Section I, Next Section
Chapter 1
0300 hours
21 Jan. 1999
The woman's scream echoed down the dark city street, sending a stiffening jolt up Darcy Williams' spine. Concealed in a shadowy alleyway, he pressed his back hard against the cold stone of the building, and fingered the handle of his gun in indecision. It was not his place to get involved. In fact, it was his place not to get involved. Louie Bourg had upbraided him on a number of occasions for playing the saviour instead of the ruthlessly efficient agent he was paid to be.
"When will you learn that we don't want no bloody Superman, caught up with protectin' the innocent and do-goodin' left right and centre. You're trained and equipped to get your man, and that's your one and only objective. Remember that, next time you're tempted t' use those precious resources to some irrelevant bystander's advantage!"
Hell, it was never that simple, though!
"Civilians are merely distractions from your mission. Stay on course, an' never compromise your concentration."
The cry came again, this time cut short by a heavy blow.
Duty or honour? There didn't seem to be much choice. He stepped from the shadows of the alley and scanned the dimly lit streets. This was a rough part of town - most of the street lights had been shattered, and the few that remained flickered with a seedy orange glow. However, the source of the cries was not at all difficult to locate. About 15 metres to his right, a gang of three hefty-looking thugs surrounded a small, struggling figure. One of them was shouting angrily and holding his nose. Apparently he had not given his victim credit for what she was capable of.
Well, it shouldn't take too long. He could be back on watch and Louie would never be any the wiser. Approaching silently from behind, he tapped the largest of the thugs on the shoulder. Ox-like, the man swung heavily to face him.
"Don't hit girls," Darcy articulated, rather flatly, before laying Ox-man flat on the pavement and blocking the clumsy punch which came flying from his partner. His movements were smooth and effortless, coming naturally to him after long practice. He twisted the arm back so that he could deliver a clean blow to the back of the head. Number Two folded onto the concrete, unconscious. The third member of the party, already suffering from his fractured nose, looked fearfully from his incapacitated companions to Darcy, and back again. Darcy raised his eyebrows ever-so-slightly, in what could be interpreted as either a threat or an invitation. The third man did not wait to find out which it was. He bolted.
Darcy had no inclination to chase him, and instead turned to face his rescuee.
The woman was not much more than a girl. Her figure, if she had one, was hidden inside a battered brown coat which was much too big for her, and she was hunched over, her face concealed beneath literally cascades of reddish curls, which Darcy suspected were dyed. As he watched, a trembling shudder passed through her.
"Are you all right?" He asked gruffly. In his job, the patients in need of shock treatment were left to the paramedics in the aftermath. What the hell was he supposed to do now? In spite of all his high-geared and sophisticated training, he suddenly felt very helpless and inadequate. Once of his primary functions as a government agent was knowing how to act in unfamiliar circumstances, but throw one crying kid at him, and he was at a loss.
"Are you hurt?" He tried again. She had stopped trembling now, but she kept her head in her hands and stayed silent. Darcy reached out to lift the curls away from her face, trying to discern if she was injured, or even just to get a glimpse of her features. It was like touching a live wire - she leapt backwards, out of reach.
"Please don't touch me!" She whispered, her voice muffled as she kept her face averted and hidden.
"I just want to know that you're OK. Then I'll leave, if that's what you want."
Her hands were lowered slowly to her sides and he became conscious of her gaze upon him, appraising him. He heard her soft voice again - "Why did you help me?"
Of all the questions she could have asked! What was wrong with this girl?
He shrugged. "You looked like you were in trouble." He took a few steps forward, holding out his hands, palms up, trying to appear as non-threatening as he could.
The girl hesitated for moment, then backed away again, keeping the same distance between them.
"At least tell me who you are."
"Judith." She replied, after another brief hesitation. By backing up, she had unconsciously moved a little further into the thin light distributed by a lonely street lamp. Even as she tried to conceal them, Darcy's eyes were straining to discern her features. She seemed to be reasonably pretty, judging from what he could see, but her complexion glowed strangely, tainted by the garish tint of the street-lights. Dark blood trickled from a cut in her lip.
"You are hurt!" He exclaimed, unsure of why that idea should horrify him so.
Judith raised her hand and wiped at the blood with her sleeve. "It's nothing." She said shortly. Well, at least her shock seems to have subsided, he thought.
Yet again, she caught him by surprise as she suddenly squatted beside the larger of the unconscious men at their feet and lifted his ham-like arm to inspect the wrist. What could she possibly be up to now?
With a trained eye, he observed that her movements were quick and decided, a characteristic which seemed to undermine her nervous stance and diminutive voice. Which trait then, if either, was she faking?
At first he thought she was checking the man's pulse, and it struck him as strange that she should make such a gesture if he had just tried to mug her. But it seemed that her only objective was a brief inspection of the skin at the base of his right hand. Whatever she saw (or didn't see) must have satisfied her, as she dropped the hand and moved over to the second prostrate man. Darcy watched her silently as she turned this wrist to reveal a strange tattoo - three intertwined six-pointed stars. The sight seemed to affect her strongly. She groaned in despair, and threw the limp hand back down on the pavement.
Darcy leaned closer, regarding the tattoo intently. He had seen it somewhere before, he was certain. But where?
He mused for a moment or two, then turned to give his attention back to the girl, wishing to verify his growing hunch that this was no ordinary mugging.
A cold wind whispered gently up the filthy alley, sending a shiver down Darcy's spine. Silent as a shadow in the darkness, the girl had vanished.
Chapter 2
The moment his attention was diverted, Judith ran. She moved as she had been taught, her soft rubber-soled shoes making no sound against the pavement. Slipping into the shadows, she crouched close to the wall where the darkness was denser, and continued to move away from the light.
She didn't know who had helped her, or why, and she was torn between gratitude and suspicion. When she was a child, she had owned a picture book which featured a tall, dark-haired prince as a dragon-slaying Sir Lancelot. Somewhere in the depths of her struggling desperation as she had watched the dark-haired stranger calmly dispatch of those thugs, that image had unexpectedly resurfaced.
The man who had helped her had certainly been handsome, and she knew with an icy certainty in her heart that if he hadn't intervened, she would probably be bleeding to death on the pavement right now. Or worse...
Nonetheless, she wasn't taking any chances with strange men hanging about in this part of town, no matter how handsome. Hadn't she learned that handsome men were never to be trusted? It was a lesson she had learned in the hardest possible way.
Still, she had been tempted to stay a moment longer with the handsome stranger who had come to her aid. It would have been a foolish risk, it would have made her vulnerable to identification and discovery, it could well have spelt her death. But if she had not discovered that doom-spelling tattoo, she would have stayed a minute longer and thanked him for his help. But that grotesquely familiar pattern of stars had reaffirmed her resolve to remain unidentified.
Because the thug had been one of them.
They were onto her, again.
She kept running.
Chapter 3
Beside the keyboard lay a rough sketch of three intertwined stars which he had drawn from memory. On the screen before him, blurred by the pixel enlargement, was an almost identical pattern, embedded in skin with blue ink.
Darcy closed down the enlargement and read the original page from the top, despite already having memorised every word.
Name: Christopher James Wickham
A.K.A. : C. J.
Status: Escapee
Wanted for....
That list was extensive, but it was the final criminal offence that made Darcy's heart burn: ...rape, 6 charges. Poor little Gina, all her suffering reduced to a mere sixth of that cold statistical record.
CJ's gaze regarded him contemptuously from the mug shot that accompanied the record. On the portion of his wrist that was visible to the camera, a tiny marking could be seen. This was the tattooed diagram Darcy had enlarged. He now knew where he had seen it before. It was the trademark of CJ and his allies.
Flicking the screen off, Darcy sat in the dark and stewed in his own overwhelming frustration. For three years he had been on that b*stard's trail, and still the snake eluded him. His underworld contacts were spread like cancer through every facet of the city. How could it be that such a man should continue to walk free and prosper while Darcy's baby sister was still cowering in rehab, trapped by the fear which CJ's treatment had instilled in her.
And now he had his first lead in months - Judith. But he had let her slip through his fingers. The girl had known something, that he was sure of. The tattoo of the thug, identical to that of CJ's, had meant something to her. She was somehow connected with that gang, and he needed to know how. Yet how was he to find her again? All he knew was that she had red hair, greenish eyes and stood about 5'4.
He would have to track her down. Well, he would have to try, anyway. With that decided, his frustration was relieved a little. Any lead, however slim, was better than nothing. And if he was honest with himself, he would admit that he anticipated the chance of seeing the girl again. She had intrigued him with her strange contradictions, her mysteriousness, and that incredible hair.... Not that he had any intention of getting personally involved, he reminded himself sharply. That was the last thing he wanted. His work filled his life now, and there was no room for meaningful relationships. Emotions were distracting, tender feelings undermined the efficiency of the machine.
He thought of Judith as another stepping stone on his mission to hunt down CJ Wickham, and that was all. That was definitely all.
Chapter 4
Judith tossed restlessly in the unfamiliar bed. Her hair was spread across the pillow, and her face was damp with sweat as she fought the demons of her dreams. She was in a dark room, her hands were tied behind her back. She was crying, she was afraid. "Don't hurt me! Please, don't hurt me!"
Then suddenly she was running down an empty street, and all the houses were dark, deserted. Finally she saw a warm golden light shining from an open door, and it was her home. Just before she reached the house, however, the door slammed shut. She looked up to see her father framed in the window, shaking his head at her. "You can't come here any more." He told her, frowning down on her. "This is not your home, Judith."
"No Dad, don't call me that! That's not who I am! Please let me come back! Please!"
But her father was gone and the light in the window faded. Suddenly there was someone behind her, and she turned to see the stranger who had helped her. He approached her slowly, holding out his hand. "Trust me." He spoke gently, and she was instantly mesmerised by the low timbre of his voice. She reached out to him, but the moment their fingers touched he snatched her wrist and when she looked again she saw that his face had changed. The features of the handsome stranger were gone, and their place was the horrific leer and the loathe features of the man behind all her nightmares, including the nightmare of her reality.
"Time's up, Judith." He sneered.
"No!"
And then she was awake, her heart pounding, conscious of the way her last desperate cry was echoing in the tiny room.
She stared up at the stained, cracked ceiling of the dingy motel room, and lay still in the dark for a few moments, letting her heartbeat return to normal. Finally, she heaved a tormented sigh, and threw her legs over the side of the bed to enter the grimy bathroom. Switching on the flickering fluorescent lights sent cockroaches scuttling in all directions, and Judith felt sick with despair.
She twisted a squeaking tap and splashed her face with cold water, then raised her face to the rusting mirror. The reflection stared back at her, battered and dull-eyed. Her lip was beginning to heal, but her left eye was blackish-purple and swollen from the impact of the thug's backhand. It had been a close encounter, closer than usual. She had let down her guard when she had taken that walk. She had made too many assumptions, she had not paid enough attentions to the signs that she had been discovered. By all rights, she should be dead right now. By rights, she should have died a long time ago.
She touched the image gently with her fingers, wondering light-headedly which one of them was the reflection and which was the real girl. Somehow she felt that the image in the mirror had more substance, more certainty, than her own dubious existence. I am no one, after all. As far as the world is concerned am dead already. So why do I keep running? Why don't I let them catch me, and make it official?
But there was just enough of her old self left inside her to give her the strength to banish that defeatist thought. She squared her shoulders in determination, and looked the reflection right in the eye.
Judith. That is my name. I am Judith Walker. I am twenty four. I am a drifting, out-of-work actress. If anyone should ask, I am from LA, California, and I am out to see the world.
It was a threadbare story, but if anyone wanted to know anything more than that, she would be gone before they were any the wiser.
Chapter 5
Darcy stood calmly outside a prison cell, gazing coolly at the occupant, who returned the stare with naked bitterness and hatred. Perhaps his head was still aching from Darcy's well-placed blow the night before. Darcy could have assured him that the dislike was mutual.
"We can't keep him here long, you know," whispered the cop beside him, "If the woman he assaulted has disappeared and you don't know where she is, we can pretty much assume that she won't be pressing charges. So there's no way to keep him behind bars."
"That's fine," Darcy replied, not bothering to lower his voice. "I just have one or two questions to ask the gentleman, if he would be so kind?"
The thug narrowed his eyes. "The cops have already been through here, so who the hell are you? I got my rights, y'know. Don't think you'll be gettin' anything outa me. The cops didn't. I'm as silent as the grave."
"Yes, I imagine you'd know quite a bit about graves as a means of keeping witnesses silent." Darcy was bluffing, but the shifty flicker of the man's blunt features was encouraging.
"Who sent you?" He growled. "You don't act like a cop. Cops is stupid."
Darcy ignored the question, and got straight to the point. "The girl in the alley. How much were you paid to kill her?"
"We wasn't paid to kill her. Anyways, it's none of your business."
"What does your boss want done with her, then?"
The man guffawed, scornfully. "You don't know sh*t. You don't even know who my boss is, do yer? So why should I talk to you at all." He clamped his mouth tightly, just to illustrate his point.
Darcy took one more gamble. "You think I don't know CJ Wickham?" He asked casually.
The thug's jaw dropped, then snapped closed again. "I don't know who the girl is. But CJ wants her bad." He spoke quickly, then tightened his mouth once more. "And that's all I'm gonna say." His gaze dared Darcy to push the matter further. Darcy regarded him soberly, then nodded slowly, turned, and walked away.
It was better than nothing, and at least he had an idea of where to start his search for Judith.
Chapter 6
If her last brush with CJ's henchmen had been close, this latest one had been scraping the skin off her teeth. Her heart was still pounding as wound the duct tape around the ankles and wrists of the man at her feet. His tell-tale tattoo disappeared beneath the plastic tape. She would leave him on the floor of this awful motel, and be out of town well before he awoke.
If it hadn't been for the creaking floorboard she would never have known that someone was in her room. She would never have had a chance to duck the blow which came from behind, would never have had a chance at all. Thank God Tom had time to teach me all that he did before he... Anyway, I've been too lucky. One of these days my luck will run out. At least then I will have some peace... Unless of course I go to hell for what I've done.
She shook her head to be free of those thoughts. She had to live for the moment. There was no future and there was no past. All she had was Now, and Now absorbed all of her strength just to stay alive.
It was time for Judith to die. They obviously knew Judith now, so she had to drop the facade and become a nameless nothing once more, until she could assume a new identity. Nothing terrified her more than her periods between identities, but it was a process she had had plenty of opportunity to become accustomed to.
The first time she had undergone such a transformation, everything had been highly organised and efficient. After the Incident, she had begun her life again as Dawn, the small-town school teacher. She had found that a difficult transition - leaving all that she knew and loved behind to fit herself into a new life, already created for her by the Witness Protection Program. It amazed her that they could do that - erase one woman's life and slip the stripped-bare result into another niche altogether, with a house and a car and even a dog. All accessories of a normal life, all in support of Dawn's personal history - a history she had never experienced, but a life that was now hers to live. It made reality seem like an awfully uncertain phenomena.
She now realised that that transition had been incredibly easy, compared with what she had struggled through since. In spite of her heartbreak and regrets to be leaving her old life forever, the most difficult things had all been taken care of for her. She was lead to feel safe and protected from the nightmare she was supposedly leaving behind. She had Tom... dear old Tom... to help her start her new life, and to teach her what she needed to know. During the transfer period, he had taken her under his wing. Understanding her pain and upheaval and tearing regrets, he had taken her to his sister's home in the country and renewed a little of her interest in life by teaching her all the tricks of his trade. He built on her already extensive knowledge of self-defence and hand-to-hand combat, and instructed her in methods of camouflage, of identity concealment, of guns and even knives.
With Tom's support, she recovered some of her youthful optimism. She was only 24, after all, but sometimes she felt positively ancient. By then end of her therapeutic holiday, some parts of her were even glad to be Dawn - to have the opportunity to start all over again. And with Tom's intensive training under her belt, as well as his continued care, she was feeling a lot more confident than the broken shell of a girl who had agreed to relate the story of her own shame and shattered life as testimony against CJ. How could she have known what was to come?
She had not realised the full scope of CJ's power, nor had she understood just what lengths he was prepared to go to have her back in his clutches.
Both these things were made apparent to her when she came down to breakfast one morning in her new house with her new name and her new dog to find Tom dead at the bottom of the stairs.
In his hand he clasped a note, which she eased from his unresisting fingers, only to read, through her tears, one short phrase in a hand she had come to despise from her soul.
"Time's up, babe."
Dawn ran. She bolted back up the stairs and climbed through the attic skylight onto the roof. An unfamiliar dark car was parked across the road, but it was empty. They were obviously in the house already. Looking for her.
Backing up, she took the only option left to her. Gathering every ounce of strength in her body, she leapt for her neighbour's roof. To her own disbelief, her feet connected with the tiled surface, but at the last moment her ankle turned and she slipped. As she fell, she managed to catch hold of the metal guttering, which cut cruelly into her fingers and she was forced to let go. Dropping heavily onto the grass, she lay stunned for a moment or two, then dragged herself up and began the first leg of what was proving to be a never ending cat-and-mouse chase.
With the money she carried in her wallet, she managed to make it out of town and back to Tom's sister's house. She did not let her friend know that she had been there - she knew that would only put her in more danger. Instead, she located the suitcase full of cash which Tom had told her about. He said he didn't trust the banks, but that if anything happened to him, that he wanted her to have his life savings. They had become so close as they worked together. Tom always said she was the daughter he never had. Even now, as she thought of him, her eyes prickled with tears which would not be shed.
And so began her life on the run. Guarding the considerable accumulation of cash with her life, Dawn cut her hair and bought coloured contacts and a gun to become Danielle, the ski-instructress from Colorado. Danielle lived the life of recluse in Chicago, but two months into her new life, she noticed that she was being followed as she walked down the street. She was quick to skip town, go blonde, and took to wearing heavy make-up. Now she was Paula, the Marshall-arts teacher from New York. The gun and the suitcase were the only items she kept.
Each woman lasted a couple of months, sometimes more, sometimes less, before she began to grow nervous and pulled up to begin again. She usually dressed to hide her figure and down-play her natural good-looks. No one could be trusted, especially not men.
She longed from her soul to have a life again. Ideally, she wanted the life she had lived with her family, before she had ever met CJ, but any life with a semblance of normality and security would do. She wanted love, children, and a mortgage, but she could barely remember if that sort of life still existed in the real world.
If only she had not gone to that party. If only she had not had those drinks. If only she had refused the syringe. If only she had not fallen under CJ's spell. If only she had not been present in that awful room, if only she had not seen what she had seen. If only Tom were still alive. If only...
Furious with herself for wallowing so long in self-pity and regrets, she brought herself back to the present and marched over to the mirror. Judith Walker looked back at her.
She picked up a pair of scissors, and began to hack viciously at her hair. Soon, Judith would be no more.
Chapter 7
Louie Bourg read the email off his lap-top screen, and shook his head slowly. The damn kid was doing it again! Letting personal matters over ride his primary duties. Unable to express himself adequately by typing, he sent an electronic sound file.
"Listen Williams, CJ Wickham is one of the untouchables. I don't care what this bird may or may not know, you'll never get him. So get over it, and get on with the Greenwood case. That's more important right now than trailing some dead-end lead afta a man no one's been able to even get close to for ten years. To make it perfectly clear, I'm tellin' you you'll receive no more funding from this department if you don't get your ass back in line. Got it? So get back on task, because I wanna to know who is blackmailing Senator Greenwood and I wanna know why. Gimme an update by the end of this week."
Darcy listened to recording with a thoughtful expression, then deliberately deleted the attachment. The Greenwood case was a cinch, and he had just about covered that one in full already. Louie would have his update, and Darcy would keep his funding. He didn't care what he was risking. He was never going to rest until CJ was either dead or behind bars.
Preferably dead.
Chapter 8
A nameless woman stood before a rust-spotted mirror in a dingy motel bathroom, completely overwhelmed with despair.
The scissors lay dropped on the floor amongst fallen curls.
Oh God, what is the point? Judith will die and someone else will take her place, and then it will all begin again. Run, hide, discovered, run, hide, discovered, run, hide, discovered - and then one day I won't have to run again. That's how it's going to end, one of these days. As long as CJ holds that price over my head, it's the only possible conclusion.
She looked up and stared in at the woman in the mirror again, searching for an answer to her despair. She fingered the faded bruise around her eye, and noticed that her nails were chipped and broken. Like her. Broken.
For a moment she looked at her hands, feeling only numbness and apathy. And then suddenly, without warning, she jet of flame shot through her heart and she was angry. Furious. How dare they reduce her to this? How dare they take away her right to live? Why was she still running, after all this time? By assuming defeat and simply dodging the blows defensively, she wasn't giving herself a chance to win.
She returned her gaze to the mirror.
The cringing fear that had dominated the short, ghost-lives of Dawn, Danielle, Paula, Judith and the rest was definitely gone. So who was she now? The idea of simply adopting another pseudonym was repugnant to her. What strength did another made-up nobody have? From where would she draw the fervour she would need to see justice through? There was only one woman with the courage to fight someone as powerful as CJ. And that was the one who had all the motives. The one who had strength, spirit and determination.
The woman she had thought was long dead.
She picked up the scissors again, letting her new reckless courage guide the blades. Red curls dropped away.
She wasn't going to run any more. She wanted her old life back. And she was going to fight for it, to the death if need be.
Putting the scissors down, she slipped her green contacts out and threw them away. Wide brown eyes blinked back at her, bright with rediscovered energy and determination.
If CJ thought she was going to play mouse to his cat forever, he had another thing coming. He thought he had broken her spirit, and for a long time, he had been more or less correct. He thought the wild girl he had seduced all those years ago had been crushed, but he had underestimated her. Hell, she had underestimated herself. But she was damned if she was going to give him the satisfaction of running until she dropped. It was time to fight back.
Sorting swiftly through her hair dyes, she found a sachet labeled simply "Sable". It looked right. Artificially natural. How ironic. She leaned over the little sink, and began the process.
In her head, she was already making plans and considering her options. It wouldn't be easy, she knew that. The odds of her succeeding in her revenge were low, but she was not entirely without resources. Anyway, she knew she would have to try.
Putting her face under the tap, she rinsed away the remnants of Judith's heavy make-up, then dried her face and applied a little concealer to hide the fading bruise around her eye. This done, she rinsed out her hair and took up a blow drier, purposefully keeping her eyes averted from the mirror. Her hair, shortened to her shoulder-blades, curled into tight ringlets, the way it used to do.
Finally, she was finished. The young woman took several deep breaths, and gripped the edge of the basin for support, suddenly afraid of what she had done. Very slowly, she raised her eyes to meet the gaze of the reflection.
For a moment, she just stared. Blinked. Squinted.
And suddenly, she began to laugh. The sensation was unfamiliar and delightful. She hadn't laughed since... Well, she couldn't even remember. The woman in the mirror laughed with her, and two bright points in the depths of her fine dark eyes began to sparkle.
Elizabeth Bennet lives!
Chapter 9
Darcy checked his ever-shortening list of motels and hostels in the local area, and began to lose hope. There were only three names left, and he had wasted an awful lot of time already. By his reasoning, Judith should have checked into one of them at least, unless she was spending her nights on the street, which didn't seem like such a good idea for a girl who had half of the city's criminal population after her.
Remembering the way she had dressed, he guessed that she was being frugal with whatever little money she had. Hence his assumption that she would be staying in tenth-rate accommodation. If she was using a false name, he was in trouble. He was also hoping that hadn't skipped town already, but even if she had, searching her room and questioning her lodgers would at least give him a couple more clues to work on. He didn't really like to consider the very real possibility that she had been killed by now. He crossed his fingers and hoped that the thug had not lied when he had said that CJ did not want the girl dead.
His eyes flicked from the piece of paper in his hand to the fizzling neon sign above his head, which announced in garish pink letters that he was standing outside "Denny's Motor Inn". He couldn't say that he was overwhelmed with positivity. Still, he had to try.
The woman behind the reception desk looked up from her tabloid newspaper as he entered, and regarded him suspiciously with beady dark eyes.
"What can I do for ya, Mister?" He could feel her eyes scuttling up and down his expensive dark suit, and fancied he could hear the gears in her brain grinding and scheming.
"I'm looking for someone called Judith," he said flatly, without much hope, "Red hair, green eyes, about 5'4. Seen her?"
The woman's eyes immediately glowed with recognition. "Maybe I seen her. Whad are ya gonna do t' make it worth my while?"
Bingo!!
Darcy produced a fifty dollar bill and laid it calmly on the counter. "I'll double it," he said steadily, "If you can tell me where she is." The woman snatched up the money as if she feared he was about to take it back again.
"Room 7, on yer left. If she's in. She's been kinda popular tonight." She stared at him expectantly. He duly produced the second note she snatched it from his fingers like a greedy child.
That was the trouble with his line of work, he mused, as he made his way down a grotty corridor toward room 7. He only ever saw the worst of human kind. No wonder he had a reputation for being the most withdrawn and caustic pessimist under 65 in his whole department.
Not that he was exactly unpopular. Whenever he deigned to make one of his infrequent social appearances, women flocked around him like moths to a flame, but usually dispersed fairly quickly as they caught the sting of his sarcasm. He didn't believe in love, and didn't want the complications of a relationship distracting him from his job. Criminal minds he understood, women he didn't. Simple as that.
He arrived at the door of number 7, and shifted his mind firmly back to the case at hand. He rapped loudly, then stepped back to wait, hoping fervently that this would not be yet another dead-end.
The seconds ticked by. He tried again. Still no answer. He cursed under his breath, then tried rattling the door handle. To his surprise, it turned easily and he was able to push the door open.
The room was as small and distasteful as he had expected, but aside from an unmade bed and the steady hollow drip of a leaking tap, it showed no signs of active habitation.
However, he had to confess that the unconscious man on the middle of the floor did give him some uneasiness. He drew his gun and moved forward with painstaking caution.
The next thing he knew he was flat on the ground with his arms pinned either side of his head and his gun spinning out of reach. He immediately tried to roll, and found to his relief that he had an advantage of strength over his attacker. He managed to reverse their positions but only for a moment. A knee jerked upwards with painful accuracy, right into his... stomach. He groaned and his opponent slipped from his lock in a swirl of thick brown curls. She scrambled for his gun, reached it and turned it on him only to find that he had drawn a second weapon. Their muzzles swung upwards with identical timing.
They were gridlocked. Elizabeth stared down the barrel of his gun, the adrenaline still pumping in her veins and her chest heaving with the exertion. Shock registered in her brain as she recognised the man who had helped her the other night. What was he doing here? Her surprise was drowned out by suspicion, and she kept her own weapon trained steadily at his head, waiting to see what he would do next.
Darcy, still on the floor, was closer to laughing than he had been in a long time. OK, so it was bitter sort of laugh that was welling in his throat, but a laugh none the less. He wondered what would happen if they both fired. Would the bullets collide and cancel each other out? And wasn't it perfect irony that the most stunning woman he had ever laid eyes on was holding a gun to his head, ready to kill him? Story of my life, he thought wryly.
Despite their apparent conflict, they were in fact thinking the exact same thing - What the hell happens now?
Chapter 10
Seconds accumulated in the motionless room, measured out by the steady drips of that irritatingly persistent tap. The only other sound to be heard was the heavy breathing of the two antagonists, who continued to regard each other with a cautious mixture of distrust and admiration.
It was Elizabeth who finally broke the impasse, demanding roughly, "Who are you?"
Ah, now we're getting somewhere, thought Darcy, relieved. "Darcy Williams," He replied shortly. "Who are you?"
He doesn't recognise me! Thank God I kept my face hidden that night! And I changed my appearance just in time.
"I don't have to tell you that."
"May I remind you that you are not the only one holding a gun." He said reasonably. "I'd say we constitute a fairly egalitarian society in this room, if we don't count your previous victim over there, who presumably won't be taking part in the conversation."
"What's your point?"
"My point is: answer the question, sweetheart. Who are you?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. He kind of enjoyed watching her get annoyed, (which is, by the way, a supremely stupid way to feel when someone is pointing a gun at your head.)
"I am not your sweetheart. My name is Elizabeth Bennet. My turn to ask the questions. What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for a woman called Judith. Do you know her?"
"Yes, I know her."
He regarded her intently. "You look familiar."
Damn! Her brain whirred. "Judith is my sister." She replied briskly, hoping that would account for any similarities he might notice between the two of them. "You're obviously confusing us. What do you want with her?"
Darcy paused before answering, considering the situation. "Look," he said at last, "I'm sorry to hinder this delightful interrogation, but it's kind of uncomfortable down here, and I'm having a bit of trouble concentrating with that gun in my face. I don't suppose we could come to slightly more comfortable arrangement?"
"Answer my question first, Williams. What did you want with Judith?"
"I'm putting my gun down, now," he continued calmly, ignoring the threat in her voice. Very slowly, he placed his gun on the floor and stood up, keeping his palms visible and holding his hands away from his body.
She followed every move with her eyes. When he straightened up, she became conscious of just how tall he was, and how his broad frame dominated the tiny room. She was now the only one holding a gun, and yet he was still making her feel like he was the one who had the advantage.
"I'm not dropping the gun 'til I get a decent explanation." She informed him obstinately, with more confidence than she was feeling.
"Fine." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But we're doing this by fair exchange. You get a question, I get a question. Deal?"
"Yes, whatever."
"So what did you want to know again?" He was being deliberately dense now.
"Why - are - you - here?" She ground out, infuriated with his stubbornness.
He grinned inwardly, while maintaining his poker-faced exterior. Now isn't that fascinating. I wonder if she knows how bright her eyes get when she's angry?
"That's a long story, sweetheart."
She let the irritating false-endearment pass. "I've got time." She growled.
"Are you sure you don't want to put the gun down? Your arms are going to get tired, you know."
"If you only knew how tempted I am to pull this damn trigger on you."
"You'd be surprised how many times I've heard that."
"Actually, I wouldn't. I'm only surprised that no one's carried out the threat yet. But I'm seriously considering being the first. Now talk."
"OK, all right. But out of sympathy for your triceps, I'll give you the abridged version. I've been looking for your sister because I suspect she may have connections with a powerful underworld gang, run by a man named Christopher James Wickham. CJ."
The gun in his face faltered perceptively, then steadied. Darcy raised his eye-brows questioningly. "A friend of yours too, then?"
"What do you know about CJ Wickham?" Elizabeth demanded, gripping the hand piece of the pistol even more tightly as her palms began to sweat.
"What a coincidence, I was just about to ask you the same question. After all, it is my turn. We had a deal, remember."
"Fine." How much do I tell him? How much can I tell him? "I barely know anything about him. Everything I know has come through my sister, and that's not much. She estranged herself from the family about three years ago, and... got caught up in a bad crowd."
"A bad crowd." He repeated, disbelievingly.
"OK, a really bad crowd. I came out here looking for her. I found her in a bad way, and I've sent her home. She left yesterday."
"Damn!" He cursed softly to himself, then turned his attention back to Elizabeth. "And where does CJ fit into all of that?"
"She mentioned him once or twice in her letters." That was a pitiful story, Liz. He'll never buy it.
"I buy that," Darcy commented coolly. "But what do you propose to do now?"
"It's my turn to interrogate, Williams. Why are you so interested in CJ Wickham that you come stealing into some strange girl's motel room with a gun in your hand, with the supposedly innocent intention of asking her a couple of questions?"
"I'm a cop." Kind of. "CJ is a criminal. It follows that I should have an interest him, and therefore in your sister. Wouldn't you agree?"
"Was that your next question?" She said sharply.
"Was that yours?" He returned, just as quickly.
She glared at him for a moment, then released a short sigh, and lowered her gun.
His eyes were mocking her again. Nice eyes, though....
Elizabeth shrugged the thought away and fixed him in a reproving stare. "Don't get any ideas, Williams. If you set one foot wrong, I still have every intention of rearranging your anatomy, and I assure you that I am quite capable in that respect. The gun isn't terribly necessary. But I always think that business deals should be sealed in an atmosphere of minimal hostility, and my pointing a gun at your head isn't really conducive to that state, is it?"
"Business deals?" Was he hearing things now? Darcy began to wonder if he was dreaming. It really should have occurred to him before. This girl was definitely beginning to push the limits of his reality-metre.
"Yes," she was saying, "I think we can help each other."
"What?"
"You heard. Don't make yourself appear any stupider than you already are, unless you think it will give you an advantage later. In this case, I can assure you that it won't. Look, you want CJ behind bars. I want CJ behind bars. So we have that in common. However, neither of us are advancing very far by ourselves. I've been doing some research of my own, and I have Judith's inside information. But I don't have the right technical skills. I don't have all the resources that a cop has."
"Why are you so eager to see CJ in jail?"
"If you saw my sister, you wouldn't ask that question."
Darcy thought back to the nervous, cringing girl who wouldn't let him touch her, or even catch a glimpse of her face. If it was CJ who had reduced her to such a state, then he - better than anyone - could comprehend her sister's anger, and understand her need to see the guilty party pay a heavy price for what they had done.
"So..." He said slowly, "You think we should join forces, so to speak."
"Precisely. You're not a dumb as you look, which is damned lucky by the way."
Darcy ignored her jibes (for the moment) and allowed himself to consider the possibilities of her suggestion. With Judith out of the picture, her sister was his next best source of information. If what she implied was true, she knew something about CJ's gang and Judith's connection with it. But this girl was dangerous, she was obnoxious, and she was entirely unpredictable. Not to mention distractingly attractive. He couldn't think of a more inappropriate partner.
"I'll do it," he said.
Chapter 11
"Where should we start?"
They were interrupted by a low moan from somewhere at their feet. "What a good idea," said Elizabeth, addressing her semi-conscious would-be attacker. She turned to Darcy. "Williams, would you do the honours?"
"My pleasure." He heaved the man off the floor and dumped him unceremoniously into a rickety-looking wooden chair. The thug opened his eyes and blinked blearily, focusing slowly on the barrel of Elizabeth's gun. It took a moment for the sight to register.
"Argh!"
Elizabeth smiled sweetly down on him from behind the weapon. "Rise and shine, sugar-pie."
"Who the hell are you?" He slurred in alarm, jerking ineffectually at his the duct tape binding his limbs.
Darcy raised his eyebrows. "I was under the impression the two of you had already met."
Liz swore silently. When this guy had attacked her, she had looked like Judith. He had probably seen her face. This could get complicated. "I guess I hit him a little harder than I thought. He doesn't remember me."
"Hang on, yeah I do! But you used t' have r - "
"Just shut up." She interrupted him, "You'll have your chance to talk, believe me. The gentleman and I have one or two questions for you. I suggest you co-operate."
Fear sprang into his eyes as he fully comprehended what was happening to him.
"Does he have the tattoo?" Darcy whispered to Elizabeth. She shivered involuntarily at the feel of his breath in her ear. Perhaps this partnership wasn't such a good idea. (Then again, perhaps it was the best idea she'd had in her life, depending on how you looked at it...)
She nodded slightly. Darcy took over. "What's your name, buddy?"
The man hesitated, then gave in. "Carter." He said sullenly.
"OK, Carter, we know that you're working for CJ Wickham, so don't bother denying that."
Carter was silent.
"All we want to know is where we might be able to find your charming employer."
Carter snorted disdainfully. "If I knew that and I spilled it to you two, my life wouldn't be worth livin' anyway. I'd be dead before the end of the week."
Elizabeth suspected he was right, and tried another tack. "Then we'll come back to that question later. How about explaining what was going on in your filthy little mind when you came into my room this morning? Before we had our little disagreement about your right to bash me from behind?"
Carter wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He was sure that the girl he had brawled with had had green eyes. This woman's were brown, and her hair was a different colour, but she still looked an awful lot like the first. Weird. He was rudely drawn from his speculation by a sharp cuff to the side of his already aching head, which made the room spin briefly. "Answer the question." Snapped Darcy impatiently.
"Figure it out yourself!" He retorted whinily. "CJ wants her. So he put a price on her head. I'm just a mercenary, I never even met you... or that girl... or whoever it was..."
"Well why didn't you just shoot m - her, then?" It was a question that had plagued Elizabeth for a long time. If CJ was so determined to see her eliminated, why didn't he just send a hit-squad? There had been countless opportunities for a sniper to take a clean shot and wipe her out for good.
"Shoot her? CJ would shoot me. CJ wants her, y'see, but 'e don't want her dead. He don't even want her hurt. It's like his little obsession, see? He wants this girl, but he wants her alive. And believe me, she's a slippery little b*tch to take when she's conscious and kicking."
Elizabeth's world tilted. She felt sick.
Darcy frowned. "What exactly do you mean when you say 'his obsession'?"
"C'mon, mister, I don't have to spell it out for you, do I? They say she was his little protege a few years back, but she... well, she got away from him. Men like him always want what they can't get. So you get the fixation. You don't need t' be no shrink to figure it out."
Darcy looked to Elizabeth. To his surprise, he saw that the blood had drained from her face and her shoulders were shaking. Concerned, he eased the gun from her unresisting fingers, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He wanted to comfort her, to show her that he understood what he believed she was going through on behalf of her sister. Hadn't he felt the same way about Gina? But he couldn't know the real depth of her nauseating fear.
All this time, she had believed that CJ wanted her dead, because of what she had witnessed and because she had agreed to testify against him. She had thought that her life could not possibly be worse. Now, in a bitterly ironic twist, she had discovered that he didn't want to kill her at all, but her life was defying the laws of physics and continuing to sink long after she had hit rock-bottom.
She felt Darcy's hand on her shoulder and flinched. Her only human contact in three years had been at the hands of people who intended her harm. It was a hard habit to shake.
"I'm fine," she snapped, and paused a moment before turning back to face him. Her eyes were dry, he noted, but they were now as cold and hard as flint. "I think it's time we stopped playing nice and finished this up." She said coolly.
Before he could blink, she had whipped out a wicked looking flick-blade from somewhere on her person and held it against their captive's throat. "Where is CJ?" She asked calmly, as though he were a book she had misplaced.
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet several degrees with Elizabeth's sudden change of mood.
Carter's voice rose several octaves in sudden terror. "I don't know!" He squeaked.
The cold blade pressed harder against the skin of his throat, and began to sting.
"Where is he?" She repeated.
"OK! OK!" Beads of sweat were forming on Carter's forehead. "Boston! He's in Boston! Random House." The pressure of the blade relaxed a little, and he swallowed carefully in relief. A moment later the knife flickered and reappeared about a foot lower, point down.
"You're lying." Elizabeth said softly. Darcy, looking on, couldn't suppress a wince.
Carter shrieked and began to babble. "All right!! L.A.!! He's somewhere in LA!! I don't know any more than that, he doesn't tell us where is!! Please don't hurt me! Please don't...."
Elizabeth straightened up and flicked the knife closed. Carter deflated like a punctured balloon in his relief.
She turned to Darcy, but her gaze traveled right through him as she said in an expressionless monotone - "How soon can we get tickets?"
He didn't argue. "My car's outside. We can go straight to the airport from here."
She nodded mutely and picked up her single suitcase. "I'll be in the car, then."
"I'm right behind you."
Carter's whining voice trailed them out of the room. "Hang on guys, what about me? Wait! You can't just leave me here like this! Wait a minute...."
The door clicked shut behind them.
Chapter 12
Elizabeth sat in the passenger seat of Darcy's car, her unseeing eyes fixed on the road. In the driver's seat, Darcy watched her from the corner of his eye, trying unsuccessfully to discern what she might be feeling beneath her unemotional facade.
"I'm ...really sorry.... about your sister." He ventured. And he was, too. He felt a great deal of empathy for what he thought she must be suffering. He wanted to share her burden, he wanted to help her.
"Yes. Thanks." Elizabeth, immersed in her own unpleasant thoughts, was not really listening.
"Do you think she'll be all right?" He pressed on, "You said you sent her home. CJ will still be after her you know. Will she be safe, do you think?"
"Judith is not in danger any more." Judith doesn't exist any more. And that's the only way for anyone to be safe from CJ.
"Don't you want to be with her?"
"Look, all I want now is CJ's head on a platter." She snapped, "Is that too much to ask?"
"No," he replied slowly, "Actually, I understand exactly how you feel."
"Right. Whatever." Elizabeth's tone was bitter. "What, are we sharing a psychic connection or something? How could you have any idea what I feel?"
"CJ raped my sister."
Elizabeth bit down hard on her lip and cursed herself silently. "I'm... sorry." She said awkwardly, after a short pause. "I didn't know that."
Darcy shrugged sharply. He didn't know why he was talking about it, but somehow his mouth kept moving and the sounds kept coming out. "She was fifteen. She didn't have a clue about the world. Our parents died in a car smash when she was just eleven. I was twenty one, so I thought I could take care of her, but I wasn't enough. She should have had a proper family. A mother. I should have listened to my relatives and let my aunt adopt her and bring her up with my cousins. But Gina said she wanted to stay with me, so I agreed to become her legal guardian. It was stupid of me." He stopped, and Elizabeth noticed his grip on the steering wheel was turning his knuckles white.
"How is she now?" She enquired softly.
"Still in therapy. It's been four years now. She's nineteen and afraid to leave the house alone. CJ's taken everything from her - from us. He's taken her smile, her confidence, her future - her whole damn life is in ruins."
He snatched a look at Elizabeth. "So now you see why I am the way I am. Why I would gladly bring you that head on a platter. A cop with a personal vendetta - it's a powerful cliché."
Elizabeth watched him as he spoke, sensing his need to reach out, grateful and humbled that he had confided in her. She still knew very little about him, but she felt that they already shared a fundamental understanding. She thought of his sister, and was sobered by the reminder that hers was not the only life tainted by CJ's poison. She was not the only one with terrible problems in her life.
"I would like to meet your sister," She commented, softly. Darcy nodded slightly.
"She doesn't trust strangers, but I think she would like you."
Elizabeth smiled wryly, thinking how long it had been since she had received any kind of compliment. And she got the impression that being liked by his sister would be a recommendation of the highest order in Darcy's eyes.
There was an pause in the conversation, then Darcy said, "By the way, where did you learn to fight?" His stomach still ached from the impact of her knee.
An image of Tom immediately rose in Elizabeth's mind, and her voice grew cool again as she turned her face to the window and said shortly - "A friend taught me."
"You sure don't give much away."
"OK, so how does an ordinary cop afford to drive a car like this, dress like you, and fly himself and a strange girl he picked up in a motel right across the country at a moment's notice?"
Darcy pursed his lips a little. His personal life was one thing, but in his job he was honour-bound to secrecy. "Department funding." That was true enough. He just wasn't saying which department.
" 'You sure don't give much away.' " Elizabeth mimicked.
Darcy couldn't check a smile, stretching seldom-used facial muscles. Despite herself, Elizabeth's breath caught in her throat. Woah, he should try that more often! He'd have to fight women back with a stick.
"Point taken," He said reasonably, "I'm just trying to sketch your character. But you give such contradictory impressions that I'm not getting on at all."
"Then don't try." She said, a littler more sharply that she'd intended to.
He nodded, accepting that she did not want to talk about herself.
Elizabeth was grateful to him for not pushing the issue, but as they drove on she began to wish that she could open up to him. After all, he had trusted her with the story of sister. But could she trust him? OK, he had saved her life. And OK, she was attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? He was sending hormones whose existence she had all but forgotten into overdrive just by sitting there.... But she had fed him too many lies already. He had taken a chance when he had placed his trust in her. It had been an unexpected and wonderful gift. If she turned around and changed her story now, she would be undermining that trust.
Then her more realistic reasoning kicked in. Damn it, girl, get a grip! What are you thinking? What do you think you could you say to him? This isn't like swapping high-school anecdotes. If he ever found out what you've done, he'd hate you, and he'd be right to hate you.
That thought was inordinately devastating.
The truth died on the tip of her tongue.
They pulled into the airport carpark in silence.
Chapter 13
The silence continued, almost unbroken, until they found themselves seated side by side about 4000 feet above the earth. Elizabeth's ears were buzzing painfully with the altitude.
"What are we going to do once we're in LA?" She said suddenly, and Darcy looked up from his note-taking in surprise.
"Book into a hotel, visit some hot spots and ask a few questions. That's the usual procedure."
"What? You'd be dead before you got five feet, if you just march into LA and start asking fishy questions about CJ Wickham."
Darcy shrugged. "It's what I do. Anyway, I've been trailing CJ for over a year now, and I'm still alive. Perhaps he finds my screw-ups amusing." His wry tone masked a much deeper well of emotions. He felt his unrelenting failure very keenly. Not only had he been incapable of protecting his sister, he couldn't even catch the man culpable. And he was supposed to be a competent agent! What a joke!
His self-depreciation surprised Elizabeth. He had always seemed so assured; almost arrogant in his confidence. She told him so, rather bluntly.
"Well, you aren't exactly Miss Congeniality yourself." He defended himself.
"What do you want from me? Smiles, jokes and a kiss good-night?"
"Sounds good." He mumbled, and looked away.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. So what exactly will you be doing in LA?"
"What do you mean? I'll be coming with you."
"I don't think that's such a good idea. Some of the places I intend to check out aren't really appropriate for... well, you know."
Elizabeth was outraged. "Aren't appropriate for whom? You think I can't take care of myself? Just cast you mind back to this afternoon, buddy - do I have to I remind you which one of us ended up with the gun?"
"Only because I put mine down."
"Yeah, well that's only further evidence of your stupidity. I could have shot you!"
"But you didn't." Darcy said simply. Elizabeth stopped to consider that.
"How did you know I wouldn't do it?" She asked quietly, after a pause.
The look he gave her was inscrutable. "I just knew."
She met his gaze, then looked away quickly. A girl could drown in eyes like his. Elizabeth hadn't expected to find it so difficult just to keep her head above water.
"Don't do that," she muttered under her breath.
"Don't do what?"
"That look!"
He pretended to be puzzled. "What look?"
"I don't know!" She gestured ineffectually. "It's just a look. Forget it."
I don't believe it! Darcy was thinking, The Queen of Cool is actually flustered!
"And stop laughing at me," Elizabeth added, sulkily.
"But I didn't make a sound!" He protested.
"Yes, but you're still laughing at me. Admit it."
He fixed his face into a reproving expression. "I never laugh." He said sternly. At least I didn't, before I met you...
"Liar. I can tell when you're laughing. It shows in your eyes. Why don't you laugh out loud?"
"With you, it seems I can save myself the bother of making any sound at all. You analyse my every facial expression and decide what I'm thinking before I know myself."
"That's not true. Most of the time, I haven't a clue what you're thinking."
"I could say the same about you."
"But we're not talking about me! We're talking about you!"
"True. What was the question again?"
Elizabeth stared up at him and said nothing for a few moments. Suddenly she made a choking noise in her throat, and averted her face.
For a minute, Darcy couldn't figure out what was the matter with her. Then it dawned on him. "You're laughing!" He said, incredulous.
Elizabeth shook her head and pressed her lips together, but her eyes were all but watering with repressed mirth.
"No... No I'm not..." She struggled to recover herself. Darcy was still looking doubtfully at her, which made her want to crack up all over again.
"I don't see what was so funny." He said in mock-indignation.
"Nor do I..." She gasped, catching her breath. She put a hand on her chest as if holding in another fit of giggles. "Oh, but it feels so good to laugh again."
Darcy grinned for the second time in one day -- surely a record breaking occurrence. Being with Elizabeth somehow felt so right. He didn't know how to explain it. She was so quirky, so tough, and yet so vulnerable. She made him want to laugh and cry and hold her close all at once. A sudden rush of uncharacteristic and inexplicable tenderness overwhelmed him as he watched her.
When Elizabeth turned her head to look at him again, she realised he was looking at her in 'That Way' again. This time she didn't look away, and her heart began to pound in her chest and her breath started coming quickly as she felt herself slipping into the warm honey trap of his melting gaze. For just one moment, they shared a bond of perfect intimacy and understanding, free from their painful pasts and respective destinies.
A stewardess with a trolley rattled noisily up the aisle beside them, and the moment shattered. Elizabeth jerked backward and blinked rapidly. She closed her mind against the fire Darcy had ignited in her veins, and snatched up a magazine with shaking hands. With guilty haste that equaled hers, he had grabbed his pen and started writing furiously at his notes.
Elizabeth had her eyes fixed on the page before her, but she saw nothing. Her mind was buzzing with chaotic thoughts and emotions. At a time like this, with her life in the state that it was, she knew very well that stupidest thing she could possibly do....
....was start falling in love.
Chapter 14
After touching down in Los Angeles, Darcy fell into his usual routine and checked into the customary luxury hotel. Elizabeth stepped into the extravagantly affluent foyer, and stopped dead as everything around her screamed Class! After living a rat's existence for so long, the sudden leap left her completely in the lurch. She looked down at her faded jeans and cheap blue coat, then across to Darcy in his fine dark suit. He was completely at home here. She was the out-of-place intruder.
Overwhelmed with insecurity, she tugged hurriedly at his sleeve. "Do we have to stay here?" She whispered, cringing inwardly as a walking fashion plate swept past her and raised her eyebrows in a terribly well-bred sort of way.
Darcy looked back at her in surprise. "What's the matter with it?"
"Well just look at me! I don't belong here."
He obligingly looked her up and down. "You're beautiful." He said seriously.
His words sent a delightful shiver over her skin, and to her own surprise and mortification, she actually began to blush. Elizabeth Bennet: unyielding cynic, hardened fugitive, and disillusioned woman - the girl who'd spent the past three years of her life calmly burying her knee in any man who got too close - was blushing like a school-girl because a man with a pair of chocolate-brown eyes told her she was beautiful.
He took her by the hand and led her onward toward to Reception desk.
In a daze, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led. You want to sleep with him! Accused a voice in her head. She denied that emphatically. This was a mild infatuation. That was all. It would pass.
How could you be so stupid? That voice was still berating her, apparently unconvinced. God, what does it take to teach you a lesson?
They were approaching the wide marble Reception desk. The clerk greeted them with a false smile that revealed a mouth packed with large white teeth. "Good evening, Sir and Madame. Welcome to the Bel Mondo Hotel. Have you made a reservation?"
"No," replied Darcy shortly, "The name is Williams. Darcy and Elizabeth Williams."
"Ah, wonderful. Then you will be wanting a couple's suite?"
Elizabeth glared at Darcy. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot. He pretended not to notice, and opened his mouth to reply to the clerk's query, but Elizabeth interrupted him.
"No, thank you. We're not married. We're.... brother and sister." Darcy shot her an amused glance. Her eyes were flashing brilliantly again, so he was not at all disappointed by her reaction.
They received their keycard, and turned to make their way over to the lifts, and Elizabeth began to verbally abuse him under her breath.
"How dare you imply that we were married! He was about to give us a room with an emperor-sized bed or something! What did you think you were doing?"
"Cool it, sweetheart," Darcy replied shortly, while enjoying every moment, "I've got your best interests at heart. A boring married couple attract less attention, that's all."
"Call me 'sweetheart' one more time," Elizabeth fumed, "And I will see to it that you seriously disappoint your future bride!" An awful thought suddenly occurred to her. "If you're not married already, that is. Are you?"
He shot another of his inscrutable looks. "No. I'm not married."
"Good," she replied, a little too quickly, surprising both of them. "I mean, I wouldn't wish to inflict you on any woman." She covered her slip smoothly.
He absorbed the jibe calmly and asked, "What about you? Are you married?"
"Me? No."
He nodded. "Boyfriend, then." It was more of a statement than a question.
"No."
His brow creased, even though his primary emotion was relief. How could it be that this incredible woman was unattached? "Why not?"
Elizabeth shrugged awkwardly. She didn't like the turn the conversation had taken.
There was a pause, then Darcy said quietly, "I know nothing about you, apart from your name and the fact that you fight almost as well as you interrogate. Why won't you talk about yourself?"
They arrived at their floor and stepped into the hallway.
Elizabeth put out a hand to stop him, and he faced her expectantly. She had fixed her gaze at the wall behind his left shoulder, and spoke very softly - "Please don't try to understand me, Darcy. Only understand that my past is something that ought to remain buried. Don't ask me to relive it, please."
He nodded slowly. She was grateful for his sensitivity. Wanting to lighten the mood once more, she snatched the keycard from his fingers and they raced like children to the door.
The moment their backs had turned, the smile on the face of the receptionist evaporated. His sharp eyes took in every detail they could scavenge. As the pair stepped into the lift together, and he snatched up a phone and began to dial.
Chapter 15
Just for a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that things had been different. That CJ had never existed, that she had met Darcy had met four years ago when she had been a bright-eyed innocent, happy and pretty and loved. What a charmed life she might have lived then....
Pulling on a plush white dressing gown, she wandered absently from her bathroom into the main bedroom, where she curled herself into one of the cushioned armchairs and rested her chin on her knees, looking out over the sprawling city-lights. Somewhere out there, in that fallen constellation of artificial stars, lurked the source of all her shame and misery. It was because of him that happiness was lost to her. It was because of him that no matter how many showers she took, she would never feel really clean.
She heard Darcy in the second bathroom, and her thoughts turned back to him. OK, she conceded to herself, so he's alternately annoying and arrogant, then he's gentle and kind. And sometimes, I hate him, and other times, I ....
Actually, now that she had admitted to herself that she didn't hate him, she was forced to acknowledge that her true feelings amounted to something very different. There was trust, for one thing. In just a couple of hours, he had won from her the one thing she thought she'd never give again. She sensed that he trusted her, too, and was overwhelmed with miserable guilt by the knowledge that she was not worthy of it. In fact, she reflected miserably, she was not worthy of him at all.
Darcy stepped out of the shower and roughly toweled down. The pressurised stream of hot water was both refreshing and invigorating, and surprisingly enough he was in the best mood he could remember being in for a long time. He had no desire to analyse the feeling, and permitted himself a rare evening of relaxation before he launched on the most important and most difficult case of his career. Momentarily forgetting that on this particular occasion he was not alone in his hotel rooms, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped from the bathroom into the main bedroom.
The sight that met his eyes stopped him dead in his tracks. He stopped breathing and let his senses overwhelm him. Elizabeth sat curled in an armchair by the open window, looking out on the sprawl of city lights. She was wearing a luxurious white hotel dressing gown, and her damp brown curls were moving gently in the breeze. Only her profile was visible as she stared vacantly into the distance, and he saw, not for the first time, that there was a deep sadness in her beautiful eyes.
More than anything, he wished to know what it was that shadowed her thoughts. He could see that she was hurting inside, but as dearly as he wanted to help her he simply didn't know how. If only he had never agreed to this ridiculous partnership. This girl was too... Hell, he didn't know, but somehow she had gotten under his skin and the feeling she gave him deep inside made him certain that he was never going to be the same again. It was a completely new sensation - it even frightened him in a lot of ways, but it could not be denied. It was foolish, it was unethical, it was uncharacteristic, and it was most definitely the dumbest thing he had ever done. But he had done it.
Because he wanted Elizabeth Bennet, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman in his life.
Apparently sensing his presence, the object of his thoughts turned in her chair to face him. For a moment he simply stared, unable to look away. She held his gaze without speaking. Then all at once he remembered what he was wearing, or rather, what he wasn't wearing, and he had to mumble an excuse and retreat to the bathroom to dress properly.
Behind him, Elizabeth continued to stare after him. Unbidden, a single tear slipped down her cheek and dropped into her lap. She brushed hurriedly at her eyes, and turned back to gaze out over the city.
Chapter 16
The evening continued without much in the way of drama. Elizabeth and Darcy ate in their room, and argued passionately on just about every topic they discussed, although neither could deny that they each rather enjoyed the sparring. Even so, Darcy had to ball his fists tightly on a number of occasions to prevent himself from leaning over and stopping her mouth with his. Elizabeth sat opposite him, and though she smiled, her heart ached with unspeakable sorrow.
Darcy proposed his plan for locating CJ -- basically, he was opting for methodical research and investigation. Elizabeth thought it too slow and too conventional. She claimed that it would give CJ much time to learn that he was being tracked, and then react either by having them killed or by skipping town.
Darcy inquired, with infuriating politeness, whether she would mind explaining her own plan, since it was obvious that with her superior experience and knowledge, she had something better in mind. Elizabeth maintained that whatever they did, it ought to be done swiftly and recklessly. She was certain that it was the only way to catch a snake as slippery as CJ was to surprise him in his own environment.
In view of the sort of company they would be mixing with the next day, Darcy took a slim, dark briefcase from his larger bag and used his thumb-print on a small sensing pad to flip open the clasps. Elizabeth was immediately impressed, although she was careful not to show it. (Matter of principle.)
When she glimpsed what was resting inside, she had no longer had to concern herself with suppressing awe. The case contained nothing but a rather boring looking fountain pen, a book, a watch and a non-descript necklace. Darcy ignored her skeptical comments, and slipped the pen into his pocket. Then he picked up the book and handed it to Elizabeth.
"You can open it," he said blandly, "But don't read the last page."
She shot him a disbelieving look, and defiantly flipped straight to the back. To her shock, she found that the last third of all the pages had been hollowed out, and in their place lay a tiny reddish screen which immediately lit up and began counting backwards from 'five' in bold red digits. Darcy leaned over and snapped it closed once more.
"Three more seconds," he said conversationally, "And you'd have blown this whole floor to hell. Next time I give you instructions like that, I advise you to follow them."
Elizabeth nodded dumbly. For once, words had failed her.
Darcy barely concealed a grin, but began to show her how each of the other gadgets could be used to assist one in a tight spot. The pen could be used as a tracking device; the watch disrupted the workings all electrical equipment within a twenty metre radius; the necklace was capable of shooting tiny steel darts which could paralyse a man within thirty seconds. Elizabeth felt as if she had stepped onto a James Bond set. Which would make her, she reflected wryly, the token female side-kick. The comparison did not appeal to her.
When that lesson was over, they returned to their original argument - how to corner a gangster as powerful and wily as CJ. The battle raged until both were exhausted, and fell into their respective beds. Both lay still beneath the sheets for at least an hour, each meaning to give the other the impression that they were already asleep. At first their thoughts revolved around the daunting mission that lay ahead of them. As drowsiness set in, however, such reflections faded into insignificance.
Elizabeth contented herself with watching his covers rise and fall. It was oddly comforting to have him nearby, to know that he would be there beside her when she woke up. Darcy listened carefully in the dark to catch the sound of her gentle breathing. If I can just see this case closed, he promised himself sleepily, Then I'll tell her how I feel. I'll tell her truth about my job. I don't care that I know almost nothing about her. I just want her. She'll understand that. She has to understand.
Back in the hotel room the following evening, Darcy felt like punching the walls in his frustration. After a long day of investigation in some of the grimiest rat-holes he could imagine, he was no further advanced than he had been that morning. CJ had covered his tracks too well. No one seemed to know anything, and those who did certainly weren't talking.
Elizabeth had accompanied him, proving herself a competent and a close-mouthed assistant. Most of the time she simply blended herself into the background and let him do what he was trained to do, but more than once she surprised him with her sharp observations. And it seemed that whenever he was at a loss as to where to go or what to do next, she was able to supply him with some obscure detail about CJ's habits which gave him another lead. He asked her again and again how she knew such things, but every time she replied simply -- "Judith."
Judith, we was beginning to perceive, must have been far more closely associated with CJ than he had originally assumed. The possibility that Elizabeth was lying simply did not occur to him. Lying was something other people did. Not Elizabeth.
Nevertheless, it had ended a very frustrating and unpromising day. CJ was still firmly entrenched in the shadows of the city, and Darcy didn't know what he was going to do about it. It was the night of the week when he normally called Gina, but today he couldn't bear the thought of speaking to her. His failure to avenge her hurt was eating at him too cruelly.
Throwing off his shirt, he walked into the bedroom. Elizabeth was already in bed, fast asleep. He paused for a moment, watching her. Her dark lashes flickered slightly, and she shifted restlessly in her sleep.
He had noticed her becoming increasingly quiet and withdrawn as the day wore on. By the time they made it back to the hotel, she had appeared both emotionally and physically exhausted. Dropping into bed, she had fallen immediately into a deep sleep and had not woken since. After pacing and planning restlessly for an extra hour or so, Darcy decided to follow her example.
Slipping between the sheets, he sighed heavily and stared at the ceiling for a few moments. Then he rolled over and turned out the light.
Chapter 17
She tossed and whimpered softly in her sleep.
She was crouched in a corner, shivering and dry retching as withdrawal symptoms tortured her body and mind. Praying fervently that CJ would not find her, and knowing what consequences there would be if he did. It was the heroin which he supplied her with which kept her bound to him. Desperate to break free from the hellish web which her stupid inexperience had enmeshed her in that night at the party, she began to destroy the packets of white powder she was offered. She knew that her only escape would be through breaking her addiction and making a run for it.
At the party, it had all seemed so harmless. The gorgeous stranger that all her girlfriends were swooning over was paying so much attention to her! Bringing her drinks, offering to drive her on the next party, guarding her jealously from anyone who looked like competition for her attention. She allowed herself to be led, determined to let herself go for one night at least. One night turned into two, as she agreed to go out with him again.
By the time the heavy drugs started appearing on her social scene, she had drunk far more than was good for her and was barely aware of what she was getting herself into.
It wasn't too long before her worried family tried to interfere, but CJ had decided that he wanted to keep his pretty little minion by his side a little longer, and decided to lure her away from her home town and into the city where it was easier to hide. As yet unaware of the true extent of his criminal activities, placing all her trust in his suave 'I love you's, and already more of less stupefied by the narcotics, Elizabeth never really stood a chance. Blindly, she followed him deeper into the nightmare.
CJ didn't ask much of her. He left her alone by day, but usually expected her to share his bed at night. And in return, he provided her with the stuff of her addiction. She quickly fell into the habits of the other young people she was living amongst. The drugs took over her life. She lived like a zombie, never questioning, never objecting.
'Never' - that is, until the morning when she woke up to find that one of her 'friends' had overdosed in the bathroom. It was a young girl called Mary - barely sixteen... and now she was dead. Elizabeth stumbled back out of the room and felt the first unblurred emotion she had felt in more than two months seeping into her heart.
It was horror.
She tried to remember exactly what she had been doing these past weeks, and found she could hardly recall. What she did remember made her violently ill with sudden shame and disbelief.
And that was when she knew she had to get away.
Going 'cold turkey' was harder than she could ever have imagined. Curling up in a dark corner of a room she thought was never used, she went to hell and soon believed that she was never coming back.
She didn't know how long she had been there when she heard voices. Recoiling into the shadows, she struggled to still her shivering and watched silently as CJ entered along with three seedy young men whom Elizabeth recognised as his closest associates. They were arguing fiercely about something, but CJ was standing a little apart from them and not taking part. He shut the door very firmly behind them, and watched his companions bicker for a few moments.
Finally he spoke, drawling calmly in a voice which Elizabeth knew preceded violence - "The fact is, boys, that one of you screwed up. I'm afraid the deal has fallen through."
The men looked uneasily at each other. One of them began to defend himself, but CJ silenced him by raising his hand. "I don't want to hear excuses. I don't want justifications of any kind. I can assure you that I quite understand."
The relief that flooded the room was overwhelming.
"However," he continued, "While I do understand, I am unable to forgive. So..." His gun flipped coolly into his hand and spat out three muffled shots. "I am afraid you're fired."
His words were followed by three dull thuds. Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly and swallowed the scream that welled in her throat. If he discovered her there, she thought, then she too was as good as dead too.
When she dared to open them again, the room was empty except for corpses. Scrambling unsteadily to her feet, she ran to the door and found her way onto the street. She kept running and stumbling as she looked fearfully behind her, waiting to feel a bullet lodge in her back. The street behind her was empty and dark. Choking back desperate sobs, she ran on.
Darcy woke to the sound of a woman crying nearby. For one disorientated moment, he thought it was Gina, and sat up quickly. In the bed beside him, Elizabeth thrashed restlessly against her blankets, and tears streamed down her face. Every now and then she sobbed brokenly in her sleep, and mumbled a couple of indistinguishable words.
Alarmed, Darcy threw back his own covers and approached her bed. He shook her shoulders gently, but she did not wake up. He tried again, sitting on the edge of her bed and leaning close. Suddenly she screamed, and he pulled her roughly into a sitting position, trying to bring her out of her nightmare.
He began to comfort her the way he had comforted Gina, holding her in his arms and rocking her close to him. She clung tightly to him, her sobs slowly subsiding. Relieved, he started whispering soothingly to her, stroking her hair and instinctively placing gentle kisses amongst her curls.
Blindly, she raised her tear-streaked face to him and he pressed his lips softly against her forehead, then her cheeks, kissing away her tears. Almost inaudibly, he heard her murmur his name. Without thinking, he placed his lips over hers and let his hand slide over the side of her face. He felt her unconscious response and let the kiss deepen. As Elizabeth fell back against her pillow, she pulled Darcy with her, and surrendered herself thoughtlessly to the sensation of his skin against hers.
For a few hours at least, there was no past and no future.
There was only kisses. There was only warmth.
There was only love.