Station Alpha: (Soldiering On #1) Read online

  How had she forgotten? Just hours ago, armed people had been intent on doing her some serious harm. They were still out there, looking for her.

  A shiver wracked her. “Who is it?” she called cautiously. She wondered if she should have put on an accent.

  “My name is Sam,” said a female voice, partially muffled by the sturdy door. “I work with Paul. He asked me to bring you some things.”

  Christine let out a breath, some of the tension leaving her. She leaned back towards the door, this time peering out the spyhole. All she could see was a woman’s face, bare of makeup, and partially obscured by a baseball cap.

  “I’m new at this,” Christine asked through the solid wood. “Is there something I should ask you to do before I open the door?”

  A smile flickered over the woman’s face, not mocking, but pleased. “Tell me to put down what I am carrying and step back. It would prevent me from muscling my way into the apartment, or attacking you in close quarters. The danger would be that it would offer no protection from a gun, and I’d get a better shot from a few steps away.”

  Christine thought about that. “So, I should ask you to put down your stuff, step away, and then when I can see you full-body, ask you to prove you aren’t hiding a weapon anywhere before I open the door?”

  Sam’s smile bloomed into a grin. “You’re a smart one, I like that. Sounds like as good a plan as any.”

  “All right, so go on then,” Christine encouraged, only partially joking.

  She heard Sam bark out a surprised laugh. Still, she disappeared out of the keyhole’s line of sight, presumably to set down what she was carrying. Then, Christine watched as she took three steps away until her back pressed against the opposite wall.

  “Weapons?” Christine prompted her.

  Clearly amused, Sam pulled up her tank top to show the waistband of her pants and turned, showing that there was nothing tucked in there.

  She stopped when once again facing the door.

  “Ankles?” Christine asked. Sam hesitated, for the first time looking uneasy.

  “Now would probably be a good time to tell you that I am actually carrying a weapon. Or three.”

  “Are you going to use them on me?”

  Sam shook her head. “I have no intention to.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll take your word on that.”

  She cracked open the door, then slowly pulled it wider, half-braced for an attack. Still, Christine had decided to trust the woman, and thought an attack would be unlikely.

  All Sam did was pick up the items she’d set on the ground and stride into the apartment. Christine detected a slight unevenness of gait as she moved, and a little heaviness of breath that she found somewhat curious.

  Sam was dressed down in a high-necked tank top and cargo pants, but not the expensive, stylish kind. Instead, she’d gone for functional and comfortable. It didn’t quite hide her figure—she wasn’t sure that any clothes short of the monstrosity that Christine was currently wearing would—but they disguised it enough to need a second or third look to see.

  Christine had the suspicion that Sam would be a knockout with a touch of makeup and some nice clothes, but she equally suspected that that would be the opposite of Sam’s desires.

  “I brought you clothes,” Sam told her, as she set a big bag down on the counter. “I got the sizes you mentioned at the stores you said you usually went to, so hopefully they fit.” She made a face. “The lack of continuity in sizes and shapes between stores is one of the reasons I shop in the men’s departments. More useful clothing, cheaper, and the same sizes wherever you go.”

  “Women get the short end of the stick, no question,” Christine agreed, coming to the conclusion that she already liked Sam. “How much do I owe you for all this?”

  “Nothing, I put it on the company credit card.” Sam grinned conspiratorially at Christine, and she returned the gesture. She guessed they knew where she was if they wanted to ask her for the money later.

  Sam turned back to the items. “I swung by the office and picked you up one of our secure laptops. It’s all clean, should be untraceable. No guarantees in this day and age, but as close as you can get.”

  “Excellent. I’ll do some research.”

  “And best of all…” Sam produced two coffees, a bagel, and some other assorted items and set them in front of Christine.

  Christine made a sound that wasn’t quite human as she picked up the coffee nearest to her and practically inhaled a gulp.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Sam looked on, amused. “You’re welcome.”

  Christine took another sip of her coffee, a more normal mouthful this time. She eyed Sam over the rim of the paper cup. “So, you work with Paul?”

  Sam’s eyes shot to hers, and a slow smile bloomed across her face. “Sure do.” Her eyes danced.

  Guilty heat stained Christine’s cheeks at the other woman’s expression. She’d meant the question to sound innocent, but apparently she was not as sly as she imagined herself.

  She ploughed on. “I’m just curious why you’re here. Not that I don’t appreciate it,” she clarified quickly. “But he said he was in this city, and then he didn’t come himself. So, I guess he lives further away…?”

  Sam pursed her lips. “He’s being stubborn.” Her gaze flickered over to the smoke alarm. The blush that had subsided on Christine’s cheeks roared back with a vengeance as she remembered the camera. Was Paul listening? She replayed her words so far, wincing.

  Sam sighed, oblivious to her turmoil. “Look, I get the feeling he’d kill me if I told you what was going on. Hopefully he’ll tell you himself. Soon.” She glared pointedly at the camera.

  “Well, that’s all very mysterious,” Christine joked half-heartedly.

  “I wish I could be of more use to you. I dislike intentionally withholding information from people that should have it. Generally, communication should be the first step, not the last one. But I also don’t want to get involved.” Sam’s gaze slid over to where Paul was probably watching them, then back to Christine. “I’d say ‘go easy on him’, but maybe that’s not what he needs.” Her words were musing, almost said to herself.

  With that, Sam pushed away from the counter, grabbed the second cup of coffee, and strode out the door with a swift goodbye. Christine was left blinking in her wake, trying to process the conversation that had just occurred.

  She’d been suspicious when he’d said he was here in this city, but it seemed it was true. He really didn’t want to see her face to face. Christine rubbed her chest at the sudden ache that sprung there.

  The phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts. She trudged towards it, the previous spark of excitement that she’d experienced at the sound now something more akin to disappointment.

  “I’m sorry about Sam,” he began in lieu of a greeting.

  “I liked her,” Christine said defensively. “She’s honest.” The censure in her voice was clear.

  “I just need more time,” was his answer.

  “All right, then I’ll give you more time.” Her voice was tight, but she resisted the temptation to slam the receiver down, and instead gently nestled it in its cradle. With one last look in the direction of the smoke alarm, Christine grabbed the coffee, bagel, and laptop off the counter and sat on the bed. She promised herself she wouldn’t look in the direction of the camera for at least an hour.

  Instead, she focused on the laptop in front of her. They’d said it was secure, so she quickly checked her emails and replied to a few important ones without giving away anything about her situation. She didn’t want to worry anyone. And, besides, did bad guys still search emails by code words? She didn’t know.

  Then, she got to researching, googling Mr. Disik. She found some references to him on a website for a Disik and Sons Construction Co. He was listed as ‘Founder’ on their page introducing the important figures at the company. She recognised Jimmy, his son, on the same page, the title of ‘Partner�
�� sitting below a photo where he looked just as smooth as he did in person. He was just one of a number people that shared the same designation on that page. All of them men, all bar one white, which made Christine roll her eyes.

  The company itself seemed pretty harmless from their site, though when she clicked over to the tab marked ‘projects’, she saw that they’d done some massive building contracts. With some further digging, she realised that Disik and Sons actually owned several other companies. By the time she’d typed out a list of all the ones she could find, it seemed more like it should be Disik and Sons Construction Empire.

  But why any of that would mean that someone would want to come after her, Christine was not at all sure.

  She decided to dig deeper.

  Chapter 5

  Paul clicked between the various windows on his multiple computer screens. He typed another search parameter into one of their company databases and clicked run. While he waited, he was drawn back to the other window. The one he’d been trying not to stare at for the last hour.

  She was sitting on the bed, her crossed legs peeking from beneath those oversized shorts. Her laptop was perched precariously on her knees as she typed furiously. Completely engrossed in what she was doing, she hadn’t looked up at the security camera once. He knew. He’d checked.

  He should just tell her, that much was obvious. It was pathetic, him avoiding the inevitable. He just didn’t want to shatter that precious illusion she had—the one where he was heroic and whole.

  So engrossed was he in his contemplation of Christine that he nearly missed the movement on the smaller screen, the one where he’d moved the image from the security camera that was guarding the lobby of this building. He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, then more carefully when some instinct caused him to turn back.

  Three men were talking to the security guard. They were dressed in suits, a little nicer than this apartment building tended to gather, but not so much so that he was immediately suspicious. He searched the frame, trying to see what had snagged his attention.

  There, the biggest guy. His suit jacket was straining at his shoulders, unable to comfortably fit his considerable bulk. The guy moved, and Paul realised what had caught his eye. The tight pull of the fabric revealed a distinctive bulge beneath.

  Gun.

  The security guard was shaking his head, and even from the distance and angle of the camera, Paul could see the man’s fear.

  Paul was already reaching for the phone when all three of the men drew weapons from beneath their jackets and fired simultaneously at the guard. The man slumped out of his chair, disappearing from sight behind his desk.

  Paul hit dial and flickered his eyes between the image of Christine and the one of the three men moving towards the elevators. Christine stared at the phone, obviously debating whether to pick it up.

  Paul’s heartbeat ratcheted up, pounding in her chest as he silently begged her to answer. The men were already at the elevator as the phone rang on, taunting him. The sound seemed large as it rattled in his brain. Christ.

  He put his free hand on the wheel of the chair, thinking that he’d have to go to her, when she finally, finally picked up the phone with a huff.

  “Yes?”

  The besuited men stepped into the elevator. Paul switched security cameras to the one inside, and watched as they pressed a button somewhere on the bottom right of the columns of floor numbers, obscured from his view. Where the button for level 14 was.

  “Paul?” came Christine’s confused voice.

  “I need you to go to the stairs, right now,” he told her, his voice trembling in an effort to keep calm. “Don’t use the elevator. The stairs.”

  Her breath hitched in his ear and she scrambled up from the bed. “They’re here?” she whispered, terror choking her words.

  “Yeah, but it’ll be okay. I need you to come up just one floor. Level 15. Can you do that for me?”

  She nodded, and breathed a quick, “Yeah,” before hanging up the phone. He hated being out of contact with her, but she no longer had a cellphone. He watched in horror as she scooped up all the things that Sam had brought her and carried them to the door. She should leave them, but he knew calling to tell her that would just slow her down.

  The three men were still in the elevator. They didn’t fidget, just stood stock still, waiting. Clearly professionals, if the guns hadn’t already given them away.

  Christine made it out of the apartment, but it took her a few precious seconds in the hallway to figure out which way the stairs were. He gritted his teeth as she finally saw them, in the corner to her right. She took off at a run, making it into the stairwell and starting the climb.

  The elevator slowed to a stop with a soft ding as Christine made it to the door that led to the 15th floor. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. She’d be safe. She’d made it.

  The three men exited the elevator as Paul watched Christine step out into the corridor. She froze. Paul’s heart climbed into his mouth as he stared at the screen, trying to figure out what she was doing.

  Her pursuers moved out of the view of the elevator camera, so Paul turned back to the vision on Christine, her arms squeezing the bags she’d taken with her. A movement flickered at the corner of the screen. It grew larger, taking up a full quarter of the frame opposite Christine before Paul realised that it was a suited man. Shit.

  Panicked, Paul flicked to another camera, but that was worse. It proved beyond doubt that Christine was standing in the same corridor as the three armed men that wanted to take her, with the door to Paul’s apartment standing like a sentinel between them.

  Even as his mind was realising that the men must have pressed the button for floor 15, his body was reaching towards the cache of weapons he had lined on the wall next to the desk. He selected two and set them in his lap before violently spinning the wheels of his chair in the direction of the door.

  He could still see the visual of the corridor. Christine had not moved, apparently rooted to the spot. The three men were advancing on her. He had to time this right.

  He positioned his chair out of the way of the door. Thankfully, it opened to a visual on the three men, giving him better access. He paused, waiting, his ears straining to hear the words that Christine was saying.

  “You can’t hurt me,” she was telling them, her voice shaky. “You want me alive. Or whoever you are working for does.” Brave girl. Admiration swelled in him.

  Paul cracked the door. The lead man’s voice was suddenly clear.

  “Not dead doesn’t mean not hurt.” The sick menace in his voice was palpable.

  Paul opened the door just a little wider, and the three men turned with perfect synchronicity towards him. The look of surprise on their faces would have been comical in different circumstances. Using their shock, hoping it would slow their reaction, Paul raised the gun and fired. Once. Twice. He took out two of the guys before the third reacted, firing his own gun in Paul’s direction.

  He ducked, splinters of wood spraying across his back as the impact of the bullet sounded above him. Christine let out a cry, but Paul didn’t allow himself to be distracted. He flung himself forward onto the floor of the corridor, throwing off the guy’s aim. Before the impact had even run its course through his body, Paul was firing, emptying the clip in the man’s direction. Most of the bullets found their mark, jerking the guy’s body backwards with each hit. The loud crack of the gun echoed in the small corridor, ringing in his ears.

  The man hit the wall with a thunk, his brows pulling low as he stared at Paul. The light died in his eyes before he hit the ground.

  Christine stared at the man propped on the floor at her feet, the shock of the last few furious seconds still ricocheting through her mind.

  “Paul?” she asked, her voice small, unsure.

  He pushed himself over and levered himself into a sitting position, staring somewhere over her left shoulder. His blond hair was mussed from the firefight, slipping down ove
r one brow. Beneath the lock of hair, his eyes were an arctic blue; twin pools of winter lakes. On his pale cheek was a harsh slash of scar; once deep, but dulled with time. She didn’t know what she’d expected of her saviour, but she didn’t think this was it.

  “Hi,” he murmured. The familiar sound of his gruff voice left her in no doubt that it was really him.

  She blinked, unable to tear her eyes from him. “What are you doing here?” she asked stupidly. She could see the dead bodies behind him out of the corner of her eye, and fixed her gaze more firmly on him.

  “I live here,” he told the wall behind her, still not meeting her gaze.

  “This whole time…” she trailed off.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. His gaze shifted to the door of his apartment, and Christine followed his line of sight.

  A red wheelchair was wedged between the door and the wall, blocking the door from swinging shut. Christine stared at it as the significance finally penetrated her brain, still cloudy with fear. She looked to Paul, still sitting on the floor, his hands behind him to take most of his torso’s weight.

  “You’re…?”

  He didn’t say anything, but she could see a muscle tick in his jaw. Instead, he pulled himself backwards towards the chair. Christine watched the muscles of his arms bunch and contract, marvelling at their strength.

  When he reached his chair, he adjusted its angle slightly. He placed his hand on the bar near the seat, and propped his knee up against the chair. Then, in a practiced move, he smoothly lifted himself with a fist on the ground as he pulled the chair towards him and landed his butt in the seat.

  “I need to make a call.” He wheeled himself backwards into the apartment. Christine hurried forward, catching the door with her shoulder before it closed. Still with her arms full of the random things she’d thoughtlessly grabbed, she stepped into the dark apartment. The only light came from the ephemeral glow of the computer screens and the dim hallway light streaming through the open door. It barely penetrated the deep blackness.