Chapter 13
Kara - Present
Owen nurses a glass of whiskey next to me, most likely a left-over bottle from a certain Luca Knight’s short stay. I towel dry my hair and drop it on the sofa before picking up the bottle.
“Have you turned on the news?” I ask, grabbing a glass from the cupboard, pouring myself one.
“No.”
“And where’s your phone?”
“Gone, like you told me.” I nod and take a sip, the liquid warming my throat. I leave Owen at the small breakfast bar and sit on the teal sofa in the open plan living room.
Reaching over to the coffee table, grabbing the TV remote as I tuck my legs underneath myself and turn on the news.
brEAKING NEWS is flashing on the bottom of the screen, the red banner displaying key bits of information as the main coverage plays with a reporter standing as close as the police cordon will allow.
The backdrop shows the aftermath.
There are fewer emergency vehicles, and the victims of the attack have since been moved on, but it’s a hive of activity. All illuminated by the blue and red flashing lights of the emergency services.
“Yes, thank you, Dan. At this time, we can confirm that an explosion went off at around 9:30 p.m. at the annual charity gala dinner of the Foster Families Foundation. Eyewitnesses suggest that there was a further incident inside the hall that involved a few of the dinner guests. At least ten people are dead, twenty-five are in a serious condition, and many others have been taken to hospitals around London for treatment of injuries. At this point, the police are not ruling out terrorists, the area has been locked down as they secure the scene and help those that are left.”
“Peter, are you able to shed any light on this further incident?”
“At the moment, no. What we can tell you is that this is an annual event that is held to raise money for the charity that has Owen Cooper as the Executive Charity Commissioner, and that tonight Mr Cooper made a rousing, passionate speech, announcing the creation of a new political, Independent Party. Some are saying and questioning whether this was just a poor coincidence, or whether there is foul play at work.”
Owen snorts from behind me, and I lean forward and take another sip.
“We are expecting the Chief Investigatory Officer on the scene to make a statement soon, and we will continue to report updates.”
“Thank you, Peter. As always, if any of our viewers have been effected by tonight’s attack, please do contact the number on screen. The police are asking for assistance in trying to piece together what happened, and we will continue to bring you updates as the story evolves.”
I pop the TV on mute and let the pictures continue to flicker on the screen. Some mobile phone footage will begin to make the rounds, and I need to do damage control.
Standing up, I walk across the room, opening the drawer to the media unit and pull out a manila envelope. I rip open the top and drop the contents into my hand.
Powering on the phone, I sit back down. I catch Owen’s stare from where he has turned around on the stool, making me feel like a bloody animal in a zoo. My skin prickles, and I’m hyperaware of the intensity of his gaze.
“Are you always a man of so little words?” I ask as I wait for the phone to power up.
He stands up and walks towards me, the grey tracksuit bottoms accenting his long, lean legs.
“What are you doing?” he asks, taking a sip of his drink, briefly turning his attention to the TV screen.
“I need to make some calls. There could be footage of what happened, and I need it to not exist.”
“And you can do that?”
“Yes.” I type in a code and dial a number, holding the phone to my ear.
“Are you alright?” the deep voice of Andrews answers.
“Just about,” I reply, glancing down at my grazed shoulder. “I need you to call in those favours. There could be footage.”
“Already taken care of. Jesus, little one. I said to make it a night to remember, but this wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“You and me both, boss man. You and me both.”
He chuckles lightly. “How’s the client holding up?”
“Target is fine.”
“Kara,” he scolds.
“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
Owen looks over and raises an eyebrow at me.
“What’s your plan?” Andrews asks.
Good question. What is my plan?
Glancing over at Owen, I tap at my lip as I take a moment to ponder my response. Something is niggling me.
“I’m not sure. I need to understand what this is,” I reply, but keep my gaze on Owen. “I need to understand fully what’s going on.” Owen nods, knowing that I’m talking to him now. “Then I’m thinking we disappear.”
Owen raises his eyebrows; his eyes widen and his head jerks sharply.
“I’m not fucking hiding,” Owen snaps.
“You’ll do as your goddamn told,” I snap back.
He rolls his eyes, flopping back to the sofa dramatically.
“Do what you have to do, little one. Just remember he’s a client, so try not to get him killed or kill him yourself when your patience runs out,” Andrews says, although I’m watching Owen as he crosses his arms and watches the TV, the news still shows clips of the events. “Where are you?” he probes.
“In a safehouse.” Which isn’t exactly a lie, because we are. Just not one that he knows about. “I’ll touch base with you later when we’ve talked. Keep your contact on the case. I don’t need my face showing up on tomorrow’s breakfast news playing bodyguard.”
“But it’s such a beautiful face,” he replies, and I tut, hanging up the phone, turning it off, and slipping it back into the envelope.
“You know I’m not hiding, right?” he reaffirms.
I place the envelope on the table, taking another sip of my drink, peering over the top of the glass to see his stubborn expression.
“You hired me to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“And as I did hire you, that makes me your boss. So you have to do what I say, and I say we aren’t hiding.”
I slam my whiskey down on the table, annoyed at his petulance. “Whatever the fuck you’re involved with has gotten people killed.”
He flinches as though I slapped him.
“You need to listen to what I tell you and do what I say. But first you have to tell me what the fuck is going on.” I turn towards him, where he folds his arms and leans back.
“Because blowing up a charity dinner was a bold fucking move, which tells me whatever you know has someone somewhere shitting bricks.”
“You’re still bleeding.” He nods towards my arm, and I glance down, looking at the bandage that is red. I sigh and stand up.
“I need stitches. How are you with a needle and thread?” I ask, walking back through the bedroom.
“What do you mean?” I hear his voice as I continue to the bathroom. I rummage for the first aid kit. “Ah ha,” I say, cuddling it and open the zipper, looking at its contents. There’s a suture kit, which is just what I need.
Yay past Kara. Always being prepared.
I zip it back up and grab the hand towel off the rail before rejoining Owen in the living room. “Can you sew me up?”
“Sew you up? What, like you’re a pin cushion?”
“Kinda. You know how Maria liked to do those embroideries and you used to help? It will be like that.”
“Oh God, thanks for reminding me that I helped her knit,” he groans as he leans forward, taking the first aid kit out of my hands and unzips it.
I place the towel on the table and start to unwrap my bandaged arm while Owen starts to unpack the items in the kit.
“It was cute. This will be exactly like that, but I’m the thing you’re sewing.”
He looks nervous. Taking his hand in mine, I squeeze.
“I’ll try and do it myself, but I don’t think I can reach fully. I’m going to need you to help me.”
“Okay,” he says, his cheeks inflating as he puffs out a breath in a sigh.
I pull out some saline solution that’s in a tube and rip the top off with my teeth, passing it to him.
“You need to clean it first. Just squirt this all into it.” I pull my top off over my head and sit facing him in my bra. His eyes drop to my cleavage and then back up, meeting my eyes.
“Sorry,” he grumbles, “but you’ve got an amazing pair of tits.”
I roll my eyes, but grin at the same time.
The liquid is cold as he does as instructed, squirting the liquid over the wound. The sharp sting makes me pull a breath through gritted teeth.
“Fuck, I forgot how much that stuff stings,” I hiss and puff out a breath. He throws the empty tube onto the towel and picks up the suture kit, handing it to me.
“I’ll start so you watch what I do, then you’ll have to take over.” I take the thread and place it through the curved needle. “Can you wipe it?” I ask Owen.
He takes some gauze and gently touches it to my wound. His other hand rests against my leg, the warmth seeping in through my pyjama bottoms.
“This is not how I thought this evening would play out,” I mutter as I take the needle and pierce it through my tender skin. I do the same on the opposite side of the wound, pulling the gash together. I hiss out again and close my eyes, breathing through my nose as the pain shoots through me.
“Jesus fuck.” I pause with a flinch. Come on, Kara, you can do this. I take another breath before repeating the move. I’m fully immersed in the task, but as I get to the messier part, I have to stop.
“I can’t.” I flop back onto the sofa, lightheaded. “I need you to do this,” I mutter as I close my eyes to the lights.
Owen shifts on the sofa as I feel him move closer. “You were always so terrible when it was your own blood.”
I pry open one of my eyes and turn my head to the left, seeing Owen kneeling on the floor beside me.
“Some things never change. Do you know what you’re doing now?”
“Absolutely no idea.” He gets a cute little frown line on his face as he leans forward, taking the needle in his thumb and index finger.
“I’ve done the hard bit, keep doing what I was doing, I’m just going to close my eyes and pretend I’m on a beach,” I groan when he tugs at the thread, starting to pull it through.
“How often do you end up having to stitch yourself up?”
“More times than I care to admit. If I could only man up around my own blood, I’d save myself a lot of lectures from Andrews.”
“He’s your boss?”
“Kinda,” I answer. “We met when I was a teenager. He helped me.”
“Andrews did?” I can hear the surprise in his voice.
“Hmm. He saved me in a lot of ways. Pulled me off the streets.”
Owen stops and sits back, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“Can we maybe have this heart to heart when I haven’t got a needle sticking out my arm? Besides, we don’t need to talk about me. We need to talk about the shit storm you’re involved in.”
“Let’s finish this first.” He leans forward again and gets back to work. Silence fills the space. I watch him stitch the skin back together, his tongue poking out in concentration.
I bite back a smile.
He did the exact same thing when we were kids.
Owen stops for a second, reaching behind him to take the scissors and cuts the thread. From there, he grabs some gauze and cleans the cut. “Can you sit up whilst I wrap it?”
I do as he asks, lifting my arm. His finger deftly wraps the white material and strokes the tape, securing it into position.
“All done. Another scar to add to your collection.” He sighs as he falls onto his arse, rubbing his hand down his face.
He looks beat.
I spin my legs around and lean forward on my elbows, Owen still on the floor.
“You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“We need to go to my flat.”
“Jesus Christ, Owen, stop deflecting and tell me what the hell is going on,” I snap, irritated with his constant misdirection.
“I’m not deflecting, Lucy. I’m terrified. What if something happens to you?”
“To me?” I ask, surprised at the admission. I reach out and grab his hands. “Owen, you don’t need to protect me. I don’t need protecting. Not anymore. Let me help you.”
“But Juliette.” His voice is gruff, clogged against the emotion.
“I know. You’re still in shock. Your adrenaline is gone and you’re exhausted.” I squeeze his hand. “Now tell me what’s going on so I can help you, and I can make a plan.”
“I can’t run, Kara.” He uses my new name, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it felt weird.
“You can call me Lucy.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, and I stand, pulling him up. “Let me get you a Mars Bar. You need some sugar.”
I lead him to the kitchen and he follows like a lost puppy. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and instead pulls me into his strong arms, hugging me. He drops his head to my neck and breathes me in.
“I’m so fucking scared,” he admits, and I hold on to him tightly. “You have no idea what you have got yourself involved with.”
“Then tell me,” I whisper, pulling back. My hand touches his cheek. “You tell me, and we face it together. Just like when we were kids. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“I am so sorry.”
I nod, emotion clogging my throat.
Because he isn’t sorry about tonight. He’s sorry about leaving me, and the monster got in.