Station Alpha: (Soldiering On #1) Page 12

  Resolve hardened, Christine arrived at Mr. Disik’s front door. She let herself in, as she always did. The light inside was dim, making the dark woods of the floor, furniture, and trim seem darker than they did during the day. Dust motes floated in what light remained, streaming through the windows at a low angle.

  Mr. Disik’s house was large, old-fashioned, and lived in. Most of the furniture could have been transplanted back 150 years with no one being the wiser. While it wasn’t Christine’s usual style—she liked clean, modern lines—she always felt comfortable in the homey atmosphere.

  She plugged her code into the security system—the only modern item in sight. It blinked, acknowledging her entry and then resetting itself for the next time someone entered. It was wired to all possible entry sites—windows as well as doors—and a code needed to be input each time one of those portals opened. Each visitor, too, had their own code.

  Christine had been surprised at such a complex system on the home of a man in the early stages of dementia, but it hadn’t caused any problems yet that she knew of.

  “Mr. Disik? I’m here.” Her voice echoed through the house. A pause, then a shuffling sounded from the front room and Mr. Disik appeared. His eyes were pleasant as they looked at her, accepting. Christine breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Christine? What are you doing here?”

  Christine’s heart thudded. “I’m here to work, Mr. Disik.”

  He frowned. “It’s that time?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  He eyed her, and just for a second Christine thought that he would call her on the lie. Then, his face cleared, and he smiled his simple smile.

  “Oh, I must have forgotten. Silly me.”

  He turned and wandered back the way he came. Christine let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m through,” she breathed as she made her way through the house. “He didn’t question it.”

  “Good,” came Paul’s reply. “But don’t get complacent. In and out as quickly as possible.”

  Christine nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her. She missed having him watching over her, his eyes on her, ready to intervene if needed. Her guardian angel.

  She made her way down the hall towards Mr. Disik’s office, where all the files were stored. It was towards the back of the house, near the kitchen, which had an exit to the backyard. At lunch time, Christine often snuck back there to get some fresh air and eat her food away from the musty atmosphere of the study.

  She opened the door to her right, hesitating in the doorway.

  Mountains of files lined the walls, leaving barely any room to move. The study must have been used for storage for years before she got there, as a thick layer of dust had coated everything when she’d first started.

  As she’d sorted the various folders into their larger categories—personal, business, tax, etc—she’d cleaned them and aired out the room. But she’d barely begun looking at the actual contents of the files. As such, while she knew vaguely where things mentioning the Vovks would be, she wasn’t exactly certain in which folder she might find them.

  She’d bent the truth slightly when she’d implied she knew where the files would be. But she knew that Paul would never have let her come here if she hadn’t acted confident that she knew what she was doing.

  Aware of the camera recording her every move, Christine moved into the room and beelined for the stacks that she’d designated as ‘work’.

  “Don’t have your back to the door,” came Paul’s instruction. Without replying, she manoeuvred herself so that the camera in her lapel faced the door.

  She flicked through the files on top, looking for any mention of the Vovks. But nothing stood out. There had to be a better way.

  She’d sorted the personal files better than the professional ones. She’d needed to start somewhere, and they’d seemed easier to get her head around. Now that she saw the stacks, something niggled at her, so she stepped towards them.

  Christine dug around, trying to remember what it was that tweaked the corner of her memory.

  She stumbled across a small series of folders, and the prodding memory grew stronger. She’d designated these the ‘Unknown Payments’ files, as they were records of payments either in or out or both but no apparent connections to anything else that she could see.

  One was labelled ‘Vovk’.

  Christine grabbed it and flicked it open, running her eyes across the pages inside. But nothing jumped out at her. Still, it was a start.

  Unwilling to put the folder down, she gravitated back towards the business files. She’d separated out a few marked ‘contracts’, so had a look at those. Some of the files were clearly old; yellowed and crinkled. The font looked like it had been written out with a typewriter.

  She hadn’t had a chance to arrange anything by year, but surely there was something—

  “We’ve got company.” Zack’s voice came over the line, his calmly spoken words echoing loudly in her mind.

  “What? Who?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, but he looks sharp. Could be a Vovk.”

  Zack had obviously been filled in about the meeting with the three members of the Vovk family.

  “You need to get out,” Paul growled.

  Not needing to be told twice, Christine clutched her one file closer to her chest and grabbed a handful of the ones she’d been looking at, hoping to get lucky with them later. She strode towards the door, intending to hurry out before the visitor saw her.

  However, as she stepped into the hall, she heard the front door click open. Had she left it unlocked? Or had whoever just entered used a key? They must have had a code, because no alarm went off, unless Mr. Disik had entered it for them.

  Either way, it implied friend, not foe.

  Christine stepped back into the study before the door fully opened, hiding from sight. She could talk her way around Mr. Disik, but anyone else would not be as easy to manipulate. And if it was a Vovk…? Christine didn’t want to be around to find out.

  Thinking fast, she tucked the files into the back waistband of her jeans and pulled her shirt down over them. She peered around the doorjamb, and the sound of male voices drifted her way. All that she could see of the newcomer was his back and sleeve, the rest of him hidden by the wall to the other room. Mr. Disik must have been inside the room, because he was nowhere to be seen.

  Heart pounding, Christine carefully stepped into the hall, trying to move toward the kitchen and back door without being spotted. She made it three steps before the floorboard beneath her feet creaked.

  The voices behind her instantly silenced.

  “Who’s that?” the unfamiliar man’s voice sounded behind her. Yet, she was sure she’d heard it before.

  Slowly, she turned, unable to hear her own breathing over the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

  Jimmy Disik stood before her, a fierce frown on his face. His suit was crisp and pressed. His dark hair slicked back. And his eyes cold.

  “Hello, Jimmy,” Christine squeaked out. “Er, Mr. Disik,” she corrected herself.

  “Yes?” said the older Mr. Disik, stepping out from behind his son, a beatific smile on his face.

  Christine stared between them, her mind at a loss as to what to do.

  “Get. Out.” Paul growled. “Run if you have to.”

  “Do you need me to come in? Just say the word. It’s manicure, remember?” Zack’s voice was urgent.

  Instead, Christine smiled. “It’s the end of my shift today,” she told the older man kindly.

  He blinked. “Already? But you just got here.”

  Hating herself, Christine shook her head. “No, Mr. Disik. I’ve been here all day. It’s nearly dinner time now.”

  He blinked, staring at her. Then, his smile wobbled as his brow pulled down in a confused frown. “Really?” he sounded almost frightened, and Christine almost gave in. “I could have sworn…”

  Christine’s heart broke. Had she really res
orted to gaslighting this sweet old man? What was worth seeing that terrified look on his face as he realised his memory was failing him?

  He looked to his son, and Jimmy placed a comforting hand on his father’s arm. “Why don’t we have a seat, father?” Some warmth entered the son’s eyes as he looked at his father.

  “I think…that’s best,” said older Mr. Disik. The two turned, Jimmy leading his father into the front room. Christine took a few steps forward, the front door beckoning her away from this scene of pain.

  She was level with the doorway where Mr. Disik and his son had disappeared, so close to the exit.

  “Christine?” Jimmy’s voice stopped her.

  “Yes?” she asked, suddenly remembering her precarious position in this house at the odd note in his voice.

  “How goes your search?” he asked from where he sat by his father.

  “Search?” Christine asked.

  “Through the files. Make any sense of it yet?”

  Christine smiled, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “Getting there,” she told him with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

  “Jimmy,” said Mr. Disik with a tremulous voice, reaching for his son. Jimmy turned to his father.

  Christine used the opportunity to flee.

  Chapter 15

  Paul radiated with tension all the way back to Zack’s drop-off point. He’d barely said a word after she’d fled back to the car, his silence eloquent. Night had fallen while they drove, deepening the shadows in the cabin of the car. Paul’s mood followed the way of the light, darkening the longer they were on the road.

  Now, as Zack leaned into the back seat to collect his gadgets—including the camera nestled between Christine’s breasts, which she’d disentangled for him—Paul seemed to let go of the worst of the tension.

  “Thanks, man,” he said to Zack. “Appreciate it.”

  “Any time,” Zack replied, seeming to mean it.

  “I’ll tell Duncan about this mission. Let him know you were an innocent party.”

  Zack cracked a smile, sparking amusement in his eyes. “Duncan’s not an idiot. He’ll know I went along willingly.”

  Paul rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree.

  “Thank you for your help today. I felt much safer knowing you were right there ready to rush in,” Christine said.

  A blush crept up on Zack’s face, and he looked adorably bashful for such a big, intimidating man. “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  Paul scowled. Christine smiled.

  Zack cast one last look over his gear and then straightened, pulling the heavy cases out of the car as if they were full of feathers. He slammed the door shut, then tapped lightly on the side of the car to indicate that he was clear.

  Paul pulled away, still frowning.

  “What’s with your mood? Everything worked out perfectly,” she asked him.

  He eased into traffic. “Only through sheer luck,” he grumbled.

  “That was always going to be the case.”

  “That’s not how I do missions.”

  “I might have gotten a little frightened, but I wasn’t in any danger. Not at any point.”

  “You don’t know that,” he griped. “For all you know, Mr. Disik is the mastermind behind all this, and his son an accomplice.”

  Christine laughed at the absurdity, and Paul unbent enough to crack a smile. He weaved through traffic, checking his rear view mirror.

  Paul sighed. “I know it turned out all right, and I’m glad. But had that been anyone other than Jimmy that came…” he trailed off.

  “I know.”

  “And he might be in league with whoever’s after you. Might give them a tipoff that you were there.” He checked the rearview mirror again, and frowned. “Might already have,” he corrected.

  “What?” Christine asked.

  “We’ve got a tail,” he replied.

  Tension exploded in Christine, as much a product of the afternoon’s work as the correct situation. “I thought you said there was no one watching the house?” Her voice was too loud for the small cabin of the car.

  “They might have been good. And the tail is pretty hard to spot, so they are clearly professionals. They are hanging back, just like last time.”

  “Oh dear,” Christine muttered. She turned, trying to catch sight of them. But the only thing visible was the headlights of the cars behind them.

  “It’s all right. We’ll lose them.” Paul’s black mood disappeared as he tried to reassure her.

  “How?”

  He waited a beat. “Like this.”

  Spun the wheel of the car almost violently, taking a last minute turn. He gunned the engine, pressing his hand down on the controls to crush the accelerator to the floor. He was in perfect control of the car as he zipped between other vehicles, sliding around corners without a wobble. Even so, he continually glanced behind him.

  Even in her panic, Christine could recognise the mastery he was displaying. Paul was much better at this than Christine had been. His turns were perfect, and he never got caught behind slow-moving cars. He seemed to always be thinking five steps ahead.

  “You must be great at chess,” she muttered.

  “I never learned,” he replied. His voice was calm, belying the drama of the situation. He sped around another bend, crossed a light just turning red, and took another turn.

  He looked in the rearview mirror and eased off the accelerator. A few more turns. Then, he pulled into a parking lot of an all-night McDonald’s and immediately cut the engine.

  He waited. Christine was silent, but tension strummed within her. She was practically bursting with the multitude emotions roiling through her.

  “We lost him,” Paul stated, as if he was talking about an old Frisbee at the park.

  “Jesus,” Christine breathed, then chastised herself for taking the Lord’s name in vain. She was constantly surprised by the influence of her highly Catholic upbringing, even now with a decade of separation from it.

  “They still just wanted to follow, nothing else.” He frowned, clearly confused.

  “Well, maybe these files will tell us something?” She tugged the folders out from behind her.

  Paul smiled, but she could tell that he was still thinking, even as he looked at her. “Let’s hope.”

  He started the engine and began to make their way back to the safe house, far more carefully this time around. He drove for a long time, taking a circuitous route until he was absolutely positive that no one was following them.

  By the time they made it inside, Christine was exhausted. The changing emotions had drained her, sapping her energy and leaving her shaky and raw. She collapsed onto the couch with barely a groan.

  “I’m not built for this kind of excitement,” she told Paul.

  He smiled. “You get used to it. But I’d rather you didn’t.”

  She laughed at that, a low chuckled. “Same.”

  “Should I make you some tea?”

  She looked closer at Paul, noting the worry in his eyes. She made an effort to relax, remembering that she was now safe, and Paul was here.

  “Tea would be lovely.”

  He wheeled passed her and squeezed her hand as he went, a gesture of comfort.

  By the time he’d returned, Christine had settled herself in the corner of the couch, her back against the armrest and her legs crossed. The files were spread out on the pillow in front her, and she was half-heartedly flicking through them. He took the mug and a plate of cookies from the tray on his lap and put them down on the table beside her.

  “The sugar will help with the adrenaline come down,” he told her.

  She immediately began nibbling at a cookie to appease him.

  He transferred himself to the opposite side of the couch. “Find anything interesting?” he asked.

  “I can’t really concentrate,” she replied apologetically.

  “That’s normal. It can wait until morning. For now, you should relax.”

  S
he blinked at him, a little incredulous. “How can I relax after that?” She took a gulp of the hot tea. Warmth seeped through her limbs. “Though the tea helps,” she added more calmly.

  He smiled at her with a sweet kind of affection, and Christine’s mind was brought instantly back to that moment in the car before Zack had arrived. The heaviness of her breath in her lungs, the slow tingle across her skin, the racing heartbeat. The restlessness that had been crawling beneath her skin suddenly sparked to life.

  Christine leaned towards him, drawn closer. The scent of crisp autumn leaves reached her, cosy and warm. Her eyes drifted to his lips as she moved ever closer, hearing his breath hitch, and watching the unsteady rise and fall of his chest.

  She was barely inches away now, and tension crackled in the room like the air before a thunderstorm.

  His hand found her waist, holding her steady, not pushing her away. Christine looked up, noting his dilated pupils. He wanted this, wanted her. The knowledge sent a delicious thrill down her spine.

  “You’ve just been through something frightening,” he murmured. His fingers ran along her side, up and down over her ribs. She was fairly certain that Paul had no idea he was even doing it, that instinct had taken over.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want,” she replied, her voice equally low. A spell was weaving between them; their words, his hypnotic stroking, the matching rhythm of their breathing binding them in intimacy.

  “Actually-”

  “Do you want me?”

  “Of course-”

  He didn’t get to finish whatever he was about to say because she stopped his mouth with a kiss. Firm and silencing at first, she gentled her kiss as his lips softened under hers. His hand slipped around her back, splaying against it, pulling her inexorably closer. Not that she would have resisted.

  His kiss was sweet and chaste, more tender than she had expected. Rather than feed the urgent adrenaline in her system, it had a calming effect. His lips soothed her, and the heat of his body made her languid and soft.

  She ran her hands over his biceps, feeling the hard muscles beneath her fingertips. He made a rough sound at the back of his throat as she kneaded his shoulders briefly. She did it again, her kiss becoming more insistent, heated.