. It was a common misconception I relied on, but one I didn’t want to need with Jack anymore.
The longer Jack remained silent the more I began doubt telling him I was French, not English. Compared to most of the lies I’d told him, this might not have seemed important, but it was to me. This one tiny morsel of my past was something I’d clung to, desperately at times, during the years with the group. Knowing where I’d come from meant I wasn’t what the Cabal was trying to make me into. It meant I wasn’t like the other children who hurt me because they didn’t know any better. It meant I was still Paul St. Clair, even if Paul had to become a ghost for One-three to survive and escape.
And yet, if Jack reacted as if it was anything other than a passing curiosity I felt I might scramble like an army was on my tail. I wanted him to know, but I didn’t want to talk about it either.
“What was the lullaby?”
I fought down the urge to tell him he was perfect. It would only go to his handsome head.
“I don’t remember all of it, but it was about a chicken. A grey one, or a brown one. Or perhaps there were many chickens. Either way, it or they laid eggs in very unusual places and a little boy would eat the eggs while they were still warm.”
“Warm from the chicken’s bum or from being cooked?”
Trust Jack to get to the real heart of any issue.
In that moment I made a decision, so while Jack tidied the kitchen, I suited up and met him on the way to the bathroom to brush teeth.
Jack tugged on the back of my collar. “Those look like going-out clothes.”
“I have a meeting today.”
“With your banker?” Jack smirked, but he didn’t know how close to the truth he was.
“Not exactly.”
Jack bugged me about it all the way out of the apartment, only stopping when we ran into Rocco and Short Round. The dachshund clambered at my legs so I reacquainted myself with the lively dog while the others talked. Rocco remembered me from the start of the year and complimented Victoria, while Jack pretended to grumble about us maligning his poor old Kawasaki Ninja, which we did not do, directly.
Then Jack’s hand landed on my lower back. “Don’t you have your mysterious appointment to get to? And I can’t be much later than I already am.”
The reaction to move away from the touch was instinctual. I needed complete control when I wasn’t in a safe place, to be ready and prepared to fight for my life. For Jack’s life. For Rocco’s and Shorty’s lives. Anyone touching me—Jack touching me—would delay my reactions, perhaps fatally.
Jack kept his hands to himself as we said our goodbyes and all the way down to the garage. When I turned to wish him a good day at work, I saw just how unhappy he was. It wasn’t the first time I’d brushed off his hold in public, but our relationship had still been somewhat questionable those times, whereas this time, it really appeared to effect him.
“Jack?”
He surveilled the garage, then relaxed fractionally. “You seem to be settling in okay.”
“I’m not completely socially inept, Jack.”
“I never said you were.”
“Then what has you worried?”
“You. I know you’re not used to this sort of exposure.”
Was he worried how I, a killer like the Judge, would cope with this sort of life?
Instantly ashamed of the thought—Jack was disgusted by the Judge’s motives, not mine—I still couldn’t quite shake it when I said, “You don’t know what I’m used to, Jack.”
“True.” Though he didn’t appear to enjoy saying it. “So, this is normal for you? Living with another man. Being seen in public with him as a gay couple. That’s just everyday for you, is it?” Jack paused to pull in a breath, his gaze boring into me as if he could slice away my skin and see the mess within. “Mr. Cesare’s cool. He tried to set me up with one of his grandsons once. But not everyone is like him. Most people don’t care, but those that do tend to really not like seeing two men together.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Being aware of it is one thing. Being the subject of it is something else. I know you’ve never done this before. Have a relationship with someone. Live with them like this. Unless you were lying about that, too.”
Lying about that? I shook my head firmly. Everything else, though . . .
“That’s what I’m worried about. How you’ll feel knowing people don’t like you being with me.”
Jack’s concern was valid. I hadn’t been in a relationship before, let alone a homosexual one which came with added hazards. Physical altercations were not an issue and I had been called enough names in my life—freak, mutant, bad luck, psychopath—that slurs directed at me had little power. I didn’t care about people in general knowing I was with another man.
I did care that I was back to lying to Jack about so many things, however. He didn’t deserve that from me after everything I’d put him through over the past two years.
“Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. You’re right. I don’t have experience with any of those things, and I can’t promise that I won’t make mistakes upon occasion. I can
, however, assure you that regardless of what anyone else thinks or says, I want to be here. With you.” All the things I really wanted to apologise for, but couldn’t admit to yet, hovered just under my words and I hoped he heard that.
Jack came closer. “I want you here, too. It’s why I asked you to come and stay. I know it’s not going to be easy. I don’t have a great track record with relationships. I’m undoubtedly going to mess something up at some stage.”
A tension I hadn’t been aware of in my chest eased. Jack was as uncertain as I was? It shouldn’t, but knowing that made me smile. “We’re not incapable men, Jack. I’m sure we can weather the rough patches. And if you were to leave me, I should remind you, I’m retired, not disabled.”
Jack snorted and took another step towards me. I backed up, as I had in the corridor. Instincts didn’t change as easily as minds.
“Too soon?” I hoped to deflect him from pushing my limits again.
It stopped him with barely a foot between us. “Too cheesy,” he corrected in a smoky rumble.
“Jack, am I required to remind you we’re not exactly in private?” Although lust seemed to suppress my instincts so well it frightened me.
After a charged moment, Jack backed off. “No. Just wanted to tell you that I’ll miss you today.”
My hand was on his chest without thought. I needed to feel him, to reassure him, and myself. To let us both know that I wanted to be different, to be better. “And I you.”
Jack smiled and I returned it effortlessly. Making him smile never stopped thrilling me. Leaving him happy made it easier for me to go.
I met Brian Steinhauer at the building on Bathurst Street. He greeted me with a wide smile and firm handshake.
“Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “It’s good to finally met you face to face. I had started to worry we wouldn’t hear from you again.”
“I’m sorry for the silence, but there were unavoidable delays overseas,” I said in my usual British accent, then gestured at the new building. “Construction appears complete.”
The agent went into an extended sales pitch even though I’d finalised the papers on the penthouse midyear. As he recited all the features of the building and its prime location, I kept an eye out for anyone lurking about. It was impossible to hide completely from the Cabal, especially when they knew I had a strong interest in Sydney, but I would do everything I could to keep everyone else from finding this safe place.
Finally, Brian gestured me into the building ahead of him and we discussed the general security they had installed. It was impressive for a residential structure, but nowhere near my requirements. It would be a relatively simple thing to tap into their system and add to it, though.
We moved on to the private lift to the penthouse. Brian gave me the security code, a simple four-digit number I would be changing as soon as he left. Before swapping it out entirely for my own device.
The entryway to the penthouse had been decorated as the foyer downstairs but I would have the potted plants removed and take the mirrored walls back to brick. The fewer potential weapons and obstacles the better if I had to fight my way in, or out. At least the reinforced steel door I’d ordered had been installed. Inside was bare. Polished wood floors and walls painted the pale champagne I’d picked out. A blank canvass. One I’d hoped Jack would be a part of filling up, but after everything that had led up to Canberra, I hadn’t been sure. Now I wanted to finish it alone and pinned my hopes on Jack loving the surprise.
Brian insisted on a tour of the place, since it was my first time seeing it. I’d bought it off the blueprint before the building had been completed, which had allowed me to add a few extras to the construction. We signed the final bits of paperwork on the kitchen countertop, admired the view of Hyde Park and the cathedral, then I shooed Brian out.
My first order of business was to change all the security codes, then I retrieved Victoria and parked her in the underground garage. With a bag of tools and another of my own security devices, I went back to the penthouse, removed my jacket, rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
By the time I felt hunger pangs, the place was no longer pristine. There was sawdust, cement chips, broken plaster and dangling wires everywhere. It was a mess, but I felt good about it. I was working towards a solid future with Jack.
Ping.
I hesitated to answer, in case it was Two, but I couldn’t hide from him forever.
“I sure hope I’m not interrupting something super special,” Nine drawled.
“You’re not,” I assured her firmly.
“Really? So you’re not all sweaty and naked?”
Frowning, I fetched the button-down I’d removed when I got too hot and shrugged it back on. “No.”
Her laugh said she didn’t believe me.
“I assume you have some information for me?”
Nine’s amusement didn’t entirely abate, her words coming through with a tremble of laughter in them. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Just tell me. Why are the police interested in me?”
“They’re not. At least not that I can find and most police departments aren’t hard to crack. Besides, I got Seven onto it and she knows all the tricks.” The humour disappeared in the bitterness of many old injuries, real and perceived ones. “She said there is nothing that even hints at you, either local, state or federal. Every mention of Ethan Blade has been cleaned up by the Office and any new inquiries get knocked down very quickly.”
At least Director Tan was keeping up his part of the agreement he and Jack had struck. But it didn’t explain why a police officer had been asking questions about me at the garage complex.
“Did you know Two was in Sydney?” I asked.
There was silence for a long moment, then Nine said slowly, “No. How do you know he is?”
I snorted. “He found me, of course.”
“Not surprised. He always did have perfect One-three-radar.”
Ignoring that, I said, “He claims he’s here on a job. Did Seven mention it to you?”
“Because we chatted about our lives and periods and which garrotte we prefer to use, sure. No, you weirdo, she didn’t mention it. Didn’t you ask him?”
“He said he was doing a favour for Seven.”
Nine laughed. “Right, ’cause they’re such great friends.” The hilarity died instantly and, grimly, she said, “You know why he’s there.”
Her words sparked that same sense of anxiety in me that Two’s presence did. “Yes.”
Deadly serious, Nine said, “Be careful, One-three. Watch him, don’t let him close with you.”
It was good advice, and not just during a fight with Two. He didn’t need to be punching a person in order to hurt them.
“I’m not about to invite him in for tea.” My tone was perhaps a bit testier than it should have been.
“You could have fooled me.” Something like tenderness might have tinged her voice. “You’re not exactly rational where he’s concerned, you know. Things get . . . messy between you.”
I blinked away the stinging in my eyes. “Not anymore. I won’t let him get to me.”
“You better not.” Then, in a brighter tone, she added, “Your cooking is getting better and I’ve decided you can practice anytime we’re in the same place.”
“Very generous of you.” Nine would eat food burned beyond recognition when she was hungry enough, which was a rather consistent state with her.
“I know. If Seven ever answers a message from me, I’ll ask her about the job.”
“Thank you. I’ll send her a message as well. The more information I have the better.”
“Just don’t let him close with you,” she reiterated, then the connection was cut.
I sat for a while afterwards, considering the new intelligence. Had it been pure happenstance that an officer described someone who looked like me? There was an outside chance it was related to Jack’s current job, as he was working with the Sydney police and I was apparently similar eno
ugh to a serial killer Jack had made connections between myself and the Judge.
Seven didn’t answer when I pinged her, which wasn’t unusual, so I left a message and then contemplated the penthouse. I’d completely rewired the security system and fitted my custom-made number pads. All codes had been changed and it was as close to secure as it could be.
Leaving Bathurst Street, I returned to Leichhardt, showered, and waited for Jack.
In the days that followed, neither myself nor Nine heard back from Seven—mildly worrying but not alarming as she often went quiet—and I fell into a routine. Nights and mornings with Jack, the days spent alternating between working on the penthouse and Monaro and sitting watch over Dejana’s meetings. The former tasks were rewarding pass-times, the latter not so much. Until the day it went from tedium to excitement rather fast.
Dejana was talking with Grant Owen again. He had, wisely, left his family elsewhere this day when we joined him at the Centennial Park Labyrinth, a cement circle with a pattern marked on it. The area around it was perhaps a hundred square meters of open grass bordered by trees to the north and west and two ponds to the east and south. Geese and black swans paddled across the water peacefully.
Today’s meeting wasn’t as calm as the first one. The young politician was agitated and while I held back far enough to not overhear anything, his voice rose enough every now and then that I caught snippets of words. Including the current prime minister’s name and at one particularly heated moment, “worst military loss in recent history.” Dejana shushed him with a single wave of a hand and kept her voice low and calm, settling him down.
Movement in the trees to the west caught my eye. Even before I fully registered it, I took two long strides and launched myself at Dejana and Owen. “Down!” I commanded even as I swept them over with my arms. They went down to either side of me and I hit the cement of the labyrinth on my side, the crack of my hip on the hard surface louder than that of the silenced shot from the tree line.
Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella Page 7
