“They’ve given you a good look over and checked all minor cuts and gashes on your body, and given you the all-clear on all counts. You’ll live, but the doctor who examined you couldn’t say why you collapsed outside earlier.”
“Just tired and a blinding headache, that’s all.” Dillon said lamely.
“Well, they gave you a thorough check-up; you are in the peak of health apparently.” Tatiana smiled softly. “And, the doctor commended you on your handy stitch work on me. He confirmed what I already knew — that you saved my life.” Suddenly, Tatiana stood and slipped out of her shorts and t-shirt. Moonlight glinted on her taut, athletic body; on her firm stomach, ample pert breasts, and smooth tanned skin. She climbed into bed beside Dillon and lay on her side, pressing herself against his warmth.
Suddenly, Dillon’s headache had gone. And he felt himself panic for the briefest moment. A feeling he had not allowed himself, since he had split up with Issy, now consumed him. Lust…
“Tats…” he whispered.
Her fingertip touched his lips and stayed there. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against his cheek. He groaned, mouth opening, teeth gently biting Tatiana’s finger. Her free hand came up and stroked his hair. He turned, rolling towards her — the feeling of her softskin, soft breasts, firm shapely legs pressed against him and he was instantly enveloped in her womanliness. And he allowed himself to press against her as he gazed into her eyes and they were silent for long, long moments. They kissed nothing more than light touching. Dillon’s hand came up and rested on Tatiana’s hip and she groaned, voice low and husky, scent invading Dillon’s mind and consuming his brain; she parted her legs a little, allowing him to press further against her, further into her, further towards that feeling of euphoric pleasure beyond.
“You’re feeling better, then?”
“I’m sure, given time, that I’ll make a full recovery.”
“Well, I’d say that you were already making progress, Mr Dillon.” The words came a little breathlessly.
“Perhaps with a little more pressure applied to the right areas…” He said mischievously, eyes glowing in the gloom.
Tatiana pouted, “Well, I’ll just have to double my efforts on those areas!”
“Now that sounds just what the doctor ordered.”
They writhed around beneath the solitary sheet, holding one another. They kissed softly, enjoying each other’s heat, each other’s gentleness.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Dillon grinned. He couldn’t help himself, despite the aches and pains from his recent beatings, which had returned to haunt him.
“Yeah, I’m feeling fine now, thanks.” Dillon lied easily.
“I try to please,” she said softly and smiled, nibbling his chin.
“How did you stop Ezra from shooting me?”
Tatiana pouted, “Dillon, you can’t just ask me that sort of question after…”
“Well, I need to know.” He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her. His free hand traced twirls over her breasts and reaching down, took an erect nipple between his teeth, and mischievously bit ever so lightly.
She gasped in mock pain.
“I didn’t stop him. You stopped him. Your words, your actions.”
“What actions?”
“Whatever is going on inside your head? It was on your face.”
Dillon ran his fingers through his hair. Then he sighed.
“I’ve never truly understood what goes on inside you,” she said.
“It’s complicated. Even I find it hard sometimes.”
“Try me. Trustme Dillon. I’m an intelligent girl. Something has been tearing you apart for years; something has been burning you up and you were grappling with whatever it is when you were stood in front of Ezra.” Tatiana searched for the appropriate words to describe what she had witnessed. “It sometimes appears as if you’re two very different people. One side of you appeared calm, calculating and extremely dangerous, who wanted to go on the offensive with Ezra; one side of you wanted to back down and give in. I saw it, Dillon. I saw it on your face; I heard it in your voice.”
“Do you understand the term; split-personality?” He said suddenly.
“Like Schizophrenia — voices inside your head, that sort of thing?”
“Sort of. You see,” he paused, uncertain. Tatiana squeezed his arm reassuringly. “I’ve managed to control and hide this thing inside my head from everyonefor virtually all of my life. As a child it was merely a voice talking to me. As a grew older, the voice became more aggressive, only coming to the surface when I was placed in situations extreme stress. Even the shrinks didn’t spot it. It’s what has kept me alive all these years.” He said. “But since the Charlie Hart assignment in Sandbanks, I’ve been getting headaches which were one of the reasons I decided to take time off from active assignments.”
“And that’s why you always kicked up such a fuss at every sixmonthly psychiatric assessment?”
“Partly. But that was mostly done for effect, and I used to find it funny — being able to deceive the experts. I never told anyone, because it would have complicated my life, and they’d have tried to say that I was barking mad. The thing is it only comes to the surface when I’m under extreme pressure, and then it takes over. I hardly ever remember what I’ve done afterwards.”
Tatiana was silent for a long time. She hugged Dillon tight.
“It sounds like a guilt complex.”
“I know exactly what it sounds like. I understand only to well, what it sounds like. A load of old bollocks. That’s why I never speak about it; I live alone with a burning in my soul…”
“But this alter-ego has kept you alive all these years. You shouldn’t beat yourself up because of something you have no control over?”
“I should be able to control the murderous thoughts I have when itstarts to surface… and that’s the bad thing. Take Kirill’s mansion in Cornwall — I was as sure as fucking dead. Betrayed by those I thought I was there to protect. I no longer cared if I lived or died, right there in that kitchen, and simply gave myself up to my subconscious… That’s when the real killing started and the body count continued until I was well clear of the house. Can you understand?”
“This is just too weird, Dillon.” Tatiana said.
“You’re in no danger. I’m in total control…”
“I’m not frightened, Dillon. And I do believe you,” whispered Tatiana. She kissed Dillon’s ear and held him for a long time until she felt his breathing become regular and he was sleeping. Her fingers traced gentle strokes along his spine — and after a while she fell into a deep sleep beside him.
Dillon awoke in the gloom. Tatiana slept in his arms, a warm embrace. Dillon disentangled himself with care, then, pulling on his trousers and taking his cigarettes and lighter, he crossed the room and stepped outside.
There was an armed guard stood outside of their room, a man called Christopher, sporting Adonis good looks, jet black tousled hair, and a Santorini tan. The big Greek man smiled the sort of sheepish knowledge-filled grin that said, “You sure know how to party loudly.” Dillon returned the grin, padded down to the far end of the veranda, and sat down on one of the cane easy chairs.
A cool breeze whispered across his skin. He lit a cigarette, stretched out his legs and gazed out across the dark Santorini landscape towards the sea. The stars were bright against a dark canopy and Dillon tilted his head back to allow a soft spiral of smoke to escape his lips and rise into the vaulted ceiling of the veranda. The nicotine rush whizzing through his brain, the harsh French tobacco scorching his lungs, and he blinked as a man’s voice called from somewhere on the other side of the olive grove. “How are you feeling, Mr Dillon?”