Authors: Ainslie Paton
“Fair enough, give me a sec.” He closed his eyes, those thick, lush, black eyelashes curtaining his vision. She fanned her finger across one set and he smiled which meant she had to kiss him, had to.
“That’s not helping me think, Cait. You want poetic, I have to think.”
She didn’t need poetic, being in his arms was enough. She kissed him again and he went with it, but then struggled upright, dragging her with him. She straddled his lap, her knees in the leather, her hands on the hot, slick skin of his shoulders. She watched his face and knew he was no more a memory than her ability to breathe. He was an embedded part of her.
He fixed her with an expression of wonder. “You’re my personal sixty-wheeler.” He stroked a hand down her ponytail and pulled so her chin came up. “You’re this force that sets a course and follows it and nothing can knock you off your stride.” His other hand came to her face and cupped her cheek. “You have all his quiet strength and deep calm. Even when I know you’re scared, and I know you are—and I know I’ve scared you—but you have the guts to hold onto it and not let it own you. I admire that.” Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t want to miss a single syllable of what he said. “It makes me feel I can be myself and you’ll cope with whatever being with me tosses up. It makes me feel accepted. I need you in my arms to feel like all the crap I’m worried about is back in its place.”
He smiled, caressed her jaw and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Yeah I know I said crap again. I’m a cop, not a poet. I have a limited vocab. You could do better than me. My mum says I should read more.” His voice softened, almost a whisper, “Mum would like you so much.”
She didn’t hear limitations, she felt wings. He palmed the back of her head and brought their foreheads together. “So that’s why I’m roadkill, Caitlyn Mary Ann Murphy.” She held her breath. If not his words, the rawness of his voice was going to bring her undone. “Because you have the power to run over and flatten me. And make it feel so fucking good.”
The jeans might’ve been painted on. The boots had a knife blade heels. The neckline was almost a waistline and being white, the shirt didn’t leave much room for wondering what her nipples looked like. She had teased honey-blonde hair and a row of piercings up the rind of one ear. A ring in her eyebrow. Astud under her bottom lip. Heavy makeup. A tattoo of an angel on her neck and a thorny rose on the back of her hand.
She was every raunchy, dirty little fantasy you wanted dancing on your tabletop, and graduating to your lap, before granting you a diploma in bedroom gymnastics.
She was perfect.
She held out her hand and smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Sean. I’m—”
He cut her off with a stop sign hand signal. “Not your real name. I don’t need help screwing up.”
“I’m Trinity.”
Sean took her hand and grinned. She had a pierced tongue; he heard it in the shape of her words. “Of course you are. “I’m Fetch, and I’m underdressed. I’ll be right back.” He looked at Stud and shook his head in amazement. Trinity was ideal for Fetch. Her Amazonian sex appeal would blindside Wacker. He’d want Fetch back in his camp if only to get his hands on Fetch’s new woman.
“I am the man,” said Stud, pointing at himself with both hands, elbows high, and no obvious sense of mockery. Trinity laughed, throaty, sexy, clicky. He wondered what she looked like when she was wearing her version of normal, what she sounded like without the tongue stud affecting her diction.
He gave Stud a high five. “You are the man. Now where’s my wardrobe.”
Ten minutes later: worn denim with one knee torn out, creased belt with an eight ball buckle, heavy black, scuffed lace up army boots, a leather vest, leather wrist cuffs, an ear full of rings and a knuckle full of silver. Fetch was back in town. But he was different.
Sean studied himself in the mirror wall of the suburban house they were using as a base for the operation. Stud’s team had matched the wardrobe with precision. These were all items exactly as Fetch had worn them, down to a tear in the back of the leather vest. It wasn’t only the lack of beard and the shorn off hair. The problem was his eyes. He no longer had Fetch’s eyes, wide open, unfixed and vague, and he wasn’t sure he could get that look back.
He cleared his throat. “Did a good job with the gear, mate.” He addressed Stud standing behind him and cleared his throat again. That was wrong, both the tone and the choice of words. He needed to flatten his vowels and use fewer words. “Fucking ace, mate.”
Stud nodded. Yeah that was better, but shit he had to get this together fast. When he’d been deep undercover he’d had no problem switching between his Fetch voice and his own regular one and knowing when he could with safety. Cait had never heard him sound like deep cover Fetch, except that time on the phone to Wacker, because he hadn’t needed to be on his guard with her, but now he was nervous he didn’t have enough control and would fuck it up. Apparently this wasn’t like riding a bike. You could forget how to do it. He had no choice but to be Fetch from here in. No more Sean till he knew he was back in the pocket and had it under control.
He dropped his head. Caitlyn. They needed to talk. That bloody amazing sex in the car helped them both feel better, feel unstoppable, but it was only Spakfilla over the great whopping hole she was digging for herself. He’d watched her lie to him again only a half hour ago at a teller machine. That’d made him feel like crap. That she could lie to him still after what they’d become to each other. That she fucking well thought she needed to protect him from whatever was going on with her, because of what was going on with him. Made him feel all the more furious about this whole fucked up situation.
Her missing money was no clerical error, no matter what she told him. But he had time still to talk to her, to sort it out. And after that Fetch 24/7, and he’d trust Stud to get a fix on whatever Cait’s problem was until he could be with her again.
He’d told her he’d be back when he’d left her at the motel and watched her pretend hard it was fine, like he was only popping out for milk, not hours away from disappearing for months. She’d kissed him with tears held behind shut eyes, holding his hand like it was an extension of her own body, grafted on.
“Fetch, you right, mate?”
He lifted his head and looked at Stud. “I’m cool, man.”
Stud watched him a moment. “You’ve got this, Sean. You’ll be fine.” He grinned, “Come play fetch with Trinity.”
He went with Stud into the other room. He had to make an effort to slow his walk down. Fetch never hurried and he slouched. The look on Trinity’s face was a boost. Whoever she was, she was a pro. She licked her lips, open-mouthed, suggestive.
“Fuuuck me, Fetch, baby. Now I remember why I hooked up with you. You’re freaking gorgeous.”
He went straight to her, put his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans and yanked her into him. She was tall, almost eye to eye with him. She smelled of something pretty and expensive. He frowned. Wacker wasn’t going to get close enough to her to know she was wearing expensive perfume but this was about the details.
“You smell like shit.”
“Sorry. I…” She dropped character. He gave her a shake, she snapped back. “Fuck you. I can smell how I like.” But she wouldn’t use the perfume tomorrow.
“Do you taste like shit too?” He quirked a brow. She knew what was going to happen next.
She gave a slight nod, and pressed her hips into his. “I taste like fucking heaven.”
He fisted her hair, stiff with spray, and kissed her hard. Open mouth, tongue. No gentleness, no finesse. No way to kiss a woman. He didn’t want to kiss her at all, but they needed to do this now, get familiar so it looked right tomorrow. They had to look like they’d barely gotten out of bed in days. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned in, rubbing herself against him. He palmed her breast and while her eyes flared, she didn’t flinch away, so when his hand went under her shirt she moaned her appreciation on cue.
“What the hell did I do to get the only two method cops in the whole damn country on my squad,” Stud said. He was standing almost on top of them. If he breathed any harder they’d be in a three-way.
He almost snapped out, ‘buzz kill’, Sean words, but went with a snarl instead, and kissed Trinity again, teeth tugging her bottom lip. Stud groaned. Trinity whimpered. Some men would kill to have this job. But this job might just kill him.
“When you’ve finished giving her that orgasm we need to walk through the meeting strategy. Don’t worry I’ve got all friggin’ night,” said Stud, heavy on the irony.
He dropped his hands away from Trinity, rubbed the back of one over his mouth. Smartarse replies ran through his head but Fetch didn’t have a quick wit so he held them in. The three of them, along with a couple of members of Stud’s broader team Sean didn’t know, sat at the dining table.
“Fetch, you’re going to call Wacker in the next hour. Set up a meeting for tomorrow or as soon as you can get it. What are you going to say?”
He cleared his throat. “Wack, it’s me Fetch.”
“And,” Stud prompted.
“And nothin’. I listen. Wacker’ll do all the talking.”
“Fucking method. I get a fucking method actor cop. I’m Wacker then.” Stud lowered his voice, roughed it up. “You got a death wish calling me, boy.”
That wasn’t half bad. Stud had Wacker almost down pat from listening to hours of phone wire taps. He forgot himself and grinned at Stud who grinned back and said, “You’ve got something of mine.”
“I’ve got it all, every bean. Never touched it.”
“Then you better bring it to me.”
“A’ight.”
“Where’ve you been all this time, Fetch? You don’t call, you don’t write.”
“Around. I’ve got this bitch.”
“She know how to use a cake tin?”
Sean frowned. There’s no way Fetch could’ve kept a secret like the cake tin to himself, but admitting it put Trinity up for a closer inspection. She put her hand over his on his leg. She was telling him it was okay. “Yeah.”
“Then I’d better meet this paragon of virtue you’ve been shacked up with hadn’t I? Give her the official seal of approval.”
“A’ight.”
Stud broke character. “The big bastard tells you where to meet him and we’ve got to hope it’s somewhere we can get eyes on and it’s before the big meeting so you’re back in the family good and proper before that happens.”
Sean nodded. That about covered it. The team talked contingencies. Fetch would take a meeting with anyone in the inner circle if Wacker delegated. It wasn’t ideal because it meant Wacker was still suspicious. He’d take a meeting any day but not anywhere. Getting back in was risky, they wanted surveillance in place for his and Trinity’s protection. He’d tell Wacker he was worried and wanted the first meeting to be in public. There was precedent for that. All meetings where there was some danger of a participant being taken out were held in daylight in public places and even Fetch knew that. Requesting it was a bold move for Fetch, but then he had the love of a good woman backing him up now, didn’t he.
He’d make the call. They’d take the meeting. Trinity acting as a distraction. Fetch would be back in and conveniently on hand for the big powwow. At some point before the crew went back to Sydney there’d be a dust up with Trinity and their true love would be an ugly bust. As soon as he was sure his cover was tight, he’d see Cait, again. Meanwhile he’d devised a picture message code to use with Stud that’d keep him in touch with her and more specifically the mess she was in.
Stud put a mobile phone on the table. Sean picked it up and dialled.
The conversation went as they’d rehearsed it. Wacker agreed to a meeting, with one variation. He wanted to do it at midnight.
This was meant to be. Sean would be gone for months and that would give her time to disappear. Surely by the time he got free again he’d be past it, over her. Caitlyn paced about the motel room, restless, trying to find a way to leave Sean and make certain he didn’t follow. Trying to make certain she could live without Justin tracking her either. No more bank accounts. No more mobile phones. And she needed to move again, Adelaide maybe or Brisbane. She’d have to do it without the rest of Sean’s money because if she asked for it, she’d tip him off.
When he bowled in she was shocked at the sight of him, though she’d known what to expect. Shirtless in just a leather vest, his iron cross tattoo carving through his bare chest, a row of hoops in his ear and a fist full of rings, an attitude of brute menace. He was Fetch again and yet he wasn’t because she simply couldn’t see him in that one, single dimension now.
They eyed each other off and it was like that first night in Wetherton when she agreed to patch him up. But this time he was the one who was freaked out and uncertain. She went to him and wrapped him in a hug, breathing him in. He took a moment to respond, his arms coming around her back and pulling her tight to him. He spoke into her hair. “I can’t stay. Everything’s been brought forward.”
Oh God
. They were supposed to have had at least one more night. She lifted her head so she could see his eyes. With the sound of his voice they anchored her with their brilliance, made her steady. “How long do we have?”
“An hour if we’re lucky. They’re not happy I came back here. I should’ve stayed with the ops team. They’ll come get me.” If he was regretful about bucking protocol it was dialled down to about ten percent.
She put her hand to his cheek. “You don’t want to make your own backup team mad with you.”
“Screw them.”
She curved her hand over his silver edged ear and gave his head a shake. “Don’t worry about me, do what you need to do.”
“I need you.”
The scratch in his voice told her that was true. His eyes told her it was essential to him. His lips when they touched hers were tentative and gentle, not at all like the rawness in his manner. He kissed her like she was made of pink fairy floss and might melt on his tongue. Soft, feathering, so, so tender; touching her whole being with just the whispered pressure of his mouth.