BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  The line went dead. Let the torture of anticipation begin.

  Chapter Seven

  Sensory

  Never in her life had Scarlet suffered such poignant anxiety. There was nothing, aside from a vortex of suspicion tangled with unprecedented excitement, swirling inside of her.

  For days she’d been a ball of nervous energy. When the bell rang marking the end of the last class on Friday, she’d rushed to her car and was so restless to be in the final stretch of the week, she had to mentally force herself to regulate her breathing.

  As soon as she got home there was a subtle sense of disappointment. She’d hoped he’d have called or messaged her by now, but there was nothing. Fear that he’d changed his mind was so encompassing she had to pour a glass of wine to calm her nerves.

  As a distraction, she carefully went over her outfit for the evening, which she’d painstakingly selected two days prior, and then she took a shower.

  There was no way she was sleeping with him. He was a stranger. Still, she took the most meticulous shower of her life.

  Once every inch of skin was exfoliated and every unwanted hair removed, she let the last of the hot water soothe her tense muscles. Afterward, she carefully moisturized her body with a subtle apple scented lotion from Stelluna, a place she now frequented. It took every bit of self-control not to continuously check her phone and laptop to see if he’d contacted her. When she almost lost her last shred of restraint, she painted her nails, filling twenty extra minutes in order for the polish to dry.

  Onto her second glass of wine, she fanned her hands while sitting on the edge of her bed in a bathrobe. That was when her computer finally chimed.

  Her heart jolted as she lunged for the laptop. Shutting her eyes, she drew in a breath of relief as she opened the message.

  Good evening, Ms. Farrow. I assume your week went well. If we are still on for tonight, my driver requires your address.

  This was it. Fully aware of the personal information she was about to divulge, she waited for her survival instincts to kick in. Nope. Nothing. She was definitely doing this.

  I missed you.

  She quickly deleted the confession, not wanting to come off too needy, but deleting those ten letters did nothing to alter the truth. She’d missed him like crazy this week. Her fingers quickly typed out a greeting and her address.

  My week went very well, although slower than I would have liked ☺

  My address is: 33 Rose Court, Floral Vale, PA

  Very well, Ms. Farrow. My driver will pick you up in one hour. You may address him as Mr. Pennyworth. I trust him completely, and therefore you may speak freely in his presence. Should you, at any time, wish to return home, Mr. Pennyworth will be at your command. Do you understand?

  Mr. Pennyworth. Her brow tightened as the name sounded slightly familiar despite its uncommonness. This was crazy, but she wasn’t backing out now.

  Okay.

  I will see you soon, Scarlet.

  She squealed and rolled onto her back, her hand pressing to her chest as her heart thundered behind her ribs. “Oh my God.”

  Her cheeks pulled tight with a smile as she forced out a deep breath of air. She needed to calm the hell down. Biting her lips she slowly stood, and then flew into overdrive, stripping her robe and dressing. Not wanting to make the wrong impression, she had opted for brown suede boots, fitted dark jeans, and a loose ivory sweater.

  At first she’d considered dressing up, but this was her and she wanted Mr. Stone to meet the real her so he’d be more likely to divulge things about the real him. She had no idea if that would work, but it was the only plan she had.

  There was no quelling her nerves. Moisture gathered on her palms down to the last second. Her stomach turned from jittery energy to painful tightness as the time passed.

  She was going to vomit, but that was impossible since she hadn’t been able to swallow a bite of food all day. The only thing in her stomach was wine and her body was burning off the effects too fast for it to matter.

  When lights slowly cut down the dark street she gasped. “Oh God.”

  Her fingers trembled as she collected her purse and shut out the lights. Her shoulders knotted with tension. Never before had she wanted something to commence and conclude so much at the same time.

  The car was a luxury sedan, black with tinted glass. Mr. Stone definitely wasn’t living in the poorhouse—he’d said as much, but this was proof. Although it could be a rental.

  Don’t be cynical!

  Stepping onto her porch, she pulled the door shut and locked it. A man—a very large man—stepped from the car and approached the sidewalk. “Ms. Farrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can call me Mr. Pennyworth. I’m here to take you to Mr. Stone.”

  Of course she had to pee. She was nervous and whenever she got nervous her bladder turned into a peanut. Her footing turned unsteady under the heady realization that she was putting herself at risk.

  Mr. Pennyworth held out a thick white envelope, sealed with a dab of wax. Holy crap. Who was she dealing with? Wax seals were categorized in her mind with The Tudors and mysterious characters in fiction.

  “Mr. Stone requires you read this before moving any further.”

  The chauffeur’s voice was calm and friendly, relieving a tiny bit of her anxiety. Taking the envelope in her trembling hands, she popped the seal. The note was written in dark calligraphy, but not the sort generated from a computer. This was definitely done by hand.

  The choice is yours, Ms. Farrow. Should you choose to continue, it will be on my terms and your trust. If you consent, place the mask over your eyes and my chauffeur shall deliver you into my care. I hope to see you soon.

  ~Mr. Stone

  A.R.

  “He wants me to wear a blindfold?” And what was A.R.?

  “I’m afraid so, Ms. Farrow.” Mr. Pennyworth held out a strip of lace. It was lovely, delicate, but altogether concerning. Her fingers turned the mask, her gaze examining every detail. Although it was embellished with lace, there was a thick, soft fabric on the inside, assuring she’d be completely blind. Her throat constricted.

  “Will I be able to take it off?”

  “That’s up to Mr. Stone. I was instructed to proceed only if you agree to wear the blindfold.”

  She swallowed. Okay, this was definitely unexpected. “Why?”

  “You’d have to ask Mr. Stone.”

  She weighed her options. “Can you call him?”

  “No, ma’am. You either place the mask over your eyes or I say goodnight.”

  Just like that? All or nothing? Stepping back, she quickly paced, wishing she had some sort of leverage. Her sly regard scrutinized the chauffeur. He was enormous, but had a sort of gentle set to his broad shoulders. As if he understood his size could be threatening, he hunched by the slightest degree so not to intimidate her more than he already had.

  No one was forcing her. She could say goodnight and this would all be over. Mr. Stone would never contact her again and she’d go on living her uneventful, boring life.

  Fuck.

  “Would you mind giving me a moment? I forgot something inside.”

  “Of course.”

  He folded his hands at parade rest and she slowly backpedaled toward the house, trying not to appear too anxious. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door. The second she was inside with the door closed, she dropped her purse on the hall table, and dug out her phone.

  Her thumb pressed speed dial and she rushed to the bathroom, quickly unbuttoning her jeans and dropping to the seat.

  “Hello?”

  “Nicole, listen, I’m in a hurry, but I need to ask you something.”

  “Yeah?” Her friends voice left Scarlet imagining her sitting at home on an otherwise uneventful night in the world of married life.

  “Do I take risks?”

  Nicole snorted. “Um, no. Not unless you consider getting your nails done in a color outside of the pink family risky.”


  “Do you think I should?”

  “I don’t know, Lettie. It depends. I don’t want my best friend to jump out of a plane or anything dangerous, but I think baby stepping out of your bubble wouldn’t hurt matters either. What’s going on? And are you peeing?”

  “Yes, sorry. I told you I was in a rush. Okay, here’s the deal. I sort of met someone and I’m wildly attracted to him and he wants me to go back to his place—”

  “Is he married?”

  “No.”

  “Gay?”

  “No.”

  “Have any noticeable symptoms of STDs?”

  “Ew, no!” At least she hoped not.

  “It’s a fair question. Do you have condoms?”

  “I’m not having sex with him!”

  “Oh, well, then I guess it’s fine. Who is he?”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  She hiked up her jeans and wedged the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she washed her hands. “I don’t have time for all of this right now. But listen, if you don’t hear from me by two a.m. call the cops. Come to my house and all the information I have will be there.”

  “This is weird, Lettie. What the hell’s going on?”

  “I’m taking a risk and doing something for myself. I have to go. Two a.m., got it?”

  “Not really. Scarlet—”

  She ended the call. Her mind was made up. Dropping the phone back in her purse after silencing the ringer, she made a quick detour into her kitchen and flung open her knife drawer. Scrutinizing her supply, she selected a small but very sharp paring knife and slid it into her purse. She then left a note on the kitchen table.

  Mr. Stone. Chauffeur’s name is Mr. Pennyworth. This is the letter I have which may hold possible fingerprints. More info on my laptop GP page. Password: THORLOVESBACON.

  She dropped the pen and wiped her hands down her jeans. Creeping to the front window, she dug out her phone and zoomed in on the license plate. The flash reflected off the glass, nearly blinding her, and when her sight came back Mr. Pennyworth was scowling in her general direction. “Shit. I suck at sneaky.”

  Go time.

  Leaving the house again, she was relieved to find Mr. Pennyworth still waiting. Locking the door, she met him on the sidewalk and smiled nervously.

  “Are you ready, Ms. Farrow?”

  “Um, one more thing. Since I’m sort of putting my life on the line and all, do you think we could take a selfie, just an act of good will proving you’re not going to drive me to an abandoned warehouse and chop me up into little bits?”

  He chuckled. “Sure.”

  As he stepped beside her, she held out her phone. “Damn you’re big.”

  “Let me.” He took the phone and snapped the shot. It all seemed so normal when he handed it back and waited for her to examine it like women often did. “Good?”

  “Perfect. Just let me send this to my wingman.”

  “Take your time.”

  She sent both pictures off to Nicole and her phone immediately vibrated with a responding text.

  Oh my GAWD, is that him? YES!! Go to his house and climb all over that mountain of muscle! And WTF is this other picture? It looks like a distorted reflection of your face and a car? Did you mean to send that?

  Good enough. She turned her phone off, knowing Nicole’s questions could get relentless. Stuffing it in her bag, she nodded at Pennyworth. “Let’s do this.”

  Again, he handed her the blindfold. She carefully pulled it over her eyes, blacking out the world. Her arms extended as she worked to tie it without pulling her hair. Once it was in place she was immediately disoriented.

  Mr. Pennyworth placed a gentle hand on her upper arm. “I’ll guide you to the car.” It was strange, this man could have been Mr. Stone, but something told her he wasn’t. Still, she noted his cologne to make sure. Lots of tricks could be played on a woman in a blindfold.

  As the door clicked open she had the sudden thought Mr. Stone might be in the car. “Is there anyone else in the car?”

  “No, ma’am. Just us.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was a relief or made things worse.

  “Watch your head, please.”

  Ha. Ha. She couldn’t watch anything. She was freaking blind!

  As though she were being fed into the backseat of a squad car, she unseeingly fondled her way over the soft leather seat. The door shut with a quiet click and the temptation to peek while she was alone intensified. Before she’d decided to take the opportunity, the front door opened and the car slightly shifted with the weight of the driver.

  The front door shut and the sound of fabric brushing over leather met her ears. “If you reach your hands out in front of you, I left a bottle of water for you. Mr. Stone suggested you drink it to calm your nerves.”

  She reached out, finding Mr. Stone’s thoughtfulness comforting, as though he were there with her. Cool plastic met her fingers as her hand closed over the offering. “Thank you.”

  “Do you think you can find the seatbelt on your own?”

  Her mind was so overwhelmed she found his question incredibly difficult to answer. Gripping the water bottle between her knees, she patted around for the buckle and glided it over her chest. Her other hand located the cool latch as she directed the seatbelt into the hole. Mr. Pennyworth must have heard the click.

  “Shall we?”

  “Yes,” she rasped, her belly turning as if the car were a roller coaster cart on the cusp of a drop off.

  “If you want to return home at any time, just say the word, Ms. Farrow. I’m at your service.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Please keep the blindfold on or I’ll have to turn the vehicle around, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  The car slowly lurched forward and her stomach lurched and dropped. The soles of her feet tingled as they picked up speed. This was it. Retrieving the bottle from between her knees, she inspected the cap with her fingertips. It was difficult to tell if anyone had tampered with it.

  Holding it close to her ear, she gave it a turn, the resistance of the seal broke with a snap as the tiny plastic teeth separated. Chances were the water wasn’t rigged. Thank God because she was thirsty as hell. She was being extremely paranoid, but in a situation like this, who wouldn’t be?

  The plastic crunched as she chugged several deep swallows, sounding obnoxious and loud in the silence of the car. Maybe it only sounded loud to her because she was blindfolded and her other senses were heightened.

  The car was the perfect temperature, not too cool and not too warm, though she’d started to sweat. The air held the scent of leather, Armor All, and traces of Mr. Pennyworth. The memory of the driver’s appearance was already blurry and she regretted not taking a longer look at him before he drove her God knew where. Later on she’d go back to his picture and really study it.

  Shit. She was sitting there playing with water and classifying the car rather than trying to track where they were going. Her body swayed with each carefully steered turn and her mind grew frustrated trying to decipher where they were headed.

  Why was she being so quiet? Mr. Stone had said she could speak freely to Mr. Pennyworth. Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, she sat forward. “Do you drive for a company or are you only Mr. Stone’s chauffeur?”

  She was surprised how easily he answered. “I only work for Mr. Stone, but this is the first time I’ve acted as his chauffeur.”

  “Oh. What do you normally do for him?” Hit man? Thug? Hole digger?

  “I’m also his personal trainer.”

  “Oh.” That made sense, since he was enormous. Also, Mr. Stone had mentioned having a trainer, so that added to his credibility.

  She tried to figure out a way to politely phrase a question regarding Mr. Stone’s appearance. “Do you train him often?”

  “Three sessions a day.”

  Wow. Mr. Stone was likely as enormous as Mr. Pennyworth. She barely exercised. “Are
we going to a restaurant?”

  “I’m taking you to a private residence.”

  “Mr. Stone’s?”

  “One of them.” Interesting.

  “How far is it?”

  “Not much farther. We should be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Has Mr. Stone ever been married?”

  “I’m afraid all questions regarding his personal life must be directed to him.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. No harm in asking. I’ll let you know if I’m unable to answer.”

  It was like twenty questions. She could get an answer—or at least some helpful information—if she phrased the question properly. “Does Mr. Stone usually have guests like this?”

  “I can’t disclose that information.”

  Damn it. She tried again. “Do you have any sisters or a wife or girlfriend?”

  “I’m single right now. Why? You have friends?” He laughed. “I have a younger sister.”

  She licked her lips. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You just did.”

  “Do you think I’m in danger? I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m a little out of my element.”

  He was quiet for only a few seconds, but it was enough of a pause for her to panic. “Since meeting Mr. Stone, he’s never shown me an unkind side of himself. My experience with him has been… inspiring. He’s a very driven man, resolute, and dedicated to getting what he wants, but he isn’t a cruel person from what I’ve seen. As a matter of fact I find him refreshingly humble, but that’s just my personal opinion, ma’am.”

  Humble? She wasn’t sure how that word applied to the Mr. Stone she knew. “Would you let your sister do what I’m doing?”

  He laughed. “I may be driving you, Ms. Farrow, but I don’t know what your or Mr. Stone’s intentions are for the night. He’s a very private man. All I can do is assume. I’m extremely protective of my little sister and involving her in any sort of hypothetical having to do with my assumptions doesn’t make me happy. I prefer to think of my baby sister as a completely non-sexual being, if you know what I’m saying.”