by Tara Oakes
I can hear someone else in the room. My eyelids are heavy as I force them open and settle my blurry gaze on Beau moving toward me with a clear glass in his hand.
“Here,” he settles next to me, causing the thin mattress to dip underneath. “Easy now,” Beau coaxes me as the cool water hits my lips, splashing against my dry tongue.
It floods down my throat and I can’t seem to get enough, reaching to help take hold of the tumbler and tip it further.
“Easy,” Beau sounds cautious and I soon realize why. He soothes my back as I choke on too large of a sip.
My choke is quickly replaced by a hiss as his large hand rubbing my back causes me some pain. Sounds escape my lips that I’ve only ever heard before from a hurt animal. My body shivers and recoils from his touch.
“I’m sorry! I—do-- does that hurt?”
I stifle my next cry as the pain radiates while I take stock of my aches. My knee. My hip. My elbow. My shoulder. My head. My back. It even hurts to breathe.
“Shit,” Beau speaks to himself. “I was afraid of this. Raven, I need to see your back.”
What?
Before I have a chance to protest, Beau moves the tattered fabric of my shredded shirt aside. At first I think to shove his strong hands aside, but the second his slightly calloused fingers touch the bare flesh of my back, a flood of memories rushes forth.
Last night. The car chase. Dodging from a speeding car to tumble on the ground. Working my way backward through the timeline of events, I remember what happened between Beau and I immediately before the first shot was fired.
His lips. His eyes. His scent. His… tongue.
Another shiver runs up my spine and down my arms, but this one’s not from pain. It’s from… something else. Something that only his touch has ever made me feel. Something that’s foreign, yet familiar at the same time.
The pad of his thumb gently sweeps over the swath of sensitive skin between my shoulders, as if tracing some curved line. It causes me to breathe quick and fast.
“Shit,” Beau whispers. “This isn’t good. You’re all bruised.”
I can’t help but laugh at his diagnosis. I jumped out of a moving car. There’s no way I wouldn’t be bruised after that.
“I’m serious. I think you may have done some real damage here.” I can feel the warmth of his breath tickle against my back. “Breathe in deep.”
Who would have ever thought such an easy task would prove to be so difficult? I’m silently telling my lungs to expand, commanding them to breathe in deeply, but it just won’t happen. The best I can muster is a halfway decent attempt.
I can see over my shoulder that Beau’s head is cocked at an angle, ear placed against me, acting as a stethoscope. He doesn’t budge once I’ve made my first breath, so I decide to take another to appease him.
“I think you may have bruised a lung. It doesn’t sound punctured, but we need to get you to a doctor,” he makes his final appraisal of my condition.
No. No docs. No hospitals. We need to get going. We’ve already missed the flight I’d secured for us from Warsaw to London. I’m going to have to pull off some pretty fancy maneuvers to get us another one, if it’s even possible.
I tell Beau as much against his protests. Fifteen minutes later and the argument is won. In my favor. But only after I’d conceded to see a doctor as soon as we landed in London.
“At least let me clean some of these cuts up. Otherwise, you’ll get an infection.” He doesn’t wait for any reply before moving to the lone sink in what I’m guessing is a cheap hotel room. One that rents by the hour. I have almost no memory of what happened after we were rescued by the old man driving the busted up pickup truck last night. I remember falling asleep on Beau’s shoulder, succumbing to the pain ravaging my body from my fall.
I remember him soothing me. I remember him telling me we were safe. I remember being carried up some stairs. And then I fell asleep, only to wake up in the dilapidated bed. Knowing what I know now, and the type of place this must be, I actually regret letting my bare skin touch these sheets.
Places like this one are used for one thing and one thing only. The sheets have probably seen enough bodily fluids to fill a pool up. My body shudders just thinking about it.
I don’t blame Beau for taking us here, as it was probably the smartest thing to do given the situation. Places like this offer anonymity, discretion, and efficiency. Easy to get into, and even easier to leave when you’re done, with no trace of the identities of who’s passed through the doors other than the fluids left on the sheets.
That last reminder of the Petri dish I’m lying in causes me to jump to my feet, however painful it is. Beau balances a small basin of warm soapy water and cloth in one hand and helps me steady myself with the other, guiding me to the lone chair in the room.
I fall into it, and grab hold of the sides to brace myself as I hear Beau wringing out fresh water from the cloth. Holding my breath, I brace myself for the cold liquid. Instead, a soft, warm cloth kisses my skin as Beau dabs gently over my injuries.
The feeling soothes me and lulls me into a bit of calmness with my head falling in slack as he tends to me. The gentle strokes begin to slow before stopping completely.
“What’s this?” Beau is asking from behind.
I angle my chin over my shoulder as if I’ll somehow magically see what he’s referring to. The tip of his finger begins to circle a spot near one of my vertebrae, a place where I no longer need to question what he’s speaking of. I know the exact location he’s staring at. I’ll never forget.
“Is this a--” he wonders before being cut off.
“Yeah. Bullet wound. Two years ago.” The sobering reminder of the fragments of metal still lodged in the deep muscle tissue are quick to douse whatever flames may have been smoldering from Beau’s touch.
“Enough wasting time. Let’s get a move on.” Carefully, I slide off the smooth chair and stand, pulling whatever scraps of the battered shirt together that I can.
From my periphery, I can see Beau begin to move in an awkward way. “Here,” his arms disappear back through the sleeves of his sweatshirt, “Wear this. We’ll pick up some clothes once we’re on the road.”
Looking back and forth between the two options at hand, my dirty, shredded shirt or the intact, warm one that he holds out, I decide to accept his offer. Our fingertips lightly brush against each other’s as we make the exchange and the current of voltage that licked around my body earlier returns, if only for a flash.
He stands, staring at me awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
“Uhm. Turn around?” I drawl.
Like a kid caught in the cookie jar, he nods quickly and does as he’s told, showing his back to me as he now faces the shoddy wooden dresser along the wall. The one with a giant mirror attached.
Great. That accomplished… nothing. I laugh to myself. Oh, whatever! I’m not the shy type and we’ve already squandered far too much time holed up in this hotel. I hold my breath as I move carefully, with each scrape and bruise singing in pain at some point during the change.
Beau does his best to hide the fact that he’s peeking, with his reflection steeling quick glances. I know I look like hell right now. I know we’re on the run from some pretty determined foreign agents. I know I don’t have time to act like a giddy school girl at the thought of him liking what he sees, but clearly from the tight smile he’s trying to control, he does.
Leaving the tattered scraps of cloth that was my shirt behind in the small trash can, Beau takes the one belonging we have left, my satchel, and we leave the smelly room behind.
The few people we pass on our exit don’t bother making eye contact, and I’m grateful for it as I lower my head and wrap my arms around myself to act as a tight brace for my unseen injuries.
The action inadvertently brings the woven cloth of the sweatshirt I’m now wearing closer, and with it comes the scent.
His scent.
I don’t know why, but I breathe it in dee
ply and find that it offers more comfort than anything else could right now. Long breath after breath is taken, trying to ration his clean musk as if it will disappear and fade away.
Each time I inhale, I feel the pang of fear that it won’t be there this time.
“I saw a restaurant around the corner as we drove up this morning. I think I have an idea to get a ride to Warsaw.” Beau’s demeanor is one of a leader now, slightly different from how our dynamic was back in the Ukraine, when I was the one who had the plan.
It’s not easy for me to follow someone else’s directive. I’ve always worked alone, always made sure not to rely on anyone but myself, not even Mom and Dad. That’s the way they raised me, to be completely self reliant.
That’s what a good agent needs to be.
One last drag of the intoxicating hints of Beau infused in this sweatshirt and I realize that I have no choice but to follow. Hopefully it doesn’t get me killed.
~*~
There’s no way he’ll be able to pull this off.
He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get his ass arrested, let alone be able to do what he says he can.
Regardless, I sit in this cramped café, sipping the hot tea in my hand and wait. If another fifteen minutes pass and he doesn’t show, then I’ll know he was all talk and I’ll have to move on to London without him.
The new outfit is scratchy and stiff over my skin. We’d found a little boutique on our way to buy a quick change of clothes before continuing. The blue jeans and long sleeve t-shirt are fine enough, but I hate how clothes feel when they’re brand new. Just the thought of it gets me to move my fingernails up along my wrist as if to scratch one of the irritations from the crisp new material.
I still wear Beau’s heavy sweatshirt on top as an extra layer of warmth, but also because I found myself not willing to give it up easily. I’m not even going to try and decipher why not, because I don’t do all that sappy crap, but just having it on, having a piece of him close to me, helps.
Especially now, while I wait, knowing that I could quite possibly never see him again if he gets caught during the little errand he’s running right now.
My stomach growls, having been empty for far too long and the tea is not enough to calm it, although it’s warmed me. I look at my watch and do the mental calculations. I have eight minutes.
That is, eight minutes if everything goes according to plan. If not, I’ll be sitting here indefinitely until I make the hard decision to move along without him. Eight minutes should be enough, so I abandon my almost finished tea cup on the bar height counter top and move to stand in front of the register, where I order a couple of the pastry sandwiches on display.
I know they’re probably left over from lunch hours ago, but hey, food is food, and I’m sure Beau must be as hungry as I am right now. He’ll be grateful for anything at this point.
A deep nagging takes hold in my gut again. That is, if he’s even going to show.
The clerk behind the glass display counter packages the sandwiches and I decide to add a few treats, filling the bag nearly to the top before she hands it to me in exchange for cash.
Thanking her, I take the brown paper bag and hold it close, weaving through the crowd of twenty-something hipsters that have filled the place, out to the street. The slow drizzle of rain that’s marred the late afternoon has continued, making everything look grey and bleak.
Another ominous prediction maybe? Could it be bleak like Beau’s future if he’s been caught?
No. I tell myself. He can do this. He’d better.
Walking under the canvas overhangs of the business awnings along my way, I escape the rain drops falling from above. I follow the route he’d told me, around the corner, as if hugging the buildings to stay dry. Down the street. One block. Then two. A left turn at the third corner and I find I’m now holding my breath and clenching my eyes shut tightly, afraid of what I’ll see when I open them.
Afraid that all of those dark feelings I’ve had premonitions of will prove true.
Afraid that he won’t be there, where he said he would.
Afraid that I’ll be alone, with no one.
Afraid that… I’ll never see him again.
A cool, fat drop of bitter rain falls directly on my forehead, trailing its way down until it’s settled and hanging onto my eyelash. I tell myself that I need to open my eyes, need to know for sure.
To fortify myself for what I may find, I take one last deep breath of the imprint he’s left on his sweatshirt and slowly open my eyes.
The street is empty, save for a few small cars dotting the sides, parked along the cobblestone edges. But there, about seventy-five yards from where I stand, is a sleek, cherry red, uber-expensive looking beauty of a car. The curves of the body are like nothing I’ve ever seen, with dramatic gullet-like openings in different parts for air intake.
This is no regular car. This… is a beast.
Just as I’m admiring the exterior, I can hear the engine come to life, roaring and alternating between revs. My core tightens at the initial sound and then a heavy pool of thick warmness begins to spread between my legs. I’ve never been a car enthusiast, but seeing this baby is having a visceral reaction on my body.
The rear lights turn on, causing my breath to hitch once more as it stands out against the darkening background. I squint, but am able to see the Porsche logo on the trim just as another loud rev of the engine solicits an encore response from my body. At this rate I’ll need to change panties. Soon.
The deeply tinted driver’s side window lowers, with an outline of a silhouette now able to be seen.
If I thought my earlier reaction was intense, nothing could have prepared me from what my body does next, when I see for the first time that it’s Beau sitting behind the wheel, with a gorgeous smirk of a grin teasing me.
I think I might have just come a little bit.
~*~
“This is inconspicuous?” I ask sarcastically, as Beau takes the bag of food from my arms so I can settle in and buckle the seat belt.
For a small car, I’m surprised at the amount of room. My legs fit nicely, and even Beau, who’s quite a bit taller than me, seems to be comfortable. The sack of sandwiches is placed conveniently between our two seats.
“Smells good. Get any for yourself?” He jokes, hinting at the level of hunger he’s handling.
Once I’m secured to the leather seat, Beau carefully moves us along and down the winding road. “Don’t dodge the question. I thought you were going to steal a car that would blend in? I’m pretty sure there’s nothing about this car that blends in.”
The small city is starting to sleep, with streets and crowds dwindling. “I used some better judgment. This way, if we get in another chase, we’ll be able to smoke their asses.”
I pacify him. “I see… It has nothing to do with you living out some sort of James Bond fantasy then, hmm?”
He laughs as the car moves effortlessly onto the main highway toward Warsaw. “Just call me 007, baby.”
CHAPTER SIX
BEAU
This baby rides like a dream. I can tell even Raven is enjoying it. Every time I look over to her, her eyes are filled with wild excitement, the kind I imagine would be there if I—
“What’s so funny?” Raven asks slyly. She must have noticed me daydreaming about what it’d be like to christen this car properly before we have to abandon it.
I shrug my shoulders and throw us into fourth gear. “Oh, nothing. Just glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
Her eyebrows squiggle. “What makes you think that?”
She really has no clue how obvious it is, does she? “Because you’re squeezing your legs together tighter than a vice right now. These seats are low to the ground. I know you can feel the engine, unless it’s me that’s doing it to you?”
As if on cue, her knees relax and give some slack, parting slightly. “Don’t flatter yourself, playboy. Just concentrate on the road.”
We’re starting to have
some fun now. “Kind of hard when you look like you’re about to start panting over there.”
I’m getting to her.
“Let’s change the topic.” She’s stern, like a teacher. I must be really hard up because now I can’t get the image of her playing sexy schoolteacher out of mind. Mmmm. I can be naughty. Have to stay for detention…
“Only if I get to pick the topic,” I negotiate. Either way, this is a win-win for me.
Raven shakes her head, pacifying me. “Fine.”
I’ve been tabulating a mental list of unanswered questions for hours now. Actually, for months. “How’d you get the bullet wound on your back?”
Her posture stiffens. “I think I’d rather you went back to talking like a horny teenager.”
Not a chance. “Oh, I can get much worse than just a horny teenager.”
She sighs in frustration. “Someone betrayed me. Someone who I never thought would. Satisfied?”
Honestly, not really. “A guy?”
I have a feeling I already know the answer.
Her eyes confirm it. “A man. Not a guy. Happy now?”
Still… not really. “Where is he now?”
I can see her biting the inside of her cheek, deciding on whether or not to reveal any more. “Cemetery. St. Petersburg.”
Angling her head, she stares out the window into the dark of night. We still have about three hours left ahead of us. It only makes sense that we use it trying to get to know each other, although I can tell it’s not something she’s used to.
“We can do this if you want. Me asking questions. You giving short, snippy answers. Or… you can act like a normal person and have an actual conversation where there’s this little something I like to call interaction.”
She snorts. “You Americans and your interactions.”
Ouch. That hit below the belt and not in a way I would have hoped for either. “We could do this the Russian way and drown it all out in Vodka. I’m game.”
She tries to hide it but I hear the muffled laugh she makes.