by Elle Cross
The night security guard didn't bother to stop Bailey to make him sign in as a guest when he escorted me through the lobby. The building management had stopped insisting on that policy from any of my personal guests when Corbin snarled at a guard about carving her signature onto his desk.
Bailey insisted he come with me to my apartment.
I was too wiped to care. I unlocked the door, and let him enter first.
Rajah, my brindled mastiff, waited right inside the door, gave Bailey one sniff, then sneezed. Then he came over to rub his head against my stomach.
He was more cat than dog. "I'm happy to see you, my good boy." I smooshed his face and bumped noses with him. He licked my chin. "Let's go brew some coffee."
As I walked to the kitchen, I remembered that Bailey was still here. Where were my manners? "Do you want any, Officer Bailey?"
He politely declined and motioned that he'd be going to the bedroom suite. I gestured an "after you" with my arm.
I slipped into the galley kitchen and clicked on the automatic brew features on my coffeemaker. Within seconds, it popped and fizzled. “Let’s go see if Bailey needs some help, Rajah.”
He sneezed at me, but led the way to my room.
I found Bailey standing in the middle of my room, hand hovering near his service weapon as he scanned the perimeter. His expression was that of complete detachment, as expressionless about the insides of my closet as the stuffed elephant on my bed. Bailey made sure the bedroom didn't hide any sneaky evildoers, even checking underneath the bed and in the closets.
I took in his stiff gait, his precise, checklist manner. It was as if he was cataloging my room in order to report back to Corbin and prove how attentive he'd been.
Forty pairs of shoes...check.
One hundred handbags of various sizes...check.
One stuffed elephant, gray...check.
I almost expected check marks to start floating next to his head.
He was confident and sure, but also...was that anxiety? Yes, that whiff of a struck matchstick, smoke and tinder. That was it. He was anxious to please, to stay on. To belong. If he had made it on to Corbin's squad, I didn't blame his anxiety. Everyone wanted to prove that they had the right to be in that squad.
I cracked open a bottle of water and took a long pull. "So," I said, voice still creaky. "You must be new, Officer Bailey?"
"Yes ma'am." His tone was as clipped and polished as his police-issued boots.
I didn't like the way he was peering at my AC vent. Like he'd love to pull it down and see what might be hiding there.
If he was thorough enough to wonder about the vents...
Since he was one of Corbin's, there wouldn't be any point in rushing him out. He'd do whatever job he was ordered to do, and that was that. So, I did the next best thing I knew that would fluster these boys, especially those who knew I was Corbin's friend.
I started stripping out of my clothes.
I had half my silk blouse unbuttoned when he realized what I was doing.
His face was completely red by the time I untucked it from my skirt.
He was out the door before I took it off completely and slipped it onto a hanger.
Rajah followed him out. His snuffles and sneezes echoed behind him.
I quickly slipped out of my pencil skirt, clipped it onto its hanger, and slipped into my full-length Egyptian cotton robe. Then, I tapped at a panel behind my armoire and it moved aside to reveal my secret room. I stepped in, the panel slid closed behind me.
I took an empty jar from the shelf, this one red and long-necked. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, finding that nothing, that null-space inside of me, and then I slowly exhaled.
A flume of black coiled itself out of my mouth, like wispy smoke, and into the bottle. I kept my concentration trained on the opening, until finally, finally, all the black rushed out of me and into the blessed container.
I staggered a little, but kept a tight hold on the bottle, and stoppered it. My hands shook as I put it next to the other ones, all filled with various colored smoke, black and green and sickly yellow. I closed down my secret room, inspected it all to see that everything was meticulously in place.
Like Rajah, I sniffed my way out into my foyer. Yes, Officer Bailey was still here. I was surprised he waited this long. I would have thought he would have come looking for me again to check on me. At least this was easier, since he was closer to the door.
"Ma'am I really need—"
"To stay and keep me company?" I didn't bother fixing my robe that I knew gaped and showed my bare legs.
He was out the door without a goodbye.
Finally, some peace. And not a moment too soon. I couldn't stop shaking.
The door across the hall opened, and its owner, Jack, stepped out, draped in sleek black Armani and wrapped in sin.
"Well now," Jack's drawl tumbled out as thick and silky as his hair, eyeing me up and down.
Belatedly, I remembered my robe. I clutched the front closed.
His eyes danced in time to his smooth laugh, let me know he saw every last bit of flesh that the robe hadn't covered. "What we got going on, Honey girl?"
I loved Jack. Really. But I wasn't in a mood to banter tonight.
I meant to tell him off. Even just a coy smile and a slow door close. But the wall that I normally wrapped around myself drifted away like dandelion fluff on the breeze.
I broke down in racking sobs.
"Seriously...you should go. You've got work." I was curled up on my reading couch, my favorite blankets tucked around me. Rajah's head heavy on my lap.
Now that I was warmer and had a handle on my emotional equilibrium, I felt silly and self-conscious. All that crying.
"Work will wait, don't you worry yourself, Honey girl."
He served me my coffee, then perched on the couch's arm, tracing faint circles onto my shoulder. He had perfected his non-touching of me into an art form. Being whatever a woman needed when she needed it without her being conscious of it was a gift of his. It's no wonder he was in such demand with his paramours.
Probably why I ended up telling him almost everything that happened today. Ending a patronage with a client, being around all the people, Corbin's case, even my secret project. At least I had developed enough control over the years that I didn't share Owen's final images and thoughts. Or his name. It felt too sacred still, too private. Like I'd be telling someone else's story. That, I would never do.
Pulling on a little knot of thread on my blanket, I debated on asking him about some of the images I’d seen. Something that wouldn’t tip him off to what could be a confidential matter. "Have you…heard anything about any underground, special, VIP clubs in the city? Like, possibly tied to urban legends?"
"I know a lot of things about a lot of things," he drawled. "And if there’s a VIP anything, you know I’m gonna be a part of it. What's this special club thing you talking about?"
I struggled to capture the right words, and was failing hardcore. My cheeks flamed.
"Oh, she blushes! Now you gotta tell me."
I lost my nerve. How could I ask him about fetish clubs gone-wrong, knowing what type of work he was in? Hells, he probably worked in one. I trusted Jack with a lot, but there was a degree of mystery that I wanted between us. So instead I offered up a lame excuse about a possible lead into Corbin’s past. Hiding behind my own quest for justice for my friend felt wrong, but it worked. Jack stopped prying.
He brushed my hair away from my face. "You know you're going to have to tell the Detective about your little project."
"I know. I just...I don't even know how I'm going to begin to tell her."
"You can start with the truth," he said. "Lay it out straight, just like you told me."
I snorted. "I wasn't even going to tell you anything. Silver-tongued devil."
"You been talking to my clients again?"
I pushed him off his perch.
He chuckled. "I wanted to get my own drink an
yway. 'Sides. You can check out my walk-away. Free of charge." He winked and smiled at me over his left shoulder.
How in the world did he always manage to capture the light to make his eyes twinkle just so?
I knew he was turning it on, way on, but he made this whole flirty seductive thing so simple and easy. Played coy really easy. Being with him was easy.
Probably helped that he'd had practice. Lots of practice. He'd be a fantastic date for sure. At his rates, he'd be guaranteed to be.
On my dates, I could barely keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. I could barely talk to them, let alone flirt. I couldn't see the appeal.
Jack was right. He did the walk-away real good.
His hips waggled playfully, and I knew I'd been caught checking him out. I met his eyes and stared him down, not embarrassed in the slightest. He had a mighty fine ass. He ought to be proud of his walk-away.
He just nodded his imaginary cowboy hat at me. "Like I said, free of charge." Then, sauntered into my kitchen.
Incorrigible. I laughed to myself.
Jack had been my neighbor since this building was built. It was the newest high rise built within the last decade, and it had boasted the best security. Shields and blessings had been poured in with the concrete when the foundation was laid. The architects had been high-ranking Sylphs, who were very particular about every last pebble and grain of sand used.
As soon as I'd been able to, I put in a bid for this apartment. When I had found out that I had to share the floor, I nearly backed out of the bid. But the next building project hadn't yet broken ground (more politics among the Remnant God tribes), and no other security was equipped to keep out the stalkers who would latch on to anyone with empathic abilities.
Even though my business was strictly by referral only, my reputation as an artist and empath had given me a notoriety among my high profile clientele, and that notoriety sometimes came with a few stalkers.
Thank the Lords Above that Jack had been here to fend off that vampire on move-in day, and that vampires poofed into smoke after you cut off their heads. It made the cleanup rather easy.
The Sylphs paid us well in the form of future favors to keep the attack to ourselves. If it were anyone—anything—else, I'd have been offended by the payoff. But these were Sylphs, with their reputation on the line. I knew their retribution would be far more than I'd ever expect from the Human authorities.
Besides, having the Sylphs' favor was high currency indeed.
Jack and I had shared our first cup of coffee that night, and have done so ever since.
He sauntered back toward me nice and slow, and reclaimed his perch, taking the time to savor the coffee, rolling it around in his mouth, and licking his lips for every last drop before taking another sip. His every movement was a testament to how he'd be in bed. An open invitation in his every breath.
I refused to comment on his obvious display.
"Anyway," I said pointedly, "you don't know Corbin like I do. Stuff like this...bothers her."
"The big, bad Detective bothered by something? I can't even imagine."
I wished I could say the same. Unfortunately, I knew only too well what Corbin had survived. What she had been groomed for at that orphanage. What her adopted parents had intended for her.
And only I remembered the hell that she had lived through.
"Honey girl?" Jack ran a finger down the side of my face.
I shook the past from me, blinking the weight of tears from my eyes. "Sorry. I was thinking."
"I could tell," he chuckled.
"I just figure...if I could just do some digging, you know? Use my contacts to find out a little more information for her so she wouldn't have to investigate this case so close, or at least try a different angle—"
"Honey girl, she's a Homicide Detective,” he said, emphasizing every syllable. “She's gonna want to detect the homicide. Including following all those hunches she's famous for." He eyeballed me as he took another sip of coffee.
"If you're going to be all logical, then you should probably leave. Plausible deniability and all that." I waved a shooing gesture at him.
He grabbed my gloveless hand. I squelched down a fluttery panic, made sure my shields and walls were clamped down tight.
"Don't worry yourself, Honey girl. I ain't worried about her, and neither should you be."
Then his expression turned completely serious. No sense of guile about him. A faint citrus woods scent wafted down from him. I'd never smelled that scent on him before. "If you're still feeling jumpy, I can stay with you tonight, if you want me to. You don't have to be alone."
His accent was clean and even, with no trace of that signature drawl of his.
I wanted to say yes. Needed to. An unnamed ache throbbed in my heart that had nothing to do with the terror I'd emptied myself of.
I could have drowned in his eyes. They were the golden crema on top of perfectly brewed espresso. If I let myself...
No. Control. Always.
I couldn't let go, couldn't let myself let go. Only bad things happened when I let my guard down…
I knew the moment he felt me withdraw from him, when I pulled back even more behind my walls. It was in the crisp, fresh snowfall scent that clouded the citrus, the grim set of his mouth.
I took my hand out from his hold. I tried to capture the levity of just a few moments before. "With this guy?" I rubbed Rajah's ruff. "I'm never alone." My voice sounded brittle and raw in my ears.
I kept my attention on Rajah's head on my lap. Not wanting to acknowledge the gaze that bore down on me.
The scent of citrus woods disappeared completely, replaced with his characteristic amber and spice. The tiny clink of the coffee cup and saucer on my end table was like the clattering of cymbals. "Well then, Honey girl. I think it's time we tuck you into bed and get on with our evening."
His client. Of course. I wondered if he'd be able to make up for his time lost. "Hey, I'm sorry again for—"
"If you bring up my work again..." he drawled out in playful warning.
"—uhm, spilling coffee all over your jacket."
A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. I’d take it.
"It'll survive,” he said softly.
He lingered at my bedroom doorway until I was out of my robe and under my covers. I curled onto my side, and closed my eyes. I thought to pretend to be asleep until he left, so that I could start in on some research for Corbin's case.
I felt him draw near, felt his weight dip the side of the bed. His hand, big and warm, tucked the covers close to me. He brushed a light caress down my arm, brushed velvet lips against my temple.
"Sleep tight, Honey girl." His words rumbled in my ear.
I breathed in his scent, and all thoughts disappeared.
I blink my eyes against the swirl of frosty wind. An endless landscape of winter and frost surround me. Standing in the middle of a vast snowy field, I look around yet see no footprints anywhere in the snow, no way to tell where I've come from or where I intended to go.
How long have I been standing here? Maybe not too long. My feet prickle with pain. I can't have been here that long if the snow hasn't numbed me yet.
Blood seeps along the horizon behind me, spreading like searching fingers. I really don't want to go there.
I look in front of me, and the way is obscured by a fog bank.
Behind me, blood. Before me, fog.
Stumbling forward, I press on against the cold and toward the fog, ignoring the pinprick sensations now crawling over my bare feet. Soon, though. Soon the pain will go away. Soon. I know this somehow.
But my feet are clumsy, and I tumble and fall in the fog. I reach out, and instead of air, I find a door. I open it and walk through.
I'm in a room and it's blissfully warm with carpeted floors. And I'm unfortunately dripping on it as if I’m defrosting.
The snap and pop of wood breaking in a roaring fire steals my attention. I'm drawn to its warmth. As I move toward
the fireplace, I see that I'm not alone. Someone occupies the seat by the fireplace. His hand skims his chin in deep thought, as if he expects the fire to answer him.
He hasn't seen me yet, standing here in the room, dripping from the thawing ice that formed on me. I start walking again. He notices me then, his head turning my way. Our gazes lock, and it’s as if I’m frozen still again.
He rises from the chair, a looming presence that seems to fill the room. His skin is burnished gold with black whorls that paint an intricate dance over his body, disappearing into the black leather pants he’s wearing that fit him like skin. "I have been looking for you for so long. Now, here you are." His words are barely a whisper, yet they carry and fill the room.
He comes to me, and I find that heat rolls from him as intense as the fireplace. He envelopes me in the velvet warmth of night that he wears as a cloak. He smiles, the gesture making the harsh angles of his face softer. That mouth…
He bends down to kiss me with it, a gentle brush of lips against my own. Another. He presses gentle kisses along my face trailing a thrilling path to my ear. "How are you here now? What do you need?"
I don't answer. I don't have to. Instead I raise my hands up. Run them along his body.
I'm mesmerized by the hard planes of his chest. Starved for touch, my hands learn a new vocabulary of touch and textures.
Hard.
Firm.
Silky.
Velvet.
This, my fingers say. This, my body hums. This is what I want. Need.
I shiver, but this time, not from the cold.
My fingers trace the whorls against his stomach, walking along each spiral, finding a particularly interesting path that disappears down the front of his waistband.
He sucks in air, and clasps my hand against his body so it lay flat. The pulsating energy thrums from his body through my hand and into me. He cups my face gently and drops feather-light kisses along my face until he finds my lips. The kisses slowly deepen like the skies after nightfall. "It's not the time for us, darling," he whispers between kisses.
My hands insist otherwise, stroking the straining length in his pants, tugging on my robe’s belt so that it lays open for him.
