Job Hunt (15 page)

Deeds followed words, and in no time at all Jack found himself shoved under a torrent of chilly water. He yanked Gareth into the shower with him, and the warm body at his back made the cold water almost bearable. By the time they stepped out of the shower, Jack had found ground again.

“Now, cake?” he asked as he finished buttoning his jeans and rummaged in the holdall for his favorite deep green Henley. Given their plans for the afternoon, he needed all the comfort he could devise. And the thing looked good on him.

“H
EY
,
LOOK
at you—you’re awake!” Jack smiled as he stepped past two uniformed police officers and into Daniel and Nico’s hospital room. “And you know what? We brought cake.”

The room wasn’t large, just big enough for two beds, a small coffee table, and four moderately comfortable chairs, but it did have an attached bathroom and a great view over Big Ben and the Thames.

Not that the view seemed to impress Daniel and Nico. The two boys huddled close together on the bed farthest from the door, their arms around each other and their eyes on the brightly colored hospital quilt. Baxter had implied that the boys weren’t acknowledging anyone, but Jack’s instincts told him otherwise the moment he stepped into the room.

Daniel and Nico, one blond, one dark, and both maybe fourteen years old, were well aware of their surroundings. They kept their eyes down, the better to watch the room and everyone in it from their peripheral vision. And both were strung so tight, a mere breath might snap their control.

“
You
brought cake? That’s rich,” Gareth’s voice teased as he placed two large shopping bags on the low coffee table by the window. “You wouldn’t have thought of bringing sandwiches, let alone sweet-talk Richmond’s best baker out of some of her specials.”

Gareth was right, of course. Left to his own devices, Jack would have grabbed a mug of coffee on the run to the hospital and wouldn’t have remembered food until his stomach reminded him. Repeatedly. He shot Gareth a grin and shrugged a shoulder. “Same difference,” he said lightly and reached for a bag. “Look, we’ve got Richmond Maids of Honour, custard tarts, choux buns, cream horns and… whatever are these things?” He held up a bag of sugar-crusted puff pastry treats until Gareth took it from him and looked.

“Pig’s Ears.”

“Gross,” Jack commented, delighted to see Nico’s lips move as he silently repeated the words. “What do pig’s ears have to do with cake? Shouldn’t they be sausage or something?”

“You’re a kitchen menace, Horwood.” Gareth picked up the thread and ran with it. “You haven’t got the first clue what’s tasty.” He turned toward the bed and shook the bag. “What’s it gonna be, boys? I suggest you decide quickly, or the hungry hordes over there”—he threw a pointed look at Jack and Baxter—“will polish off the lot before you know it.”

“Well, I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Jack said into the sudden silence. He watched Daniel give a tiny shake of his head and saw Nico hug his friend tighter in reply, giving him a little squeeze as he did so. The silent argument was riveting, but he couldn’t let on that he’d seen it. “Or lunch. I haven’t had lunch, either. Did you get enough so I can have one of each?” he asked with half an eye on Gareth. “Then I won’t need dinner.”

“I know you for a glutton,” Gareth said, and Jack laughed.

“That’s a yes, then. Bring it!”

“Is it true?”

Nico’s voice was so quiet that Jack wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been watching and waiting for it. He half turned and raised an eyebrow. “Is what true?”

“That Ricky is dead.”

For one long, crazy moment, Jack wanted to kill someone. Baxter, Gillian, the fuckwit who hadn’t kept his trap shut… he didn’t care. The urge was so strong he almost reached for the knife in his boot. Then he caught Nico’s gaze, and the rage disappeared under a flood of regrets.

“Yes, it’s true,” he said, turning to face the two boys. “But maybe not the way you think. You know that Ricky was badly hurt?”

He waited while the two locked eyes, communicated as silently as only prisoners know how. Finally Nico looked back up at him.

“Yes.”

“When I met him at the club, he was drugged. He had internal injuries. And you probably know that he’d been caned. I’ve no idea how he managed to move so easily, let alone sit down on that bench with me.”

From his peripheral vision, Jack saw Gillian take a step forward, her face perturbed. Jack didn’t pay her any heed. He knew that his words sounded brutal, but Nico and Daniel deserved to know the truth. They needed it.

“When I was talking to him, I could see that his body had started to go into shock,” he continued, relieved when Gareth stepped into the woman’s path and headed her off. “That happens when you’re badly injured, and it’s dangerous enough it can kill you if nothing is done. So I offered to get Ricky out of the club and away from the pimp. And he agreed.”

“Then why is he dead?” It was the first time Daniel had spoken, and Jack was so grateful to hear rage among the fear and pain, he had to take a few deep breaths to make sure he kept his composure.

“One of the bouncers came after us. Ricky took a knife in the shoulder for me.” Jack made sure he had both boys’ full attention. “He saved my life.”

It hurt to watch the two boys with their arms around each other, the tight embrace growing more desperate by the moment. Jack knew he had to let them work it out for themselves, but it was hard. Harder this time, because of Ricky’s sacrifice and Jack’s failure.

“He said that he would kill anyone who broke the rules. He’ll come after us.”

“Of course not,” Gillian tried to assure, but Jack was having none of that.

“Yes, he will.” Jack cut across Gillian’s softly voiced protest. He took the last few steps and dropped to one knee in front of Nico and Daniel, careful to leave enough space so that his proximity wouldn’t feel like a threat. “He considers you his property, to do with as he chooses. You make him a lot of money. Of course he wants you back.”

Blue and brown eyes widened in fear. Daniel’s arm tightened around Nico’s waist, and the dark-haired boy held tight to Daniel’s hand.

“He’s also shit scared of you two right now,” Jack continued, his calm voice at odds with the subject and the tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe. “What you know about him and his operation can put him in jail for forever and a day—and he’s well aware of that. I admire Ricky for what he tried to do. I was going to help him. I’m sorry I screwed up. I’m sorry I could not save his life.”

Jack didn’t bow his head, however much he wished to have somewhere to hide. He let Nico and Daniel see his anger and his anguish, laid himself open as he rarely did in the hope to make them believe him.

“Will you be there?”

It was Daniel asking the question, and Jack had a first inkling of the dynamic between the two: Nico, bolder and less patient; Daniel more tentative with, maybe, more experience.

“If you need me, I’ll be here,” Jack promised. “This part of your life can be over. You will never have to go back. But you need to make an effort to get well again. For me, that’s part of the deal. And you owe that to yourselves.”

“What if he sends someone for us?”

Jack settled himself cross-legged at the foot end of the bed, pleased when the two stayed were they were. “Starting over isn’t easy,” he said. “While he’s free, you’re both in danger. And you’re most in danger when he knows where you are.
Your
first priority is to get well and out of here. Our first priority is to catch him and put him away. After that, you’ll have a chance at a new life.”

“What if he comes before we’re well?”

“You’ll never be alone until he’s behind bars,” Jack said with quiet authority, glad when Gillian Kent stepped up beside him and nodded to confirm his words.

“While you’re here there’ll be a police guard outside your door at all times,” she said.

“Really?”

Jack half turned his head, and Gareth opened the door for one of the uniformed officers to come in and introduce himself.

“When you’re ready to leave here, Gillian and her colleagues will take you to a safe place.” Jack continued. “When we’ve caught him, you may be asked to help us put him away, but nobody will force you to do anything. We have enough on the guy to bury him under the jail. Ricky’s made sure of that. And now I want cake.” Jack rolled off the bed to his feet and turned toward Gareth, deliberately ending the conversation and giving the two boys time to process the reams of information he’d just flooded them with.

Gareth was busy laying out cakes on the small table, and Jack stepped up beside him.

Memories crowded so close his vision started to tunnel with his efforts to hold them at bay. He was so tightly wound he feared he might throw up if he even looked at food. But he was determined to keep it together while he was in the room. He owed the boys at least that much.

“Are you okay?”

Caught between Baxter on his right and Gareth on his left, the soft query caught him off guard. As did the looks both men directed at him. Irritation bubbled swiftly. He had no idea what he looked like, though he did his best to keep his expression bland. But really, how did they think he’d feel?

“I’ll live,” he muttered, turned his back to the room, and fixed his eyes on the view. The peace and contentment of the early afternoon had fled, but peace and contentment had been rare visitors in his life to begin with. No wonder their sticking qualities were fleeting at best. He focused on details to ground himself, counted pedestrians crossing Westminster Bridge, watched the reflections of clouds on the gray waters of the Thames, and let himself be cheered by hearing Nico’s voice in answer to a question from Gillian and by the fact that Clive Baxter and Gareth actually seemed to be having a conversation of sorts.

When the nurse came in to tell them that visiting hours were over and Clive asked them to stop in at the Yard and see Lisa before they headed home, his stoic facade was almost back in place.

C
HAPTER
TWELVE
W
ATCHING
B
RIEF

I
N
G
ARETH
’
S
opinion, watching Jack fidget was the best Saturday night entertainment ever devised. Jack had a mind like a shunting yard, and being asked to do just one thing at a time clearly confused him. Nor was he used to sitting in front of a computer he wasn’t supposed to touch.

“Lisa has had words with the magistrate. We have a warrant and three days to move,” Rafael had told them as soon as he saw them, without bothering with greetings. “We’ve selected the three most likely clubs from the work you and Clive did previously. Now all we need is someone to tell us where he shows up.” He nodded to the array of TV screens in the neighboring room.

“You put eyes in already? Nice.”

“Why waste the plans you found for me?” Rafael asked reasonably, and Jack beamed. A real smile instead of the grimace he’d been wearing since Baxter’s phone call.

For the first twenty minutes of their surveillance stint, Jack had watched the feed intently. Every now and then his fingers flashed up to the keyboard, ready to do… something, until he realized that there wasn’t anything
to do
. And he’d settle back in his chair with a sigh.

Twenty minutes seemed to be the limit of his endurance, though, and soon he was prowling the room looking for things with which to distract himself while he monitored the feed. Another twenty minutes later, and Jack had scrounged a stack of clean paper from the printer and a handful of whiteboard markers, a box of paper clips, and three erasers from a drawer that needed its lock picked before Jack could even see what was in it. Jack’s gleeful grin when he’d finally gotten the drawer open and found the pens and erasers had made Gareth’s night.

“Should I wonder why you even carry lock picks?”

“They’re useful,” Jack commented distractedly, setting the pens and erasers out on the desk before the monitor in a neat line.

“Carrying them is also illegal.”

“We’re in Scotland Yard, Gareth. I’m sure they can deal.”

“With you breaking into their cupboards?”

Jack rolled his eyes and waved his hand, unaffected by the criticism. He pulled a Leatherman from the back pocket of his jeans and cut the erasers in half. Then he spread out six sheets of printer paper on the desk and placed an eraser half in the center of each. He pulled the caps from six whiteboard markers and added those to the erasers before picking up the box of paper clips.

“Wanna explain what you’re doing there?”

“Making juggling balls,” Jack replied as if that was obvious, and then he chuckled. “Close your mouth, boss.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Am not.” A light flush spread over Jack’s cheekbones. He waved a hand at the wall of screens in front of him. “The thing’s looking at me as if it knows I can’t touch it. That’s just… wrong.”

As Gareth watched, Jack first folded the sheets carefully, then scrunched them up until he had six evenly sized little balls. And then he started juggling.

T
HE
RHYTHM
was broken, uneven. More than once Jack had to reach to snag one of the improvised juggling balls and return it to the pattern. These were the first moments of downtime he’d had since Gareth Flynn’s surprise appearance at his interview had turned Jack’s life upside down, so a few boring hours of surveillance should have been welcome. It was just his luck that his mind had other ideas. Juggling usually calmed and focused him, allowed him to think while the sounds of the juggling balls hitting his palms kept time. He hadn’t expected his trusted remedy to fail just because Gareth Flynn sat an arm’s length away.

The man was a picture of ease, hands folded behind his head and legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He had clearly settled in for the night and diligently watched the feed, but every so often his gaze flicked sideways to Jack with a tiny smile that curled one corner of the full lips and creased the skin beside his amber eyes.