Dark Mysteries (10 page)

She
was freaked out. She didn't need him reading more into it. She didn't
need to think that he was suddenly finding himself turned on by her.
Because he was. Completely against his better judgment. Completely
against reason. She wasn't even his type. Not even close. But there
she was, small and soft, her long blonde hair brushing against his
stomach, her lips touching the skin at the center of his chest.

Her
fingers slowly stopped stroking, her weight pressing into him more
fully, her breathing slow and shallow. He wrapped his other arm
around her as she slept, laying awake, staring at the ceiling for a
long time. Trying to talk himself out of his attraction. Trying to
convince himself he just needed to get laid. It wasn't about her at
all.

But
even as he finally fell asleep, he knew that wasn't the case.

Seven

Ellie
woke up early in the morning, finding herself completely sprawled out
over him, her head lodged underneath his chin, arms and legs on
either side of his body. One of his hands was tangled in her hair,
the other had slipped up under her shirt and was resting on her back,
his fingers brushing the band of her bra.

She
knew she should slowly scoot herself off. But she didn't want to. She
brought her knees up, balancing a bit of her weight so she wasn't
crushing his chest with her body. But she laid there, feeling the
weight of his hand on her bare skin, the intimacy that was his hands
in her hair. And it felt nice. It felt comfortable. And right.

She
breathed in his scent, felt his breath on the top of her head. And
realized she wanted him. It was a sensation so strange, so foreign
that she wasn't sure what it was at first. The tightness in her
chest, the hypersensitivity of her skin, the urge to bury herself in
him. The longer she laid there, the faster her heart started to beat,
her fingers reaching up and toying with the ends of his hair. She
felt the undeniable pulsing in her core. A need strong, insistent.

“You
make one hell of a blanket sweetheart,” Xander said beneath
her, his voice sleepy.

Ellie
stiffened slightly, wondering how long he had been awake. If he knew
how long she had been awake. “I... ah... didn't want to wake
you,” she said, sitting up and pulling her leg back toward her
other one.

He
smiled up at her, his arm going behind his head. “No more
nightmares?” he asked, watching her face.

“Nope,”
she said, smiling slightly. She actually hadn't had a nightmare. In
all the years since she finally escaped, she had never had a night
where the dreams didn't come. Sometimes just blurry enough to let her
silently toss and turn. Sometimes so vivid that she would swear she
was there again and woke up screaming so loud, the neighbors would
come pounding on her door. Not one night passed peacefully.

Until
she slept next to Xander.

“Good,”
Xander said, watching as she nibbled slightly at her lower lip. She
looked up and found him watching her and jumped off the bed, moving
quickly toward the kitchen.

He
watched as she bopped around the kitchen, seeming more at ease than
he had seen her before. Maybe it was just a full night of sleep. An
absence of bad dreams. But a part of him, albeit a small part that he
was desperately trying to squash, kind of rather hoped it was because
she had enjoyed being next to, and on him, all night.

He
slowly got up out of bed, walking over to the kitchen. She was
jumping up and down, trying to reach into the cabinet above her head.
God, she was really short. Xander came behind her, pressing up
against her back, reaching up above her to get the extra can of
coffee down. He leaned slightly forward, pushing into her, making her
press against the counter.

He
felt the air whoosh out of her. Her ass was rested against his
thighs, just under his crotch. He brought the can down, putting it on
the counter next to her arm, his fingers brushing hers slightly. She
didn't pull away. Or flinch. He could just lean down, move her hair
out of the way, and sink his lips into the hollows of her neck. He
could grab her, turn her around, lift her up onto the counter, and
kiss her until he got it out of his system.

He
needed to get her out of his system.

Xander
stepped back quickly, raking a hand over his jaw. He was hard. He was
fucking hard just from standing close to her. He cursed himself,
moving to the closet and grabbing fresh clothes. “I'm taking a
shower,” he said, going out into the hallway and slamming the
bathroom door with more force than was necessary.

What
the hell was wrong with him? She was a client. Yes, she was staying
at his house. He was in much closer proximity with her than his usual
clients. But there were at least a dozen other clients he had cross
his path that were more his type: tall, dark hair, more voluptuous
frames, with in-your-face kick-ass personalities. That was his thing.
Not tiny little slips of women with blonde hair and big, innocent
blue eyes.

He
turned the shower spray all the way to the right, wincing as the cold
water splashed over him.

He
needed to get a grip. He didn't even know her. He could barely get a
read on her. And that was a problem. Maybe his attraction was
clouding his judgment. Because he could normally size people up from
a mile away in a dense fog.

Things
with Ellie just weren't adding up. She was jumpy and overly cautious.
She flinched away from men with raised arms. She had no possessions.
No family. No friends. She moved to New York City and spent all of
her free time in her apartment. From what the neighbor said, she
never went out. Never explored. Saw the sights.

He
turned off the tap, scrubbing the water off his skin and slipping
into black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt. He needed to go to
her work. She worked long, grueling hours on her feet slinging hash
and bitter coffee... she was bound to be close to someone there.

Walking
back into the apartment, he went straight to the bedside table to
grab his phone and keys. “Here,” Ellie said, holding out
a mug. “I made coffee. Do you want some eggs for breakfast?”

“No,”
Xander said, wincing at how surly his tone sounded. He walked over,
grabbing the mug and walking over to the counter. He reached upward,
grabbing a paper travel mug, and pouring the coffee into it. “I
need to get to work,” he said, moving into the office he called
back, “Lock the door behind me.”

He
walked. It would take him the better part of an hour but he needed
the exercise. He needed the somewhat fresh air. He needed to put the
space between them in a very tangible way.

He
paused outside of it, looking at the brick exterior, the old
mustard-colored awning with the black writing... and then looking at
the building next door. How didn't he realize it before? He had been
in the bar next door hundreds of times. Why hadn't the address rung a
bell when he first saw it?

With
a long-suffering sigh, he opened the diner door and stepped inside,
met with the strong smell of coffee, hamburgers, and syrup. It was an
odd, but comforting smell for someone who had eaten at diners most of
their life. It was a small diner with six booths and barely enough
floor room for the waitresses to walk.

There
was a pretty young waitress with her red hair pulled into a tight bun
toward the top of her head. She had sharp features and smart eyes.
Calm and capable, almost bored. Like someone who knew they weren't
going to be a career waitress. An older waitress stood behind the
counter, her brown hair cut short enough to meet health code
standards for not needing to be pulled back. Her eyes looked far
away, lost somewhere outside of the job she had spent too many years
of her life in.

“The
booths are all full, but you can sit at the counter if you want,”
the pretty redhead said, coming up toward him with an armful of used
dishes. She looked him up and down, smiling a bit flirtatiously, “I
can take care of you there.”

“Awe
sweetheart,” he said, winking at her, “I actually just
need to talk to you about Ellie,” he said, watching her,
gauging her reaction. Her eyes went wide for a second, surprise. Then
the squinted, raising a brow... suspicious.

“Paula,”
she called to the waitress behind the counter. “This guy has
some questions about Ellie,” she said, moving behind the
counter herself.

Paula
looked over at him, turning her head slightly. “You can talk to
me,” she said, her tone firm, authoritative.

Xander
nodded, moving toward the passway behind the counter, putting his
hands on either side of it, leaning slightly forward. Paula moved
closer, wiping the counter as she walked. “She hasn't been in
since...”

“Two
nights ago,” Xander finished.

“Right,”
Paula said, lowering her brows. “She was here till about
midnight. Handled her last tables, counted her tips, and left.
Nothing weird. Then she didn't come back.”

“And
that's weird?”

“Well,
she was always punctual and never missed a shift, if that's what you
mean. But girls come and go in this job all the time. You come to
expect it. And she was...”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing,”
Paula said, shaking her head.

The
redhead came back, a hand on her hip. Her name tag caught the light:
Trish. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, charming
Xander with her complete lack of subtlety.

“I'm
Xander Rhodes,” he said, reaching in his pocket and opening his
wallet. Revealing his driver's license and his private investigator
license. “I work for Ellie.”

“And
you're here because?” Trish asked.

“Because
some pieces of her story aren't fitting. I need more information to
help her.” The women shared a look. “I wont tell her
where I got it from,” he coaxed them.

Paula
nodded at Trish who sighed. “She never really talked much to
us. I mean... we all talked. About the job and the guests and the
city... little things. But she never shared personal details unless
someone pressed her. And I mean... we didn't want to pry.”

“But
I'm sure you know more than I do... working with her for the past few
months...” Xander encouraged.

Paula
shrugged a shoulder. “She had an abusive boyfriend.”

Xander
pulled a notebook out of his pocket. “She told you that?”

“No.
But... let's just say I'm familiar with the signs. She was always
looking over her shoulder. Always backing away from loud male
customers. Flinching when someone reached in front of her. All the
usual signs. I guessed that's why she moved... to get away from him.”

“She
has no family,” Trish supplied. “She was raised by a
single father. But he died a few years ago. She wasn't dating anyone
here. She didn't have any friends.”

“I
know all of this,” Xander grumbled to himself.

“She
had licenses from three states,” Paula chimed in.

“What?”
Xander's head shot up, certain he had misheard her.

“Yeah...
she dropped her wallet once and they flew all over the floor. I went
to help her pick them up, but she freaked and grabbed them from me.”

“What
states?”

“Umm...
Virginia. And Pennsylvania. Washington. And...”

“Oregon,”
Xander finished, scribbling in his notepad. “Did you ask her
about them?”

“No...
I... I didn't want to press. I figured she was just running from her
ex.”

“Okay,”
Xander said, nodding. “Anything else?”

Trish
shrugged. “I don't know if it means anything, but she has her
check sent to a P.O box... not her address.”

“Alright,”
Xander said, closing his notebook and slipping it back into his
pocket. “Do you happen to have a picture of her?” he
asked, knowing it was a long shot.

Paula
laughed, reaching onto the wall next to the food window. There
hanging under a sign that said “employee of the month”
was a picture of Ellie... looking completely unhappy about having her
picture taken. But he took it. He needed it.

“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.