Breaking (Fall or Break #2) (25 page)

“We’ll get up in a minute. I’m just thinking about how this was nearly the last day of my life and also one of the best. I got a brilliant two-for-one offer on the condoms.”

“Ha ha.”

“I like being with you,” Archer said quietly. “It’s not just the sex. I feel different with you. Happy.” He didn’t say more. He couldn’t. There was too large a lump in his throat, too large a hole in his heart. He wanted to ask Conrad what love was, if Conrad could love him, maybe already loved him, but he didn’t have the right. He was a killer and there was a gaping chasm in his soul because of it.

Conrad had been with another man for seven years. Archer hadn’t even known him seven weeks. Yet could anyone love Conrad as much as he did?
Love?
Was that what this was? He desperately wanted to believe there could be future for them. A home to share. A big bed. A bigger tub. Deefor. Maybe even the miracle of a kid.

It isn’t too late. I’m not broken beyond mending.

Am I?

I’ve lost him. Fuck it.
Conrad wished he could see inside Archer’s head, understand what was going on in there. Part of him wanted to get up, get dressed and walk out, but another part of him wondered if that was exactly what Archer was after. Today had been…difficult. They’d both nearly died. He had to give Archer time. Nor should he forget that the threat against Archer was still there. He knew how hard it had been for Archer to let himself be fucked. He’d said he didn’t want to fight but maybe he should have. M
aybe I did this all wrong.
Maybe they should have waited.

Did Archer regret it? If he did, then it was over between them, it had to be, because Conrad couldn’t always be the one to stick his butt in the air. He’d more or less forced Malachi into it for seven years and look what had happened. Archer was a mixed up guy, much harder to understand than Malachi.
Though I got that wrong too. Shit.

So open your heart. Tell him how you feel. You let him fuck you first. You can open your heart first. Tell him you want him to stick around.

“There’s an old Chinese saying.” Conrad pushed himself up. “Do not use a hatchet to remove a fly from your friend’s forehead.”

Archer blinked his eyes open. “I should hope not. Especially in Australia. Lots of flies there. You’d not have many friends left.”

Conrad stood up and held out his hand. “Come on. Let me clean you up.”

Archer took his hand and Conrad tugged him to the bathroom. He wet a facecloth and rubbed soap on it before wiping Archer’s chest.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Conrad said. “I know things aren’t fine yet, but they will be. I just want you to promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t run away from me.”

Conrad waited.

“I’ll still be here in the morning,” Archer said.

Not exactly what Conrad needed to hear but he’d take it.

Even so, Conrad hadn’t been sure Archer would be lying beside him when he woke, so when he flung out his arm and smacked the guy in the face, they both sat up with a start.

“Sorry,” Conrad blurted. “Christ, I ache.”

Archer rolled his shoulders and winced.

“How do you feel?” Conrad asked.

“Like I’ve been beaten up.”

Not that you enjoyed being fucked by me? Talk to me.
But Archer stayed silent.

Conrad turned to sit on the edge of the bed. “We should get Deefor.”

“Not yet.”

Why not?
Conrad sighed. “I better check if Sev minds having him a little longer.” He reached for the safe phone and tapped in the number.

“What?” Sev snapped.

“It’s me. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. The lick-machine did that. He’s spent the night checking I was still alive. Every bloody hour.”

Conrad smiled. “Think you could hang onto him for a while?”

Sev gave a heavy sigh. “I suppose so. How are things?”

“I have no idea.” Conrad glanced at Archer. “I’m sorry about what happened. Was everyone okay?”

“Yes. Cuts and bruises. It was a shambles in there. We were lucky no one was killed. Hurry up and get back to work. I’m far safer when you’re in court.”

Conrad smiled as he ended the call. He was about to toss the phone aside when it rang.

“Hello?”

“Are you all right?”

Conrad sighed at the sound of his father’s voice. “Yep. Any news?”

“Not yet. Sit tight. Let me speak to Archer.”

He handed the phone over.

Archer rolled to his feet. “You shower first.”

Conrad picked up his scattered clothes and headed for the bathroom.

“You hungry?” Conrad asked as they walked through the lobby.

“Not really.”

“I am. Let’s find somewhere decent to eat and we can talk about what we’re going to do.”

“Fine.”

Conrad gave him a puzzled look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Archer hailed a black cab. “I know a good place for breakfast.”

Conrad was sure there was something wrong but he didn’t know what. Something his father had said this morning? Archer’s hand settled over his where it lay on the seat of the cab. When Conrad glanced at him, his sexy lips curved in a smile and Conrad’s heart spasmed. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong.

“Do you have any way of getting into your house?” Archer asked. “I assume your keys are still in Northumberland. Going to go back up there or have your things shipped down here?”

“My cleaner has a set of keys. I’ll have to go up and sort out my stuff to make sure the things that belong there aren’t moved.”

“Everything was pretty much tossed everywhere the last time I saw it.”

“Was it? Shit. That’ll be my deposit gone then.”

Conrad told himself not to ask because he wanted Archer to tell him, but he grew tired of waiting. “What did my father have to say?”

“Kinsale is still denying everything. Hard drives are being examined but there’s nothing yet.”

“So you’re in danger.”

Archer shrugged. “No more than anyone who knows about all this and a lot of people do now. Your father believes the threat to me has significantly reduced. I’m sure he’s right. Still, don’t trust anyone.”

“I don’t.” Conrad stared at him.

“Good. Don’t forget.” Archer squeezed his fingers.

The taxi dropped them off close to the British Library.

“I thought we could have breakfast in the library.” Archer smiled. Conrad didn’t trust him and his heart ached at that thought.

They walked over the checkered piazza past The Last Word glass-sided cafe.

“Or we could eat there,” Archer said. “It’s not cold. I quite fancy sitting outside with coffee and a croissant. You want to go and get them while I nip to the bathroom?”

What are you up to?
Conrad went into the café and placed the order. He was pissed off with himself for being in such a shitty mood. He was
not
an insecure guy so he didn’t understand why he was jittery. If Archer wanted to walk away, then nothing Conrad could do or say would make any difference. If he told him that he loved him, Archer would be gone in a flash.

Conrad carried the tray of pastries and two coffees outside. It suddenly seemed to have become busy and he grabbed the last table on the edge of the seating area next to one of the trimmed hedges that sat in oblong pots.

Be fucking nice.
He was talking to himself, not Archer who was nowhere to be seen. Was that it? Had he gone? Disappointment clawed at Conrad’s heart. Maybe he was better off on his own. Except he knew he wasn’t.

Conrad sipped his coffee and watched the door of the library. He saw Archer come out and made himself smile. Archer wasn’t going to want to stay if he behaved like a child. Whatever was wrong could be sorted. One thing Conrad could offer was patience.

Archer was about twenty yards away when Conrad heard a crack and Archer stopped walking.
What the hell?
As Archer crumpled, Conrad pushed himself up and ran. He could hear people shouting, someone screaming. A guy got to Archer before he did. Archer’s coat was open and there was blood all over his chest.

“Get back, get back,” the guy shouted.

Archer’s eyes were open and Conrad dropped to his knees.
Oh fuck.

“I’ve called an ambulance,” he heard someone say.

Archer opened his mouth and blood trickled out.

“Don’t die,” Conrad said. “Don’t you dare fucking die!” He grabbed Archer’s hand and hung onto him.

It was only minutes but it felt like hours before someone tried to pull Conrad away from Archer.

“Sir, please move out of the way.”

Conrad registered the voice but he wasn’t moving.

“Sir.”

Two policemen pulled him upright and Conrad stood shaking as paramedics worked on Archer.
Don’t let him die. I saved him twice. He can’t die. He can’t.

Then they stopped working. Archer’s eyes were closed. One of the paramedics turned to the policemen and shook his head. Conrad’s knees buckled and he collapsed.
No, no, no, no.

“We need to talk to you, sir,” said a policeman. “Is he a friend of yours? Could you give us his name?”

“I don’t know his name,” Conrad whispered.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Conrad sat slumped in shock. He couldn’t believe Archer was dead, but his gaze drifted back to his body and the pool of blood and knew he had to believe it.

“Sir, are you hurt?” a paramedic asked him.

“Not my blood,” he mumbled.

He was helped to one of the chairs at the café by a policeman. “You sure you don’t know him?”

Conrad struggled to drag some sense into his brain. If he said he did, they’d want to take him to a police station, want to hear everything and what good would any of that do? He watched as a cordon was set up around the scene, police keeping ghoulish spectators at bay.

When the policeman with him was called away, Conrad got to his feet and walked off expecting a hand on his shoulder or someone calling him but no one did. He had no idea what he was doing, where he was going, just that he couldn’t be near Archer’s body.

The fucking threat had
not
been significantly reduced. Whoever wanted Archer dead had succeeded. His heart clamped and he doubled over, retching. When he turned and looked back, Archer was being lifted into an ambulance.
Go with him.

What for? It was too late. He kept walking. He hoped it was his face Archer had seen before he died, hoped he’d realized he loved him. He didn’t want to speak to the police, didn’t want to have to explain any of this. He walked and walked, knocking into people on the street, not caring as anger began to overwhelm his grief. Why had his father told Archer the threat to him had been significantly reduced? How fucking wrong could you get? Weren’t they watching the wankers who were behind this? They surely hadn’t let Kinsale go. He put his hand in his pocket for the phone, then put it back.

Archer.
Even thinking his name made Conrad’s heart hurt. He walked into the first underground station he came to and bought a ticket. He wondered why people were staring until he registered he had Archer’s blood smeared on his fingers. He tucked them in his pockets. His coat was soaked with blood too. He found a bathroom and washed his hands. He almost lost it as he watched red-tinged water swirl down the plug hole but pulled himself together. He dumped his coat. He doubted he’d feel the cold. He couldn’t feel anything. By the time he walked out of the tube at Vauxhall Bridge, he was unnaturally calm.

He headed for the main entrance to the SIS building on the Albert Embankment. Large steel doors blocked the way with smaller pedestrian entrances on either side, all topped by railings. Conrad stood in front of the security booth camera.

“I’m here to see George Kinsale.”

“One moment, sir.”

Conrad didn’t think for an instant they’d let him through, but he hoped that asking for Kinsale might draw enough attention for
someone
to speak to him. He didn’t move. He might have been carved from marble. He couldn’t allow himself to think, to remember how Archer had bled out as he watched.
Oh God.
He swallowed the surge of bile that rose into his throat.

When the gate opened, Conrad was shocked. A security guard ushered him through and the gate closed behind him. He was searched and subjected to a full body scan before he was allowed anywhere near the building. A guard with a gun escorted him inside to go through more security checks. He had to leave his phones, the only things in his pocket apart from a small amount of cash.

He was taken up in a lift and along a corridor to a door bearing the acronym S.D.I. His guard knocked, opened the door and gestured for Conrad to walk in.
I don’t even know what to say to this guy. I fucking want to strangle him.

A young man in a white shirt and bright blue tie looked up from his computer as Conrad walked in. He spoke into an intercom. “He’s here.”

The guard left them and Conrad’s heart pounded.

“Go through,” said the man and nodded toward a door on the right.

Conrad pushed it open and saw his father standing by the window looking out over the Thames. Of course it was his father. He turned to face Conrad.

“Archer’s dead,” Conrad whispered. “You killed him. He thought he was safe. I had to wash his blood off my hands. I never got chance to tell him I…” He clenched his fists. “Where’s Kinsale?”

“You can’t see him, Conrad.”

“Where is he?”

“Kinsale was attempting to alleviate an escalating situation with combative arms dealers.”

“What? You said three of the hits weren’t authorized.”

“Kinsale says he didn’t authorize them.”

Conrad recoiled. “You’re changing history now Archer isn’t around to tell his version?”

“You have to let this go. Let us handle everything.”

“What? And sweep it out of sight? You won’t even let Archer have a funeral, will you? He’ll just be quietly cremated and his ashes dumped. I want his body.”

“Conrad—”

“
Habeas fucking corpus
. He engaged me as his lawyer. I want his fucking body.”

“You know that won’t work.”

“Let me see Kinsale. Let him tell me to my face that he had nothing to do with Archer’s murder.”

His father glanced to his left. “Everything’s been done with the best of intentions.”

Conrad recoiled. “What does that mean?”

“Archer was the one who was a renegade. He was trying to stir up trouble.”

“Liar. Christ, they came to Drayburn. They tried to kill us. Look at what happened in Limehouse.”

“They didn’t try to kill us.”

What the hell was happening here? Conrad felt like he was reading a book about whaling, and discovering it was actually about keeping goldfish. Something was wrong. His father wasn’t stupid. His father glanced left again. Was someone listening? His struggling brain tried to make sense of what was happening. The shock of seeing Archer shot gradually subsiding under a need to understand.

“Conrad.” His father put his hand on his arm. It was all he could do not to punch him. “You have to let this go. National security means you can’t be told any more.”

“Fuck you. Fuck all of this. He’s dead. Murdered in broad daylight. Anyone could have been hurt.”

Wait a minute.
Within the electric storm raging in his head, one lightning strike lit up his brain. A member of an elite secret squad had murdered Archer in front of a public building. In front of witnesses. Conrad had been allowed to walk away without even giving his name. Something was missing here.

“I want to speak to Kinsale.” The calmness of his voice surprised him. “I think I’m entitled to ask a few questions, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.” His father looked left again. Saying one thing, meaning another.

Conrad stormed out of the room, through the secretary’s room and almost turned left, but instead went right, banged hard on the first door he came to, then the next before he turned and hammered his fist on the door on the left of his father’s office. All the time he was shouting, yelling Kinsale’s name. Conrad kicked the door opposite the one he suspected led to the truth and then kicked the one he needed to open.

“I’m not leaving here until I’ve spoken to Kinsale,” he yelled into an empty space. “You want me to go to the press and tell them everything? Get out here now.”

Doors opened up and down the corridor, mostly men emerged but there were a few women.

“Call security,” one of the women shouted.

A man emerged from the room on the left of his father’s, a bald guy in his fifties.
Kinsale?
If Conrad couldn’t break him, he was going to walk away with nothing. Worse than that. Archer was the wronged one here and he had to prove it.

“Archer’s dead. Shot in the chest in front of the British Library.” Except Conrad wasn’t certain that was true. “How did you manage that?”

“I didn’t. Don’t be ridiculous. When is someone going to remove this lunatic?” He glared at Conrad’s father. “You’re not supposed to have your son in here.”

Thank you.
Conrad’s heart leapt.
His voice and that slip.

“How do you know he’s my son?” asked his father.

Kinsale paled. “Well you…look like each other. Your nose.”

“Our noses look nothing alike.” Conrad allowed himself a small smile.

Kinsale’s eyes flickered from side to side. Conrad knew he’d unsettled him.

Oh God. I have to wing this. If I’m wrong…
“The hit you arranged on Archer in Paris. You made a mistake. The shooter had a photo of him taken in Moscow. On a mission you sent Archer on. You told the assassin Archer had gone rogue and when Archer survived you told him the guy’s name was Connor. That he was a freelance American.”

“Recognize him?” Conrad’s father held up a photograph. “One of ours. His DNA is on a photo of Archer that you supplied.”

“Come into my office,” Kinsale said.

Conrad shook his head. “No, I think I’d rather do this in the corridor with an audience.”

“This is preposterous.” Kinsale glared at him.

“You used Archer and when he’d served his purpose and unwittingly set the arms dealers against each other, you pursued him, stalked him, persecuted him and had him killed.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“You’re a lying, manipulative bastard,” Conrad said. “You might think they’re well hidden but nothing is completely secure. The details of money transfers? Deleted emails? Deleted texts? You think you’ve been careful, but have you been careful enough? I doubt it. Can you trust everyone who did your dirty work for you? Not if they think they’re going down with you. You tried to have Archer killed in Paris so your deal with Lomidze would stay hidden. Lomidze feared he was next and killed Kipiani and you blamed Archer. You thought you were being clever but you’re not infallible. I heard your voice. I heard you talking to Archer. I’m proof that you’re his broker, that you sent him to make unauthorized hits. And you really shouldn’t have known this was my father. I didn’t even know he worked here. You’ve lost. It’s over.”

“This is not something to be discussed in a corridor,” Kinsale snapped. “Yes, I’ve been working on bringing down several arms dealers. Archer was careless. He knew the risks.”

“I asked,” Conrad’s father said. “No authorization was given for three of those hits.”

“Then I didn’t order them.”

“I played Archer a recording of your voice,” his father said. “He was able to identify you as Phoenix. We have emails you sent to him. Emails you sent to Lomidze. What was it, George? Money? We’ve not found it yet, but my son is right. We will.”

Conrad watched as realization crept over Kinsale—his shoulders dropped and his jaw tightened. Men came down the corridor and took hold of Kinsale’s arms. Conrad leaned back against the wall, people went back into their offices and doors closed. The only ones left in the corridor were Conrad and his father.

“Well done,” his father said.

What was well done about any of this?

“You engineered this confrontation.”

“Indeed. My office isn’t on this floor.”

“You expected me to bang on the doors?”

“I gave you enough hints. I thought you might figure out a way to trip him up.”

Conrad felt as though his heart was being twisted. “Archer isn’t dead, is he? I just had to think he was.”

“I’m sorry, Conrad. Archer is dead.”

“You’re lying.”

His father shook his head. “No.”

A fresh burst of pain stabbed his heart. “Why didn’t this place take better care of him? Why did they let him get killed?”

When he felt his father’s arm on his shoulder, he shrugged him off. “Can I bury him?”

His father hesitated. “No.”

Conrad stiffened. “Can I at least see him?”

“That’s not possible.”

Conrad was halfway down the corridor when his father called his name. He kept walking.

A guy handed his phones back at the door and minutes later Conrad was on the street. He didn’t have enough in his pocket for a cab to his cleaner’s house, so he walked back to Vauxhall tube station. All the way there, he kept telling himself Archer was gone. He’d seen him die. Despite everything he’d thought, all the reasons he might not be dead, he found it hard to deny what he’d seen with his own eyes.

Maria was at home, which was a relief. Conrad picked up his keys and went back to his house. He bolted the door and slid to the floor. Conrad wasn’t a guy who cried but his eyes filled and tears rolled down his cheeks. He cried so hard there wasn’t one part of him that didn’t ache. He’d lost Malachi and he’d grown to be okay with that because he understood he’d not loved Malachi with the same commitment he’d been willing to give to Archer. But now he’d lost Archer too.
Fucking careless.
The non-joke made him cry harder. He’d sit in the cold hall for as long as it took to cry himself out. He’d cry for what he’d had, what he’d lost, for what might have been.

Gradually, he came out of it and thoughts began to coalesce. He guessed it would take a while for everything to be sorted out, blame apportioned, the guilty in some way punished, but effectively this was over. He fretted that Kinsale would twist things and show he’d done the right thing in getting rid of three, no four arms dealers—forget the collateral damage. The world owed him a favor. The money he’d been paid was destined for the department. The Georgians would never come to trial. If he’d lived, Archer would never have been safe.

Archer had been molded by a loveless childhood, difficult teenage years, passed around the system like an unwanted virus. Abused, raped and eventually sucked into a job no one should be asked to do by Conrad’s father and then not allowed to turn his back on it. But he’d just been starting to live and now it was all over.

Conrad thought back to when they’d first met and reran everything. He had to go back to find his way forward, looking for something he’d missed, some chance to put things right that had slipped through his fingers. His brain wasn’t at a hundred percent. Marred by grief and confusion, he lacked his razor-sharp awareness.

But he knew there was something he was missing.

He was off the hall floor and halfway through his third coffee when the cup slipped from his fingers onto the kitchen table. It didn’t break but the liquid spread out.