Dark Mysteries

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Thank you, ladies," he said, looking down at the picture.

  "Hey," Paula called as he started to leave. "Find him. Make him pay. For her. For all the women who need to spend their lives on the run and live in fear," she said, a calm sort of ruthlessness in her voice.

  Xander nodded at her, his jaw set. Determined.

  He was going to save the girl. No matter what.

  Eight

  He walked out of the diner, looking down at the picture. He knew she had been lying. Now he just had the proof... and more things to go on. He wasn't going to pressure her. She didn't need another man pushing her around. It didn't matter that she lied. Of course she lied. Now it was just up to him to untangle all the knots, determine the lies from the truth, find out who she was really running from. And why.

  He looked up and sighed, moving toward the building next door and pulling the door open.

  Lam was a bar that worked as a mob front. They went through absolutely no lengths to hide that fact and even named the damn establishment after being "on the lam". In hiding. The interior was dark and tasteful. The walls were painted a deep gray, the tables and chairs all black, as was the bar and back bar shelves. It was all streamlined, neat. A group of men, two he recognized as the bar owners, sat at their usual table in a back corner, right in front of a door that led into a panic room big enough for the entire family.

  One of the men inclined his head at Xander, an unspoken respect between the two. He had stood by while the man broke one of his client's knee caps with a pipe before he picked up the man and dragged him home to his worried family. Xander nodded at the man, making his way over to the bar and sitting down.

  "Looks like a three finger of scotch kind of day," a female voice said, coming in through the side of the bar.

  Faith was his type. Faith was tall with wide shoulders and hips, a thin waist, and disproportionately large breasts. She kept her dark (just short of black) hair long, swaying about her as she moved around, grabbing a bottle and glasses. She wore impossibly tight black jeans and a wine-colored tank top. She turned back to him, pouring the liquor into two rocks glasses.

  She was pretty, not just one of the women who had impressive bodies and mediocre faces. She had almond-shaped dark brown eyes that she lined with black liner, making them seem sharper, more dangerous, a thin nose that pointed up ever so slightly at the tip, and generous lips which were usually scowling.

  How she managed to get the job was beyond him. She wasn't hospitality friendly. She never flirted with the men. And she was downright hostile toward the members of the mob family. Yes, she was pretty... but he knew she must have had something on them that made them keep her. He knew better than to ask her what it was.

  "Heya sweetheart," he smiled, saluting her with his drink and throwing it back.

  Faith took hers, slamming the glass down on the bar. "Don't use that silver tongue on me," she said, smirking at him.

  "Aw baby. But my tongue..."

  "Will be getting nowhere near my fun parts," Faith cut him off, making him laugh. "So, what has you all tense?"

  Xander slammed the picture down on the bar, watching Faith look it over with a knowing lift of her brow. "Her? Really?" She pushed the picture back toward him. "She's pretty. Like a doll. But she's not your type."

  "She's a client," he grumbled, tapping the bar and watching Faith pour the scotch in his glass.

  "What... she got a boyfriend with a gambling problem?"

  "She's got a crazy ex who used to beat her and is now stalking her," he said, shaking his head.

  "So you find him, you take a nine iron to his kneecaps and a steel toed boot to his cock and tell him he better stay the fuck away or the next time he sees you, he'll be beat so badly that he'll be lucky to spend the rest of his life as a vegetable, blinking at a hospital ceiling."

  Xander laughed, shaking his head at her. "Sounds like something you've done before," he said. She shrugged a shoulder and he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that she was absolutely capable. "You're worried because of that last case... the secretary..."

  "Hannah Clary..." he said, an image of her flashing into his head. The day she came to his office, dressed in immaculate business clothes, despite the bad neighborhood, her long black hair pulled back and her big gray eyes scared but determined. She had been carrying a thousand dollars of cash in her purse, and had a box full of death threats under her arm.

  "Yeah... Elliott Michaels' girlfriend," she nodded. She glanced over at the men in the corner, her eyes squinting a little. Curiosity? Distaste? He could never quite gauge how she felt about them. "Look," she said, leaning on the bar toward him, "that wasn't your fault. I know you think it was. But she didn't come to you soon enough. If she had called you a week earlier, you would have found the crazy bitch and Hannah wouldn't have gotten hurt. But you didn't have enough time. And besides, Hannah is fine."

  "You don't know that," Xander shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to go back to the hospital after the first time.

  "She's a woman," Faith said, rolling her eyes. "Our entire lives are spent dealing with pain and learning to move past it. That's what we do. She's fine." She poured him one last drink, two fingers instead of three, and reached to put the scotch back on the shelf. "So, what's the deal?"

  "She's lying to me."

  "About?"

  "Everything. Except maybe the fight she had with him the night she came to me. She alluded to the fact that he had been stalking her for four months. Since she moved here. But it's been going on for years. She worked at the diner next door. The other waitresses said they saw driver's licenses from several other states."

  "She worked next door?" Faith asked, looking taken aback. "And you chose not to tell me this until now... why?" she asked. "You're losing it, slick. Show me the picture again."

  Xander passed it across the bar. "It's a close up. Imagine her in a black and mustard striped shirt..."

  "No," Faith shook her head. "No. In a huge sweater and leggings," Faith said, squinting at the pictures.

  Xander felt hope swell up in her chest. "You've seen her."

  "Yeah. One night after we closed up. She was just leaving the diner. Vin walked me out front and his son..."

  "Which one?" Xander asked, taking out his notebook.

  "Anthony," Faith supplied. "The loser. Anyway Vin walked me outside and Anthony was talking to her. She was pressed back against the wall of the building and he was moving too close to her I guess. And she made a fist and brought up this pointed key chain and stabbed the points into his hand as he went to reach for her hair."

  Xander looked up. "Seriously?"

  Faith nodded, looking down at the picture, smiling slightly, like she approved. Knowing Faith, she did. "Yeah. He screamed like a baby. And he cocked his arm back like he was gonna hit her and Vin yelled," she laughed a little, "told him that he was asking for it. That you don't corner a woman at two in the morning..."

  "What was she doing during this?"

  "She was watching Anthony like she was expecting him to go back at her. But then Anthony was cursing and getting into a cab. She walked past us, tucked forward into herself. She said thank you to Vin and hurried on her way."

  "You never saw her again?"

  "No. And I would have remembered after that. We usually don't get out of here until after three or four in the morning..."

  "Well, it's something I guess. I'm shocked Anthony let that go."

  "Well..." Faith said, smiling wickedly. "I may have had a little something to do with that."

  Xander shook his head. "Of course you did."

  It was something else. It was another piece in the puzzle. A puzzle that, admittedly, still had a lot of missing pieces. But he was making progress.

  "She has training," Faith said, watching him mull over things, his eyes far away.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Training. Like some sort of self-defense training. And not just the cr
ap at a Y. I mean she's had lessons."

  "Why would you say that?" So what if she brought up a key chain weapon and stabbed someone? Plenty of women could do that without training.

  "Because I've had training," Faith shrugged. "She was small but she knew how to use that. A battered woman shrinks. She rose up. She stepped forward, balanced her weight. She thrust in an uppercut across her body. She threw all her weight into it. Someone taught her that. And I'm assuming it wasn't her abusive ex-boyfriend."

  Xander raked a hand over his face. She had a point. That, and the way she moved on Gabe when she thought he was a threat, it all spoke to self-defense training. The good kind. "Why does this matter, Faith?"

  "Because you can find him," she said, "or her, in one of those states. It will probably be the first state she ran to. The first state will have traces of her. She wouldn't have been so clever or careful back then. And one of the first things she would have wanted to do once she got away from him, would be to learn to defend herself."

  It was a good point. If he could figure out which of the states was the first, he could find her. The people she touched, the places she went. He could get more bits and pieces. He sighed thinking of all the work it was going to take, hours on the computer and the phone. It would be days, weeks probably before he could even get a name. A name of the monster who tortured her.

  "No," Faith said, moving to lean against the back bar.

  "No what?"

  "No, you cant ask her," she said, a smile toying at her lips. "I know you better than anyone else," she said and it was the truth. "I know you are thinking about how much time and energy this will take and if you should just confront her about it. The answer is no."

  "Because she'd run."

  Faith nodded. "Because she'd run." She watched him for a moment, his big frame shrinking into itself slightly., Sitting more stooped than he usually did. "You like her, don't you?"

  "I just met her," Xander shook his head.

  "Where is she sleeping?" Faith asked, watching his head snap up and smiling.

  "I'm not fucking her," Xander said. Nope. And he wasn't going to. No way. That would be completely inappropriate.

  "But you want to."

  "Yeah," he admitted.

  Faith pursed her lips. "Weird," she said after a minute.

  "I'm so screwed," he sighed, shaking his head. He should have known Faith would just tell him what he already knew. If there's one thing you could count on her for, it was bluntness.

  "Look... what's the harm? You got an itch, scratch it," she shrugged.

  "She's damaged," he grumbled.

  "Aren't we all?" Faith laughed. "If she wants you too... I say go for it. Once you handle her little situation, she can go back to her old life, Her old friends. She'll be out of your hair." She looked at him for a minute, leaning closer. "Unless, of course, you don't want her out of your hair."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Xander snorted, getting up off his chair.

  "Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch," Faith smiled. A real, genuine smile, not condescending or wry. Just a happy smile. It was such a rare, lovely thing to see. Then she slanted her eyes sideways as the men in the corner started to stand, buttoning their jackets, and the smile disappeared. "Look," she said, her tone serious again, "if you need any help with her case, let me know. I could show her picture around."

  "I don't want it getting out that I am connected to her in any way. He will know right where to look for her. And I have a feeling he's a lot bigger threat than she has let on. Her neighbor said they looked professional, that two of them followed behind the main guy like he was their boss. I mean... who has a system like that other than..."

  "Organized crime," Faith finished, watching her boss lead the other men out of the bar.

  "Exactly. And out of state organized crime. I have no idea who she could be dealing with. The Italians, Polish, Irish..."

  "Or, worse yet... the Russians," Faith said, looking concerned about the prospect. He hadn't been around a lot of the crime syndicates in his time, knowing what he knew about getting too wrapped up in their business... but Faith had. Faith knew just about everything there was to know. And if the Russians worried her, he should be scared shitless.

  "Mr. Rhodes," Vin's, the owner and head of the family, voice called, reaching out and rapping him on the shoulder a few times. "I haven't seen you in here much lately."

  Xander forced a smile. "I've been getting plastered at a place around the corner from me. I can crawl home if I have to," he said, shrugging.

  Vin laughed, a short, forced sort of noise. "So, what brings you by?"

  Xander took a breath. "Just catching up with Faith. Talking about the last case I had." At Vin's lifted brow, he went on. "The case with the EM Corp CEO and his girlfriend..."

  "You really fucked that one up, huh?" Vin asked, rapping him on the back again. "No wonder you're drinking. Well, I have a meeting. Faith," he said, looking over at her, a strange mix of authority and respect in his tone. One day he really needed to figure out what the deal was with her and them. "I'll be back for dinner. Tell the idiots in the kitchen to have my food ready by eight. And if Anthony comes in here... he doesn't get behind that bar. Understand?"

  "Oh, looking forward to it," Faith said dryly.

  Vin shrugged, waving a hand as if saying 'what can you do'. "Xander. Your drinks are covered. Better luck on your next case," he said, moving out through the back.

  "If I hadn't seen him smash in some twenty-year old's kneecaps, I would swear he was just a normal, nice Italian father."

  "Yeah," Faith said, looking at the door he had left through. "That's the problem with people who were raised in crime... they can cover it well. Which is likely how your girl got herself so wrapped up in it."

  "How the fuck am I supposed to convince some crime boss to stop stalking his ex girlfriend?"

  Faith shrugged, finally looking back at him. "Everyone has an Achilles heel. Find it. Exploit it. Slice it with a knife if you have to. The only way to get through to someone scary is to be scarier."

  Xander looked at her for a moment, watching the way she stood, legs wide, her weight distributed evenly, her arms across her chest, her back straight. "Sometimes," he said, smiling at her, "when you talk like this... you're truly a terrifying woman."

  Faith dropped her arms, chuckling slightly. "Sorry," she said, wiggling her shoulders like someone does when they stretch them out after a workout, "something weird is going on around here. It has me on edge. Don't need to get caught in some kind of war between the families."

  Xander looked down at his feet. If he hadn't been so preoccupied with Ellie, he would have seen right away that she was off, that something was wrong. "Look," he said, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm, "if shit starts going crazy, come get me. Between Gabe and I... we can protect you."

  "Oh, babe... didn't anyone ever tell you?" she asked, shaking off his hand and moving to open the door for him, "I can take care of myself."

  Nine

  Ellie stood in the kitchen for a long time after he left, feeling a little more taken aback than she really had the right to. So what if he needed to rush out? And was a bit... gruff. From the stories she heard about him, that was his personality. Just because he took pity on her for having a nightmare didn't change his everyday personality.

  She was projecting her feelings of connection onto him. And she shouldn't even have felt that way. It didn't mean anything. People shared beds with other people all the time. So what if he slipped a hand under her shirt? And traced circles on her skin? And buried his hands in her hair? Nothing had actually happened. He hadn't even implied he was thinking about her that way.

  He had even went out of his way to tell her that she wasn't his type.

  Ellie washed the coffee cups and walked over to make the bed. She was horny, she realized with a hysterical giggle. That was the problem. Why she was horny was another question. She didn't even really lik
e sex. Sure, there had been times when the intimacy had felt nice once upon a time. But she never experienced the clawing need for sex. Or the fireworks during sex that everyone else talked about.

  So wanting Xander was weird.

  With a shrug, she showered and changed into black leggings and a nondescript v-necked gray t-shirt. She had just finished pulling her hair into a French braid that reached half-way down her back when there was a knocking on the front door. Her heart leapt into her throat, her heart slamming in her chest. She stepped carefully into the hallway, watching the door as if it was about to burst inward.

  Because Xander always said it was him.

  She tiptoed back toward the apartment, trying to convince herself to calm down. It was probably a client. Or a friend. Not every knock on the door meant horror. In fact, he almost never knocked. He just found his way in. And waited for her.

  "Xander," a woman's voice called through the door. "Open up. It's Hannah."

  Ellie stopped moving, her hand frozen on the door. Hannah. Hannah Clary. That was his client who he felt guilty about. Should she let anyone in his office when he wasn't around? She didn't even know when he would be home.

  But he needed to see her.

  She moved in through the office and unlocked the front door, pulling it open to find Hannah and Elliott Michaels standing there. He looked completely out of place in his immaculate three-piece suit in such an awful neighborhood.

  "Oh," Hannah said, her gray eyes widening, "hi," she mumbled, dropping her hand from the door. But not before Ellie saw the scars. They were bright red, angry, awful looking scars around her wrists. They were scars that only come from fighting against some kind of binding, scars that came from being held against your will. They were scars like she herself had on her wrists.

  "Hi," Ellie said, taking in the woman's long black hair and curvy body with a bit of envy. Elliott was tall and good looking with dark hair and blue eyes. He looked at her for a moment, before snaking an arm around his girlfriend's waist. What should she tell him? She was the maid? The secretary? His girlfriend? "Xander just ran out on a job. He should be back pretty soon if you would like to wait."