Free Against the Clock by Charlie Moore Page A

things.
    Shirin felt she knew him inside and out. But what she felt for him remained unexplored.
    They had met on a bus during an unusually wet autumn. He had been on his way home from a night shift; she had been leaving a crime scene. That had been over one and a half years ago.
    Shirin's burner phone vibrated in her pocket, snapping her to attention. It could only be Barratt. Checking the phone, she saw his text message. He found a lead.
    She had to get back.
    Shirin picked a towel from Ben's collection in the linen closet and walked into the bathroom. He looked at her hopefully through the shower screen for a moment before understanding the look on her face.
    Turning off the water, dripping and naked, he stepped out of the shower and stood before her…close to her. The steam and moisture seemed to reach out and lick at her skin. Her look roamed wantonly up and down his body.
    He was slightly taller than she was, well toned and athletic. Years of rock climbing had built his body into a defined and powerful amalgamation of sinewy muscle.
    Shirin caught herself and snapped her mind free of the sudden desire to lose herself in the moment. Lifting the towel, she gestured for him to take it.
    There was a time to fight and there was a time to forget; there was a time to feel pain and a time to deliver it. Shaking off the warmth and comfort Ben offered her, now was the time for her to get back to work. Time for her to deliver pain to those who killed her husband, and to those who were now hunting her. Time for her to be the brutal and relentless killer her reputation spoke of.
    Ben watched as the softness seemed to clear from her eyes, replaced instantly by a hard and detached focus he tried desperately to understand. While he clearly looked disappointed, he did well hiding it.
    "That's okay," he said, taking the towel. Almost casually, he asked, "Do you want to talk about what's really going on?"
    His honesty often caught her off guard. It was a character trait she felt ill equipped to manage at times. It fought against the very nature of her training, her life, and her survival. Yet she found herself liking, even relaxing in his genuine aura.
    "I'm in trouble, Ben," she said truthfully. Her comment hung in the air for a stalled heartbeat, then she quickly added, "Financial trouble."
    Ben stopped drying himself off and watched her carefully as she continued. "I remember you telling me about your sister's financial troubles, with her divorce…and was hoping you could put me in touch with that forensic accountant she used?"
    "Is that it?" he asked, noticeably relieved as he took a deep breath and expelled it before continuing, "I thought it was something scary."
    He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. Then, wrapping the damp towel around his waist, he walked to the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee. Peering over his mug, he said, "You didn't have to come all this way just to ask me that. You could have called."
    "I know," she said.
     
    13:09:51
    Walking briskly away from Ben's apartment complex, Shirin disconnected the call on her cell phone and picked up her pace to a fast jog.
    Ben had called his sister, Shirin had gotten the number of the accountant, she had thanked Ben, agreed to dinner on the weekend―if she was still alive―and left.
    She speed dialed Barratt's burner phone.
    He answered within two rings.
    "What have you got?" she asked without breaking stride.
    "I recognized one of the men in the photos. He used to work for the Agency, in protection. What he's doing now, or how he's involved, is anyone's guess. I reached out to an old friend who may be able to set up a meet with him. Just waiting for him to call me back."
    Shirin rounded the next corner, crossed the road, and hailed a cab with her free hand. While she waited, she continued, "Just got off the phone with the forensic accountant. On my way to meet him now. I'll text you his details. Go to my computer. Do you remember the day Harry asked