by Tiana Laveen
“That number changes every forty-two seconds.” She looked astounded because he had broken into the FBI security system and there, plain as day, was a section that she’d been accustomed to as of late—the prompting for an agent name and passcode.
“I know you said no more questions, but that is amazing.” She looked at him earnestly.
I know what you’re doing, Knight...
“How did you know how to do that?” she asked quietly. He could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She was trying to keep him engaged, pretending to be impressed; well, he suspected she actually partially was, but it was all a game—a game of survival...
“Well, I’m not a professional hacker if that is what you’re thinking. Hacking into mainframes is not my ideal of a good time. It is simply a necessary part of my job, on occasion. It is however, very easy for me to do. I can get into any system. Computers are not multifarious, only...people are.” He looked her up and down, drifting into thoughts that were far from on track. Clearing his throat, he looked back at the computer. “Once you truly understand how electronic security systems are created, down to the infinitesimal details, then you will be able to access private information for your own use. It seems complex, but, it isn’t...” He looked at her again—their eyes met and neither turned away until she awkwardly broke the mutual gaze. He gently reached for her, taking her chin into his hand and making her face him.
“Watch this,” he whispered, and within a flick of a finger stroke, the screen grew bright, flashing, as email records appeared.
“Now, I’m going to disable your ability to go to any other pages and websites. You will only be able to read this and I’m also going to take a little nap here. I’m quite exhausted.” He punched in a few keys then slid the computer over to her, placing it on her lap before lying back, positioning his hands behind his head and leisurely crossing his ankles.
“I’ve pulled up all the emails from Agent Stephenson and Agent Bryant. I haven’t filtered anything—you’ll see that. You can check your own emails with them as well, re-read them, you know, but you won’t be able to compose any new ones to anyone, for obvious reasons. All you have to do is search for your name and then you can proceed forward, reading what they really think of you, Officer Knight.”
And with that, he drifted into a light sleep while her fingers moved across the keyboard at rapid speed...
CHAPTER SIX
Jayme begun to type, then stopped. She glanced at him from over her shoulder. He looked rather peaceful as his facial muscles relaxed and she wasn’t sure if her eyes deceived her, but he seemed to be slightly smiling. His stomach rose and fell, highlighting his tight six pack and thin, dark trail of hair going from his navel to his groin. If she hadn’t known of his sick affiliations and deeds, she’d never in a million years take him for a murderer, a psychopathic killer. She hated that she was reviewing him, sizing him up as if he were some blind date that arrived at her door with roses and two tickets to the cinema. She fought her confusion regarding the psychopath. He was nothing like what she’d learned about at the academy, nothing like she imagined he’d be at all.
In fact, nothing about him was textbook in the least. For God’s sake, he was taking care of her, though she had seen his ability to become angry loud and clear. She grimaced as she recalled her fear when the man lunged at her but stopped himself after she’d kicked the shit out of his chest—his face so close to hers, she’d felt the heat from his breath. Albeit frightening, she still somehow felt safe after the episode. As long as she didn’t push too far, she sensed he wouldn’t harm her. It was unnerving. Where was this line in the sand? How far could she test, go and push—and still remain alive? And here he lay...rugged and beautiful, his skin an odd, buttery complexion with a sunset glow. She interrupted her own uncomfortable thoughts, forcing herself back into the moment at hand.
He is an arrogant son of a bitch. Taking a damn nap, trusting me to not slit his throat with one of those millions of fucking pieces of ice he has lying around all over the place... like he is the King of Iced Tea...What the hell?!
As she stared down at him, her anger grew richer, deeper, stronger...
I could’ve sharpened one into a damn shank. How does he know I won’t do him in? It’s too risky right now. He hasn’t gotten away with all that he has by being messy. This could be a test, yeah...it probably is. I won’t give him an excuse to off me. As soon as I move the wrong way, he’d know, and then...yeah, I know what this is about...a damn test...I’m not falling for it.
And then it happened again, her thoughts returned to him as he cleared his throat,turning ever so slightly, shifting his weight further toward her, and giving her a better view of his magnificence.
He was in stellar physical condition, almost too perfect. He appeared intelligent and was, for lack of a better word coming to her mind, a bit charismatic. He had a strange way about him—grinning slyly at things that could be construed as a joke in normal circumstances. No wonder he’d floated under the radar so long, no one would think that someone like that was tearing peoples’ bodies into bits, branding flesh in sadistic ways and slicing appendages clean off the bone—then leaving the corpses there for the early morning light to sink her radiant, golden teeth into. Jayme shook the grotesque crime scene images out of her head. She’d seen her share of gore, been face to face with stone cold killers and their ‘afterthoughts’, but never one like this.
Gotta keep my cool. Yeah, he did that...but he is still just a man. He is human; he can be taken down just like anyone else...
She bit down her fear, swallowing it whole, forging ahead. Finally, she calmed enough to start combing through the emails.
One hour turned to two, then three. Her ass was sore, but she wouldn’t move from that spot, seized as she was with extreme anxiety. She occasionally glanced down at the slumbering man, glad he couldn’t see her eyes glaze with hot, angry tears. Everything the fiend had said was correct. The proof was now right in front of her face and she never ran from the truth, no matter how ghastly it may have been. She read countless attached documents, emails, correspondence and notes. Those suited, lying bastards studied her intensely, ecstatic they’d found a new patsy, one that could make a difference this time. Captain Jasper thought he’d given them his best—they realized he’d given them prime pickings.
In written form, they laughed about her awards, her stellar academics, her promotions and glowing record as if they were merely ‘blue ribbons’ for having the largest pumpkin at the harvest festival. They’d finally found what they coined, ‘the one’. The ‘XXX’ murderer would never suspect her—she didn’t fit the normal guys they sent. They usually went after the sneaky ones, the elusive cerebral ones, but even they’d get busted, capped or run scared. It didn’t matter, they never turned up again to tell their side of the story, but their bloated corpses would wash up to shore. The other patsies never realized they were onto the guy—they’d just come up missing...
This time, the FBI agreed to not go for strictly for brawn or brains. They went for beauty...or so they thought.
According to the latest email that afternoon, they were certain she was kidnapped and more than likely deceased if the ‘XXX’ killer truly had her in his grip. They alerted her comrades, her boss included, who responded that they’d make her family and friends aware, and declare her missing until further notice. Ironically, the FBI was suspicious of her—believing she somehow knew his whereabouts. They weren’t sure though, and Jayme was certain they’d scour the area to try to find out. They sure as hell didn’t give a damn about her...it was him they wanted.
At least her precinct was on the hunt, while the FBI went on ‘business as usual’. On one hand, she was glad that at least her police department would be out scouring the streets for her, searching, but on the other, she knew in the pit of her stomach she wouldn’t be found any time soon. She had to get out of this all on her own. By the way that chair hit the damn window, the devil sleeping next to her w
asn’t lying. The house was a huge mouse trap and she was caught in its ugly maze, with no cheese, no way out, and emotionally winded. Wedged in his strange world, at this point she needed to simply play his games to stay alive, but that was just it—she felt a bit less in danger as each hour passed, though she remained in a cloud of confusion of just what game they were truly playing.
He wants more...the looks they exchanged, the way he moved around her.
None of it made any sense.
She wrestled with that notion, over and over deep within herself, knowing better, her mind and gut reaction tumbling back and forth as if they were fighting inside of a demonically possessed, rouge washing machine. He’d been gentle—such as not striking back when she kicked him with her feet. She’d almost knocked the wind out of him, yet, he kept his cool. Same when she threw the glass of juice. He even turned away when she used the restroom, affording her privacy, allowing her to lash out at him verbally and physically, with no physical consequences—though his teeth cut into his bottom lip as he suppressed the urge to grab her. She checked the bathroom all around, no square inch unnoticed, no cameras.
Jayme delved deeper in her thoughts, relishing the peace. How could he sleep after what he’d done? He didn’t seem to have a care in the world. This was all wrong. This didn’t add up, and nor did he. She had walked into the ‘worst case scenario’ and was forced to sit in the front row, watching her entire world come undone, and she didn’t have a clue as to how to lasso this person’s mind. He had no obvious weaknesses, none that she could see, to play upon. He was strong, smart, and deadly. Yet, there was more to him, more behind that gentleness and care he’d shown with her. She saw it in his eyes, even the one that glowed strangely, the one where a slight red glimmer would sheen over the iris, making her think she was seeing things...the glass one, maybe onyx, maybe black pearl...possibly deep terrain diamonds? Regardless, he could see clearly enough to pull all of this shit off. His killing sprees were definitely 20/20.
The only way she’d make it out of this alive was to pick apart the pieces, the few she had, and dissect them to death. He captured her imagination. These were not the typical reactions of someone who enjoyed causing others physical pain. Why would she be any different? It couldn’t be because she was a woman. She’d already read that the ‘XXX’ killer had murdered at least seven women, all of them affiliated with the narcotics trade. It’s not like female drug dealers didn’t exist; they most certainly did and from what she recalled, he didn’t give a damn that they were standing there in six inch stilettos. What was it then? Was it that strange look in his eye?
The way his gaze raked her body like a fine tooth comb, the way he grabbed her chin—he was attracted to her, he’d already admitted it, it wasn’t a secret. Yet, he had it in check. No weakness in this man.
Damn him!
He hadn’t attempted to assault her, only to protect himself. She couldn’t wrap her mind around this. What a horrifying enigma he was, wrapped in superlative packaging.
She’d taken countless hostage classes, even taught a few to the newbies, and not one of them gave a profile like the one she was currently enduring, witnessing with her very own eyes. If she couldn’t get a grasp on any of his flaws, how could she manipulate him to escape from his snare? She was a good people reader but he came up blank, like a temperamental e-book reader. It was the first time she’d failed a capture of a suspect, and now, she understood why. Atypical in every sense of the word—and here he was, locked in a room with her, a beautiful, albeit cold room, full of blue and white light and steel furniture...cold, steel furniture to match his uncaring persona regarding his misdeeds and horrendous transgressions.
The rumpled sheets beneath his head, contrasted with the choppy darkness of his cropped military style haircut and skin tone...and now she stared at him again. He’d had a fresh haircut...his hair had been longer than that when he’d first knocked her out. Unnerved by the attraction to him, she sighed, but couldn’t look away from him. Something was pulling her toward him—sure, blame it on an invisible force...
She shook her head in confusion and disgust as she studied him.
He didn’t look real...not one flaw, blemish or mark took up space on his masculine, chiseled face. Everything about him exuded confidence and strength—but beneath the veneer was pure irrationality...and she was far from safe.
That’s it. That is how he makes people come to him. They feel safe, and then, when he has them in the palm of his hand, he strikes. How else could he get Carter, Betel and all the others? They don’t trust anyone. Jayme, don’t do this...but why doesn’t my heart leap a little less in fear when he comes in the room? What is happening to me?
She wouldn’t let him see her break down again. She beat herself up inside for the unraveling earlier, where she pulled on the door knob and believed for a split second she could make a clean getaway. She’d gone crazy after obsessing herself with thoughts of all the ways he may torture and kill her. She was no longer a cop in those moments—just a kidnapped woman fighting for her damn life—and all her training went out the damn window. Her will to survive was stronger than a textbook, that was for damn sure. She had to keep her cool from now on. Internally is where all of the jumbled fears would nest, and she couldn’t expose her weaknesses, borne from the knowledge that she’d been played, lied to and that she’d bought it hook, line and sinker.
He’d delight in that. Just like he delighted in this news he just showed me. Okay, so I’ve been fucked...
The FBI didn’t give a damn about her, and now she knew it. She respected these men, – held them in high regard. It was an ugly truth and there was no escaping it now. The man beside her had told the truth. Blood on his hands, and blood on theirs, too...
Gently placing the computer down on the bed between them, she moved toward the headboard, on the unoccupied side. She sat there for a while, watching his eyes twitch under the thin lids, his thick, dark lashes flickering against his upper cheekbones. Soon, his deep, groggy voice interrupted her thoughts.
“You’ve been staring at me for quite some time. I’m sure you’d like to clean up, eat a little...” He kept his eyes closed and after that, he went silent again.
After a few moments, he stretched and yawned. He didn’t bring up what she’d read. He left her alone with it, let it marinate inside her, and he seemed disinterested in a discussion about it. Instead, he allowed the slow simmer. He was being kind to her—not asking her for much, just keeping her there, but why? She didn’t understand, and she needed to understand.
“What do you want from me? Please, just tell me,” she asked, clutching the sheets against her body.
Maybe just being a straight shooter would work...
“I’m going to turn up the temperature in this room. It slipped my mind or I would have done it before I fell asleep. Please feel free to shower or take a bath. Everything you need is already in there.” He pointed toward the lavatory. “I’ll be back in approximately forty minutes with a meal for you. I will also allow you to watch the television...you may even be on the news tonight.”
And with that, he left the room, making her grunt in exasperation as he locked her in...
****
Xzion picked up the bright red cookbook and re-read the chicken cacciatore recipe. A small trickle of sweat slid down the side of his face.
I hate being hot. This stove is cooking me alive. Damn it. Stop belly aching and just get through it...no big deal. You’re hot, so what...don’t whine.
Xzion’s lack of many pores, as with all of his people, was part of the problem. They had about half the number as humans, which caused them to overheat rapidly, especially their computerized brains. But he was still far better off than most. That was the whole reason he was there, frustrated with himself for at times still finding it unbearable. He was okay in Earthly topography. He didn’t perish or become deathly ill like so many others, but that didn’t mean the shit didn’t hurt. Regardless, he kept a ceramic bowl of
ice chips handy as he toiled.
Steam rose from the boiling pot on the right stove eye, the sizzling sound of the hot grease was his cue as he looked over the colorful photo once more. Delicately, he placed the lightly floured chicken cutlets into the olive oil, sprinkling fresh ground pepper and sea salt onto them. He hadn’t cooked a dinner such as this before. It wasn’t something he’d normally eat, but it wasn’t for him; it was for her. He wanted her to feel comfortable and have all the luxuries of home, even if it was at his own expense. He’d already adjusted her bedroom temperature and soon heard the bathroom water start. It pleased him that she was in his home, even if it wasn’t of her own free will. He could feel their relationship forming, the foundation being established. He had to build trust, for he was putting a lot on the line to keep her there.
What am I going to do with her?
He sprinkled the capers and thinly sliced red peppers into the pan, then placed the cookbook face down onto the stark white kitchen counter. He was skating on thin ice, but he enjoyed ice... He’d taken a prisoner for God’s sake—in his mind, a lover—unbeknown to Aton, and she was no ordinary captive. In his favor, he relayed to himself, running through perfidious mental ground called rationalization with hills of justification. The hectic thought process brought him right here, that it was she, that came to him; he didn’t steal her from her home or force her inside.
She did what she did, and he responded in swift order. Plain and simple. He had taken advantage of the situation and his mixture of pleasure and irritation blended once he saw her in his laboratory, taking snap shots of his experiments with her cute little pink iPhone, oblivious to the fact that the lion had found her in his den. While she was unconscious, he’d briefly blamed her for the predicament. She’d put him in a precarious position, and now he was face to face with his obsession. It was no longer that he didn’t want to let her go; he couldn’t let her go, and he knew it was much deeper than her simply being a liability at this point...
