This Little Piggy Owes the Wolf: Eliza James & Wil Douglas, #2

By S. C. Withers

There comes a time when all debts must be repaid...

 

Eliza James, now mostly recovered from the ordeals of her past, has been recruited by Jack Abbott, the head of LILPIG, a private secret intelligence company based in London, and Wil Douglas, her lover and colleague, has welcomed her into his home. However, the time has come to repay Abbott for giving her the chance of a new life, and her current, relatively stable existence is about to be rocked to the core.

Eliza excels in her new role, but her relationship with Douglas is put to the test when she discovers what she must do as Abbott's newest employee. Their mission takes them to Australia – from Sydney to Canberra to Melbourne and back again – and finally a resolution of sorts emerges. But the country that Eliza fled before she met Douglas offers up more of her past than he bargained for, and Eliza discovers the true price of her debt to Abbott…

 

THE SECOND NOVEL FEATURING WIL DOUGLAS AND ELIZA JAMES, BY S. C. WITHERS

• Language: English
• Publisher: S. C. Withers
• Release date: Nov 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215425800

S. C. Withers

S. C. Withers is a British/Australian author who enjoys reading and writing fiction, spy fiction, biography and poetry. She has several university qualifications in psychology, creative writing, editing and liberal arts, and is the mother of two wonderful human beings.

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Copyright © S. C. Withers 2023

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Certain long-standing institutions, agencies, and public offices are mentioned, but the characters involved are wholly imaginary. Unless otherwise referenced in the text to actual historical people, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, incidents and dialogue in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Where real-life historical places or businesses do appear, the situations, incidents and dialogues concerning these are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work.

Although an actual basement void beneath Parliament House in Canberra, Australia, has been historically reported in the media, the depiction of this setting in this book is a product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Chapter 1

Wilfred Douglas lifted himself up on one elbow and smiled down the bed at her. She was lying end-to-end with him, tangled in the sheets, having just turned herself around to grasp his bare right foot in her soft, small hands. Only the uppermost tip of the big, old burn scar that ran down her back protruded from under the sheet, which she had self-consciously wrapped around herself in order to conceal it.

‘Eliza, what are you doing?’ asked Douglas.

Eliza began to playfully wiggle each of his toes, starting with the big one. As she worked her way from one toe to the next, she chanted, ‘This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had some tofu—’

‘Isn’t that meant to be roast-beef?’ asked Douglas.

‘Not on my watch, it isn’t,’ said Eliza.

‘Well, that tickles, anyway,’ said Douglas, and shook his foot free.

‘Oh, Wil – how are you ever going to survive interrogation by tickling, then?’ said Eliza. ‘Consider this a part of your training.’

‘Oh, come on back up here,’ said Douglas. He sat up, cupped his hands gently under her arms and hauled her easily back up to the top of the bed.

‘Seriously,’ said Eliza. ‘How are you ever going to manage to hold out against a Russian spy wielding a feather?’

‘Well,’ said Douglas, ‘if she’s half as lovely as you, I’ll probably do this.’ He covered her mouth with his own, and she yielded at once.

Eventually, she pulled away and said, ‘That’s not playing fair.’

‘Whoever said I was fair?’ asked Douglas.

‘Not the Ruskies, anyway,’ said Eliza.

‘What’s this obsession you have with the Russians?’ asked Douglas. ‘We been transported back to the Cold War, or something?’

Eliza giggled, and Douglas smiled down at her. ‘This is all very nice, my darling,’ he said. ‘But it’s time to get to work, now.’

‘Oh, do we have to?’ asked Eliza.

‘’Fraid so, my love,’ said Douglas. ‘No rest for the wicked, and all that.’

‘But I thought we were the good guys,’ said Eliza.

‘Come on, up,’ said Douglas, and he slid out of bed.

‘Who’s having a wash first, then?’ asked Eliza.

‘Me,’ said Douglas.

Eliza watched him go, his lean muscles rippling delightfully under his skin as he moved. Then there came the sound of the shower, and Douglas’s voice belting out Blue Skies.

*

Work today meant a martial arts training session – Judo this time. Together, they moved around the mat, knees bent and feet firmly anchored to the ground, each grasping the other’s collar with the right hand, and the opposite, upper-sleeve with the left. They’d been at it for ages, and again and again he’d thrown her, but every time, she’d tucked in her body and broken her fall with a loud slap of an arm on the mat.

But then at last Eliza saw her chance – or rather, she felt it – and pushed him backwards and slightly to the side, so that his weight momentarily shifted over his left heel, then, simultaneously, she slid her right foot into the space between his much longer legs, hooked it behind his left ankle and dragged his foot towards her, leaning into him harder with her right arm.

There was just enough time for her to register the surprise – and a hint of pride – on his face before he collapsed backwards to the floor, rolling his body on impact, and slapping the mat hard with his arm. The force of his fall made her stumble forwards a little, but almost immediately, she regained a steady position again, feet apart, legs slightly bent.

Douglas sat up, grinning and shaking his head. ‘Well, you really got me that time.’

‘Seriously?’ asked Eliza.

‘Seriously,’ said Douglas.

‘Huh, I thought so,’ said Eliza. She tried to pinch her smile away with her lips, but found that she couldn’t – not in front of Wil.

Douglas bounced back onto his feet. ‘The student wins,’ he said, then gave a little, stiff bow, still looking her straight in the eye, and held out his right hand.

Eliza took it in hers in a firm handshake. ‘I’m hardly Jigoro Kano,’ she laughed. ‘His sensei might have said that, but that’s hardly me.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Douglas. ‘But really, you were great, Eliza.’

‘I owe it all to you, Wil.’ said Eliza.

‘Well, we couldn’t have you wandering about unable to defend yourself, could we?’ Douglas said. He ruffled her hair, and gazed again into those deep-blue eyes of hers.

‘I don’t know why you’re all going to so much trouble – It’s not like I’m living on the streets anymore,’ said Eliza.

‘I know,’ said Douglas. ‘It’s just that everyone in the company’s supposed to do martial arts training – even those who aren’t involved in the rough work.’

‘I wish you weren’t involved in the rough work,’ said Eliza. She held up the first two fingers of each hand and tweaking them in the air like inverted commas as she uttered the last two words.

‘Aw, don’t worry about little ol’ me,’ said Douglas, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Come on – we may as well go and shower, now. I’ll meet you upstairs.’

They left the gym, and Eliza turned into a small, white-tiled room with long, wooden benches at one end and two shower stalls at the other. She took off the thick, white judogi she was wearing, and then her T-shirt and underwear. She turned on the shower and stepped in under the warm spray, tilting her head back and running her hands through her hair. She’d certainly changed a lot since this time last year – although she was nowhere near fat, there was a lot more meat on her than when Wil had first found her. Back then, she’d been skin and bones, and mad with it – crazy mad, that is. But it was all water under the bridge, now. Now that Wil and his boss, Jack Abbott, had put her back together again, and taken her under their wing...

She dressed herself in tight-fitting, dark blue denim jeans, a black skivvy and a fleecy grey jumper, and pulled on a pair of ankle-length black boots. Last of all, she took a small, gold signet ring set with a flat, oval black onyx stone out of her pocket and slid it onto her right ring-finger – normally she would never take it off, but Douglas insisted on it for training. She’d worn that ring every single day for years: it was the only thing that was left from her old life. But still, what Wil said went, and he’d said no jewellery allowed during judo practice.

It wasn’t too bad having to learn martial arts – in fact, it had been quite fun, actually. As Wil had said, everyone at LILPIG had to learn self-defence. LILPIG – or the Linked International and Local Private Intelligence Group, as it was formally – was one of several English private secret-intelligence companies that had popped up over the years since 2002. Their headquarters in Marylebone was called West London Group Control, but its employees liked to refer to the organisation affectionately as Little Pig, or The West London Golf Club.

Eliza left the judogi on a peg for whoever took care of those things, and left the room, trudging up a short flight of smooth concrete stairs to a heavy fire-door. The door opened out onto a corridor that was laid with an opulent red and brown patterned carpet, and there, Douglas stood patiently waiting for her, her coat and scarf over his arm.

‘Would you like some lunch?’ he asked. ‘There’s a veggo place newly opened just round the corner.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Eliza. ‘Yes, that’d be great, thanks.’

*

But although he’d originally seemed keen on the idea, once they were sat down, Douglas merely picked at his meal.

‘Wassup?’ asked Eliza.

‘Nothing,’ said Douglas. ‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s something on your mind, obviously,’ said Eliza. ‘I thought you wanted me to become good at it.’

‘Huh?’ said Douglas.

‘I thought you were proud of my judo-throw back there,’ said Eliza.

Douglas put down his fork and sighed. ‘It’s not that,’ he said.

Eliza waited, her knife hovering in the air.

‘I don’t want you getting offended or anything,’ said Douglas, ‘but Jack’s gone and arranged a flat for you to live in.’

‘You don’t want me living with you anymore?’ asked Eliza.

‘No, it’s not that... I love having you,’ said Douglas, and grasped her knife-hand in his. ‘I think Jack’s just worried about the current arrangement, that’s all.’ He let go of her hand and shrugged. ‘Or maybe it’s some kind of tax-dodge or other.’

‘OK. Fair enough,’ said Eliza, and resumed eating, then: ‘But what if I decide to go work somewhere else?’

For a moment, it was as if Douglas had stopped breathing. But then he shook his head, and smiled. ‘I think you’re well aware that you still owe Jack, Eliza. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be in prison on a manslaughter charge – or back in Australia, facing one there – at least one charge, on both counts.’

‘You don’t have to remind me,’ said Eliza.

‘Maybe I do,’ said Douglas.

Eliza ate another two mouthfuls in silence, then put down her knife and fork. Abruptly, she stood up, put her coat and scarf on, and headed for the door. Douglas pulled twenty pounds out of his wallet, threw it on the table and hurried after her.

When they got back to his flat, he shut the front door, removed his coat, and helped Eliza off with hers. Her whole body was still visibly tense, and he grabbed her shoulders, turning her around. She cast her eyes downwards, and Douglas bent so that his smoothly-shaven cheek brushed gently against hers. Slowly, almost grudgingly, she turned her face towards him, and he kissed her, full and hard on the mouth. She responded at once, and his arms came around her as her muscles relaxed.

They parted, and she nodded and smiled at him. Douglas smiled too, and patted her on the back. ‘You’re OK,’ he cooed.

Douglas looked over at the telephone. A red light was flashing above the key-pad. ‘Oh, we’ve got a message,’ he said, and picked up the receiver, dialled a number and listened. Eliza walked past him and into the bathroom.

Douglas spoke quietly into the phone and then replaced the receiver. ‘I’ve got to go back to work,’ he called. ‘That was Jack.’

Eliza came out of the bathroom. ‘Again?’ she said. ‘Well, off you go, then.’

‘You’ll be OK?’ asked Douglas.

‘Me?’ said Eliza. ‘’Course I will – I beat the judo instructor, remember.’

These special summonses from Jack were a damned nuisance – he seemed always to choose the most inopportune moments, too. Eliza was supposedly stable now – according to her shrink, that is – but Douglas knew when she was touchy, and he’d just gone and made her touchy, all right. But he’d had to mention it – you couldn’t just sweep a thing like her stabbing a man to death under the carpet forever. True, the man had attacked her first, but she’d certainly managed to throw a spanner in the works as a result. Douglas was certain, too, that she’d recognised the implied threat in his mentioning it when he did; and, truth be told, that was mostly what was so bothersome – everyone involved was aware that Eliza was indebted to him, to Jack Abbott, to the shrink, for what they’d done for her.

*

It being February, the weather was bitterly cold, so the fact that Jack had turned up the heating in his office was one small mercy at least. He indicated a tall, round coffee-table in the corner. It was laid with a glass French press full of hot coffee, three blue-and-white-striped Cornishware mugs, a small jug of milk and a bowl containing large, brown sugar crystals and a delicate, Tiffany silver teaspoon. Beside these were a carafe of Penfolds Bin 407 and three large Waterford crystal wine glasses.

‘Coffee or wine?’ asked Abbott.

‘Coffee, please,’ said Douglas.

They sat down. ‘Are we expecting someone else?’ asked Douglas, pointing at the extra cup.

‘Not just at the moment,’ said Abbott, and started to pour the coffee. ‘Milk?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Douglas.

Abbott added milk and sugar to his own coffee and stirred, then took a sip.

‘I have some work for you, Wil,’ he said.

‘That’s nothing unusual,’ said Douglas, ‘you are my boss, after all – but why the lovely afternoon tea?’

‘The job in question is overseas,’ said Abbott.

Douglas blew gently on his coffee and took a cautious sip. ‘Where overseas?’ he asked.

Abbott pointed at the Penfolds. ‘Where this delicious bottle of wine was made,’ he said. ‘In Australia.’

Douglas put his cup down warily and said, ‘Does this job have something to do with Eliza, by any chance?’

‘Perhaps... well, no, not really,’ said Abbott. ‘She’s not the target anyway, but I do plan to have her involved in a supporting capacity.’

‘You mean you hope to,’ said Douglas. ‘I don’t imagine she’ll be keen on going back there in any capacity.’

‘She won’t really have a choice,’ said Abbott. ‘I’ll make sure she gets all the encouragement she needs. All you have to do for now is tell her that you’re going.’

‘What do you mean by encouragement?’ Douglas asked.

‘Just that,’ said Abbott. ‘There’ll be nothing too distasteful, I assure you.’

Douglas sighed and picked up his cup again. ‘So what’s the job?’ he asked.

‘Right, I need you to find someone,’ said Abbott. ‘He was a member of LILPIG for several years, but then decided he’d had enough, and left. I’m afraid he’s been assessed as a security risk, and needs to be kept silent, one way or another.’

Abbott took another swig of his coffee, and then cleared his throat. ‘When you find him, you may have to set up some kind of situation that will impel him to remain silent. I’d also rather that he be returned here to England. And,’ Abbott drained his cup with one last swig and placed it back down hard, ‘if necessary, you’ll have to retire him for good.’

‘What’s this geezer’s name?’ asked Douglas. ‘Do I know him?’

Abbott stood up, walked to his desk, and took an envelope out of the top drawer. He returned to where Douglas sat, and tossed the envelope down. Douglas slid it towards himself.

‘He was known as Cole Murray while working with us,’ said Abbott. ‘Intelligence suggests he’s changed his name to Jason Kelly. And no, you never crossed paths with him.’

‘Huh, the new name’s imaginative,’ said Douglas, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Sounds like he just picked a couple of Aussie icons to name himself after, like Jason Donovan and Ned Kelly.’

‘That notion hadn’t escaped me,’ said Abbott.

‘Does he have good contacts over there?’ asked Douglas.

‘Doubtless he has, or he wouldn’t have got so far,’ said Abbott. ‘But I, too, have good contacts in Australia.’

Douglas opened the envelope and stared down at a photo of his quarry – early to mid-forties, more than a little on the chubby side, clean-shaven with a shock of reddish, curly hair, rather too wide-apart hazel eyes, and a vacant expression. His was definitely not the most handsome face Douglas had laid eyes on.

‘So when do I leave?’ he asked.

‘As soon as practicable,’ said Abbott. ‘You can keep that photo if you like.’ Douglas placed it back inside the envelope and stowed it carefully in the top inside-pocket of his jacket.

‘Now – come over here with me,’ said Abbott, and walked back to his desk.

Douglas followed him around the desk to where a laptop computer sat open.

Abbott jiggled the mouse about a bit, and then quickly typed in his password. The same photo Douglas had just pocketed appeared on the screen. Abbott scrolled down the document. It contained a link to Kelly’s employment history, and displayed other relevant information about him – possible contacts in Australia, a few addresses, some blurry surveillance photographs.

‘Read that lot, will you?’ said Abbott.

Douglas concentrated on the screen, and Abbott walked back to the coffee table, sat down and waited in silence for Douglas to finish reading.

‘I’m hoping to book you and Rebecca on a flight on Sunday,’ said Abbott.

‘Actually, she and I have decided to stick with the name Eliza,’ said Douglas.

‘OK, then. Even better,’ said Abbott. ‘The fewer the people who are likely to recognise her, the better.’

‘They all think she’s dead over there, remember?’ said Douglas.

‘Yes, but still...’ said Abbott.

‘You seem awfully sure that we’ll both be on that plane,’ said Douglas.

‘Oh, you will be,’ said Abbott. ‘And no making a mess of it this time, eh?’

‘Jack,’ said Douglas. ‘I’ve told you before, there was no way I could have known that she would kill my target.’

But Abbott merely ignored him, and so he did the best thing he could, and left.

Just as he was closing the door, Ferguson arrived. Bloody Paul Ferguson. It would be a miracle if he wasn’t here for the same thing – something to do with Eliza’s encouragement, no doubt.

My Eliza, thought Douglas, or rather, my Bec: Rebecca Edwards, now known as Eliza James – the most beautiful, capable, sensitive and clever woman he’d ever met... And he was sure that Abbott would eventually drive a wedge between them. Douglas couldn’t help it: he glared at Ferguson.

‘Bad news?’ asked Ferguson.

He looked like he’d just come back from getting a haircut and manicure. Sparkly dark-brown eyes, a cheeky grin, and that long, full-cheeked handsome face. Douglas did respect the man – liked him, even, to a point – but past experience had proved that Paul Ferguson was a real threat to Eliza, and (although he’d managed