"A Voice in the Dark" (Lucas/OC; Thriller/Romance- PG13/R) Chapter V
TITLE: A Voice in the Dark
AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild
FANDOM: Spooks/MI5
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Lucas/OC
SUMMARY: Section D has a traitor in its midst and a mysterious man arrives with what appears to be the key to rid MI5 of the mole.
A/N: this fic is my own version of Series 7. I will probably update it once a month, considering my busy work schedule, and try to pen a one-shot in between to continue my Guy & Marian Acrostic Series.
Disclaimer: all recognisable characters belong to BBC and Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.
READ THE BEGINNING HERE
READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE
CHAPTER FIVE
When Tom left her alone in her bedroom and turned the key in the lock, Annabelle removed her blindfold and walked to the mullioned window. There was no grill over the outside and nothing in the room that she could use to pick the padlock which kept the window sealed. The only possibility of escape was to break the double-glazed pane, slip through the chipped glass and jump two storeys because there was no trellis or anything she could hold onto on her way down. The thought was discarded almost as soon as it had sprung up; the noise would have them barging into the room in no time and, even if she were lucky enough to get out of the room, the chance of her not breaking her neck or ending up in a wheelchair was too slim to risk it.
Several hours later, after devouring what she had to confess was the most mouth-watering lunch she'd ever tasted, she was stirred from her slumber by the sound of the key unlocking the door. Tom was back to retrieve the tray and leave a gift-wrapped box on the dressing-table before slipping out without uttering a word; no amount of cajoling on her part ever since her abduction had managed to get a word from him.
No sooner had the lights been turned on than she got up and crossed the room to grab the box and the small light-blue envelope she found on top of it. Curious, she slipped out the card and read the note scribbled in a masculine and beautiful handwriting- it shouldn't have come as a surprise considering who'd written it. Annabelle wondered if the wrapping would be as beguiling as everything about him she'd experienced so far; somehow, she suspected it would. A pity she'd never get to see what he actually looked like.
An invitation to dine accompanied by a classic black dress, thigh-high tights and a pair of matching high heels to wear for the occasion. This man would never cease to surprise her. Was this an attempt to seduce her? The gown wasn't the kind one would get off-the-peg; the fabric felt heavy, expensive and sensual to the touch. She'd never owned anything like it; her wardrobe featured mostly utilitarian clothes or sober trouser suits, an armour meant to disguise the softness both Harry and Lucas had managed to recognise in her.
She caressed the material, fighting the urge to try it on. She'd have to take off her cotton underwear and slip on the silk and lace one-piece designed to follow the cut of the dress or else her bra would show under the décolletage. He's thought of everything, she blushed. The temptation to give in just to see what he'd seen, if only in the privacy of her room, eventually won.
He'd got all her measures right. The meaning of such a discovery wasn't lost on her; he'd either checked out the labels on her clothes when going through her things or taken visual measurements while he interrogated her. Annabelle didn't know if she should feel insulted but, seeing the sensual and sophisticated woman reflected in the mirror, she acknowledged it was flattering to have a man think of her that way, especially when she had never seen herself in such a light.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
Tom knocked and at the response, guided the young woman to her place at the table before untying her hands.
She didn't need to have her blindfold removed to know she'd never been in this room before, nor did she need the use of her eyes to realise he was already there; she would have recognised that subtle yet utterly masculine fragrance anywhere.
“Good evening, Miss Reed.Thank you for joining me,” said the chocolatey voice close to her ear, helping her pull up her chair. “It seems apologies are in order; the dress didn't fit... Or is there another reason for your decision not to wear it tonight?”
“The gown was beautiful. It just wasn't my style,” she replied, choosing to tell him the truth but keeping the fact it had actually fitted not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd even tried it on.
“You've been around the wrong men if that's what you've been taught to believe. Wine?”
“I'd rather have a glass of water, please,” she said, wondering when she'd ever blushed so much around a man.
“I promise it hasn't been doctored nor am I trying to make you drunk to have my way with you,” he reassured her with a smile in his voice.
“One glass then. I wouldn't like my host to think of me as ungrateful,” she told him. She wasn't planning on getting drunk but she needed the Dutch courage to live through dinner with her integrity intact.
A long-stemmed glass of cold white wine was placed in her hand and, once again, she felt butterflies in her stomach at the simple touch of those long, lean fingers, shaped like a musician's.
She took a rather large sip and welcomed the fact she now had something to hold onto that could help disguise the slight shaking of her hands.
“Is your job everything you hoped for when you gave up a promising career as a scholar? Does it make you happy, Annabelle?”
“I'm pleased when we manage to make a major dent in the plans of whoever happens to jeopardise the security of the realm. So, yes, I'm happy.”
“Are you really satisfied with the outcome of the operation Sir Harry Pearce dragged you into six months ago, despite the fact that some very important links in the chain slipped through your fingers? Despite all the collateral damage? We haven't known each other for long, but I pride myself on knowing how to read people.”
“Do you? Then you should already know I can't give you what I don't have. And you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble to impress me; you already knew I'd come. I'm your prisoner, after all.”
“I know the current circumstances would never allow for you to consider yourself as my guest... Believe me when I say it's never been my intention to hurt you in any way. You're here only to talk.”
“You're making me feel guilty. What is so special about me that makes me deserving of a treatment different from the one Carter and Delaney got? Is it because I'm a woman? What do you expect to get from me tonight?”
“I want us to pretend, if only for a short while, that we're just a normal couple- a man and a woman sharing a bottle of wine and having an intelligent conversation over dinner. No spy games. No secret agendas,” he suggested, his velvety voice trickling over her like honey.
If she were honest with herself, she found the idea really alluring. There was no use pretending she wasn't aware of the attraction between them when it'd been there from the start. In fact, she had to keep reminding herself who he was and what he did because everything about him seemed contrary to the man she'd expected him to be. His manners, his tastes and his treatment of her were anything but coarse; he was what her late father would have called a genuine gentleman- the kind of partner he'd have wished for his only daughter. God, you're falling into the most common place trap, Annabelle. You should know better than to become a willing victim of your captor. Stockholm Syndrome, remember?
Even though she'd always been a sensible woman, she couldn't help but fall under the spell of his beautiful northern accent with a barely disguised flavour of Slavic and, yes, his subtle and utterly masculine scent. And who could blame her for wanting to believe him when he told her he meant her no harm? It was so difficult not to believe he actually cared, seeing the way he provided for her every comfort. After all, hadn't he even spent a night of vigil at her bedside afraid she was concussed?
Annabelle wondered how far she'd be willing to use the palpable attraction between them to her advantage; she should be disgusted to even consider it but she wasn't. Once again she appreciated the concealment provided by the blindfold she was made to wear whenever she was in his presence; what he stirred in her with his voice and the brush of his hands was dangerous enough without having to look at temptation in the eye.
“What's wrong?” he asked on hearing the door open, putting an end to her musings.
Was that annoyance in his voice? Not being able to tell what he was actually feeling, when reading his motivations was so important to her current predicament, frustrated her immensely.
“Мне очень жаль, дорогая. Боюсь, нам придется отложить наш обед. Something's turned up which demands my immediate attention,” he apologised calmly after receiving a softly whispered message that she hadn't been able to make out.”Maybe later... Please, forgive me.”
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
After a tray had been delivered to her room and the elegant dinner savoured with a hearty appetite, Annabelle lay on her bed wondering what urgent business had interrupted the candlelight dinner the man with the silken voice had planned so carefully.
Мне очень жаль, дорогая. He'd called her darling again and she couldn't help but remember the clear tinge of regret in his voice when he'd been forced to leave her alone.
Sleep didn't come easy that night; her mind being in a whirl and her emotions in a turmoil of confusion. Finally, exhausted, slumber found her only for Tom to shake her awake a few hours later.
His rough treatment of her was disconcerting after the kid glove routine which had been the norm ever since her capture, and Annabelle felt a tight knot in her stomach as sudden fear seized her.
Had it all been a game meant to lull her into a false sense of security? Had it all been a skilfully devised plan of her captor's to make her believe he was attracted to her and that such a protection would shelter her from harm?
Something was definitely not right seeing she was dragged down the stairs blindfolded and wearing only her nightclothes. This just wasn't his style.
Tom opened a door and pushed her inside, pulling her down into a chair and tying her hands behind her back. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of; her captor had promised he wouldn't hurt her...and yet, the palpable tense silence in the room told her something different. He was there; she could feel his powerful aura touch her with invisible fingers.
When Tom stepped back, she knew it was only a matter of time before the man she'd felt inexorably pulled to since her kidnapping made his move. However, what actually occurred was unlike anything she'd expected.
Long careful fingers threaded through her chestnut hair, untangling the tresses she hadn't been allowed to brush out. She found the gentle pull hypnotically relaxing, and the trepidation which had seized her eased a little. Maybe she'd read too much into Tom's actions, maybe he'd simply had a tough day and needed to take it out on someone. Maybe...
“Are you a liar, Annabelle?” asked close to her ear the dark and mellifluous voice she knew so well. “Is there a betraying heart beating behind that soft façade?” he added, suddenly clenching his until then caressing fingers in her hair, piercing her cocoon of safety and bringing her back to earth.
“What do you mean? I...” she began, making an effort to control the tremor in her voice.
“Don't lie to me,” he interrupted her, his tone dangerously silky. “You said Adam Carter was with you on The Grid the night of the exchange, that he wasn't on the site where your asset was handed over to MI-5.”
“Yes” she replied quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat, wondering where his questioning was heading. “Both of us were at Thames House. Harry Pearce sent him to get me...”
“Had you seen Carter before he came for you?”
“We spent the whole afternoon in the archives and then returned to our desks. He only stepped out twenty minutes to get us freshly brewed coffee and some snacks.”
“Twenty minutes? Are you sure about the time frame? Immersed as I imagined you were in dossiers, couldn't your time perception have been altered?”
“I don't understand... What is it you're hinting at?”
“Are you sure he wasn't away longer? Enough to drive to the rendezvous point and back?”
“I'm sure. I'll never forget what time it was when he came back without the snacks and with the order for both of us to be airborne to the Hall where our asset was dying... a very painful death, denied the relief of drugs beyond local anaesthetics.”
“How do you explain this picture then?” he asked coldly after an eerily pregnant silence, pulling her blindfold back from behind and placing the heels of his hands on either side of her temples to make sure her eyes were focused on the black and white grainy photo projected on the wall. “That's you, Miss Reed, isn't it? You and Carter really cosy outside the warehouse where your asset was being beaten and tortured within an inch of his life.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “We weren't there... I wasn't there. Are you suggesting... ” she croaked, “are you suggesting Carter and I... that I witnessed that savagery and...”
“Are you saying this picture was doctored? That you and your partner aren't the traitors this evidence reveals you to be. That you didn't know the identity of the prisoner,” he grated, tightening the hold on her hair.
“You can't... you can't believe I would...”
“I don't know what to believe. If there's one thing I've learnt in this business, it's that at the end of the day there's only one person you can trust- yourself.”
“Does Tom know that's what you think?” she replied in defiance, determined not to reveal how frightened she was.
“Do you deny it's you in that picture?”
“I can't. I was there... but not that night. That location's been used as a rendezvous point by MI5 more than once. I don't know what your source's told you but that photo was taken last year.”
The quality of the enlarged photo was poor, but she recognised herself and the other MI5 operative, only it wasn't Adam she was being embraced by. Although the height and build of both male officers were similar, the man in the shot was older. “That's not Carter.”
“You'd better not be lying to me, Annabelle.”
“I know it isn't him because he wasn't the one I had to pose as a girlfriend for. It was one of my rare undercover operations, one which required my skills as a linguist. ”
“Is that so? What's the man's name?”
“Whoever gave you this is just playing with you.”
“Who is the man, Annabelle?” he insisted, and for a fleeting moment she imagined she could hear a trace of jealousy in the question. “And think carefully before giving me an answer,” he whispered against her hair.
So far, she'd not been hurt and she supposed she ought to be grateful, but she was no fool; she could recognise leashed anger when she was around it.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
He'd promised... The jab of the needle had taken her completely unawares and, for the first time since her abduction, she experienced real panic.
"I swear I didn't have anything to do with what they did to him. Please... don't do this,” she begged.
“What in God's name are you doing?! She was going to give me his name. I'd given her my word,” she heard him shout from a distance as the drugs kicked in.
“I don't want to be one more on the list of those who'd failed to watch your back. You should know better than to let a pretty face blind you. You know this is the only way you'll be 100% certain what she's saying is nothing but the truth,” replied Tom soberly.”Ask her again who the man in the photo is. Ask her about the offshore account in her name and if she's a member of Tiresias.”
Annabelle's mouth felt as if it were full of cotton and no matter how hard she tried to put her jumbled thoughts into words, she was physically incapable of denying any of the accusations which were being hurled at her once again.
Why didn't he do anything? Why did he allow Tom to treat her this way? He was the one who was supposed to be in charge. Why didn't he rescue her?
“Please... help me,” she slurred.
By the time Lucas finally answered her pleas and held her in his arms, she was no longer aware of the world around her.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
When she came to she wasn't wearing a blindfold any more and yet darkness surrounded her.
She could still hear a kaleidoscope of muffled voices ringing in her ears. Harry's and Adam's... Tom's... and, above them all, the agonised whispers which had remained with her since that fateful night she hadn't been able to put behind herself.
Although she couldn't remember what the voices had asked or what she'd said, there was something she was sure of, she'd told them everything she knew just as Tom had predicted she would when he'd injected her that serum. She'd broken down, but she hadn't been alone, a pair of arms had caught her, arms which had made her feel safe in spite of it all.
Her mouth was dry and her throat felt like sandpaper when she tried to swallow.
“Easy,” said the voice of her captor's softly. “Small sips or you'll make yourself sick,” he added, slipping his hand under her head gingerly to help her drink.
“How long...” she asked in a raspy voice as he carefully laid her head against the pillow.
“Too long, Golubushka. I thought you'd never wake up.”
Annabelle told herself she should hate him and recoil in disgust from him after what he'd allowed Tom to put her through. However, the undeniable anger and concern in his voice, the gentleness of his touch mollified her. Even though she couldn't remember everything that she'd been asked and everything she'd said, she could still hear the censure in the shouts he'd addressed to Tom as the syringe had pricked her neck and feel the ghost of his gentle arms around her when, drained, she'd broken down and sobbed.
“Извините. Мне так жаль, “ he apologised quietly.
“You do believe me, don't you?” she asked in a thin voice, turning her face on the pillow in the direction of his voice.”I wasn't there... I could have never.... done that to him,”she hiccuped.
“Shhh... I know. I believe you. Now rest, Golubushka.” he soothed her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.”You're safe now. I swear I won't let anyone hurt you again and that includes me. “
“Please,” she beseeched him, grabbing his shirt with trembling fingers as he started to move away from her body,”please, let me go. I promise I won't tell them anything.”
“I wish I could, Annabelle. There's too much I've yet to understand. Believe me when I say it isn't safe for you to leave just now. Let me live up to the promise I've made to you. I won't see you harmed.”
Not for the first time she resented being engulfed in this darkness, unable to make out the face of this man who'd managed to breach the protective walls around her.
“Please,” she whispered again, feeling the tears finally rolling down her cheeks, her deep attraction for the dark stranger waging war in her chest against the urgent need to go back to the safety of home.
“Golubushka,“ he murmured wiping away the moisture from her face, a tender move which only ended up having the opposite effect when she was suddenly seized by racking sobs.
Whispered words of comfort and the safe refuge of his arms eventually chased the storm away.
“Go to sleep now, Annabelle,” he told her softly.
“I don't think I can... Would you... would you stay with me? Just...” she stammered.
“Of course. I'll stay until you fall asleep.”
“Do you think you could... ? Would you talk to me?”
“What do you want me to talk about?”
“It doesn't matter what... I just find your voice... soothing.”
“OK,” he replied with a smile. “I don't know any bed time stories. Do you like poetry?”
“Mm,” she assented.
“Then, close your eyes,” he commanded gently before starting with a poem his father, the minister, used to recite to him when he was a child.
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
The sun was rising on the horizon when he untangled Annabelle's fingers from his and slipped out of the room.
No matter how much he wished he could have stayed and watched her beautiful tear-stained face in repose, light was his enemy.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
When Tom entered the study a couple of hours later, Lucas was sitting in an armchair, studying the grainy black and white photo which had precipitated the events of the previous morning as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” asked Tom, setting down his on the coffee table between them.
The answer was lying on the mahogany desk in front of the window; an empty mug and a plate with only breadcrumbs.
“How is she?” he added when no response was heard.
“I don't like you very much this morning, Quinn,” gritted Lucas, looking at his friend from under his long eyelashes.
“You know you'd have done the same in my shoes, Lucas. Sometimes it's necessary for an impartial party to step in. You'd been dancing around each other for far too long, entangled in whatever this... this thing... between you is called.”
“Christ, Tom! You injected her a dose which could have knocked out an elephant.”
“It got you the answers you wanted, didn't it? She's clean. Lucas, you can hate me all you want for what I did yesterday, but I only had your interests and your ex-wife's at heart. For all we knew, Annabelle might have been a KGB sleeper since her childhood, planted in MI5 after my resignation to be activated at their convenience.”
“Tell Christine I want her to arrange a meeting with her contact.”
“You're not thinking of going on your own.”
“I'll use the confessional in that church we used to attend on Sundays when we were at university. I don't need to see his face to get what I want from him.”
“Who's the man in the picture, Lucas? ”
“A ghost from the past. He knows I was the source and must be aware I'm alive. This picture proves it. He's made his move. Now it's time I made mine.”
“OK. We'll play it your way, but I'll go too.That's non-negotiable,” replied Tom, taking a sip of his frothy coffee.
“Talk to your wife. I'm going to have a walk in the gardens.”
“Lucas?”
“What?”
“At least now you know she's as obsessed as you are,” smiled Tom smugly in obvious reference to Annabelle.
“She's obsessed with a dead man.”
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
“I've been expecting your call,” replied the voice after the third ring.
“Come to the usual rendezvous point at five. Alone. We need to talk.”
“L...”
“Watch your back,” snapped Lucas, disconnecting the call.
READ CHAPTER VI
A/N: Golubushka is a term of endearment equivalent to “my darling” and it means “little dove.”
The poem which Lucas recited to Annabelle is William Blake's 'A Cradle Song' (from “Songs of Innocence”) .
A/N 2: I posted a new instalment of my "Guy & Marian Acrostic Series" a few days ago. Remember to check it out if you haven't yet: Y is for Yearning.
AUTHOR: Lexie aka lillianschild
FANDOM: Spooks/MI5
RATING: PG13
PAIRING: Lucas/OC
SUMMARY: Section D has a traitor in its midst and a mysterious man arrives with what appears to be the key to rid MI5 of the mole.
A/N: this fic is my own version of Series 7. I will probably update it once a month, considering my busy work schedule, and try to pen a one-shot in between to continue my Guy & Marian Acrostic Series.
Disclaimer: all recognisable characters belong to BBC and Kudos Productions; I'm just playing with them for a little while without making a profit. No infringement's intended.
READ THE BEGINNING HERE
READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE
CHAPTER FIVE
When Tom left her alone in her bedroom and turned the key in the lock, Annabelle removed her blindfold and walked to the mullioned window. There was no grill over the outside and nothing in the room that she could use to pick the padlock which kept the window sealed. The only possibility of escape was to break the double-glazed pane, slip through the chipped glass and jump two storeys because there was no trellis or anything she could hold onto on her way down. The thought was discarded almost as soon as it had sprung up; the noise would have them barging into the room in no time and, even if she were lucky enough to get out of the room, the chance of her not breaking her neck or ending up in a wheelchair was too slim to risk it.
Several hours later, after devouring what she had to confess was the most mouth-watering lunch she'd ever tasted, she was stirred from her slumber by the sound of the key unlocking the door. Tom was back to retrieve the tray and leave a gift-wrapped box on the dressing-table before slipping out without uttering a word; no amount of cajoling on her part ever since her abduction had managed to get a word from him.
No sooner had the lights been turned on than she got up and crossed the room to grab the box and the small light-blue envelope she found on top of it. Curious, she slipped out the card and read the note scribbled in a masculine and beautiful handwriting- it shouldn't have come as a surprise considering who'd written it. Annabelle wondered if the wrapping would be as beguiling as everything about him she'd experienced so far; somehow, she suspected it would. A pity she'd never get to see what he actually looked like.
An invitation to dine accompanied by a classic black dress, thigh-high tights and a pair of matching high heels to wear for the occasion. This man would never cease to surprise her. Was this an attempt to seduce her? The gown wasn't the kind one would get off-the-peg; the fabric felt heavy, expensive and sensual to the touch. She'd never owned anything like it; her wardrobe featured mostly utilitarian clothes or sober trouser suits, an armour meant to disguise the softness both Harry and Lucas had managed to recognise in her.
She caressed the material, fighting the urge to try it on. She'd have to take off her cotton underwear and slip on the silk and lace one-piece designed to follow the cut of the dress or else her bra would show under the décolletage. He's thought of everything, she blushed. The temptation to give in just to see what he'd seen, if only in the privacy of her room, eventually won.
He'd got all her measures right. The meaning of such a discovery wasn't lost on her; he'd either checked out the labels on her clothes when going through her things or taken visual measurements while he interrogated her. Annabelle didn't know if she should feel insulted but, seeing the sensual and sophisticated woman reflected in the mirror, she acknowledged it was flattering to have a man think of her that way, especially when she had never seen herself in such a light.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
Tom knocked and at the response, guided the young woman to her place at the table before untying her hands.
She didn't need to have her blindfold removed to know she'd never been in this room before, nor did she need the use of her eyes to realise he was already there; she would have recognised that subtle yet utterly masculine fragrance anywhere.
“Good evening, Miss Reed.Thank you for joining me,” said the chocolatey voice close to her ear, helping her pull up her chair. “It seems apologies are in order; the dress didn't fit... Or is there another reason for your decision not to wear it tonight?”
“The gown was beautiful. It just wasn't my style,” she replied, choosing to tell him the truth but keeping the fact it had actually fitted not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she'd even tried it on.
“You've been around the wrong men if that's what you've been taught to believe. Wine?”
“I'd rather have a glass of water, please,” she said, wondering when she'd ever blushed so much around a man.
“I promise it hasn't been doctored nor am I trying to make you drunk to have my way with you,” he reassured her with a smile in his voice.
“One glass then. I wouldn't like my host to think of me as ungrateful,” she told him. She wasn't planning on getting drunk but she needed the Dutch courage to live through dinner with her integrity intact.
A long-stemmed glass of cold white wine was placed in her hand and, once again, she felt butterflies in her stomach at the simple touch of those long, lean fingers, shaped like a musician's.
She took a rather large sip and welcomed the fact she now had something to hold onto that could help disguise the slight shaking of her hands.
“Is your job everything you hoped for when you gave up a promising career as a scholar? Does it make you happy, Annabelle?”
“I'm pleased when we manage to make a major dent in the plans of whoever happens to jeopardise the security of the realm. So, yes, I'm happy.”
“Are you really satisfied with the outcome of the operation Sir Harry Pearce dragged you into six months ago, despite the fact that some very important links in the chain slipped through your fingers? Despite all the collateral damage? We haven't known each other for long, but I pride myself on knowing how to read people.”
“Do you? Then you should already know I can't give you what I don't have. And you shouldn't have gone to all this trouble to impress me; you already knew I'd come. I'm your prisoner, after all.”
“I know the current circumstances would never allow for you to consider yourself as my guest... Believe me when I say it's never been my intention to hurt you in any way. You're here only to talk.”
“You're making me feel guilty. What is so special about me that makes me deserving of a treatment different from the one Carter and Delaney got? Is it because I'm a woman? What do you expect to get from me tonight?”
“I want us to pretend, if only for a short while, that we're just a normal couple- a man and a woman sharing a bottle of wine and having an intelligent conversation over dinner. No spy games. No secret agendas,” he suggested, his velvety voice trickling over her like honey.
If she were honest with herself, she found the idea really alluring. There was no use pretending she wasn't aware of the attraction between them when it'd been there from the start. In fact, she had to keep reminding herself who he was and what he did because everything about him seemed contrary to the man she'd expected him to be. His manners, his tastes and his treatment of her were anything but coarse; he was what her late father would have called a genuine gentleman- the kind of partner he'd have wished for his only daughter. God, you're falling into the most common place trap, Annabelle. You should know better than to become a willing victim of your captor. Stockholm Syndrome, remember?
Even though she'd always been a sensible woman, she couldn't help but fall under the spell of his beautiful northern accent with a barely disguised flavour of Slavic and, yes, his subtle and utterly masculine scent. And who could blame her for wanting to believe him when he told her he meant her no harm? It was so difficult not to believe he actually cared, seeing the way he provided for her every comfort. After all, hadn't he even spent a night of vigil at her bedside afraid she was concussed?
Annabelle wondered how far she'd be willing to use the palpable attraction between them to her advantage; she should be disgusted to even consider it but she wasn't. Once again she appreciated the concealment provided by the blindfold she was made to wear whenever she was in his presence; what he stirred in her with his voice and the brush of his hands was dangerous enough without having to look at temptation in the eye.
“What's wrong?” he asked on hearing the door open, putting an end to her musings.
Was that annoyance in his voice? Not being able to tell what he was actually feeling, when reading his motivations was so important to her current predicament, frustrated her immensely.
“Мне очень жаль, дорогая. Боюсь, нам придется отложить наш обед. Something's turned up which demands my immediate attention,” he apologised calmly after receiving a softly whispered message that she hadn't been able to make out.”Maybe later... Please, forgive me.”
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
After a tray had been delivered to her room and the elegant dinner savoured with a hearty appetite, Annabelle lay on her bed wondering what urgent business had interrupted the candlelight dinner the man with the silken voice had planned so carefully.
Мне очень жаль, дорогая. He'd called her darling again and she couldn't help but remember the clear tinge of regret in his voice when he'd been forced to leave her alone.
Sleep didn't come easy that night; her mind being in a whirl and her emotions in a turmoil of confusion. Finally, exhausted, slumber found her only for Tom to shake her awake a few hours later.
His rough treatment of her was disconcerting after the kid glove routine which had been the norm ever since her capture, and Annabelle felt a tight knot in her stomach as sudden fear seized her.
Had it all been a game meant to lull her into a false sense of security? Had it all been a skilfully devised plan of her captor's to make her believe he was attracted to her and that such a protection would shelter her from harm?
Something was definitely not right seeing she was dragged down the stairs blindfolded and wearing only her nightclothes. This just wasn't his style.
Tom opened a door and pushed her inside, pulling her down into a chair and tying her hands behind her back. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of; her captor had promised he wouldn't hurt her...and yet, the palpable tense silence in the room told her something different. He was there; she could feel his powerful aura touch her with invisible fingers.
When Tom stepped back, she knew it was only a matter of time before the man she'd felt inexorably pulled to since her kidnapping made his move. However, what actually occurred was unlike anything she'd expected.
Long careful fingers threaded through her chestnut hair, untangling the tresses she hadn't been allowed to brush out. She found the gentle pull hypnotically relaxing, and the trepidation which had seized her eased a little. Maybe she'd read too much into Tom's actions, maybe he'd simply had a tough day and needed to take it out on someone. Maybe...
“Are you a liar, Annabelle?” asked close to her ear the dark and mellifluous voice she knew so well. “Is there a betraying heart beating behind that soft façade?” he added, suddenly clenching his until then caressing fingers in her hair, piercing her cocoon of safety and bringing her back to earth.
“What do you mean? I...” she began, making an effort to control the tremor in her voice.
“Don't lie to me,” he interrupted her, his tone dangerously silky. “You said Adam Carter was with you on The Grid the night of the exchange, that he wasn't on the site where your asset was handed over to MI-5.”
“Yes” she replied quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat, wondering where his questioning was heading. “Both of us were at Thames House. Harry Pearce sent him to get me...”
“Had you seen Carter before he came for you?”
“We spent the whole afternoon in the archives and then returned to our desks. He only stepped out twenty minutes to get us freshly brewed coffee and some snacks.”
“Twenty minutes? Are you sure about the time frame? Immersed as I imagined you were in dossiers, couldn't your time perception have been altered?”
“I don't understand... What is it you're hinting at?”
“Are you sure he wasn't away longer? Enough to drive to the rendezvous point and back?”
“I'm sure. I'll never forget what time it was when he came back without the snacks and with the order for both of us to be airborne to the Hall where our asset was dying... a very painful death, denied the relief of drugs beyond local anaesthetics.”
“How do you explain this picture then?” he asked coldly after an eerily pregnant silence, pulling her blindfold back from behind and placing the heels of his hands on either side of her temples to make sure her eyes were focused on the black and white grainy photo projected on the wall. “That's you, Miss Reed, isn't it? You and Carter really cosy outside the warehouse where your asset was being beaten and tortured within an inch of his life.”
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “We weren't there... I wasn't there. Are you suggesting... ” she croaked, “are you suggesting Carter and I... that I witnessed that savagery and...”
“Are you saying this picture was doctored? That you and your partner aren't the traitors this evidence reveals you to be. That you didn't know the identity of the prisoner,” he grated, tightening the hold on her hair.
“You can't... you can't believe I would...”
“I don't know what to believe. If there's one thing I've learnt in this business, it's that at the end of the day there's only one person you can trust- yourself.”
“Does Tom know that's what you think?” she replied in defiance, determined not to reveal how frightened she was.
“Do you deny it's you in that picture?”
“I can't. I was there... but not that night. That location's been used as a rendezvous point by MI5 more than once. I don't know what your source's told you but that photo was taken last year.”
The quality of the enlarged photo was poor, but she recognised herself and the other MI5 operative, only it wasn't Adam she was being embraced by. Although the height and build of both male officers were similar, the man in the shot was older. “That's not Carter.”
“You'd better not be lying to me, Annabelle.”
“I know it isn't him because he wasn't the one I had to pose as a girlfriend for. It was one of my rare undercover operations, one which required my skills as a linguist. ”
“Is that so? What's the man's name?”
“Whoever gave you this is just playing with you.”
“Who is the man, Annabelle?” he insisted, and for a fleeting moment she imagined she could hear a trace of jealousy in the question. “And think carefully before giving me an answer,” he whispered against her hair.
So far, she'd not been hurt and she supposed she ought to be grateful, but she was no fool; she could recognise leashed anger when she was around it.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
He'd promised... The jab of the needle had taken her completely unawares and, for the first time since her abduction, she experienced real panic.
"I swear I didn't have anything to do with what they did to him. Please... don't do this,” she begged.
“What in God's name are you doing?! She was going to give me his name. I'd given her my word,” she heard him shout from a distance as the drugs kicked in.
“I don't want to be one more on the list of those who'd failed to watch your back. You should know better than to let a pretty face blind you. You know this is the only way you'll be 100% certain what she's saying is nothing but the truth,” replied Tom soberly.”Ask her again who the man in the photo is. Ask her about the offshore account in her name and if she's a member of Tiresias.”
Annabelle's mouth felt as if it were full of cotton and no matter how hard she tried to put her jumbled thoughts into words, she was physically incapable of denying any of the accusations which were being hurled at her once again.
Why didn't he do anything? Why did he allow Tom to treat her this way? He was the one who was supposed to be in charge. Why didn't he rescue her?
“Please... help me,” she slurred.
By the time Lucas finally answered her pleas and held her in his arms, she was no longer aware of the world around her.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
When she came to she wasn't wearing a blindfold any more and yet darkness surrounded her.
She could still hear a kaleidoscope of muffled voices ringing in her ears. Harry's and Adam's... Tom's... and, above them all, the agonised whispers which had remained with her since that fateful night she hadn't been able to put behind herself.
Although she couldn't remember what the voices had asked or what she'd said, there was something she was sure of, she'd told them everything she knew just as Tom had predicted she would when he'd injected her that serum. She'd broken down, but she hadn't been alone, a pair of arms had caught her, arms which had made her feel safe in spite of it all.
Her mouth was dry and her throat felt like sandpaper when she tried to swallow.
“Easy,” said the voice of her captor's softly. “Small sips or you'll make yourself sick,” he added, slipping his hand under her head gingerly to help her drink.
“How long...” she asked in a raspy voice as he carefully laid her head against the pillow.
“Too long, Golubushka. I thought you'd never wake up.”
Annabelle told herself she should hate him and recoil in disgust from him after what he'd allowed Tom to put her through. However, the undeniable anger and concern in his voice, the gentleness of his touch mollified her. Even though she couldn't remember everything that she'd been asked and everything she'd said, she could still hear the censure in the shouts he'd addressed to Tom as the syringe had pricked her neck and feel the ghost of his gentle arms around her when, drained, she'd broken down and sobbed.
“Извините. Мне так жаль, “ he apologised quietly.
“You do believe me, don't you?” she asked in a thin voice, turning her face on the pillow in the direction of his voice.”I wasn't there... I could have never.... done that to him,”she hiccuped.
“Shhh... I know. I believe you. Now rest, Golubushka.” he soothed her, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead.”You're safe now. I swear I won't let anyone hurt you again and that includes me. “
“Please,” she beseeched him, grabbing his shirt with trembling fingers as he started to move away from her body,”please, let me go. I promise I won't tell them anything.”
“I wish I could, Annabelle. There's too much I've yet to understand. Believe me when I say it isn't safe for you to leave just now. Let me live up to the promise I've made to you. I won't see you harmed.”
Not for the first time she resented being engulfed in this darkness, unable to make out the face of this man who'd managed to breach the protective walls around her.
“Please,” she whispered again, feeling the tears finally rolling down her cheeks, her deep attraction for the dark stranger waging war in her chest against the urgent need to go back to the safety of home.
“Golubushka,“ he murmured wiping away the moisture from her face, a tender move which only ended up having the opposite effect when she was suddenly seized by racking sobs.
Whispered words of comfort and the safe refuge of his arms eventually chased the storm away.
“Go to sleep now, Annabelle,” he told her softly.
“I don't think I can... Would you... would you stay with me? Just...” she stammered.
“Of course. I'll stay until you fall asleep.”
“Do you think you could... ? Would you talk to me?”
“What do you want me to talk about?”
“It doesn't matter what... I just find your voice... soothing.”
“OK,” he replied with a smile. “I don't know any bed time stories. Do you like poetry?”
“Mm,” she assented.
“Then, close your eyes,” he commanded gently before starting with a poem his father, the minister, used to recite to him when he was a child.
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
The sun was rising on the horizon when he untangled Annabelle's fingers from his and slipped out of the room.
No matter how much he wished he could have stayed and watched her beautiful tear-stained face in repose, light was his enemy.
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
When Tom entered the study a couple of hours later, Lucas was sitting in an armchair, studying the grainy black and white photo which had precipitated the events of the previous morning as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” asked Tom, setting down his on the coffee table between them.
The answer was lying on the mahogany desk in front of the window; an empty mug and a plate with only breadcrumbs.
“How is she?” he added when no response was heard.
“I don't like you very much this morning, Quinn,” gritted Lucas, looking at his friend from under his long eyelashes.
“You know you'd have done the same in my shoes, Lucas. Sometimes it's necessary for an impartial party to step in. You'd been dancing around each other for far too long, entangled in whatever this... this thing... between you is called.”
“Christ, Tom! You injected her a dose which could have knocked out an elephant.”
“It got you the answers you wanted, didn't it? She's clean. Lucas, you can hate me all you want for what I did yesterday, but I only had your interests and your ex-wife's at heart. For all we knew, Annabelle might have been a KGB sleeper since her childhood, planted in MI5 after my resignation to be activated at their convenience.”
“Tell Christine I want her to arrange a meeting with her contact.”
“You're not thinking of going on your own.”
“I'll use the confessional in that church we used to attend on Sundays when we were at university. I don't need to see his face to get what I want from him.”
“Who's the man in the picture, Lucas? ”
“A ghost from the past. He knows I was the source and must be aware I'm alive. This picture proves it. He's made his move. Now it's time I made mine.”
“OK. We'll play it your way, but I'll go too.That's non-negotiable,” replied Tom, taking a sip of his frothy coffee.
“Talk to your wife. I'm going to have a walk in the gardens.”
“Lucas?”
“What?”
“At least now you know she's as obsessed as you are,” smiled Tom smugly in obvious reference to Annabelle.
“She's obsessed with a dead man.”
* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~* ~*
“I've been expecting your call,” replied the voice after the third ring.
“Come to the usual rendezvous point at five. Alone. We need to talk.”
“L...”
“Watch your back,” snapped Lucas, disconnecting the call.
READ CHAPTER VI
A/N: Golubushka is a term of endearment equivalent to “my darling” and it means “little dove.”
The poem which Lucas recited to Annabelle is William Blake's 'A Cradle Song' (from “Songs of Innocence”) .
A/N 2: I posted a new instalment of my "Guy & Marian Acrostic Series" a few days ago. Remember to check it out if you haven't yet: Y is for Yearning.