Love and Lies • 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑦 𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑏𝑦

Chapter Twenty

The next few hours, Ann spent reading her copy of Russel's records in their entirety about twenty times and writing notes. She was always this strenuous with her planning. But this time - when it wasn't her life she was risking to complete the mission - was different.

She knew everything about Russel, down to the jeweller he used to buy his first wife's engagement ring. Too many other parties were invested in the success of the job to be anything but herself.

So after she got word from Campbell's spies that Tommy was out of his office, she left her small safe house and made her way to his location.

He was alone in Charlie Strong's boat yard, smoking a cigarette in front of a dark brown horse whose reins were tied to the rail of a box van. When he heard her approach, he glanced over his shoulder and then watched her as she walked the length to his side.

"Is she arriving or leaving?" She nodded to the horse. Her hands were already moving to stroke the animals back, feeling its prominent muscles under short soft hair.

"Leaving." Tommy said. "To be trained for Epsom."

"I'm sure she'll be great. She looks like she's in good condition. What's her name?"

"Deception." Tommy threw the nub of his cigarette onto the ground, and Ann's hand stilled. "Do you always carry a weapon?" He asked as if he hadn't said what he'd said. Because it was the past, she was the past, and Tommy didn't dwell on the past if it couldn't offer him something.

"We should go somewhere more private." Ann said, taking her hand off the horse.

Tommy looked at her with a blank expression for a few moments - probably because she didn't answer his question - before clearing his throat and nodding.

He took her to the Garrison.

"I just had it done up. There was a fire." He held the door open for her as she walked in, taking in every difference of the space from the old. No longer was the space an excess of old wood. The Garrison was now an ornate pub fitted with polished brass furniture and pillars that shone gold. is polished to a blinding shine. All the mirrors are gilded.

"I heard. It's..." Beautiful, Extravagant.

"Yeah." Tommy closed and locked the door. Then he walked to the other side of the wooden bar. "We have cordial... or tonic water."

"No thank you."

He poured himself an Irish whisky. "You didn't answer my question."

Ann considered not answering again from the tone he used. But with her mouth in a tight line, she said. "Yes. I do."

Tommy's silence held out for another full minute. He never spoke too late or too soon, only at the precise moment he meant to - that she definitely remembered.

Ann sat down on the bar stool in front of him, making herself as comfortable as she could be in a situation like this.

"Why a knife?" He asked.

"I never want to feel like taking a life has become...easy," she said, finally finding the right word.

She shrugged lightly. "The distance guns bring makes that possible, but with a knife, you need to get close. You need to get so close that there isn't a chance of making a mistake."

"Have you ever?"

Ann shook her head, as she glanced at the glass cabinets. "There's no one I've killed that I regret."

Tommy took a sip of his whisky, before taking his gun out of his shoulder holster. He weighed the weapon in his hand for a few moments, and then set the weapon down.

Ann slowly looked from him to the gun and then back.

His eyebrows rose with an air of amusement that was surprising considering the weight of their conversation. "Should I put it away?"

She smiled despite herself. "Only if it'd make you more comfortable...you know, being in a room with a trained assassin and all."

"This time isn't your job to help me survive?" He didn't have to worry about her killing him. "Or is it to make sure I don't fail?"

Ann pulled her bottom lip between her teeth in fake thought. "The ratio's about thirty : seventy."

He chuckled softly, and the warmth that was just a prickle on Ann's skin blossomed.

She took a breath before pulling a sealed folder out of the breast of her coat. She offered it to Tommy. "From Campbell. The date has been set. Four weeks from today."

He looked at the folder, but didn't accept it until he took another drink from his glass. Instead of opening it, he set it on the bar.

"You could've turned down Mr Churchill's request?" He asked, and she slowly nodded. "Why didn't you?"

"Mr Churchill cares about your wellbeing like a sergeant cares about their soldiers. Your death would be a minor misfortunate to him, while Campbell would probably see it as a gift from God."

"But you wouldn't. Because you still love me." It wasn't a question, even though his brows were furrowed with question. Question and mockery.

The hard line of her mouth returned, and she reflected on his words for several long seconds. Was he punishing her?

The quirk of an eyebrow, expecting, waiting for a reaction, told her he was trying to get an answer fuelled by anger and truth out of her. But she wouldn't give him one unless he asked her properly. "Open the folder Thomas, we should get started."

He didn't budge.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" She tried again, but he still remained passive. Her frown deepened, and she fixed him with a challenging look that he returned. "Do you still love me?"

She expected anger, or at least his attempt at concealing anger, but instead his expression smoothed. 

"Would it change anything?" He asked, and she blinked in naked confusion.

"What do you mean-" 

"Why come back, why risk more regret?" His voice grew stiffer.

She was silent, feeling his silent search of his eyes, unwavering from her own. The walls between them fell - no more humour, avoidance or games. It made her struggle to articulate the answer she already knew. Finally, she settled for. "I won't have any regrets this time."

"Why's that?"

"Because I won't hurt you again."

Tommy snickered, abrupt and cynical, and she flinched. He was definitely trying to punish her. And she deserved it. But didn't he see that she was trying to make up for her mistakes? 

He read her face, and his sarcastic humour fell apart. "I don't mean to laugh-"

"It's okay." That was the first lie she'd told since she'd come back, and he obviously knew it. She sighed and corrected. "It's not okay, but I understand." She drummed her fingers on the bar top. 

"I don't think you do." He leaned towards her across the bar with his hands on the wood. He was close enough for his mind to feel like it was only a heartbeat away, but not enough for them to touch. "I don't regret knowing you..."

His words struck her like a fire that felt more alive than anything she had felt in two years. She nodded, and quickly looked away so she could breathe. 

When she glanced back at him, he'd straightened up with his glass at his mouth, no longer looking at her. 

Without the courage to meet his eyes again, she looked away. Things were becoming too intimate, but she had to let him know. He'd given her that courtesy. "I don't regret knowing you either."