Page 26 of Taming Achilles

“Don’t make excuses for him.” His volume lowered to match my own. “If someone treated my daughter that way …”

“You’ve had a daughter for a whole two minutes, Papa Brett.” I reminded him, knowing that he had only adopted Rose a few months ago. He had morphed into the role of her father in an extreme fashion. He acted as though she had been born to him, and not dropped on his lap by a dead colleague.

I was jealous. What would it have been like to have Brett as a father, instead of the one I had?

“Still.” Brett glared at the door as well.

“Jason Rhodes.” I snapped my fingers in front of Brett’s face and got us back on topic. The problem with liking your American counterpart is that you tend to socialise, and it’s not good for work. I always wondered what it would be like to hang out with Brett, and his new daughter, when there wasn’t danger on the line. Would we have a glass of wine and talk about TV shows and books? “How dangerous do we think he is? As far as … violence? I mean, most heads of organisations get others to …”

“He’s hands on,” Brett interrupted me, following my train of thought. “If he was the one in your apartment, then he’s dangerous. He does bad things - all kinds of bad things. From torture to medical experiments on unwilling participants, to holding women captive for …”

Women were always a sore subject for Brett. The abuse of women in particular. I never knew why, but I had once ascertained that it had something to do with what happened to his sister when she was young.

“I thought he liked me, you know,” I confessed. “I thought he could have been a vulnerability to exploit when it came to Alex.”

Jason had always smiled when I approached, which was more than he did for anyone else. He had always said hi, and once pulled out my chair for me. When he offered me his hand to help me out of the car, I thought that I had my hooks in him. Another asset to be used in our fight against corruption.

But then Callum and Lea shot him and Alex. He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to have been disposed of. Until the dead Jason Rhodes got up and walked away from where he was stored, disappearing from fucking sight.

“I think he did too,” Brett confessed. “But that might be scarier.”

Chapter 11

Geordie

I paced outside the door. It had been ten fucking minutes. What the hell was taking her so long?

I pounded my fist on the door. “Pip? Are you alright in there?”

“Perfectly fine!” her voice, high and irritated, wafted through the thick door. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

I heard shuffling, the running of water, then the snap of something, as if she was stepping on something that gave way.

“Pippa?” I was starting to get concerned. “What on earth is going on? Are you alright?”

“Can’t a girl get some privacy?” She yelled. The heads of some of the cafe's patrons turned in my direction. That would embarrass Pip, but it made no difference to me.

“No you cannae have any privacy.” I didn’t know if I meant that as her bodyguard, or as a man, and her a woman. “Not from me you can’t.”

There were hushed voices, like she was whispering to someone and my heart leapt into my throat. Was someone in there? Was it her attacker? Did he have her under duress? I banged on the door, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Come out or …” the door swung open, and she lifted one perfectly shaped brow.

“Or … what?” She asked, her voice dripping with condescension. “You’ll kick down the door?”

She stepped past me, and I looked in the bathroom, searching the corners to see if someone else was there. It was empty.

“Careful, Mr. Campbell.” She pulled her purse up on her shoulder. “Or I’ll think you care about me.”

She sauntered down the hall to the main area of the cafe, where Hugo sat with three drinks and her croissant.

“You’d be wrong!” I called after her, knowing it was a lie.

Unlike some people in my occupation, I do not rely on intuition alone. Instead, I depend on reason and evidence to form my judgement. I investigate and evaluate the facts before coming to a decision rather than relying on instinct.

Except when it came to Philippa Briseis Fox.

When you obsess over someone long enough, you find tells that aren’t tells. It’s not a hitch of breath, a twitch of a feature, or a shortness in their words. You can tell by the air around them. Like the world narrows down and signals to you that something is wrong. Something isn’t adding up.