by Ruff, K. S.
“So how do you propose we proceed?” Captain Graves inquired curiously.
Kadyn looked at Mickey. “Assuming Mickey is willing to keep what happened quiet, so it doesn’t get picked up in the news, then I say look for Kri, but don’t advertise that you’re looking for her.”
Captain Graves looked thoughtful as his attention shifted to Mickey.
Mickey eyed the federal agents nervously before meeting Kadyn’s gaze. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you find Kri. I can keep this quiet, but people are aware that I’ve been missing all day. You’re going to have to help me come up with a story to explain that. I don’t want to lose my job.”
Captain Graves nodded. “We can do that.”
Kadyn breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully, this would give them a chance to find Kri. He didn’t think Garcia would hurt her, but if he was involved with terrorists, he might not be able to protect her from his friends. Kadyn winced at the thought of terrorists getting their hands on Kri… a blond haired, blue-eyed, all-American girl, working in the U.S. Senate. Kri represented everything they hated. They could easily decide to make an example out of her.
Kadyn sank onto the couch. His voice broke as he spoke. “I promised to keep her safe. I promised that no one would ever hurt her again.” This would be the second time that promise was broken.
Chapter 5 – This I promise you
Michael’s kiss left me physically shaken and deeply disturbed. I couldn’t reconcile the way my body was responding to him against what my brain was telling me to do. I wanted Kadyn, not Michael... loved Kadyn, not Michael. I knew that in my head and in my heart, but my body was an entirely different story. Everything about Michael screamed danger… passion… predator. It always had. For reasons completely outside my understanding, that smoldering combination seduced my body in ways I found difficult to resist.
Michael gently pulled me toward the stairs. “Ma chérie, I can see you are tired. Come, let me show you to the bedroom.”
“The bedroom,” I repeated numbly.
Michael tucked my hand in the crook of his arm as he led me upstairs. “Oui, the cook will bring our dinner to the room shortly.”
“The cook?”
“Mon coeur, you didn’t think I would make you cook?” Michael teased lightly.
I didn’t know what to think. The place was so unexpected and unlike any home I’d ever been in before. Even Senator Rockefeller’s house paled in comparison. Michael was a complete contradiction. One minute he was tying one of my friend’s up with duct tape and threatening to kill people. The next minute he was kissing me and presenting me with a house… only it wasn’t a house, it was a mansion with servants.
My fingers trailed over the beautiful metal railing as we made our way up the second flight of stairs. The stair railing swirled into a delicate pattern of intermingling loops just like the railing I’d seen on the balconies outside. Once we reached the top of the stairs, Michael turned to the left and escorted me down a long hallway that was lined with rooms on either side. All of the doors were closed except one. Light spilled into the hallway from a room at the far end of the house.
Michael read my thoughts. “You can see the rest of the house tomorrow, once you have recovered from the trip.”
I stopped just inside the doorway. The bedroom was larger than my entire apartment. There was a massive four poster bed in the center of the room. The dark walnut headboard and the posts at each corner were carved with an intricate leaf pattern. Reams of gauzy white material were gathered at each of the posts and draped seductively over the top. The thick comforter on the bed was also white, and it appeared to be filled with down.
The walls on either end of the room were lined with large windows that curved at the top. The windows had handles like French doors so you could step out onto the small balconies. The floor was marble, but a very large French tapestry rug anchored the bed. The rug had an ivory scroll pattern that was woven into a caramel backdrop with accents the color of evergreen trees and a deep merlot.
I couldn’t resist turning around so I could see the entire room. There were three sitting areas. Two were tucked next to the windows on either end of the room. Each of these sitting areas included a plush caramel colored rug, two brown leather chairs, and a dark walnut coffee table. The third sitting area was located directly in front of a large marble fireplace. It included a brown leather couch flanked on either side by matching leather chairs.
The area in front of the fireplace included a much larger coffee table. Again, all of the furniture was arranged around a plush caramel colored rug. A fire was already lit and gently crackling inside the fire place. The room maintained a soft glow between the fire and three stained glass Tiffany floor lamps. As I stepped a bit further into the room, I noticed a doorway off to the far left of the fireplace and another doorway off to the right of the door we had just entered through.
Michael pointed to the doorway to the left of the fireplace. “La salle de bain.”
“The bathroom?” I confirmed.
Michael nodded, then pointed to the other door. “Le placard.”
“The closet,” I guessed.
Michael smiled as he motioned toward the closet. “Oui. Go look.”
I walked to the doorway, then stood gaping at the closet. It was larger than my living room. Countless men’s suits and white long sleeved shirts lined the wall on the right, but dresses, skirts, and blouses lined the wall on the left. Walnut drawers were nestled under the clothes. The walls easily ran fifteen feet deep and twenty feet apart. A thick burgundy rug lay in the center of the closet. The entire back wall held built in shelves filled with shoes. Men’s dress shoes lined the right side of the shelves, while women’s dress shoes lined the left in every color imaginable.
I took a few steps into the closet, helpless to resist its pull. My eyes returned to the dresses. They were organized by color. My fingers stroked the rainbow of fabric, just as Michael nuzzled my neck.
He wrapped his arms around me. “Ils sont pour toi. C'est bien, oui?”
“For me?” I asked incredulously. I examined one of the tags. It read size thirty-eight, but the dress appeared to be no larger than a size six, which was exactly my size.
“The French size their clothes differently than the Americans do. Do not worry, ma chérie. All of these clothes will fit you. I purchased them in your size… the shoes too,” Michael stated confidently.
I stared down at my feet. How could Michael know my shoe size? We had only been on four dates when he proposed. He was so upset when I turned him down and refused to see him again that I had to get a restraining order against him. Although he had sent numerous e-mails and post cards professing his love, I hadn’t seen him in over a year. Now I was standing in his arms looking at an entire wall of clothes that he had purchased exclusively for me. “Seulement toi,” I murmured, repeating Michael’s words from earlier.
Michael tightened his arms around me. “Only you,” he whispered seductively in my ear.
My eyes narrowed. There was something odd about the clothes. “There aren’t any pants?”
Michael chuckled softly. “Why would you want to dress like a man? You have beautiful legs. I want to see them.”
As much as I wanted to debate that point, I had a far more pressing concern. I turned around to look at Michael. “There are men’s clothes?”
His hands settled on my hips as he pulled me against him. An amused look flitted across his face. “Oui. They are mine.”
I took a deep breath as I readied myself for battle. “Michael, do you intend for us to sleep in the same room?”
Michael looked surprised. “Of course, mon coeur. You belong with me.”
I pulled away. As large as the closet was, I was finding it extremely difficult to breathe. “But, Michael, there are sixteen rooms in this house…”
Michael put his hand up to stop me. “Those rooms are for guests. You are not a guest. You belong with me, here, in this room.” Michael crosse
d his arms stubbornly as he tried to end the debate. “This is not negotiable, Kristine.”
I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. I pushed past Michael. I wanted to put some distance between us, but he followed me into the bedroom. The room spun as I grappled with my predicament. How could I negotiate with Michael when he held all the power? He was willing to kill people to get what he wanted. If I refused to comply, would he threaten to kill Kadyn again? And if sleeping in the same room wasn’t negotiable, then what was negotiable?
My heart beat hard and fast. Then it hit me. There would be no refusing Michael. I couldn’t refuse him a single thing. My eyes widened in understanding as I turned to face him.
Michael caught my arm and pulled me against his chest. His voice was soft and low, the words a mere caress. “Mon amour, I do not want to fight with you, but I will fight for you. I want only for us to be together.” His eyes softened as his lips brushed against mine. “Je t'aime… I love you, Kristine. All I’m asking for is a chance to prove it to you.”
I tried to respond, but Michael silenced me with another kiss. His tongue swept through my mouth in long seductive strokes. My eyes fluttered closed as he consumed me in a kiss that was utterly intoxicating. My eyes flew open when he began backing me toward the bed. I shoved at his chest, forcefully breaking the kiss.
Michael had a confused look on his face, as if thoroughly perplexed by my ability to resist him. His brow furrowed in frustration. His lips crashed against mine as he gathered me back into his arms. I tried to remain unresponsive, but my resolve crumbled as he began coaxing me with his tongue. I nearly whimpered my submission.
I managed to pull away just as an older woman breezed into the room. She was carrying a large tray with a silver dome-shaped lid. A young girl, who looked to be somewhere around the age of twelve, trailed behind her carrying a bottle of sparkling mineral water and a bottle of red wine. “Bonsoir,” they greeted breathily.
“Bonsoir,” Michael replied, although his eyes remained on me. “The cook and her granddaughter,” he explained as they hustled toward the fireplace.
They set the tray, bottled water, and wine on the coffee table in front of the fireplace. The older woman opened the wine. Then she pulled white linen napkins, two wine glasses, and two tumblers from pockets in her white apron. She worked efficiently as she set everything up. Her silver hair was piled elegantly at the top of her head. Her skin looked much younger than her hair suggested. Her figure was trim and tall, and her dress was every bit as nice as anything I owned.
The cook’s granddaughter poured the water. She had dark brown eyes and even darker hair, which was woven into an intricate French braid. She was wearing a pretty floral dress. They both murmured, “Bon appétit,” and bowed slightly in our direction before they turned and walked away.
“Merci,” Michael responded before returning his attention to me. “Why don’t you take a few minutes to wash up before we sit down to eat? The wine needs some time to breathe.”
“Thank you,” I responded shakily. I walked to the bathroom, still anxious to gain some distance from Michael. I froze just inside the door. The same fireplace that was crackling inside the bedroom extended into the bathroom. A huge Jacuzzi tub sat directly in front of the fireplace. The bathtub was nestled inside brown, copper, and black flecked marble. There was no faucet and no handles for hot or cold water. A bronze disc in the ceiling was positioned directly over the tub. I could only assume that the water came from the ceiling, although I had no idea how one would control the temperature or the flow. A beautifully upholstered fainting couch was tucked against the back of the bathtub. Plush brown rugs anchored the sides.
I tore my eyes from the bathtub and gaped at the rest of the room. Three large windows formed the exterior wall. The opposite wall held a large tiled shower with glass doors, two showerheads, and twelve jets. Next to the shower, there were two walnut cabinets topped with the same marble that surrounded the bathtub. Square, white bowls formed the sinks. Brushed bronze faucets dipped inside the bowls. In the back of the bathroom were two private toilets, each with its own louvered wood door. Walnut shelves were nestled between the two toilets. The shelves contained rolls of towels and washcloths and baskets filled with magazines, soaps, and other toiletries. Thick white bathrobes hung on either side of the shelves.
I walked to the sink to wash my hands, then stilled at the sight of my reflection. Long blond waves fell below my shoulders, just as they always had, but the pale face staring back at me was unrecognizable. My lips were still swollen from Michael’s kiss and my cheeks were flushed, but my blue eyes looked haunted and sad. “Michael isn’t the only contradiction,” I whispered as I began washing my hands.
When I looked back up in the mirror I discovered Michael leaning in the doorway with a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay, mon coeur?”
I shook my head as a single tear slid down my cheek. “No.” I turned around and leaned against the sink as Michael closed the distance between us.
He gently kissed my tear stained cheek. “You’re exhausted. I’ll wash up so we can eat.”
I was beyond exhausted, but I was also very hungry. Michael had taken me to the airport before breakfast, and I had refused to eat on the plane. I hadn’t eaten a single thing the entire day. The lack of food had left me feeling shaky and weak, and it appeared to be compromising my ability to think. I took a deep breath and tried to reign in the tears I was still struggling to keep at bay. I had to keep it together just a little while longer, at least long enough to eat.
I walked to the back of the bathroom to look inside the basket of toiletries. I was in desperate need of a toothbrush. I returned to the sink as Michael began drying his hands. “Do you happen to have a toothbrush and some toothpaste I could use?”
“Yes, of course. Your toothbrush is right here.” Michael opened a drawer under the sink where I was standing.
I reached for the toothbrush, then froze. The drawer was filled with my favorite toothpaste, face lotion, cleanser, and makeup. I forgot all about the toothbrush as I reached for an unopened box of perfume. Bvlgari Omnia Green Jade? The perfume and all the other items in the drawer were the exact same brands I used at home. I set the perfume back inside the drawer. “How do you know my sizes and the products I use?”
Michael shrugged. “I watched you shop.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Was today the first time you were in my apartment?”
“Oui, ma chérie. Now, please, can we go eat?” Michael didn’t wait for a response. He placed his hand at the small of my back and led me back into the bedroom. He pulled the table away from the couch and sat down on the rug. I tried to sit in one of the chairs, but he reached for my hand and pulled me alongside him on the floor.
I scooted a few inches away from Michael and leaned against the base of the couch. My eyes were immediately drawn to the crackling fire. The fireplace was real, and it was putting out a lot more heat than the gas versions I had grown accustomed to in Virginia. The heat was soothing and already coaxing me to sleep. My thoughts drifted as I stared at the glowing embers.
I couldn’t believe that Michael had been following me, and I hadn’t caught him doing it, not even once. I had suspected he was in DC when he sent an e-mail lamenting the fact I was dating another man. He claimed that Kadyn could never love me as much as he did and warned I would soon be back in his arms. He swore that nothing would keep us apart. I glanced at Michael as I reflected on the e-mail. He had certainly made good on that promise.
Michael handed me a glass of wine. “Santé.”
I remembered the toast from our first date. “To your health,” I repeated without even thinking.
Michael tipped his glass against mine. His gaze drifted toward the fireplace as he drank the wine.
I raised the glass to my lips and took a small sip. The wine tasted of ripe berries, black pepper, and something reminiscent of cigar smoke. “It’s nice,” I commented, more out of habit than anything. I examined
the wine in my glass a bit more closely. I wondered how much I could risk drinking. I knew it would dull my pain, but I feared that drinking too much would leave me even more vulnerable to Michael. I took another sip and relished the warmth that spread through my chest as the alcohol hit my empty stomach.
“Côtes-du-Rhône Rouge,” Michael explained while softly swirling the wine in his glass. The flames from the fireplace danced in the crystal facets, then reflected against his ridiculously handsome face. Michael took another drink before setting his glass on the table. As he lifted the lid from the silver tray, the smell of lobster quickly filled the air. A basket of large, flaky croissants was nestled between two steaming bowls of lobster bisque soup. Two small plates of cheese and champagne grapes were set off to the side of each of the bowls. “Bon appétit,” Michael encouraged softly.
I was too hungry to refuse the food. By the time we finished the soup, Michael had visibly relaxed. I hadn’t noticed the tension in him earlier. I was too busy battling my own emotions, but the difference in him was clearly noticeable now. He should have felt stressed. Thousands of lives were threatened, and he had to bank on the fact that his threat was sufficient to ensure my cooperation. I studied Michael. How far was he planning to push me with this threat? Would he expect me to succumb to his every whim?
As I sipped on my wine, I wondered whether Michael would eventually tire of me. It was quite possible that he was pursuing me simply because I rejected him. After what I witnessed today, I was certain that Michael was used to getting what he wanted. Possessions and power were clearly important to him. So, would he try to maintain his hold on me regardless; or if I offered little resistance, would he get bored and let me go? I turned the idea in my head. Resistance hadn’t proven a good strategy for me in the past. It had only led to more pain and violence from my ex-husband and from Justin when he kidnapped me.