In Too Deep

1. Chapter One

~Cara~

Caught up in the steady stream of commuters making their way through Green Park Underground station, my eyes stayed on the back of the boots of the person in front of me while my thoughts strayed a million miles away. Though the day had just begun, the air in the corridor hung heavy and stale with the heat of thousands of bodies. Most people were getting off the train to go to work but I headed in the opposite direction, making my way to the escalator that would take me down another level to the Jubilee line.

At a bend in the hallway, a stray note suddenly worked its way into my ear, pushing all my other thoughts to the background. That single note could have belonged to any song in the world but my heart recognized it instantly.

The opening note of the last song I ever played.

It sounded inside me on repeat at random points throughout the day, any day and every day, so when I heard it that morning, recognition rippled through me and I immediately looked up, snapping out of my daze as I tried to locate the music’s source.

He stood a few metres ahead of me, his guitar strap slung over his shoulder and his eyes closed as he played the achingly familiar melody. I slowed to a stop in front of him, ignoring the mutters and passive-aggressive sighs of the people who had to step around me to continue on their way. None of them seemed to hear the man’s song despite all of us occupying the same space. Its beauty escaped them entirely.

I’d never heard anyone play it on the guitar before and I wouldn’t have thought it would work as well as it did. He stuck to the melody, giving it depth with his chords and the fluid way he played. By the time he finished, I probably looked insane, standing there watching him with a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

His own eyes opened as if he were waking from a dream. He glanced quickly downwards at the open guitar case in front of him, which remained rather pitifully empty, before he looked up and caught me still staring.

I blinked in surprise, trying to regain my composure while he gave me a sheepish shrug, as though we understood each other entirely.

‘Not my fault they don’t appreciate good music,’ his shrug seemed to say. ‘But thanks for listening.’

He launched into a different song, an upbeat popular song that would undoubtedly have far more of an impact on most of the commuters passing by, and I shook my head, bringing myself out of my trance. I would be late if I didn’t get going, but I couldn’t leave without giving him something as a thank you for those few moments of blissful distraction.

I rarely used cash, but my brother insisted I always have some on me ‘just in case’. He never said in case of what; he said it like I should already know. Anytime he saw me with my purse, he would take it from me and shove more bills inside if he thought I needed them.

As I flipped through the contents, I saw only ￡50 notes, at least ￡2000 of them. My contribution would certainly stand out amongst the 20p and 50p coins the musician had in his case, but I had nothing else and I couldn’t walk away without leaving something. Taking a breath, I pulled out a few of the notes and tossed them into the case, not making eye contact and walking away without a backwards glance.

Once I finally got to work, the day passed quickly in the small office where I worked. My brother arranged this job for me after my music career came to an abrupt end, and at first, I thought it must be a joke. Who would hire a receptionist with no experience who couldn’t even type?

However, my new employer didn’t even bother to interview me. He sent someone to make any adjustments necessary so that I could take messages through dictation without having to use a keyboard. Anything else I needed, I only had to ask. When I asked him straight out if he was being so nice to me because he thought I would sleep with him, the handsome older man merely laughed.

“I knew your parents and I owe Marco a favour. He asked me to make you comfortable here, so that’s what I’m doing. That’s all there is to it, Ms Russo. I promise your virtue is safe with me.”

He seemed to be telling the truth. I’d been there almost a month and he certainly hadn’t made any move on me. I rarely even saw him. If someone asked me what kind of business he did, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. I simply answered the phone and took messages, most of which made no sense to me, and returned calls for him and left equally cryptic messages with his business partners’ receptionists. When I mentioned to Marco how strange I found the whole situation, he smiled indulgently.

“He handles a lot of financial transactions for some very influential people. It’s confidential, that’s why it’s secretive.”

“It’s all legal, isn’t it?” I might have had a rather sheltered upbringing in our expensive central London home, but I knew crime didn’t have to be carried out in dingy alleys. Sometimes, it took place in plain sight.

My brother shook his head in disapproval. “Of course, Cara. What kind of question is that?”

Although Marco was only two years older than me, 24 to my 22 years of age, he’d always acted older than his age and treated me as younger than I was. He’d been serious even as a kid, but when our parents passed away while I was still a teenager, he became even more protective of me. We’d clashed a few times about it, but mostly I let it go because I knew how much he cared about me. He didn’t want to lose me like we’d lost our other family, and he provided me with everything I needed. Most days, I tried to count my blessings.

At the end of the work day, I grabbed my bag and headed back to the tube. The early summer day felt pleasantly warm, the sun bright and the sky blue, making it the perfect kind of day to be outside. On the train, I made mental plans to grab a sandwich from the Marks Spencer by the station and sit in the park to eat, enjoying a little more freedom before I returned to the compound Marco and I called home.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

A hand touched my shoulder as I walked along the corridor towards the escalator to exit the station, and I immediately flinched, jumping back in surprise. Looking equally surprised, the man put his hands up, showing me they were empty.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was hoping you might come by this way again today.”

As my heart rate slowly returned to normal, I realized he had been the busker that morning, the man with the guitar, and we were standing in the same place where he’d played. Had he really been waiting here for me?

I’d been so caught up in his music that morning that I hadn’t really taken a good look at him, but I paid more attention this time. Light brown, curly hair sat atop a rather handsome face with kind-looking blue eyes. His accent sounded Irish, although I was notoriously bad for telling the difference between various accents. My brother liked to tease me that I could pick up any instrument being even slightly out of tune, but when it came to people, I was tone-deaf.

He looked older than me but not by much, probably in his late 20s, and though his clothes weren’t expensive, they weren’t very well-worn either. He must have another source of income besides the change that filled his guitar case.

“Can I help you?” I didn’t want to sound rude, but having a stranger wait for me, possibly for hours, threw up several red flags.

“I need to return this.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the handful of notes I’d left in his case. “It’s very generous, but it’s too much.”

It went above and beyond the usual donation but that shouldn’t matter. “And what would you have done if I hadn’t come back through here this afternoon?” I asked, keeping my hands firmly at my sides.

“Gone home and felt guilty about it for a few days,” he replied with a smile that felt both self-deprecating and inviting at the same time. “Then, I probably would have donated it so it would go to good use. There’s a great project nearby that gets used instruments for kids who can’t afford them.”

I actually knew exactly which project he meant. I’d donated to it several times myself and even volunteered there occasionally to try to match children with the right instrument. It had been a while since I’d visited, though. “That sounds wonderful. Why don’t you do that, then? Have a good evening.”

I turned to go, but he moved in front of me to block my path. At least he didn’t touch me that time; he seemed to recognize I didn’t like it. “It’s a ridiculous amount to leave for one song. I thought it might be a cry for help.”

The twinkle in his eyes told me he meant it as a joke, so I took it that way. Even so, I answered him honestly. “That song means a lot to me. You played it wonderfully and I wanted to thank you for it. That’s all the money means and I’d like for you to keep it. If you don’t want it for yourself, then donate it, like you said.”

I tried to duck around him but he jogged back in front of me, blocking my path once more as commuters dodged us both on their way home. “How about a compromise? I’ll keep it if you let me buy you dinner tonight. Most people wouldn’t recognize Shostakovich if he bit them on the arse.”

The turn of phrase came out of nowhere, so unexpected that I had to laugh. “Well, I can’t say I’d recognize him in that scenario either.”

The man grinned back at me, pleased that I appreciated his joke. “So that’s a yes to dinner?”

He couldn’t actually be asking me out, could he? Nobody ever did that. Marco didn’t allow it.

“I already have dinner plans,” I tried.

“Can I join you, then?”

He was persistent, I had to give him that, and rather charming too. It would be nice to talk about music with another musician for a while, one who didn’t know anything about me. My brother’s warnings rang in my ears about all the extra care I should take with strangers, but if we stayed in the park, out in public, the danger would be minimal. I felt myself weakening and he seemed to feel it too, moving a tiny bit closer.

“How about this? You hum a tune, and if I guess it right, you’ll say yes.”

It almost felt like he knew my weak point, knew that I couldn’t resist such an interesting challenge. I picked a relatively obscure Mahler piece, one that wouldn’t be impossible but would test even serious classical music students. He listened to it carefully, his face neutrally blank, giving me no clue if he knew it or not, until finally, he gave me that warm grin again.

“I thought you were going to make this difficult.”

He reeled off the exact name of the song, and I had to concede. “Fair enough. I’m a woman of my word. You can buy me dinner with my money.”

The ridiculous, yet accurate, summary of our agreement made him chuckle, and he fell into step beside me as we headed together to the exit.

“Oh, shite, hang on just one second,” he suddenly announced when we reached the top of the escalator. “I think I dropped something.”

Leaving me standing there, he got back on the escalator going down, leaving me wondering what just happened. Would he come back, or had I just been stood up for a date I hadn’t even really wanted in the first place?

~Kian~

As soon as Cara couldn’t see me anymore, I spoke into the microphone concealed in my earpiece. “Thanks for the save, Thomas. That was a tough one.”

His response echoed in my ear, just as it did when he gave me the answer to Cara’s musical test. “Good work, Kee. You going to get rid of the piece now?”

“Yeah, just in case I run into Marco. Better safe than sorry.”

“Good luck.”

When I reached the bottom of the escalator, I leaned over to pretend to pick something up, just in case Cara watched from the top, and while I bent down, I pulled the small earpiece from my ear and placed it under my shoe. Pressing down on it with my full weight, I waited for the crunch as it shattered, leaving it there to be stepped on and carried away by the shoes of hundreds of other commuters. No one could ever put it back together again.

I wouldn’t have access to any music-searching computers for the rest of the night, nor to Thomas if I ran into trouble, but I’d have to take that chance. If anyone saw the earpiece, it would ruin everything.

I’d been waiting so long for a chance to get closer to her and, ultimately, closer to Marco. I didn’t plan to mess it up.

“Did you find what you dropped?” Cara asked when I returned to the spot I’d left her. She seemed completely oblivious to all the appreciative glances she got from the men passing by, and several of the women too. Effortlessly classy and beautiful with her long blonde hair and deep brown eyes, designer clothes and model’s poise, Cara Russo looked like she had it all.

Unfortunately for her, she’d just met the man who would take it all from her.