 
THE CAREGIVER

(Book 1 of The Caregiver Series)

By

Astrid 'Artistikem' Cruz

Edited by

Diana Campo

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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http://thecaregiverseries.wordpress.com

Text and cover art copyright © 2012 by Astrid H. Cruz

Thank you for downloading this free eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form, with the exception of quotes used in reviews.

Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination

and used fictitiously.

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I want to thank each and every person that has contributed to this work be it directly working

with it or as supporters of my work. I wouldn't have done it without you.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

About the Author

###  Chapter 1

"Do you know what you're here for?" The woman with the English accent and stern eyes was peering at me, trying hard not to squint but failing.

"I am here to care for Mr. Sayer," my accent was half-English, half-American, which made her wince every time I spoke.

I was standing in front of her with my hands behind my back to hide the nervous trembling that threatened to take over my whole body. My nurse uniform was wrinkle-free and my hair was neatly tied in a ponytail, thanks in part to a condescending taxi driver, at whom I barked – after he winked at me – "Addison Road. And you'll be sorry if my uniform doesn't make it unruffled!"

"You are young." She stirred in her seat. "Why would you want to live inside this house, caring for an old man like Mr. Sayer, twenty-four hours a day?"

She would have said 'young and pretty' if that was the case. No, this isn't about self-esteem issues. She just wanted it to be that way. She wasn't going for 'pretty.' She wanted someone that would be serious about her work whilst causing the least disturbance in the family. Simply put, she didn't want Mr. Sayer falling for his caregiver.

"Caring for others is my calling, and I'll be glad to do it twenty-four hours a day for the rest of my life." That line would've made me puke in a normal situation, but this was rehearsed, of course. I thought it was a waste of time, but she didn't give a shit about what I thought. It was her little play for the man in the adjacent room.

"Very well," the woman eyed my resume, holding it with both hands close to her eyes, "it would be nice to have someone full of life in this house for a change."

"Thank you."

She cleared her throat, "Armand will have the last word."

The trembling in my hands moved to my legs when she stood up and nodded for me to follow her into Mr. Sayer's room.

There is a typical odor in the rooms of the sick, as if death came to visit them from time to time and left its stench in its wake. However, Mr. Sayer's room was so full of flowers that it wouldn't smell like death even if The Reaper himself were among us.

It was dark inside, there was only light enough to see one's way around the bed. Mr. Sayer was sitting on the bed, and the moment he tried to reach one of the curtains to open it, the woman interfered.

"No, Armand, I'll do it for you," she opened it only enough for us to be able to see each other's faces, "you shouldn't move."

"For fuck's sake, woman! I can move, I'm not paralyzed."

"But you shouldn't, Armand. And don't talk like that, there is someone here to meet you."

He raised himself with his hands and turned to me. I can't deny how scared I was to have him look at me from head to toe, as if measuring me up before opening his mouth to speak.

"And you are...?" he drawled.

"I'm..."

"Her name is Scarlett, she'll be your new caregiver."

"Oh," he cocked an eyebrow towards me with a sarcastic smile, "welcome."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, now, Armand, you must rest. I have to go fetch your meds and run some errands. Will you start today, Scarlett?"

"Yes, I'm ready to start today."

"Good. Let me show you to your room. Follow me."

We went into the next room, but even as she showed me around and explained things to me, I didn't see anything. My mind was running so fast I couldn't concentrate. My attention snapped back abruptly when she asked me if I was all right.

"Excited to be here, that is all."

She closed the door to what would be my private bathroom.

"You can stay here while I'm out. Today is George's free day – he's the butler – so if you need anything, go ahead and help yourself."

Butler? I think he'd be insulted if he heard her call him 'the butler.'

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can call me Helga," the stern façade had melted away and was giving way to a friendlier one, one that smiled before shutting the door behind her.

Alone at last, I gave a quick look around the room before going back to Mr. Sayer's.

When I stepped into his room I noticed he had rolled to one side and pulled the blanket up to his ears.

"Is she gone?" he asked from his hiding place.

"Yes, sir, she's gone."

He pushed the blanket off, kicked it to the feet of the bed, and sat on the edge.

"Thank goodness..."

"But, Mr. Sayer, you shouldn't be up..." I went to him but he stopped me, holding out his hand.

"What did she tell you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What were the instructions she gave you?"

"That you needed twenty-four-hour care because of your condition."

"And what is this condition of mine?"

"You were shot thrice during a violent assault."

"I was shot twice in my left leg and once in my right arm, yes. However," he paused before proceeding, "that was over a month ago. I'm fine, I don't need to rest so much, I should be out there having a stroll, for god's sake! And these curtains..."

Before he was finished I was on my toes opening all the curtains and letting the room flood with light. He breathed in deeply, as if to smell the aroma of pure sunlight for the first time.

"What was your name again?"

"Scarlett, sir. And I must tell you I'm more forgiving than your wife."

"She's not my wife, she's my sister."

"Oh," I breathed, letting some fake amusement slip through my parted lips. I already knew all about him, long before I applied for this job.

"I need to make some phone calls, if you'll excuse me." He got on his feet, stretched his back, and started for the door with a very noticeable limp. "Also," he stopped at the threshold, "can you do something about the flowers? I'm neither sick nor dead."

"I'll do something about them."

"You can burn them for all I care..." he turned away, then back to me, "just don't get rid of all of them at the same time. Helga will notice and you've seen how she is."

"Yes, sir, I'll be disposing of them one at a time."

He turned to exit but paused again. "Burning them isn't practical either. The neighbors will notice..."

"It's OK, Mr. Sayer. I'll take care of everything."

He nodded, grinned, and left the room.

I was left on my own in a room filled with so much sunlight and flowers it looked more like a garden than a bedroom. As I picked out some of the smaller arrangements to be thrown out, I started pondering about Mr. Sayer – hair completely gray, in his late sixties, tall, handsome – and I wondered if there were business cards in his office that read:

ARMAND SAYER

Drug Lord

###  Chapter 2

My first evening in Sayer's mansion passed quietly and without much trouble. Helga came back with his meds, repeated what seemed like a hundred times that his physician, Dr. Hart, had ordered to keep him in bed at all times, and showed me how he liked his tea made, for whenever George wasn't available. Of course, Mr. Sayer didn't comply with staying bed-ridden, so I let him be and went to sleep early.

On my second day, I met George, or should I say, I saw George's frown float around the house without proffering more than a "Top of the morning" and an about-face. The man, with long arms and skinny fingers, wouldn't talk or even look at me. At one point I tried to step in his way so he would have to at least stop one second and acknowledge my presence. However, it didn't work. Nothing did. By nightfall, I had given up for the day, and when Helga came by and asked me if I had met him, I told her we had gotten acquainted quite well. If he didn't want anything to do with me, I wouldn't push him.

Late on the third day, Helga brought a list of errands for me, which Mr. Sayer dismissed the moment she was out the door. Finding myself without work in my new workplace, I retired to my room and went through my clothes, uniforms and the few things I had brought... for the hundredth time. This was going to be harder than I thought.

It was around ten in the evening, as I wandered around the house, when I saw that the lights in the office were lit. I walked towards it, drawn like a moth, and found Mr. Sayer sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone. As soon as he saw me, I tried to make my escape.

"Scarlett?"

He saw me. I froze, but then decided that, since he had called my name, I couldn't ignore him, so I turned around. He hung up the phone and beckoned me into the room.

"You shouldn't be walking around the house this late, Mr. Sayer."

"What other lies did my sister tell you? What else did she instruct you to prohibit me?"

"Pretty much everything that isn't staying in bed the whole day."

He chuckled, finding it amusing somehow, while I stood behind an elegant leather chair, my hands clutching the seams.

He walked around the desk. "As much as I love my sister, I can't let her do this to me. She's always been very possessive, but this has gone too far," he leaned back on the edge of the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. "That's why I asked her to find someone other than George that could take care of me. So I could get her off my back."

"Whose instructions should I follow, then?"

"When Helga is around, act as if you're following hers. But really, all I need is someone to be around so she stops harassing me about being ill and sleeping all day. You can do whatever you want, really. I have things to do and I must get back to them as soon as possible."

"I understand."

"Good to know that you do. Now, would you be nice enough to bring me some tea? I know I shouldn't be asking you this, but George is out and won't be back until early morning."

"Yes, sir. I'll be right back."

I ran quickly down the stairs to the first floor and made the tea as Helga had instructed me. I took a lot of care on how I placed everything on the tray so it would all stay put through the flights of stairs back to Sayer's office.

He waved for me to come in the moment I reached the door, all the while keeping an animated conversation with someone on the other side of the phone.

"Call me if you make arrangements for next Thursday, Max. See you then."

"No wonder your sister is so worried about you. Making plans already?" I commented as soon as he hung up.

"You brought only one cup."

"The tea is for you, Mr. Sayer."

"Don't you like tea? It's very soothing. Helps me sleep when I'm stressed."

"As a matter of fact, I do like tea."

"Then," he rummaged inside one of his desk's drawers and took out another cup, "have it with me. It may be the first of many. How do you like this place so far?"

"It's a beautiful house. I like it very much," I felt so at ease as he poured tea into both cups and slid one towards me, that I was starting to talk to him like I would to a friend. I straightened my back in an effort to straighten my demeanor.

"Are you keeping the job? You know you can walk out whenever you want if you don't like it."

"I've been here for only three days. So far so good."

"I do hope you stay. This house feels so empty sometimes it makes me want to get out running like a mad man. Sit down. You don't want to drink your tea standing up."

"Yes, Mr. Sayer."

A noise came from the floor below, startling us both.

"It's too early for George to be back." Another noise and Mr. Sayer left his seat and went to the window. "Drunk kids in the street."

He walked away from the window and back to the desk when another noise, this time louder and closer, was heard. We left the office together – I tiptoed while he tried to step very slowly so his shoes wouldn't make a sound – and searched for the source.

We kept looking down from the third floor to the second but saw nothing, then I went into one of the bedrooms and saw a shadow by the window. Mr. Sayer tried to pull me back but I didn't yield. I pulled a 22 mm gun from my pocket and quietly sidestepped close to the wall towards the window.

The silhouette of a man came to view and I pointed my gun at it, ready to confront whoever was outside the window and crawling around the walls of the house. I could feel my own heavy breathing, as if the whole room was beating along with my heart, as if it knew that my finger was tightening its grip on the trigger, little by little.

"Don't shoot the glass, it's bulletproof," Sayer whispered to my ear.

I released the trigger but kept my aim on the window. There was silence for a moment and no sign of the shadow or whatever it was that made the noises. When I turned around, Sayer was right behind me, his whole body stiff, his hands in tight fists.

"The drunken kids, I believe," I commented sarcastically as I lowered my gun.

"Where did you get that gun?"

Then came a bang on one of the back doors, and I rushed into my room, pulled my luggage from under the bed and took out another gun, my handy 9 mm. When I came out of the room, Sayer was emerging from the library with a 40 mm and was shocked to see me holding a different gun to my side.

The noise rang out again, and all shock was left behind as I hastened down the stairs. He stayed behind. Not that I cared. I had to check on whatever was happening before he did.

I strode across the hall into the kitchen and saw another silhouette through the glass on the back door. It froze, as if it was looking at me, before turning to run away. I shot once and the bullet bounced right off it, hitting a wall, a lamp.

"Fuck!" I ducked until it stopped. The whole house was bulletproof.

I opened the door and sped through the grass into the backyard while the silhouette fled in zigzags, dodging my bullets. Then a second silhouette appeared out of nowhere and I could see the shiny metal gun glinting under the lampposts' light. Before I could shoot, he was dead on the floor. I instinctively looked up and saw Sayer shutting a window on the second floor. This was my cue to go after the other one, the one that had stopped to see the fall of his companion.

I ran towards him and managed to close the distance between us before he realized I was on him. With his eyes still on the corpse, he pointed another shiny gun at me and squeezed the trigger once, missing me by inches. Not that he cared, because he was still standing in the same spot when I got dangerously near.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" He didn't answer, so I pressed my gun to his temple. "Answer me!"

He dropped the gun and took off the black mask that covered his face. His white skin stood out against the black of his suit. He was a young man, probably in his twenties. His nose tip was red, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm new to this."

"Who sent you?"

"I can't tell."

"For fuck's sake, just answer the fucking question!"

"I can't! They'll kill my family."

I chuckled. "They must be dead by now, and you'll also be dead if you don't answer me."

We both heard the limping steps of Sayer as he slowly approached us.

"Scarlett, go back inside!"

"I've got it Mr. Sayer," I turned to face him, "don't worry," but was startled as he shot the guy before I could. The kid had picked up his gun and was about to shoot me without my notice.

"Get in!" Sayer roared, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back into the house.

His face was flushed, his brows were furrowed, and his eyes didn't meet mine until we were in a study on the first floor. He pushed me into a chair, took my gun, placed it with his own on the table, and pulled out his mobile.

"George, we have two dead squirrels in the backyard," he said before hanging up and turning back to me. "Who are you?"

His enraged eyes were gazing into mine and I could feel the trembling creeping up from my feet, through my legs and my body, down my arms and hands.

He took his gun back from the table, cocked it and pointed it to my head.

"My name is Scarlett Lang."

"Who sent you?"

"I was recommended by Rafael Cisneros when your sister went to him searching for a caregiver." I gulped before proceeding. "My grandfather owns the shooting range Cisneros uses to train his men."

"Cisneros? You know Cisneros?"

"Yes. Adrian Lang is his name. My grandfather's, I mean."

The barrel of his gun cut through the thickness of the air between us, dispersing and redistributing it around the room, as he pulled it away from me.

"Helga," he said to himself. "She means good, but in her effort she has exposed me. There is no doubt someone sent those kids because she's being followed."

My mouth felt dry and my heart was racing so fast I thought it would drill its way out of my chest.

"She knows that you handle guns, doesn't she?"

"It was one of the requirements for hiring me, so that I could help protect you. After the attack on you and your family, she's worried you'll suffer another one."

"That's why I stayed here, to make sure it doesn't happen again. Now tell me, are you even a real nurse?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Well," his face relaxed, and my trembling vanished. "Those two were young and inexperienced. It won't help much to see what the security cameras recorded. We stopped them on time," he said as he looked round, then turned to me, "and our tea must've gone cold. If you ask me," he gave me my gun back, "it's time for bed," and limped out of the room.

"Night, sir."

"You can keep the job, Scarlett," his voice floated back through the hallway. "Couldn't have found a better match for this myself."

###  Chapter 3

That night changed things for the better. Helga had told me she feared someone would attempt to attack Sayer in his house because they all knew he was there. He had his power and alliances; however, those who wanted him dead were from another generation, a younger one that was so hungry for glory they were trying to get to the top using shortcuts.

The attack that left Sayer hurt was perpetrated outside a restaurant. As he was getting into his car after dinner with his wife, they were assaulted by a single gunman that was able to get three bullets into Sayer before he could jump into the back seat and shout for George to drive away.

He was afraid for his family, so he sent them out of the country. All of them. His wife, his daughter and her husband, and his grandchildren. Helga was the only one that stayed behind, refusing to leave her brother alone under these circumstances and, above all, trying to stop him from getting killed. He, on the other hand, stayed behind because he wanted to find out who had sent his attacker and make him pay for it.

How did I get into the picture? I'm an agent with the Interpol, and I have been given the chance to make my mark and earn my stars. I've done my fair share of ass-kissing, shot a couple of people, punched a couple of faces, nothing big. But I've followed orders and been given the chance of a lifetime. For me, that is. To work as an undercover agent in Armand Sayer's household? I was ecstatic when I got the news.

People like Armand Sayer filled my dreams when I was a child because, believe it or not, I always wanted to be a cop. I dreamt about catching the bad guys. Not the common robbers. I wanted to take down the big fish, the chief of operations of the spider web that is the drug trafficking business. Sayer, a smart man, led the enviable life of criminals that remain in the shadows. He owned a very prominent real estate firm to do the laundry. And he was a serious man: he followed the rules and made everyone under him follow them too.

That was how he and his closest colleagues kept themselves alive in a world where the bullets flew unannounced. But now they were facing a volatile younger generation that didn't deal under the same laws of respect and thought it went hand-in-hand with murder numbers. Sayer and his colleagues didn't have much of a problem while the murders stayed between the low-ranking men. It was when they messed with his kind, the ones that had been in the business since before this new generation was born, that he decided to step in.

But stepping in had cost him the peaceful life he had worked so hard for and the ability to run around the house whenever he felt like it. Other than that, he was ready to go back, and I was now slowly working my way into his trust. Having Cisneros on my side helped, of course. They had been partners since the 70s, but we had recently cracked Cisneros into becoming an informer for us.

"I'm going out," he said as he straightened his jacket.

"Where? Why?" Helga seemed to be running in circles around him like a dog.

"I'm taking George and Scarlett with me. No need to worry."

I was standing in the foyer next to a large flower arrangement that, no matter how big, wouldn't hide me from the stink eye Helga was giving me. I wrapped my jacket around me tightly, until the gun hidden within poked my ribs.

"I believe I made myself very clear, Scarlett," she turned to me. "And why aren't you wearing your uniform?"

"Ma'am, I'm..."

"I won't make her wear it in public! She's my caregiver, and I need to go out, so it makes perfect sense that she should accompany me. She's been trapped in here twenty-four-seven for two weeks. She needs a break."

"She can take a break if she wants, she can go anywhere she likes, but–"

"But what?"

"You don't have to tag along!"

"Technically, she's the one tagging along, as it was my idea to go out. I'll see you later." He opened the front door and Helga stepped in his way.

"Get out of my way, woman."

"You're exposing yourself."

"There's a slight chance that it is you who has been exposing me all this time, and I'm not even mad. Now move!"

Helga moved out of the way to let us out, her eyes bulging and her mouth agape, as Sayer bestowed a sneer on her that left her speechless. When we walked out, George was waiting by the car – the black bulletproofed Jaguar – holding the back door open for us and keeping his poker face, even when Helga had smoke coming out of her ears.

"Armand, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable," he let me in first and paused, "Scarlett convinced me of getting a cane, one of those that look stylish, you know? Not like the one the doctor wanted me to have. I don't want to look like an old man. That is why I've decided that we'll go cane-hunting today."

Helga rolled her eyes at this, turned around and went back into the house.

Sayer slid into the car and we were on our way to an undisclosed location where he would meet with some colleagues. The cane part wasn't a lie; we would buy one before the meeting.

To prepare me for this, Sayer asked permission to go through my clothes and picked the suit I was to wear – jacket and trousers, so no one would feel tempted to leer at me, he said –, and told me to stay either to his left or with George at all times. George, who since the night of the failed break-in had added some phrases to his repertoire when he addressed me, was to signal me if we had to move or do anything other than stay around looking blankly at our surroundings.

"Cisneros will be there also," he grinned. What a strike of luck for me that he invited him. "Are you nervous?"

"No, sir." I was. I must reckon that my hands were shaking a little. One thing was to be an undercover and the pressure it puts on you, another thing was to be finally doing what you dreamt of for so long, and alongside the kind of man those dreams were fixed on.

"Don't be. If anything happens, George will take care of it, right George?"

"Of course."

Sayer gave me a reassuring smile, yet it was like a child's, a glint of mischievousness breaking through his otherwise stern guise.

When we arrived at the store, Sayer was greeted by the manager and all the employees. This was the suit store he frequented, they all knew him and had missed him during the time he was cooped up because of his injuries. He was taken to the back while George and I kept an eye near the entrance.

After a while, an employee approached me as I browsed through a rack of shirts, "Mr. Sayer would like you to join him."

I eyed George, he nodded, and I was taken to the back of the store where Sayer was trying out some walking sticks the manager was drawing out of some elegantly decorated boxes. He was looking at himself on a full-length mirror, trying to pull some tap dance moves while the stick threatened to fly off his hand.

"That Fred Astaire made it look so easy."

"Try this one," the manager brought him a chocolate-colored one with a black leather handle, "it has a very comfortable handle. Good if you'll be using it for long periods of time."

"And I will," he said before I came into view in the mirror. "See, my caregiver here agrees with my doctor that I should use a cane. I don't find the idea too attractive, though."

"It will do you good," I cut in, "so you stop putting too much stress on your good leg."

"See? They know better," he said, "I like this one. Do you?"

He gave it to me for inspection. I didn't know much about canes but this one felt so good in my hand I would've bought it for myself.

"Feels all right," I gave it back to him.

"Feels all right," he repeated, "I'll take it, then." He turned to the manager and we were on our way.

The undisclosed location (undisclosed only to me, as both Sayer and George knew where we were going) turned out to be a fancy restaurant. George threw the keys at a valet while Sayer dotted the gravel with his cane, pushing rocks aside, until we reached the entrance steps and another car came in. It was Cisneros. As soon as he got out of the car, he spotted me and winked. With that wink, my report was done: he knew I was in and would tell his contact, who would then tell the chief. Simple.

"I see you hired her, Sayer. Good call."

"Yes, yes, I thank you for that."

"Scarlett," Cisneros opened his arms to me, "so good to see you're caring for old Sayer here." He set his hands on my shoulders and looked directly into my eyes. "How's the old man Adrian?"

"Shootin' 'em bitches."

"That's Adrian Lang right there," he patted my left shoulder, a little too hard for my liking, and turned to George for a handshake.

Cisneros had brought two men with him. One of them I had seen in pictures, his name was Marco and he sported spiky black hair. The other one made my knees give slightly. He had long black wavy hair and full lips. His name was Ferdinand. I was feeling my gun with the inner side of my arm when he shot a sly smile at me, which I tried to avert. I had to, or everyone there would notice we knew each other, and how very well.

A third car arrived and out came Max MacGowan. This time my knees shook so bad I had to give a step back. It was Max-fucking-MacGowan, the number-two supplier in the country. He went right under Sayer in the list.

"Good to see you're still standing, Sayer," they hugged each other effusively. "Let's do this quick," he said, and we all proceeded to the V.I.P. area of the restaurant.

There were two men with MacGowan: Desmond and Harry, both known for being ruthless and not taking any bullshit from anyone, just like Max. They were walking close to us, surveying the place but not stopping to examine anything or anyone. I could tell they'd been there before.

I hadn't, however, so my eyes were traveling all around the marble floors, the golden curtains, the white tablecloths, the solemn waiters that seemed to have worked there forever since they didn't have to watch their steps while carrying trays laden with dishes over their shoulders.

"Is that your daughter, Sayer?" Max grinned at me, and a golden tooth glinted from between his lips.

"My caregiver. Scarlett."

"There's a resemblance, isn't there?"

"A bit, maybe," Sayer cut the conversation short.

George cocked his head to one side to signal where I would sit. The bar, thank heavens. Sayer held my wrist, squeezed it, and smiled at me before letting me go.

I went to take a place at the bar while George sat at the table, to Sayer's right. From there, I could see clearly what happened between them, so I ordered a glass of wine and relaxed. That, until Ferdinand came to sit a barstool away from mine.

"Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"It's been long."

"Yes, very long. I see you haven't cut your hair."

"I see you haven't changed a bit, still the lovely lady with the trousers and the jacket."

"I don't know you, remember?"

"They can't hear us."

"What if they do?"

"I guess we'll be seeing each other again."

"What was ended won't be started again." I took a rather large sip of wine, almost trying to choke myself with it.

"Where there was fire, ashes remain."

"Stop it before I have to report you."

He raised both eyebrows and turned to his tumbler of whiskey. Harry was sitting three barstools from him.

"He's a bit of an antisocial," Ferdinand commented, once he noticed I was eyeing Harry, "doesn't talk much, doesn't mingle."

"Like psychopaths do."

He chuckled, sipping his whiskey.

I twisted my head to see Sayer smiling so wide his back teeth showed through his parted lips, a glass of wine in his hand. Cisneros was pulling on a cigar, MacGowan was sipping from his whiskey, all laughing, all merry. What a way to make business.

"It looks like everything's in order," I heard Sayer say.

Then Max said, "Six million, Sayer, that's what it's worth."

"I don't see a problem with that. Are both your offers still in?"

"Yes," Cisneros signaled Ferdinand to come closer and whispered something in his ear.

Max did the same with Harry. It was to fetch briefcases from their cars. Once they were back, George took the two briefcases. No need to check its contents, we all knew what they were.

We all ate in our respective seats. I could see how tempted Ferdinand was to strike another conversation with me, but it was forbidden for us to act as if we knew each other, at least until our respective undercover identities spent time enough together to get acquainted.

After the lunch was over, Sayer didn't want to stay any longer. All hands were shaken, all chins nodded, and we left.

"You did well," Sayer whispered in my ear before we got in the car, "you did very well."

###  Chapter 4

George walked into me one morning as I was preparing Sayer's meds in the kitchen.

"Hey, there!" I smiled at him.

"Morning," he replied dryly.

"Tell me something, George. I've been here for two months. We've been living in the same house, going to the same places, working together. Isn't it obvious we should have at least some kind of communication? Yet you've been giving me the silent treatment since day one."

"You're an American."

"That's it? You don't talk to me because I'm an American?"

"And you have a lousy English accent."

" I've been living in London for some time."

"Or you're trying to act like someone you're not."

"What does that even mean?"

"You could be police for all I know. You could be installing cameras all around the house with them microphones so your friends can 'ear what we say."

"Don't insult me!"

"That's rubbish! You don't insult my intelligence. I can see right through you and I don't like what I'm seeing."

He turned and left all ruffled up. I was told he was a tough guy to get to, that he could blow our whole operation, and I was slowly learning that the rumors were true.

Sayer was in bed watching TV when I entered the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Sayer. How are you feeling today?"

"My day just brightened up with that smile of yours." Always the gentleman...

"Thank you."

"You look a bit flustered. Did something happen?"

"No, nothing," I tried to dismiss the issue as I handed him a glass of water.

"Tell me. You know you can trust me. Who do I have to kill?"

"Nobody," I giggled. "It's just George."

"He's not being nice to you, is he?"

"He says he can't trust me because I'm an American."

Sayer scoffed, taking the glass into his hands, "That's how he is. I, on the contrary, do trust you. He's like that with everyone, don't take it personally."

"I don't. One can't be too trustful these days anyway."

"True, but let's talk about better things," he shifted on the bed and patted the empty space beside him for me to sit. "How are you feeling today?"

"Very well, sir."

"How do you like it here?"

"You've asked me the same question every day for the past two months."

"Has the answer changed?"

"No. I feel very comfortable here, just like home."

"If by any reason you decide to run away screaming one day, I won't stop you."

"I know. You've also told me that every single day."

"And my decision won't be changing any time soon."

"Thank you."

"Today we'll be meeting with some wankers. Excuse me for expressing myself that way, it's just that I dislike the way they work. They're young and stupid, but they have the money to buy my stuff. Really, this is a business like any other. Maybe I could teach them some common sense. It's the only way they'll make it alive."

"Why deal with them, then?"

"They are slowly climbing their way through the organizational chart, and if I supply them, I can keep them on a leash and under control. Sad but true. Are you coming with us?"

"Why not?"

"Great. I have something for you," he reached for his night table drawer and produced a box. "A gift from me to you."

I opened the box and couldn't help but smile. "A knife? For me?"

"For doing a good job. I thought you might like it. Pick it up."

I held it in my hand, it felt so good, so comfortable. I gave it a closer look and saw my name engraved on the blade.

"This is beautiful! I don't know what to say..."

"You don't have to say anything. The other night, during tea, you told me you liked knives but didn't own any."

"I do, I love them. Thank you, Mr. Sayer. Thank you so much."

"Enjoy it, but not too much."

For an awkward moment, I thought of hugging him, but I just nudged him with my arm. He returned the gesture.

"When are we leaving?"

"In a couple of hours. These kids don't like getting up early."

"Anything else you need, just call me," I said as I got on my feet, "and thank you again."

"No, thank you."

I only returned to his bedroom to retrieve the empty glass, and he wasn't there anymore. I didn't go looking for him, no need to. He spent most of his time in his office making calls and pushing papers.

Helga came by and went directly to his office, shut the door behind her and locked it. George walked by the door several times, trying to listen in to what was being said but had no such luck. Both Helga and Sayer emerged from the room, and she went directly out into the backyard, where I was watering the plants.

"Isn't George supposed to do that?" She approached me with a cocked eyebrow.

"I needed some fresh air and decided to do it myself."

"You've been having lots of fresh air lately, haven't you?"

"The usual."

"Don't give me that answer."

"Excuse me?"

"He's back in business, isn't he? He's been meeting with clients."

"I don't know."

"Answer me!"

"What's your problem?"

She snorted, folded her arms and blocked my path. "You dare ask what my problem is?! My problem is that my only brother is in danger, that I don't want him to get killed, and he's out there exposing himself."

"He's a businessman."

"No, he's a bloody drug dealer! Normal businessmen don't get shot, they don't need bulletproof windows and cars. You have no idea how it feels to be afraid to read the newspaper in the morning in fear of finding out he's been murdered. I'd prefer him in jail than dead."

"He's jailed in this house anyway."

"And I intended to keep it that way. That was why I hired you."

"You hired me to care after your brother and I complied with all your requirements. We both know Mr. Sayer has healed very quickly and doesn't need to be kept cooped up in the house like a bird in a cage. He's good to go, and you shouldn't stop him from doing what he must."

"He raised your salary, didn't he?"

"I am doing two jobs at the same time: nurse and bodyguard."

I could swear I saw smoke coming out of her ears again.

"If my brother is attacked once more and you fail to protect him, I swear I won't let you live on with it. You won't need your conscience to torture you, because I will do it myself!"

And with that she turned and threaded her way back into the house, leaving me to finish my task.

She was gone long before we went out. This time we were heavily armed; even Sayer had two guns under his jacket. He didn't trust these buyers at all. We picked up Cisneros and Ferdinand on the way. Cisneros was the middleman in this transaction. I was riding in front with George, giving him fleeting looks over the rifle that sat silently between us. My shiny new knife was strapped to my waist in a genuine leather holster Sayer had given me.

The meeting would take place in a hotel outside London. When we got there, Cisneros led us up to the room. A blonde bombshell of a woman opened the door.

"Your friends are here, Patrick," she shouted over the electronic music blasting inside. "Patrick?!"

"Yeah, yeah, we heard you." A wide-eyed scrawny black guy came to the door and held it open for us, "Come in, come in."

It was a large suite. We crossed through a living room and another door that led to a bedroom. There was another woman, just as beautiful as the one that had opened the front door, fawning over a guy sitting on the sofa. Cisneros led us to him: that was the man we were there for. I studied him closely. I hadn't seen his face before, not even in pictures. He was tanned, with dirty blonde hair. He looked more like a surfer boy than a drug dealer.

I heard Sayer take a deep breath before the guy jumped to his feet and greeted us. The scrawny black guy wasn't the only one with the surfer boy; there was a tall white man who was wearing a leather jacket and standing in a corner, and another black man, this one big and strong, watching our every move.

"Welcome, welcome! You, get lost," he told the girl that minutes ago had been all over him. "You too, outside, everyone," he also told the blonde bombshell, as well as the guys. "This is real business, between us alone, isn't it Cisneros?"

"It is," Cisneros answered, dismissing Ferdinand.

Sayer hesitated before sending us out too. I kept close to the door, with George standing nearby. Ferdinand was keeping his distance, leaning on the wall facing us. The two girls abandoned the suite with the scrawny black guy. Those who stayed behind, the one with the leather jacket and the big black guy, looked a bit impatient, which I noticed was making Ferdinand uneasy.

"You think she's a cop?" I heard the white guy ask the black one.

"She's too short to be a cop," the black guy whispered. "Stop staring at her."

"What's Sayer doing with someone like her? She ain't even pretty."

"She works for him."

"I think I've figured out that much already, you cunt. The big bloke don't seem to care, though."

Ferdinand and I were exchanging glances. He could hear what they were saying and didn't like it either. George, on the other hand, didn't seem to care, and was slowly opening the gap between us.

"Patrick asked you to behave," the black guy grabbed the white one by the arm, but he shook himself violently out of his grip. "Don't fuck this up!"

That was like a cue for the white guy to walk over to me. I turned my back to him in an attempt to ignore him but he approached me anyway.

"I bet fifty quid you are a cop, but my mate says you're too short. What do you think?"

"Fuck off."

"Ooh, bad kitty. Why you here? Sayer's already got a big bloke to protect him, so what's your use? Oh! Are you fucking him? Is that it? You fucking him but he dressed you up in a suit, gave you a gun and told you not to talk to me. Do you know who I am? Eh? Do you?"

"You're a wanker, for all I care."

"I bet you haven't been with a man in a long time, eh, sweetie? A real man," he was now uncomfortably close to my ear. "What? Old man Sayer can't get it up? Is that it? Tired of handjobs and blowjobs on a flabby piece of meat, eh? You've got a real man here. I could do you the favor, luv. Turn around and look at me. Come on, I won't bite... unless you want, tho."

I was getting tired of rolling my eyes and cursing in my head.

"Go fuck yourself, you prick!"

"You aren't a brit, are you? Better yet. I'll do you the favor anyway, don't need to pay. I only charge the pretty girls. You, I'd do for free, you know? Look at me. Look at my fucking face, doll..."

He put his hand on my shoulder and yanked me around. What he didn't know was that I was already clutching my knife outside its holster and, in the blink of an eye, it was stuck on his thigh.

"You fucking cunt!" He groaned, holding the wounded thigh in his hands and rolling on the floor, "look what you've done!"

I pulled out one of my guns and cocked it just before Ferdinand grabbed me and dragged me away over the royal blue rug. The black guy was pointing his gun at me, looking wild-eyed.

"Remember my face, motherfucker," I yelled, "because next time I will kill you, not just pierce your fucking thigh!" I was still screaming when, all of a sudden, the bedroom's door flung open and Sayer was staring at me.

"What is all this screaming?"

It was a confusing scene. George had stepped forward when Sayer came out and was now by my side as Ferdinand kept his grip on me. The black guy was checking the wound on his partner while their boss, Patrick the surfer boy, cursed at them both.

"You cunts!" Patrick shouted, "I told you not to fuck it, Gerard. I told you to behave, you fucking cunt!"

"That'll teach you something about respecting women, you bastard!" I spat.

"What did he do to her?" Sayer turned to George in search for an answer, "Did you see?"

"I saw him talking to her, but I couldn't hear what he was saying."

Fucking liar, I thought.

Cisneros signaled Ferdinand to release me. I straightened my jacket, got my gun back, and slid it into my shoulder holster. However, when I approached the groaning victim, I was stopped by Sayer himself.

"Leave him," he blocked my way with his cane.

"I want my knife back."

Patrick watched in horror as Sayer asked George to get my knife back from his guy's thigh. "He'll bleed out," he argued.

"He won't if you take him to a hospital in time," Sayer answered.

We all witnessed in silence as George leaned over the screaming man – the black guy holding his arms down – and pulled the blade slowly out of his flesh. Blood started gushing out, staining George's shoes. Sayer took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wrapped the knife with it before handing it to me.

"I am very sorry, Patrick, but Mr. Cisneros and I have decided not to make business with you."

"No! No, no, please!" the surfer boy begged. "This won't happen again, Mr. Sayer, I swear!"

"Patrick, calm down," Cisneros interjected. "Look... look at me, boy. Get rid of your rubbish and then, only then, we'll talk business, okay?" He softly slapped the boy's face in a friendly manner. "Sort this out and then call me. And put some pressure on your friend's wound on the way to the hospital."

Sayer pulled me to his side when we walked out, keeping me under his arm as we left the surfer boy and his wounded friend behind.

###  Chapter 5

This shit was getting serious very quick.

I remember that night so vividly, when we got to the house and George asked to speak with Sayer in private. They stayed locked in Sayer's office for over an hour, and all I could hear was Sayer's calm voice overlapping George's angry pitch of voice.

* * * *

"She's brave, you can't deny that." Armand was standing with his arms crossed over his chest while George held on to the back of a chair. "That took guts."

"It was a bloody stupid thing to do."

"She's getting the hang of this. Of business."

George stepped back, held his hands behind his back, and started pacing around the room. "You shouldn't be putting her through this."

Armand cocked his head to one side. "Putting her through what?"

"All of this. I don't want her working by my side."

"I think she's done well."

"She has."

"What is it then?"

"She's a woman, for heaven's sake!"

"Is that your main concern? That she's a woman? For some time you've been contemplating getting a partner and, well, since she's good at what she does, I thought she would be perfect. Nobody would ever suspect her." Armand tried to dismiss him, but George wouldn't yield. "If she fails, we'll send her to the cleaners."

George stopped on his tracks and turned to Armand with a hint of consternation in his eyes. "You'd kill her?"

"No, I wouldn't kill her myself, nor would I ask you to do it. I would send for someone else to do it, the cleaners, and that would be the end of it." He said from behind his desk, as if he was talking about something as trivial as the weather.

"She gets along with everyone. Even Kaynard liked her."

"Kaynard likes everyone."

"Yes, but when we went to collect his payment, he invited her to his yacht, told her he would show her his place in Jamaica."

Armand raised an eyebrow to that, leaning forward on his elbows, and muttered, "that son of a bitch."

"I've seen her in action, Armand. I know she's good, she's a great shooter. We could use her as a hitman and no one would know, but she can also become our weakest link and there is no room for that here."

"Only if we let her. And I trust you won't let that happen."

George sighed in frustration. "I'll do my best."

"I know I can count on you."

"Should I tell her to bring your tea?"

"That would be very nice of you, George." He watched George turn towards the door in silence.

He sat on his leather chair, pondering on what to do, how to proceed. This was new for him, all this. Even Scarlett herself was something he hadn't experienced before. Thinking it through, he thought on taking the same advice he had given George: give her time. So he pulled out his mobile and started playing a game of solitaire while he waited for her to arrive with the tea.

* * * *

That night our tea together was ruled by silence. I didn't have the courage to look Sayer in the eye, not after what must have happened with George before I came in.

But then he ripped the veil of silence. "I don't want to know what that man did to offend you, Scarlett. I do want you to know that you have my complete trust. That deal fell through the moment we stepped into that bloody hotel room."

"I'm sorry for any grief I've caused you, Mr. Sayer."

"None at all."

"George is very angry."

"George is always angry. You're doing a good job. That is all you need to know."

"Thank you, Mr. Sayer."

He stretched out his hand over the desk. "Let me see your hand." I complied. He took it in his and turned it, searching for something. "You didn't hurt yourself?"

"No, sir. The knife has a very good grip, very easy to use."

"Good," he squeezed my hand before releasing it. "It's unusual for men like me to use young women like you for security purposes, you must know that already."

"I did work for Cisneros for some time, to pay for my education."

"He told me all about it. However, situations like these do come up from time to time. I'm not the kind to exploit women like others do, having them look like hookers and dragging them everywhere they go just to show them off. That's why I prefer you wear suits, like the men do."

"I understand and have no problem with it whatsoever."

"You do have a resemblance to my daughter," he was now pondering on some thought tucked away in his mind while one of his fingers softly caressed the rim of his now empty cup. "She is as tall as I am, and her skin is powder white, but... it's in the eyes, the way you look at people. I don't really know how to explain it."

"This is a first for me, Mr. Sayer."

"It's the underlying innocence."

"Excuse me?"

"There are people that, no matter what they do, if they're bad at heart you can see it in their eyes a mile off. Good people, on the other hand, no matter how many bad things they do, you can still read between the lines, what lies behind their pupils. There is no way to fake it, take my word for it."

I became speechless, trying hard not to lock my eyes on his, because that way I could see it too. I had seen it, as he said, a mile off. He also had it, a fundamentally good heart. Although the word 'innocence' didn't really strike me as accurate in his case. I wanted to hate him, I swear I did.

"She's in Africa running an orphanage," he proceeded to put the empty cups on the tray. "She has traveled the world doing missionary work," he scoffed, "some kind of atonement for all the shit I've done."

"We've all got shit we carry with us everywhere we go. What's important is what we do about it."

"There's no retiring from this business. Once you're in, you're in it for life. You can slow down, and if you've kept a low profile, you can stay that way, have a semi-retirement. It's tiring, really. Maybe not for you, but for your family. The constant vigilance. You can't let fear get to you or you'll turn paranoid and fuck things up."

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry to put you through my ramblings."

"No need to, sir. You can talk to me all you want. You give me little enough work to do, as it is."

"You're doing more than enough, keeping this place alive," I finally looked him in the eyes and noticed they were glistening, "keeping me alive."

"It's my job."

"Yes," he snapped out of whatever had entranced him. "Keep it up."

I leapt to my feet.

"And..." he spoke again, "you can start calling me Armand instead of 'sir' or 'Mr. Sayer'."

"OK."

I took the tray and left as quickly as I could, taking with me the feeling that I was losing some self-control and that he, quite clearly, was going through the same.

###  Chapter 6

It was one of those days when a stroll around busy streets is the only thing that makes you feel like a person again. I hadn't been doing much of that lately, even if Sayer – or Armand, as he wanted me to call him now – encouraged me to do so almost every day.

That day, I bit the bullet and wandered absentmindedly through some shops. There was one, an electronics shop, that caught my eye. Sayer's house had Internet connection, but no wireless, and I had been thinking of getting a router and setting it up so I didn't have to rely on my cell phone's data connection so much. I browsed through the shelves for a while, minding my own business, until a voice came from behind.

"Looking for something?"

One of those young clerks with bright eyes and braces on his teeth came to me.

"I was thinking on purchasing one of those routers and a new laptop, but I'm clueless when it comes to these things."

Oh, I can tell he loved that because his chest puffed up before he started rattling off his detailed explanation about the finest equipment they had and how to install it. Needless to say, I left the store with what he sold me and headed right back to the house.

When I got back, Sayer was heading out with George, so I crossed paths with them before they got to the car.

"Well hello there, where were you?" Sayer was in a very happy mood, while George kept to his sullen silence.

"Around. I bought this," I pulled the router box out of the bag and showed it to him. "It's a router, for Wi-Fi, and I thought maybe you could let me into your office, doesn't have to be now..." I was talking hurriedly, as if I had run for miles.

"Slow down, Scarlett."

"I'm sorry, I know you're in a hurry. I'll wait until you're back."

He then produced a set of keys from his pocket. "There's nothing I need to hide from you. I don't remember if I locked the door, but if I did, you can let yourself in and do whatever you want." He dropped the keys in my hand with a smile. "Go on. I'll be back in an hour."

I clutched the keys in my hand as the car drove away. A warm feeling, something I hadn't felt in a very long time, invaded my chest.

When he returned, I still hadn't finished setting everything up. I hadn't been very computer savvy until I met Ferdinand. He was the one who taught me all I knew about them. He'd spend entire nights hacking away while I struggled to keep myself awake. He was good at it, a skill very much needed in our agency, but he also yearned for the thrill of the field. I never did much deskwork because of my family's relationship with the Cisneros, and Ferdinand loved the idea of having me introduce him to that other world.

The same world that drove us apart.

I hated to think that I missed him, yet, I couldn't deny how much...

"Are you done?"

Sayer's voice struck me like lightning and I jolted.

"You're here."

"I'm sorry if I scared you. You were thinking aloud."

"Was I?"

"A low mumbling, didn't catch anything."

"I was just finishing setting this up."

He looked at the laptop I was working on. "Did you buy that computer today?"

"Yes, still trying to figure it out."

He raised both eyebrows while his mouth curved downwards, then turned away from me and sat on a chair facing the desk. That was when I realized I was sitting on his chair, behind his desk.

"I'm sorry, this is your place."

I hastened to move the computer but he interjected, "No, no, stay there. You look better than I do behind that desk."

A wink, a crooked smile... I had to be more skeptical.

"George wouldn't like that."

"He will, with time."

Spoken so softly it lost some of the rawness a statement like that should carry. For someone like Sayer, the people around him had to yield to his decisions or face the consequences.

"All right, this is all set up. Now you have Wi-Fi all over the house."

"Thank you. You are very resourceful, much more than Helga thought."

"I do my best, Mr. Sayer."

"Armand, please, just Armand."

I felt a rush of blood to my face. "I'm sorry, Armand."

"And don't be sorry. This is your house as much as it is George's and mine, so feel free to do all those technological things you like."

I chuckled. "I'm not that technological, only the basics."

"More than enough for me."

Our eyes locked as my face, out of involuntary politeness, stretched into a smile, I didn't notice how much until it started hurting. I had to control myself, for my own sake.

"I'll leave the computer here."

"Oh no, no, it's yours, take it with you. I wouldn't know how to use it anyway."

"I can teach you if you'd like."

"Now that would be wonderful." He rose to his feet as I closed the laptop. "Where did you put the thing you showed me before I left?"

"The router? There." I pointed towards a corner at the back of the room.

"Bloody hell! How did you get there?"

"I used a ladder." I stood in front of him with the laptop under my arm while he kept eyeing the flashing lights on the gadget propped up on the wall. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

I tried to scurry away but his hand flew, landed on my shoulder, and I shuddered. He withdrew it quickly, as if he had hurt me.

"I'm sorry I keep frightening you. Are you nervous about something?"

"No, it's nothing."

There was something. He felt it too, I knew he did. Something that was telling me to step back, to not let my instincts take over and fall for a man I should despise.

"Maybe some tea will make you feel better."

"Yes, tea. Right away, Mr..." I met his raised eyebrow and winced, "Armand. I'll bring tea for both of us."

"Much better. I'll be here... waiting."

The slight drawl in his voice prompted me to go fetch the tea. Quick.

I passed George on my way to the kitchen. He saw the computer under my arm and made a face, which I opted to ignore. He was holding a manila envelope and I didn't ask about it either. He walked into Sayer's office and closed the door behind him.

* * * *

"This has gone too far." He muttered as he handed Sayer the envelope.

"Calm down, George." Sayer took the envelope to his desk and pulled out the papers that were inside. "She's got a history."

"She's a cop." George put his hands on top of the desk, overlooking the outspreaddocuments, while Sayer studied them. "She's not to be trusted." He looked up at the newly installed router and back down at Sayer. "She's setting us up."

"She isn't setting anyone up. That grandfather of hers was a hitman back in the day, a very good one. I thought the name rang a bell when she mentioned it. And even then, her being a cop can be of help. We can always use another contact in an agency such as the Interpol. Besides, all you have to do is give her time."

George was angry, getting more and more frustrated by the minute, so he sat down and waited for Sayer to speak again.

"Are you sure about these people?" Sayer, as expected, broke the silence. "The ones you got these files from?"

"A hundred percent."

"She's got a bit of everything. She was born and brought up in the business. Her father was a drug dealer; her grandfather, a hitman. Mom and Dad executed when she was twelve, lived with her grandfather, learned everything from him. She's not a cop deep inside, she'll never be."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I have a feeling. Let me deal with her and you'll see."

George leapt to his feet, visibly agitated, and marked each of his words with a poke of his finger on the desk. "All I want is to not have to say 'I told you' in the end."

"Rest assured, you won't have to."

* * * *

I tried to push the door open but it was locked and I couldn't knock because I was holding the tray. George opened it with a sneer before I started back for the kitchen.

"We'll talk about this again some other time, George." I saw Sayer put some documents back into the envelope and pushed it aside to make space for the tray. "Don't worry," he stopped me when I started pouring the tea. "Sit down, I'll do it."

I sat in the same chair George had left, watched Sayer serve the tea, and pondered on the idea of this simple routine repeating itself over and over again for the rest of my life.

###  Chapter 7

We were having breakfast in the dining room, just Sayer and I, because George didn't like to be where I was. He did the cooking, and his breakfasts were fit for royalty, but he preferred to have them in the kitchen, far from my presence.

"I have plans for you today," Sayer pointed a finger at me, "it's all arranged, won't take no for an answer."

"Oh uh..."

He produced a pair of keys from his pocket, "I know you have been eyeing the white Aston Martin in the garage."

"I–"

"It's yours for the day. George cleaned it up, filled the tank. You have an appointment at one of those beauty and spa salons at ten sharp."

"A spa?"

"Thought you might like to have some time for yourself."

"I don't–"

He raised a hand, "I said I wouldn't take no for an answer. Be there at ten, you've earned it. Then take the Aston for a ride, have coffee with friends, whatever you like. I don't want you back until seven."

"I don't know what to say, really. This is too much."

"Not enough," he went back to his breakfast.

That was nice, he sure knew how to treat a lady. It was also very worrisome. Our relationship had developed faster than I thought. It also troubled my colleagues, mostly Ferdinand. He was the closest to me. He had been working with Cisneros for two years and, even then, they weren't as close as Armand and I had become.

We met at a café on Portobello Road after my appointment at the salon. I got there first, the Aston rode like a cloud and it heightened the feeling of relaxation my body and mind were in after the attentions at the spa. He stared hard at me when he arrived.

"What's with the hair?"

"Shut it. I just came out of a spa and I will not let you burst my bubble."

"I must say you do look pretty. Took a day off?"

"Was given a day off. It was Armand's idea."

"Armand?" He shook his head. "Four months have gone a long way for you."

"It's George the one I can't bend."

"So you've got Armand in your purse already, don't you?"

"What? Jealous?"

"Worried. You're going to get shot between the eyes."

"Are you ordering coffee or will you just sit there and lecture me?"

"You know I can pull you out whenever I feel like it."

"I'm doing my job, Ferdinand. I'm sending out more information than anyone else."

"You're also getting yourself in some deep shit, Scarlett."

"I'm working!"

All faces turned to shush us.

"Can we take this somewhere more... private?"

We took the Aston – I drove, of course – and headed for a pub of Ferdinand's liking. I caught a glimpse of him caressing the leather of the seats and concealed a smile.

"Are we being followed?"

"Not that I know of."

"Park it there."

We parked right at the entrance.

"I don't mean to lecture you," he held the door for me.

"Then don't."

The place had 70s brit rock blasting out some beat-up speakers. He ordered a pint for each and we sat at a corner table.

"But there's some concern about your relationship with Sayer."

"Meaning?"

"Shit, Scarlett, don't you see it? He's come to trust you too much. I hear your name everywhere I go. It makes you a target."

"We are closing in on whoever sent the gunman that night."

"We? Aren't you getting a bit too involved in all this? You were supposed to be a caregiver, not turn into one of his henchmen."

"I figured if I made myself one of them, I'd get better results."

"Collecting his money..."

"Alongside George."

"Taking part in beatings..."

"I only gave him a couple of kicks, that's all part of the job."

"Shooting people... Are you doing the guy? Is that it, Scarlett? Are you fucking him?"

"I am not!"

"It sure looks like it. Sending you to a spa? Lending you that car?"

"Last week I came down with a cold, had a fever and all. He called his doctor, got me some meds–"

"Anyone would do it."

"–and spent the night sitting next to my bed."

"How grand."

"That's why we didn't work out together, Fer. You wouldn't have done that."

"Don't say that. I thought we made it very clear that you were going to keep a low profile, as a caregiver. That you were going to procure an exclusively professional relationship with Sayer. It's clear you haven't been able to keep to those parameters..."

"Look," I crossed him, leaning forward, "I know very well what I'm doing. I can take care of myself. If I couldn't, I wouldn't be here."

"I'm calling the shots in this investigation. I'm pulling you out."

"So sad they won't let you because, rumor has it, I'm making the rest of you guys look bad."

He clenched his fists but refrained from slamming the table. "Once Jimmy is in with MacGowan we are going to hit them both."

"You mean Sayer and MacGowan?"

"Yes, Sayer and MacGowan."

"But we weren't going after Sayer, just MacGowan."

"We are now."

Fuck.

He left me there with a bitter taste in my mouth. I tried to wash it down with the beer, but that only made it worse. The benefits from the spa had been shot to hell.

I headed back to the house, my foot heavy on the gas pedal, the Aston didn't complain anyway. Once there I parked it inside the garage, next to the bulletproof Bentley George used, and tried not to make any sound until I got to my room.

"Back so soon?" Sayer found me in the corridor.

I read the time on my watch: I was four hours early. "My friends don't have jobs with schedules as flexible as mine."

He was wearing his favorite robe, navy blue with red seams, and walked barefoot towards me.

"You look beautiful," one of his hands went directly to my pampered hair, stroking it softly. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Very much. Thank you."

"Fancy a drink?"

"A scotch would be nice."

We went down to the kitchen. I sat on a chair while he grabbed a bottle of scotch and two glasses. He was slowly going back to his old habits, and now that he was off the meds he could drink again.

"You tell me when," he poured into my glass and cocked and eyebrow when I took my time.

"Stop."

"In time for the overflow."

"I'm sorry. I'm still on cloud nine."

He grinned, taking a sip of his drink before grabbing the bottle by the neck, and beckoned me to follow him. We went to his office. He sat behind his desk, I sunk on a chair, sipped some more scotch and tried to kick back.

I would've dozed off if Sayer hadn't been so eager to make conversation.

"There are undercover police everywhere these days."

That snapped me back to attention in the most abrupt manner possible.

"One can smell cop stench from miles away," I commented.

"They're taking down the little people, those that buy and sell on the street mostly."

"The easy-to-get."

He went around his desk and sat on a chair next to me.

"Not that I should worry, having someone like you around. I still remember the first time you stepped into my room. Nothing could have told me I would see you months later stabbing a bloke in the thigh."

"You gave me the knife."

"Told you not to have too much fun with it."

"I've also managed to make Helga hate me."

He chuckled and tipped the bottle of scotch into my glass.

"Not a hard task to accomplish." He stood up and straightened his robe, "George won't be in tonight. It'll be just the two of us for dinner."

George did the cooking, but not having him at the table wasn't new.

"Sure, yes, of course."

"We'll eat here. I don't feel safe in public places anymore."

"Neither do I."

He smiled and took the glass from my hand. "You look like you need a nap. Go on. I'll see you later."

I tried to doze off but kept having nightmares about what Ferdinand told me. I woke up drenched in sweat to the thought of Sayer being shot to death. Good god, I was starting to understand how Helga felt. I turned my head and saw the clock on the night table. It was seven in the evening, Sayer's dinnertime.

A knock on the door. I checked myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, so I brushed it down before opening.

"Are you coming down to dinner?" It was George. "We need to go somewhere afterwards."

"Weren't you out?"

"Are you coming or not?"

"I'm going, I'm going."

I freshened up, tried to look awake, and went down to the dining room. Sayer and I ate at the table, George in the kitchen. Sayer was all smiles, less chatty, but looking happy nonetheless.

I finished my meal quickly and George and I were off.

We drove down to Brixton to visit a pub owned by one of Sayer's old chums called Bernard. He was a fat, white-haired man. He had a booming laughter and spoke in deep tones. He was one of the few clients I actually liked. The pub was almost empty, as was the street, when we arrived.

"Looking good, Scarlett," he would always greet us with beers.

"You too, Bernie. How's it going?"

"Business as usual," he smiled and patted my back while handing George the money.

He was old fashioned, used paper bags for his money. What made it funny to me was that it wasn't drug money. It was the rent. He had been one of Sayer's tenants for decades.

"You're paying early this month, why is that?"

"Taking the family to Italy by the end of the month. I didn't want to be late."

"Wow, Italy! Sounds exciting."

"I'll bring old Sayer some wine bottles."

"He'll appreciate it."

"Everything's in order, Bernard," George held the bag in one hand, a beer in the other.

Bernard was always on time, no excuses, no fucking around.

"We'll see you next month, Bernie," I gulped down the beer, gave him my biggest smile and we walked out of the pub.

We were crossing the street towards the car when, out of nowhere, a punk came running at us and jumped George. I went for him, pulling him down by his sweatpants, when another one grabbed me from behind. I kept elbowing him in the stomach until he released me, giving me enough time to pull my gun from its holster and shoot him through the back of my jacket. Made a nice hole in it, and it was designer! Whatever... The punk fell backwards on the pavement, caught him right in the stomach. Then I turned to see George pinned to the ground, face down, not by one, but two guys.

Fuck! It was raining punks.

I pulled one of them back by his dreadlocks and shot him in the back of the head. The other one startled, turned, and slashed the air with his knife. I shot him in the forehead before his arm whipped back.

"Are you OK, George?"

He groaned and rolled on his back. I could see the bleeding wound on his side.

"You'll be all right, George," I took off my jacket, folded it and pressed it on the wound. "You're going to be OK."

Bernie came out of the pub followed by some patrons, "What happened?!"

"Some punks tried to rob us. He's got a knife wound. Help me get him into the car."

We got him into the backseat of the Bentley, where I checked on the wound and cleaned it with some brandy Bernie brought out. "There's a first aid kit in the glove compartment," I pointed out. George didn't say a word, he only groaned whenever I moved him, or when the brandy stung his open skin. The wound was long but not too deep, so I pulled the edges together, put some surgical adhesive on it, bandaged it tight and helped him sit up. There were less serious cuts on his neck and chest, but those could wait. I gave him a towel moistened with brandy, Bernie gave him the bottle.

"I'll drive, no need to worry."

For a second, I thought he was going to growl at me, but he only made a face and said "thank you."

That was a blow to the chest, the good kind of blow, the one that puts oxygen into your lungs instead of taking it out. I tried not to smile. He looked away so he wouldn't see me if I did. Bernie handed me the bloodstained paper bag and I drove back to the house.

Sayer was up waiting for us. Bernie had called to tell him what happened.

"I've rang Dr. Hart, he'll be here in five minutes."

We looked pathetic: I was too short to act as a crutch and Sayer couldn't even walk straight himself. Poor George had almost no help to get into his apartment. I had never been in there before. He had his own studio apartment outside the house. It was dry and cold, just like him. We placed him on the sofa and Sayer dismissed me.

"You go clean up, I'll call you if we need you."

I didn't want to stay anyway, the place was starting to creep me out. A hot shower later, I was in my bed, out cold.

###  Chapter 8

The next morning, I brought George's breakfast tray to his apartment. He checked its contents through half-open eyes before telling me to set it on the table. It was a failed attempt at emulating his morning banquets, I knew that, so I left it there and went back into the house to have breakfast with Sayer.

"Dr. Hart was very impressed with your work on George's wound," he told me as he finished his coffee. "You saved him the bother of stitching."

"Better for George."

"Not that he would know. The doctor sedated him heavily. I don't think he'll feel a thing for weeks."

"He'll be up in no time."

"Hope so."

I cleared the table, washed the dishes, kept myself busy with the laundry for a couple of hours, vacuumed the living room rug, watered the plants, and answered the door when someone knocked late in the afternoon. It was Helga and, just as always, she wasn't happy.

"Since when do you not use your uniform?"

"That lasted only a couple of weeks, I think."

"I heard about last night, you and George... Aren't you scared?"

I went to pour some tea for her. I had asked her to wait for it in the study, but no, she had to follow me with her squinting eyes.

"I managed to keep us alive."

"She did very well," Sayer's voice startled us both.

"Tea?" I asked him as I handed Helga a cup.

"Yes, please."

"You're walking straighter," she told him, her face lightening up.

"I feel better." He glanced at my empty hands. "Aren't you having tea with us?"

"I have things to do."

Sayer understood, knowing that lately I was trying to avoid Helga as much as I could. He had noticed how much grief she was giving me and advised me not to be in the same room with her for long periods of time.

"Why do you have to go? Stay," Helga protested.

"I..."

"Would you be nice enough as to check on George, Scarlett?"

"Yes, Mr. Sayer." And with that, I was free to go.

He didn't mean for me to go straight to George's, however, I decided to pay him a visit to see how he was doing.

"Scarlett!" He was surprised. "Come in."

He smiled, an actual smile. Maybe Dr. Hart went a little too far with the painkillers.

"How are you feeling today? Do you need anything?"

"I'm good. Come in, sit down," he welcomed me inside the cold, gray-walled apartment. "I want to talk to you."

I sat in an armchair, leaving the sofa to him, so he would be comfortable. He had difficulty sitting, not because of the pain but because of the bandages.

"Sure you don't need anything?"

"Yes, Scarlett, I am. All I wanted to say was..." He took a deep breath, "thank you."

"No need to. I was just doing my job."

"No, I do need to. I've treated you badly."

"Don't say that. You've tolerated me quite well."

"I've been unfair, though, not giving you the credit you deserve. You're good, Scarlett. Sayer is very happy with you." He noticed how I lowered my eyes. "If he trusts you, why shouldn't I?"

"You don't have to, George."

"Oy, but I want to! You saved my fucking life last night! I reckon those punks didn't have a chance with you."

"I still can't believe I did that."

He chuckled, grabbing his bandaged side, a hint of pain on his face. "I'd been meaning to ask Sayer for a partner for some time. Didn't need to. Since you got here and turned from caregiver to, wut? One of us?"

"Helga wanted someone that could both care for Mr. Sayer and help protect him."

"Cisneros, wasn't it? The one that recommended you?"

"Yes, Cisneros is a friend of the family. We go way back."

"Well, if it's good enough for Sayer, it should be good enough for me."

"Does this change... anything?"

"No."

"OK." I stood up and started for the door.

"One more thing," he held me by the wrist. "There's something I want to show you."

That was a breakthrough. So this did change things.

When he opened the doors of what I thought was a wardrobe I was taken aback by the amount of guns stacked inside. It was a fucking arsenal, Christmas right there in front of my eyes. A candy store of all types of guns, firearms and rifles. I think I even saw a box of grenades.

"George!"

"I want you to have this." He pulled a machine gun from its place and handed it to me, "Sayer has two under his bed. You should at least have one."

"I have a rifle under mine."

"There are never enough guns in this house. How many under your pillow?"

"One."

"Sayer has one under each."

"I know, I make his bed every morning."

"Take this one too." This time it was an assault rifle. "And if anything happens that requires more firepower, just come straight here and take what you need. My door is always open."

"What the fuck, George? You don't lock your door?"

He didn't answer the question, just deposited a load of ammunition in my hands and walked me to the door.

It wasn't enough excitement for me to carry this new arsenal up to my room; to see Helga's face when she saw me with it was the highlight of it all.

"Scarlett!" She was talking to Sayer in the study when I came into view. "Where did you get that?"

"George."

"Bloody hell! Don't you think that is too much?"

"Let her be, Helga." Sayer rolled his eyes, then turned to me, "I'll meet you later, in the living room."

I went on to my room before Helga could stop me, yet I could hear her speaking in shrill tones and not getting any answers.

Once in my room I played with the two additions to my small magazine, which could never compare to George's but was slowly getting there. They weren't loaded, so I weighed them, posed with them in front of the mirror, pulled the trigger a couple of times, cleaned them, and kissed them before placing them where they would rest until needed.

Over an hour later, when I heard Sayer's limping steps underneath, I knew he'd be expecting me.

"I see you and George have finally made peace." He patted the empty side of the couch he was sitting on. "He never shares his guns."

"He's grateful for last night." I sat by his side, not too far, not too close.

"Go on, get comfortable, put up your feet."

"If I put them up I'll fall asleep in no time."

He seemed to like the idea, since he grinned and encouraged me further into getting as comfortable as I could. He kept flipping channels with the TV remote until a French movie came on the screen.

"Do you speak French?" He asked.

"No, do you?"

"Only enough to survive in Paris."

"Ooh, Paris! Sounds exciting."

He leaned back, throwing his arm over the back of the couch.

"We could go there someday, take a short vacation."

I had no idea what to say to that. He was being too nice, incredibly nice, and now his fingers were brushing my shoulder, pressing further until he took hold of my sleeve and pulled me closer. I went stiff. He noticed and stopped on his tracks.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked.

"Bring something for both of us. I'll be ordering dinner later."

I almost sprinted to the kitchen, my hairs standing on end, and I didn't even know why. Or at least I didn't want to know, I didn't want to realize what was happening other than the fact that I was unscrewing the cork off a bottle of wine.

Somehow Ferdinand's voice made it into my head, protesting. I ignored it and kept going. Sayer took the bottle and the two glasses from my hand, poured the wine and raised his glass.

There was no toast, all we did was nod at each other, clink glasses, and get back to watching the French movie. I was sipping wine and reading subtitles like mad. Not a bad movie; near the end a guy got shot shortly after going up on a stage. He had an affair with a girl young enough to be his daughter and, guess who shot him? The guy she married after the affair. After shooting him dead, the murderer took the stage and proclaimed 'I killed the beast.'

Sayer stirred and I was suddenly aware that my head was resting on his arm, almost cradled on his shoulder. I pulled myself back, forgetting the glass of wine in my hand.

"Careful," Sayer's reflexes kicked in and he took the glass from my clumsy hands.

"Jaysus! I'm sorry. I was dozing off."

"I'm ordering dinner," he reached over my head for the phone on the lamp table.

I put my head on one of the couch's armrests while his voice spoke in the distance about steaks and salads. There was no apparent reason for me to be so tired, although I had done a lot of things that day.

Not long after, something roused me, something brushing against my face. Then a pair of lips were close to mine, kissing me. I yielded to the hands brushing my sides, making their way slowly down to my hips.

I knew the smell. I didn't have to open my eyes to know it was Armand pulling my body to his. His lips nipped and parted mine, his knee was gently pushing its way between my legs. It was all so quick, we were both so into it. There was no time to think while we pulled each other's clothes off, while I pushed him to the couch, while I took control, while I set the rhythm. I rode him with such passion, and he... he kept jerking his head backwards, biting his lower lip and using his fingers to pierce my skin.

Then, I could feel it, he was getting there, not able to hold it much longer. One of his hands was touching me while the other rummaged under the cushions. I was so engrossed in our pleasure that I didn't care. And then, all I saw was the gun barrel right in front of my eyes, pointing at the bridge of my nose, and the fire...

"FUCK!" I woke in such turmoil, the air wasn't making it to my lungs.

I looked round to find myself alone in the living room. The TV had been turned off, there was a pillow under my head and the blanket that had been covering me was now on the floor.

I sat up, rubbed my eyes, shook my head, and shoved my hand under the cushions. Of course, there it was: a revolver that seemed to have been there for a very long time. I grabbed it and walked towards the light coming from the kitchen.

"Your -whoa!" Sayer had been pouring water into the electric kettle and was startled by me pointing the gun at him. "It's me. I was about to tell you that your dinner is in the oven."

"Sorry..." I lowered the gun.

"You looked so peaceful I didn't dare wake you up. Did you have a nightmare? Is that my couch gun?"

"Yes, and yes, it's yours. It was under the cushions."

"How did you know it was there?"

"I just... knew."

"Want to talk about the nightmare?"

"No, I'd rather not."

"OK," he stepped forward, stretching out his hand for me to give him the gun. "Thank you. Now," he placed it on the counter, "your food is still warm. Shall I get it for you?"

"I'll get it."

"No, let me. Sit down," he pointed at one of the high stools at the end of the counter.

He served me dinner and returned to brewing the tea. I kept replaying the nightmare in my head. It had been so real, I could easily picture this to be the dream: me eating there, with him smiling at me from the other side of the kitchen, was actually the dream after my death.

###  Chapter 9

It was Cisneros's sixty-fifth birthday, and he was throwing a party in a posh golf club owned by Max MacGowan. He flitted around, shaking hands with his guests, giving hugs, calling for more champagne, and laughing louder than ever. I stood next to Sayer in one of the verandas, both sipping champagne. It was early in the afternoon and the sun made the grass of the golf course gleam. He was wearing jeans and his favorite linen jacket, which bothered Helga a bit; she would have preferred him to wear something more formal, she said.

And not to mention when she figured out I wasn't wearing the dress she had bought for me. "All my clothes are designer, I don't know what all the fuss is about," I had told her, and she started fuming like a raging bull. Sayer and George laughed all the way to the club, while she kept complaining about my unruly ways and how they didn't seem to care about it, even if they should.

"She's enjoying her conversation, isn't she?" I elbowed Sayer, nodding towards Helga.

"Perhaps," he studied the faces of the women that were around her. "They might as well be ripping you to pieces."

"But my blouse has this pretty bow in the front, I thought she would like it," I pouted sarcastically. "Besides, I need the jacket to conceal the gun. She didn't think about that when she bought me that dress, did she?"

"Most probably. You know, she wanted me to take all your guns and hide them."

"What the fuck?!"

Right then Cisneros came to greet us.

"Armand, my friend!"

"Rafael, happy birthday," they hugged, patting each other on the back.

"Thank you for joining us, I know you haven't been out much. Are you having a good time?"

"We are."

"Scarlett," he turned to me, taking my hand, "always a pleasure to see you!" and kissed it.

What a buffoon. "Happy birthday, Rafael. How do you feel?"

"I, my dear," he draped his arm around my shoulders, a clear sign by which I knew he was already tipsy. "I feel as if I were in my twenties, full of life, full of want."

I held onto my smile, even though Sayer was frowning.

"Great, don't go so hard on the champagne."

He gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek and was on his way to greet a couple that was arriving.

"That was... uncalled for," Sayer drawled.

"He's always been like that," I fumbled for something to clean my cheek with, and Sayer produced a handkerchief from his back pocket, "when he's, you know, tipsy."

"Hello there," this time it was Ferdinand, "I see you ran into Rafael already."

"Yeah," I shifted my eyes Sayer's way so Ferdinand wouldn't overlook him.

"Mr. Sayer," they shook hands, "always a pleasure to see you."

"Same here," Sayer answered, then turned to me, "I'll be around. Are you good?" He gestured at my drink, and when I said yes, he walked away.

"Jimmy is here also, with MacGowan."

"We're not talking about that here." Fuck off. That was what I really wanted to say.

"You've been out of contact for some time. What's up?"

"I keep sending my reports with that new code they gave me."

"I mean me. You haven't been talking to me."

"We're not talking about that here either." I kept surveying our surroundings for eavesdroppers.

"What is wrong with you, Scarlett? I need to know what's happening."

"Since George got hurt, Sayer has started using other guys to do his errands. He doesn't allow them in the house, so I don't really know most of them. I've stayed indoors most of the time."

"There's something else, isn't it?"

"Where?"

"With you and Sayer."

He was being a dickhead again.

"No, nothing else."

"You look pretty with that bow."

"Thank you."

"You still remember we weren't going for pretty in this mission?"

"Shit, Fer, you should've seen the dress his sister wanted me to wear."

"I'm warning you, that is all. We are going after him. Don't get too attached, or rather, don't let him get attached to you."

"He's married, and our records show no info about mistresses."

"Our records. You said it. Ever wondered why he never legally married her? Ever read his record thoroughly?"

"What's the fucking deal with you?"

"The fucking deal with me is that I didn't like what I just saw in his eyes. I swear he was going to bark at me for getting close to you."

"Champagne?" A waiter in a tuxedo holding a tray appeared behind Ferdinand.

"Yes, thank you," I exchanged my empty glass for a fresh one. "Take one, Fer. Maybe a drink will lighten up your mood."

He took one, gave me a menacing glare, and left to search for Cisneros.

"Everything OK here?" George approached me and we walked over to the railing. "Was that guy bothering you in any way?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Well..." I started and George made a movement as if to start following Ferdinand. "No, not an issue. I ... how do I put this? We dated, way back."

"Oh," he breathed in relief and relaxed, resting his forearms on the railing.

"Some people can't get over things. It's sad, really."

"Takes a lot of willpower to get over some things. Love is one of them."

I twisted my head slowly, was this the start of a heart-to-heart conversation with him? With the once unreadable and unwelcoming George? It must have been the champagne.

I took the plunge, "have you ever been madly in love, George?"

"Truth?"

"Yeah, truth."

"Yes. Once. We were young and we thought the world was ours."

"Was it?"

"She got killed in a shooting. That was before I started working for Sayer. I've always thought that if I'd been with Sayer, she would still be alive. He takes good care of his people."

"So I've noticed."

"What about you? Have you ever been madly in love?"

"You just saw him. The only man I've been madly in love with, and it all fizzled out due to work and earthly duties."

"I guess it's true. You don't know what you have until you lose it."

"That's truth right there. I see Sayer is the only one of us with some luck."

"Luck?" he scoffed, "if you had seen how his wife left after the night they were attacked, you wouldn't say that."

"Why is that?" I wanted to push him until he told me all he knew, or at least what I wanted to know.

"She stormed out of the house and, sadly, his life."

"That's bad..."

"She couldn't take it anymore. To be shot at, not a thing to take lightly. She was scared, tried to convince him to go with them, but he wouldn't yield. He needed to stay and find out who did it."

"Understandable on both parts."

He chugged the last of his champagne and turned his eyes to me. Right then we heard a voice behind us.

"George. Scarlett." It was Sayer. He had brought us fresh glasses of champagne.

"I'm being nice to you," I told George when he took one, "but you know you can't drink while you're on your meds."

"Didn't take them today, feeling better already," he smiled, clinked his glass with mine, and disappeared into the sea of people.

"I really don't know what you've done. It's admirable to say the least. He even smiles at you!"

"Never underestimate the power of a woman with a gun under her jacket. He smiled because I said I'd shoot him otherwise."

"Yes, yes, sure."

"Sayer?" Max MacGowan was making his way towards us. "There's someone that wants to talk to you."

We followed him in and were joined by George, Cisneros and Ferdinand. Some people tried to stop Cisneros, wanting to talk to him, but he dismissed them with a smile and the promise to return once he sorted some things he needed to.

"Be nice," Cisneros whispered in my ear before we got to where Max was leading us.

When Max opened the door to an office, I understood why Cisneros had advised me so. The surfer boy was there, waiting for us.

"Patrick," Cisneros shook his hand first.

"You again?" Sayer hissed.

"I'm aware of what happened last time," Max patted Sayer's back, "we took care of it."

I glanced up at George, who saw me and nodded discreetly, scratching his nose. Of course, it made sense now: Sayer wouldn't have George kill the guy. He just picked up the phone and called his old chum Max to send his boys. That explained why the sorry sod had disappeared, only to be found a week later with a gaping hole between the eyes, and his arms and legs cut off.

Suddenly, Desmond's hand was on my upper back and he was winking at me. I shuddered, god that Desmond guy was creepy! Like most of Max's men, he was – unlike Sayer – keen on chopping people up after they were dead. George's words rang in my mind: Sayer did take care of his people.

"Mr. Sayer, I'm very sorry for any grief we may have caused you in the past," the surfer boy didn't look like a surfer anymore. He was wearing a striped shirt under a black jacket, his hair was neatly combed back, and he had lost some of his tan. Also, he had the black guy with him, but there was a new bloke, a clean-cut looking man with a dark beard. "We are all sorry," his gaze met mine and I looked away. "I'll work hard to make amends, Mr. Sayer."

Sayer raised a hand, "We can all forget it then, and move on to business."

"Great!" Max put his arm around the young man's shoulders and half-hugged him, "He's serious about business, Sayer. The best there is," and vigorously patted the boy's chest a couple of times.

The poor boy had to recover his breath after that.

"We'll be seeing a lot of you, boy," Cisneros put a hand on his neck. "You'll lead your generation."

As we started for the door, Sayer pulled the young man aside.

"Thanks for losing the beach boy look."

"If I want to be among the best, I should look like the best."

Sayer contemplated on this for a moment. "That'll take you far, my boy. Expect my call."

I swear I saw the guy glow when Sayer said that, and his smile stretched wide from ear to ear.

We crossed the main hall, through the throng of half-drunk people, men either holding beautiful young women at their side or being trailed by nagging wives intent on controlling their husbands' drinking. Sayer wasn't in the mood for mingling. He had barely a few words with whoever stopped him before breaking off the conversation and heading for a quieter place.

George went to check on Helga while Sayer and I stayed together.

"Worried about something?" I dared ask.

"It's probably nothing."

"He did clean up his act."

"He did, yes," he kept walking absentmindedly until we reached the veranda. "What do you think about it?"

"About what?" I was surprised he would ask for my opinion on such a thing.

"About dealing with him."

"I think he has potential. If he keeps listening to you and applying what you teach him, he could very well turn into someone."

"I'll give him another chance, then."

It was dark outside. Night had fallen while we were indoors. Sayer placed most of his weight on the head of the cane.

"Don't take my word so quickly."

"I have trust in you, in your instincts," one of his hands found the small of my back. "I know you will never fail me."

He stroked my back and then retrieved his hand. Deep inside me, I wanted his warm hand to stay there, to keep stroking my back just as tenderly.

George returned and told us Helga had decided to go home with someone else.

"I'll do one more round before we go," Sayer gazed at me.

I nodded, and he was off.

"Go on, George, have another look around before we head back."

He hesitated, as if he didn't want to leave me alone, but thought otherwise and left to follow Sayer.

I inhaled some of the night air, enjoying the cold and how it made its way into my chest. The music coming from the party sounded distant against the vastness stretching out in front of me.

"Excuse me," it was Patrick, "would you like another drink?"

"No, thank you."

He cleared his throat before speaking, "I'm Patrick Humberts."

I gazed at his outstretched hand before shaking it, "Scarlett Lang."

"I wanted to tell you I am sorry about what happened that–"

"Hey, no need to apologize. It's all forgotten." The bastard got what he deserved, so let's leave it there.

"Just wanted to make sure you knew."

"Is that why you are here?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Well. I've heard Sayer listens to you."

"Ah, I knew it. I've already put in a good word for you."

"You did?"

"Told him you have potential. That is, of course, if you keep listening to him."

"I would like nothing more than for him to take me under his wing. If there's anything I can do, tell me, I will do it."

"Actually," an idea popped into my head. Maybe the little wanker could prove himself useful. "I need information on who sent the gunman that attacked Sayer and his wife. I've been collecting some names but I need to be certain."

"Count me in," he smiled, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

Even if he didn't get any information, at least I made his night.

It wasn't long before Sayer came back and we headed home. I could tell he was worried, thinking hard, his eyes lost somewhere far. I sat in the back with him, my head leaning back on the seat. He reached for me and pulled me to him so my head would rest on his chest. I liked that. Too much if you ask me. I felt his heart beating fast, sending signals through his ribcage, his skin.

Once we were at the house, I made sure all the doors were locked before going into the kitchen to make his nightly tea.

"Still dressed?" He stepped into the kitchen, already in his robe, "I'll do it so you can..." he stood beside me, so close I could feel his robe brushing against my jacket, "undress."

He helped me off my jacket.

"Did you enjoy the party?" he asked as he folded it and put it away.

"I feel like all I did was talk."

He chuckled, helping me out of the shoulder holster.

"In those parties, you either talk or you drink. No science to that," he grabbed the kettle. "Go on, I'll take it upstairs for you."

It was obvious he didn't want me making the tea, so I took my things and went upstairs, took a shower, and changed into my pajamas.

Sayer knocked on my door. "Tea's ready in my office."

I was welcomed with a cup of the hot liquid and a smiling Sayer. He went to stand by the window, looking down, while he took the cup to his lips in a graceful manner.

I, on the other hand, sat in the same chair I did every night.

"I saw that young man talking to you. Cisneros's guy."

"Ferdinand."

"That one."

"A nutjob."

"Is he?"

"Completely mental."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"Yeah... He's nice. Thing is, we go back, dated for a while."

"Oh," he breathed, "don't want to hear about it then."

"Don't want to talk about it either."

He set his empty cup on the tray. I took the last sip of mine and put it next to his. Then he took my hand in his, looking intently at it. I knew what he was thinking, I was thinking the same thing. I closed my fist over his hand, rose from my chair, and kissed his lips.

He held my neck with both hands, his lips pressed to mine without parting them until I pulled back and lowered my eyes.

"Is that how you feel?"

What kind of fucking existential question was that?

"Yes."

"There's no shame in that," he pulled my chin up.

Yes, there was. A lot, actually, or I wouldn't be fucking trembling. I was betraying everything and everyone I had ever stood for, including myself.

He pulled me into a hug, into another kiss. As he slid his tongue into my mouth, I sent every warning, every lecture Ferdinand had given me, to hell. The fuck I was giving this up for him!

Sayer took my hand and led me to his room. The room I knew so well, and now I was seeing it in another light, the one that gleamed through his gray hair.

He was sweet, gentle. I couldn't care less if he had to take a pill to make it happen. Of course I had seen them. They weren't stored in the cupboard with the rest of his meds, but in his bedroom, inside a drawer on his night table. If that was ever a turn off for anyone, let me tell you: the full-body kisses, the tenderness of his hands on my skin, the things he whispered in my ear... no pill can give you that.

Ever.

###  Chapter 10

"Sayer, wake up," I heard George's voice in the distance, then a ruffling of the sheets as Sayer shifted. "There's an emergency."

"I'll be out in a minute," Sayer answered, and waited for George to walk out before he brought his face close to mine. "You awake?"

"Yes. You think he saw me?"

"He's not blind. Stay here," he kissed my cheek before leaving the bed.

I hadn't slept much at all, spent the night thinking about what had happened and how it changed things. I was happy, probably against all common sense and better judgment, but none of that really mattered anymore.

The room was fully lit by sunshine, which wouldn't let me sleep in even if I wanted to, so I decided to get out of bed and start my day. I caught George in the corridor outside Sayer's office. He was leaning on the wall with his head bent down.

"What's the emergency?"

"Helga."

"What happened to her?"

"She... Cisneros gave her a lift after the party," he took a deep breath before continuing. "There was a shooting..."

I felt the ground shake so hard under my feet I had to steady myself, hands against the wall.

"Are they...?"

"The doctors don't give her more than twenty-four hours. Cisneros and the other two that were in the car are dead."

Ferdinand. "Other two? Who?"

"We still don't know."

Ferdinand. SHIT.

I slid down to the floor, facing the wall. George knelt beside me, touched my shoulder, looked into my eyes.

"I'm trying to find out if your friend was with them."

"He must've..."

"I'm terribly sorry."

If my brain was trying to shut down, I could only imagine how bad Sayer's was fighting to stay on the conscious side.

Soon enough, Sayer stormed out of the office, startling the two of us in the hall. I stood up and he immediately pulled me into a hug so tight I thought I'd faint. He buried his face between my neck and shoulder and I could feel him quivering.

George joined us by squeezing one of Sayer's shoulders. There was a moment of silence between us before Sayer recollected himself and told us we had to go and sort things out.

He kept me close all the way to the hospital, in the empty waiting room, and only when he was finally let into Helga's room did he let me out of his sight.

"Good thing he has you." George said, his eyes fixed on his shoes.

I turned my head to see if he was looking at me. He wasn't. I knew what I had to do; yet I feared the worst so much my muscles weren't responding. Then a nurse walked by and I sprinted after her.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for someone and I can't seem to find him."

"Who would that be?"

"A friend of mine, I believe he came in with the victims of last night's shooting."

"What's his name?"

"Ferdinand Tejera."

She read something on the papers she was holding before speaking again.

"I am very sorry. Are you a family member?"

SHIT.

"Ex-girlfriend. His whole family lives in Colombia. I'm the closest person he has in London."

She gave me an empathic glance. "Will you take his belongings?"

"Yes, sure." Whatever, fuck me! He was dead, and I was too shaken to think.

"Did you know the other man, the one by the name of Marco?"

"No."

"OK. Follow me, please."

His credentials, driver's license, passport, and his wallet with one hundred pounds and a picture of us together. Fuck. I shoved it all in my pockets, made the necessary arrangements for a cremation, and went back to George.

"Was it him?"

"Yes."

"Helga's dead."

"Oh fuck..." just then I saw Max MacGowan walking towards us with Desmond and Harry in stride, followed by Patrick, who wasn't followed by his two blokes this once. "We've got visitors."

George got up from his seat to welcome them and relay the bad news.

"I have something for you," Patrick whispered to me. "Can we talk outside?"

I let George know that I was stepping outside, and we walked out of the bleak white walls.

"What is it?"

"I've some names for you, in Lambeth," he thrust a piece of paper into my hand. "That's all I've got."

I hid it in one of my already full pockets, "How do I know you're to be trusted?"

"You don't," he lit up a cigarette and offered me one, but I refused. "I've mingled in their circles. Wannabe gangsters. My number's there if you need to call me."

"There were these guys that tried to break into Sayer's house some time ago. They were both young, one of them told me he was doing it under threat."

"Typical. They say they'll kill your family if you don't do what they want."

"But if it was a gang, they would've sent professionals who would get the job done, not boys who would fail miserably."

"Scarlett?" George peeked out just as Patrick was about to reply. "Sayer is asking for you."

I turned to look at Patrick; he half-grinned. Something wasn't right.

Desmond, creepy as ever, was waiting in the corridor when Max and Sayer emerged. They hugged each other, and then we were on our way back home.

I had to call Ferdinand's parents and tell them what had happened. A horrible task. His mother, Mona, picked up the phone, and I had to translate my thoughts into the scarce Spanish her son had taught me.

"Ha muerto." He's dead, for fuck's sake, dead. "Lo siento mucho, un accidente de auto." I was truly sorry for having to lie to her, telling her it was a car accident and not a drive-by shooting that killed him.

The line went silent.

"Dime la verdad, Scarlett. Romulus ya me llamó."

Fuck! She knew already. Our superior had called her and told her the truth. What a fucker. I knew I'd had to deal with him later; but this, he should've let me do.

"Entonces ya sabes lo sucedido." She knew what happened, there was no need for me to explain matters further.

"He loved you," she switched to English, something I would have preferred she hadn't done, in case someone was eavesdropping, "but he loved his job too much. Be careful, Scarlett, you're a good girl."

She had no problem with me disposing of Ferdinand's ashes as I pleased. Thankfully, that didn't complicate matters any more. Now I could concentrate on the lead Patrick had given me.

I went to George, showed him the piece of paper.

"Sayer won't want you to go," he said as soon as he read it.

"I don't care. I'm going."

"Tomorrow night," he folded the piece of paper and put it in his pocket. "I'll tell him we're going to see Bernard down in Brixton."

"But–"

"No buts. Tomorrow night. Sayer needs you here right now."

And he was right, even if Sayer wouldn't say it. He looked relieved and revived once I walked into the study.

"Your friend..." he put a hand on my shoulder.

"Yes, he died too. I'm the only person he had here in London."

"Is there anything you need to do? Feel free to take some time to make... arrangements."

Not arrangements, but there was somewhere I had to go. "I'd like to take a long walk."

He kissed my lips and I was off. I headed south, always peering back to check if anyone was following me. Taking deep breaths, getting some pollution, some air, whatever made it into my lungs, because I was starting to feel my chest getting tighter and tighter.

I made it to the Kensington Police Station and, after some hesitation, walked in.

As soon as I showed my credentials, I was ushered into an office where Romulus Moretti was waiting for me, as he was supposed to if anything went wrong.

"Sit down, Scarlett," he beckoned me in. "How are you feeling today?"

"How the fuck do you suppose I'm feeling today?" I eyed him as he sat down calmly behind a desk. "You called Mona yourself."

"I thought you would be unavailable. Please, sit down. There is a lot we need to talk about."

"I don't have much time. I'm supposed to be out for a stroll."

"Were you followed here?"

"Not that I know of."

"Sit. Down. Scarlett."

I exhaled loudly as I dropped myself into a chair.

"Cisneros and Tejera got burnt," he continued.

"I was given a lead for a gang in Lambeth."

"The police are working on that. Thing is, you're being sent somewhere else."

"No, I'm good, I–"

"Sooner rather than later, they will find out you're an undercover agent and they will kill you."

"No, Romulus, Sayer won't let them."

"Wha– What did you just say?"

Crap, what the fuck did I just say?

"I mean... I won't get burnt so easily."

"Don't get cocky. Ferdinand was one of our best and he got burnt. We're pulling you out before there is another mishap."

"What about Sayer's attackers? Why isn't there any information on them? Why is everyone so quiet about it?"

"Young, inexperienced shooters. Kids trying to make it to the top without even knowing what they're doing."

"Not necessarily. I confronted one of them in Sayer's backyard, after he tried to break in. He wasn't a gang member, he was just a boy afraid of his family getting killed."

"How so?"

"He started crying and all."

"Maybe he lied to you, maybe it was his first time. Now, during my last conversation with Ferdinand he told me you were getting emotionally attached to Sayer..."

"Here we go..." I rolled my eyes.

"This is a real concern, Scarlett. Maybe it isn't that everyone is quiet about what happened. Maybe he's been too busy falling for you."

"Oh, please, Romulus, don't fuck with me."

"I'm not fucking with you. You are breaking the rules and I'm saving your arse!"

"Mine? Or yours? I'm going to follow the lead I have and I'll talk to you when I've found something."

"Sorry, Scarlett, but no. Your orders are to keep a low profile until we pull you out."

"Are you going after Sayer?"

"And MacGowan."

"Aren't they a little too old to be sent to prison?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me? Isn't Sayer a little too old to be playing games with you? You're on your own, Scarlett. Jimmy isn't Ferdinand, he won't look after you like Fer did."

"Jimmy... I was told he was at Cisnero's party last night, but I didn't see him."

"He couldn't mingle about, he hasn't escalated like you have."

"Is this the part where I throw my badge at you and tell you I'm out?"

"Ask yourself."

And that's just what I did, only I placed the badge gently on the desk in front of him.

"He's a beast, Scarlett," he grabbed my wrist as I started pulling away from the desk. "And you're making the worst mistake of your life."

I drew back in disgust and walked out of there feeling worse than when I went in. Cisneros and Ferdinand burnt, how did that happen? Well, getting burnt happens all the fucking time, yet, by whom?

I rang Patrick.

"Yeah?"

"It's Scarlett, I need to talk to you."

"How goes it?"

"Not on the phone, can you meet me?"

"Where?"

"I'm at Edwardes Square."

"I'm near High Street."

"Melbury Road then."

I waited, and soon enough I saw the black Range Rover drive up and the window roll down.

"Get in," he was grinning, yet I could sense he was nervous about something. "How's Sayer doing?" he asked as soon as I slid into the passenger's seat.

"You alone?" I looked through the rearview mirror as soon as he started driving away.

"Yes, I was doing some shopping."

"You better start coughing," I pointed my gun at him over my lap.

"No need for that, mate." Now he was really nervous. "Put that thing away."

"You better start talking then. You have information concerning last night's shooting," I said as I screwed a silencer on the gun.

"Why would I?"

I shot at the back seat.

"Don't!"

"It can be repaired. Now, your head on the other hand–"

"What do you want me to tell you?"

"Everything you know. You were working with Cisneros."

"He was a snitch, for fuck's sake!"

"See? You know a thing or two. What else do you know?"

"There was an undercover working with him, one of the guys that died in the shooting."

"Who shot them?"

"I told you, some gang..."

This time I shot at his seat, right next to his thigh.

"Fuck! I don't know!"

"Next one will taint that leather with blood, mate."

"It– It's all Max MacGowan. He's been recruiting kids from the estates and using them for shootings and such, so if they get caught, they won't link back to him. Desmond does the scouting."

"Like Sayer's gunman?"

"And the punks that tried to rob you in Brixton."

"He wasn't counting on me, was he?"

"No."

"How do you know all this?"

He turned his head slowly, his brows furrowing, "You said you knew I knew."

"I took a guess. Really, I can't call MacGowan and ask him myself."

"You're the next target," he muttered.

"What? I can't hear you," I pressed the gun to his thigh.

"You're next. He knows you're an undercover."

"Has he told Sayer?"

"He was going to tell him this morning but didn't get around to it. MacGowan wants to make a deal, he wants Sayer to give you up."

"Oh fuck..."

"You think you're fucked? Wait until they find out I've told you all this!" He hit the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Fuck!"

"Calm down," I was getting impatient, "you're not fucked yet. Work with me and we can come up with something. When is MacGowan expecting to tell Sayer?"

"After his sister's funeral. They respect each other, you know?"

"You better learn some of that."

"Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for Mr. Sayer."

"You better. If I asked you to tell this to Sayer before Max does, would you do it?"

"I... I," he stuttered. I pressed the gun harder on his thigh. "YES!"

"Good boy. Pull over, I'm getting off here." I hadn't been too attentive of my surroundings. Good thing it was Holland Park. "One more thing before I go," I unscrewed the silencer and put everything back in its place.

"Yeah?"

"Were you sent to follow me?"

"What?"

"I don't care, as long as it's you. Desmond and Harry creep the hell out of me. Tell you what: help me help you. You want to work with Sayer? I can make it happen."

"What makes you so sure about it?"

People change when there isn't a gun between them, eh?

"Sayer cares for his people." I got off the Rover.

"What makes you so sure he'll care for you?" He kept calling at my back through the open window as I walked away.

###  Chapter 11

It couldn't be explained with human words how my mind was racing. It boggled, to say the least.

"Scarlett!" George startled me. I had been staring absentmindedly at the kettle. "Are you awake?"

"Fuck."

"Let me help you," he unplugged it for me.

He set the tray and handed it to me, making sure I was holding it securely. Slowly but surely, I made my way to Sayer's office.

"Come here," his arms were open, waiting for me once I strode around the desk.

He pulled me to his lap, wrapped his arms around me and we held onto each other for the longest time. He nuzzled my neck, kissed my chin, my lips.

"There's something you need to know, Scarlett," he held me inside his arms, looking intently into my eyes. "I will care for you, no matter what."

"No matter what?"

"There comes a time in a man's life when lots of things cease to matter."

"Does it?"

"Yes," he shrugged, an air of unconcern in his voice. "I don't fear consequences anymore."

"I'll always care for you too. I'm your caregiver."

He chuckled. "And you've done a brilliant job."

He let go of me. "However, the tea will get cold, and that does matter to me."

I poured our tea and, as I sipped, I tried to put my mind on hold from all the spinning it had been doing inside my head. The tea did soothe me a bit. I was starting to feel more grounded with every sip.

"I was told that... George, I mean. He told me you care for your people."

"I do, I always have. Now you're one of them, one of mine, and I must care for you."

There was a tingling sensation on the tips of my fingers. It turned to numbness, and it felt as if I would drop my cup any second.

"One of yours?"

"This is in your blood, Scarlett. You were born for this, a natural."

I was considering telling him the truth, spitting it out right then and there. Or maybe he knew and was toying with me. The thing was how to do it, how to confront him.

Yes, Ferdinand, I am in some deep shit all right.

"Did you arrange for your friend's burial?"

"He will be cremated."

"Less of a fuss."

"Yeah."

I fixed my sight on the rim of my cup when...

"Don't go thinking I don't know."

"That you don't know what?"

"What your friend was. What you are."

Oh fuck.

"Armand..."

He stopped me with a raised hand, like he always did. "No need to speak. I've known it since the beginning."

My hands shook so much I had to put the cup down.

"I was meaning to tell you."

"Then now is your chance to tell me the truth. Are you a cop?"

"I'm Interpol. I'm sorry..."

He set his cup on the desk and brought his hands to his head, combing his hair back with his fingers as he exhaled.

"You broke Cisneros. We all thought of him as the weakest link. And now they'll be coming after you."

"I was warned about this. Patrick Humberts... He told me this is all MacGowan. Your shooting, the punks in Brixton, Helga and Cisneros. He's been scouting kids from the estates for that sort of thing, and now he'll ask you to give me up, after Helga's funeral."

Sayer strode around the desk with such speed that his face came up an inch from mine in a second.

"I won't let them," he held on to the armrests of my chair. "I can't let them have you."

"You won't have a choice."

"Wrong. I always do. MacGowan has always been a greedy son of a bitch, but this time he won't have it his way. This time he's gone too far."

"I'm police, Sayer. I'm supposed to be your enemy."

"But you are not. I've met hundreds of undercover agents in my lifetime, believe me, and you... you're different. I know you've been sending out information, yet I also know how little you've sent to incriminate me." He held my chin when I tried to bow my head. "I know where you come from. You are many things, and a cop isn't one of them."

I was so confused and so terrified at the same time that I didn't know what to say, what to do, what to think.

"Armand..." was all I managed to whisper.

"Now, listen to me. They'll be coming for you and it won't be pretty, Scarlett. It will be your worst nightmare come true. You are a woman. Do you know what they do to women in this business? Do you have any fucking idea of what they'll do to you if they get you? It won't be your fucking nightmares, it will be far worse than that."

His eyes were filled with tears as he peered into mine. I knew what he was talking about, even better than him.

"I won't let them," he continued, "I can't let them. Not to you."

"Kill me then."

"The fuck you say!" He jerked back.

"Kill me!" I snapped, some hidden rage suddenly taking charge of me. "I am a fucking cop, Sayer! Kill me. Kill me now!"

I leapt to my feet, rummaged through one of the drawers of his desk, produced a gun and shoved it into his hands.

"Shoot me. Right here, right now."

"I won't shoot you!"

"Then make George do it. He'd be more than happy to."

He placed the gun on the desk.

"No, I won't."

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Armand? What the fuck is this? I'm a cop. All this time I've been a cop. Now it's out there. I'm your fucking enemy! Take that gun, pull that fucking trigger and fucking kill me!"

He took my face inside his hands, drew me closer, "I can't, Scarlett, I can't," his eyes welled up with tears, and his forehead touched mine. "I can't kill you and I can't let anyone do you harm."

Shit, shit, shit, shit. This was so wrong. The pain in my chest was completely wrong, the urge that made we wrap my arms around him, the instinct that parted my lips when we kissed. He was shivering, bitter tears rolling down his cheeks, his fingers burrowing into my back, trying to cling to my flesh.

"This shouldn't have happened. Not like this," I said as I dried his tears and tried to contain mine. "There is no way we'll be able to walk away together, not in a million years."

"There is always a way, and if someone can make it happen, it's me. When I said I would take care of you I meant it."

He kissed me again, a faint smile, a reassuring look. Then he recomposed himself, took a deep breath and handed me the tray with the empty cups.

I took it down to the kitchen, cleaned everything up and headed back upstairs. He was waiting for me. He took me by the hand, into his room and under his sheets. Just snuggling, little nothings, caressing and kissing each other. We were both filled with sadness, grief and fear. Some part of us had been violently ripped from our selves, another was about to be torn asunder, and, as humans, we were trying to deal with it all.

Humans.

Nothing more than flesh, bones and a beating heart. As much as I would've liked to think about him as a beast, he was as human as anyone else.

* * * *

He watched her as she drifted into a heavy sleep, tucking stray hairs behind her ear and thinking on how much his life had changed since she appeared. Looking back, he didn't regret letting her in, not through the door, but into that secure circle of people he trusted with his own life.

Ever since he read the background check he got his hands on thanks to George, he knew she wasn't a typical agent. He never saw her as corrupt, but as someone who was simply out of place. He had read the files a couple of times and, all of a sudden, she looked like an open book in front of his eyes, almost vulnerable. Even through her strong appearance, he could see the frightened child that had witnessed the execution of her parents. He could only imagine how much of a struggle it must have been then to move in with her grandfather and have to learn the ways of the hitman from a ruthless man such as he.

There was this one document, a status report from a mission that went wrong down in Gibraltar. It had a picture of her attached to it, her eyes looking so intently at the camera, he felt as if they were piercing his chest. Cisneros had been involved in that mission and he hadn't known of it.

Next time, he thought as he wrapped his arms around her tight, he'd know. Thanks to her, he'd know.

* * * *

###  Chapter 12

It was early the next morning when someone knocked on the front door.

"What the fuck happened to you?" I opened to see Patrick drenched in blood, nose, lips, and god-knows-what-else broken.

"He knows. He knows," he stumbled in.

I stepped out, looked round for anyone who may have been following him, and stepped back in, shutting the door behind me.

"George!" I called for help

"I tried..." he fell to the floor.

"Tried what?" I knelt beside him, "George! I need you down here!"

"Now he won't wait. I wanted to come before he came, to warn you."

"But he found you first, didn't he?"

He was coughing blood all over me while I tried to pull him up.

"What is all this shouting?" Sayer came, trailing behind George.

"Help me get him to the bathroom."

George picked him up by the shoulders with ease and dragged him into the nearest bathroom, where I helped clean some of the blood off his face. Once his features could be seen, we helped him into the study.

"Take these," I gave him some pills and a glass of water.

He gulped the pills down, holding the glass between his shaking hands.

"You better start explaining, boy," Sayer was standing at the door, imposing his presence over the situation.

Patrick turned to me with a questioning look.

"He knows," I encouraged him to talk, "they both know what I am."

"He's coming for her," his eyes flashed from me to George to Sayer. "He wants to abduct her during the service."

"How much time do we have?" Sayer asked George.

"A little over twenty-four hours."

I kept staring at Patrick, noticing how much he was trembling.

"Scarlett, help him change into clean clothes and make sure he eats something while George and I decide what to do."

"OK."

They both went into Sayer's office and locked themselves in. I took Patrick to my room so he could take a shower, gave him some clothes to change into, and helped him to a cup of coffee and a plate of hot breakfast at the kitchen bar.

"Thank you," he sipped the coffee. "This is good."

"If he let you live," I poured myself a cup too, "it is because he wanted you to come here and warn us." I heard him choke.

"I managed to make it out through a window in my flat. Danny and Mike didn't."

"Those were your two guys?"

"Yes. There's blood all over the place."

"George does a splendid job cleaning up that sort of thing. If we make it out of this alive, that is."

"We will," he said matter-of-factly. "Do you love Sayer?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you in love with him? I heard MacGowan say that..." he paused, pondering whether to proceed or not, until I nodded him on, "that Sayer's gone soft with old age and has fallen for you. That he was always the hopeless romantic, and that it made him weak."

"Is that so?" I sipped on my own coffee. "Well, he's a man, after all."

"He's a good man, ain't he? I mean, he's a nice person."

"He is."

"You must know all about him, being a cop."

"I do, and you remind me a lot of him when he was young. I've been listening about him all my life, how different he was from the rest of the drug dealers. He didn't come from an underprivileged family, he didn't have a rough childhood. He just saw a business opportunity and took it seriously enough to become the man he is now." I turned and looked into his sparkly eyes, "not that he wasn't a ruthless cunt in the beginning. It's the only way to get to the top and stay there for as long as he has. You have the potential. You just have to work on the 'ruthless cunt' part."

He went back to his breakfast without speaking again.

I finished my coffee and walked out of the kitchen to find Sayer and George in the corridor.

"Can you call Moretti?" Sayer asked me the moment he saw me.

"You know Romulus?"

"Can you tell him I want to meet with him today? We need to talk before the funeral."

Why I was flabbergasted by this, I do not know. I should have known, or should have supposed, that Sayer knew Moretti, same as I should have supposed he knew I was an undercover since the beginning.

I was feeling smaller by the minute as I spoke to Moretti on the phone. He accepted the invitation and, an hour later, he was standing at the door. George patted him down and Sayer led the way to his office.

"I believe this isn't your idea of a meeting with a drug lord, Mr. Moretti."

"Not at all, Sayer," he kept glancing at me as we made our way to the office, "not at all."

"I'm surprised you managed to repress the instinct to bring your gun with you, or a pair of handcuffs."

George held the office door open for us. Patrick didn't join us. We left him in my room, resting, hidden from Romulus.

"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?" Sayer kept a smile on his face as he sat at his desk.

"No, thank you," Romulus wasn't comfortable, we could all tell.

"Sit down, please," Sayer addressed both of us now. "George, stay by the door in case anything happens. This conversation won't be too long anyway."

"Cut the crap, Sayer. Tell me what is it you want."

Sayer raised both eyebrows, curved his mouth downward, put his elbows on the desk, "OK, let's see. You are acquainted with agent Lang here and how her life is at risk after the murder of another agent and one of your informers," he paused to observe Romulus stirring on his seat. "And I believe you are also familiar with Max MacGowan."

"Yes, and yes."

"I have been informed that the murder of my sister, Cisneros, Tejera and the fourth person was perpetrated by young men under the orders of MacGowan. These young men, to call them something, are underage kids scouted from different estates by MacGowan's men. This, as you should well know by now, makes me very angry. I don't condone the corruption of minors, much less make murderers of them by way of threats."

"Your point?"

"I'm willing to give you MacGowan if you let me keep agent Lang safe."

Every time he referred to me as 'agent Lang' the hairs on my arms stood on ends.

"This is a waste of time," Romulus jumped to his feet and we all followed. "We will ensure agent Lang's safety ourselves."

Sayer strode around the desk. "You're not getting it, are you? You are on to get MacGowan, I reckon that. The thing is, you won't have evidence enough to put him in jail for more than, say, two, three years. And that isn't what you want. I want out, I want to retire at last. You want to put a big time drug dealer behind bars and have your peers love you for it. It's a win-win situation."

"Let me get this straight," Romulus stood, one hand akimbo while the other pointed a finger at Sayer. "You want to give us MacGowan in exchange for retirement?"

"You forget agent Lang."

"And you want to keep agent Lang," he glanced at me, but I avoided his eyes. "Why do you want to keep her?"

"She's a great caregiver and I don't know what will become of me without her. I tend to forget my meds, eat what I shouldn't. She even convinced me of getting this cane and now I carry it everywhere I go. She's cared for me brilliantly."

Romulus stared hard into Sayer's eyes. It was a thing of power, yet none of them yielded.

"I'll have to think about it."

"How much is it?"

"How much is what?"

"For your thoughts, how much money do you need?"

"Who do you take me for?"

"Everybody has a price, you just have to tell me yours and I will gladly give it to you. Or should I remind you of that incident back in '78? You were a Metropolitan Police officer back then. That shooting in Clapham, the young woman you mistook for a robber fleeing the scene, but was only trying to save herself and her boyfriend from the bullets. Do you remember that? Because I have someone here that remembers it clearly."

Romulus had no answer for that. Well, he did, only that it wasn't spoken. All he did was turn pale. I didn't know what Sayer was talking about until I got a glimpse of George's tight jaw and hands closed into fists.

Holy. Crap.

"A lost bullet," Sayer proceeded, "out of one of the robbers' guns, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"And as such it shall remain. My sister's funeral is tomorrow. I don't know about Cisneros's family, but we'll let you know," he touched Romulus' shoulder. "Be there and you'll have your man."

When Romulus turned to leave, George cut him off and stared him down before opening the door for him.

I couldn't get my mind straight. All of a sudden there were all these things I didn't know, it made me feel ignorant, and very, very small.

"Calm down," Sayer joined me in the backyard, where I was trying to get some air, "everything will be OK."

"I didn't know you knew Moretti that well," I shifted to give him space on the bench to sit next to me.

"Neither did I. It was George who told me about him."

"And to think he hated my guts."

He chuckled, draped an arm over my shoulders, and kissed my temple. "Don't go thinking he likes the idea of having an undercover in the house. He respects my feelings, that is all."

"I handed in my badge when I learned I was being pulled out," I turned my head to face him. "I didn't want to leave you."

"There will be no need to. Once they take MacGowan, I'm out too, and we can be free to go wherever we want and have some peace and quiet at last."

"Where will we go?"

"I was thinking of going to Tuscany. Would that be too quiet for you?"

"Maybe," I pressed my lips to his, "or maybe we can shoot stuff in the backyard and nobody will hear us."

He kissed me back, drew me closer, and hugged me until I leaned my head on his chest and stayed there.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to give up your old chum Max?"

"We've been through a lot all these years, yet I can't deny he's a greedy pig. Always been. Not satisfied with drugs, he went on to deal with weapons, which I never liked. That is why I never joined him in that venture. He couldn't hang on to a wife. He needed many birds around him, another thing we disagreed on. And now this; using kids. First, they do sloppy jobs, and, most important, they're minors. Every single person that has worked for me has been of legal age and completely conscious of what they're getting into. Every kid wants to be a gangster now, but that doesn't mean you are going to give them a gun at sixteen and send them out to kill people."

"But," I pulled away from him, "the ones that got in here were in their twenties."

"Still, the one you talked to said he was acting under threat."

I kept thinking I was missing something, that there was more that I wasn't aware of. The same thought that had been in my mind since Ferdinand's death. Then our eyes locked, and all I could think of was how much I wanted for everything to stay this way.

That night we did have sex. Soft, sweet, the tomorrow-the-world-might-end-so-let's-make-it-special kind of sex.

As if we knew what destiny had designed for us.

###  Chapter 13

I was the first one to receive a blow to the chest the morning before the funeral, the bad kind of blow, the one that leaves you without breath in your lungs.

I was getting dressed in my room when I heard a woman's voice in the corridor. She was following Sayer's steps and I could tell they went into his office. When I got out I went straight down to the main floor, where I walked into George.

"There's a woman here," was the first thing that came out of my mouth, "I'm sorry... Good morning, George."

"Top of the morning, Scarlett. Yes, there is a woman here: Sayer's ex, Marie."

A shiver went down my spine.

"Shit," I breathed.

"No need to worry. She just came to collect some things and attend the funeral, nothing more," he smiled.

"Aren't you angry at me? Your suspicions were right."

"As always. But no, I'm not angry as long as Sayer isn't. You stopped being a cop and turned into one of us so quickly, so naturally... There is no doubt this is in your blood."

I was taken aback by this, not knowing if I should take it as a compliment or an insult. I had to snap out of it. There were bigger things to worry about.

"Is Patrick having breakfast?"

"Yes, he's in the kitchen."

"He should learn to get up earlier. Almost had to kick him out of my room when morning came."

George chuckled, patted my shoulder, and started out of the room, but I grabbed hold of his wrist.

"I still haven't been told today's plan."

"You stay by my side at all times until I tell you otherwise."

"That's not a fucking plan."

"We'll be inside a church, I don't think he'll be stupid enough to try and get ahold of you there. It will be when we get out..."

We heard steps nearby and saw Sayer and Marie passing by. George went on to follow them. I froze to the sight of her. She was as tall as Sayer, her skin was powder white, and her blond hair – the kind of blond so perfect, you can only get it at a salon – delicately brushed her jawline.

"Scarlett, come here."

Dammit.

"Marie," he said as soon as I was a pace away from them, "this is Scarlett. Scarlett, Marie."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," she smiled at me, no threat or malice there.

"Pleasure's all mine," I smiled, trying not to quiver. "I should check on Patrick," I told Sayer before I pulled myself out of what could turn into a battle of awkward silences.

When I stepped into the kitchen, Patrick had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and was doing the dishes.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping out. You're helping me, I thought I should help back."

"You should've woken up earlier."

"I'm sorry, I think it was the meds..."

"No need to apologize," I stood next to him, leaning back on the kitchen counter. "Do you know anything about today's plan?"

He hesitated, which meant he knew. "I was told to stay behind and only step in if I was called."

"You're lying through your teeth."

"I..."

He was saved the bother of lying again by Marie's entrance to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd make some tea," her voice was soft and mild.

"I'll make it for you, don't worry," I hastened to get the kettle then turned to Patrick, "you done?"

"Yeah." He turned to Marie, "nice meeting you." He bowed a bit and hurried out.

I wished I could have pulled my gun and shoot him dead right there.

"So you are Scarlett," she began, "I've heard about you."

"Hope it was good."

"Helga was very worried about Armand, for his health and his safety. I see you've managed to work both out."

"I only wish I had been there to protect her." I did. She was a bitch to me, but still...

"Then you'd be dead too and it wouldn't do Armand any good," she went to stand by the backdoor, looking out into the garden, "I reckon you two are together now. No, no need to say anything. I'm seeing someone else too. Funny thing, he's around your age," she paused for a snicker. "I couldn't take it anymore, you know? It got out of control. So many years I spent dreading, not sleeping, not having any peace because the thought of him getting killed kept coming back. I should have walked away from all this a long time ago. I'm not like you, you see? I can't hold a gun in my hand without shaking."

We were nothing alike, that was true. Physically and – it seemed – emotionally.

"It just takes practice."

"It takes guts, and I don't have them. I'm happy for him, don't get me wrong. He's a good man, a good husband, a good father, a good friend. I do hope this makes him aware that it is time to walk away from all this nonsense."

The teakettle was whistling and she got the cups from the cupboard.

"We didn't get legally married because he wanted to protect me, yet bullets know nothing about legal stuff," she scoffed, "but you know that already." A hint of sadness gleamed in her greenish eyes. "I only wish for him to be happy."

Not a word was spoken while we served the tea. She smiled at me as she walked out of the kitchen with Sayer's cup of tea and hers, and was gone before we were off to the church.

My head was a mess during the funeral. All my memories about what happened during and after are a blur. I do remember clearly that Sayer was staring blankly at the altar, George kept surveying the place out of the corner of his eye, Patrick was sitting in the back, and MacGowan was two pews behind us.

Through the service, I kept feeling as if Max's stare was burning the back of my neck, which made me uneasy and drew my attention away from whatever else was happening.

Marie came by with her partner, and I stared at him for a while. A handsome man, in his thirties, blue-eyed, with shiny golden hair. He kept checking on her every time she wept. He noticed me staring, so I turned back to Sayer and his stern face. He squeezed my hand, acknowledging that I was there even if his sights were focused elsewhere.

Jimmy was there, I saw him sit near Patrick. I must say it made me feel a little better. Not safer, but better.

Once it was over, everyone walked up to Sayer. And when I say everyone I mean every single person that was present. I swayed with the multitude, all the while trying to keep track of MacGowan, Harry and Desmond, for they had vanished in the crowd.

"Stay close," George pulled me back when I got a bit too far.

"I need some air," I said to him but he didn't hear me. "I NEED AIR."

He signaled to Sayer that we were stepping out and Sayer agreed with a wave of his hand. We rushed out, shuffling through the attendees until we reached the sidewalk.

That was when I was yanked off George's grip, a hand covering my mouth and the barrel of a gun poking my temple.

So predictable.

"Don't move, you cunt," it was Harry's voice addressing George.

George kept his eyes on mine while I was dragged away. Then Desmond appeared, nonchalantly pointing a gun at George while accompanying us on our way towards a car that had been strategically parked on the other side of the street. I didn't scream. All I did was pull my feet up so my kidnapper had to struggle with my weight.

And I waited.

Desmond opened the car's trunk for Harry.

I didn't know the plan, yet nothing was happening.

Desmond walked back up to George, never lowering his gun, made him kneel and raise his hands in the air. It wasn't making sense to me that nothing happened as Harry tried to pull me up to get me into the car's trunk.

'Fuck this,' I thought, and in a split second, when the barrel inadvertently turned upwards as Harry pushed me into the trunk, I hit his hand to see if he would release the gun. He pulled the trigger instead and a shot was fired, one that caught the attention of everyone inside, outside and around the church.

"Fuck!" Harry groaned when I elbowed his stomach. "You cunt!" He kept screaming while I struggled to take the gun from his hand.

George was wrestling Desmond on the sidewalk when Sayer came out followed by Romulus. Then Max MacGowan was next to me with two blokes I had only seen once, at Cisneros's party. They were lifting me off the ground; one grabbed my legs while Harry and the other one got my arms. All the while, I kept thrashing and twisting my whole body to free myself from their grip.

"Do something!" I heard Sayer shout at the top of his lungs.

A splash of blood hit my face when a sniper shot Harry, and they all lost their balance, falling backwards on the pavement. I tried to reach for the gun concealed in one of my boots, but MacGowan caught me by the wrists and held me still.

"You bloody cop," he muttered, "I'm going to sort you out."

Another one of his blokes tried to pull me to my feet and was shot by the sniper. I went for the gun that had fallen from Harry's hand before anyone could reach it again, but MacGowan grabbed me by the jacket and all I could do was kick the gun away from anyone's reach.

"Stop it right there!" Romulus himself was running towards us, aiming his gun at MacGowan and the one bloke left standing. "Release her!"

MacGowan wrapped his arm around me and put a gun to my neck, stepping back as Romulus pushed forward.

Jimmy rushed to help George submit Desmond to the ground and put him in handcuffs.

"There's no way out of this, MacGowan," Romulus continued. "You don't want to add the murder of another agent to your record."

"Be sensible for once, Max," Sayer hurried towards us.

I could see the rest of the agents closing in on us, establishing the perimeter.

"She's a fucking copper! What the fuck is wrong with you, Sayer? Turned into one of them pigs?"

"You talk such rubbish, Max. I ask myself why I keep doing business with you."

"Come on, MacGowan, put the gun down. Release her, easy-peasy," Romulus kept eyeing me, as if expecting a move from me.

All the while I was asking myself why hadn't the sniper shot MacGowan in the head. It would be over so quickly.

Police vehicles started flooding the street, rousing the wounded guys lying and twitching in pain on the pavement.

The bloke standing next to us had the brilliant idea of pouncing on Romulus, which earned him a shot in the thigh. Just as stupid, MacGowan, startled by the heroics of his man, jumped backwards and pulled the trigger of his gun. The bullet caught my left arm and I ducked, hitting the asphalt a little too hard.

MacGowan tripped over when he tried to escape, so he started crawling backwards towards the car while shooting the air. A couple of bullets caught me: one in my right leg, another one somewhere in the right side of my chest. I lied face down and braced for impact.

Bullets whizzed above me as Romulus, Jimmy and some other cops shot MacGowan dead. When it all stopped and I rolled over to see what had happened, I realized, funnily enough, that I was the only one unarmed. Even George had a gun in his hand.

"Don't move," Sayer knelt beside me, horror covering his face as he checked my wounds. "You'll be OK, just don't move."

I was so relieved to have him there that it seemed the searing pain I was in wasn't that unbearable at all. The compassion in his eyes made up for everything.

"I'll take care of you, of everything."

"Armand..." it was surprisingly hard to speak.

"Stay calm."

"Come on, Sayer," Romulus nudged him.

"Wait, what?" I tried to push myself up the moment I saw a Metropolitan Police officer approaching Sayer with a pair of handcuffs. "No..."

"It's all right," Sayer pushed me down gently, "don't move. The paramedics are here."

"No, you don't get it," my desperation grew as he rose. "Romulus what the fuck are you doing?" I looked around, a cop had George already handcuffed and on his way to a police vehicle. "You said we weren't going after him, Romulus!"

"Stay calm, they're just doing their job," Sayer kept saying, "It's OK, it'll be fine."

Moretti took Sayer's cane while the cop pulled his hands behind his back.

"Nooo! You can't do this to me, Moretti, you bastard!"

The paramedics were racing towards where I was lying. Sayer was winking at me, saying it was nothing to worry about. I was rolling from side to side in a pool of my own blood, trying to reach my boots.

Romulus and Sayer eyed each other as the handcuffs clinked.

Someone shouted "Romulus!"

Bang. Bang.

Sayer's eyes flew wide as Romulus's legs gave way right in front of him. The cop that was handcuffing him turned to me in dismay before Sayer pushed him off.

I let the gun slide down my open hand, the pain of my wounds becoming unbearable again.

"What the fuck have you done?" Sayer was on top of me, his tone so grave I felt it echo inside my chest.

I saw Jimmy kneel beside Romulus, taking his pulse. A paramedic hastened to do the same but got a shake of the head from Jimmy.

"Scarlett, what have you done?"

"I did it, Armand," I smiled, as I looked directly into his eyes, through his tears, through his trembling, through the taste of blood that was slowly invading my mouth. "I killed the beast."

Then I closed my eyes and it all turned black.

###

END OF BOOK 1
About the author:

Astrid H. Cruz a/k/a Artistikem, lives in Puerto Rico with her husband, her pet cockatiel, a lovable Scottish Terrier, and a recent rescue by the name of Rue. She's currently pursuing a Masters in Communication Theory and Research at the School of Communication, University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras campus. Whenever she doesn't have her nose buried in a book, she enjoys writing until the wee hours of the morning, cooking, good music, coffee with friends, independent films, red wine, and riding with her hubby on their motorcycle under the sunny island sky.

Connect with Me Online:

http://www.artistikem.com

mail to: artistikem.writes@gmail.com

Blog: http://artistikemwrites.wordpress.com

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/artistikem

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ArtistikemWrites

Other titles by this author:

Torn (Book 2 of The Caregiver Series)

Four Short Stories by Artistikem

At the Corner of Mars and Neptune

The Caregiver Vignettes 1-5

The Beast (Book 3 of The Caregiver Series) coming soon!
