Page 44 of Butterfly Assassin
Aaron suppressed another shudder. That made sense—Krillick Hall was built to contain shifters after all.
Archer didn’t offer up any more than that, and Aaron didn’t want to ask either, didn’t want to remind Archer of what he was capable of. Not that he thought for one second that Archer had forgotten, but still.
“Where will we be doing this?” he asked, wanting to get off the subject. And the thought of Harry was like a bucket of cold water. It didn’t matter what Archer thought of him, Harry was the priority here.
Focus.
Archer seemed unfazed by his sudden change of subject. He glanced over his shoulder as he spoke. “Monitoring the meetup?”
“Yeah.”
Nodding to a door on his right, he said, “In here.” Archer led them into a fair-sized windowless room. Most of the space was taken up by a large round table, with a laptop, other equipment that Aaron didn’t recognise, and some fancy speaker-type thing on it. There were also several large TV screens or monitors on the wall, but they were all turned off.
Closing the door, Archer went over to the laptop and powered it up.
“How will this work exactly?” Aaron caught sight of a brown folder on the table, just the edges of what looked like photographs peeking out. He wanted to flip it open and have a look but kept his hands to himself.
“We installed something on Harry’s phone that’ll enable us to send a message to it and activate his microphone.
“Clever.” Aaron felt a prickle of unease at how simple it was to spy on someone these days. “And you’re going to do that at the time of the meeting?”
“Just before. We don’t want to miss anything.” Archer tapped out something on the keyboard, seemed satisfied with whatever he’d done, and stood. “There’s something I want to show you, come here.” He slid the folder closer and flipped it open.
When Archer spread the photos out on the table, his shoulder brushed against Aaron’s. On his next inhale Archer’s subtle scent filled his lungs, and Aaron’s heart sped up, the urge to tug him close and bury his nose in the crook of Archer’s neck hard to ignore.
“These are all the photos we’ve been able to get of Smith and his bodyguards,” Archer said. “We know their names, but I want to see if you recognise any from the fights.”
Aaron tried to concentrate on what Archer was saying rather than the warmth from him standing so close. Leaning in to get a better look, he moved to steady himself on the table but felt warm skin under his palm instead of wood.
“Sorry,” he muttered and snatched his hand away from Archer’s. Heat flooded his face. Fucking hell, how embarrassing. Unable to help himself, he looked up and found Archer staring straight at him. Archer’s expression was hard to decipher—but he didn’t seem especially bothered by the fact that Aaron had just been holding his hand. Maybe it was his imagination, but Aaron thought he even saw the hint of a smile.
The door opened, breaking whatever weird connection they had going on, and Frank entered, followed by two men Aaron didn’t recognise.
Archer straightened. “Aaron Harper, this is DS Bridgford and DS Stewart. They’ll be working with us on this case.”
To Aaron’s surprise, they both held out a hand for him to shake. Maybe they didn’t know Archer had almost arrested him. Or maybe they didn’t care? Whatever. Aaron shook hands and offered a small smile.
Focusing back on the photos, he slid one closer to him. “I know him.” He tapped the guy’s face, and the low chatter in the room stopped as they all turned to see who he was pointing at.
Archer stepped close enough to brush against him again, and Aaron suppressed a shiver at his proximity and resisted the pull to lean against him, concentrating instead on the photo.
“His name’s Blake,” Aaron said. “Either Simon or Steve, maybe. I don’t know if it’s his real name or not, but he’s always there at the fights. He was the one who took me to see Smith last time.”
“Simon Blake,” Archer confirmed. “Would you say he’s one of Smith’s top men?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” Aaron shrugged, His knowledge of the inner workings of Smith’s circle didn’t extend that far. “I’ve only spoken to him a handful of times, but as henchmen go, he’s all right. He’s never been a dick just for the sake of it, not that I’ve seen, anyway.”
“And some of them are?” Frank asked the question this time, and Aaron looked up to meet his gaze across the table.
“Yeah. A couple of them are right arseholes.”
“Typical,” Bridgford grunted.
Archer hadn’t moved away. If anything, he was closer, and now Aaron was far too conscious of his body heat where they touched. He daren’t glance at him in case Archer was watching him, and Aaron didn’t trust himself not to blush again.
He’s SCTF. Off limits.
Aaron repeated it like a mantra.
