Angelique Rising (20 page)

             
"Bye, Lexa," Angelique said clicking the phone off. She was going to miss Lexa, so far away in Paris and not even a definite date when she'd be back, it depended on her performance.

             
Lexa bounced down the steps of her apartment building.

             
"Hello, Miss" the driver, a burly mountain of a man smiled to her. "I'm Mr. Cochran's assistant, Donald."

             
"Hi, yes, I've seen you lots of times at the Center. Thank you for coming for me, I don't know where this airport is. I'm so jazzed to be flying in a private jet! My luggage is just in the foyer--"

             
"I'll get it, Miss," Donald held the car door open for her knowing he would be depositing her luggage in a locked cellar closet as soon as he got her into the mansion. Mr. Cochran would be letting her have only three things from it: her birth control pills, her brand of tampons, and one thing she could ask for as a reward. The latter he would eventually destroy in front of her for the pleasure of it --for one girl it had been her one hundred year old family Bible he'd thrown in the fireplace and made her watch burn. And that would be the signal that Mr. Cochran was finished with her.

             
And it was Donald's turn.

             
"Thank you, Donald," Lexa beamed.

             
"Oh it's my pleasure, Miss," Donald eyed her, his smile carefully in place.

             
Twenty minutes into the trip the car phone rang and Donald answered it. He knew the script by heart. After a lot of un huhs and yessirs, he hung up.

             
"Trouble?" Lexa asked.

             
"I'm afraid so, Miss. It seems a bulb has gone out on the jet's wing and it's illegal to fly the plane without it. They've sent for a replacement but it won't get here until early morning. I'm to take you to the mansion for you to stay there until we get the call the plane is ready. Mr. Cochran isn't there, but his housekeeper is, Margret, she'll look after you. Very sorry, Miss."

             
"Wow, the Cochran mansion! I've heard about it, it's more than a hundred years old right? It must be really interesting," she prattled on in her excitement.

             
"I'm sure you'll find it
quite
interesting," Donald said with a careless nuance of cruel determination Lexa didn't catch.

             
They arrived at the mansion and were met at the door by a somewhat stout, drab looking stooped woman in her fifties who smiled at Lexa while simultaneously avoiding her eyes.

             
Malcolm Cochran's mansion was large, made of stone, and Lexa got the feeling more of a fortress than a home. Shoot, she said to herself, if I were rich I sure wouldn't live in a place like this, out in the boondocks, still, one night would be fun.

             
She stepped over the threshold not knowing that nothing about to happen to her would be fun.

             
Not for her anyway.

             
"Your room, up stair," the housekeeper, Margret, said to Lexa in halting English with a strange, strained ambivalence, "you come."

             
Lexa drank it all in, the
wealth
, as she followed Margret up an impressive stone staircase to the second floor, down a richly decorated luxurious hallway, through a doorway at its end and up another staircase, much narrower than the first. At the top, she was led down a hallway also narrower than the one below (she thought she heard a door closing down below) and into a large suite. It was an invitingly comfy looking bedroom and Lexa smiled because it was painted in peach, her favorite color. The bed was king size, with a large intricate brass headboard, the furniture a deep plush velvet couch with cozy looking overstuffed arm chairs, and a nearby table covered in a peach colored lace tablecloth with two chairs. There was a splendid scenic window through which Lexa saw a deeply green lawn and darkened forest beyond.

             
"Bathroom," Margret pointed to a far door.

             
"Thank you," Lexa smiled warmly.

             
"You look," Margret said.

             
"Oh I'm sure it's fine," Lexa smiled appreciatively.

             
"You look," Margret repeated, disquieted.

             
Wanting to be obliging, if the housekeeper wanted her approval of the bathroom, Lexa would certainly give it. She walked across the room and stuck her head in the bathroom. It too was huge, beautiful, all gleaming white tile, two sinks, a gigantic claw bathtub, with a large shower with numerous faucets and showerheads. Thick peach colored towels were folded carefully on a white marble vanity. Lexa turned to give Margret her approval but saw Margret had her back to her and was hurrying from the room. And as Margret exited she quickly scooted past the imposing figure of Malcolm Cochran entering the room.

             
"Mr. Cochran," Lexa exclaimed, still not detecting her increasing danger, "they told me you weren't going to be here. There was a problem with the plane."

             
Lexa's eyes drifted past Malcolm Cochran to the doorway where Donald was standing. Just standing, filling it. Why wasn't he bringing her luggage up?

             
"Give me your purse," Malcolm said.

             
"What? No, I need--"

             
He hit her, the blow landing hard, right across her face, she went flying backward landing sprawled on her stomach on the carpet. Stunned, she remained still, seeing two black shining shoes standing near her face.

             
"Get up," Malcolm commanded brusquely pouring cold contempt over her. He offered no assistance.

             
My God, Lexa's mind churned in jumbled disarray, why is he so angry, what does he think I've done? She got to her knees staggering to her feet, staring at him repellently.

             
"Mr. Cochran," she blinked uncomprehendingly, winded, holding her stinging face, "I... " She saw his expression. He wasn't angry at all. He was smirking, arrogance personified. For a moment she thought he was about to smile.

             
He enjoyed a pause before he responded.

             
"Lexa," he purred derisively, "I've so wanted to meet you." He had her purse, he handed it to Donald.
Her cell phone was in that purse.

             
"
I will let you get acclimated. I will be back later, we will have dinner." In almost a military gait he turned and exited the doorway shutting the door behind him. Fighting back hysteria Lexa flew to the closed door. It had no doorknob. All there was to indicate a door even existed was a crevice so tight even a piece of paper couldn't be slipped into it.

             
The shock of his blow was wearing off as a piercing fear swept through Lexa. She was on the third floor. If she broke the window, could she make it down? She reached for an intricately etched metal vase containing a large bouquet of flowers on the fireplace mantle to hurl it through the window. The vase didn't budge. It was bolted down. She picked up one of the table's chairs and hurled it at the window. It bounced off.

             
Below, in his study, Malcolm idly watched her on his monitors, amused. He wouldn't be able to starve this one he realized, she was already too skinny, she had no reserves. Pity. He could get an entire afternoon of enjoyment tying them to the bed dangling succulent bits of food over their mouths, eventually letting them desperately eat from his fingers. But no matter, he had other plans.

             
"Hi, Daddy," Tinka said waving to him as she walked past his study and he flicked off the monitors. "How was your day?"

             
"Just fine," he said. "I've closed off the third floor though."

             
"
Another
infestation?" Tinka rolled her eyes, "I don't know how the mice do it."

             
"Persistent little buggers," he said, "dinner?"

             
"I can't, did you forget? This is my week to go up to the lake. I've got to get going."

             
"Oh yes. I forgot."

             
"Will you be bored?" she teased.

             
"I have some diversions planned."

             
"Good," she said scuttling away to her room to grab her suitcase and go. The house had an ominous feel to it, like it always did when those darned mice got into the third floor, she could feel Margret's and Donald's tension --she would make a point of extending her lake visit.

             
Until Daddy told her the problem was eliminated.

*****

              As Tinka vamoosed, Angelique was at home eating supper with Wyatt.

             
"But I don't understand," Angelique said, "what
is
it?"

             
"It's a check I've made out to you for five million dollars. Take it," Wyatt urged pushing the check at her across the table.

             
"But
why
would you want to give me five million dollars?"

             
"I told you, it's the reward the Saudis had on that guy's head. They paid it to me but it should have been paid to you, you're the one who sounded the alarm on him." Wyatt scowled. Angelique's view of money was unfathomable, she viewed it as merely a tool that if she needed, she went out and earned some. If she didn't, she did as she pleased and if that meant walking around without a penny in her purse that's what she did. It drove Wyatt crazy.

             
"Why do you look like my sounding the alarm on that guy was wrong?"

             
"That's not why I'm frowning. Do you know what it was
like
having to convince all those government agents that you picked that man out in the restaurant because he looked 'creepy'?"

             
"Well he did."

             
"No, baby, he didn't. That guy was a professional at not looking 'creepy.' At not looking
anything
. He was a man who could slip in an out of just about any country he wanted to, including this one, and no one, not even very experienced security and intelligence agents specifically looking for him would be able to spot him. But
you
did. And it wasn't exactly like I could tell them my wife has
talents
.
"
He looked at her hopefully, like maybe an explanation might finally be forthcoming.

             
"They never talked to
me
.
"

             
"That took every lawyer I've got to pull off, Angelique. Plus a doctor who signed a very expensive affidavit that said you were 'too traumatized' for them to question. Plus Johnson pulled a few strings from his past life."

             
She snorted.

             
"Well I don't want it. It's blood money."

             
"You're taking it. It's yours and that's the end of it."

             
Angelique paused, like she was remembering something.

             
"Wyatt, if it's my money, then I can do anything I want with it, right?"

             
Oh shoot, he flinched.

             
"Yes. Within the law," he added hastily. "What do you want to do?"

             
Her face clouded as she sipped her small glass of wine --he was introducing her slowly to wine but only when they were home by themselves. She was after all, still underage. Wyatt saw that she was making some kind of decision about
him
. Holy Mary Mother of God, he thought, she was actually going to
tell
him something, something about... whoa!

             
What Wyatt didn't have in knowledge he certainly did have in hope.

             
"Wyatt, the day this all happened, do you know where I was going?" He saw that the depths of her eyes were suddenly shrouded with hidden secrets.

             
"No, you artfully ducked the question when I asked that morning."

             
"Maybe I should begin at the beginning," she said in a soft insinuating voice almost like after, there'd be no reprieve.

             
She definitely had his full attention. He reached out and held her hand, caressing her knuckles.