Page 31 of Damon
“Fight, fight, fight,” they chant. Greyson shakes his head then moves in their direction to calm the crowd of excited teenagers.
“Devane,” I hiss, and Hunter’s eyes lift to mine. “You’re not the only unhinged, lonely bastard in this gym. You’re my friend, but don’t take that as permission to say whatever the fuck you want. There will be no women provided by you, got it? I do not need the same shit in my life that you do.”
“Got it,” he mutters. “Now, piss off. Come back when you have your shit sorted.”
I wipe my hands on my shorts, shrug, then walk away without another word.
***
Damon and Annie's House
Applicant Five walks into my living room and sits on the sofa. I repeat the same questions I’ve asked the last four candidates. She answers with prepared statements, the same as the rest of them. It’s boring and predictable.
“Is there anything else you would like to know?” she asks, her voice so quiet I can barely hear her. I wrack my brain for something constructive to say or an interesting question to ask. Nothing. My mother sits beside me, blows out hard in annoyance, then steps in as she has during each interview we’ve conducted.
“Julia,” she says in her most professional manner. The young woman nods. “You say you worked as a childcare operative in a Swiss chalet last winter. Was that for one family or multiple?” My mother lifts the curriculum vitae from the coffee table, moves her glasses to the end of her nose and surveys the document. Poor Julia wriggles in her seat uncomfortably, then straightens her pink cardigan before answering.
“Multiple. I was employed by the hotel complex.”
“I see,” my mother responds. “Have you ever secured a position with a family? Or have you relied on employment within the corporate world? This position is quite different from being a stand-in babysitter at a holiday park.”
“Excuse me,” Julia replies sharply. “But the holiday park was a five-star ski resort, and I was much more than a stand-in babysitter. Families trusted me with their children for days at a time while they enjoyed themselves. I can assure you, I am more than capable of this position.”
“Perhaps,” my mother says, unflustered by her retort. “We will be in touch if we feel the same. Thank you for coming in today.” Julia’s jaw drops, and I stand.
“I’ll see you out,” I tell her.
After I have escorted her out of my home, I return to the sofa and sit back down. My mother continues to rustle paper and mutter to herself.
“Who do you like?” she asks.
“Number Three seemed okay.”
“Really? With her thoughts on the use of timeout being a barbaric practice?”
“Number Two then.”
“Damon.” I look at her and she frowns. “Annie needs a nanny. Make a decision. You return to work in two days, and I want my next week to be spent ensuring the woman is suitable before I leave. Numbers Two, Three and Five can start tomorrow.”
“Five. Julia. You don’t like the other two.”
“Perfect,” she trills, then claps her hands together. “She was my choice. I will call her and let her know.”
***
HQ – The National Organized Crime Unit
Everything looks the same as the last time I was here. My office is exactly as I left it; there’s even a dirty coffee mug stuck to the glass desktop. A tall pile of paperwork sits stacked on the corner, leaning precariously to one side. After standing and looking out of the window onto the London streets below, watching normal people who have no idea of the evil in the world we fight go about their daily lives, I move to sit at my desk. As I switch on my computer, my door swings open and the commissioner walks in.
“Good morning, Chief Constable,” he says, and I stand. He approaches my desk, and we shake hands. “I do apologize for the pressure on you to return to your duties, but things within Project Shylock have progressed at a somewhat alarming rate. I need all trusted staff here and working the case.”
“Understood, sir. Is there any information I need to be aware of before the briefing this morning?”
He sits down in the chair opposite me, leaning back and tenting his fingers before speaking. An older man and a loyal police officer, Commissioner White bleeds blue. Protecting this country and doing so by the word of the law is his moral duty. If he knew the darker world I operate in and who my contacts are, I have no doubt he would bury me. I lower myself to sit too.
“There have been further attacks on the family members of serving officers,” he tells me. “No fatalities, but an inspector’s father is currently in Intensive Care at Kings College Hospital from a knife wound to the abdomen. Whether he will survive remains to be seen.”
“How did the attack occur?” I ask, trying to maintain a professional manner, but inside I’m screaming for revenge. Another family cannot suffer the way mine has at the hands of these maniacs.