Red After Dark (Blackwood Security #13) - Elise Noble Page 0,52
Probably not. Not only were they in the middle of this Hydra of a case, but Beth had also distanced herself in the last couple of days. She’d clearly decided her role, and it was executive assistant rather than wannabe girlfriend. Since that night on the couch, she’d been the consummate professional, and Alaric had to afford her the same courtesy.
“Of course, yes, it is your job. A similar property will be fine. We’re all used to packing up and moving around.”
Beth’s cheeks turned pink, and Alaric realised he’d put his foot in it yet again. She’d unpacked, hadn’t she? Made herself at home. He kind of envied that optimism—even after her life got flipped on its head, she tried to put down roots, albeit shallow ones.
Alaric still put his toothbrush back in his suitcase after every use.
Predictably, the memo about professionalism hadn’t reached every member of the Sirius team. At first, Alaric had been happy to see Judd sitting in his kitchen when he video-called him from the living room at Lone Oak Farm, but that joy soon faded when he heard a baby cry.
“I thought Hevrin got discharged from the hospital last night?”
That’s what Judd’s latest email had said.
“Yeah, she did.”
“So you took her home, right?”
“Mate, she’s got a broken arm and a baby. I couldn’t just drop her off in some shitty part of town and leave her to fend for herself. She needs help.”
The words made sense, but not when it was Judd speaking them. His bedside manner consisted of flushing the condom and closing the door quietly on his way out.
“And you thought you’d be the best person to assist?”
“Nah, Gemma offered. Nada didn’t even want to come, but Gem talked her round.”
Gem? Nada? What, was he starting a bloody harem?
“Don’t you mean Hevrin?”
“I guess I got used to calling her Nada in the hospital, and that’s what her new passport says. She answers to either.”
“She’s not a fucking dog, Judd. And what do you mean, new passport?”
“The admin lady at the hospital wanted to see ID, and it was easier to call in a favour and get her a new passport than admit I didn’t know what my own wife’s name was.”
“She’s not your wife.”
Alaric heard the cocky smirk in Judd’s voice. “Our marriage certificate says otherwise.”
“You’ve gone the whole nine yards, haven’t you? What did you do, photoshop the honeymoon photos?”
“Nah, I only managed to get one good headshot before she got suspicious.”
Deep breaths, Alaric.
“You’ve given her a whole new identity, and you haven’t told her?”
“Need-to-know basis, mate. Although Mother heard about it on the grapevine and called with some awkward questions.”
“I bet she did.”
Stella Millais-Scott had spies everywhere, which was only to be expected for a woman who was second in command at MI6. She was also a ruthless bitch. Her boss, Sir Rodney Barrington, was rumoured to have suffered a minor heart attack last fall, and at the Millais-Scotts’ most recent pre-Christmas gathering, she’d served up liver pâté, roast beef with all the trimmings, and crème brûlée. Alaric had felt his own arteries furring as he tucked in.
“Does that mean Hevrin won’t be staying for long?” Alaric asked hopefully.
“I didn’t tell Mother she was staying here. I just said we needed the spare ID for a job.”
“And she bought that?”
“Who knows? She told me not to give Nada any money or bring her to family gatherings, reminded me yet again that my talents are wasted at Sirius, and then hung up.”
Par for the course. Stella Millais-Scott made Black seem positively pleasant. Alaric would pay good money to watch the two of them go at it in a battle of wills.
“Well, speaking of your talents, I’ve got work for you to do, work that doesn’t involve women, forged documents, or making your mother dislike us any more than she already does.”
“Buzzkill.”
But Judd would help. He always did.
“Two and a half years ago, a former American Naval officer was involved in an incident in Afghanistan. His company got hired to search for a hostage, and somehow, a family of five ended up dead. Two adults, three children. He claimed they shot at his men first, that they were militia, but neighbours said the parents ran a bakery. Rumour says the wife got raped before she died.”
“Man, that’s bad. And the kids?”
“Someone tossed a grenade into their bedroom.”
“Fuckers. Got a name?”
“Eric Ridley. EBR Group. Your contacts in the Middle East are better than mine, and I need any dirt you can dig up on