CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The New Year is rung in with an attack.
Here’s what went right:
Everything.
Fucking everything.
The attack didn’t even breach the Estate because surrounding security was so tight.
Air drops were blown out of the sky before units could even touch down.
Enemy frequencies were jammed while Lachlan switched everyone over to dark-band.
Lachlan stood guard outside the Cove, ran everything through Rook in Control, while keeping in close contact with his teams. Once the security alarm went live, all three kids were already in their rooms, so everything locked down perfectly.
No damage, nothing to rebuild, zero losses and Danya captured a high-ranking attacker alive.
The whole thing is over in less than twenty minutes.
‘Excellent,’ he tells Control. ‘Hold tight for the next few hours until sunrise, then we’ll begin cleanup.’
‘Heard, Kestrel.’
Danya seems like a cat who dragged in a very fat rat. ‘This one knows things,’ he declares, tapping the man’s cheek with his blade. ‘Look at his ink.’
‘Yeah, I see it,’ Lachlan agrees. They’re in the annoyingly basic holding room in the sub-levels of the Estate. ‘Let’s juice him while he’s fresh.’
‘Juice, I like that!’ Danya grins wickedly. ‘You lead?’
‘No, you go ahead.’
Lachlan watches carefully while Danya methodically extracts intelligence from the man.
He already knows the attack is from the Moroz Front, he clocked the tattoo, but it’s impressive how much Danya can pull from him in so short a time.
Lachlan gets arterial spatter across his face at one point and Danya looks over, absolutely covered in it, and says, ‘Sorry about that.’
Lachlan snorts and wipes his face. ‘You’re fine.’
The Russian is insightful and creative when it comes to inflicting pain, but he’s not outright cruel either. There’s an efficiency to it that Lachlan appreciates, couldn’t have done better himself.
‘I think that is all,’ Danya tells him towards the end. ‘Dry now.’
‘I agree.’ They share a look. ‘You do it,’ Lachlan offers.
Danya breaks his neck hard.
‘Jesus,’ Lachlan chuckles when it’s done. ‘Almost decapitated him.’
‘I bet you never saw anyone fold a spine like that, huh?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘Damn right.’ Danya preens. ‘That was useful intel, yes?’
‘Very. Take a shower and then we’ll debrief.’
‘I do not need shower.’
‘Well, I’d love it if you indulged me.’
‘Tsk. Fussy. Blood is dry, makes no mess.’
Lachlan shakes his head, walks away grinning. ‘Shower, please.’
It’s January first and the Estate is untouchable.
Lachlan can’t help but feel just a smidgen of pride.
?
Carrigan has settled into the household manager role extremely well.
She dresses differently now. More stylish, more presentable. Lachlan is happy for her and when they meet once a day, usually over lunch, she seems happy too. He can’t help but worry, knows where all her predecessors end up, but she asked him to trust her and he does.
‘Your second is fucking crazy,’ she tells him of Danya. ‘I saw him swimming in the lake yesterday. It’s January.’
‘He’s Russian.’
‘You trust him?’
‘So far. You don’t?’
Carrigan gives a casual shrug. ‘I don’t know him well enough.’
‘The other two are excellent as well, especially Zaitsev,’ Lachlan goes on, doesn’t know why he feels obliged to present them well. ‘He streamlined some tech stuff I didn’t even know could be streamlined.’
‘I actually want to talk to you about him.’
‘Zaitsev?’
‘Yeah. I’ve been rotating their backgrounds to see if any discrepancies pop up, y’know.’ Lachlan does, it’s standard for thorough checks and vetting. ‘Nothing has changed, but I caught something that I think you’ve missed.’
Lachlan sets down his sandwich. ‘Tell me.’
‘You remember Fenwick’s background?’
‘Special Forces, then Diplomatic Security Service.’
‘In between that, he was assigned to protective detail for a classified research operation.’
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘I know, but back when I used to run deep dives, I had a full compiled list of all missions and deployments, including codenames. Fenwick was involved with Project Spectrum, and so was Zaitsev.’
‘Protective detail?’
‘No.’
‘As in… held there?’
‘Looks like.’
‘Wait, are you saying Zaitsev is a Paranatural?’
‘I’m saying from what I can piece together, he was held there as one. Just letting you know.’
Lachlan frowns slightly, mind whirling. ‘Heard.’
?
In early February, Lachlan goes to Jules.
‘Can we talk?’ he asks.
Jules is in his room, on his phone.
It’s pouring rain outside.
Mimi, of course, is outside with Vasily and Blaire, Danya hovering close by while she makes a fine mess in the mud.
Jules sighs. ‘Fine.’
‘First of all—’
‘Oh, there are parts, great.’
Lachlan pushes on. ‘I want to apologise unilaterally—’
‘Big word.’
‘—for what happened, all of it. Not telling you that I was hurt. The uh. The stuff in the car. I’m really sorry.
And I’m sorry for not talking to you about it afterwards.
The truth is,’ Lachlan says, coming inside the room only when Jules sets his phone down, ‘I was ashamed of what your father did to me, and it was easier to pretend it never happened. I think the um…’ His cheeks grow warm.
‘The almost…y’know, the thing in the car. ’
‘You nearly kissing me.’
‘Yeah, that. I think that was maybe due to blood loss, but it’s still no excuse. I’m really, truly sorry, Jules. I let you down and—’
‘You didn’t let me down, you just proved me right,’ Jules says, getting up from his bed. ‘It’s fine, anyway. I’m happy to move on.’
‘I know you’re upset.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t know why.’
‘Tell me?’
‘So you can dismiss that too?’ Jules makes a face. ‘Look, I don’t want to argue. I actually don’t. Whatever else, you keep us safe, you make her happy. You try. I see you trying all the time.’ He nods, jaw working. ‘And that night was still… it means a lot that you let me go.’
‘How’s your thigh?’
‘Healed fine. It scarred, though,’ he adds with a tiny curve of a smile.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Looks like a rose.’
‘That’s cool.’
‘Yeah.’ The small smile vanishes. ‘So, we’re fine, all right? All good.’
‘No. There’s one more thing I need to apologise for.’
Jules gives a loud sigh that crackles into a groan.
‘For God’s sake, are you from the eighteenth century? I’m not a kid! You were turned on, I was turned on, it’s fucking fine! A six-year gap is nothing and I don’t give a fuck about your chivalrous guilt complex, you—’
‘We didn’t start CQC.’
‘—dull motherf… what?’
‘Close quarter training. I told you we’d start it. We never did.’
Jules scowls softly. ‘I thought you forgot.’
‘If you want to start tomorrow, we can.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Huh. Well.’ Jules crosses his arms. ‘Maybe, yeah.’
‘I’m gonna need a yes or no.’
‘Ugh, fine. Yes.’
‘All right. I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early.’
‘Wait, how early?’
?
The first few weeks are the worst.
Lachlan knows this is make or break.
If he doesn’t push Jules, the skin won’t thicken and the routine won’t take, so he never lets up when the boy is whining and almost crying that he needs a break, when Jules begs for ten more minutes’ sleep at five AM, and especially not when he calls Lachlan every foul name under the sun in a wobbly voice.
Jules is one of the strongest people Lachlan’s ever known, but his body is kitten weak and those first few weeks hurt him sorely.
Just as Lachlan expects, however, two weeks of anything becomes routine and in the third week, Jules can run faster without lung burn, he can lift more and he’s starting to develop muscle memory when they spar, which is by far his favourite thing to do because he gets to punch Lachlan in the face.
Come mid-March, the rain is ebbing, spring is creeping in, and Jules doesn’t complain anymore when Lachlan wakes him. He drinks his protein shakes, he runs when told, beats his own times by incremental fractions, is starting to enjoy it.
‘There we go, that’s it. Ten more, you’ve got this.’
Jules hates push-ups.
When they started, he could barely manage three. Now he can knock out fifty clean ones before the complaining and swearing begins.
‘I hate you—so much—you’re such—a prick!’
‘Oh yeah, tell me more, just keep going.’
‘I hope—you die—in a fire!’
‘Three more!’
‘And then—get eaten—by a shark!’
‘Perfect! Ten cooldowns and then you can rest,’ Lachlan says. ‘Also how would I die in a fire and then get eaten by a shark?’
Jules performs his cooldown push ups, knees on the dirt. ‘Houseboat.’
‘Flawless. Good job.’
‘Fuck you.’
Jules’ mood has improved enormously, and with Carrigan in charge, Lachlan can adjust his diet, no longer horribly restricted.
Mimi comes to watch them train some days, cheering Jules on from the sidelines where she sits talking to the worms and waving at the crows. She’s drawing more and more every day, imaginary friends popping up.
Vasily takes a keen interest in cooking, baking especially, so Lachlan asks the chefs if he can shadow them to learn the basics. They happily agree.
Blaire wears her necklace every day and Lachlan wears his.
The sun shines on the Penhalyx Estate in new ways.
Lachlan is proud of what he’s built here, and not just a little.
One week before his two-year anniversary, his mother dies.
?
Lachlan attends her funeral.
He’s mentioned in the eulogy just once.
‘…whose son serves overseas.’
That’s all he got. Not even named.
She hated him right up until the end, he thinks.
But he goes anyway. Wears black, stands by the ground they commit her to and holds Margot’s hand.
At the wake, he checks in with Danya constantly, but everything is running fine. His mother wasn’t killed to create a distraction.
She just died.
Her heart gave out in the night.
Lachlan hides in the kitchen during the wake, counting down the seconds until he can leave.
Margot’s kids run around having fun, too young to understand.
Margot finds him leaning against the countertops.
He’d bet he still knows where everything is.
Spoons, glasses, the little bowls she loved and favoured. Milk. Eggs. Cold cuts.
He fucking hates it here, cannot wait to leave.