Dark Mysteries (4 page)

She
looked over at the door with wide eyes. He had actually come in while
she was naked in the shower and taken her clothes. She took a deep
breath, trying not to get agitated, despite what she decided was a
gross invasion of privacy. He seemed like a good guy. She didn't need
to be suspicious of everyone.

The
drawstring on the pants had to be pulled almost completely out and
tied tightly. They still slung down low on her hips, but they would
do. She looked down at her side in the mirror, seeing the deep blue,
purple, and yellow bruises smattering across her skin. Worse than she
had thought. The shock and adrenaline had masked the pain somewhat
and it was growing now, sharp and impossible to ignore.

She
threw on the sweatshirt, opening the door and calling out. “Hey...
do you happen to have a few elastic bandages?”

A
minute later, Xander walked into the doorway, leaning against the jam
causally. “What for?” he asked, looking down at her.
Trying to ignore the fact that she smelled like him. That she was
naked underneath his clothes.

Ellie
saw the patient look on his face that suggested he wasn't going to
get her anything until he knew why. She took a shallow breath,
grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt and pulling it upward, holding it
against the skin right underneath her breasts.

She
heard him exhale a breath, the sound hissing out of his mouth. He
pushed off the door frame and came closer, towering over her. His
head looking down. His hand came up slowly and he looked up at her,
like he was asking permission.

“I
just want to check your ribs,” he explained, waiting.

She
gave him a tight nod of her head and his hands went to her skin,
gentle, whisper-light at first, testing her pain tolerance. She
closed her eyes, half against the pain, half trying to ignore the
rush of an almost foreign sensation through her body. It worked it's
way from his touch to deep in her belly then moving downward. Her
eyes flew open, looking at herself in the mirror, realizing with
absolute clarity, that it was desire. She looked down at the top of
his head, his black hair shiny and soft-looking.

Her
heart started to beat a little faster in her chest and she pushed her
thighs tightly together. What the hell? She couldn't seriously be
into her private investigator. She shook her head. She was just
overly tired. Worked up from the events of the night.

His
fingers started to press into her skin then, pushing away the wave of
desire and making her gasp. He looked up at her apologetically, but
his fingers kept pressing, moving across her skin. She closed her
eyes, feeling tears welling up, and trying to fight them off.

His
hand fell from her a few seconds later. He reached behind her and
opened the closet, pulling out a bunch of still-sealed elastic
bandages. “I don't think they're broken,” he said, his
voice softer than it had been before. “They're just really
badly bruised and they're going to hurt for a while, but we are going
to wrap you anyway just in case,” he said, sounding almost
sorry. Like he had been the one to kick her. “Alright, hands
up,” he instructed, waiting for her to cross both her hands
across her chest, holding her shirt in place, protecting her breasts
from view. “This isn't going to feel great,” he warned
her, starting to wrap, pulling the bandages tight around her belly.
He wrapped her with two bandages quickly, efficiently. He nodded,
reaching for the hem of her sweatshirt and pulling it down. “Okay.
You're all set,” he said, stepping away, his voice sounding
airy.

“Th...
thanks,” she said, looking over at him as he backed out into
the hallway, like he needed to get away from her.

“Don't
mention it,” he said, quickly moving back into the apartment.

Jesus.
He paced the floor next to the kitchen for a moment, running a hand
over his face. He hadn't expected that when she had called him in.
Not the sprawling, painful marks all over her side. She must have
been kicked, hard, over and over in her side for the bruises to be
that widespread and deeply-colored.

He
didn't remember her saying she was kicked. He would check back on his
notes, but he was pretty sure that wasn't part of her story. Which
wasn't completely unusual. Plenty of people didn't recall their
traumas with a lot of clarity. He was impressed she remembered as
much as she did. He heard her move into the room, quietly walking
over to her couch and sitting down.

He
glanced at the clock, realizing it was well after three in the
morning. He needed to get some sleep. In the morning, he needed to
take a trip to her apartment. See if there was anything he could find
out. Then he needed to see if he could catch that cheating husband in
the act if he wanted a paycheck.

Turning,
he flicked off the main light, leaving only a small glow from the one
on his nightstand. He moved toward his bed, kicking off his shoes,
and pulling off his shirt. He was about to reach for his jean zipper
when he thought better of it. He certainly couldn't sleep naked with
her in the room. He sighed, getting into bed and sitting up. He
reached for the remote for the stereo. “Do you sleep better
with or without noise?” he asked.

“Whatever
works better for you,” she answered automatically, slowly
moving into a laying position, ignoring the shooting in her side.

“Doesn't
matter to me,” he said, waiting.

She
paused for a moment. “I sleep better in the quiet,” she
said. Lies. She slept restlessly no matter what. But she had taken up
the habit of sleeping in silence a long time ago. As light a sleeper
as she had learned to be, any kind of noise would wake her up
immediately. Just in case it wasn't a car outside, or a passerby, or
the building settling. In case it was him.

“Quiet
it is,” he said, putting down the remote.

She
was silent for a long time, so long he had figured she had already
fallen asleep. But then suddenly, her voice quiet and sweet, she
asked, “Did you lock the door?”

“No,”
he said. She didn't say anything further, but the silence felt
pregnant, expectant. He got up, rolling his eyes, and walked to the
door, locking it. Despite not needing to. Despite the fact that no
one in the neighborhood would dare to break in. Not the addicts. Not
the dealers. Not the gang members. No one. He could leave the door
wide open and the stash of cash in his desk would never get
disturbed. No one would dare. But she had had a hell of a night. And
she needed the comfort of a locked door. It would have been a stupid
thing to deny her.

He
climbed in bed, knowing sleep wouldn't be coming, but going through
the motions anyway.

Four

Ellie
woke up early, her mind too restless to sleep soundly. Xander was
sleeping, an arm draped over his face, on top of the sheets. She
tried not to look. She really did. But in the end, curiosity... and
maybe a little of the leftover sexual frustration, won out.

He
was ridiculously good-looking. Built like a lumberjack, all thick
muscles under taut skin. Silently, she tip-toed closer, trying to get
a better look. There was an angry red scar leading from his hipbone
and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. She wondered, a
little bit embarrassed at herself, how far it went down. She knew his
line of work must have been dangerous and a part of her wanted to
know how he had gotten it. Chasing down some scumbag? Or was it from
a personal fight? Over a woman? Over money?

Then
she noticed a scar higher up, above his collarbone and snaking
halfway around his throat. Pink still, like it wasn't as new as the
one down his side, but wasn't old either.

What
led a man into a job like his? Was it passed down to him from his
father? Did he just happen upon it? Had it been an actual choice he
had made? She knew from the other private investigators that she had
made appointments with, that Xander Rhodes wasn't what you would
consider 'by the book'. He operated just under the radar of the law,
taking more liberties than he could if the license people ever found
out. Noses could be broken, asses kicked, less than legal spying and
digging around in someone's personal lives carried out.

Had
he just been a brute as a teen? Blackmailing people for money? And
then a career grew from it?

Xander
shifted in his sleep and she jumped, moving away from him and back to
the couch. She carefully folded the blanket and put the pillow on top
of it, placing them on the top of the back cushions. She moved into
the kitchen, quietly putting coffee on, and searching for something
to make for breakfast. In the fridge, she found eggs, an assortment
of yogurt, butter, milk, and six pack of beer. She grabbed the eggs
and butter and the loaf of half-stale bread off the counter, moving
around as soundlessly as possible.

“Are
you cooking?” Xander asked from right behind her shoulder,
making her yelp and drop an egg onto the counter, she turned quickly,
instinctively, one hand curled into a fist at her side, the other on
her rapidly beating heart. “Didn't mean to scare you,” he
said, reaching for paper towels and wiping up the egg mess on the
counter.

“Sorry,”
she said, trying to help him, but he brushed her away. “I
didn't mean to wake you up.”

“I
wasn't sleeping,” he said, throwing the paper towel into the
garbage and reaching for the coffee put, smirking devilishly. “Did
you like what you saw?” he asked, watching her face twist into
a mask of mortification. He smiled wider, almost as if enjoying her
embarrassment. “Relax. I got to see you half naked last night.
You got to see me half naked this morning. We're even.”

“I
wasn't half naked,” she objected, turning and flipping a piece
of french toast in the pan.

“Alright,”
he said, pouring coffee into two cups, “a third naked. We're
not square then. Care to even it up?” he asked, his tone
amused, teasing.

“Ha
ha,” she said, deadpan, shaking her head.

She
seemed different in the morning, more calm. Collected. Efficient. She
had pulled her long hair into one of the bands she kept wrapped
around her wrists, making her profile seem younger. He looked down at
her cracking eggs into the bowl, seeing the wrist left naked. And saw
for the first time scars. White. Long healed. Some almost superficial
looking, small scratches. But there was one thick, bracelet-sized
band that wrapped around her wrist in a complete circle, slightly
thicker at one small spot. What the hell was that from? He looked up
to her face, not quite believing that she was the type who might have
cut in the past. And, from what he knew about it, no one actually cut
a complete circle. It was always lines. Across the wrist. Or up the
arm if they were serious about finality. But how else could she have
come by them?

“I
hope you like your eggs scrambled,” she said, feeling his gaze
on her, shifting uncomfortably under it. “I always burn them
when I try to make them over easy.”

“Any
way,” he said, turning away from her. “I'm not picky.”
He rarely ever had breakfast. It was usually just half a pot of
coffee and he was on his way. His stomach grumbled as if objecting to
the pattern. He looked back at her. “Did you sleep well?”
he asked, feeling a little uncomfortable in the silence.

She
waved a spatula out to the side. “It was hard to find a
comfortable position with my ribs,” she admitted, shrugging a
dainty shoulder, “but well enough. Thanks for letting me stay
here,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Don't
mention it,” he said, moving the papers off of the card table.

“So...
why couldn't you sleep?” she asked, pouring the eggs into a
greased pan.

“I
don't sleep,” he grumbled, noticing his voice sounded surly and
coughed. “I had a case a few weeks ago that didn't go well.
Haven't been able to sleep well since,” he admitted, surprising
himself. But, god, it felt so good to say it.

Ellie
stopped, midway through soaking a piece of bread in egg and glanced
at him, her blue eyes full of sympathy. “I'm sorry to hear
that. What was the case?” she asked, a part of her sensing he
needed to talk about it. Maybe because she had that same need. But
she had no one to talk to. No one she was willing to put in danger
like that.

Xander
hung his head. “A stalker case,” he said, noticing she
jerked slightly and turned toward him. Expecting an explanation. He
took a deep breath. “It was the girlfriend to a big venture
capitalist. Someone at her work was stalking her. But she waited a
long time before contacting me. I got nowhere with it and then she
was kidnapped and held and tortured...”

“Wait,”
Ellie broke in, quickly stirring the eggs and turning back around,
“that was in the papers,” she said, her brows drawing
together, trying to remember the article. “EM Corporation. The
CEO... Elliott something-or-other...”

“Michaels,”
Xander supplied, knowing she was out of town and didn't know him. Not
like everyone in the city knew him. He was constantly snatching up
businesses and growing them, then selling them off. He heard that his
newest project was two brand new apartment buildings, one upscale and
one in one of the bad neighborhoods. Low income for single parents.
There was some speculation that it was a project with some personal
meaning.