The Territory of Lies

by Ana Stone

  Adrian laughed softly. "Sydney Forrest, you'd be surprised at the things I know about you."

  Surprised at his remark and a little disconcerted she hesitated a moment. "See you at seven."

  "I am in anticipation," he replied and hung up.

  She replaced the receiver and stared at it thoughtfully. Adrian Zayne was an enigma. Nothing about him fit into any mold or standard. She didn’t know what to make of him.

  The night of Larry Anderson's birthday party he had stayed with her the entire evening. They had danced and talked and the hours had flown by. He was extremely interesting, well-read and even more well-traveled. He could talk about almost any topic intelligently and knowledgeably and that impressed her.

  Moreover, he listened to her when she talked and treated her as if she was more than merely an attractive woman. She felt he was interested in the whole person which was, in her experience, a rare quality in a man. Adrian was different. While he looked at her with apparent interest in her appearance, he also listened with apparent interest to her thoughts and opinions.

  "Almost too good to be true," she murmured. A little voice inside her head spoke up. And you know what they say about that, Syd. If it looks too good to be true, then it probably is.

  Sydney pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t like this was a date.

  And what about Blake? The little voice in her mind asked.

  She told herself that she wasn’t hurting anyone by having dinner with Adrian and while that didn’t appease her conscious, it did at least divert it. She turned her attention to her work and finished the rest of her notes on the session with Senator Tyler. Her secretary buzzed her to let her know that her next appointment was there. Wrestling with her conscience could wait, she had patients to attend to.

  Later That Evening

  Blake dropped his bag beside the door as he pushed it closed with his foot. It felt both good and strange to be home. He had spent the last four months on a case in cooperation with the DEA and for the past month he had been in Jacksonville, North Carolina, working undercover.

  He raked his hand through his hair as he walked across the room. It was definitely time for a hair cut. While he’d been working undercover, he’d let it grow out longer than regulation and he felt uncomfortable about showing up at headquarters with long hair and a full growth of beard.

  He was still a little surprised that he had been asked to go to North Carolina to work on the case. There were plenty of qualified agents in the area who could have taken the job. But he had not questioned the opportunity. He went where he was sent and did the job he was sent to do. He never had been one to question orders.

  After turning on the lamp beside the couch he sat down, loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

  He checked his personal voicemail. There were three messages. The first was from his former wife, reminding him that his son Michael wanted to fly up and spend part of his spring break with him. A return call was expected.

  The next message was from one of the guys at the bureau, one of his closest and definitely oddest friends; George We'zel. George was without a doubt the smartest man Blake had ever met, especially when it came to computer systems. There was not a system in the world that he could not hack his way into. And if there was anything going on it was a sure bet that George knew about it.

  George was one of those guys who probably wore white button-down shirts with pocket-protectors every day to school. He was short, only five- seven, thin to the point of being skinny, and glasses so thick his eyes looked magnified out of all proportion.

  He was also very quick, physically as well as mentally. His movements always seemed to be rapid darts here and there, like a small animal that is accustomed to being seen as prey and so moves in rapid nervous bursts. Mentally, he was faster than greased lightning. He could weasel his way into anything.

  That trait, coupled with his odd name, We'zel, had earned him the nickname, Weasel. He did not seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to like the name.

  Blake was one of the few people in the bureau who genuinely liked Weasel. Almost everyone else merely tolerated him for his brilliance and skills.

  As he listened to the cryptic message Blake smiled. Weasel had called to remind him that technology became obsolete very fast. In the world of technology you either were literate or dead. There was no in-between. He suggested Blake join the living.

  Blake had no clue what the message meant so he erased it and listened to the last one. It was from a woman named Dyan Milton, someone he had dated for a short while. He had’t seen her in several months. They had gone out a few times after he had started seeing Sydney but as his interest in Syd grew stronger he stopped calling Dyan. She had called to remind him that she had not heard from him and suggested that they get together.

  Blake erased the message, called his ex-wife to confirm Michael's visit, then tried to call Sydney. There was no answer. He hung up before her voice mail picked up. He would try her later.

  It did not take long to unpack his suitcase and shower. When he made it to the kitchen he found the only thing he had in the refrigerator was a wilted head of lettuce, a molded container of fruit, spoiled milk and a couple of beers. He called out for a pizza then went back into the den and flopped down on the couch.

  For a while he channel surfed, but could not find anything he wanted to watch. Bored, but having no desire to go out he wandered around the apartment.

  As he walked by the spare bedroom his eyes fell on the desk. On it was the new tablet. It was a gift from Sydney. She was one of those people who was online a lot, too much in his way of thinking. But he had to admit he was constantly amazed at the things she discovered online and by communicating electronically with the other net-bugs, as she called them.

  Blake wasn’t a novice to technology and the internet, but also wasn’t interested in using either as anything other than what, in his opinion, they were designed for. Tools. But he had expressed a mild interest in finding out what the appeal was about all the new “Pro” tablet one evening while at dinner with Sydney and the next day she had presented him with one along with a printer.

  Since that day he had not touched the tablet. Now, having nothing else to do he picked it up and carried it back to the couch, sat down and turned it on.

  "Okay, let's see," he looked at the screen. "I want . . . what do I want? Check email? Yeah, why not."

  He was just clicking on the mailbox icon when the doorbell rang. He went to the door, accepted delivery, paid the pizza boy then returned to the couch with his pizza.

  His mail consisted mainly of what he could only describe as the same kind of junk that littered his physical mailbox. There was only one message he did not delete. It was from We’zel and read simply: Dude do you ever check your email? Weasel.

  Blake smiled, deleted the message and leaned back, chewing and staring at the screen. He finished one slice of pizza, still staring at the screen then rose. Sydney might think playing around online was fun, but he didn’t know anything he was interested in seeing, reading or watching.

  He put the tablet aside and picked up his phone. Sydney's number was answered by voice mail. "Hi, this is Sydney. I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

  "Hey," he said as he heard the beep. "It's Blake. I just got in and wanted to say hi, but since you're obviously not there I guess I'll talk to your voice mail instead. Give me a call when you get a chance. I missed you, Syd and I'm looking forward to seeing you."

  Blake lay back on the couch and turned on the television. Coming home to an empty apartment was starting to wear thin. He found himself thinking how it would be if he and Sydney were together. Maybe not married. She was adamantly against that. Maybe just living together. It would be nice to have her curled up beside him to watch television, and even nicer to feel her next to him when he woke up in the mornings. He wondered what that would feel like to wake up besi
de her. Since they had never spent a night together he could only imagine. Fortunately, there was nothing wrong with his imagination. With his own imagined scenario floating through his mind he drifted to sleep.

  *****

  While Blake was spending a lonely evening at home, Sydney was having one of the most unusual evenings of her life.

  At exactly seven her doorbell rang. She opened it to find Adrian standing , dressed to the nines and holding an enormous bouquet of long stemmed roses.

  He bowed his head slightly as he presented her with the roses. “For you.”

  "Thank you," she said as she accepted them. "They're beautiful."

  "They pale in comparison to your beauty," he replied as she stepped aside for him to enter.

  "My, you are very good at that." She turned to take the flowers to the kitchen.

  "At what?"

  "Flattery," she said as she put the flowers on the counter and got a vase from the cabinet.

  "I am completely sincere." He walked up behind her as she ran water into the vase. "You are even more beautiful than the memory I have been carrying in my mind."

  Sydney turned around to look at him. He did not move so she was forced to tilt her head back to look up at him. He traced his fingers down the side of her face to her throat and she felt an uncomfortable chill skitter down her spine.

  Adrian smiled and moved aside as she put the flowers into the vase. "Would you care for a drink?"

  "I have a bottle of champagne on ice, waiting for us," he replied. "Are you ready?"

  "I suppose I am." She walked into the living area to pick up her wrap from the back of the couch. Adrian took it from her and draped it around her bare shoulders.

  "Then let us be off, my lady."

  They left the apartment and took the elevator downstairs to find a long white limousine waiting. The driver was standing by the door. Sydney and Adrian got in and he picked up an iced bottle of champagne and poured two glasses.

  She accepted a glass and took a small sip. She was surprised to find herself feeling nervous. Normally she had no trouble meeting or being around men, but Adrian had an unusual effect on her. Something about him seemed to hint at a sense of controlled power lying just beneath the surface - something that suggested deep and fierce passions. That not only intrigued , it frightened her a bit.

  He smiled and draped one arm along the seat, letting his fingers play idly along one shoulder where the wrap had slid to expose the skin. Sydney tried to suppress the unease that his touch inspired and took another sip from her glass. She knew from the label on the bottle, the champagne was expensive, but there seemed to be a bitter bite to it.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To a very nice restaurant. After that - well, I suppose we will just have to see what develops, won't we?"

  She smiled and raised her glass but did not drink. "I suppose we will, Mr. Zayne."

  She turned the conversation to him, asking about his business. He answered very forthrightly, telling her about his various enterprises.

  "My goodness, I had no idea. It sounds as if you own half the country."

  Adrian laughed and moved his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck. "Not quite, but I am working on it. Ah," he said with a smile as the car slowed. "Here we are."

  Sydney looked out the window at the row of planes and helicopters parked on the tarmac. "The airport?"

  "Come." Adrian took her hand as the driver stopped the car and got out to open the door. He led her to a sleek helicopter where a pilot was waiting. They got in and after a few moments the craft rose into the air.

  Sydney looked around, wondering why Adrian had gone to such trouble and where they were headed. It was not long before she found out. They landed a short distance from the town of Blue Ridge in Virginia where another Limousine was waiting. Within minutes they were pulling up in front of The Inn at Little Washington. Sydney had been there only once, with her father, many years ago. The restaurant at the inn was booked months in advance. Getting a reservation on short notice was next to impossible.

  How Adrian had managed to accomplish that task in such a short amount of time piqued her curiosity. Just who is he? She wondered as he escorted her inside.

  They were greeted by the owner and shown to a table by the window in the lovely wood-paneled dining room. Dinner was wonderful and Adrian was both attentive and entertaining.

  He suggested they have coffee and brandy in the courtyard. The owner once more showed them to a table then left them alone. Sydney took a seat and looked around at the lovely surroundings. "This has been wonderful," she said as she looked at Adrian. "Thank you. I've really enjoyed it."

  "You sound as if the evening is over," he commented then turned to give the waiter their drink order. "And it has only just begun."

  "Just begun? What do you have planned next?"

  "That is a surprise."

  "Really? What makes you think I like surprises? You don't even know me."

  Adrian laughed. "Sydney Forrest, I know you better than you know yourself. I have from the first moment our eyes met. You, beautiful mistress of my fantasy, are an adventure waiting to happen. Beneath that cool demeanor and detached clinical professionalism beats the heart of a rogue, a woman who would dare to defy the elements, the fates themselves. In that savage heart you psychiatrists try to obliterate is the potential for the most intense emotions, the deepest passions. You not only like surprises, you adore them. And I am going to fill your days and nights with new and unexpected delights and adventures."

  For a moment she was speechless. The words he had spoken would have sounded false, arrogant, and presumptuous in the extreme from anyone else. From Adrian they sounded both sincere and a bit menacing.

  "I hardly know what to say in response. I must admit that I've never been told anything quite like that and while I cannot say I agree with your diagnosis of my psyche, it certainly was interesting."

  Adrian's smile faded and his hand moved to her face. He took her chin in his fingers and lifted her face slightly to look into her eyes. "Don’t play games with me, Sydney. I’m quite serious and in your heart you know that I’m right. Haven’t you grown tired of commonplace men - men incapable of matching your intellect, your passion? I think you have, just as I think you’ve been waiting for me for a very long time."

  "That’s very presumptuous, don't you think?"

  "Not at all, it’s simply the truth. You don’t have to admit it to me, but you should at least admit it to yourself."

  What he said was not true. She had not been waiting for someone like him to come along. But perhaps he was playing her. The question was, why? "So, you’re the answer to my dreams? Very well, I'll play along. If that is so, then what am I to you, Mr. Zayne? Your latest diversion?"

  "My only diversion," he said and moved closer to her. "Believe me, Sydney, I’m as surprised and overwhelmed as you. I never expected this to happen - but it has. You see, I’ve been waiting for you as well and I don’t intend to let you get away."

  Even if Adrian had given her a change she would not have had a reply. His lips met hers. She turned her head to one side and he drew back, lifting her hand to his lips. "Am I moving too fast for you?"

  “Yes."

  "Then you would prefer me to back off - take things slower?"

  She thought about it for a moment. "Adrian, all I agreed to was dinner. With a friend. I’m involved with someone. And you−“

  "Yes?" his asked, his eyes sparkling as he raised his eyebrows in question. "What about me?"

  She hesitated a moment, choosing her words with care. " You're intelligent and worldly, fascinating and mysterious. You’re what women dream of finding in a man - attentive, passionate, with intrigue and a hint of hidden danger beneath the surface. You're a puzzle that hasn’t been solved and I'm not sure ever will. But the temptation to try is compelling. I do enjoy your company, but you need to know that friendship is as far as it will ever go."

  Adrian smiled and kisse
d her hand again. "Are you quite sure about that?"

  "Yes.”

  “I appreciate your honesty. And I believe in the old adage, that you can never have too many friends, so a toast. To friendship.”

  With a smile, she raised her glass.

  Chapter Two

  Thursday, April 14

  At five minutes after nine in the morning George We'zel sat at his normal place in front of his console in his cubicle at FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. A middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper gray hair, wearing a severely cut dark blue suit entered the room.

  "Hey there, Weasel, anything new happening?"

  "Hey, Stella," Weasel responded with a smile. "Nothing major – except…" he swiveled his chair around to face her. "You won't believe this. Guess who went online last night?"

  "Who?"

  "Blake Edwards."

  "No way!" she exclaimed. "Blake?"

  "Did I hear you say Blake went online?" Ken, a man at a console nearby joined the conversation. "As in Blake 'the Rake' Edwards?"

  "One and the same," Weasel said with a smile.

  "No, couldn't happen!" Ken exclaimed. "He's too busy with all those good looking babes he always has hanging all over him to have time to putz around online."

  "Not only that," Stella added. "He can find his way around the NCIC and he’s a smart guy but I have to say that being adept online would be analogous to a monkey performing brain surgery."

  "Scoff if you like," Weasel laughed. "But it's a fact."

  "I'll believe it when I see it," Stella commented then walked over to Ken. "I need to get a copy of that info that was downloaded from the DOD last night."

  Ken nodded and turned to his keyboard. “I’m on it.”

  Just then Blake walked in. "Hey, Weasel."

  Stella and Ken turned at the same time Weasel looked around at Blake. "Well, well," Ken quipped. "Rough night, Blake? Or are red eyes and dark bags genetic in your family?"

  "Late night," he replied without elaboration.