Logan Keal sat in the passenger side of the recovery truck, watching the reception door to the garage as a customer came out holding keys and juggling an MOT certificate. From what his sources had told him, Harrison had been at work for the past five days, but Kes had texted and told him to wait, to not rush in.
Despite the rain, the four long roller doors spreading the width of the garage stayed open, allowing cars to be pulled in or out on finishing a job and leaving wet tyre marks in their wake that the mechanics seemed oblivious to. Added to the woman in reception who was talking to a customer, roughly ten employees worked the cold and damp. A radio played somewhere in the distance, not loud enough to disturb the nearby units or the customers to the garage itself, but enough to fill the clatter and clamber of air guns, rising and falling ramps, and the occasional rattle of engine hoist as it was manoeuvred in to help handle the bulk of the latest workload.
The car he’d used was attached to the recovery truck, a Jaguar, sleek silver grey and rarely prone to cutting out. Another mechanic had timed it to do just that today, along with using registered plates that would trace back to a lovely family who lived on the outskirts of London. The weather itself was important: it had mostly stayed dry over the past month, only offering a light drizzle. He needed it heavier. As harder and larger patters hit the window screen, threatening a bruising as well as a drenching, Logan grabbed his umbrella from by his feet, ignoring the dirt on the bottom of his jeans he’d caught from waiting by the roadside for a recovery truck. That could be traced too. Which he figured would be happening now with the black Mercedes that sat in the corner of the car park. As he glanced over from his hooded Mackintosh, the Merc windows were tinted, hiding the occupants he’d been warned were concealed inside.
Easing the door cab open, he let the black umbrella and hood of the long Mac jacket protect him from the worst of the rain as he got out and said his thanks to the driver. He was looking out at the rain, his look saying shit wasn’t worth a soaking just to unhook a Jag. Leaving the recovery man to it, Logan checked his hood against the rain and pulled the umbrella down a little closer when a gust of wind tried to drag it away.
He kept his walk brisk, and the push through into Harrison’s reception area offered a warmth he didn’t expect. A brief smile was offered from the pretty receptionist as he rested the wet umbrella away from the door, but kept his hood up. A dispenser of hands-free antibacterial wash slept just a few feet away, and he frowned at it as the last customer brushed past him, nudging him slightly. Shouldn’t the hand wash be kept on the work floor? Seemed strange to him.
“Sorry, mate.” A man looking heavy enough to need a winch to tug him out of his car was talking to him and Logan focused.
“No worries.” Logan offered a smile and saw the larger man’s features ease slowly. After waiting for the door to close, he headed over to the reception desk.
“Hey...” The name tag on the receptionist’s blue blouse said Sue, and she was the sort he’d shut his nightclub door’s to in order to walk headlong into Happy Hour. “Sue. I’ve—”
The door came open behind Sue and another man eased through from the back, carrying two coffees. Obviously Logan’s charm was slipping, seeing Sue move over by the other man, grabbing at a mug and saying thanks while ignoring him.
“You should have gotten Sam to do it, Aid,” she said and Aid jerked a look back as though expecting something to come bounding through.
“Nah. I’ll skip that, thanks. He’s—” Aid glanced over and Sue seemed to remember there was a customer.
“Apologies,” she said, bringing her coffee back. “It’s not looking good out there.”
Logan offered a smile back, almost envying her hold around the cup. She had warm-looking hands, good enough to cup cold balls and bring some life to them. “My Jag broke down,” he said, shifting and pointing a thumb back the way he’d come. “I was wondering if Mr Harrison could take a look at her for me.”
He saw Aid sneak a look over his mug, then start punching some keys on the computer. “He has a job on at the moment.” Aid took a sip of his coffee. “Do you want to leave your keys and come back later? He’ll be about two hours.”
“The recovery truck’s just brought me in... I... do you mind if I wait?”
“Sure,” said Sue. “Take a seat and I’ll get you a coffee.”
He’d noticed the coffee machine in the corner, but this was an offer of a proper mug from the back. Maybe his charms were working after all, or, with the warm smile she gave, it was just that he looked so sad being soaked. “Thank you,” he said to her before he turned and took a seat on the comfy leather bench. “Ah.” He glanced back before he managed to sit. “Can I have a word with Jack, at all? He knows this car and asked me to let him know how she handled the suspension from last time.”
Glancing over, Aid took another sip of coffee. The look was too long, too probing, and it only further set that anger bubbling beneath the surface. Why were so many protecting this bastard? But it was Sue, not Aid, who answered.
“I’m sorry, Mr Harrison’s just working on the shop floor for a few weeks. Mr Carter is manager.” She nodded back to Aid. “I’m sure he can help with any issues you have.”
Yeah, he was warned they’d close shop. Logan pulled out a business card instead. It wasn’t fake. “Could you just give him this, please?” He handed it over to her. Aid reached it first and offered a small smile.
“I’ll take that.”
“It’s just...” Logan tried a smile and gave a scratch at his roughed-up hair under the hood of the Mac. “It’s like with a barber: I trust the same one I always use.”
Aid nodded and put his coffee down. “Okay, I’ll hand it over and see what Jack says.”
That was all he needed. “Thanks.” He took a seat as Aid pushed on through to the shop floor. The door was timed to shut with the minimal of noise, and he cast a look into the main garage floor to see Aid work his way to the far end and tap someone on the shoulder.
A look was given down at the business card, then back over into the reception.
Hands were washed once, then again, Aid standing there and watching too, then the business card was taken from Aid just as the door shut.
“Here.” Sue came over and handed Logan a coffee. He took it, welcoming the warmth as the door from the shop floor through into reception was pushed open again.
A small smile was offered over, then Jack—Logan had seen the photo, there was no mistaking that this was Jack—went over to the reception windows and twisted the cord on the blinds to let in some of the fading light. Jack wore blue coveralls, and where Sue would have good hands to warm a cold pair of balls, Jack had a look to tie them up and torture them for a few hours. Both looking good enough to whisper a quiet morning to as he woke in bed next to them.
Only Jack didn’t look so friendly. But then, Logan guessed, his look wasn’t exactly morning, love either.
Jack ran a touch along his jaw, giving whatever sign he needed to the black Merc sitting outside.
That was fine; Logan only needed a few minutes to do this before Raoul came in.
“Upstairs, yeah?” Jack eyed him up as he moved over to a door next to the reception desk, and held it open, waiting for him to take the hint.
Making sure the coffee found a home with Sue and thanking her for the offer, he went through first, then waited for Jack to lead the way up to his office.
Maybe he expected more, but this place, Jack’s office as he entered, it wasn’t what he expected. He’d thought... bigger, better, especially considering whose silk sheets Jack supposedly warmed, but the company was modest at best. None of Raoul’s arrogance that he’d heard about was here, no ego, just a heavy tiredness in grey eyes that worked for an honest pay packet.
So all of that shit, just for your look?
Jack didn’t take a seat, instead resting against the window sill and crossing his arms. His look was half distracted outside, yet he seemed to know the exact place of everything in his office, or what was out of place, especially men who shouldn’t be in here.
But by not looking, guilt was there in his eyes too. And that was what Logan needed to see.
“I’m busy, Logan,” said Jack. “You want to make this quick?”
Logan snorted a smile and went a little closer to Jack’s office desk. “Yeah. It wasn’t made quick for my father, Jack. Did you get to hear about that?”
Jack looked at him. “Your old man died?” The confusion made Logan stumble in his thoughts seeing it. “My deepest condolences to you, yours, and all that bollocks.”
Logan kept his eyes on that black Merc outside, then checked his watch. He was surprised Raoul hadn’t shown up yet. “My father,” he said quickly, quietly, going around the office desk to Jack. “He had a bullet through his forehead.” Logan eased a finger up and pushed at Jack’s forehead, forcing Jack to twist his head away, then level a very cool gaze back on him. That look, Logan needed it, needed to see it. “He’d had his dick exposed and his balls had been burned.”
No reaction.
Logan shifted slightly. “After he was tied to a chair, a lighter had been held against his side and it had burned the skin. He was fucking tortured, Jack.”
The occupants in the black Merc outside never moved. It riled Logan. He expected Raoul here. He’d wanted Raoul... here.
“His own home.” Logan was close enough to breathe in Jack’s face, disturb that long black hair nearly covering his eyes. He smelled so good. “And you...”
Jack dug his hands into his pockets, but didn’t shift that gaze.
“I know it wasn’t you,” whispered Logan. “You’re no fucking killer, Jack. A thug, yeah, but no killer. How my father was taken out.” Logan screwed his face, biting back his tears. He’d never spent much time with his father; always some issue at the night club, some bird or guy to try and fuck. Just not enough time to sit and talk. “They called it a professional hit. Why the fuck would anyone put a hit out on my father? He—”
“We done?”
Logan grabbed Jack by the throat, pushing him back into the wall. Jack jolted and the reaction cooled Logan, but only for a minute when he was left grabbing nothing but air as Jack shoved him off.
There was no aggression there in Jack’s body language and the look in grey eyes didn’t call him out on trying anything else. What was there unsettled Logan more; a confidence over knowing Logan would hit the floor first if Logan made another move. The thrill it caused confused the hell out of Logan, and he took a step back and said as calmly as possible, “That fuck of an MI5 officer you know. He knows something. I was told he knows... everything.”
“Brennan?”
“What?” said Logan, feeling as confused as Jack looked now.
“Brennan,” said Jack. “Wasn’t he leading the murder investigation from CID? It was all over the news.”
“No,” replied Logan, frowning. Something about Jack’s look said he knew exactly who was investigating what. Maybe. “You, he... Raoul. Gray Raoul from MI5. I was told—”
“Wrong,” said Jack, levelling his gaze as a knock came at the door. “Come in.” Jack didn’t take his gaze off Logan. “Shaun Brennan is leading the investigation as far as I know. Now get the fuck out and take your shit over to him.”
Logan eased back as a young lad, looking young enough to be on work placement, came in.
“Coffee, Mr H?” said the blond, and Logan took a step away as he came over, not carrying any coffee. “And isn’t it time your client... fucked off? Your dog died, again. You’re needed elsewhere.”
“Thanks, Sam. And yes it is. Thanks for the reminder,” said Jack. Logan caught the look off “Sam,” how he seemed to make a point of looking over, then folded his arms.
“Well fuck off, then,” said Jack.
Logan slipped a look at Jack, then Sam. “Thanks for agreeing to look at my Jag, Jack. But I think I’ll take it elsewhere.”
“Good idea.” Jack’s hand shook a little and Logan nodded, satisfied. He needed that to get back to Raoul where his own lawyers had failed. Jack’s look seemed genuine enough, but Kes... he trusted him. And if he could get Raoul to slip up, even if it meant going through this Jack, he would.
“Talk in a few hours,” said Logan, turning away after a smile. “You keep well, Jack.”
Logan made a point of closing the door behind him. It was a letdown that Raoul hadn’t come as Kes’s phone call this morning had hinted he would, but Jack...
Get at Jack, then get at the nutcase who had killed his father.
Gray sat in his Rolls, watching as Logan walked away from the garage, his umbrella tossed to one side and hood pulled back as the rain hit him. A Sedan pulled up at the entrance to the car park, the move bold as balls, and a check saw it to belong to one of Logan’s bouncers at his club. Logan added to the boldness by striding over to it and glancing back. He was nothing like his father, Ryan Keal. Keal offered the perfect deception to his night life: the grandfather to cling onto before he sold you off to the highest bidder. Logan held no deception. Legs were long, the sort used to mounting Harleys. Jeans were tight, calling out a look Gray would usually consider testing at the MC. Jack had been right; when they’d all came back from America, he’d said Logan was the looker in the family. Logan was also as oblivious as Jack as to just what went down away from the bed sheets.
Guilt almost—almost—crept up as Gray ran a hand over the steering wheel. Touching the bad, there were always those in the background who were caught in the backlash. Logan was after a reason behind why his father was murdered. A son needing release over a father, with someone pushing for it.
He looked at the garage as the Sedan pulled away.
Guilt only went so far when it came to what was in there.
Gray eyed up the rain, how heavy it fell. The repair truck took his attention, too, how the recovery man was oblivious to how he’d been played. Ray had done his job by checking the plates; they’d checked out, but only to the point where a name and address was given. A deeper check easily saw the forgery.
Sloppy in planning. Or maybe not.
Someone was pushing Logan to find a breaking point, digging deep into old wounds and bleeding out the hurt.
Gray eased out of the car.
Gray’s culling signature could have been recognised by anyone who knew the business, but now Logan had been told that Jack was involved. And the only ones left to talk about Jack and Jan’s rape and psychological reconditioning were those who had funded it. Which meant those who had pushed for SSTP’s investigation came with a rapist’s touch.
Turning his collar up to the wind and rain, Gray didn’t acknowledge Ray over in the black Merc, but headed over to the garage and pushed inside. Sue wasn’t there, and he got a look up from Aid. The man didn’t like him, but that was okay. That kept people wary when they needed to be. It showed as Aid eased up out of his chair and nodded toward the shop floor. Ray hadn’t been the only one to call Gray this afternoon.
Gray tipped his head. After shifting past the other busy mechanics, he stopped Jack by easing a grip around the top of Jack’s arm and pulling him up to his feet. Sam worked by him and gave a look up as Jack jerked back.
“Upstairs,” said Gray.
Jack wiped at his cheek, leaving a smear of grease, then moved over to wash his hands. Gray watched, just... waited as it took three turns with the Antibacterial hand wash.
Jack glanced back as he dried his hands. “No. Not upstairs. Out,” he said, and Gray frowned as he watched Jack throw the towel on the unit and head toward reception. Jack was slipping on his jacket by the time Gray got there, and he caught Jack’s last words to Aid.
“You sure you’re fine shutting up shop?”
“We’ve been fine for the past six months, Jack,” said Aid. “Steve’s over at the Strachan garage, working with that Paul from your dad’s garage. They gave the manager that position on the proviso that he flirt between both garages when needed.”
Jack offered a smile, but it wasn’t easy. “Okay, good.”
“C’mon, we’re going.” Gray went over to the door and held it open. Jack didn’t seem to need telling twice, and that run with being told to do something was more concerning than seeing his usual kickback against authority.
“No worries,” said Aid, already going over to the phone. Gray knew he’d get a call from Greg in a while because of it.
Jack was already out of the door and heading over to the Rolls. Gray joined him and made sure Jack took the passenger seat. Gray’s look around the car park was long as he held the door open. There was no doubt on being watched now.
The driver’s side took him, and Gray pulled the door shut and started the engine.
“Talk to me, Jack,” he said as he pulled away. “You gave the sign to hold off. You gave Ray the sign for me to hold off when I got here.” Gray knew why. He’d bugged Jack’s office long before he started back, but he’d never tell Jack that. This was for his protection, as was Jan’s at his office.
Jack ran a hand through his wet hair and Gray caught how it shook. He flicked a switch, making sure the heat took away the chill of the air and the drowned rat look of Jack.
Did you look like this that night it had been snowing? When you walked and Jan had picked you up by the side of the road, had you fought to stay warm then, stunner? And after... how much did you both shiver when you were alone and hurting?
Gray fought the need to be sick.
“Someone fed Logan information that we knew each other.” Jack blew into his hands. “If they had definite evidence, he wouldn’t have been there with me. You know why I told you to hold off, Gray.”
Smart, fucking smart. “He made a definitive mention about outside sources?”
Jack nodded. “He said he had a call this morning, or someone had called him, at least.” Jack rubbed at his head.
Gray looked at him. “You okay?”
He snorted a smile, but it faltered too quickly.
“He touch you?”
“I’m not a fucking ponce, Gray.” The anger was there as Jack glanced at him. “I can handle a roughing up.”
“He fucking touched you.”
“I can—” Whatever kickback Jack was coming up with faded as he eased back into his seat and gave an unsteady breath. Twice now he’d cut off his own anger, twice now he’d cooled it, took a step back, and—“Scared, alright? Enough that I just.” He shrugged, then—“I want things shutting down for a few hours, is all.”
“Okay.” Not a problem.
“Why now?” said Jack, looking over. Then he glanced in the rear-view mirror, to the black Merc keeping the Rolls company. “What do you know that you’re not telling me, Gray?”
Gray tensed slightly. “Some encrypted codes were discovered in your mother’s paperwork,” he said keeping his voice even. “A few days ago, Logan tried to open up the investigation into Ryan Keal’s death.”
“Officially through MI5?”
Gray nodded and Jack gave an unsteady exhale. “It was sorted,” Gray added.
“Enough for Logan to come after me to get to you.” It was a simple statement, no resentment there, just concern, and that dug into Gray more.
“Yeah. I know that look, mukka,” said Jack, and a hand rested distractedly on Gray’s thigh. “You can’t touch Logan for this now, not without helping to point bloodied fingers in your direction.” Jack fell quiet. “But you mentioned these codes.... You think it’s more to do with that than taking you down?”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t exactly sure, other than running with gut instinct over this starting after Elena was taken. And he knew Jack watched him now.
“I know my mother, how she doesn’t leave important information around when it comes to paperwork. How did you get the codes, Gray? When did you get them?”
He’d always swore that if Jack asked, he’d tell him, and—“Look, Jack—”
“You know what? I really don’t give a fuck.” And it was there as he focused on the traffic ahead. “The shit bowl is always easier to clean once it’s been flushed. You don’t need to know who’s sat and caused the stench.” He frowned back at Gray. “Jan—”
“He needs to know, I know,” said Gray. “He was due at the garage for lunch in half an hour, so I’ve asked security to take him home instead, but not put any undue stress on him with any explanation other than having dinner at home.”
“Has he had any trouble off Logan?”
“You’d have heard, Jack.”
“Yeah. Just... I need to see he’s okay, all right? My home, though.”
“Yours?”
Gray got a nod. “Can you let security know?”
Doing just that, Gray then took a right at the lights, easing off on the clutch when Jack tensed at his more aggressive nudge into heavy traffic.
“Fuck.”
Gray offered a smile, then let his hand rest on Jack’s as he squeezed Gray’s thigh enough to cause a wince. For a man who loved cars so much, and who’d pocket the keys to a stray one here and there, Jack was a by-the-book driver. “Certificates,” said Gray, shifting gear. “I get them for advanced MI5 driving courses.”
“They do refresher course?”
“Continuously.”
“Good,” said Jack, “because if you get any closer to that car in front, the driver’ll be sticking up a sign asking you to climb up through the back window and give him head before you fuck him up the ass, is all.”
Gray managed a chuckle. “You could have just asked me to slow down.”
Jack’s knuckles were white as he gripped Gray’s thigh, and Gray took the hint and eased off the gas.