Al did not need to know just how deeply that kiss had affected her. In fact, it was probably better he not know.
“Actually, I do know,” Al said, drawing out each word in his usual dulcet voice. “You’re still a child, so I’ll ignore your faux pas.”
How generous, Selia thought, and not creepy at all.
Al continued. “I spoke to Soren, to let him know you were safe. He’s staying where he is and is glad to hear you’re out of harm’s way.”
She could picture Al blowing out the smoke from his cigar as he spoke to her. The man loved his cigars. He wanted something, though. He hadn’t called just to make a threat against her ‘date’. Her uncle didn’t make threats. He carried them out without bothering to speak to them.
Selia asked, not bothering with the typical games that were expected from the ‘weaker sex’. “Is there something you want, Uncle?”
There was a long pause. Selia kept quiet, waiting for Al to speak. When he did, it was in a tone she had never heard him use before. It was flat, stark, and cautious.
“Do you know what Alfi had on that drive?”
“No,” she replied uneasily. “The email was from Soren, so it never crossed my mind to look at it. Plus, I didn’t have time to check it out, even if I wanted to.”
There was another unusually long pause before he grumbled too low for her to understand him. “Don’t worry about Alfi, Selia. I’ll handle it. You need… you have to keep low.”
Well, that’s unexpected. I can understand him wanting me to stay low, but why is it suddenly imperative I do so? she thought, taking the road that led to the bungalow far on the outskirts of town.
“I’ll keep low,” Selia promised.
She wasn’t about to promise to stay out of it, though. Honor demanded she kill the bastard that had hurt, nearly killed, the man she considered a father. If she’d been a male, it would have been her duty as a part of the Family. That was okay, though; since no one would believe a woman would step into a Family problem and eliminate the threat.
“You do that. How far out are you?” Al asked, changing topics, and sounding more like his usual self.
“Twenty or so minutes,” she said, glancing at the Garmin.
“Good. There are some clothes there for you,” Al replied. “I’ll be in touch.”
Then there was silence. The man didn’t believe in farewells of any sort, unless it included a shot to the back of the head. Those were always pretty good, if not permanent, farewells. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and drove the rest of the way in silence.
Turning into the paved driveway, she followed the snaking road until it ended in front of a bungalow. It reminded her more of a homey cabin than something Angelo Lascari would own, but considering he wanted her to keep low, it made sense. She hopped out of the car and grabbed the keys, her purse, and phone. She climbed the four steps and unlocked the door.
The house was nothing to write home about. A small kitchen, complete with stove and fridge was to her immediate right. A kitchen table and four chairs were in front of the sink. She dropped her stuff on the table and locked the door behind her. To her left was a small living room with a TV, DVD player, two sofas and a long, wooden coffee table. Small end tables were shoved up against each end of the sofas.
The bathroom was a decent size. It featured a toilet, sink, and a jetted tub in the left corner that she knew she’d be putting to good use later. There was a shower stall tucked away in the corner opposite the tub. Oh, the hardships she had to endure.
Grinning, she turned to the door on the side of the living room. That door opened into a bedroom, as did the door on the other side of the bathroom. Both had the same, boring pastel curtains and quilted bedspreads. Each had a single dresser, closet, and armchair. A television was in the one nearest to the kitchen and she decided to make it her bedroom.
Opening the closet in that room, she discovered that someone else must have felt the same, because it was filled with dresses and blouses that were in her size. Narrowing her eyes, she examined the dresser and found shirts, socks, and jeans. There was even plenty of lingerie for her.
Selia really didn’t want to know who had bought everything. Having some stranger buying her wardrobe was a bit too creepy, in her opinion. She didn’t call the Sandman a stranger, considering he had saved her twice and knew her history. Closing the blinds and pulling the curtains shut in every room, she adjusted the thermostat, so it was a bit warmer and returned to the bedroom. Grabbing a pair of black, stretchy jeans, a snug black blouse, and matching lingerie that was far lacier and more expensive than what she owned, she headed for the bathroom.
The first thing on her to-do list was get rid of the makeup. She began scrubbing it off, thankful for the fully stocked cabinets. Free of all the makeup she’d piled on, she turned on the tub’s faucets and began undressing as the mirror started steaming up. By the time she’d removed all the pins from her hair, the jets were bubbling, and the tub was full. Turning the water off, she sunk into the hot steamy water and closed her eyes.
As the jets pulsed, she allowed her mind to focus on her last conversation with Al. There was something more going on than what she'd first thought. It wasn’t usernames, passwords, or anything minor that Alfi had placed on that drive. It was something that had even Al concerned. Obviously, Soren hadn’t told Al she’d kept a copy of it. Why would it matter if she knew what it was? Would it make her a threat if she knew?
There were too many questions, and she didn’t like not having answers. She needed to look at the data before going after Alfi. She would have to do that after the Sandman picked her up… in way too many hours from now. A smile on her face, she finally allowed the jets to relax her enough to fall into a light doze. Her last thought was of waiting for her unexpected savior in nothing but her bare skin and wondering what his reaction would be.
Chapter Eleven
D arkness fell at 6:45 p.m. Selia had been restless long before an hour lapsed. Hating the stagnant air inside, she stepped onto the back porch, her dark hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves as she stood in the shadows. The air was crisp and fresh. She pulled the long, black silk robe tighter around her as she inhaled deeply.
The smell of pines, dirt, and blossoms filled her lungs. She held it for several long heartbeats before slowly letting it out. The soft rustle of an owl’s wings came to her over the breeze, along with the scuttling of small rodents and other nocturnal animals milling about the small forest line that meshed against the backyard of the bungalow.
The snap of a twig breaking caused her eyes to pop open and her head jerked towards the sound, but nothing was there. A hand fell upon her side, and she jumped, prepared to break away from her would-be captor, only to find the Sandman smiling at her from beneath his now-familiar mask.
“About time you showed up,” she teased. “How did you manage that snap?”
He held up a small remote. “It's a squib. The kind used for gunshots in movies. I attached the small explosive to a fallen branch and detonated it with this remote.” He glanced down at her body. “Planning on heading back to the city in that?”
“Nice trick,” she complimented him. She gave him a soft, pouty expression, as she sighed. “Oh, I thought you wanted me to wait for you sans clothing.”
He said nothing, opting to open the door instead and slip inside.
Chuckling, she felt a little guilty at her mischievousness, knowing full well nothing could come of her feelings toward him. She slid the robe off after following him inside.
“I'm sorry. I didn't have the heart to torture you by standing here in my bare skin. Not when I know...” She swallowed hard, looking away from him. “I know nothing could happen between us.”
Gods, it hurt saying that and for some reason, more than it should have. What was going on with her?
“It's fine,” the Sandman said in a relaxed tone. “It's probably better that I'm not distracted while driving. You can be very distracting, afte
r all. No doubt more so... when you aren't hiding.”
She blushed deeply and looked back at him. “I doubt a lot of people would agree with that,” she murmured. Shaking her head, she raised her chin and tossed the robe to the side. “I'll grab a hooded jacket and your wig, and then we can head out.” She paused before adding slyly, “Unless you have other plans in mind?”
“I doubt I could walk afterwards,” he muttered playfully as he began checking the vents and lamps.
She realized he was looking for listening devices or cameras in the bungalow. She hadn't thought of that.
“Only one way to find out,” she replied, heading into the bedroom she was using and pulling out a black, hooded jacket from the closet.
She ran a thread of magic through it, searching for any sort of tracking device and found nothing. Selia didn't dare use too much magic, even for a spell as minor as finding hidden cameras and 'bugs'. Magic flowed from a person’s life force, and if used too much, it would drain the caster and leave them exhausted.
Grabbing the wig from the bathroom, she held it lightly in her hand as she returned to the bedroom and leaned against the wall where she watched him check the room. He was very thorough. After sweeping the room visually, he removed a small device from some hidden compartment beneath his coat and checked some spots a second time. When he was satisfied the room was clear, he nodded and sat down.
He noticed her looking at him and gestured for her to join him in the room. When she did, he declared, “This room is clean. I don't want to do anything, even talk, in the other rooms until they've been checked. Let alone... anything else.” His balaclava pulled against his face as he smiled beneath it. “I don't know that I'd keep the mask on, and I'd rather not have Big Al or anyone else in the Family seeing my face on a homemade skin flick.”
For a moment, it felt like her heart wasn't beating. Then it kicked into overdrive. Her eyes danced as she smiled at him. So, maybe there was a chance with him after all.
“Well, if not here, I'm certainly open for suggestions as to where...” She trailed off, blushing. “I doubt Al would have bugged this place, but the others...” She shrugged; her pulse raced from the thoughts swarming her. “As nice as this place is, I've got to admit to liking yours a lot better.”
The Sandman stood up and walked to the door. “Never drop a hint from a beautiful lady, my dad told me. Off to my place we shall go. Are you ready?”
“Give me a minute,” she said.
She disappeared from the room, grabbed her phone, and reappeared, attaching the case to a belt loop. Her wallet was tucked into a hip pocket. Selia knew the wallet Soren gave her wasn't traceable, but she didn't trust the one Al gave her. She had around four hundred bucks in the wallet and the fake ID from Soren.
“I am now,” she said, brushing up against him.
She walked past him, pleasantly aware of his eyes taking in her figure as she walked ahead of him. The door latched and he moved beside her, then slightly ahead. She followed him into the woods, and after a five-minute hike, he stopped.
They came upon a black tarp hidden between some trees. The shape covered by the tarp was unmistakably a motorcycle of some kind. Selia wondered how she had not noticed the typically loud engine of a cycle in this quiet and somewhat secluded area.
The Sandman pulled off the tarp and began folding it. The bike was fairly large, with enough room for two on its single seat. It was all black and dark blues. Hard leather saddlebags had been attached at either side of the back of the vehicle. The Sandman opened the one furthest from her and placed the folded tarp inside. It was about the size of a folded-up flag, now. He straddled the bike and removed his right glove.
When he pressed his right thumb to a small oval of plastic set into the place usually reserved for an ignition key, a few muted lights came to life around it, including a display. Selia could now hear a soft whirring sound coming from the bike, but there was no exhaust.
“An electric motorcycle?” she guessed, not hiding how impressed she was.
“Yes, ma'am,” he said, and she thought a little pride was in his voice. “I got those motorcycle guys on TV to build it for me. Okay, I got the old guy to do it. The son grates on my nerves.” He revved the bike, which still hardly made a sound. “It will get up to one hundred and thirty. Climb on, and we'll get going.”
He reached around and opened the other compartment. From it he pulled a full-sized helmet, with a darkened visor to conceal its wearer's identity. He held it out to her.
“Safety first.”
She smiled and put on the helmet. As she was doing so, Selia watched him take off his wide brimmed fedora and, amazingly, folded it up until it was the size of a softball. He put it into the outside left pocket of his trench coat and produced an identical helmet to the one she was wearing. He didn’t remove his sunglasses.
Obviously, he had that one hanging on the bike where she hadn't noticed it. Once he had his helmet on, she slid onto the bike behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. She felt the taut muscles of his stomach relax a little, and then the bike moved forward. He moved confidently through the woods without lights on.
Yep, Selia thought after five minutes of driving in the dark, he definitely wears infrared sunglasses.
It wasn't until they were on a ramp, merging into the highway, that he turned the electric bike's brilliant headlight on.
An hour later, they pulled into a rental storage facility that allowed the patrons twenty-four-hour access. The Sandman parked his bike in the last storage unit on the row, put their helmets away, and replaced the tarp over the bike. Once done, he pulled the bundle of crumpled fedora out of his left pocket and tossed it into the air. It unfolded smoothly into its original shape and landed in his outstretched hand. He placed it on his head with a little flourishing gesture.
“Nice trick,” she declared.
“Australians. They know how to make a practical hat,” he replied. He locked the storage unit with the bike inside and looked at her. “Do you recognize where we are?”
“Yes, I do. I think I could even lead the way back to your lair, Mister Sandman,” she countered.
“After you, then,” he said with a small bow.
She led on, and in five minutes they were entering the sub-basement once more. She couldn't help but notice he was softly singing the words to the old song “Mister Sandman” as they went.
Chapter Twelve
O nce they stepped inside the basement, Selia turned to the Sandman.
“I need my laptop. It’s in my duffle bag.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to trust him, she reminded herself and found it was easier than she expected. “The information Alfi stole is on my laptop. I made a copy before Soren was roughed up.” She opened her eyes, capturing his gaze and holding it. “Whatever Alfi stole is bigger than anything like offshore bank account information.”
“I'll go get your bag, then,” he offered as he tucked his sunglasses into one of the trench coat pockets and left the room.
She smiled after him and turned back to the room. Her jaw promptly dropped as she saw the clothes neatly stacked on the sofa, coffee table, and hanging on hooks against the wall. Weapons were neatly lined on the bar counter.
“Dear gods,” she whispered. “Did he keep any of the cash for himself?”
She walked in a slight daze towards the bar, admiring the weaponry. There was an assortment of guns, ammo, and knives, but what caught her attention was the pair of swords that resembled short katanas.
She recognized the ebony-handled blades as kodachi swords. Temeria had something similar, only theirs were heavier and shaped more like short swords. Kodachi, Selia discovered during her first year in New Campania, were lighter and easier to handle, at least for her. They were also easier to hide than a short sword.
She picked one up, running her hand along the sheath lovingly before slowly unsheathing the blade to admire the shine of the well-honed edge. The blade was balanced perfectly, an
d she suspected, full tang.
“They aren't for show.” The Sandman's voice interrupted. “They are battle ready and 'two-body' sharp. Do I need to explain what that means?”
“Not at all,” Selia replied, glancing over at him. “Two-body sharp means they can cleave through two bodies with ease, to put it in simple terms.”
She unsheathed the other sword and hefted it in her right hand. Twirling them slowly at first, she stepped away from the bar.
Moving with a dancer's grace, she wove the swords around her. An intricate series of thrusts, cuts, and twirls, she moved around the room in a blurring whir of silver.
When she stopped, the blades were mere inches from the Sandman. A quirky smile pulled at her lips.
“I would certainly hope they're battle ready. They aren't much good if they aren't,” she stated. Pausing, she took in his wide eyes and laughed softly as she lowered the blades. “What part of 'warrior woman' did you not understand or get from my heritage? Really, Sandman, I'm not about to hurt you. Bite or nibble, maybe, but hurt you? No.”
He laughed. “Maybe I like it rough. And that was an impressive display you just gave. Warrior woman upbringing or not.”
Her cheeks burned even as she grinned. “Thank you.” She gave a short bow from the waist. She nodded towards the bag he held. “I'll put these lovely blades away, if you'd be a dear and set up my laptop.”
“But of course,” he said regally. He placed her bag down and reached into it for her laptop. “Good thing I didn't purchase the spear,” she heard him muttering. “Although the deerskin outfit would have been hot...”
She chuckled to herself as she returned to the bar and sheathed the swords. Now she knew what to get for Halloween. Perhaps she'd even knock on his door and ask for a treat.
Turning back to him, and the laptop, she said, “I can't help but feel as though you're spoiling me with all these lovely gifts.”
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