Page 143 of Everything That Kills Me
“The Saudis too?”
“Al-Talib is funding the activities of extremists and fundamentalists. The Saudi royal family want him stopped. He’san embarrassment. Al-Talib is crafty. He makes his donations in cash or gold or jewellery, hard to trace as well as hard to stop. The Saudis won’t sanction his killing. The CIA will, but it can’t happen in the States. The British flap their hands and do nothing.”
“So he’ll be killed here?”
“Yes.”
“Al-Talib looked as if he was alone when we spotted him on CCTV.”
“He wouldn’t have been.”
Zeph rankled at the thought of his software missing something. “What now?”
“I do my job and don’t get caught. Thomas as well.”
Zeph tightened his hold on Jack’s hand. “I caught you. Maybe…one night’s detention?”
“One hour.”
Zeph nodded. He’d take what he could get. And when this was done, could Jack finally be his?
Thirty-Six
How could he have thought that one hour with Zeph would be enough? He should have left once they’d finished eating. He shouldn’t have gone to see him in the first place, but when Thomas had told him about their conversation, Jack had no choice. Thomas had lied. Jack had always been part of this operation against Al-Talib. He’d not stopped killing. But Jack let the lie stay in place. He had the feeling Thomas might have lied to him too. In any case, Jack had now lied to Zeph. The Texan had been a target, not a client.
Zeph lay curled against him, his hand splayed on Jack’s chest. The sex had been fast and furious because Jack had told himself he needed to leave immediately after they were done. Instead, he’d fallen asleep—shocking when he was operational. Even worse, he was thinking he wanted Zeph again before he left.
“You’re not British, are you?” Zeph whispered.
Jack showed no visible reaction but that had shocked him. “What makes you say that?”
“Something about the way you saidThe British flap their handsand notwe.”
“What about Thomas?”
“He sounds British. But then you do too. Just something…”
Jack knew he should be keeping his mouth shut. Telling Zeph the truth was reckless. An unacceptable risk. Yet, he wanted to tell him where he’d been born. Where he’d lived for the first six years of his life. His real name.
“Thomas had me travelling so much from the day he rescued me, I picked up accents from all over the place. Nowhere was home.” Thomas had been his home.
“That’s true.” Zeph snuggled closer. “Have you thought about how you’re going to get rid of Al-Talib?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re not going to tell me.”
“No.”
“I could help. I can track him for you on CCTV.”
Jack rolled to pin him down. “No. You do nothing that might draw attention. Stay out of it.”
“Don’t disappear again,” Zeph whispered. “Please. We fit together. This works. Don’t give up on me.”
“I’m not good at this.”
“You’re good at everything. And you are good at this. You make me feel safe.”
