Authors: Nicola Claire
I
felt
a thrill as I tore off down Broadway, taking the tiny back roads of the shopping suburb to launch Adam’s Monster onto the motorway on-ramp, heading south. He’d fallen for the fuel issue easily. And fixed it just as easily as well.
I liked watching his hands at work. How deftly they manoeuvred the wrench into position. How much bigger they were to the clamp that held the hose in place. There were signs of old injuries to his knuckles, my mind fixated on the reason why they might be there. Work related? A fight? Or simply the after effects of tinkering on motorbikes; a hobby that hadn’t shown up in his dossier.
Pushing those disturbing and non-essential thoughts aside, I urged the machine beneath me faster, testing his limits. Testing his bike. Testing him.
I’d chosen my sub-target well, a flash of silver and black streaked past as we took the off-ramp that led towards Te Irirangi Drive. Weaving in and out of late night traffic, we made quick work of the long stretch of roadway, and as though he could read my mind, we merged in unison with slower traffic on Chapel Road to finally make the motorcyclist Mecca of the winding road that led out to Whitford. By the time we made the curves and dips that called to the reckless side of every biker, I was in a little awe of Adam Savill.
The man knew how to handle a Ducati.
Wind rushed past as we thundered along the narrow stretch of tarseal. The odd headlight from an on coming vehicle flashing across our visors. The weave and lean as we passed slower cars, tearing off at what a normal person would call frightening speeds; our only goal the next bend, the next dip, the next feeling of elation as the bike flew over a rise and shot down the other side.
By the time we came to a stop at Maraetai Beach my heart was racing, my cheeks were flushed, and a grin from ear to ear graced my face. I pulled my helmet off and stared at the man parked across from me. His helmet already hanging off the handlebars, gaze out over the clear waters to Waiheke Island, chest rising and falling with his own laboured and excited breath.
I felt a sudden unexpected pitch inside. A plummet of my stomach to the gravel beneath my boots. I’d met many people who were a close match, a fair opponent, a lethal adversary. But none had made me so fearful as this man.
A simple bike ride. A stupid race. And this mark with his tousled blond hair, rugged good looks, and deep blue eyes with their mischievous glint, left me reeling.
I climbed off the bike and walked towards the beach, placing him at my back as more of a test for myself than anything.
How could one assignment on home soil cause such chaos inside my mind?
Seven days, Mal had said. I was now determined to wrap this up in three.
Which meant I needed to escalate things.
“That bike is
sweet
,” Adam said with all the enthusiasm of a puppy. He came and stood beside me, shoulders almost touching, the breeze off the ocean blowing in our faces. “Handles like a dream,” he added.
I sucked in a deep breath, steadied my nerves - nerves that should not have existed at all - and flicked a glance towards him from beneath my lashes.
“Seems to me you know how to make a bike handle like a dream,” I said in reply.
“Did I mention my many talents?” he quipped, waggling his eyebrows at me.
It should have been a ridiculous motion, instead I had trouble controlling my smile.
“Hmm,” I remarked. “You might have said something about talents.”
“You don’t sound convinced?”
“It takes a lot to wow me, Savill.” At least, it used to.
“Then I shall endeavour to be the first.”
“I didn’t say no one had managed the task before,” I argued, taking a step down onto the sand of the beach and starting to move toward the wharf. “Just that it takes a lot to achieve it.”
“What was the last thing that wowed you then, Lieutenant? I need a baseline, something to work from.”
You
. I blinked. Struggled to think up an imaginary event. Bizarrely couldn’t seem to make my lips move, let alone my tongue issue a deflection.
“Not giving an inch, huh?” Adam announced, following me up the steps to the wharf itself. “You are one hard cookie to crack.”
I laughed; he hadn’t sounded too put-out by that fact. Instead he’d sounded intrigued.
Turning around and walking backwards down the wharf I smiled up at him and shrugged my shoulder.
“Where’s the challenge in that?” I asked.
Adam nodded slowly, eyes alight with interest, the moon glinting off the water and washing his face in a stray beam. He looked like he was prowling down the boards after me. Hunting his prey to the end of the jetty and the dark waters beyond. A shiver raced through me at what would transpire once we got there. Once
he
got me there. Adam Savill was a very dangerous man and I wasn’t sure if that was because he was wrapped up in whatever ASI was being suspected of. Or just because of him.
“I haven’t been out here for ages,” I said, when he failed to make a sound. Even his feet on the wooden planks beneath us were silent. The gentle swoosh of the water lapping at the poles that held the wharf aloft made more noise than Adam when he stalked.
He glanced around as if recognising where we actually were at last. As though his attention, his focus, up until then had all been on me. Even when he’d looked out towards Waiheke, I’d been the only thing in his line of sight. I wondered how that focused attention would be when he made love. I wondered how that sort of undivided regard would make a woman feel.
“It’s been a while for me, too,” he said, voice soft, as though he was remembering something. His brow creased, his lips pressed into a thin line. The memory was not a good one.
I knew exactly which memory it would be.
Jason Cain shot and killed his sister’s ex-boyfriend here. But not in time to prevent the ex-boyfriend from firing off a shot which landed in the sister. Who’d taken the bullet to save her new boyfriend, Dominic Anscombe. Nick Anscombe’s brother.
On paper it made sense they were being investigated. Too many coincidences. Too many deaths. Too much that has happened around this one security and investigations firm. Too many arrows pointing at the Anscombes and at these men.
My stomach roiled; a sensation I was not well practised to deal with. I swallowed past a thick throat and stared out toward Waiheke Island. I’d known these people personally less than one day. I’d been familiar with their files for just one week. But somehow, standing there on the beach at Maraetai sharing a memory with the first man to beat me on a bike, I didn’t want them to be who the Department thought they were. I didn’t want this assignment to end up how every other assignment in the past had done.
Stamped and filed under “case solved-target eliminated.” Wiped from existence. Only a harsh murmur or sharp look in the Beehive and nothing more.
But I was here to do a job. To complete a task. I’d never failed before and I wasn’t going to now. Despite the added pressure of figuring out why the Department was gunning for my head as well as ASI’s. I would finish this, even if my heart was strangely no longer in it as much as it used to be. Even if my mind whirred with questions and doubts and my body felt so very tired all of a sudden.
Maybe I’d been doing this too long. Maybe I was burning out. A burned out specialist was considered as dangerous as a rogue one. Maybe the Director had seen the writing on the wall and was sending me out with one last high profile case.
Because you can’t get more high profile than a suspected domestic security breach through organised crime; it scares the crap out of departments like the GCSB and the NZSIS. Both the Government Communications Security Bureau and the New Zealand Security Intelligence Service were not departments you wanted to shock. I should know. Because I was beginning to suspect I might have shocked them and that’s why they were testing me.
“You OK?” Adam suddenly said, breaking into a tumult of thoughts regarding recent assignments and what could have sent the wrong signal to the Director.
“Ah, yeah, just enjoying the view.”
“With that frown? Clearly not what you’re used to,” he teased. “Navy spoilt you for regular beach scenes such as this, Lieutenant?” His arm swept out over the view before us, taking in the navigation channel lit up with buoys and the house lights dotted over Waiheke Island in the distance, glinting as they reflected back on the smooth, mirror-like waters between.
I smiled and turned towards him, leaning back on the wharf railing and giving my full attention to the man across the dock from me and not the spectacular scenery. I could hardly complain; my eyes drank in every inch of him, relishing the sight of hard muscles, stretched t-shirt, and stubble that begged to be scratched across a firm jaw.
“Not every beach scene is worth ignoring more obvious delights,” I murmured.
Adam smiled; it was wicked and sinful and a direct shot designed to unsettle his opponent. Or prey.
He leaned back against the railing on his side and took up a casual stance as he surveyed me; from head to toe and slowly back up again.
“I get the impression you might be trouble, Ms Downes,” he remarked, reaching up and rubbing his chin in contemplation. Or as though he knew I’d been envisaging doing the same myself. “Just as well I like a little trouble from time to time.”
“You think you can handle me, Savill?”
“Oh, firecracker, I’d sure as hell like to show you how well.”
I laughed; it was surprisingly genuine. Coming from deep within and not my go-to chuckle of feigned amusement, but real mirth. Adam had managed to achieve two extraordinary things tonight. He’d beaten me in a race on our bikes. And he’d made me laugh; truly laugh.
Dangerous didn’t even cover it.
“What would be your plan of attack, then?” I queried. “Stalk me until I was trapped?”
“I see my reputation has preceded me,” he muttered, not entirely pleased with the thought, if his tone could be trusted. “Who let it slip? Koki?”
“Let what slip?”
“Eva’s nickname for me.”
Evangeline Rowe, wife of Nick Anscombe. Now why would the country singer call Adam a stalker?
“I think there’s a story there, Savill. One I might find amusing.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Koki didn’t tell you?”
“That Eva calls you ‘Stalker’? No. I guessed. You’ll find it one of
my
many talents.”
“Guessing?”
“Figuring things out.”
“And what have you figured out about me?”
“That you’re ASI’s hunter. The one chosen to track people down who’ve gone off radar. That you stalk your prey and you’re good at it. So good, you do it even when you don’t realise that you are.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “You’re stalking me.”
That shut him up. And also let him know I was aware and open to his attentions. Any specialist worth their salt uses truth to effect their cover. I
am
good at figuring people out. I am fucking good at it. That’s why I’ve succeeded so well within the Department. And now Adam would know and a cover within a cover had been born.
I’d chosen Adam as my sub-target for several reasons. Clearly he would be the most receptive of the single men within ASI; Koki and Brook were too much attached at the hips to allow a co-worker to intrude on their little slice of whatever-the-fuck they shared. Adam won the role from purely being the last man standing in that field. But that wasn’t all. He was high up in the structure of ASI, someone Nick Anscombe trusted. Trusted enough to give him their most important cases to hunt down. Trusted enough to assign him to me. Adam was good at what he did. Considered one of the best hunters in the private sector. Having him within my power meant I had access to high profile ASI cases, insight into the inner sanctum of the firm, and my very own stalker to track down Caleb Hart.
Win-win; I’d be crazy not to take advantage of that.
“So,” I said, pushing off from the railing and taking a step towards my target. “The question remains,” I added, moving nearer, watching as his eyes widened fractionally and then shifted to that half-mast look men effect when getting turned on, “are you man enough,
stalker
enough, to accept the challenge?”
I stopped within an inch of his body; heat unfurling down the front of me as our leathers brushed as we exhaled.
“Or do I have to pretend to run to get your attention?” I finished with a look I knew was all come-on.
Adam swallowed. Licked his lips as his eyes darted all over my face, my chest, my body. Stripping me with that one all too brief glance from his heated gaze.
“You do realise we’ll be working together,” he murmured, voice husky with a desire I was all too aware of.
“I’m OK with that,” I said with a shrug of my shoulder which brought my breasts in close proximity with his chest. His eyes closed briefly and then flicked back open as if not trusting me to keep my distance.
Maybe I’d read this man wrong. Maybe he did have a conscience and tangling with a co-worker was on his no-go list. But I’d seen the attraction in his gaze. Seen the desire in the surreptitious glances. Seen the interest and hunger and longing that reflected mine.
I could say that my reaction was purely professional. But I made a habit of never lying to myself. I lied for my profession. I’d lied to almost everyone I’d ever known. Sometimes lines had to be drawn; this was mine.
I wanted Adam Savill. And I wanted him for me and no one else.
“What if it doesn’t work out?” Adam asked. The look on his face as he said the words let me know he was cursing himself internally for playing devil’s advocate right then. I respected his efforts at maintaining a professional level of decorum. Even though I knew he didn’t stand a chance.
His standards wouldn’t help me gain the upper hand. And in order to control Adam Savill, I
needed
him in my bed.
“We’ll be nothing but friends when on the job, Adam,” I whispered, shifting closer still, although closer seemed impossible with our jackets touching, our thighs brushing, and our breaths already mingling on the hot air.
“Friends with benefits?” he asked, then closed his eyes again and shook his head, as though in disgust. It did sound lame, but I’d give him kudos for trying to clarify things before he jumped me. Always read the fine print first. It was just a shame for Adam that my fine print was rated top secret and classified. He’d never read it, not in a thousand years.