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Chapter 8

Ruth had just finished sending the text to Beth with the information on projected victim 20 when her phone rang.

"Yes?" She listened to the voice on the other line and said, "Thank you, yes, I'll get there when I can." She hung up the phone and muttered, "Bloody hell…"

"What's wrong?" Tariq asked.

"The alarm on my house was triggered."

"Someone broke-in?"

"No, the police have already checked, no sign of forced entry, but I need to meet the alarm rep to sign off, standard protocol. There just isn't time for this right now."

"Seems like more trouble than it's worth."

"Yes, sometimes. My cats used to set it off—" And then it struck her. "Oh dear, Scarlett."

"Scarlett?"

"Yes, this morning, when I ran home to get a change of clothes, I went by Harry's first and picked up his dog and took her to my flat."

Tariq didn't bother to ask how she got in, or how she knew Harry had a dog. Instead he just said, "Oh."

He looked at Ruth, read the concern in her eyes and felt a pang of sympathy – of all of them, he knew that Harry had been closest to Ruth and he couldn't imagine what his loss was doing to her, nor how she had kept it together as well as she had.

"Look, Ruth," Tariq said gently, "you've already sent potential victim 20's name and address to Beth, and we've still got some time. Why don't you run home and make a quick check? It won't take you that long if you take a cab."

"A cab? Do you know how much that costs?"

"Yes. That's why I ride a bike. But you could do a roundtrip in 30 minutes. And all we'll be doing in the next 30 minutes is waiting…"

She bit her lower lip. "Well, just this once won't hurt, I suppose." She looked him in the eyes. "Are you sure you're okay here, Tariq?"

"Yes. I'll keep close watch on everything, and if anything changes, I'll call you immediately."

"All right."

Ruth grabbed her coat and entered a pod…

The alarm rep was waiting for Ruth outside her front door when she arrived and she signed his clipboard quickly.

"Thanks, Mr. Phillips," she said.

"Good-night, Miss Brown."

"Good-night."

Ruth put her key in the lock and walked in, closing the door behind her. It was oddly still in the entry hall, but what set her more on edge was the lack of little paws clicking on the tile floor.

"Scarlett? Scarlett?"

The dog did not appear. Every hair stood up on end as it dawned on her that something was terribly wrong, but before she had a chance to move, she was grabbed from behind and held tightly by strong arms, a gloved hand clamped down on her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

The assailant's breath was hot across her ear as he spoke one word to her in a low voice, "Ruth." And every muscle in her body tensed as she froze from the familiar sensuality of a tone she thought she'd never hear again. "Ruth," he repeated, "it's me." She tried to cry out as she shook her head violently against whatever cruelty was being played out against her. "Ruth," he breathed heavily, "it is really me, and I'm going to let you go now so you can turn around and see for yourself." She struggled against him, emitting a muffled scream into his gloved hand. "Shhh, Ruth, stop, please, just stop."

She stopped struggling and slowly Harry let her loose. She immediately backed away from him and stared into the familiar features.

"W-who are you?" She demanded.

"It really is me, Ruth."

"I-I don't believe you. Identities, features, even voices can be duplicated. I saw Harry Pearce die; I was there when—" her voice broke as she relived the awful moment.

He stepped toward her, "Oh Ruth…"

"Keep away from me," she growled through her tears. "You can't be him. If Harry were alive he would have let me—let us know…"

The sob that escaped her lips tore at his already broken heart. "There must be something… Ask me something that only Harry would know, Ruth."

"I can't trust that…anything that's in the MI-5 files others could get access to—"

"—No, Ruth. Ask me something about us that only the two of us would know."

Her eyes locked with his then. She wanted to believe that it was him. She wanted to believe that it was his beautiful hazel eyes she was staring into, his sweet voice talking, and his full lips that she couldn't take her eyes from. She wanted to believe; but such a fantasy could be dangerous.

She licked her lips, and tried to calm her fluttering voice. "A little more than a year ago, a CIA agent who was involved with Lucas, died. I followed Harry out on the roof of Thames House, and we had a conversation."

"I remember."

"He asked me if I still sang in my choir…"

"And you said, yes, that you were preparing Beethoven's 9. And then I quoted some of the text: Alle Menschen werden Brüder… and you said, 'All men really are brothers...'"

"And you turned away, crying."

"No," he looked her deeply in the eyes, and corrected, "it was just the wind, Ruth."

And Ruth Evershed didn't know if she wanted to laugh, cry, kill or kiss him. He looked so pale and fragile to her suddenly, older somehow; but she knew it was really Harry. For a long moment, there was nothing but silence hanging between them, and neither moved. Finally, a sob crawled up from her throat and fresh tears flowed down her face, anger playing across it.

"How could you, Harry?" Her voice was shaking from emotion, "How could you let us think you were dead? How could you be so cruel?"

He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and hold her, but he swallowed hard. "I didn't have a choice, Ruth."

And then the pieces fit. "Oh my God. It was you. You're the Oil Rigger assassin."

He looked pleadingly into her eyes. "I was working under the orders of the home secretary, Ruth, I couldn't tell any of you." He could no longer take the accusation and hatred he could read in her eyes and he looked down. "I didn't want any of you implicated in it, and the only way I could think of to protect all of you was to make sure you were not involved and that you knew nothing."

Her eyes filled with contempt and her voice with incredulity, "So you faked a heart attack and went on a killing spree?"

And his patience snapped. "Would you rather I have asked Lucas, Beth, Tariq or you to get blood on your hands? Or perhaps the idea of people who have been implanted with chemicals that are dormant until they ingest release agents that will then spread to the general population through casual contact a better outcome? 20 dead Ruth, or 20,000? Those are the choices that I had to make. And they're the ones that I have to live with, so don't stand there in your clean, protected ivory tower in judgment of me."

She could see the hurt in his eyes, the sickness over what he'd done, and she could hear the pain of deep regret and anguish in his voice. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm herself, giving herself a moment to think. It was all too much too fast. Harry was alive, and she could not deny that her heart soared because of it; yet she was unsure that she could get past what he'd done in the name of Regnum defende. This time perhaps the cost was too much. All the awful things they'd said to each other, and the truth that she had realized when she cried over his still body in front of God and the Grid. And now here he was standing in front of her, looking far the worse for wear, yet alive. But there were so many lies, deceits, and now even murders in between the two of them. She finally looked back up at him, tears still slowly and quietly streaming down her face.

"Why are you here, Harry," she said, her voice trembling, "What do you want?"

His breath was ragged and his posture slightly bent as he opened his jacket on the left side, revealing the blood-soaked shirt and pants underneath. "I didn't have anywhere else to go, Ruth," he said sadly.

"Oh God, Harry, you've been shot." She closed the distance between them quickly and helped him into a chair in the kitchen. "You tripped my alarm on purpose after you picked the lock so I would come home."

"Yes," he said grimacing from the pain in his side which now felt a hundred times worse because of the contempt he'd seen in her eyes. He leaned his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, his voice muffled slightly. "I'm sorry, Ruth, for all of it. I just don't know what else to say, and frankly, I'm much too tired and in too much pain to have this conversation right now, really."

It was a timbre of voice she had never heard from him, filled with defeat and capitulation. And for whatever else she was feeling for him in that moment, she could not deny that he needed her more than ever just then. And the heart she'd hidden from the world, and the love she held captive there, she could keep from him no longer. She reached down and gently rubbed the taut muscles in his neck.

"It's going to be all right, Harry." He moaned softly in response, her hands lulling him into a feeling of warmth and safety for the first time since before Ros died. "Come on then, let's get you upstairs and I'll see to this wound."

"What about the Grid?" His weary voice asked, purposefully keeping her there a moment longer while her hands continued to caress his neck and shoulders. "They'll wonder where you are; you just came home to check the alarm, right?"

She knelt next to his chair, placing a caring hand on his forearm. "We are going to let them know you're okay, aren't we?"

"Yes, but not until after I have confirmed that the Oil Rigger network is safe with the home secretary."

She smiled slightly at him. "Harry, if number 20 on your list is Mr. Elvin Van Deert of Kingston-upon-Thames, then Beth and Lucas will have already taken him into custody."

He looked at her then and smiled the smile she hadn't seen in so long; it was a mixture of adoring admiration and enduring love. "I should have known you would get to the bottom of it." He beamed at her, and she looked away, slightly uneasy with how quickly they fell back into their comfort zone with each other. And then his look became serious again. "Ruth, Beth and Lucas do need to be notified about keeping anything Van Deert might ingest away from him until the chemical agents in his body have been nullified. It's a precaution we have to take."

She rubbed her hand over his arm. "I'll take care of it straight away, once you're at least lying down. Come on…"

Ruth helped him out of the chair, up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she gently guided him onto the bed. Harry had stopped any pretence of not being in pain on the way up the stairs, and Ruth brushed a soothing hand over his forehead as he let out a long breath of air trying to dull the misery.

"Relax as best you can, I'm going to check the wound so that I know what we're into here…"

As gently as she could, Ruth removed his jacket and then his turtleneck. At another time, she knew she might have enjoyed doing those things, but as it stood, Harry had been barely able to tolerate the pain it caused him.

She gave him a moment to adjust to the pain level, and then realized the wound was still partially obstructed by clothing. "Erm, I need to undo at least the top part of your pants, Harry, sorry…"

"I've waited years to hear you say that Ruth," he joked through gritted teeth, "making me get shot in order to hear it's a little over the top, don't you think, Ruth?"

While she appreciated that he was trying to lighten things up for her, she blushed. "Shush, Harry."

She carefully unbuttoned and then partially unzipped his pants so that she could peel the top left away, and she winced when she saw the damage.

"Oh Harry, this must hurt like bloody hell."

"Yeah, it feels about as good as it looks."

She examined the wound. "At least the bullet went clean through, and whilst it's a bit messy, it didn't clip anything too major." She looked at his pale face. "But I really think we might want to take you to hospital though, Harry. You don't look very good."

"Were you missing the day MI-5 training covered field medicine, Ruth?"

"No, I was there, it just didn't come very easily."

"That'll do then." The thought of it didn't leave him with a lot of confidence, but going to hospital was much too risky. "Look, make contact with the team first, make sure Van Deert is in isolation, then we'll deal with this."

She nodded as she reached for her cell phone. "Right…."

Then he remembered the dog. "Scarlett, come!"

The little Jack Russell scurried out from under the bed and jumped up next to him, licking his face.

Ruth looked over at him. "She sure as hell doesn't mind me like that..."

"Don't be too impressed, Ruth," Harry winced as he tried to adjust his position, "she's the only female I have ever had any influence over at all..."

Ruth couldn't help but smile at him as she turned her attention to contacting the team. While she hated perpetuating the deceit of Harry's faked death, she did understand the protocol with the home secretary. She glanced over at Harry: he looked perfectly dreadful and in a lot of pain lying there. And as she called in, Ruth unconsciously bit her lower lip in the worry that he was in far worse shape than he was admitting.

TBC