Breaking (Fall or Break #2) (17 page)

“Fine.”

“Two coffees.”

After the barman walked away, Conrad opened his laptop.

Archer let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you have to?”

“I’m checking whether Sev has gotten back to me. Yep, he has. He’s attached a list of recently released prisoners.”

“Once you’ve downloaded it, turn off the Wi-Fi connection.” He imagined invisible signals pinging their way to some listening station, a super-computer working out their location. Archer wished he had a better grasp of computer technology.

The drinks arrived and Archer picked up a coffee.

Conrad opened the document. “Twelve names and addresses.”

“Any look interesting?”

“I remember the cases. Eleven of them I was prosecuting. One defending.”

“It’s more likely to be an aggrieved guy you defended. I don’t see how you can be held responsible for a sentence handed down by a judge.”

“But my argument convinced the jury to find someone guilty. Though I agree it seems more likely to be someone I unsuccessfully defended, but that one name of the twelve is a woman who killed her husband, stabbed him more than fifty times. Sentenced to eight years and served four.” He cradled his coffee. “She was grateful it wasn’t more. She told me she hoped she got life. I don’t think she has anything to do with it.”

“Which leaves you with the more recent cases you’ve had in court.”

The food arrived and they fell silent until the waiter had gone.

Conrad opened another document and scanned it while he ate. “I’ve already been through all these. Not in detail but I remembered enough to dismiss them. It’s going to take me days to go through the court transcripts, and I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

“Apart from your client, think if there was anyone else who seemed unnaturally irate or anxious.”

Conrad chuckled. “Every case has someone like that. Some pissed-off wife, father, mother, son, girlfriend. What if it’s a policeman who feels I let down the justice system? A witness who took offence at my line of questioning? Barristers are almost as unpopular as hitmen.”

Archer raised his eyebrows.

“You can’t help me with this,” Conrad said. “I just need to work through them.”

He kept reading while they ate. Archer fed Deefor scraps of chicken under the table. He wished he could relax in the warmth of the blazing fire but he felt on edge. Through the window, he saw fat snowflakes beginning to fall from a leaden sky. A few more minutes and they’d get on the road. Archer pulled his phone from his pocket, reinserted the battery and switched it on to see a text from Phoenix.

Jason Morgan. Convicted of death by dangerous driving. Ten-year sentence handed down 9 months ago. Killed in prison 3 months ago. His elder brother is Dave Morgan, violent and dangerous head of family-based crime network with links to sex trade, drug trafficking and fraud. Rumor has it Dave did not react well to news of brother’s death.

Archer powered down his phone.

Conrad glanced at him. “Okay?”

“Does the name Jason Morgan mean anything?”

“Knocked down and killed a mother and child in the middle of a zebra crossing. Excessive speed and under the influence.”

“He’s dead.”

“Is he?”

“Killed in prison three months ago.”

Conrad straightened. “Who told you about him?”

“Phoenix.”

Conrad’s jaw twitched. “After you told him not to? You’re not going to work for him. It’s not going to happen.”

Archer smiled. “Okay.” And when they threatened to kill Conrad if he didn’t, what was he supposed to do?

Conrad took his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to call Sev.”

Archer put his hand on Conrad’s. “Dave Morgan, older brother, head of the family-based crime network. Ever meet him?”

Conrad nodded.

“His reaction when his brother went down?”

“He came to court every day of the trial. He’d accepted there’d be a custodial sentence but he wanted Jason in an open prison as soon as possible. Eighteen years old and the kid had never been in trouble before. He was due to go to university. In fact, he…oh fuck. You think Dave Morgan blames me for his brother’s death? I’ll call Sev. See what he can find out.”

After that, they’d leave. Anxiety was building in Archer. They’d been in this pub long enough.

Conrad ended the call. “It won’t take him long. Shall we have another coffee?”

“We’re leaving.” Archer tossed a handful of notes on the table and rose to his feet. “Come on, Deefor.”

The snow had covered everything with a thin white layer, as if the world had been carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Archer turned up the heater in the car and headed out of the car park. Conrad’s phone rang as Archer pulled onto the road.

“I’ll put it on speaker,” Conrad said. “Yes, Sev.”

“I should have spotted him,” said the guy. “Jason was stabbed in a fight in his cell block. Coincidentally, by another guy you prosecuted, Darren Betts. In for life for murdering his wife.”

“Shit,” Conrad hissed.

“The Morgans are close-knit,” Sev said. “Dave Morgan stays one step ahead of the law. His hands are dirty but the police have never managed to pin anything directly on him. Not for want of trying. This is not good, Conrad. The guy’s a wealthy and dangerous thug and he has even more dangerous scum working for him. Do you have any proof he’s behind it?”

He glanced at Archer. “No.”

“Look after yourself.”

“Yeah, well if I turn up dead, remember this conversation.” Conrad switched off his phone and stuck it in his pocket. “I’m not sure if I wanted to know that or not. Presumably any evidence it was his guys who did the killing at Marram Cottage will have been obliterated by your broker’s cleanup crew.”

“Yes. But I don’t think the Morgan family will be a problem for long.”

Conrad groaned. “Don’t tell me that.”

“The snow’s getting worse.”

“Don’t tell me that either.”

The car slid on the road and Archer steered into the skid and corrected their direction of travel. “You should be safe pretty soon.”
And I won’t be.

Conrad gave a heavy sigh. “Couldn’t you have asked before you brought me here?”

Archer glanced at him. “Asked what?”

“If I wanted to stay with my father? Wasn’t the fact that I hadn’t spoken to him in fifteen years enough of a clue?”

“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He returned his attention to the road; the conditions were worsening, but he could feel Conrad staring at him.

“Then where are we headed?” Conrad asked.

“I was thinking Oxford, but I’m not sure in this weather.”

The snow seemed to be flying at them horizontally. The windshield wipers struggled to cope.

Conrad gave a short laugh. “My family home is about ten miles away.”

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” Archer tightened his grip on the wheel. “If I’d known you had connections to the area I wouldn’t have stopped at the pub.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Being traced. If Phoenix gets a fix on the pub from either my phone or your laptop, not hard to put two and two together and assume we’re heading for your father’s place. We’ll keep going.”

“Look at this weather,” Conrad said. “We’d be better off at my father’s than stuck in a ditch. No one’s going to be following us in this. The rate the snow’s falling, the minor roads are going to be blocked before long. We can leave first thing. I
want
to leave first thing.”

Archer thought quickly. He could leave Conrad with his father and go and deal with Dave Morgan himself, or at least ensure Phoenix had handled the situation. He didn’t want to be beholden to the broker but it was too late now. “Okay. Give me directions.”

But by the time Conrad directed him down narrowing lanes filling with snow and through large iron gates onto a winding drive, road conditions had deteriorated from bad to dangerous and Archer knew he was unlikely to go anywhere until the snow stopped. That also meant the chance of anyone driving to the house was slim. The car slipped and slithered along a road running through a wooded area before the house came into view. Except it wasn’t a house, it was a fucking castle. And was that a moat?

“We go past this then, do we, to a little two-bedroom shack beyond?” Archer said.

“I’d have probably been happier.”

No you wouldn’t.
“How old is this place?”

“There was already a building on the site when the manor house was built in the early 1300s, but most of what you can see dates from later. Crenellations and a battlemented wall were added to the gatehouse, which is why it’s called a castle. Drayburn Castle.”

“Oh right. You lived in a castle. Fucking hell. How long has your family owned it?”

“Since 1790.”

“Christ. Do you have a title apart from wanker?”

Conrad squirmed. “My father is the Earl of Ashbury so my title is a courtesy one. It actually belongs to my father.”

“What is it?”

“Viscount Cottingham.”

Jesus Christ.
Archer drove past an empty, chained-up public car park, over a bridge and up to a gated entrance. He lowered the window, pressed the button on an intercom and nodded to Conrad. “You talk.”

“Hello?” said a crackly voice.

“Is that you, Michaels? It’s Conrad. Is my father in?”

“It is indeed me, my lord. Yes, your father is at home. I’ll open the gate and tell him you’re here.”

Archer put up the window. “My lord?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

The metal gates slowly swung open and Archer drove through into a large courtyard. He was pleased to see the gates close behind him but they wouldn’t stop anyone determined to get through.

As they exited the car and walked up the steps toward wooden double doors, one side opened and an elderly man in a black suit stood there smiling.

“Hello, Michaels,” Conrad said and walked in, Deefor and Archer following.

Conrad shook his hand and the old guy looked as though he was about to cry.

“I’m delighted to see you, my lord. And walking too. Wonderful. Your father’s in the drawing room. Shall I…er…take the dog to the kitchen and find it a sausage?”

Deefor went straight to the man’s feet, sat down and stared up at him adoringly.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Michaels said. “Can I bring you refreshments? Sausages too perhaps?”

“Not yet,” Conrad said. “But thank you.”

Archer followed Conrad as he walked down a chilly corridor. This looked exactly the sort of place the public paid a fortune to come and see. Oil paintings of ugly people, furniture you couldn’t sit on, chandeliers you couldn’t swing on. Don’t touch, don’t breathe too heavily. Conrad was from a different planet. When the guy turned, Archer almost walked into him.

“Want me to wait outside?” Archer asked.

“I was just thinking this was a bad idea. We should leave.”

“We aren’t going anywhere in this blizzard. Your father can’t be that bad.”

Conrad pushed open a door and entered the room. A man rose from a chair by a blazing fire, turned to face them and Archer froze. His world imploded as his brain struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. Conrad must have sensed him come to a stop because he spun around. Archer made sure his expression remained neutral. Over Conrad’s shoulder he stared at the face of the man he’d known as Kenneth Perrin and saw the swift shift from shock into the same blank mask Archer had adopted. Archer walked to Conrad’s side.

“Father,” Conrad said and shook the guy’s hand. “This is Archer Hart, a friend of mine.”

Archer held out his hand and the hard squeeze he received was definitely a warning.
Fuck that.

“Pleased to meet you,” Conrad’s father said.

Archer stayed silent, thinking.

“Do sit down. Get warm. How are you?” He stared intently at Conrad. “Clearly you’re doing well. Walking unaided. That’s excellent. What brings you here? Not that I’m unhappy to see you. Far from it.”

“We were in the area and it started to snow. I thought perhaps we could stay the night.”

“Yes. Of course.”

His father might not have shown disappointment but Archer could feel it emanating from him. Displeasure that Conrad had only come through necessity.

“I’ll tell Michaels you’ll be eating with us. Would you like something now? A drink?”

“We’re fine, thanks.”

Conrad sounded formal and starched, as though he’d stepped into a different body. Archer wondered what he’d say if he knew his father had been the man who recruited him into the Secret Intelligence Service.

Chapter Fifteen

Conrad fixed his gaze on the fire, knowing his father was staring at him as if he didn’t quite believe he was there. But when he glanced up, it was Archer under his father’s intense scrutiny. Conrad had never brought anyone home before, hadn’t even been here for fifteen years because he’d known anyone he brought wouldn’t be welcome.

“I’ll go and get the bags from the car.” Archer rose to his feet.

“Michaels will do it,” said Conrad’s father.

“No. It’s no problem.”

“Let Michaels show you where you’ll be sleeping. Guest rooms are always ready.”

“We only need one room,” Conrad said.

His father’s lips thinned before he inclined his head. Conrad had expected more of a reaction, though his father did seem to sag when the door closed after Archer. He settled back in his seat.

“I’m pleased to see you on your feet,” his father said.

“Not as pleased as me.”

“Are you planning to return to work?”

“Not yet.” Conrad waited for the question he suspected his father really wanted to ask.

“Archer. What do you know about him? What does he do?”

“He’s self-employed, a business solutions guy.”

“Where did you meet him? Have you known him long?”

“I met him in the northeast. No, I haven’t known him long.”

“Are you sure you can…trust him?”

“With what?”

His father sighed. “I worry about you.”

“Do you?”

“You seemed so settled with your other young man.”

It didn’t surprise Conrad that his father knew about Malachi. His mother had probably told him, but Malachi was out of bounds.

There was a knock on the door and Michaels came in pushing a trolley. “I took the liberty of bringing refreshments, my lords. Mr. Hart has brought in your bags and taken the dog for a short walk. Cook just happens to have made scones. She told me to tell you that she’ll have a carrot cake ready by this evening.”

“My favorite,” Conrad said and got up to help himself.

The cook was Michaels’s wife. They’d been with the family since Conrad had been a small boy. It embarrassed him they’d remembered what he liked to eat, that Michaels’s greeting was so warm. In cutting himself off from his father, he’d also abandoned two people who’d never been anything but kind to him, often kinder than his own parents.

“Thank you for your card when I was in the hospital,” Conrad said. “How have you been? You and Mrs. Michaels?”

“Very well indeed, my lord. Thank you. Especially since your father allowed us an extra log each night for the fire.”

Conrad’s father laughed, a sound Conrad had rarely heard him made.

“There might not be enough scones.” Conrad put another on his plate.

“There are six,” his father said. “How many can you eat?”

“I shall rectify the shortage of scones at once, my lord.” Michaels smiled and left the room.

“How long can you stay?” his father asked. “I should talk to you about the castle, show you the accounts.”

“Why? Not dying, are you?”
Oh God, did I have to say that?
He bit off a huge chunk of scone to shut himself up.

“No, but you’ll inherit this place one day. I’d like you to show more interest in it.”

“Even though I’m gay?”

“You’re my son.” A muscle ticked in his father’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was shocked. You didn’t seem the…”

It was the nearest that Conrad’s father would get to an apology. “Can I borrow
Robinson Crusoe
? You never did finish it.” Which was the nearest Conrad would get to one.

His father smiled. “I wasn’t sure you were even listening.”

“You read it when I was a boy. You didn’t read to us very often but that was the book you always picked. Jolyon’s favorite. He used to make me act it out. Of course, I had to be Friday, smear my face with mud and be Jolyon’s slave. I wasn’t pleased when he found out Friday was killed by arrows in the second book. Jolyon was a bloody good shot. I had sucker marks all over my body.”

“You two were inseparable.”

“Quite an irony that Crusoe’s father wanted him to study the law. I think I was desperate to be Crusoe and not Friday.”

“You worshiped your brother. After he died, you used to creep from your bed to his in the night. We’d find you there in the morning, curled up holding one of his toys.”

“I was too young to go to boarding school.”

“We thought it best, thought it would help you, being with other boys, being away from here and the memories. When your mother… I never wanted anything but the best for you. I just didn’t always show it in the right way. I
still
want the best for you.” He exhaled. “I’m not sure Archer is…the right one.”

I know he’s not. I wish he was. But you have no right to judge. You don’t even know him.
But then neither did Conrad.

“You can tell that from one handshake?” Conrad asked.

“Yes.”

Conrad helped himself to another scone with clotted cream and homemade strawberry jam. Maybe six
weren’t
enough.

Run, run, run.
The word kept repeating in Archer’s head. But when he stepped outside and saw how fast the snow was falling, he knew he’d end up in a ditch or worse. When he took the bags into the house and put them in the hall, Deefor still hovered by the door.

“At least take a piss,” Archer said.

The dog jumped down the steps and cocked his leg at the bottom. Checking he was unobserved, Archer retrieved the gun from his bag and tucked it into the back of his pants. Deefor ran indoors and Archer closed it before kicking fresh snow over the yellow stain. The door should be kept locked at all times, even if it
had
been left open for his return. Archer set off across the courtyard.

Conrad didn’t know what his father did. They’d clearly not ever done a “take your kid to work” day. Was the guy confessing now? He doubted it. More likely he was telling Conrad Archer was up to no good. Archer knew Conrad’s father as Kenneth Perrin. If Archer had met Conrad any other way than the one he had, he’d have suspected a setup. It
had
to be coincidence and yet Archer had trouble believing it. Conrad’s father obviously wanted him to stay quiet. At some point, the guy would no doubt find a way to have Conrad occupied elsewhere so they could talk. Archer guessed how that would go.
Get the fuck away from my son.

He stamped through the snow to the bridge, feeling a mixture of pissed off, alarmed and suspicious, hoping to find the gates more secure than he’d thought only to have his first impressions confirmed. Hit hard by a vehicle, they’d pop open. He supposed castles these days didn’t have to worry about invaders. On the plus side, it would be hard for any vehicle but a tank to work up enough momentum over the snow-covered humped bridge to hit the metal with any force. Maybe the gates would hold.

Heading past the car into the castle grounds, he did a circuit of the buildings and the gardens. Some parts of the castle were ruins but to get at any part of the structure, a visitor had to get over what was more than a moat, rather a lake. Archer thought about reconnoitering the area around the island but there seemed little point. Farmland and woods. Presumably a village beyond. He couldn’t police it. If there was trouble coming, it was the castle he needed to defend.
I’m Conrad’s knight.
A thought that made him smile.

At the rear of a stable block, he looked out over the snowy landscape, across the water onto rolling fields and woods beyond, rounded hills rising in the distance. This wasn’t where he’d done his training but it was in a place like it. Archer thought he’d never want to move if he lived here. He was only half-English, if his birth certificate could be believed, and his coloring led him to believe his father had been who his birth certificate claimed, but he felt English, loved the countryside, thought if he could settle anywhere, was ever allowed to settle, it would be in this country with a view like this. Though he’d never be a match for a lord.

A ball of snow landed on the side of his face and he spun around.

Conrad groaned as Archer made straight for him. “I wasn’t aiming for you.”

“Liar.”

“I didn’t think that through. I can’t run and you’re a brilliant shot.”

“Considering you’re a barrister, that was a bit of an oversight.” Archer wiped the melting snow from his face. “I think you should run.”

“I can’t.”

Archer scooped up snow and molded it into a ball. “Try.”

“Shit.”

Conrad was an easy target. Every snowball hit him. Archer hadn’t even needed to move. He didn’t think Conrad’s father had said anything. It wasn’t up to Archer to give his secret away.

Finally, Conrad stopped and looked back. “That was the last one, right? We’re even now.”

Archer rounded another ball of snow and packed it tight. “Put a snowball on the top of your head,” he called.

Conrad formed a ball of snow, rolled it until it was at least a foot in diameter and lifted it. “Okay, William Tell?”

Archer laughed. “Something smaller.”

Conrad dropped what he was holding and molded a normal-sized ball with his gloved hands. He balanced it on his head. Archer’s snowball sent it flying.

“Wow.” Conrad raised his eyebrows. “Let me have a go at that. Come closer.”

Archer walked toward him and stopped about twenty yards away.

Conrad packed snow into a ball. “Closer than that.”

“You have to be able to do it now.” Archer balanced a snowball on his head.

Conrad hit him in the mouth and was off before Archer had stopped coughing.

“You little shit,” Archer hissed. “That was deliberate.”

He caught him at the far end of the stable block, grabbed the collar of his coat and spun him around.

“Did I mention I’m a terrible shot?” Conrad asked. “Sorry.”

“You
will
be sorry…my lord.”

Archer felt and saw the shudder of lust ripple through Conrad, echoed by one of his own. His dick uncurled in his pants as he hauled Conrad around the corner out of sight of the castle and pressed him up against the wall. His cock went harder at the head-to-toe contact even with layers of material between them. They stared into each other’s eyes and Archer’s heart beat faster with every second that passed. He put his hand at the back of Conrad’s neck and pulled him forward so their foreheads rested together.

“You okay?” Archer asked.

“This place,” Conrad whispered. “Didn’t want to remember.”

The muscles in Conrad’s neck tensed under his cold fingers. Archer didn’t want to remember either, not about his recruitment, Chris on the mountain, the men he’d killed, but how could he forget? It was all he had. It was what made him what he was.

“If I hadn’t been there, Jolyon wouldn’t have died,” Conrad whispered. “He was showing off to
me
,
wanted
me
to see how fast he could go and I wanted him to go fast, shouted to go faster. Oh fuck.”

“You were a child. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident.”

Conrad pushed on Archer’s shoulders to move him away. Archer kept hold of his neck.

“That’s what everyone said.” Conrad stared into his eyes. “Doesn’t mean it’s any less painful.”

Conrad’s lips parted, his tongue snaked out and Archer brought his mouth down gently against his. A sound slipped out of Conrad, a mixture of lust and loss, and it took a moment for Archer to register that the sound hadn’t come from Conrad at all, but from him because he was the one who was lost and Conrad had found him. He’d told Conrad the truth and he could barely believe they were breathing in the same vicinity. Conrad hadn’t run but Archer should be running. He shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want Conrad so much that the thought of leaving him made his stone heart ache.

Archer slid his tongue inside Conrad’s mouth. He tasted…
Oh fuck…Strawberry jam?
He reached for Conrad’s wrists, wrapped his fingers around them and pulled them up until Conrad’s hands stretched over his head. Archer rocked his hips against him in time with his tongue fucking Conrad’s mouth. Too many layers between them to feel what he needed, to get at what he wanted, to help him forget.

Conrad gulped air when Archer pulled back.

“What have you been eating?” Archer asked.

“Strawberry jam. Clotted cream. Scones.”

“Leave enough for me? Or do I have to make do with your mouth?”

“I ate them all.”

Archer’s stomach fluttered. “Greedy. Not sure your mouth will be enough to satisfy me. I might have to snack on other parts of you. We need somewhere out of the snow. Too cold for al fresco dining.”

“No horses in the stables. Well, there weren’t. I don’t know what’s in there now.”

“Lead the way.”

Archer let him go and Conrad brought his arms to his sides. Two of the doors were padlocked but the last was on a latch. Archer opened it to see light streaming in through a grimy window opposite the door. They were in a storage space holding garden equipment, two ride-on mowers, tools, wheelbarrows.

“No bed,” Conrad said and shook melting snow from his hair. “But I always wanted a ride on one of those mowers.”

“I can think of something better for you to ride.”

Archer refastened the latch and pulled Conrad round so his back hit the door. He fumbled with the buttons of his coat, peeled it open, did the same with his and pressed himself against Conrad’s chest. He yanked Conrad’s hands back over his head and held them there with one of his. With his other hand he stroked Conrad’s face, sliding his fingers from chin to cheek and into his hair before gripping tight to hold him in place.

“Does your father know you’re playing around with the help?” He used his knee to push open Conrad’s thighs then rocked his hip into his groin, nudging the hard outline of his cock.

Conrad gave a loud groan.

“Will he tan your hide if finds out?” Archer whispered. “Or will he tan mine? Or does he already know the help fucks you?”

“Oh shit.” Conrad’s breathing quickened.

“Don’t like this game? Want to play another?” Archer pulled back just far enough to look into Conrad’s eyes. “What does your father do for a living?”