Hot Blooded (6 page)

"Ah, a mummy's boy. I've been warned about them."

"Ah, an independent career woman with a mouth on her," I shot back, grinning. "I've been warned about them."

We laughed. It felt so easy, so
right
. Talking to Lily was like the best of both worlds. She was clearly up for - and good at - the kind of banter I usually only got into with my mates, but she was also, no offense to them, smarter and sharper and funnier than they were. I felt comfortable telling her about my mum and about Gia at the cafe. Maybe not big secrets, but also not the kind of thing I ever talked about with anyone else.

"So, what's up this weekend? What are you doing?"

She slipped a little, asking me that. There was something in her voice, a small, almost imperceptible note of forced casualness. The conversation with Gazza popped back into my head. Anyone new. Anyone out of place. Anyone asking too many questions. I pushed the thought away as fast as it popped up. Paranoia isn't my style. Although, neither is pushing away women I'm trying to sleep with, and if I'm honest it was probably the latter more than the former that time. I knew I couldn't tell her, though. Open-minded or not, no woman wants to hear that the man she's flirting with is off for a nice weekend of protecting drug dealers in Paris.

And just as she'd slipped a little, I slipped when I answered her, hesitating and coming across like a man who wasn't being entirely forthcoming.

"I - this weekend? I've got work in Paris. It's, uh, it's for Gazza, he's my boss at the Streatham Club. He needs some-" I almost said 'muscle' - "security."

It sounded dodgy as fuck and we both knew it. Lily played it off a little, conscious of the fact that the tenor of the conversation had become a little fraught.

"Security? Oh, like, protecting someone? Bodyguard?"

I took the opening and nodded, swigging beer at the same time.

"Mm-hm, yeah."

She didn't believe me. She didn't show it, but she was too smart to fall for my vague stuttering about security.

"Gazza seems like an interesting guy. Have you worked for him for long?"

"Why are you so interested in my work?"

I regretted the curt tone of my words as soon as they were out of my mouth. They weren't lighthearted or flirty. I sounded irritated and suspicious, and the look on Lily's face confirmed that her interpretation matched mine.

"I'm sorry, I just-" I started.

"No, it's OK. You don't have to talk about your work, I don't mind."

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm, uh, Lily, you're a smart one. I guess the truth is I'm just - and this is surprising me a lot, believe me - a little concerned about giving you the wrong impression."

She was looking at me intently and I could see that there was a lot going on behind those dark, almond-shaped eyes.

"Callum, it's not a problem. We don't have to talk about anything heavy. I just, um, I hope you'll be safe."

Why did it feel so good to have her concern? Women's concern had always been more of an annoyance to me than anything else, a burden. I knew my mum meant well but her worrying about my lifestyle, although I knew it was part of her love for me, had never been enough to stop me from doing anything dangerous. As soon as Lily told me to be safe, though, some part of me wanted to instantly reply by reassuring her that I wouldn't go. I didn't do that, of course. As it turned out, I should have.

"Oh, I'll be fine. It really is nothing. How about another drink?"

"Sure, I'll get this round. What do you want? Another stout?"

She took her turn with rounds, too. Did this woman have a single flaw? If I'd been a cartoon character I'm sure I would have had rings of pink hearts dancing woozily around my head as I watched her walk to the bar. The way her ass looked made my jaw tight. So round and feminine and smackable. When she got back, she was smirking.

"What?" I asked.

"Enjoy the view, did you?"

I nodded, knowing I was caught and rather pleased about it. "Damn right I'm enjoying the view. It's a nice one."

We stayed at the Windmill until closing time. Until we were the last people in there and the barman actually had to come over to our table and flat-out tell us it was time to leave. When we were outside on the pavement, warmly tipsy and unable to stop looking at each other, I bent down close and kissed Lily's neck. She leaned into my body and I felt her take a quick, deep breath.

"Callum-"

"I know, I know," I said, hoping that the non-aggressive approach might help, "It's OK, I get it. Just tell me when I can see you again."

Instead of answering, she tipped her face up to mine and opened her sweet lips on my mouth, asking for my tongue. I brought my hands up to her face and kissed her back, hard - harder than I meant to - pulling her body tightly against mine.

"Callum," she murmured, running her fingers through my hair and sighing, "I have to go."

She was saying she had to go, but she was pushing herself against me. When she felt my stiff cock against her belly a tremor ran through her body.

"Jesus, Callum. I really..."

She pulled away from me slightly and looked down. I wasn't embarrassed. I wanted her to see what she was doing to me.

"That's your fault," I told her, pushing my tongue between her lips again and feeling her give way a little more.

Her eyes were dark with need when she took another shaky step back. I knew it had taken every ounce of her will to do it. She was breathing quickly and her cheeks were flushed. I wondered how wet she was, what it would feel like to slip my hand down her knickers and feel her slipperiness all over my fingers.

"I have to go, Callum. I'm sorry. I have to go right now."

Part of me wanted to protest. I knew she wanted it, it was all over her face. Another part of me wanted to send her home so needy she couldn't think straight.

"I know, I know you do. Where's your car?"

"Right here," she said, pointing to a little VW Golf.

"When can I see you again?"

She looked down for a second, then up again, smiling helplessly. "Soon. When you get back from Paris. Call me, OK?"

"Will do."

She rolled down her window after she'd gotten into her car and I bent down to give her one last, lingering kiss before sending her on her way. Then I walked home with my jacket held out in front of me so I didn't look like some kind of pervert strolling about in public with a big, obvious erection leading the way.

I'd never been patient with a woman before. Probably because I'd never
had
to be patient with a woman before. A few had tried playing hard to get, but it was only ever token resistance, and they generally gave in as soon as I started showing signs of losing interest. I always thought pursuing girls was for losers - blokes who couldn't get laid. But that wasn’t how I felt about Lily. I wanted to pursue her, to conquer her. And she wanted to be conquered, I could feel it.

I should have just taken care of myself that night, after Callum and I spent two hours winding each other up so tight I wasn't sure which one of us was more on the verge of exploding right there in the pub. Instead, I went to bed with a warm, insistent need in my belly on purpose, knowing that nothing my fingers could do was going to help in any meaningful way. I didn't want to come. Well, I did. But more than that, it was
him
I needed. Callum. His hands on my body, his mouth all over me, his cock - a thought so sweet I could barely face it - inside me. I could still feel it the next morning when I woke up, an emptiness inside me, an acute lack.

It was almost five in the evening when I finally made it into the station to meet with Akin and the other officers about our next moves. It was DI Larkin who suggested surveillance of a more direct kind at the Streatham Club. A listening device. Superintendent Akin looked at me.

"Morgan?"

"Yeah?" I said, suddenly realizing I hadn't really been listening to the conversation."Yeah, uh, can we do that? To be perfectly honest with you, I'm not sure how much - if anything - Callum Cross knows. It's Gazza we need to be on top of, and he doesn't seem to be someone I'm going to be able to make friends with."

I told them about the previous night with Callum, relayed our conversations, told them about his trip to Paris. What I didn't tell them was how badly I'd wanted to see him, or how even then, in the meeting, I couldn't get his image out of my mind.

"And do you know what's happening in Paris?" Akin asked.

"No, he didn't say much about it. I'm sure it's nothing - we need to focus more on Gazza Wilson. Has the listening device been cleared?"

"Yes, it's been cleared. You think you can set it up yourself?"

I thought about it. "I'm not sure. Maybe. I don't think I can get it into Gazza's office but I could probably get it - I don't know, under the bar?"

"Why not his office?"

"Because I can't be at the Club when it's quiet or empty and the office is right there, the door is in the main room of the bar. I'm not even sure if I can get it under the bar - it's busy in there, I can't just start rummaging around."

"Mmm. Right."

After the meeting, just as I was about to leave the room, Superintendent Akin called my name.

"Morgan!"

"Yes?" I poked my head back through the doorway.

"Stay here for a minute."

I walked back in and sat down at the conference table. Akin looked me in the eye for a few seconds, searching my face for something. It immediately made me feel slightly defensive, although I couldn't put my finger on why.

"How are you doing, Morgan? Alright?"

"Yes," I responded, slowly. "Why? Is there something I should know?"

"No, it's just my job to take care of my officers and I know the loss of Linda Trout - and seeing the video - affected you. How are you feeling? We have resources available here if you ever feel the need to talk to anyone."

What the hell? I swallowed my urge to respond to Akin with that exact phrase and forced a small, tight smile onto my face.

"Thank you for letting me know. I think the thing that's going to help me feel better about this is arresting the motherfucker who did it."

Ah, a little too blunt. As ever. Akin smiled widely at my response.

"You're good, Morgan. You're good at your job. It's the reason I made you a DCI. I just want to make sure you can continue being good at your job."

"Sir, I'm sorry for being blunt. I guess I just don't quite understand where this is coming from. Have I done something wrong?"

"Just how close are you planning to get to this Callum Cross person?"

I sat back, blinking and indignant.

"I'm sorry, wh-what? He's an employee of the Streatham Club. He's close to Gary Wilson. I'm undercover. I thought this was what I was supposed to be doing?"

Akin took a deep breath and didn't respond for a few moments. I could tell he was trying to figure out a way to word what it was he was about to say.

"Morgan, I can feel you getting prickly. Please don't get prickly. I have to be honest with you, though, I think you dismissed the importance of Callum Cross's trip to Paris a little hastily. As you yourself just said, he's close to Gary Wilson. He's going to Paris to do a job for him, and yet you seem fairly convinced it's minor and in no need of further investigation. Why is that?"

I leaned forward, mouth open, ready to protest. Then I gave it a few seconds of thought and slumped downwards in my chair. Akin was right. Was Akin right? Why
was
I trying so hard to get everyone to believe that Callum's Paris trip wasn't a big deal?

The Superintendent, a near mind-reader at the worst of times, looked me straight in the eyes.

"Are you protecting him? Do you have feelings for him?"

"No," I replied, tapping my fingers on the tabletop. "I mean, no. Maybe. Maybe I think he's cool, not maybe I'm protecting him - I'm not. But it won't get in the way. I won't let it, I promise."

"I'm glad to hear that, Lily. But, and please don't get defensive, I think I'm going to insist you talk to one of our mental health staff. This is your first undercover assignment and talking it through with an impartial party is an important part of it for all of our officers."

I sighed. I knew he was right about it being a normal part of being undercover. I still didn't like the implication, though. I liked it better when Akin thought I was superwoman - because it made it easier to believe I was superwoman.

"This is something we always do. I want you to understand that it's standard procedure. You're human, Morgan, whether you want to admit it or not, and human emotions can get very tangled. It happens to all of us. It especially happens when you're undercover, and I'm speaking from experience."

"Oh, I know. It's fine," I lied, "I'll do it. I also wanted to ask you something else, about the crime scene."

Akin perked up, clearly pleased to move back to an area where he felt comfortable.

"The Linda Trout crime scene?"

"Yes. You said the CCTV cameras caught the killer taking a shortcut to the tube station - down a back alley, I think it was?"

"Yes."

"Did you search it? I mean, with forensics?"

"No, not with forensics. It was a fingertip search, five officers, and we didn't check the back gardens of the properties on either side."

My boss didn't have to explain why the alley hadn't been searched with a forensic team because I already knew - budget cuts. The Linda Trout killing had made a few local papers but it hadn't been big news. She was a middle-aged borderline itinerant, not a young, beautiful person from a well-off family, and there was no public clamor for her murder to be solved. So the money to solve it was extremely tight.

"Do you think we could get forensics down there, just in the alley?"

Akin sucked his teeth and made a face. "I don't know, Lily. I don't know about that."

"Can you please try? We never found the weapon and I know it's a long shot, but you said he knew he was on camera. If that's true, he also knew he wasn't on camera in the alley. Maybe he dumped the gun there? And if not the gun, maybe something else? The coffee cup he was holding?"

I could see that Akin was skeptical, but I could also see that he understood the truth of what I was arguing. Forensics should have gone over the alley, and we should have searched the back gardens along it.

"I'll see what I can do, Morgan."

"Thank you, Sir."

On the way home from work I did something extremely uncharacteristic and burst into tears while waiting at a red light. It came out of nowhere, I couldn't even remember what I'd been thinking about. One minute I was driving, the next minute I was weeping. I never cry. That isn't true. I never cry in front of other people but even alone, it's rare. After I got over the shock of the fact that I'd just started bawling over seemingly nothing, I pulled a wad of kleenex out of the glove compartment and swiped underneath my eyes, hiccupping and sniveling like a little kid. When the light turned green and I got beeped by the person behind me, I barely restrained myself from flipping them off.

I'd calmed down by the time I got back to my flat, but I was still deeply worried about where such an outburst had come from. There was a half bottle of cheap Tesco wine in the fridge so I poured myself a glass and sat down at my kitchen table, taking an unladylike first gulp and willing the alcohol to chill me the fuck out a little. It took a good half hour of sipping the too-sweet wine and telling myself it was nothing to start to get an inkling of what it actually was.

It was guilt. Shame. I recognized it well. It was the way I used to feel when my parents were disappointed in me, which was most of the time. Now I was feeling it because, in spite of his reassurances, some part of me couldn't accept that I hadn't just been given some form of a dressing-down from Akin.

I told myself it was silly. It was. He was right that counseling was par for the course of undercover work. I'd known a number of other Met officers who had done it as part of their own assignments. It wasn't even the counseling. It was the question about my feelings for Callum. Goddamnit. Akin could see right through me. He was probably the only person I'd ever met who could. It was what made him promote me through the ranks so quickly. It was also what had made him ask the question in the first place. Because he could see it even better than I could. I
did
have feelings for Callum Cross.

I tried to argue with myself. It wasn't 'feelings,' it was lust, it was the excitement of being undercover for the first time, etc. etc. I
was
lusting over Callum, that was true and undeniable. Every time I thought of him I got a hot little tightening sensation in my belly. Lower, actually. Surely it was a stupid crush. Like in high school when a certain boy looks really, really good in his t-shirt and you project all kinds of other qualities onto him, qualities you have no way of knowing he actually possesses. And Callum did look good. He looked so damn good it made me want to punch a wall. But he was also funny and cocky and smart in a way I'd never encountered before - not the educated kind of smart, the inbuilt kind of smart. And I was desperate to please him, to impress him.

"Jesus, get a grip." I muttered to myself, shaking my head and refilling my wine glass.