Station Alpha: (Soldiering On #1) (6 page)

The woman raised a brow, while Younger Cop scoffed disbelievingly. Still, they must have decided to let it go, because they moved on to the next question.

“Who’s trying to hurt you?”

Christine raised one shoulder, unable to manage a full shrug. “I honestly wish I knew.”

Older Cop pursed her lips. “We’ll need you both to come down to the station to make a statement.”

“Later,” Paul interjected. “You can see she’s distressed. Give her some time.”

The two reluctantly agreed. They stepped outside, carefully shutting the door behind them.

Christine and Paul stared at each other for a long moment.

“We’re not going down to the station later, are we?” Christine asked.

Paul shook his head. “We need to get you away from here. Figure out how they found you so that it doesn’t happen again.”

She looked down at her hands, playing with the hem of her shorts.  “They came off on your floor, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. It could be that they were after me. But I think it is more likely that Greg—the security guard downstairs—gave them my apartment number intentionally.”

“Why would he do that?” A confused frown tugged at her brow.

“Greg knows who I am, and who I work for. He knows I’m a former marine. And I think he guessed that you were under my protection, because I called ahead to him before you arrived here last night to let him know you were coming in hot, or potentially so. He probably sent them up to me because he knew I’d be more likely to handle them. And want to handle them myself.”

A smile tugged at her. “Sounds like he knows you well.”

“Yeah.” Pain lanced his expression and he looked away.

Understanding dawned. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.”

She nodded, not sure what else to say.

“So,” Paul said, forcibly injecting energy into his voice. “We need to get you somewhere safe.”

“And you’re coming with me?” she asked, remembering the conversation between him and his boss.

He studied the floor at his feet. “Yeah. If that’s all right with you.” He looked up to meet her gaze, and Christine’s breath caught at the intensity in his eyes.

She was struck by the fact that he had a genuinely compelling face. Not handsome, exactly. But interesting. The kind of face that you would need to stare at for hours in order to discern its secrets. His eyes in particular were such a piercing colour, flashing fire despite the frozen tundra they reminded her of.

“You’ve saved my life twice now. If there is anyone I trust to protect me right now, it’s you.”

He blew out a relieved breath, a smile flickering on his lips.

“In that case, let’s pack.”

Chapter 6

They were packed and ready to go by the time the coroner had left with the bodies. Christine had changed into one of the outfits that Sam had brought her, a tank top and shorts that hit about mid-thigh. Paul avoided looking at her all together, otherwise he knew he’d risk staring.

Once he was sure that the law enforcement officials had disappeared back to their stations to write up their endless reports, Paul picked up his bag. He set it on his lap before making his way to the door. He and Christine had barely spoken since she agreed to come with him. Now, she was staring at the wall with a glassy look in her eye, her mind clearly elsewhere.

“Do you need help with that?” he asked, gesturing to the bag.

She blinked, snapping out of wherever her mind had gone. “No, thank you.” She offered a half-hearted smile as she picked it up.

“You okay?”

She paused, seeming to think about that question for a moment. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Or, I will be.”

Paul’s memories of witnessing his first death had been subsumed over time by far more gruesome recollections of war.  It had become one of many, its place in the pantheon of his mind long ago supplanted.

It had been a long time since he’d spent an extended period of time with a civilian. Though his colleagues and friends at Soldiering On were technically no longer in the military, it wasn’t a thing that ever truly left a person. But until today, Christine had been untouched by all that. She’d lived the kind of safe life he’d been fighting to protect. His gut twisted in regret that she was no longer unaffected.

They made their way to the elevator, with Christine determinedly not looking at the patches and sprays of blood on the walls and floor. He bypassed the lobby, afraid of what he might find out about the security guard he’d seen take a few bullets. Instead, he led them out the back way to his car, parked in the resident’s space.

He transferred their bags and himself into the car, then disassembled his chair and moved it over his shoulder and into the back seat. He waited until Christine was safely inside and buckled in before moving off.

“So, where are we going this time?” Christine asked. Her eyes were a little brighter now that they were on the road.

“We call it Station Alpha. It’s our most secure safe house. No one will find you there.”

“What makes it so special?”

“It has motion sensors, 360-degree cameras, signal jammers, bulletproof window blinds, you name it.” He swelled a little with pride at the thought of the place. He’d had a significant hand in setting it up.

“Why didn’t you direct me there first?” She sounded only a little put out.

He sent her an amused look as he slid through traffic. “It is a pain in the arse to get to, and you need a Soldiering On employee with you to be able to enter it. All of our safe houses are—should be—safe, but this one is generally used for long-term clients, rather than short-term layovers.”

“So, I’m a long-term client now?” She sent him a smile and his heart stuttered in response.

“I hope not,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “But best not to take any more chances with you.”

She nodded, sobering. “How do you think they found me?”

He sighed. “It could have been a number of things. A tracker on your car, or they found you when you used the computer. They could have followed Sam, or hacked Duncan’s phone, or…well, there could be a mole. Who knows?”

“You don’t sound very concerned about the possibility.”

He grinned at her. “If you knew the other Soldiering On guys—and women—then you wouldn’t even think it. They’re the most loyal bunch, every last one of them.”

“That sounds like it would be a nice thing to be a part of.” The words were soft, a mix between questioning and wistful. Paul’s smile faded.

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m a part of it.”

“Why not?” Her dark eyes were liquid in the late afternoon sun as she watched him. It made him nervous, having not had someone look at him for such an extended period since before his last mission. She didn’t seem at all fazed by the ugly scar on his cheek. His colleagues—all former military—had no issues with it. They’d probably all seen worse. But civilians were another matter entirely.

His cheek tingled, but he didn’t dare take his hand off the controls to rub it like he wanted to.

“It’s complicated,” he murmured instead. Her look was patient and kind, compelling him to continue. “I have my set role within the company, but it’s separate from the others. They go out into the world, often with partners on the same jobs as them. They work out of the office. I work from home, and never really go on field missions.”

“Do you want to?” she asked.

He hesitated for just a fraction too long. “Nope.” He wasn’t convinced she believed him.

An hour later, they pulled up outside a plain-looking, one-story house on an anonymous suburban street. They were in the northwestern suburbs of Portsboro, known for its big lots and recently built houses.

“I’ll have to park it properly in a minute, but it’s a bit of a pain in the ass to do,” Paul told her. “Let’s get you settled in the house first. The car will be okay outside for a little while. No one followed us.”

Christine was barely listening, too curious about the house to pay attention.

She stepped out of the car to get a better look at the house in which she would now be staying. She could barely see the roof over the high fence surrounding the property on the three sides that she could see. Instead, she peered through the bars of the driveway gate.

A neat lawn spread between the sidewalk and the house. No other shrubbery dotted the property. No bushes, hedges, flowers, or trees between the fence and the building. The house seemed to rise from the flat earth surrounding it. Its walls were plain white, without any colour to relieve it.

“This is it?” Christine asked. After Paul’s description of it, she’d expected something a little more high-tech.

“Yup,” Paul told her happily, coming up behind her. He’d managed to get his chair out of the back seat and reassembled without her noticing.

“It’s so…boring.”

Paul laughed, and Christine’s stomach somersaulted at the sound. “If it looked like the fortress that it is, it wouldn’t exactly be a safe house, would it? Too obvious.”

Christine wrapped her hands around the bars of the gate and reconsidered what she saw. The empty garden meant there was nowhere for an intruder to hide. The bare exterior walls meant that there was no foot- or handholds for any enterprising villain to use to climb. The wider than normal gaps between the house and fence meant that no one could enter from a neighbour’s yard undetected.

“It’s very clever,” she told him.

“I’ll point out all the cool stuff later, because a lot of it’s hidden. I should know, I designed it. But for now, I think we should get you safe and inside.”

She blinked, surprised by Paul’s casual admission that he’d designed an entire high-tech security system.

He opened up a panel on the ornate gateposts—the only decorative items, clearly designed to conceal some gadgetry—and began typing on a keypad. He then pressed his thumb down onto it, and typed in a second string of keys.

The gate popped open and quickly wheeled across, silent and smooth despite its size. Christine stepped inside and immediately went to make her way a down the path next to the driveway. Paul’s fingers grasped hers, warm and firm.

“I wouldn’t go that way,” he told her, tugging her away from the path. Christine froze, distracted by the feel of his hand in hers as much as his words.

“Why not?” she asked, slowly turning towards him.

He gave a rueful grin. “It’s not safe. It may have been…modified.”

“You mean it’s like a minefield?” she asked, aghast.

“Something like that.” She found his boyish grin incredibly charming, and couldn’t help but smile back.

The warmth wrapped around her fingers reminded her that they were still holding hands, so she quickly squeezed once and let go. His fingers trailed across hers as she pulled away, the touch tingling up her arm. His piercing arctic eyes never left hers.

Christine trembled, but not from cold. His gaze flickered down, noticing the shiver despite the warmth outside, and his gaze shuttered.

“Let’s get you inside.”

She followed his route as per his direction, finally making it to the front door. There was another set of commands, entered swiftly and silently.

He finally swung the door open and pushed inside, disengaging what appeared to be an alarm just inside the door. And only then did he bid her enter.

The hallway was clean and modern, with light wood floors and minimal furniture. She walked into the living room and it was much the same—an open space with few obstructions.

“It’s nice,” she told him sincerely.

“If you are stuck in a place a while, you want it to be comfortable.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

He led her through a door on the other side of the room, and then navigated a few tight turns expertly with his chair.

“Less space, here,” she commented.

He nodded, distracted. “It’s meant to slow down any attackers until you can get to the panic room.”

Christine’s heart leapt into her throat and she stumbled. “There’s a panic room?”

“Of course. I think you should take the bedroom next to it. If anything happens, you can just jump in there and lock it.” He glided forward, graceful in his chair. Christine hurried to catch up.

“What about you?” she asked.

He stopped and glanced at her over his shoulder with a frown. “I’ll hold them off until you get to safety.” He said this as if it was obvious.

“Wouldn’t you be better coming in the panic room with me?”

He shook his head. “The room is strong, but it isn’t infallible. Better if I can take out as many as possible. It’ll give you your best chance.”

Christine stared at him. “No, then you’d leave me without protection. You should take the next closest bedroom. If the worst happens, we’ll go in together. I don’t want to be alone.”

She felt manipulative saying it, but it was the truth. She didn’t want him to die for her, and she didn’t want to be trapped in a panic room on her own with the bad guys after her.

Paul’s frown deepened. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he told her. Christine knew without him saying that he had no intention of budging on the matter.

They arrived at the room that Paul had designated as hers, and Christine stepped past him to look around. It was much like the rest of the house, with its clean lines and airy feel. A few more personal touches dotted this room. A decorative lamp, a painting of a forest hanging on one wall and a replica of a John Waterhouse painting opposite it on the far wall. The bedspread was a crisp white, and a neat stack of eclectic books sat on the bedside table.

“It’s lovely,” she breathed. She turned to find Paul hovering in the doorway. His face relaxed into a smile at her words.

“I’m glad. You might be here a while.”

At the reminder, Christine’s smile died.

“How long until we solve this and catch these guys?”

Suddenly sombre, Paul shrugged.

“Hopefully soon. Duncan has put his best people on it. There’s no reason to think this will drag on.”

“I trust you,” she told him. He cleared his throat.

“I should go grab our bags and move the car into the driveway. Get settled, I won’t be long.”

Then, he was gone.

The light was fading outside, casting an ethereal glow across the world. She’d always loved the romance of the Magic Hour. Christine moved to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sunset. Instead, her eyes were riveted on Paul as he moved across her line of sight.

He hadn’t been at all what she was expecting, she could admit that to herself. He’d rescued her, and in her mind’s eye she’d seen a traditional hero. The one that women had been taught to want for centuries. Tall, strapping, virile.

She supposed he could still be all those things. His body was long, based on the way he was folded in his chair. And his shoulders certainly proclaimed him to be strapping. The virility was a question mark. She knew that sometimes paraplegia changed certain functions, and there was no way that Christine could politely ask just to satisfy her own curiosity.

Though, she did acknowledge that there were many different ways a man might please a woman, and few of them involved his dick.

Rolling her eyes at her own crassness, she watched as he manoeuvred the car carefully into the drive, and then reassembled his chair before sliding into it. He wheeled himself over to the gate, typing a code into the matching keypad inside the gate. She guessed he was setting some alarms.

It occurred to her that there were different kinds of heroes. Heroism was about deeds, not some superficial mould that one had to conform to. And in that sense, Paul more than qualified. Besides, his deep, rough voice, distracting arm muscles, and piercing eyes more than made up for his other physical qualities that some might think were lacking.