The Contract (Nightlong #1) (24 page)

“What,
you know
?” He sounded aghast.

“Yes, I know. The fixer is a real thing. Didn’t you know?” I laid on the sarcasm. “People need to know I’m real otherwise I have no credibility.”

“Well, you didn’t hear this from me–”

“What, what do you know?” I asked, furiously in need of info.

“Some friends of friends of friends told me a team exists out there, a team of high-grade law-enforcement hackers, tasked only with finding details on you.”

“Which they never did. Or could.”

“Yes I know,” he sighed, “but if you’d let me get to the point…”

“Sorry.”

“The new guy has fucked up already.”

“Really?”

“Yep. A money transfer from one of your clients was traced to a newly opened account in the name of John Barnes, a false name for sure.”

“Teddy, how the fuck did the thief break my security but it only took five minutes for the cops to trace this shoddy fuck-up?”

“Inside job, has to be. Someone who knows you but doesn’t know your protocol, at least not in detail.”

“Not possible. I’ve been over this a hundred times already. It just isn’t possible.”

“You’re deluding yourself. You need to look much closer to home if you ask me.”

“I can’t deal with this, it’s like…” I paused, clutching my forehead, “…ten years ago, all over again.”

“I loved your brother too… and I’m not just sorry about that… I was a coward, I know. I don’t have the tact to be there when it counts. I’m not a good friend.”

“There’s no need–”

“You never trusted anyone but me and Daltrey… and even though we drifted, I can tell you I never betrayed our trust.”

“Occupational necessity… failing to trust even your best friend.”

“Listen Dante, why don’t you take your woman and fucking go. Get clear of this shit.”

“It’s much easier said than done. Somebody killed my brother… and more than ten years later, the minute my back’s turned, someone slaughters my entire team in a secure building. I owe every single one of those people justice. I have a responsibility to find out the truth.”

“It could’ve been anybody.”

“I need to know so I can eliminate them. I can’t risk that same person going after Ciara–”

“I get it, I do. We both know that whoever did this has friends, has powers… and no doubt has all your contacts at his fingertips.”

I huffed down the phone. “Contacts I don’t have, not now. I didn’t think to memorise every single phone number, email address… etcetera.”

“Just pick the biggest client you had… and watch him or her very closely. Your culprit will show up, you know it.”

“That’s not a bad–” I cut myself off
because I hated the thought of him looking smug.

“I get it, I’m not ever gonna regain your favour, but you know what? I’m just happy some love has come your way, maybe it’ll save you? Eh? So I’ll just say good luck.”

“Same to you.”

He hung up and I only had to think for a few seconds before I remembered our biggest client was Roman Cornish, the catalyst for me and Ciara, the man who seemed to be sending me messages at every turn. He was just a gay dude desperate not to be judged in a judgemental sport.

Teddy was right – I needed to find out if my enemy had approached Roman yet.

Ciara kicked open the door carrying a tray full of food and in a hurry, I put on some underwear and grabbed the tray from her. Then her nose was in the air…

“She’s been in here, hasn’t she? I’ll fucking kill her!” she yelled.

“How do you–”

“Perfume! I’d know that anywhere,” she snarled, rushing to the dressing table to pick up some of her own perfume and spray that around.

“Ciara, she just came to give me Teddy’s number and to tell me that you denied her.”

Putting my arms around her from behind, I kissed her neck and she was soothed a little, her fingers snaking in between mine.

“Bitch,” she cursed, and I chuckled.

“I was covered. She didn’t see anything.”

“She didn’t need to see anything, she probably has a photocopy of your cock on her mind… not to mention it stinks of sex near the bed. Oh how she loved that, no doubt.”

I growled, rubbing my dick against her ass. “Baby, you make me hard all the time. Knowing she’d love to stick her tongue in your pussy makes me ravenous for you.”

“No,” she shook herself from my arms, “I’m not happy she snuck in here while my back was turned, like she’d waited for me to scarper too! No!”

She proceeded to make tea and spread butter on our toast, giving me the cold shoulder.

“What do you care, Ciara? I don’t care. She holds no sway over me, she never did.”

She sniffed and gave me the silent treatment which was worse than her acid tongue.

Shoving tea and toast before me, she sat on the edge of the bed while I sat at the dressing table, hating crumbs in my bed.

“I just called Teddy, by the way… if you’re interested to know…”

She scowled and clenched her teeth, letting me know without words to get on with telling her.

Fuck, I loved that woman. I had to wonder if she’d figured out yet that she was a natural-born dominant.

“He doesn’t know anything more than we do.”

Teddy had access to many people on my books because a lot of them were his clients, too. Many of those people had been recommended me by Teddy in fact. Teddy was a friend who knew how I shafted people, but often turned a blind eye because deep down he realised that was the way of the world. A lawman, he hated some aspects of our disparate lives, but accepted it too. I think he’d never really gotten over the fact that Shay chose me and not him. In fact he had yet to realise she chose me less than she chose the lifestyle itself.

Teddy had contacts of his own, insiders, lookouts. If I knew nothing, he generally knew less. However his mention of my biggest client had set me thinking…

“He said the usurper will eventually try to contact our clients. Given I lost all our database records, I can only work with who I know would never leave us… the likes of Roman Cornish, who we can track easily. Just find a pap in the know… follow him and maybe… the bastard who did this will show their face… or maybe unicorns might inherit the earth and I’ll fart bubbles one day.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, chewing her nails. “Why don’t we just meet Cornish and ask if he’s been contacted?”

“You think he would?”

“He fancies the shitting pants off you, course he would!”

“Well, there’s that,” I admitted, biting through my toast.

“Did he know it was you fixing the press leaks for him?”

I shook my head. “Nope. He thinks I put him in touch with the fixer. He was really grateful… even offered to suck my cock.”

Her eyes shot to mine and she asked, “Say that again.”

“He wanted to suck my cock, Ciara,” I said, attempting to sound as innocent as someone like me could.

“No he didn’t!”

“Well,” I chuckled, “he may have done, if I’d asked!”

“He wouldn’t have admitted to you he was gay!”

“Just my cyber version…”

“Your mind is sick, Dante Sinclair.”

“Yeah, and you love it.”

She stood and walked to the door, locking it. On her way to me she left her robe on the floor and climbed onto my lap on the chair, dragging my boxers away with a rip.

“I do… I love it,” she whispered, and sank smoothly down onto my trembling length.

“Why does everything go off script with you? We could be in the midst of a killer… and you just…” She sank herself over me to the hilt and I had to take a deep breath, looking from where we joined, and back to her, then back to where we joined. How she could take me so deep and wide, I’d never know. Maybe she was part robot.

“I just what?”

“Sink your pussy on my dick.”

“Ah yes,” she murmured and while she rode me, she clutched her hand slightly at my throat and my back started to ache with the need to come.

Choking was something we’d only recently started doing and I only wanted her to choke me, not the other way around.

I had no limits, but she had hers. I already understood that without it even needing to be said.

“You thought,” she panted, “I wouldn’t cope here? Amongst these devils…”

“I’d hoped you would–”
and
secretly knew you would more than cope.

What she was, she had still to come to terms with. I’d not employed her just to spank me, I’d employed her because I spotted something otherworldly lurking under those green eyes, a creature who didn’t know herself yet. Yes I’d hoped one day she’d spank me as one lover to another, spanking me because she loved it. I never really saw it as her job, but as a gift, as natural for her to spank me as breathing. Receiving her wrath was something I enjoyed wholeheartedly. I’d never, not in my own mind anyway, considered her a paid employee. She was my woman. Always had been.

Being a masochist hadn’t turned off the control freak in me, that was all.

Running my hands down her back, over her curvaceous haunches, her swollen ass, I groaned. So silky smooth. So warm. So mine.

“Ciara–”

“My clit.”

I reached for her, igniting our joining, the whirling between us increasing.

Heat on heat.

Hardness, melting into softness.

Her boobs bounced gently.

Her newborn hair stuck out in all directions.

Her eyes opened and closed.

The chair creaking beneath me, she continued, not put off.

“Dante,” she breathed, panting.

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

“Dante!” she cried and the spasms which gripped her fired me up.

Gripping her hard at the hips, I fought back, thrusting at the same time as pulling her back and forth on me.

Seriously, as soon as it was all over, I wanted it again.

Holding my face, she told me, “I’m just hormonal.”

“I love hormonal. If this is you hormonal, bring it.”

She smiled, sadness still lurking in those grey-green pools of hers.

“Dante, I–”

“I know,” I shushed her, two fingertips against her lips, “I have a lot more secrets than you imagined.”

“Yes.”

“We’re getting close to the last big one, I promise.”

“Promise?” She dug her nails into my shoulders.

I flexed my neck in response, mumbling with my eyes half shut, “Absolutely promise. Only–”

“Only, what?”

“We still have twelve murders to solve.”

“Oh, there’s that.”

Nuzzling her breast, I warned, “You make me feel invincible. It might make me do something stupid one day.”

“It might but you said it yourself, if anyone wanted to hurt you, they would have done already. The time I’ve spent here has made me wonder if Daltrey and the other killings aren’t actually linked. Maybe… someone just wanted your business. Or for your business to fail. You set up the agency after your brother died, so how can the two be linked–”

“I suppose.”

I kept what else I knew to myself. For the time being, anyway.

I didn’t feel the need to protect myself, only her.

Dante

I WAS MORE AWARE THAN ever of what I had to lose, so was she…

As Sexton drove us to Wembley to enjoy all that corporate tickets afforded us, Ciara sat nervously alongside me on the backseat. It was simple really, wasn’t it? It had taken us just a few hours to realise we could try and catch a moment with the player of the moment at one of the games he played. Now it was the summer season, it was an international friendly ahead of the Euros. It was a Wednesday evening, a warm June night, and I wondered whether the team would play well enough to put Cornish in a good enough mood to speak to us later.

I looked sideways at Ciara, still hardly able to believe she was mine. When she’d suggested the hair change I didn’t think she would actually go through with it but she had. Was she shaking off her old self, to become someone new? In the face of adversity, would she finally admit her true colours? I had yet to watch her self-discovery take place.

Since we became lovers, she’d began paying much more attention to putting on jewellery and little accents that complimented her natural beauty. On my arm, she shined. I had no idea what it was about me that had made this gorgeous creature bloom. Nowadays she looked more comfortable in what she wore and styled herself like she was my wife and not just a paid girl living in a paid-for house.

“I hate football,” she said in her worn-down Irish accent. It was much softer than when I’d found her seven years ago, when she looked like any other waif or stray clutching onto her inner animal to survive this despicable world.

“I’m more a rugby man myself,” I admitted.

“Yeah?” she asked, gazing across at me.

“Umm-hmm. Daltrey played semi-pro for a while. I didn’t have what it took, but I watched a game or two at weekends.”

She peered at me, reading some meaning into what I was saying. “Teddy mentioned you two had issues.”

I couldn’t help but grimace. “Yeah… at times.”

“That wasn’t always true, though?”

“No. We
were
best friends, and we were close, once upon a time.”

“So… what happened?” She pressed me.

I took a deep breath and fiddled with my three-piece suit, trying to settle my nerves. “Daltrey and me, we both hated our dad. Hated him. In our youth, we were both romantic young men, in awe of our mother, a theatre critic. She wore the most dazzling outfits and seemed to live the most glamorous life. We got to go with her often, to see plays, mingle. Meanwhile
he
drank and we suffered his moods, suffered him staying out all night, coming back home stinking of pussy and booze. Mum just… stayed with him, like they were friends I suppose. We made a pact to never be like him. We stuck together through thick and thin, through it all. Daltrey was clever, got into King’s College and everything, while I enrolled at Oxford, all set to ride the road to becoming a barrister, but… like I said, something about being shackled didn’t do it for me. I couldn’t concentrate on studying. It seemed like there was only one path for me… to take Barlow’s money and run. Daltrey thought he could save me from what I am, but I’m my father’s son and that’s that.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “you’re so much more than that, Dante.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, catching Sexton’s inquisitive eyes in the rear-view mirror. I already knew my driver disapproved of my job, my lifestyle, and now he hoped Ciara had helped me turn a corner… but I didn’t know if there was even a corner for me to turn. Something inside me held up a constant wall around all possibilities of bettering myself. “I grew up knowing the money wouldn’t go to Daltrey but would come to me. I later realised he turned it down because of Pernox. I suppose knowing I had that fallback made it easy for me to slack off.”

“You could still be a barrister. It’s never too late.”

“I’m not a lawman, Ciara. Never have been.”

“Exactly. It what makes you the perfect man for the job.”

The brakes hissed as Sexton pulled to a halt outside the entrance to Wembley Stadium. He spoke with a parking attendant and was given an executive parking space to head for.

Sliding smoothly into the spot, Sexton turned to look at me specifically. “Will you be careful?”

“We’ll be frisked like everyone else, Sexton,” I warned him, and I stepped out of the car, appraising Ciara when she stepped out and into my hold.

“You don’t have to wait, you know,” I said, dipping my head down into the car.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Sexton said, “I can listen to it all on the radio.”

He’d packed himself a picnic too, by the looks of it.

“Seriously, you don’t need to impress me, but I’m liking the get-up anyway.” Ciara giggled, biting her lip as she walked alongside me across the car park.

“I’m a gentleman and only a vagabond attends an executive dinner in less than this.”

She chuckled. “Okay, Dante.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, a veritable seductress.”

She wore a pair of white, striped culottes with some ridiculous heels and a beautiful floating blouse buttoned at the throat, with lace embellishments. Anyone could tell she’d been influenced by our time in Paris. Her hair pinned to one side, I loved being able to see her choice of earrings, some diamond studs I presented to her one morning.

“Ciara, you remember everything I told you?”

“Yes, dear,” she said.

“Okay, I’m just a little nervous,” I admitted as we approached the way in.

“If nothing else, let’s enjoy the ridiculously expensive meal included with this ticket… and the game. All that testosterone flying around… who knows what craziness I may be tempted into later on?”

Pinching her bum quickly before we got inside, I snickered, “We’re meant to be playing detective.”

“Who says people can’t have fun at the same time?”

This was what made me love her; it was impossible to chip into her proverbial positive outlook. She winked and I handed over our passes at the door, wrapping my arm around her shoulder as we huddled in an elevator upwards with a few familiar faces…

AFTER the game it was our chance to finally gain an audience with Roman Sinclair in one of the executive bars reserved for press and business delegates. I’d had to hand over more than a few grand to borrow a pal’s press pass for all of this. However getting to Sinclair was proving difficult because yet again, he’d been crowned man of the match and was required for photos and handshakes and presentations… the boring part of the executive perks.

Ciara seemed to have so far enjoyed the hospitality package, joking along with WAGs at the dinner table prior to the game, then as we sat in comfy chairs near the director’s box, she got passionate alongside all the other wives and girlfriends screaming at their partners to kick it. That part of the sporting world was no different: female partners always screamed for their men to fight! Grrr…. it was quite fun. Especially since Ciara could shout loudest and was cheering on Roman, who occasionally looked up into the crowd and spotted us, nodding with recognition.

We hung on to the bitter end of the post-match nonsense and when Cornish was finally left alone by the marketing machine, a couple of his team mates gathered round him and I whispered to Ciara, “Now’s your chance.”

“Okay, sweetie.”

I watched her cross the floor and remembered just how much this little evening out had cost us… all just to get a minute or two with Cornish (without it seeming suspicious). I hoped Ciara knew what she was doing. At least I knew her fine ass would be of no appeal to Cornish…

***

Ciara

“GOD, god, god, god…” I whispered to myself as I approached Cornish and two players who were easily known in at least twenty different countries.

“Roman,” I called as I neared and a slight uncertainty sparked in his eyes when he saw me.

We air kissed and he held my lower back as he introduced me to his friends. “Ah, didn’t recognise you with the new hair. You know Matt Bolton and Ciaran Gates?”

“Who doesn’t?” I gasped and both of them leaned down to take each of my hands and kiss them.

“Wow, Roman… we need to know your haunts, my friend,” Matt said, appraising me.

“I’d love a moment alone with the delectable Roman here,” I whispered, striking a pose with just one eyebrow.

“I reckon he deserves a break seeing as though he saved our asses tonight,” Ciaran added, and the players left us alone.

Knowing we might have little time until the next people tried to get a piece of him, I whispered quickly, “That mutual friend of Dante’s… have they been in touch?”

He looked nervous. “What’s your name again?”

“Cleo,” I told him.

“Cleo, you shouldn’t approach me about this here.”

“It’s the only safe place
to
ask darling.”

“Well then, yeah,
they
have been in touch.”

“In person?”

“No, the same way as always. Unique private messaging system, completely untraceable. A few players I know have joined since I did. We all have different apps to correspond with the… you know?”

“Okay. So you’ve never met him or her?”

“No,” he said, swallowing hard.

I pretended to flirt with him, flicking imaginary lint off his shoulder. “Look, Roman. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m your friend, okay?”

“Okay…” He seemed ready to hear what else I had to say.

“Dante and I think the fixer has been compromised.”

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“I just want to ask… is there some way you get the money to him or her?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Why should I?”

“I don’t know. Because you want to help out a friend?”

“At least you didn’t reach for the blackmail card,” he said, eyeing me closely.

“Why would I?” I stroked his arm, reassuring him.

“There was something… last week, the method of payment changed. Before, I was asked to make a direct deposit. Now I’ve been told there’s a PO Box I send cash to, special delivery.”

“If that’s not a sign…”

“I can give you the details, just tell me your email address.”

“No,” I whispered, “you could be hacked. Any suspicious emails will be monitored, believe me. I know how the fixer works.” I knew how Dante worked, therefore I also knew how the person who’d stolen his business would have to work, too. Under a smokescreen of complete anonymity.

“What do I do then? Can I trust them?”

“For now, you’ll have to continue as you have been doing.”

“But what if–”

“Continue as you have been. Your secret remains a secret, yes?”

“I guess.”

“Then that’s all that matters to you. Now, if you want to help us, come to this postcode, tomorrow night.” I opened my palm and he looked down at the numbers and letters I’d written in pen on my own hand in the bathroom earlier. “Have you got it memorised? Tell me you have.”

“Yes, yes,” he said blinking, “lucky for you I have a photographic memory.”

“Arrive at the postcode at eight in the evening. Come in a fast car. Come alone. Come without your phone. Dante will send a device by special delivery tomorrow, to your home address. Use it to scan your chosen vehicle for tracking devices. They’d most likely put one in your sun visor or beneath your chair… or in the upholstery somewhere.”

“This is nonsense.”

“Check the car, check it very carefully,” I said, and began stepping away from him. Raising my voice so other people would hear, I told him, “Lovely to see you, hot stuff!”

I walked backwards, back to my lover, ready to leave right away.

I looked over my shoulder as we left the room and though Roman was now surrounded by a flock of fans and fellow players, he wore a distracted look. Whether he’d come or not tomorrow, we had no idea.

***

“WHERE is he? Where is he?” I asked, impatient as we waited on the gravel driveway for Roman to show up. Shay had left more than half an hour ago to collect him.

“There might be a legitimate reason he’s running late,” Dante suggested.

“Do you have her number?”

“No. Living here, she doesn’t risk having a mobile. Just a landline.”

“Ha! In these times, a landline has become safer, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Both our heads snapped up to look at the gates when Shay’s car pulled in, followed closely by a classic 1960s Ferrari, if I had to guess…

“Nice wheels,” Dante exclaimed, cocky, like he’d never imagined for a moment Roman wouldn’t show.

Roman drove conservatively, determined not to scratch his car. I realised with hilarity that this driveway was no doubt a creation of Dante’s to put people off screeching away from this place. Not that anyone could ever screech away. The gates at the bottom of the driveway were shouldered either side by fifteen-foot high hedges and beyond those, a brick wall with tiny spikes in the tops if anyone were to try jumping the walls. The whole building was surrounded and it made me think about that black outfit he’d climbed through the window in. I’d confused it with a diving suit… but I was starting to think it was something else.