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  “We?” Antony muttered. “Ah…”

  “That’s not one of the five.” The voice spat. Desmond hadn’t realized he had sat forwards until Jody was prying his fingers from the desk.

  “What is your next… Storming next mission?” Antony choked. Desmond glared at the far wall.

  “We have a lead on the investigation into the Cruz case. We think we’ve got the man.”

  “The man?” Antony asked, his voice revealing he was completely confused. These were not Antony’s questions but probably questions he was being forced to ask by his abductors. The cry of pain they all heard had them looking panicked at Desmond. Desmond was on his feet for no particular reason.

  “Just let him ask the fucking questions! He’s doing what you ask! Leave him alone!” Desmond pleaded. A heavy thud was followed by silence.

  “Who is… Lead….?” Antony gasped, his breath sounding wheezy. Henson directed Stuart and Jody to get Desmond back in his seat.

  “Leone.” Desmond barked. Relenting to the hands on him.

  “What will you do with the Lieberman file?”

  “Read it, work out what their plan was so we can prevent it.” Desmond exhaled heavily. There was suddenly an uncomfortable silence as the agents waited for the last question.

  “It’s done now.” Antony said, worry in his voice. Desmond closed his eyes, shaking his head. No, Antony, just ask it.

  “One left.” The voice reminded.

  “I’m done.”

  The shot rang out and Desmond threw his eyes open. No, they hadn’t killed him. They had tried to scare him. They had shot to scare him. If they killed Antony they lost Desmond’s cooperation. For that reason they wouldn’t kill him. Hurt him, yes, but they wouldn’t kill him.

  “Next time it won’t just be a flesh wound.” The voice stated darkly. Desmond swallowed, trying not to think about where Antony had been hit.

  “Why did you lie to me?” Antony exhaled, already sounding exhausted. Desmond shook his head.

  “Where did they shoot you?” Desmond asked, gripping tightly to the desk.

  “Answer his question.” The voice smiled.

  “Where did they shoot you, Antony?”

  “Leg…” Antony gasped.

  “That’s Ok. It’s bleeding, right? That’s all it does. You can’t be hurt by it. Mate, you’ll be fine. Just stay conscious.”

  “Tired…”

  “No, Antony. You’re not allowed to go to sleep until you’re safely back in my arms.”

  “Okay…”

  “Answer his question, Sharp.” The voice insisted. “Why did you lie to him? Four years together and you’ve been lying to him for all of that time!”

  “To keep you safe, Antony. I lied to keep you safe. There has been a complication but I’m coming to get you, Antony. I’ll be there soon.” The voice laughed at Desmond.

  “No you won’t. You’ve got nowhere to start.”

  “You obviously don’t know me very well, mate.”

  “What have you got, your little Storming ready to rush to his aid? It won’t work. You won’t find him.”

  “We’ll see.” A silence followed.

  “We’ll be calling soon, Sharp. We’ve got some more instructions for you-”

  “Wait.” Antony’s small voice sounded. Desmond frowned.

  “Yeah, will be speaking soon-”

  “Wait… Desmond? Please?”

  “Antony?”

  “Goodbye, Sharp-”

  “Desmond!” The line went dead and Desmond sat with wide eyes. Everyone listening in to the call had been able to translate Antony’s Spanish, but whether Antony’s captives could was another question.

  “We need to keep this as quiet as possible.” Bowse announced. “No one discusses this outside these meetings.”

  “That is going to be tough.” Kendrick said sheepishly. Jody nodded in agreement. “He’s supposed to be at a competition next weekend.”

  “His team will need to be informed he’s not going to show. They’ll need a replacement.” Stuart said.

  “Or we get a decoy?” Jody shrugged.

  “That would never work. Antony’s driving style is too iconic. A novice couldn’t replicate that.” Desmond said. Kendrick couldn’t help but agree.

  “Then we have a week.” Henson said. Desmond shook his head.

  “This is going to take longer than a week.”

  “Considering you just handed over classified information!” Henson stared but he was silenced by Bowse.

  “If he hadn’t have done they would have been suspicious.” Bowse explained. “Agent Sharp did what he had to.”

  “Brilliant.” Henson seethed.

  “Stay close, agents. We’ll split you up to try and cover this on all fronts. Your missions will be delivered as soon as. The Abascal case is now of top priority.”

  “A week? We’re never going to get this complete in a week.” Stuart said to Kendrick as they left the dining room.

  Desmond couldn’t help but agree.

  CHAPTER 3

  It was a bizarre situation to be in. There was a hell of a lot of activity surrounding Desmond but he couldn’t feel less connected to it. It felt like he was stuck in a slow time zone whilst everyone else flashed around him, moving at three times his speed. He hated this. Hated feeling like a useless spare part. If this was any other case he’d be knees deep in investigations, searching for any clues or helping to track down the first trace of evidence that had been found. But he couldn’t. Whether someone higher up was blocking him or whether he had gone into that phase of shock the victims usually fell into at some point he didn’t know.

  He needed a distraction, and that clearly wasn’t going to be found here standing in his kitchen doorway watching the forensics team dust down every surface they could find.

  “Nathan,” Desmond said, shattering the slow down the moment he stepped away from the doorframe. It was like popping a bubble. Desmond grabbed Nathan’s arm to stop him and to stabilize himself as life rushed back at him at a hundred miles per hour. “Nathan, there has to be something I can do.”

  “We’re pretty busy, Desmond.” Nathan said apologetically, removing Desmond’s hand from him. Desmond didn’t let him take a second step away from him.

  “Right then. There must be something I can do.”

  “I’m sorry-”

  “Fucking hell, just give me a brush or a file or, fuck, just make me file some shit. I don’t care I just need something to do.” Desmond begged, his grip on Nathan getting tighter. Nathan just sent him a remorseful look as he, once again, took Desmond’s arm off him.

  “How about you go get some coffee. You’ve had a lot to take in over the last couple of hours.”

  “You’re going to let me in my kitchen to make coffee?” Desmond scoffed.

  “No. There is a truck outside.” Desmond deflated at Nathan’s connotation; he wanted him away from the crime scene. “I’m sorry, Desmond-”

  “Is there really nothing I can do?”

  “This isn’t your department. You wouldn’t even know what you were looking for. And with so little clues in such a delicate crime scene we need only professionals on this one.” Nathan patted Desmond’s shoulder before moving away. “I think that coffee may really help.”

  Without another word Desmond sulked out the front door, getting a grumpy huff from the detective inspecting the damage on the outside of the door. He didn’t care. Thrusting his hands deep into his pockets Desmond moved over to the coffee station that had been set up, pouring himself out a black coffee. He always drank black coffee when he was working on a case. Black coffee with two sugars; the mixture of strong caffeine and the sugar hit made him more alert and sharpened his mind. After his first sip, Desmond felt like returning to Nathan and demanding he put him to use somewhere. Surely he could be much more help now he had his work mind on.

  But Nathan and Henson - and even Bowse for that matter – had been expressively clear; he was apparently going to be
as distant from this case as was humanly possible. He was being treated as the victim - only being held around because they needed to use him. He was just the victim and the asset. Desmond almost wanted to test his theory out by going to ask someone for an update. If everyone told him they would ‘let him know as soon as they found something out’ then he was simple here because the kidnappers were talking to him about the ransom charges.

  Desmond took himself far away from the bustle of movement going on around his house. The forensic teams had set up inside and out, with a large white marquee acting as a pop-up lab. Desmond had seen this drill many times before, he just never realized how quickly the team could set up shop. He always arrived hours after the initial detective got in and simply took the findings file to take the investigation further.

  Taking a long sip from his coffee, Desmond left the familiar taste flow through his mouth and mind, letting his work impulses take over. It was the only way he could stop himself from marching back into the house and demanding to be told what was going on or to be given something to do. He closed his eyes, pretending that Henson had just handed him his case file and he was trying to assess the situation he was dealing with.

  But automatically a frown fell on Desmond’s face because the continuing investigation made no sense at all. They knew who had taken Antony and they knew why Antony had been taken, so why was the forensic team scanning for prints? Why were they investigating the path Desmond had already run down to find the broken fence at the end? What else were they hoping to find? Or were they just pretending to look busy? Is this what the team did for the victims where there was nothing left to search for? Pretend to be busy so the victim felt like the investigation was still going on? Was that why there was nothing for Desmond to be doing?

  Desmond swore loudly as the hot coffee burned his hand, the paper cup having been squashed and cracked in his tight fist. He dropped the mess to the floor, wiping his hand on his jeans to try and dry it off a bit. The lump in his pocket caught his attention as he tried to dry his hand. There was no reason to, but Desmond pulled his phone out of his jeans, clicking the home button to show his lock screen. As expected, there were no messages; just the image of Antony smiling back at him. It pulled at Desmond’s heart. The one thing he was supposed to do and he had failed. He had made so many promises to keep Antony safe, told so many lies and kept so many secrets to make sure Antony never got tied up in his work life. And now Antony was missing because of one mistake, one secret revealed to the wrong person. One blunder on one mission and now Antony’s life was in danger.

  Desmond had to do something. He couldn’t just sit there knowing it was his fault that Antony could be injured, his fault that Antony was most definitely scared for his life, and not do anything. His fingers shook a little as he scrolled through his recent calls, finding the name that he wanted to be sat beside him right now. Antony would know exactly what to say to calm Desmond down in this situation but there was nothing Desmond could do to hold his hand and tuck him under his arm right now. Without a second thought, Desmond clicked on Antony’s name, pressing the phone shakily to his ear as it started to ring.

  Hi, you have reached the phone of Antony Abascal. Unfortunately I cannot get to the phone at this moment, but please try and call back later or leave a message stating your name, number, and reason for calling and I will try and get back to you as soon as possible.

  It was a few seconds after the beep that Desmond hung up the phone. He considered, briefly, leaving a message for Antony but the purpose for doing such a thing was not clear in Desmond’s head. Desmond tapped the phone against his chin, his mind spiraling out of control. This is what it felt like to be the victim. All those people Jody and he had been glad they hadn’t had to deal with because they looked a complete mess; now he was the mess. He was the one sat in the corner slowly coming to terms with what had happened and losing their mind.

  Desmond shook his head. He would not sit here and become the in-shock victim. He was a professional.

  Hi, you have reached the phone of Antony Abascal. Unfortunately I cannot get to the phone at this moment, but please try and call back later or leave a message stating your name, number, and reason for calling and I will try and get back to you as soon as possible.

  “Hi, Antony…” Desmond opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before hanging up. Hi Antony? What the hell was he going to leave in that message? Oh, hi Antony, noticed you’d been kidnapped, hope you’re okay, I’ll try and see you soon? No. Desmond ran a tight hand through his hair, pulling it a little in punishment for being so stupid. Now he was becoming the crazy victim. Desmond shoved the phone deep in his pocket, storming over to make another coffee.

  Hi, you have reached the phone of Antony Abascal. Unfortunately I cannot get to the phone at this moment, but please try and call back later or leave a message stating your name, number, and reason for calling and I will try and get back to you as soon as possible.

  It was like a drug. With nothing to do, Desmond found himself finding solace in Antony’s voice. For the brief ten seconds Antony was talking, Desmond could close his eyes and pretend none of this was happening. Pretend that Antony was right beside him and he was chatting away as he usually did in the mornings, sometimes talking so fast and accidently changing to Spanish even Desmond didn’t notice. He’d left a handful of half messages, just chatting to Antony before realizing it was just a voice message. Just hearing Antony calmed Desmond down immensely. He couldn’t stop. He was addicted to his boyfriend’s voice.

  Hi, you have reached the phone of Antony Abascal. Unfortunately I cannot get to the phone at this moment, but please try and call back later or leave a message stating your name, number, and reason for calling and I will try and get back to you as soon as possible.

  Desmond nearly dropped the phone in shock when it rang in his hands. He barely even looked at the caller I.D. his head to fixated on Antony. Maybe, like when they had fought in the past, the relentless phone calls had finally made Antony break the wall of silence between them.

  “Antony?” Desmond asked hopefully. His hope was short lived.

  “Because kidnappers would just let him phone you freely.” The sarcastic voice of Henson returned. Desmond rolled his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Entertaining myself.” Desmond muttered, scuffing his feet on the ground.

  “Well stop it. He doesn’t have his phone anymore. You know that. They probably destroyed that after the first phone call.” Desmond could only think about the many times Antony had snapped pictures of the pair of them cuddled up together somewhere. Desmond wished now that he had asked Antony to send them to him. At least he would have them. Henson was right; they were probably lost forever on the phone that the kidnappers had destroyed the moment they hung up in the truck. “You need to keep this phone free in case they call you back on it.”

  “Of course you’ve tapped my phone.”

  “You know the drill, Desmond.” Henson said emotionlessly. It was the confirmation Desmond needed: he was being treated the victim. “Put this phone in your pocket and don’t touch it unless someone phones you. I’ll know if you’re using it.”

  “So all my privacy privileges are gone now?”

  “You know the drill, Desmond.” Henson repeated before hanging up. Desmond gripped the phone tightly in his hand, wanting nothing more than to throw it across the stoned driveway. But he knew that wasn’t an option. This may be his only link to Antony. And any link to Antony was a lifeline. With a deep breath, Desmond pushed the phone deep into his pocket, deciding that making another coffee would be a good way to distract himself further.

  Desmond couldn’t help thinking, constantly, that his phone was buzzing in his pocket. Time and time again he would retrieve it from his pocket just to be met with Antony’s smiling face. It was tantalizing and taunting and Desmond was going absolutely mental. He tried leaving the phone in one room whilst he went and sat in another but it never worked, he just found h
imself going back to it every ten seconds to check he hadn’t missed anything.

  - - -

  The phone was under his pillow when he climbed into bed that night. The forensics team had finally left but he still wasn’t allowed in the kitchen. It was weird being alone in the house after it had been filled with people coming in and out of it all day. The silence made Desmond restless. That and the fact that his bed was empty and the phone inches from his hand could ring or buzz at any second.

  He tried to sleep but it felt futile. Each time he got to the point of nodding off to sleep he woke abruptly, thinking his phone had buzzed. It never had - just Antony smiling back out at him. Teasing, reminding Desmond what he had failed to protect and failed to keep safe. He slammed the phone down angrily every time, glaring at the wall and trying to bring himself to sleep.

  Desmond frowned round at the bedroom door suddenly. It sure sounded like someone had just opened the front door. Maybe it was Nathan coming back in to look for something else? Or one of the other members of the forensic team? Surely they would call out if it was them though? Desmond shook his head; he was full of caffeine and sugar and paranoia about his phone. There was a big chance that he had made up the door sound in his head.

  It was just after he had closed his eyes that he was certain he heard a door slam. Louder than the first, Desmond had thrown back the bed sheets quicker than he could think, already on his feet and heading out the bedroom door. He grabbed the closest thing to him as he headed towards the stairs, managing to arm himself with an umbrella. He took the stairs quickly, pressing himself up against the wall to stay in the shadows, his ears strained from any other sounds.

  After standing there for ten minutes and the only sound being his own breath, Desmond relaxed a little, moving further into the house. He poked his head into the kitchen, but seeing the police tape over the door looked like it had not been disturbed he moved on. He didn’t need another bollocking from Henson about messing with the crime scene. As soon as Desmond set foot into the lounge it made sense why the front door had been slammed. He left the umbrella by the door; confident that whoever had got into his house was no longer there.