Authors: Nicola Claire
“Only those worth knowing.”
“Is that meant to be a compliment? ‘Cause I’m telling you, Charlie, that shit just stinks.”
I smiled. For some reason I found this infinitely amusing. I’d had a file on me since grade school. My father had been one of those who vehemently opposed the Government Communications Security Bureau, and my name had been tagged to his. It had been an addiction of its own, apparently. A passion that ate into his world and destroyed him.
I’d read his file too.
“We gonna fight?” I asked, shaking my arms and bouncing on my feet. “Or are we just gonna bitch and moan about crap that can’t be changed?”
“I’ve got a mind to start protesting with those die-hards up at Warkworth.”
I chuckled, as he grudgingly limbered up. “It’s a satellite earth station,” I offered, knowing he’d see through the lie in a second.
“Tell yourself that, 007. We citizens know differently. The government has spies everywhere.” He gave me a pertinent look and then moved into a kyorugi joonbi. The fighting stance immediately brought gravity to the mat.
We danced. He met me blow for blow, move for move. He had no secrets here anymore; I saw him. I saw the beauty that was a young man’s championship title. I saw the magnificence that was the grown man’s harder edge. I saw him.
And he was beautiful.
I missed my chance; too busy ogling his muscles as they rippled. Too busy cataloguing the way his body flowed like ribbon. He was faster now. In his element. Taking risks because he knew he had a shot at succeeding. Luring me in like a professional.
The point didn’t hurt like the first one I’d lost. But it did smart. Adam Savill knew my weakness. I had no secrets on this mat anymore, either.
He bent over, chest puffing in and out with deep breaths. I watched from my vantage point on the mat, exhausted, exhilarated, alive. Two points down to one.
“Spit it out,” I demanded, when he just kept watching me, no forthcoming question. Just an assessment that reached inside my skin, my body, my soul.
He saw me too.
“Why do you still work for them when you no longer have their trust?”
It was completely out of the blue, but it shouldn’t have been. This was Adam, hunting his prize, moving in for the kill when she stumbled. This was Adam Savill as Nick Anscombe saw him. As his dossier depicted him. Lethal, dedicated, a silent predator stalking his prey.
Why
did
I still work for the Department when I’d stopped counting on their backing after China? Caleb had come when called. So had Ava. It wasn’t their performance I’d doubted. But when I debriefed back in Wellington, asking to be let in on Jacques Thibault’s interrogation and being denied, I’d started to suspect.
Something. Nothing. I couldn’t put it into words. Mal had been his same emotionless self over the phone. The Director had greeted me with open arms and a welcoming smile. I was his prodigy, he’d said. I was the best they’d created in the past twenty years.
It had been a lie. And I’d felt it. I’d known it, but I’d buried my head in the sand and pretended everything was all right.
“They’re the only family I know,” I whispered, every single emotion I’d blocked at the time hitting me square in the chest now. I panted for my next breath. My heart beat mercilessly against the inside of my chest.
Sweat beaded my brow.
“Some family, Charlie,” Adam whispered back.
Some family.
He was right. And I’d been trained to ask questions. But never to ask questions of
them
.
I lay back down on the mat and stared up at the ceiling, spotting the domed lens.
ASI saw me. They saw the Department. And I’d been blind.
F
uck
! There she was. All of her. Lying back on the dojo mat and letting me see. Where was her shell now? Where was the armour? This was merely a woman, stripped of all defences, facing up to a truth that had knocked her on her arse better than my last jireugi.
I stared down at her, a strange ache appearing in my chest. I rubbed at it absently, my eyes held fast on the way her breasts rose and fell on each laboured breath. Sweat ran in rivulets down the side of her neck, drawing my gaze to her fluttering pulse at the base. Her skin glistened. Her eyes sparked with what I could only assume was some form of pain. Not physical; Charlie had been trained to combat that type of sensation.
No, this was more emotional. And if there was one thing I’d learnt in the short amount of time I’d known her, Charlie didn’t have a hope in hell of dealing with emotions.
“We’ll get them,” I said, my voice deeper and rougher than normal. I forced myself not to clear my throat. “Whoever is setting you up,” I clarified, because fuck, not like my mouth was shutting up any time soon. “We’ll get them.”
Her head rolled to the side so she could look at me, a movement that made it impossible to ignore the vulnerable position she was keeping herself in. Intentionally? Fuck. I’d always be second guessing Charlie’s motives. Somehow the thought wasn’t as depressing as it should have been.
She’d been right; I’d never let a woman in that close before. Because none of them had made me.
Charlie didn’t demand entry. Hell, she practically turned her nose up at the invite. No, what Charlie did was infinitely better. She made me
want
to let her in. She made me
want
to crack her shell and climb inside of it.
“‘We,’ Stalker?” she murmured. “Just how much leeway does Anscombe give you?”
“You know,” I said, finally finding the balls to move from my hover and pick up a towel. I began to wipe my face, lengthening the moment, slowing my verbal diarrhoea. “Not everyone is out to get you.”
She snorted and rolled forward, landing in a crouch on the balls of her feet; an acrobatic manoeuvre that did all sorts of interesting things to all sorts of interesting places on my body.
“Nick Anscombe does not trust me,” she declared, standing to her full height. “And you expect me to trust him in return?”
“I didn’t say that,” I countered, slinging the towel around my neck and crossing my arms over my chest. Some might think it was a defensive movement. Some might have missed the way Charlie’s eyes always snagged on my biceps.
“Then what
are
you saying?” she asked, pulling her gaze away from my bunched muscles and picking up her own towel. Distraction 101. I knew this chick; I was learning her every move.
How that was possible, so quickly, I didn’t know. But I was drawn to this woman, like I was suspecting she was drawn to me. Inexplicable. Inexorable. Just plain fucking magnetic.
“We’re the good guys, remember?” I asked. There might have been a slight hint of conceit in there somewhere. “You’re the damsel in distress. Helping you is just what we do.”
She looked like I’d just kicked her favourite puppy. Maybe using ‘damsel in distress’ had been a bad idea.
I shook my head, ran a hand through my wet hair, realising we needed to shower. And didn’t that just add more fuel to the ‘interesting places’ part of the whole fucking evening?
“Listen,” I said, starting to move off the mat. “All I’m saying is we’re in this together. ASI is being framed for something too.”
“That’s not what you said at all,” she threw back, falling into step with me as I headed toward the showers.
“It’s what I meant,” I grumbled. Yeah, eloquence was not my forte
Charlie laughed. It sounded like heaven. If heaven was surprised as fuck at the sounds it made.
“OK, for argument's sake, I’ll buy it,” she announced, most magnanimously, I thought. “Then we need to figure out what’s connecting us. We need more info.”
I couldn’t argue with that. There was a reason why Charlie had been chosen as the scapegoat for this assignment. A reason that tied her into why ASI was being pursued. The more info we had before we faced off against this Caleb Hart fucker, the better. My motto had always been: Be prepared.
That or love ‘em and leave ‘em. Either worked.
I automatically headed to the men’s showers, realising a second too late that Charlie had entered the women’s. I paused in the hallway and stared down the door that had just swung closed. Well, look at that. Finally a reason to walk in there.
I glanced up at the overhead cameras, tempted to offer the bird again, but thought better of it. Cracking my neck, I pushed through the door into the women’s bathroom, secretively hoping she’d stripped already.
Nah, on second thoughts, I’d like to see the full monty, from strip to tease.
Charlie stood at the end of the bathroom, about to step into the far stall. She was still dressed; leathers and singlet top, her feet though were bare. A roll bag sat on the central bench, open, displaying a change of clothes and her toiletries.
She held her hands up, waving them around a bit, making sure I could see they were empty. Then stepped into the stall and started to undress.
If she’d checked her phone, she must have done it fast. She’d been in here less than a minute before I’d followed. My eyes darted back to the open bag. Fuck it, what couldn’t Charlie achieve in less than a minute?
My jaw ached from gritting my teeth too hard as I stepped into my own stall, two down from hers. Any closer and there’s no telling what my wayward fucking eyes would try to do. Not that I hadn’t seen my fair share of the woman. But my brain, and other interesting places, were all too willing to tell me I hadn’t seen it all.
Her shower started up and steam began to rise in the room. My eyes darted down her end of the stalls automatically, catching her just as she stepped under the spray, head tilted back, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, water dancing off her long lashes in an erotic display that fucked with my brain cells.
Jesus fucking Christ, how was I supposed to remain where I was with that happening no more than six feet away?
“They say soap is good to use when in the shower,” she suddenly declared.
What the?
Smoky grey eyes reached me across the distance; it felt like the stall walls weren’t even there. I swear I could feel her gaze on my skin like a hand across sensitive flesh.
“Pick up the soap, Adam,” Charlie ordered, a note of humour in her voice.
“What?” I somehow intelligently said. Not.
She laughed. Again with the fucking laughter? The woman could barely crack a smile thirty-six hours ago and now she laughed as though she did it every single day. Completely and utterly from within, bubbling up in a rough chuckle that was as far from insipid giggles as you could get.
I fucking adored her laugh.
“The soap,” she semi-repeated. “For your shower.” The last was expressed with purpose.
Oh, right. The fucking shower. I snatched up some soap and stepped under the spray, starting to wash the sweat off my body, trying to ignore the raging hard-on I currently possessed. My eyes kept being drawn down her end of the bathroom. I told myself it was because she was under my guard. I told myself anything that would make the ache in my dick subside.
“How did you end up working for Nick Anscombe?” Charlie asked, lathering up her hair with shampoo; a porno-movie worthy moment. I almost groaned at the now painful throbbing of my cock.
“Your dossier not tell you?” I asked, slapping the soap back down in the dish with a little too much force.
She ignored the growl that came from my end of the room. Thank fuck.
“You were ex-military. Run of the mill joe.”
“There you have it,” I said with little emotion. “Did my term, got out.”
“And found Nick?” she pushed.
I sighed. Was this Charlie the spy asking or Charlie who might or might not be interested in me?
I shrugged my shoulders, not bothering to check if she could see the movement. The less I looked at her the better. I glanced down at my dick. At least one of us was finally calming the fuck down with all her questions.
“You don’t find Nick, he finds you,” I eventually said.
Silence. I did glance across the stall walls at that. Charlie was just reaching forward and turning off her shower, plump lower lip caught in between her teeth. And hello, there goes my dick again.
Fuck!
I turned the tap off forcefully, surprised it didn’t come right off in my hand. I’d reached for my towel and was maniacally drying my hair when she spoke again.
“How did he find me?”
I paused in my movements and looked across the space towards her. She was facing me, hair slicked back, damp from the shower, skin flushed from the heat of the spray. God, I wanted her. No makeup. No done to the death hairdo. Nothing but a towel wrapped around her and she couldn’t have fucking looked better.
This woman stole all reason. She made me forget who I was. Why I was here.
Why she was here too.
“We needed a language expert,” I said, wrapping the towel around my waist and stepping out of the shower stall. She mirrored my movements, walking out until I could see all her gloriously near naked body down the other end of the room.
“A language expert?” she asked. “Why? In your line of work, most would speak English or Māori, and I only speak one of those.”
I smiled. “We’ve got Ben for Māori. And don’t confuse Auckland with a backwater Antipodean city. It’s more cosmopolitan than you think.”
“I know how cosmopolitan it is,” she argued. “Declan King was from Haiti.”
I shrugged again; a go-to movement when I couldn’t decide if Charlie’s questions should make me nervous or not. Was she asking in order to find meaning behind us being put together? Or was it something else?
“Exactly,” I agreed; as good a reason as any. “We needed someone who spoke French.”
She stared at me for a long moment and then reached into her bag, pulling out underwear. Cute as fuck, plain cotton panties that shouldn’t have covered a toothpick, let alone her gorgeous arse.
I stood there like the fucking douche I was and watched as she got dressed. Guarding her. Yeah, right.
“And Nick decided why stop at French,” she said, pulling on clean leathers. “Why not have someone who can speak Russian too.”
“Let’s not forget the Mandarin, German and Farsi.”
She turned to face me; legs clad in black leather, torso still wrapped up in a wet towel.
The towel dropped to the floor.
My dick shot skyward.
Douche!
Her lips twitched at the edges; she so knew what she was doing.
Reaching for a bra she said softly, “I don’t buy it.”
I almost said, “Buy what?” Too damn caught up on the matching handkerchief sized bra she was slipping into. Shame. Could have been smaller.
“What’s not to buy?” I asked instead. “You said so yourself, drugs are manufactured in China as much as anywhere now days. Some of those cartels have long reaches. Even all the way down here in the South Pacific.”
She stilled, new singlet t-shirt in her grasp, the most beautiful breasts I’d ever laid eyes on peeking out from the top of oh so fucking tempting white cotton bra cups. I licked my lips, then forced my gaze up to her eyes.
“Have you had evidence that the drugs on the streets are originating in China?” she asked. Either only just now finding her voice - from the look of shocked awareness on her face that would fit - or waiting for me to break eye contact with her tits before she spoke. Some girls don’t like you staring at their boobs, but I didn’t think Charlie was one of them.
Hell, why else did she just put on that show other than to distract me, have me lower my guard?
“Not directly,” I admitted. “What are you thinking?”
I didn’t expect her to answer such an overt question; such an invasion into her inner shell.
But Charlie was adapting to her new role of scapegoat spy surprisingly fast. She couldn’t trust the Department anymore. She didn’t wholly trust ASI either. But somehow she was able to open up a little with me.
Why? My ego wanted it to be the effect of all my naked flesh on display; the towel barely offering adequate coverage. My brain told me to shut the fuck up; Charlie was using the best asset she had available. It meant fuck all that she’d decided it was me.
“I almost get shafted in Guangzhou,” she said slowly, as though the thought was coalescing as each word left her tongue. “And Nick Anscombe decides he needs a Mandarin speaking linguist because you’ve found drugs in New Zealand originating from China.”
Huh.
“Are there drugs here from China?” she pressed.
I shifted uncomfortably. This was information Nick was keeping close to his chest. Charlie was still considered a hostile in home territory. Nick had made it clear that we’d be keeping her as much in the dark as we could.
I glanced around the bathroom, rechecking the ceiling and coming up blank. No cameras still. Even I was second guessing my boss now. That just made me fucking mad.
“You think that’s the connection?” I asked instead of answering. A delay tactic that backfired immediately.
“Answer the question, Adam.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. Charlie didn’t look down at the movement, her eyes target locked on my face; looking for a reaction, deciphering each expression. What had they trained her to do at the Department? Recognise a lie from a combination of signals subconsciously given when we speak?