Finding Thyme Page 7

  Every inch of my body wants to be with him for every waking hour. Every non-waking hour even.

  When we arrive in the car park of my apartment building, Nick holds my hand all the way to my apartment. I snatch the occasional glance towards him when I think he’s not looking, just to check that this really is happening. Is this what love feels like? To want to be around someone so much that the very thought of not being around them hurts?

  I wish I was more in control of my emotions right now, in case I am misinterpreting this altogether and I end up getting hurt … but this is beyond my control. For once in my life I feel like I need to lose control and just go with my gut instinct. No more second-guessing everything.

  I run my hand along my hanging clothes in my closet. I try and remember that saying: It’s better to be in love … no … it’s better to love … Shit, what is it again? That’s right. It’s better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. I’m so happy that I can barely string a sentence together!

  Still smiling like an idiot, I decide to let go of control and embrace the unknown for once. Nick knew I was a hooker before so if he still wants to be around me, then that’s got to count for something, right?

  I pull out a pink pinstriped Ralph Lauren shirt and Nudie jeans and decide if Nick can get away with jeans at the agency then so can I. No use in changing who I am with this agency, like I had to do for my former madam, Miss Stephanie.

  As I walk back towards the kitchen, Nick looks up at me and places down a coffee cup. He smiles a loving smile, his arms ready and waiting for me to be wrapped up into them.

  Instead of falling straight into his embrace, though, I look beyond him, bypassing his outstretched arms and picking up the empty coffee cup behind him. Holding it into the air, I search for the little black circle and find it under the handle.

  I knew it!

  Pulling it off, I look back at him and shake my head. “So are there more here, Nick? I am not having my apartment bugged! I will leave this whole fucking operation if you lie to me. I don’t care if that means losing you too … that’s how much I refuse to be watched again!”

  In reality, the last thing I could handle right now is losing Nick. I feel like I’ve finally found that one person who gets me, probably more than I care to admit, but he gets me and I love it. I want my life with him in it. Forever.

  “There isn’t a single listening device left in here, you gorgeous crazy woman! You found all of the bloody cameras in the place, except for the mic that you just found. Our best interception team planted all the bugs in here and you’ve located them all! Don’t you get it? You’re so damn smart I have to check you’re not one step ahead of me! Me!” He laughs. “You’re too clever for your own good. Now come here, I just can’t seem to get enough of you.”

  I smile and glide into his outstretched arms. I kiss him and never want it to end, and try not to be disappointed when he pulls away.

  “You want to come and show me how amazing you’re going to be on the firing range now?” He smiles down at me.

  “Bring it!” I smile back.

  NINE

  Back underground at the agency, I wait in a small room next to the indoor firing range. Three white boards line the wall in front of me. All are full of quotes about how to stay alive while on the job and how dangerous firearms are and how much you need to respect every weapon you hold so that you don’t die.

  No shit! Is all this stuff supposed to make me feel better or worse about deciding to take on this line of work?

  A tall but slight-built man walks into the room dressed in a dark flight suit. He’s not handsome by a long shot, but there is a quality about him that makes him attractive. Maybe it’s his soft brown eyes that are almost hidden amongst the tough exterior around them?

  “I’m Weapons Training Instructor Emmett, but you can call me WTI,” he bellows as he marches in. His voice commands attention and I immediately sit up straight the second I hear him speak. It makes me focus on every word that utters from his lips. “Everyone has to sit a briefing and run through their dry drills before even stepping foot onto the range. Understood?”

  I’m ordered to stand towards the back wall, apparently the safe direction. WTI hands me a blue “training” pistol to test out the weight and feel of it in my hands. I’m told that the blue colouring, just the same as the colour that represents the United Nations, means it’s safe. I have to hold the fake pistol in front of me for three hours—well, that’s what it feels like, but I’m told I’ve only been holding “the equivalent of a loaf of bread” in front of me for an hour.

  All I want to do is step onto the range, so I continue holding the blue pistol in front of me until I’m told otherwise. Next I’m given a covert holster that slides down the inside of my jeans. I look up at WTI and frown. I’m not exactly sure how long it will be concealed for around the likes of Joe Tench, considering I’m usually fully naked around him.

  The thought of having to be with Tench again makes me feel sick but I push it to the back of my mind and focus on my training. I’m shown how to grab my firearm from the holster quickly and I repeat the action over and over until WTI tells me I’m going to be given a real pistol.

  “These are smart firearms,” he says as he holds the gun to his chest. “It’s specially coded to your brain activity. It has a safety mechanism called ‘Frontal Lobe Operating System’ or FLOS, as we call it. The firing pin is only unlocked when it receives the message from your brain pattern, and yours only. As I will demonstrate.” WTI points the firearm at me and pulls the trigger.

  I slowly open one eye back up and find that the pistol didn’t fire at all.

  “It’s not loaded, Thyme.” WTI almost chuckles as he shakes his head, but I don’t see the funny side and huff under my breath.

  He places the pistol in the holster and instructs me that my next exercises are to learn to rack the slide on top of it.

  “The slide won’t work unless you have it set in your mind that you want it to. This way if anyone else grabs your firearm, not only will they not be able to fire it, they won’t be able to extract the rounds from it either. The more the firearm gets used to your commands, the quicker it will be,” he says as he places three plastic training rounds into the magazine.

  I practise ripping the top of the slide back over and over, telling myself each time that I want to rack the slide. More and more drills continue. Some to teach me what to do when I have a stoppage, when a round is stuck and the pistol doesn’t fire, and others are to teach me what to do when I need to quickly reload a new magazine into the pistol.

  WTI shakes his head and frowns at me as I go over and over each drill that he yells out for me to perform.

  “Did I get that wrong?” I ask when I notice his annoyance.

  WTI folds his arms across his chest. “No, Thyme. The opposite. All of your drills are as if you’ve been practising them for years. Are you sure you’ve never handled a weapon before now?”

  I don’t know whether he’s being serious or not but there was nothing to the drills, they all seem simple enough to follow. “I’m sure,” I reply quietly.

  Am I really as good as everyone is saying or do they just blow smoke up everyone’s ass to make them do better and give them the confidence they need?

  “Well, since you can follow the drills to the tee, let’s see you out on the range,” WTI replies.

  I follow him through the door and into the range. There are five stalls in front of a long narrow corridor where targets hang in the dark at the far end, waiting to be fired at. The room looks sterile but the smell of metal and gunpowder is strong. I hear the amplified voice of Nick over the speaker system. “Step into number three, Mia. Put on the eye and ear protection and turn around to face me when you’re ready.” I glance up to the windowed booth behind the firing stalls and see Nick watching me with a serious, professional look across his face. I walk into the third stall and slide the black earmuffs over my head. Instantly, the sounds with
in the room are gone.

  I put the clear safety glasses on and turn around to face the booth. Nick stares straight down at me with the same intensity that I stare at him with. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s purposely trying to make me feel uncomfortable before I fire my first ever firearm. I don’t so much as blink as he leans into the microphone in front of him and I hear his voice through the earmuffs.

  “The target at the end with number three above it is the target you’ll be aiming for. When you see the light come on, the target will turn and you’ll have exactly four seconds to fire all fifteen rounds into the centre of seen mass. The centre of seen mass is the chest area of the target. When the light turns off, the target will turn away and you must not fire another round. At the end of this sequence you must perform an emergency reload, ready for the next sequence. Do you understand your instructions?”

  I nod my head and look over at WTI and watch him uploading information onto a pistol from a large black metal suitcase. He unplugs it as soon as the red light on the box has turned green.

  “Also, Mia, the sequence that follows will test both your reaction to a stoppage and your quick response firing. Some of the magazines you have been given have faulty rounds in them, which will cause a stoppage. You need to react according to your drills. It will be quick and it will be intense. Remember all of the drills that you have just learnt, and if you’re unable to fire a round safely, then do not fire at all.”

  I see the subtle sneer under his professional exterior so I nod and give him a wink as I turn back around and face my target.

  WTI yells at me to take a step backwards out of the stall with my arms up so that he can fix my firearm into my holster. He places a spare magazine into the holder of the holster and another down the front of my jeans.

  I try not to smile at another man touching me like this in front of Nick and quickly remind myself to remain professional, yet I can’t help but wonder what must be going through his head right now.

  “We don’t expect you to blitz this, Thyme. This is to test your response under pressure. Keep your cool and remember slow is smooth and smooth is fast. Do what you can, but don’t start to stress if you can’t fire off all the rounds,” WTI says.

  My heart is pounding in my ears and I feel my palms start to sweat as I wait for further instruction. I hear Nick’s voice in my earmuffs again. “Step into the stall, Mia. When the target turns, the sequence has commenced. Good luck.”

  I blow out the breath of air that’s trapped within my stomach and focus on the target ahead of me. I see the light come on a millisecond before the target reacts so I snatch my pistol from the holster and throw my hands out in front of me with the pistol firmly gripped within them. Saying “fire” to myself, I slowly pull the trigger.

  The pistol recoils back and the flash from the side of the ejection port shocks me. The spent casing that fires out from the ejection port lands on my arm and burns. I try not to react to the sudden fright and continue to pull the trigger back and forth to fire as quickly as possible at the target in front of me. I continue to repeat the word fire, fire, fire in my head as I pull the trigger.

  Four seconds feels too quick to be able to fire all of my rounds and I notice the arm that’s holding the target start to turn. I quicken my pace and try to empty the magazine of rounds. The slide on the pistol locks back and remains there—no more rounds are left in the magazine. I let out a breath and press the quick release button on the side of the pistol and grab my spare magazine and push it in seconds after the empty magazine has fallen out. I shove the pistol back into the holster and watch as the target finishes turning back to the side.

  Everything felt like it was in slow motion. I’m not sure how to react to firing a weapon that in reality is intended to kill someone. It felt scary and powerful all at the same time. My heart is still beating loudly in my chest as I stand waiting for instructions but hear nothing. I quickly see the light above the target on the far left start to glow as it reacts and turns.

  I snatch my pistol out again and fire one shot before the slide sticks back. Damn it, a stoppage! Rack the slide, I say to myself as I pull the slide back. A training round flies out as the light on the fourth target lights up, just as the previous target turns back. I fire two rounds at that target before I get another stoppage. I repeat the command words over and over and rack the slide again. I try and fire at target four while it’s still lit. The pistol fails to fire because it has another stoppage so I rip the slide back again as target number two and five light up at the same time.

  I fire a round into each target as target number three turns around too. I fire a shot into number three and it turns back quickly. Target two and five remain in place so I take another shot at number five but have yet another stoppage. The targets continue to turn back and forth so I fire at them, racking the slide between when there is a stoppage and continuing the commands in my head.

  Finally the slide locks back on the pistol and I cannot pull it back anymore. I flick the empty magazine out and slide it into my holster. All of the lights of the targets come on and they begin to travel towards me on the cable above.

  Finally it’s over! My heart is in my ears and I try and catch my breath as quietly as possible.

  “Step out of the stall, Mia.”

  I step backwards and see WTI in the corner of my eye with a clipboard in hand. He approaches the targets and counts the holes I’ve made in each of them. I feel beads of sweat forming across my brow while I try not to let WTI see that I’m trembling all over. WTI gets to the last target and finishes writing on his clipboard. He glances at me as he heads out of the range through the side door without saying a word. I stand facing the targets in silence.

  I try to count the holes in all of the targets to see if I missed any shots but I can’t focus as sweat runs down into my eyes, stinging and clouding my vision.

  “Mia, you can make your way into the briefing room. Thank you,” I hear Nick’s voice in my earmuffs.

  I wait anxiously by myself in the briefing room, trying hard not to cry. The overwhelming and mixed feeling of firing a pistol is both exhilarating and frightening all at the same time. But the last thing I want to do right now is go all girly and cry because I just shot at some paper targets! What if I ever have to shoot at a real living person though? What if they tell me to shoot Tench? How am I going to react to that? I hope I never have to do it. I’m pretty sure I got most shots on the targets so I should be all right if I ever get into that situation, I guess. Exhaustion starts to take over and my eyelids feel heavy from the hours of concentration during the training. All I want to do is go home and have a hot bath followed by plenty of Nick! Nick walks in with WTI and the commander following behind them. This can’t be good? I smile wearily at all three men and look back over at Nick who raises an eyebrow at me slyly. Okay … can’t all be bad if he looks smug.

  “Your top scoring continues, Miss Thyme,” the commander announces. “You have surpassed any expectations and managed to get every shot on target and within the middle key target area. You’re now set to move forward with your training. There’s a lot to learn, but I am quite confident that you’ll be able to handle anything we throw at you.”

  I frown at them all for thinking that I can handle what they throw at me and just pray they are right. Little do they know that inside I just feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.

  Nick smirks quietly behind the boss and I can almost read his indecent thoughts. I try my hardest not to show how much he’s turning me on with his come-fuck-me eyes. I just want to get the hell out of here and rip Nick apart, inch by inch. I want to feel him inside me and have his strong hands grip onto me.

  Those thoughts are snapped back by the commander’s voice. “Now that we’re confident you can handle a firearm, you will be learning about unarmed combat tomorrow. Wear clothing that allows you to move freely. Okay, Thyme? Davis, I trust you are developing Miss Thyme’s understanding of our intelligence operation. You
are both dismissed from duties for the day. Return at zero nine hundred hours. Get plenty of rest. Tomorrow will be physically demanding.”

  I try my best not to burst out laughing at the idea of Nick and me ever getting any form of rest while we’re around each other.

  I shoot a fleeting glance behind the boss and see Nick trying not to laugh as well. The boss makes his way out of the briefing room along with WTI, leaving me alone with Nick once again.

  “Shall we stop and get some groceries for dinner on the way home? I feel like some of your amazing spatchcock for dinner.” He winks at our private joke from the first time Nick came to my place, when he was Tom Smythe.

  I chuckle and shake my head at how Nick just started the most normal conversation with me after a very not-so-normal day of training at the agency, but every word he said was every word I’ve ever wanted to hear … even if I didn’t know it until now.

  TEN

  I unpack the groceries that we picked up on the way home, while Nick opens a bottle of wine behind me in my kitchen.

  The guitar riff of Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower” is playing in the background. It’s hard to explain how normal all of this feels. All of life’s mundane tasks are nothing but pure bliss to me right now. Unpacking the shopping, for instance … I look at the bag of fruit and vegetables in front of me and grin at the fact that we both made a decision together, like regular couples do when buying ingredients for a meal. Together. It’s sexy as fuck.

  I look over at Nick and smile. I want to play house with this guy forever! He is one of the very few people on this planet who doesn’t make me feel ashamed of the decisions I’ve made in my life. I feel normal with him.

  I admire every inch of him as he pours a glass of wine for each of us. He catches me looking and puts the bottle of wine down, then strides over to me at the opposite end of the kitchen.