Watercolor Hearts

by Sutton Shields

  “Locks?”

  “Yeah, I have locks on my door…and windows.”

  “How groundbreaking,” he said sarcastically. “No alarm?”

  “Well, it is a matchbox above a bakery.”

  “Need I remind you of the dangers accompanying this profession?”

  Dude, there was no need to get insulting. “Are we really calling it a profession? I mean, isn’t it more of a sport?”

  Cocking his head, he coolly replied, “And sports are professions.” Dammit. He had me there. “So, aside from your flimsy ‘locks’ reply—”

  “Wow, you are really not gonna drop this.”

  “—what else do you have in place to ensure your safety?”

  “Um, I have an umbrella by my bed.”

  Blake crossed his arms, smiling arrogantly. “Ah, yeah, I can see where an umbrella could come in handy, especially if the perpetrator decides to urinate on you. Or maybe you intend to distract him by doing a little singsong in the rain?”

  Putting my hands on my hips, I snapped, “It has a particularly sharp metal tip, perfect for ass shoving, eye poking, or ball spearing. And the horse’s head handle is perfect for head hitting.”

  His cocky smile only grew. “Okay, locks, ball spearing umbrella…anything else?”

  Wracking my brains for something impressive, my mouth opened before my brain could stop it. “Bleach.”

  “What, so you can kill 99.99 percent of germs on his skin?”

  “Or burn his eyes and blind him,” I said venomously.

  Blake nodded, dropped his head, and moved closer to me. “Do you know why I put you through this?”

  “Because you’re an ass?” I can’t believe I just called the Manx—my boss—an ass.

  “Well, yes…but it’s also part of your training. It’s critical that you know your setting. The first thing our team does when visiting a hit site is scope it, learn it, looking for alternative escape routes and anything we can use as weapons, should things not go according to plan.”

  “So, my umbrella and bleach alternatives weren’t so stupid after all.”

  Blake ran a hand through his thick mess of brown hair. “Not so stupid. But they could be better.”

  Shrugging one shoulder, I said, “I’ll take ‘not so stupid.’”

  “When I’m done with you, you’ll be a scary little thing.”

  “Let’s get down to it, then. When do we leave?”

  “Now.”

  Ten minutes later, Finn stopped the car next to the building at the end of the block.

  “We’re going to go through here,” said Blake. “I want to show you the tunnels later tonight, how to access the buildings, and so on. It’s repetitive with all the buildings, so when you’ve done it once, you should be good to go. And I suppose this is obvious, but your key code works for all levels of all the buildings on this block.”

  “If I had a key code.”

  “You’ll get it after training tonight.”

  “Why after?”

  “I have a methodology.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re a control freak.”

  “Don’t know about control, but I certainly can be a freak. Moving on…”

  Heat rose to my neck as Blake gained access to the dark, empty building.

  “So, all of these buildings are essentially abandoned?” I asked.

  “More or less,” said Blake, opening the door and moving aside to let me in. Blake closed the front doors and locked them. Flipping on a flashlight, he gently cupped my elbow and led me to the elevators. He went through the same palm and retinal scan as Finn had upon my first meeting with the Manx, followed by entering the guest key code for me. Once inside, he pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.

  “Like I said, after training I’ll take you to the tunnels and let you try out your key code. Every door has a hidden panel. Until you learn where they are, just wave your key code card right around the wall to the right of the door and the panel will glow slightly. Now, the first time you attempt access through the tunnels, you will perform the retinal and palm scans and follow with entering your key code. After that, you’ll officially be in the system and will no longer have to enter your code every time. You’ll only need to do the retinal and palm scans to access buildings and floors. The key code is used for override purposes.”

  On the way up, I asked, “Do you ever get bored?”

  “With what?”

  “Training and preparing someone for this life.”

  Blake gazed down at me, his soul-stirring brown eyes looking deep into mine. “I’d say this is the least bored I’ve ever been.”

  When the elevator doors opened to the seventeenth floor, Blake hurried ahead of me. “This,” he said, just before turning on the lights, “is where we’re going to train.”

  Walking stiffly out of the elevator, my mind in a total state of shock, I gawked at the seventeenth floor. The entire floor was a wide open space the size of a ballroom and fully equipped with mats, dummies, including a Wing Chun wooden dummy, various weapons—many of which I had only ever seen in movies—oddly situated closets, a mirrored wall, rock-climbing wall—only instead of ‘rocks’ there were silver spikes—and…a balance beam.

  Pointing at the beam, I quipped, “You going to train me for the Olympics?”

  “It’s to teach you balance,” replied Blake.

  “Considering I didn’t fall over in the heels I was wearing during the charity auction, I’d say my balance is pretty damn good.”

  “Impressive as that may have been, trust me when I say there is more to being balanced than simply staying upright. Inner balance of the senses is as important as the physical, if not more so. Before we get to the beam, however, I’m going to teach you how to defend yourself, should anything go badly on a mission.”

  “Have they ever gone badly?”

  “Yeah, they have.”

  “I never read anything about it.”

  “You wouldn’t. Police and FBI—they are more than aware. They’re never going to release those details. Why would they? We won, every damn time.”

  “Who does it go badly between? Your team and who? The cops?”

  “Rarely. But, it can be anybody, really. Authorities, security guards…enemies.”

  “Enemies?”

  “Museums aren’t stupid. Auction houses aren’t stupid. Some of their financial backers don’t exactly approve of what the Manx does. They’re a different kind of rich. Rather than getting off on procuring things, the ultimate turn on is stopping things.”

  “Like stopping a steal.”

  “Exactly. These richies put money in museums and auction houses. In turn, the museums and auction houses turn a blind eye when a private contributor hires tawdry groups to watch for us, aim for us. That’s why we are constantly changing tactics over the years. Everything’s a variable. For so long, the item would arrive at its destination and we’d sweep in, grab it before it’s ever shown to the public or up for auction. Now, we switch it up. Sometimes we procure before it’s shown, after, and, on occasion, during. The dangers are getting worse, however. That’s why I insist you’re able to defend yourself, especially if you go out in the field.”

  “Would I go out as a lure, like Ivy?”

  Blake chuckled. “No, no. Believe me, I mean no offense. You are quite alluring in your own unique way. But…you’re not ready for that role.”

  “I’m no Ivy, I get that. I’m not blind. But I could’ve had any man I wanted at your charity party the other night—single, married, engaged, didn’t matter.”

  “I’m not arguing that.” He paused a moment, his brow furrowed, clearly pondering his words. “When it’s Ivy’s turn to work with you, she’ll tell you things, and I’m confident upon you hearing them, you’ll understand why I insist that you protect yourself, physically and emotionally.”

  I looked over my shoulder at all of the apparatuses and weapons. “Okay, so where do we begi—”

  When I turned back arou
nd to face Blake, he had his shirt off, swinging a metal nunchaku with such ease as to rival the greatest martial artist of all time. The man had the body of an Olympian—strong, lean, and almost ungodly ripped.

  “Eventually,” he said, with absolutely zero loss of breath, “you’ll be able to do this.”

  I stood there with a gaping mouth, unable to compose myself for the sake of self-preservation. Between the swinging danger sticks and Blake’s perfect, half-naked body, I was mentally a goner.

  Finally, my brain delivered words to my mouth, which was probably on the cusp of drooling. “That better be a magnificently long ‘eventually’, my friend.”

  Though releasing a hearty laugh, Blake never faltered in his movements. “Then you better not take a look at my timetable for your progression. You might just voluntarily inject yourself with a memory wiper and hop a plane overseas.”

  Oh, yeah, this was going to be a long, painful night, and I had serious concerns about this new deodorant I stupidly bought on clearance.

  Standing as tall as I could, I placed one hand on my hip and stretched my other hand out in front of me. “Okay. Hand me a pair of those death sticks and let’s get chucking.”

  Blake stopped his display of supreme athleticism, arrogance raising his brows. “You think you’re going to get the nunchucks on day one?”

  “With you, I honestly don’t know,” I replied, throwing up my hands.

  “That’s why I’m the Manx.”

  “Touché. So, if you’re not having me dive into the world of dangerous swinging sticks, what exactly do you have planned?”

  “For now, you’re going to start with twenty laps around the parameter of the room, followed by a brutal series of core exercises, ending with planks. Next up will be the leg series, three sets of twenty each exercise. We’ll then move to the spike wall, where you’ll climb and descend forty times.”

  Hurl. “That’s a lot.”

  “Oh, that’s just the warm-up.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  “Yeah, that’s simple gym stuff.”

  I folded my arms. “So you say.”

  “When you’re done with the wall, you’re going to start hand-to-hand combat training with me.”

  “Uh-huh, assuming I survive the ‘simple gym stuff.’”

  Blake nodded. “You will.”

  “What are you going to do while I’m doing all this crap?”

  “Well, I’ve given that a lot of thought…”

  “And?”

  “See that back corner with the really comfy leather chairs?”

  “I had spotted those, funnily enough.”

  “Inviting, aren’t they?”

  Ugh. “Yep, sure are.”

  “Yeah, that’s where I’ll be, feet propped, playing on my tablet. You want to call me an asshole now, don’t you?”

  Clenching my jaw, I said, “Oh, so very, very much.”

  “What’s holding you back now? Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “And it won’t be the last time, so I reckon I’ll just save my strikes.”

  Blake moved closer, playfully narrowing his eyes on me. “How many strikes do you think you have with me?”

  Gazing up at him, I said, “Given the grin, I think I have a decent amount, certainly more than three.”

  “You may be right about that.” He tapped my nose. “Get to work, feisty one.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I said, saluting him.

  “Hey Mags…I really can be an asshole.”

  I pointed to my face. “Note the incredibly unsurprised look.” Before I started my laps—otherwise known as my descent into hell—I added, “Hey, Blake. There are varying degrees of asshole. You’re one of the better ones.”

  Smiling, he settled into one of the chairs, propped his feet upon a small table, and, with a wink, said, “Eh, I know.”

  “Of course you do,” I muttered, spying a good starting place to begin the laps. “By the end of this night, my body will hate me.”

  “And in a matter of months, your body will thank me.”

  I rolled my eyes, though the smallest of smirks tugged mercilessly on one corner of my mouth. I really did appreciate that brain of his, among other things. Shaking my head free of, uh, thoughts, I took on my first of twenty laps to kick-start my training.

  “Panting already?” Blake quipped an hour and a half later while taping up his hands.

  “I seriously dislike you.”

  Laughing heartily, Blake said, “Perfect timing, then…it’s time for hand-to-hand combat.”

  “I get to hit you?”

  “You get to try.”

  “Try hell. I’m hitting you.”

  “We’re just working on technique today. You’ll get plenty of chances to bust my ass. But, tell ya what, if you get a clean shot at me, go on and take it…if you think you can.”

  Oh, I can.

  *****

  Oh, I couldn’t.

  After three hours, I was sore, sweaty, cranky, and a little concerned about the aroma waffling from my armpits. On top of that, I didn’t once get a clean hit on Blake.

  Removing tape from his hands, Blake watched me slide down a wall. Yes—slide down a wall. At this point, the chairs were too far away and I had no pride; it melted away with whatever muscle strength I wrongly thought I possessed.

  Stretching my back and neck, a water bottle appeared before me, dripping gloriously cold water drops on my skin.

  “Here,” said Blake, bottle in-hand. “It helps.”

  Taking the bottle, I gulped down half of it all at once. “About the only thing that’s going to truly help is a heating pad, ice bag, pills, and alcohol. And, yes, I know not to combine pills and liquor, so spare me the lecture. Even my ears hurt.”

  Blake chuckled. “It’ll feel like an uphill climb for a while, but you will grow stronger.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Hey, I’ve got something that’ll brighten you up—”

  “Tranquilizer?”

  “How about trying out your new key code?”

  “Think I’ve earned it,” I said, stretching my arm. “Help me up?”

  “Need me to carry you?”

  Yes. “I’ll make it, thanks.” Once he pulled me to my feet, my stupid knees buckled a bit, and my thigh muscles were traitorous little pricks.

  “Sure about that? I don’t mind carrying you.”

  Please carry me. “All good. Where are we heading?”

  “Basement.”

  “Uh-huh, okay. Elevator.”

  Blake cleared his throat. “I was thinking the stairs, actually.”

  Shooting him the evilest look I could muster, I growled, “Elevator. And don’t be a dick. There aren’t varying degrees of dick.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  As we made our way to the elevators, he placed his hand in the middle of my back. I jumped slightly, though I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was my need to feel strong, if only for my own self-confidence; maybe I couldn’t handle his touch without my mind and body racing to things I simply could not afford to think about. Either way, I knew my reaction made Blake uncomfortable and made me look like a weirdo.

  Once the elevator reached the basement, Blake headed for a heavy, slate blue door and did the scan song and dance. Pushing it open, he said, “All of the basements have a door just like this one. They lead to the tunnels running beneath the buildings.”

  Following him through the door and into the tunnels, I marveled at the sight. The ‘tunnels’ were all gray marble with thin tubes of blue lights running along the ground.

  “Okay, not the dreary, dank tunnels I was expecting.”

  Blake shrugged. “I’m not one for common.”

  “How’d you manage to get all of this done?”

  “This is where money and sordid connections come in handy. Now,” he said, handing me a red envelope, “here is your key code, along with various fake id’s.”

  I emptied the contents of the envelope into my hand. Wi
thin a matter of seconds, I had my key code memorized. In addition to the key code, I had a new driver’s license, birth certificate, a spattering of identification cards for museums, galleries, auction houses, and universities, and two cell phones, one for my new identity and one for communicating with team members. Looking more closely at the id’s, I grinned. “Charlotte Canteberry.”

  “You picked a good name. Since you attended my charity garden party and purchased an item, you’re already semi-established in my circles. I simply had Greg embellish your persona, both personal and professional, just in case someone gets prematurely nosey.”

  “Like Blair?”

  Nodding, Blake said, “Like Blair. How’d you guess?”

  “I was the brunette in the red dress and black heels keeping a smile on her boyfriend’s face instead of her. That’s all it takes.”

  “Except I’m not her boyfriend.”

  “Fine. You’re her intended, the one she has her eye on, hoping to get her fake nails into your bank account. In her mind, Blake, I promise you—you are her present and future, and nothing will come between her and that ring.”

  “She shouldn’t be so confident.”

  We simply stared into each other’s eyes. The intensity was unparalleled.

  Clearing my throat, I broke eye contact, focusing on a door down the tunnel. “I take it that door, there, would lead into the basement of the next building.”

  “Right…right, and yes. Go on and access.”

  Walking down the tunnel toward the next door, I had a thought. “How did you get my retinal and palm readings?”

  “Greg.”

  “’Nuff said.”

  Standing before the door, I slowly waved my key code card along the wall to the right of the door’s frame. Soon, a soft blue glow outlined a rectangular area. Instinctively, I pushed that area of the wall; the small section of wall slid sideways and the palm/retinal scan emerged, as did a keypad. Placing my hand on the screen, I leaned into the little eye scanner. After the scans were completed, I entered my code. A green ‘Access Granted’ message appeared on the screen before the wall sealed back up.

  I opened the door, and turned to Blake. “Done.”

  “You fared much better than Pike did his first time out.”

  Baffled at what Pike could have done wrong, I asked, “What happened? It’s kind of self-explanatory.”