Undercover (Boyxboy)

Chapter Nine

Harry

The flashing red lights and horning of the ambulance brought back an old memory in me I’d thought would be the last thing on my mind in a crisis like this. It was inappropriate, really, to be thinking of anything other than the hysterical woman in my arms at this present moment in time.

But then again, I was never known for my timing.

As Audrey Jefferson was carted away from me in the comforting arms of a tired looking paramedic, I considered following Ethan into their house, curiosity getting the better of me. We’d been through enough of these situations to be fazed by them anymore.

I decided against it though, my mind clouding over with a similar scene I’d witnessed – but from years ago, in London. Instead, I sat against the windowsill I had been peering into before we knew the source of the gunshot – who I now assumed to be Grant Jefferson.

Clenching my hands together, I allowed my eyes to travel around the scenes unfolding in front of me. The man wheeling the stretcher into the large, wooden front doors actually looked like the man who’d wheeled Ethan into the ambulance that day.

That day where I had genuinely and categorically believed that the most important person in my life was dead.

-       -

London, 2007

The sun was hidden behind the clouds again – big fucking shocker. I had warned Ethan about the dull, dreary weather. But no – he’d wanted to take the big case in London because it was a ‘cultural city’.

I’d grown up here and as I grew, I also grew a hatred of the place. The old buildings, bustling streets full of ignorant people constantly rushing everywhere... life in America was so much more chilled. Our agency was located in a tranquil, destitute place in the middle of nowhere – it was harder for enemies to find us if we weren’t technically on the map.

I’d come to learn it wasn’t cities I hated – it was just London. Probably all of England, in fact. I had stopped complaining about this to Ethan, though. He was starting to ask about my childhood again and damn could that man be persistent.

“Get your fucking feet off of the dashboard, Taylor!” a mean voice growled. I rolled my eyes and turned to look at the man in the driver’s seat of the low-budget white Transit van we were in.

I had been taken hostage, apparently. My arms and legs were even restrained by some cheap duct tape and everything – very professional.

We’d been following these guys for weeks now and they had somehow discovered our operation. Ethan was claiming it had something to do with me going out on the piss three nights ago and drunkenly declaring my name and occupation to anyone who would listen.

According to him, my chat-up line to any of the ladies was ‘I’m like James Bond but better... can I see your Golden Eye?’

He was a fucking liar though – I barely watch James Bond! Only when I needed some inspiration...

Anyway, somehow these Norwegian brothel-running, exploiting scumbags discovered who we really were – it didn’t take their boss long to discover our identities and everything about us. Ethan and I suspected there was a rat in our agency leaking this information – it was all very exciting.

“Johan, I’ve already told you – if I’m going to be riding shotgun, my feet are going on the dashboard... this tape isn’t doing anything for my circulation!” I scoffed.

I had tried smashing the blacked-out windows of the van but they were apparently ‘smash-proof’. I also suspected they were sound-proof by the way the little old lady ignored my manly screams for help at that pedestrian crossing.