At Wit's End

by Lawrence, A. K.

  As she started forward Wit dodged around James and hurried to her. He slung an arm around her waist, sweeping her along quickly in the other direction. She faintly heard Cindy, one of the servers, ask if she was okay before Wit had her in a dark corner.

  “Breathe,” he told her. “Deeply and slowly. Breathe, Marie.”

  She whooped in a breath, held it and let it rush out. “This is your fault,” she told him.

  “What?”

  “You cursed the night earlier, remember? So this is your fault.” She was shaking, in anger or shock she didn’t know. Wit noticed and stepped closer, wrapped his arms around her.

  “Sh,” he whispered, and she realized she was crying. When her whole body felt like it was on fire, how could her tears feel hot? Marie struggled against his hold for a moment before sinking in to his embrace. The tears didn’t come long and Wit admired her self-control.

  He lifted her chin and looked into her watery eyes. “The night’s not a disaster yet. I can think of a million different things I could do right now to change that.”

  She blew a heavy breath out with a weak smile. “No, you’re right. It’s not a disaster. It is, however, a tragedy.”

  “One that can be averted,” he told her.

  She shook her head. “Of course. Everything is under control. I was scheduled to leave after the meal was served. My gang will do clean up and I’ll come back in the morning to double check. The meal has officially been served,”

  Marie looked over his shoulder to the line forming at either end of the serving tables. Anger smouldered in her eyes and gave them a glow Wit wasn’t sure he liked.

  “Let me take you home,” he told her, “and get you drunk.”

  “That sounds like a fabulous plan,” she agreed. Her eyes found and locked on Brandt. He appeared to be flirting with a blonde at the bar. “He’d look damn good with a broken nose though, wouldn’t he?”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Marie turned back to him. “Now that I’ve seen him again, my dithering makes very little sense. Let’s rip him apart.”

  “I was hoping there’d be a good opening for this. I’ve already started.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll make him pay, I promise you.”

  Chapter 5

  “Did that really just happen?” Marie asked as they rode down in the elevator.

  “Did what happen? Did you randomly bump into the guy who stole your life savings at an event you had put together for his brother when that was exactly the last thing you had expected?”

  Marie choked out a laugh. “Something like that.”

  “And you managed to do it without having the cops called. I’d put that in the plus column,” Wit told her.

  “I’m not sure having the cops come would be a bad thing,” she mused.

  “Oh, they could come and you’d tell them your story, he’d tell his and, before you know it, you’d sound like a stalking ex-girlfriend.”

  “It sounds like you’ve seen this happen before.”

  “Not exactly this but similar things,” he admitted.

  “I still feel like the law could take care of him.”

  “Someday it will. Cyber crimes are a relatively new field, if you think about it. The laws haven’t caught up to the technology and, with the way technology keeps taking giant leaps forward they may never be able to.”

  “But there are clear laws about what you do?”

  “Yeah, preventing it. I wrestle with it daily.”

  “The ends justify the means?”

  “They don’t, not always. If you turn into the monsters that you’re chasing, who’s to stop someone from chasing you?”

  “Who watches the watchers?”

  “Don’t even get me started on that. I balance precariously on a thin line. Usually my research and projects are geared toward evidentiary findings for law enforcement to take over and make an arrest.”

  “You said usually. There are times…?” she left the question dangling.

  “There are times when the guy is too slick, like Teflon.”

  “And that’s when your ends justify your means?”

  “I really wish you’d stop using that phrase.”

  “I’ll consider it when it doesn’t seem as apt.”

  “Fair enough.” Wit allowed the conversation to drift into silence.

  They pushed through the main alcove doors and the breeze cooled Marie’s heated cheeks. She couldn’t believe the depth of rage that had overtaken her when she’d seen Michael. No, James, she reminded herself. She asked, “Do you mind if we walk?”

  “Suits me,” he replied. They turned towards the Mercury Building and Marie set a casual pace. He saw her shiver and angled his body to act as a wind block. When she shivered again he put an arm around her and kept walking, his body heating her side.

  “Thank you for stopping me from creating a scene,” she looked up at him and gave a tremulous smile. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t have attempted murder in there. That wouldn’t have done much for my reputation as a premiere event coordinator.”

  “As your lowly assistant I consider it one of my many duties and responsibilities,” he grinned. “Besides, if you kill him the torture ends much too quickly for my tastes.”

  “Torture? What, exactly, do you have planned?” They pushed through the doors into the Mercury building. The doorman hustled over.

  “Mr Witson, welcome home, sir.” The man wore a green, old fashioned doorman’s outfit complete with epaulets.

  “Thank you, George, it’s good to be home. How’s your family?”

  “They are doing quite well, sir, thank you for asking. I wish to share my condolences on the loss of your friends. Mr Smith was always a pleasure to see.” He was talking about Kevin who used to come up to the penthouse once a week for cigars, whiskey and poker. “He was quite handy with a joke.”

  “Yes, he was. Thank you, George. Anything interesting I need to know about?”

  “Yes, sir, some boxes came for you. They’re marked as being sent from Jamaica.”

  “Did they look like they had been opened?”

  “No, sir. Shall I have them sent up?” George’s hand moved to the phone to call one of the bell boys.

  “Yes, please, but it’s not urgent, whenever they have time.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  “How are you feeling?” Wit asked her when they’d reached his floor.

  Marie sighed. “A little shaky and antsy. My stomach is in knots.”

  “That’s the reaction from the adrenaline. In the olden days they’d have offered brandy. I’m afraid I’m all out of that but I do have some scotch or whiskey.”

  “I honestly don’t think a drink is going to help,” she told him, “but thank you. You never answered my question.”

  “Which question is that?” he was in the living room section and bent over the fireplace. She heard a whoosh and flames kicked up.

  “You said something about torturing Michael, er, I mean James?”

  “Oh, right. I haven’t planned it all out or anything, not yet. I’ll have a better take on that in,” he checked his watch, “36 hours, max.”

  “36 hours?”

  “Give or take. I entered his name into IGGY’s search before I met you to start cooking. By my estimates it will take anywhere from 12-48 hours for a search and complete compilation. Once I can see what this guy is interested in I can come up with some creative ways to make his life miserable.”

  “That sounds good in theory but this really does feel like overkill.”

  “And committing murder didn’t?” Wit raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m uncomfortable with the idea of breaking the law for revenge. Bad karma.”

  “Karma again?”

  “I know, I know that James wasn’t worried about karma when he spent months scamming me and then taking my money. Speaking of the money-“, she trailed off.

  “That will be priority one. I already have his banking information so it’s
just a matter of getting in there and circumventing some security. I’ll have to drag the money around a few places so there’s no trail that can be followed. It should be a day or so before I have that figured out.”

  “My hero,” she told him and her tone gave no indication if she was joking or not.

  “If I’m a hero my hat is gray, not white,” he quipped.

  “Was it ever black?”

  “Ah, yeah, that. We haven’t really talked about my past much.”

  “Nor your present and future, either,” she commented.

  “I don’t mean to be secretive. I have to tell you, Marie, normally I don’t meet my clients in person. It can create,” he thought for a second, “complications.”

  The fire threw shadows across his face showing her a stark contrast. Marie felt a tightening in her stomach and an urge to wrap her arms around him. After the night she’d had, why resist?

  Steadily she walked to him until her hands could reach his chest, slide up that muscled slope and come to rest at the base of his neck. His hair lightly brushed the backs of her hands.

  “Does this feel complicated?” Marie curved into his body and pulled his lips down to meet hers. She felt a slight resistance before his lips softened and his arm slid around her waist. His hand skimmed the side of her throat as he reached for her hair clip and let the wild curls fall free.

  Wit wrapped his hands in the silky mass and cupped her head, increased the pressure until their lips met.

  The emotions of the night churned within Marie, desperate for an outlet. Now she had one. Her stomach turned a hard somersault and she nearly moaned against his lips.

  With a tug on her bottom lip Wit skimmed across her jaw to nibble lightly on her earlobe. “Definitely complicated,” he murmured, “but also the simplest thing in the world.” His teeth scraped across the pulse dancing in her throat. Marie gasped, and her head sank back, granting him full access.

  His hand slid up and down her side, his thumb brushing against the edge of her breast with each move. Marie arched, felt a throb begin between her thighs. She tugged on his hair, brought his mouth to hers for a deep kiss, their tongues tangling.

  She tastes like cinnamon. Wit groaned and pulled his hand from her hair. He reached down and grasped her thigh, pulling her leg up and around him. His hardness pressed against her heat, separated only by a few layers of clothing.

  They stumbled and Wit wondered why they were standing in the middle of the living room when there was a bedroom so close. Or even the couch which seemed to beckon with its spacious comfort. He began edging to the couch, his lips dipping and tasting her spiced lips.

  Her body was on fire with a liquid heat. Marie wanted to wrap her entire body around Wit, slide against him and feel him cover every inch of her. She wanted that so badly a kernel of sanity let out a warning.

  Against her own desires her hand pushed against his shoulder. “Wait,” she whispered against his lips, easing the intensity of the kiss. Why was she doing this to herself?

  “Wait for what?” he suckled the underside of her jaw and Marie lost all thought, so intent on the feel of that mouth against her. His fingers worked down the buttons of the silky green blouse she wore. The heat of his fingers against her skin sent shivers down her spine.

  His knuckles brushed against her nipples as he opened her shirt. She wore a white lace camisole that bared her stomach. The white of the lingerie against the tan of her stomach caused his pulse to rocket. He traced a finger down the centre of her chest and laid his heated palm across her stomach.

  “This is happening way too fast,” she was squirming under his gaze, her chest heaving. Her knees bumped against the couch and she stopped.

  Wit swallowed heavily. “It may not have been fast enough.” He laid his forehead against hers.

  She choked back a groaning laugh. “I have a feeling there will be other opportunities.” She placed her hands against his chest once more and felt his heart racing. It stirred her and she slid her arms around him for a long hug.

  “Definitely other opportunities,” he agreed. With more regret than she’d ever know Wit released her. “Would you like to snuggle on my couch and watch the fire?”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  “And the priest says, ‘If that’s the case, boy-o, you best shut your blarney stone and get back to work!’” James rocked backwards, slapped his leg and laughed heartily.

  “That was one of your worst jokes yet,” Wit told him. He tapped ash from his cigar and looked at James. “You should stop getting your jokes from Playboy,” Wit suggested.

  “Playboy has way more class than that. Maybe Saturday Night Live,” Ed offered. He shuffled the deck of cards before passing out the next hand. Cigar smoke hung heavy and aromatic as the men looked at their hands. Ed, casually elegant in a cashmere sweater and black slacks, tipped a finger to his twin brother, dressed far more comfortably in khaki pants and a t-shirt. “It’s your bet.” Ed didn’t like to gamble and acted as dealer for their poker games.

  “I’ll start with a raise,” Will tossed a few chips into the pot and pointed at Wit. “Your problem is you don’t understand true humour.”

  Wit snorted. “I don’t? I keep you around, don’t I?”

  Kevin called the raise. “He’s not a puppy.”

  “I’ll believe that when he stops piddling on the floor,” Wit retorted.

  Ed checked the bets and dealt out the flop. “You have an interesting problem,” he told Wit. “You’ve found an interesting woman who likes spending time with you.”

  “And doesn’t mind that ugly mug,” James commented.

  “And that,” Ed agreed. “You want to be with her and help her and the two may not work out together.”

  “What do you mean?” Wit asked. He leaned back in his chair and drew on his cigar. He rolled the smoke before expelling it.

  “She’s a woman with a solid foundation, core principles and morals. What you are planning on doing isn’t exactly on the side of light and goodness.”

  “Since when do you care about light and goodness?” Will poked his brother.

  Ed looked at him. “You know since when. When we were kids hacking into stuff was fun and interesting. It wasn’t right then, it’s still not now, regardless of your motivation. When she sees you actually use those skills, actually break the law in front of her, she may turn from you.”

  “She may not.”

  “Indeed. And you’ll often wonder why she’s with you knowing she has that solid foundation, etc.”

  Wit felt a pulsing behind his eyeballs. Ed had always been able to twist his head into a migraine. They’d often called Ed Jiminy Cricket for being their conscience during their digital escapades. “I’ll figure it out when the time comes,” Wit told him. He pushed his chips to the centre of the table. “I’m all in.”

  Ed nodded. “You will be.”

  Underneath the table Wit’s leg started bobbing. His knee bounced into something square, causing a brief spate of pain. He bent down and looked at what the object was. At first it didn’t make sense, an alarm clock on the underside of a poker table. When he realized it was ticking down it all made far too much sense.

  “Guys, I think we should adjourn outside for a few minutes,” Wit wasn’t panicking yet. They had time after all.

  “We’re fine right here,” Kevin told him. “It’s where we’re supposed to be.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” Wit looked under the table again and saw the digital clock had hands now and was spinning uncontrollably in reverse. Before he could say another word a flash of fire slammed through the room.

  He turned, threw himself to the floor and covered his head. He could hear debris falling but nothing landed on him. Wit raised his head and looked for his friends. He saw skeletons, burnt, still sitting in chairs and holding playing cards in front of them.

  His side started heating up and he felt a deep burn. He looked down ready to slap the flames out when he saw Marie’s face laying on hi
s shoulder. Wit didn’t start screaming until it began to melt.

  Marie was on her side against the back of the couch with her body curled around the length of Wit as he lay on his back. Her fingers trailed lazy patterns over his chest as he slept and she watched the fire. Her head rested on his shoulder and she, too, was fighting sleep. Her eyes would drift closed and then snap awake as she relived the events of the evening.

  The fire danced and crackled while it waved hypnotically. She’d always loved fires, especially on a beach at sunset. A soothing voiced female singer played quietly in the background and Marie finally gave in to the urge to fall asleep. She was safe and secure, so why not? Her eyes shut.

  And snapped back open when she felt something slapping at her forehead. She blocked Wit’s swinging hands with her forearm and sat up. She caught his wrist. “Wit, it’s okay. Wit? Wake up now.”

  Eyes dilated to obsidian opened and stared blankly into hers. “Wit, wake up!” she spoke with a matter of fact tone not wanting to startle him but at the same time she obviously needed to bring him back to reality. No stranger to disturbing dreams Marie stroked his arm and then gently shook his shoulder.

  “It’s burning,” Wit groaned, “too hot. Everything is melting. Will! No!”

  Awakened by his own shout Wit looked wildly around the room. He saw the poker table pushed into the corner of the room and visibly flinched. He was pale, shaking and Marie hoped he wasn’t going to vomit.

  Wit leaned his head back onto the armrest of the couch, threw his arm over his eyes and inhaled deeply, exhaled heavily. He repeated the process three times before she noticed a decrease in the shaking of his limbs.

  Somehow Marie had ended up on the edge of the couch. She perched there and watched Wit out of the corner of her eye. He rubbed both hands across his face and shivered. Without a word she reached for the glass of water he’d left on an end table and handed it to him. He drained it in one long swallow and nodded his thanks.