The Pleasures of Summer (3 page)

A buzzing sensation against his hip distracted him. He hadn’t given her permission to use the vibrator, so what was it? The pulsation continued, accompanied by the sound of the Tardis.

‘Fuck!’ Reluctantly, Flynn opened his eyes, allowing the vision of the two gorgeous women to dissipate, and groped for his phone. The boat rocked as he rooted through the outer pocket of his fishing waders to find it and fumble it out.

‘This had better be good,’ he growled. ‘Lottie LeBlanc was about to give me a BJ.’

His boss’s voice was disgustingly cheerful, but not at all sympathetic. ‘Tell her to take a rain check. I have a job for you. An interesting one.’

‘Yeah?’ Flynn was wary but intrigued. Niall knew that his idea of an interesting job involved an H&K semi, a dozen bad guys and blowing things up with C4. He wasn’t back at full strength yet after the last, and hopefully final, round of surgery, but he was prepared to fake it. ‘What is it?’

‘Security detail. Nothing too taxing, don’t worry.’

Damn, how did Niall Moore do it? He hadn’t told his boss about his injuries, but somehow he had found out.
It was creepy how he did that. Niall went on, ‘It’s easy work, but the fringe benefits are stunning.’

‘Go on.’ This he had to hear.

‘You know those blondes you see in glossy magazines and wonder if they’re real?’

‘I read
Jane’s
,
An Cosantóir
and the
New Yorker
.’ The last time Flynn had used a glossy magazine, he was jamming it into a toaster to use as a detonator.

‘In that case, you might have missed her. Summer O’Sullivan. She’s under threat from some dipshit moron with a grudge against her father, Tim. You’re just the man to keep her safe.’

That was a name Flynn knew. ‘O’Sullivan Airlines? I didn’t know the mouthy little git had a daughter.’ Then a memory clicked. ‘Hold on. You’re talking about the blonde airhead?’

The photo on the front page of the
Daily Star
of Summer O’Sullivan, naked except for a Garda jacket, screaming abuse as she was being dragged along Grafton Street, had sold lots of papers.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m not babysitting that brat. Get someone else.’

‘There is no one else.’ For the first time, Flynn caught a hint of exhaustion in Niall’s voice. ‘Come on, Fug, do me a favour. O’Sullivan is the sort of windbag who will ruin the agency’s reputation if I can’t deliver. And I’ve no one else left.’

Flynn didn’t bother getting pissed about being called Fug. He knew damn well that when anyone from the Wing called him that, it stood for Fucked Up Guy, not Flynn Ulysses Grant. In a way, considering the source, it
was almost a compliment. He focused on the important question. ‘How come you have no operatives? Last time we talked, you had half a dozen qualified men.’

‘Civilians.’ Niall sounded disgusted. ‘Not one of them can cope with the little madam. They’re too polite. So I thought, who’s the least polite person I know?’

‘And fuck you too, you bastard,’ Flynn said, but it was half-hearted. He couldn’t argue with the truth. ‘It’s pity work.’

‘Okay, it’s not East Timor, but it’s real work. It’s only for a few weeks; you can get back to fighting form and take a more challenging job afterwards. I promise I’ll find you something more to your taste.’

‘Something with a lot of C4?’ Flynn asked.

‘Could be. There’s a nice little covert-ops job coming up, something that calls for your special skills. If I’m sure you are up to the job.’

‘That’s blackmail!’ But it was a half-hearted protest.

‘Suck it up, Fug, and get your ass down to the O’Sullivan place in London ASAP. I’ll send you the details.’ Niall disconnected the call before Flynn could protest any further.

‘Well, fuck!’ He stared at his phone in frustration, but knew he’d been had. Somehow, his old CO had conned him into babysitting a blonde brat for a couple of weeks.

Dunboy House, the O’Sullivan mansion near Hampstead Heath, reminded Flynn of one of the big houses in the midlands of Ireland. It was a huge Regency-style building, with colonnades, marble steps and a beech-lined avenue. But it was surrounded by a demesne wall that wouldn’t keep out a child. He was going to have his work cut out for him.

He announced himself at the security gate.

For an instant, he considered how out of place he was going to look, still rough from his fishing trip, but he didn’t allow it to bother him. They needed his expertise, not
GQ
looks. He’d leave the pretty boy stuff to Niall. He checked his watch; yes, he was on time.

When the gates opened, Flynn sped up the driveway. He stopped the Venom, a bike that was more powerful than it looked, outside the front door and grabbed his rucksack. Out of long habit, he hefted it as if it didn’t contain an arsenal’s worth of weapons. It took more effort than usual. Damn his injuries. He was determined to be back at his fighting best as soon as possible.

The front door was slightly ajar. The security was so sloppy it was scary. ‘Al Qaeda could waltz in here,’ he muttered. Even at the best of times, this was stupid. When a nutcase was making death threats against your family, it was criminal.

He didn’t bother ringing the bell to announce his arrival, but pushed the door open and walked inside. An open door was an invitation in his book. Hell, anything not secured with laser and a triple deadlock was an invitation to Flynn.

The hall was cool and dim, with oak panels and black and white marble tiles that looked original. A wide wooden staircase drew his eyes upwards and a movement at the top caught his attention.

A blonde, wearing only a skimpy towel tucked around her breasts and which barely covered her hips, fussed with her damp hair as she descended. ‘Malcolm,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’m going to the sauna. Send someone with towels.’

Flynn whistled in appreciation. The legs revealed by that inadequate towel were spectacular, long and shapely and lightly tanned. Her feet were elegant and high-arched, with nails painted silver and pink. Those luscious thighs were the stuff of fantasy, and Flynn allowed himself a brief vision of how she would look without the towel.

She stopped on the last step, artfully widening her eyes as if she was surprised to see him there. Yeah right, as if she hadn’t been aware of him from the moment she turned onto the landing.

She looked him up and down, examining him, and then turned away dismissively. ‘The servants’ entrance is around the rear,’ she said, pointing to the front door.

He laughed and moved closer, onto the step where she stood. This close, he could see the individual lashes around her dark blue eyes. She wore no make-up, but smelled of something exotic and expensive.

She took a half step back before she halted, staring up at him defiantly.

‘I usually have to pay someone to say something that corny. But don’t worry, I won’t forget.’

On impulse, he moved in and gave her damp hair a slight tug. Something about the texture was wrong; it wasn’t vibrant enough for her personality. For an instant, she softened, swaying slightly in his direction, before indignation stiffened her spine and she snapped, ‘Take your hands off me.’

Flynn let go. He’d had the answer he needed.

‘Just checking if the curtains matched the carpet – since you so kindly gave me a flash of the carpet on your way down.’

She gasped in outrage, yanking the towel tight around her. ‘How dare you?’

He laughed. ‘You can ask that after parading in front of a strange man wearing only a towel? You must be kidding.’

‘I’ll have you fired, just like the others.’

‘I’m disappointed. I didn’t think you’d give in so easily. That’s blondes for you, I suppose, even fake ones.’

The flash in her eyes made him chuckle.

‘You stink!’

He hadn’t had a chance to shower since leaving the boat, so it was true. ‘That’s the best you can come up with? What are you, five?’

A cough from the side of the hallway interrupted him. ‘Ahem. If you two are finished flirting, I need to speak to Mr Grant.’

Flynn gave her a half smile, one that promised interesting things in the future, before turning away.

‘Teflon’ Tim O’Sullivan was shorter than he had expected. On television, where he was frequently seen exhorting the government to get out of the airline business and stop interfering with him, he was larger than life. In his office, surprisingly modern for such an ancient building, he was small and wiry, full of nervous energy and an air of ferocious intelligence.

He waved Flynn to a seat, a large leather armchair that looked at least a hundred years old, while he sat behind a heavy mahogany desk. Instead Flynn took a modern wooden chair, one that would allow him to spring up without fighting his way out of a pile of horsehair. O’Sullivan said nothing, but his shrewd eyes took note.

‘I’m sorry about that little episode,’ he began. ‘But I’m glad I saw it. As you’ll have gathered, Summer is a bit of a handful and she resents having a bodyguard. She’s developed a talent for getting rid of them. I’m glad to see that you’re not so easily intimidated.’

Flynn smiled briefly. ‘No, I think it’s safe to say that I don’t scare easily.’

O’Sullivan flicked a glance at his laptop screen. ‘Niall Moore gave me some of your background. You sound more than capable of taking care of my daughter.’

‘I’m happy you think so.’ Of course, Niall hadn’t told O’Sullivan everything. If he knew just how lethal Flynn was, he would never have invited him into his house.

While other elite Special Ops divisions boasted about how tough the training was for Navy SEALS or the SAS,
the Irish Army Rangers Wing said nothing, but just got on with business.

O’Sullivan sighed. ‘It’s the worst time to have to be away, but I can’t help it.’

‘Can you brief me on the situation, sir?’ Flynn had some details from Niall, but it was good practice to make sure there were no gaps in his information. Besides, everyone lied, and it would be useful to see what O’Sullivan lied about.

The older man leaned forwards, spinning the computer screen around so Flynn could see it. ‘That bloody crash. The OS723 from Atlanta crashed coming in to Heathrow and seventeen people were killed. The BAA inquiry has already cleared us; it was caused by a wheel which fell off an earlier plane, but do you think the crackpots will believe it? Oh no, it must be my fault. Just because it was a budget flight does not mean we cut corners. Damn it, our pilots are better paid than average. Do you –’

O’Sullivan was all set to continue his rant, but a look from Flynn pulled him up. He calmed down slightly. ‘Anyway, I have to go to Atlanta for a meeting with the Federal Aviation Authority. I want to expand my operations stateside, but I’m worried about Summer. Especially after that incident last year.’

Flynn went on alert. ‘What incident?’

‘Some guy side-swiped her car less than a mile from here and he didn’t even stop. Not so much as a call to 999. There are a lot of bad feckers around so I don’t want Summer on her own.’

‘Why not take her with you?’ It seemed the obvious solution.

‘She wants to stay here.’

‘With all due respect,’ Flynn was doing his best to be diplomatic, but not sure if he could succeed. ‘This house is a security nightmare. Take her with you or send her somewhere that is safer.’

O’Sullivan sighed. ‘She won’t come with me. Says she hates Atlanta. And nothing will make her go back to Ireland.’

‘You’re her father. Make her do what she’s told.’ It seemed simple enough to him.

The older man gave him a look of pity. ‘Easy to see you don’t have children. She’s set on staying here so I need someone to keep her safe. Can you do that?’

Flynn nodded. ‘As long as it’s understood that only Niall Moore can fire me. She can’t. And I get carte blanche to do whatever it takes to keep her safe.’ O’Sullivan nodded, so Flynn continued, ‘I need the plans for this house, the security system, the staff rota, passwords, list of everyone who has access, any other information you have.’

O’Sullivan got busy pulling files from his computer, grumbling under his breath about the details Flynn demanded. ‘There’d be less fuss for the President.’

Flynn heard. ‘That was easier. At least she did what she was told.’

There was a second of shock, and then O’Sullivan laughed. ‘Now I know my little girl is in good hands.’