by Janet Leigh
He stood, naked and glorious. “Calm down. I might have exaggerated a bit aboot the wee ones. I got excited thinking of us living together.”
We stood facing each other. He held his hand out to me. “Take time to think, but know that I love you.”
I moved into his arms. My heart wanted this to be real, but my mind needed more time to process.
* * *
After I showered, alone this time, I rummaged around in his dresser drawers for another t-shirt. I realized we had been dating long enough that I should have some clothes of my own here. At the very least my own toothbrush. I used a throwaway he kept in the guest bathroom. Rummaging around, I found a t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. They would be big on me, but having something covering my bottom half made me feel safer from Caiyan’s wandering hands. I pulled the clothes on and went to put my wet things in the dryer.
Caiyan met me in the hallway with two bottles of water.
“I thought ye might be thirsty.”
I took one from him and held up the wet clothes in my hand. “I’m going to put these in the dryer. Do you mind if I borrow your computer while my hair dries?”
“Sure thing, what’s mine is yours.” He winked at me and did that quirky thing with his mouth. It was sort of creepy, and I wondered if he might be under extra pressure from the WTF or from his job.
I loaded my clothes in the dryer and searched for a dryer sheet. My jumpsuit would be a wad of static without one. Next to the laundry room was a door. I always assumed it was additional pantry storage. I tried the door; it was locked.
“Caiyan, why is your pantry locked?” I called out from the kitchen.
He came around the corner and stopped. “That is no pantry, it’s my treasure room.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Can I see it?”
He paused, considered, then placed his right hand on the lock. It tumbled open. Caiyan’s gift gave him the ability to open locks. He pushed the door open, standing aside so I could enter. I eased past him. The room was filled top to bottom with things I was certain were stolen. The museum curator Caiyan met with earlier would pee his pants to have just one of the precious items. Gilt-framed paintings leaned against the walls, gold sculptures and sterling silver pieces were displayed on every available surface. Giant chests of god knows what were stacked against the far wall. Jewelry and odd pieces laid out in glass cases on a table that ran the length of the room. These things were obviously a representation of the bounty from Caiyan’s past escapades.
His cautious gaze followed me as I moved into the tight room, like a boy showing a playmate his toys, afraid I might want to touch one. I leaned over the glass cases, admiring an emerald necklace. Moving through the space, running my hand over a sixteenth century tapestry, touching his precious, stolen treasure and wondering how much of Caiyan’s life did he keep stashed away in a temperature-controlled room. I stopped in front of an antique curio cabinet. Trinkets from around the world filled the shelves, and in the center sat a bottle of whiskey.
“Whiskey?”
He smiled and pulled it from the shelf, cradling it like a newborn babe. “This is called the Squirrel. It’s a 1960 bottle of Karuizawa. It’s a rare Japanese whiskey. My grandfather gave it to me to be opened on my wedding night, to drink a toast in honor of my bride.”
The Squirrel might have to wait a long time before the seal got broken based on the secrets Caiyan had in this room. A tingle tickled the base of my neck. The one I usually had before I broke out in a case of hives.
“What are you doing with all this stuff?”
“This ‘stuff’ is worth a fortune. I use it when I need to barter with a brigand.”
The Confederate sword was lying in a case on the table. Its gilded gold handle looked old and well used.
“Like the sword?”
“Aye,” he said, and his eyes fell. He had a secret, and he was collecting handsomely for the sword.
“I’m not sure I’m OK with you hoarding stolen booty if we get married.”
“Jen, it’s part of us.”
“It’s not part of me.”
I left him standing in his treasure room and went to his study. It was my favorite room in Caiyan’s apartment. Floor to ceiling bookshelves crammed with books filled an entire wall. Many of the books were old—not surprising—and contained a deep woodsy leather smell when opened. Two large picture windows provided a view of Central Park. Each window had a comfortable seat recessed beneath it. I placed my knee on the plump designer cushion of the window seat and leaned against the wall, looking out at the lights across the park.
He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “I would love to share this view with you every night.”
“Me, too,” I said reaching up and placing my hand over his. I did want to share my life with Caiyan, but only if he would be honest with me.
“Be patient with me. I weel make it right.” He kissed the top of my head, and we stood silent for a few moments. He released me, yawned, and went off to bed.
I moved to the huge mahogany desk in the center of the room. I sat down and powered on his laptop. An antique inkwell sat on the corner of the desk. I picked up the feather plume and signed my name on the pad of paper next to me. Jennifer McGregor. It felt odd. I scratched it out and replaced the pen.
I typed Bonnie and Clyde into the web browser and dissolved into the story of the infamous gangsters and how they met, what caused them to flee the police, and their death. Their romance was quality over quantity, but would they have lasted if they didn’t get caught? If the opportunity presented itself to meet this couple so deep in love they would die for each other—I was taking it. I had a few questions that needed to be answered. By the time I finished reading, I was bleary-eyed. I checked my phone-three o’clock in the morning. I stifled a yawn and shuffled into Caiyan’s bedroom. He was face to the sky, mussed hair, seemingly carefree as he slept. I climbed under the sheets and laid my head in the crook of his arm. He pulled me in close and murmured how much he loved me. The Thunder key gleamed around his neck. It sounded off a low boom as I snuggled in tight.
* * *
The morning came early, and I wasn’t ready for it. I opened an eye, taking in my surroundings. It took me a minute to remember I was in Caiyan’s bed. I stretched, and my muscles ached, a reminder of last night’s aerobics. Caiyan set a steaming mug of coffee on the nightstand next to me.
“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he said, sipping from the cup of coffee in his hand. He was clean-shaven and dressed in a suit and tie.
“Big meeting today?” I asked, sitting up and taking the coffee. Caiyan’s office was located in Chelsea. He owned an antique and art gallery with a partner. The partner ran the shop, and Caiyan ran the import/export side of the business. I had seen his office one time. There was a flock of beautiful women that handled the sales, and another flock that handled the office work. Caiyan liked to surround himself with beautiful things. I admired his office manager, Catherine, an older woman who ran the office with a stern eye and a firm hand. Her roots were in Jersey, and she kept the girls’ eyes on the files and out of Caiyan’s bed. No playing on the job was her motto, and it kept everyone in sync.
“Aye, I’m meeting with the buyer of the sword.”
“And who might that be?” I asked, envisioning Darth Vader or Donald Trump.
Caiyan paused. He did this when he was contemplating truth or lie. “Mortas Mafuso.”
“Are you kidding me?” I returned my cup to the nightstand. “He was just released from prison, and he’s already making illegal deals.”
“I never joke aboot work, Sunshine.”
“Why would you meet with our archenemy?” I pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. “And sell him a priceless sword that you stole?”
“’Tis a deal, that’s all.”
“It’s the Mafusos, ’tis never a deal.” I mocked his words, and he scowled at me.
“I dinnae know what ye are so mad at? I’m going to steal i
t back.” He turned and walked out of the bedroom. It was his flight or fight move. Today he chose flight, a classic tactic to avoid arguing with me.
“The Mafusos are dangerous. This whole plan of yours is dangerous.” I followed him into the den.
“It will be fine, you’ll see.”
“I’m not dealing with the Mafusos.” I paced back and forth, flapping my arms in the air, trying to talk some sense into his stubborn self.
“Yer naugh, I am.”
I stopped. “Caiyan, if you want to be married you need to start confiding in me, trusting me, allowing me in. Do you realize I don’t even have a toothbrush here? I don’t have any clothes in a drawer.”
“Ye want me to buy you some clothes?” He asked, rubbing his chin.
“You say you want to be married, but where do I fit in?” I glared at him. He looked confused as he rinsed his coffee cup in the sink.
“I can make room.”
“Where?” I gave him a palms up. “Your spare bedroom is storage space for the gallery, your closet is full. I have over a hundred pairs of shoes.”
His eyes widened. “Ye may have to downsize.”
“Even your pantry is full of stolen booty.”
“’Tis not a pantry, it’s my—.”
“I know, your treasure room. Caiyan, I have to be part of your life, part of your decisions. A deal with the Mafusos affects me, too.”
“I keep my business deals separate from my personal life.”
“That’s not the way marriage works. I don’t know anything about your personal life. I haven’t met your family, I don’t know about your parents, how they died.”
His eyes narrowed, and his mouth drew into a hard line. He added a few more bricks to the wall he kept up around him.
I placed both arms around him and an enormous ache washed over my heart. It was gone as quickly as it began. Caiyan was an expert at controlling his feelings, but the brief glimpse made me soften. I ran a finger over the scar that cut through his right upper lip. “I don’t know how you got this scar.”
He removed my arms and picked up the leather satchel he carried to work.
“Sorry, Sunshine,” he said checking his watch. He brushed a quick kiss across my cheek. “I’ve got to run. We can talk aboot this later, yeah?”
“Yeah.” My interpretation of his Scottish accent hit the door as he closed it behind him.
I dressed and stomped out of the apartment. Exiting the elevator, I stopped short as I entered the lobby. Jeez, it was daytime, not a good time for me to use my vessel. Too many people would be at the park. Caiyan never left me to fend for myself when it involved traveling.
“Can I hail you a cab, ma’am?” Caiyan’s doorman asked from his desk behind me. I startled a little at the sound of his voice.
“Yes, thanks,” I said.
I could go to Marco’s apartment and call my vessel to his rooftop hideaway. Caiyan normally escorted me to our secret travel spot. He would watch for onlookers so I could lateral travel. He was acting like a real pain in the ass. One minute he wanted to get married and the next he was hurrying out the door to go make a deal with the enemy. Did Batman make deals with the Joker? No. He ran over him with the Batmobile. Why couldn't Caiyan be more like Batman?
I contemplated the many ways Batman could kill the Joker as I sat in traffic on my way to visit the other superhero in my life.
Chapter 8
The cab bumped down the cobblestoned streets of SoHo and dropped me off at Marco’s apartment building. The eight-story building had been held in a trust fund for Marco and given to him when he graduated high school. Most kids received a wallet. Marco got an entire building in a high rent district. Go figure.
Marco lived in the penthouse with a rooftop garage that opened to the sky. The garage had a retractable roof that Marco closed during the day to keep his vessel hidden from low-flying airplanes and helicopters. He had perfected the art of transporting into the garage when it was closed. SuperJen had managed one time when I was drunk, and another time with Ace’s help, but I preferred the roof open. Leaving was easier. I pushed the intercom to Marco’s apartment, and he leaned out the eighth story window.
“What are you doing here?” He shouted down at me.
“I need a ride.” He shook his head and buzzed me in.
He was barefoot, in jeans and a white t-shirt, standing at the open door when I got to the top.
He grinned wide, “Look who is strutting around doing the walk of shame.”
I hesitated. “What makes you think I got lucky last night?”
“It’s all over your face. The glow, the smile of a girl who’s been laid until her legs ache.” He walked around me in a circle, clicking his tongue.
I entered his apartment, ignoring his sarcasm.
“Too bad it wasn’t me. I would never let you leave this early. I would have kept you in bed with me for at least another three hours, then taken you out to lunch.”
I frowned.
“What’s this? The lady frowns after a night of intense passion?”
“Enough already,” I said. I was sure the frown lines between my eyebrows were making permanent impressions. “I’m worried about Caiyan, something is wrong, he’s not himself.” I explained about Caiyan’s dealings with the Mafusos and all the stuff he had crammed in his apartment.
Marco shrugged, went into the kitchen, and came back with a package of strawberry Pop-Tarts. He offered me one, and I shook my head. “Maybe he’s just showing his true colors.”
“No, he’s like…intense. Everything he does is with such a passion, a ferocity I’ve never seen before. It’s not normal.”
Marco took a bite of the Pop-Tart and chewed slowly. “And you’re complaining about this?”
“I’m not talking about the sex, although that was intense as well.” A small smile pulled at the corners of my mouth.
“I could have gone all day without hearing about Caiyan’s abilities in the bedroom.”
“He asked me to marry him.”
Marco froze, Pop-Tart halfway to his mouth. He cleared his throat. “He did?”
“Yes.”
A long pause filled the room. “What did you say?”
“I haven’t answered. I wanted to think about it.”
“You didn’t fall at his feet when he asked you to be his wife. And then you bust his balls about his business deal. He’s probably pouting.” Marco shook his head. “Poor guy.”
“Since when are you on Caiyan’s side?”
“I can’t help but feel sorry for the guy. He may be impetuous, but he rarely asks questions he doesn’t already know the answer to.”
“You’re right. We agreed to take things slow, and he jumped the gun. And the way he asked me to marry him. It was not the way Caiyan does things.”
Marco raised an eyebrow, and I ignored the unasked question.
“Maybe he’s got the clap. I heard it can make you a little nutty.”
“Very funny. Can I borrow your roof? I need a safe place to call my vessel.”
“Go ahead. I’ll open it up for you.”
I nodded in thanks, and we took the stairs up to the garage. He pushed a button and the roof slid open. I placed my hand on my key and summoned my vessel. My outhouse materialized moments later next to his shiny red car.
“They look good together,” he said.
His vessel was fast, cool, and beautiful. Mine was antiquated, quirky, and needed a coat of paint. I cocked an eyebrow at him over my shoulder as I entered my vessel. “Fast and slow don’t pace well together.”
I gave him a wave and closed the outhouse door.
As I prepared myself to travel, the ancient Ancalite password on my lips, I heard him say, “Don’t marry him, Jen.”
Hanhepi
When I arrived home, I sat in my outhouse for a moment thinking about Marco’s words. I couldn’t imagine a life with Marco. He was fast cars and fast women. He was Nike, and I was Louboutin—pretty to look at but not made
for running. Would my life with Caiyan be any different? Like Marco, Caiyan had expensive taste, but he could snuggle with me on the stone floor of a Scottish farmhouse and feel right at home. He was Salvatore Ferragamo with a Dr. Scholl’s insole. The alarm on my cellphone pinged. Time to shake off my shoe analogies and get ready for work.
I pulled open the sliding glass door. Brodie was standing in the kitchen eating ice cream out of the tub.
“Hey, Brodie.”
“Good mornin’ to ya.”
“Where’s Gertie?”
“She left for work early this mornin’. Said she wanted to check out the reference section on the Barrow gang.”
“Gertie is doing research for me?”
“Yes, she worries about you, ya know?”
I nodded. A pang of guilt knotted my gut.
He pointed his spoon at me. “Why don’t ya ever have any grub?”
“Sorry, it’s my turn to go grocery shopping, and I’ve been…busy,” I said as I reached for a coffee cup.
“Ya should really stop humping for five minutes and think about your health. It’s not good to eat ice cream for breakfast.”
“You’re the only one eating ice cream, and you don’t live here. Besides, how do you know what I've been doing?"
“When a girl has that look of satisfaction, every man knows his fellow mate's been tamed.”
“On that note, I’m going to change.” I took my coffee and went upstairs. The sex the night before with Caiyan had been memorable, that was a fact. But taming Caiyan? I doubted it could be done. I changed into my Friday scrubs, straightened my hair, put on some mascara and lip gloss.
As I headed downstairs, I spotted Brodie lounging on the sofa with Attack Cat spread across his chest.
“Why does that cat like everyone but me?” I asked, passing him on the way to the door.
“He doesn’t care for Ace much, either,” Brodie said, stroking the cat. “That’s a good kitty.”
