Innocence

A Novel of Olympus
 
Cora rolled out of the car onto the wet pavement and, somehow
managing to get her feet under her, ran. She moved shakily in borrowed
high heels, smacking through puddles. Her speed was good, considering the
state of her head. One minute she was being helped into the car, giggling at
her clumsiness and the numb feeling of her skin.
Something about the night and the man’s cologne—rich and too
strong—had made her head swirl away. Next her body slammed onto the
car seat (she was disturbed by the way she fell as if she was made of lead)
and the pain of the seatbelt buckle digging up into her back. Then a slight
sound: the zip of a zipper.
She did know how she flung herself out of the car so quickly, or
why her body felt slow, as if she was pushing through water. In reality she
was moving as fast as she could, driven by the angry shouts and footsteps
behind her. She was outrunning him though, dashing through the wet streets
in a city she didn’t know. Glancing at signs and tearing air by gasps into her
body, Cora let adrenaline carry her. It was raining, she could sense that
much. The cold cleared her head.
“Cora!” came the rough call, from somewhere down the street.
“Cora, you have to come back!” He was still following.
Why? Who was he? She stood shivering, tucked in the shadows of a
building. She waited, listening to his curses at the wet street.
“Cora,” he called again, and his voice was angry. Violent. He was
getting closer.
It couldn’t have been alcohol—she hated the stuff. She had agreed
to go to the bar for the dancing alone, ordering water when all her friends
got drinks.
Yet, as the night and the dancing had gone on, things had gotten
fuzzier and fuzzier. Until the guy with the dark hair, dancing a little too
close, and then helping her out of the club when her friends were strangely
gone. Until the hand pushing her down onto the back seat of a car she didn’t
know. Until the streaking rain on her face, blinding her and waking her at
the same time.
 She paused on one of the street corners, gasping with fear and
adrenaline, shaking wet hair from her face. She didn’t know which way to
go; every way was a nightmare, more dark pavement and cold, wet night.
The streetlights washing the sidewalk blurred.
“Cora!” The next call blasted from somewhere nearer. She shot from
the shadows, flying across the street to a sloop of steps leading to a door
below street level. Flinging herself down them, she tried frantically to open
the door— hearing the guy behind her— and rushed in.
Her refuge was a bar or club of some sort, probably private, judging
from the subdued lighting and mahogany wood that filled the place with
shadows. Dimly she could make out an empty bar, and booths lit by small
lamps. Trying to quiet her breathing, she slipped to the wall on her left,
hugging the darkness. She passed a doorman’s stool and a coatroom,
steeling herself for the appearance of a bouncer.
There seemed to be no one there, though. When she paused and
listened very hard, all she heard was the pounding of her heart, and a few
subdued voices in the back. The place was closed for the night, or very,
very exclusive. If she moved quietly enough she might be able to find a
back door, and leave unnoticed.
Her plan held for a few seconds, and then the door behind her burst
open. She bit back a scream, cringing in the shadows and slipping away.
The arrival of her pursuer caught more than her attention, though. From the
far left came a shout. The bouncer.
He gave a challenge, coming to see what was going on. Cora didn’t
wait to see what would happen. She blindly felt along the wall until she
nearly fell into a corridor.
“Hey, man, you can’t come in here.” The bouncer had found her
pursuer. Cora waited in the hall, listening.
“I was with my girl— I just need to see if she came in here…”
Scared as she was, something in Cora protested: I’m not his girl; I’d
never met him before tonight. The bouncer was also arguing with him,
telling him the place was private.
“If you remain here, Mr. Ubeli ain’t gonna be happy with you,” the
man’s voice was unnaturally deep, and Cora imagined a huge man with a
shaved head, a brute in a suit. “You need to leave.”
“No, I’m telling you, she ran this way…”
 The seconds ticked by, and Cora realized that her pursuer wasn’t
going to leave.
Then there were sounds of movement, a shout—“Hey, you can’t go in
there!”
In fear Cora backed deeper into the hallway. Then she turned and
grabbed the closest door knob she could find. It was locked. Frantic, she
moved down to the next one. The voices were getting closer.
The door opened. Blindly, she rushed through and closed it, cutting
off the shouts.
                     Inside were more subdued light and mahogany shades. Cora
stood with her back to the door, and gasped as soon as her eyes adjusted to
the light. In front of her, beyond an expanse of rich red carpet, was a desk.
Behind the desk, was a man.
She froze. Her mind, which had been racing forward from the
night’s first threat, now turned sluggishly to this new problem. Interrupting
this man, with his imposing office in a very private club, would probably
lead to trouble. Yet, she would rather face him than go back out there.
So she stood, barely daring to breathe, water dripping from her hem
onto the beautiful rug. The man was working by desk light, in a room as
covered in shadow as the club.
For a second Cora thought that he hadn’t seen her, absorbed as he
was in the papers in front of him. Then, in a calm movement, he raised his
head and looked at her.
Cora moved back against the door. Shadows rested on much of the
man’s face, especially under his eyes. These he moved over her, taking in
her too short dress, her garish heels, her wet hair. Her terror-filled eyes.
Cora, heart racing painfully from running, stood frozen. No one said
anything.
Slowly the man rose, a question forming on his lips. Cora also
stepped forward, mind racing with possible explanations. But she met the
man’s eyes, dark with grey circles under them, accented by the brooding
light, and all her answers melted away.
Behind her, a knock sounded sharply against the door. Cora shot backwards,
her arms wrapped around herself. Her face, pale with cold, was stained
suddenly with a blush of fear.
“Mr. Ubeli?” someone called.
 “Yes?” the man before Cora answered the caller without taking his
eyes from her.
The door opened slightly, and Cora shrank back, but the speaker
didn’t enter the room and she was completely hidden behind the door.
“We got a guy out here, says he’s lost some lamb he’s lookin’ out
for. You hear?”
“I hear, Sharo,” said the man called Mr. Ubeli, “Get rid of him.”
Cora felt her whole body relax. Her breath escaped silently, even as Sharo
said, “You got it, boss. Do you want me to dump him?”
“No, just turn him away. Smack him a bit if he means trouble.” Mr.
Ubeli glanced down at his desk, shifting some papers as he called out
orders. “Let me know when you’ve done the job.”
“Yeah, Mr. Ubeli. Will do.”
With a nod, Sharo was dismissed. The door closed, leaving Cora
exposed again, alone with Mr. Ubeli. For a moment, the man studied his
surprise guest with narrowed eyes.
“Was that guy giving you trouble?” he asked, moving out from
behind his desk.
“Yes,” Cora whispered. “Thank you.” Hunching her shoulders, she
shivered, and Mr. Ubeli came forward carefully, as if approaching a wild
animal that might run.
She shrank away, but he walked past her, going to the coat rack
beside the door and lifting a coat from it. Returning, he held it out, shaking
the sleeve toward her arm.
For a second Cora didn’t move. She stared up at the man, into the
deep, shadowed eyes. Then, turning, she put her arm through the sleeve,
and let him help her into the coat. Once it was on, she realized it was a suit
jacket, gray and too big for her, hanging slightly over her hands. Shaking
now with relief more than fear or cold, she let the man guide her one of the
chairs before the desk. She sank into it, hoping her wet body wouldn’t ruin
the red leather, and blinked stupidly when the man handed her a shot glass
full of some liquid.
“Drink it,” he said, and, for some reason, she did. Perhaps she was
tired of the shocked rabbit fear her body had been reacting to, and she was
ready to be told what to do. The liquid was cool and heavy and burned all
the way down to her stomach, where it spread in a bloom of warmth. She
felt her head clear even more.
“I’m in trouble,” she began, her voice somewhat stable. The man
had moved behind the desk again. She was ready to say more when a knock
sounded on the door. Her body shot up again, face white, eyes turned to her
savior, Please help me.
The man put out his hand in a gesture to steady her, while he called,
“Yes?”
This time the door didn’t open. “Mr. Ubeli, we got him out.”
“Alright, Sharo. If he comes around again, make sure he knows he’s
not wanted.”
“Yes, sir.”
It wasn’t until Sharo had been gone several minutes that Cora
relaxed again. In the meantime, Mr. Ubeli had casually gone to his bar and
poured himself a drink.
“He won’t be out there anymore,” he assured her. “Sharo will have
taken care of him.”
“Yeah,” Cora breathed shakily. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” he said almost immediately, pouring some liquid into
a glass. “I don’t like to see lost lambs get cooked. He do that?” A nod of the
black head to her dress, where she saw the fabric was torn a little, probably
from when she was thrown on the seat by too eager hands.
“Yeah,” Cora said again, gulping back a sob. She drew her arms
around herself, gratefully for the extra skin of the suit jacket around her.
“Hey,” said Ubeli, coming to her and leaning back on his desk,
looking down at her, “It’s going to be all right now. Dicks like that don’t
last very long on these streets.”
Unsure what he meant, but softening to his tone, Cora swallowed
her tears and gave a nod. The next question caught her off guard.
“You’re his girl?”
“No,” Cora said violently, shaking her head and shuddering, “No. I
didn’t know him before tonight.”
“And wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for the clear stuff in your
drink.”                    
“No,” Cora said again, confused, looking up into the dark eyes. “No,
I didn’t drink any alcohol.”
 “The clear stuff goes into water,” Mr Ubeli said, setting his own drink
on the desk. “Did you drink any water?”
Cora nodded miserably, looking down. The weight of the night was
starting to fall on her.
“Hey,” he said again, softly. “It’s not your fault. The way a dick
behaves—” the man shook his head, holding her eyes as he said slowly, “It
wasn’t your fault.”
Cora let herself look at her rescuer, taking in the planes of his face—
grey with an old shave’s shadow, but framed with clean cut black hair. He
was wearing a dress shirt and pants; she was probably wearing his suit
jacket, she realized. His suit looked well made, if not tailored. Looking up
at him, she realized he was studying her as she had been studying him.
“What’s your name, kid?” he asked.
“Cora,” she said uncertainly, not sure if she should tell him.
“Cora, my name is Marcus. Marcus Ubeli.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, trying not to sound nervous. He
looked at her a little longer, then gave a nod and left her side, moving to the
door. She turned to watch, but he only opened the door, spoke to someone
waiting outside, and shut it again.
“Yeah,” he said, “yeah. Have the car ready.” Looking back at her, he
asked, “Do you have a ride home?”
She shook her head.
“How ‘bout I take you to a place to stay. Somewhere safe. Sleep a
little, and then I’ll take you home?”
“Yes, I mean… I don’t know where I’m staying,” she said, twisting
the fabric of the jacket between her hands. Marcus’s eyes flickered down,
noticing this nervous gesture, and then back up to her face. Cora continued,
“I mean, I was staying with friends. I’m new in the city; I don’t have a place
to live.”
“Do these friends have a phone?”
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “But I don’t know the number.” She was
reluctant to look up at him. “For a while I was with my aunt in the suburbs.
I know where she lives … at least, I think I can find it. I don’t know,
though. I’ve only been there in the daylight.”  
Through her speech Marcus’s face never altered. He waited until she
was done, nodding slowly.
 “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll find you a hotel room tonight.” He
waited to see if that was okay before continuing, “In the morning we’ll look
up your aunt.”
Cora nodded, relieved. The plan was better than anything she could
think up.
“Alright,” she agreed, and stood. Marcus moved to the door, opened
it, and waited.
“After you,” he said in his smooth voice.
Cora moved back through the corridor she had come down only a
half hour ago, pausing only to let Mr. Ubeli escort her through his club. A
large man in a suit, Sharo, was at the door.
“Your car is ready, Mr. Ubeli.” He had the deep voice of the bouncer
she had heard before, but he was younger, and more trim than the man she
had imagined. His black head gleamed bald even in the dim light.
“Thanks, Sharo. Is that dick gone?”
“We shipped him off to Westside. Even if he makes it through the
night alive, he won’t find his way back here. If he comes again, we’ll be
ready.” At this point, Sharo’s eyes flickered to Cora, but his face didn’t
betray any surprise that his boss had a girl with him.
They left by another door from the one Cora had entered, and,
although she knew her hunter was gone, she couldn’t help but scan the
street before stepping out of the door and into the waiting car.
“Don’t worry,” Marcus said, sliding in next to her. “That guy’s long
gone.”  
The car pulled away from the curb, starting down the rainy street.
Cora sat with her ankles crossed and looked out of the dark window. She
gulped hard, without realizing it.
Marcus sat beside her, watching her pale face and throat work
against fear. In a sudden move, he put his hand against her cheek, drawing
her gaze away from the empty city blocks. Cora stilled, but his hand was
warm and confident, cupping her chin gently.
“Hey, kid,” he said tenderly, “don’t be afraid. I’m going to take care
of you.”
And it was just that kindness that broke her. Cora shut her eyes and
let the tears squeeze out, and then let them pour out, streaking her face as
the sobs shuddered through her. Marcus moved towards her and she clung
to him, sobbing on his shirt as the car rolled smoothly on through dark,
dangerous streets.
When she was finished crying, a patch of Marcus’ shirt was damp
and his arms were around her, cradling her body.
“You done, kid?” he asked, and she nodded, and he withdrew his
arms carefully.
“I’m sorry,” she said stuffily, because her face was puffy from
crying. “Your shirt.”
Marcus gave a little laugh, and moved back onto his side of the car
seat. “Kid, my shirt is the least of your problems. But don’t worry,” he
looked back at her and said firmly. “I’m going to take care of you.” The
planes of his face, so sharp and shadowed, softened into a slight smile. Cora
weakly answered it with one of her own, leaning back on the seat with a
tired slump.
The car had pulled up to a high rise, and Marcus himself helped her
out of the car. For a second he left her to give instructions to the driver, and
she waited on the sidewalk, washed in the light of a marquee.
“Sure thing, Mr. Ubeli,” the driver said. The car door slammed, and
her host was back at her side.
“This way, kid,” With one hand at her back, he led her past the
doormen, through the fine lobby to an elevator in the back. The only one
who approached them was a man in a suit, certainly one of the hotel staff.
“Welcome, Mr. Ubeli,” he murmured, and bowed a little. For
moment his gaze flickered to her face, but he immediately averted his eyes.
Cora was too tired to pay attention. As they rode in the elevator, she leaned
a little against her guide. Marcus Ubeli slipped an arm around her.
“Almost there,” he said, and then they were. Taking the key out of
his pocket, he said, “I keep this room for emergencies,” and opened the
door. Inside was dark and warm, a massive room stretching out against the
windows, which covered one whole wall and let in the light of the city.
A penthouse, Cora thought with exhausted awe. I’m spending the
night in a penthouse.
Without turning on any lights Marcus went from her towards an
enclosed space. She peered after him, thinking she saw a kitchen, and he
was browsing in a cabinet.
 There was a clink of glass and then he was back, guiding her to the
bedroom where he let her get in bed before holding a glass to her lips.
“Drink,” he said. “It will help you sleep.”
Eyes fighting to keep open, she tried to take the glass. In the end,
Marcus tipped the red liquid past her lips. When she finally lay back he
covered her with blankets.
“You okay, kid?” he said from the door, just before she fell asleep.
Cora mumbled something, tasting the sweet heaviness on her lips, and,
feeling the warmth spread, fell asleep.
*
When Cora woke up, she remembered the drink—the red, liquid
jewel-like in the glass. She startled awake, ready to run again, before she
noticed that she was not in the backseat of a car, but in the very dark room
of a hotel penthouse. There was no one with her, and even though her head
felt heavy from its long rest in the clinging pillow, she was safe.
Slowly, she started remember the night before. The club, her friends,
the man she danced with, the backseat of the car. The undone belt and
zipper. And then wet pavement as she ran away, down the streets until she
found the basement stairs, and the door, and everything that lay behind it.
That part seemed like a dream, and she would deny it happened, except she
was lying between the smooth sheets, the velvety soft pillow of a five-star
hotel bed.
As she got up, she noticed the bedside table. There was a glass still
there, with a few ruby drops clinging to it. And she realized that last night,
in the club, she had accepted one drink—red and rich. The guy who gave to
her had said it was cranberry juice.
“Oh, no,” she groaned, and sat up groggily. She put a hand to her
head: it felt thick and swollen, with her hair mussed over it. Looking for a
clock, she wondered how long she had slept. When she ventured out of bed,
moving carefully as if she was made of glass, she found a bathroom
adjacent to the room. There the cool marble stung her tender feet. Squinting
over the two sinks— both made out of a striking black marble— she saw
the color had returned to her cheeks. She must have slept long, and well.
There was a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste at the sink, and
towels—black and cream colored to match the marble— all there as if they
were waiting for her.
 After she had showered, she found that someone had left a shopping
bag on a chair near the door. The skirt and top she found inside were her
size. She dressed, wondering if she was alone or if the person who had
brought these things was still there, waiting for her to wake.
Leaving the bedroom, she squinted, expecting a blast of morning
light. But the long wall of windows was covered with sleek Venetian blinds,
and the only light that got through was grey. There were no lights on in the
living room, either. She ventured forward, wondering if she was alone.
“How did you sleep?” The voice came from the darkness. There, in
an armchair in the sitting area down by the bar, was Marcus Ubeli.
“Fine,” she said, clutching her body with her arms. She moved
down towards him, looking around. The room stretched out in shadow,
massive against the long wall of windows. The penthouse must take up one
whole side of the building, she realized. There was a kitchen and bar,
sunken areas for lounging, TVs and, in one corner, a baby grand piano.
Everything was in grey or black, with touches of cream.
“Do you like the place?” Marcus Ubeli asked. He was sitting like a
king among the expensive furnishings, drink in hand. The shadows were
grey on his face and under his eyes as he watched her move through the
room.
She shrugged. “It’s nice.” To get into the lowered seating area, she
passed a statue, a contorted figure in white marble.
“That’s mine,” he commented, and she paused politely to stare at it.
“The hotel lets me furnish this place to my tastes.”
The statue was of a woman, a body and thin cloth all finely sculpted.
It looked Greek, and well done, but the figure’s face unsettled her—a sweet
youth’s features twisted as if in some horror or fear. She moved on,
descending into the sunken area where her host was sitting.
“Is this where you live?” Cora asked.
Marcus Ubeli chuckled. “No, I just keep it in case I want to get
away.”
Drawing in her breath, she nodded as if this was normal. But she
couldn’t imagine what a place like this would cost. Whatever it was, Mr.
Ubeli was a man of means.
“Would you like a drink?” He stood abruptly, and she shrank away
from his dark and tall figure, suddenly imposing. But he only turned and
went up the steps to the bar.
“No, thank you.” she shook her head, feeling the wooziness still
clinging there. At the bar, glass clinked and then he was back. “How long
did I sleep?”
Again, a small chuckle. It wasn’t unkind, but it made her feel like
she missed the joke. “I just watched the sunset.”
Suddenly horrified, she went to the window. Pulling at the slats of
the blinds, she peered out into a city, bright with rows of light, artificial and
multicolored against a very dark night sky.
“Oh, no,” she said again, for the second time since waking. She
turned back to her host, who now was standing, his figure cut half through
with black, half in grey.
“Forgive me,” he said, and she was startled again. He didn’t look
like a man who would apologize. “I let you sleep as long as you could.” His
face was in darkness; she couldn’t make out any expression beyond that
which was in his voice. “I made sure you were okay; someone stayed here,
just in case you woke. But when I returned you hadn’t woken.” His voice
dropped, became softer. “I figured you needed it.”
“It’s okay,” Cora said, although she felt weak. She’d slept a whole
day! And someone had stayed with her—she wondered who, and hoped it
wasn’t the muscular bouncer she had seen in the club. She had so many
questions, but she bit them back, feeling the dark eyes on her.
“You hungry?”
She shook her head sharply, remembering the pitch of her stomach
during the chase. The memory didn’t seem a day old.
Too late, she thought of her manners. She had been raised to always
accept food or offers of hospitality. Probably a habit she needed to break in
the city. “I’m sorry. My aunt,” she said awkwardly. “She’ll be wondering
where I am.”
Marcus Ubeli nodded, and set down his drink. “And we should get
you to her.” He gestured smoothly to the door, and held out his hand. “Are
you ready to go?”
When they left the elevator to go through the lobby, she was now
aware of covert glances the hotel staff was giving her. Biting her lip, she
lowered her eyes so she wouldn’t have to meet them. The new clothes she
wore, though less skimpy than the dress, were still quite form fitting; the
skirt a tad too short. The only shoes she had were the tall heels, so she
wasn’t surprised when she tripped a little. Mr. Ubeli had her arm, so she
made it out of the hotel and into the waiting car without a fall.
“Take us east,” he ordered the driver. “Out of the city,” At the
wheel, Sharo nodded without turning around. Cora saw his face in the
rearview mirror, expressionless. He wore a suit, cut smartly over his large
frame. A headset wrapped around his shaved head. Every so often, he
cocked his head and touched a hand to it, as if receiving its messages. Then
a glass divider rose between the two seats, and Cora could no longer see the
bald head through the tinted glass. Mr. Ubeli took his hand from the button,
and leaned back with a smile.
“Just relax, kid. It’ll take a while.”
The trek out of the city was long, but Cora let it pass in silence. The
lights of the city slid over the gleaming black car, and the high rises fell
away, replaced by long lines of drab houses.
At one point, she covertly studied her host. Marcus Ubeli was sleek
in a grey suit and silk tie, his black hair shining even in the dark. His
temples held a little grey, but he was a young man still, she could tell. His
dark eyes didn’t miss much, and when he caught her looking at him, he
gave her a study of his own, so intense that she blushed and looked away.
His features, sharpened by the shadows on his face, held no smile, but she
felt he was enjoying himself, somehow. Curling away from him, she
wrapped her arms around herself and looked out the window for the rest of
the way.
When they reached the neighborhood of her aunt the divider
between the seats went down again, so she could give the driver directions.
After an awkward time of twisting down streets, following fragments of
Cora’s memory, they finally turned onto a road that she recognized. The
houses were particularly run down, but it was still with relief that Cora
pointed to a middle one and said, “There. That’s the one.”
The car stayed as she ran up the path to the house. After ringing the
bell twice, a sinking feeling replaced elation. The houses on either side
were alive with light and noise, but her aunt’s was silent, its windows
curtained and grey. Without signs of life, the place seemed eerie and
deserted.
 She knocked again, loudly, and called a few times. In the end, she
had to turn around, face the car and the two watching faces, and shrug
helplessly. After a moment, Sharo got out and opened the back door again.
Inside, she knew, Marcus Ubeli was waiting for her.
Before her lay an invitation, a glorious city swelling with people and
night lights. Behind her was nothing: no aunt, no way to get in, and no
prospect of a homey, warm welcome. But it was still with dragging steps
that she walked back to the car and got in.
*
Weeks later, Cora walked down the street in the big city. Her skirt
and shoes were her own—the ones her friends had lent her were returned,
with little thanks. When she had finally found them again, they had
professed worry about the night they left her at the club. But any guilt was
short-lived compared to their curiosity towards Cora’s new life. She had
found an apartment, thanks to Mr. Ubeli. It was not close to her friends, but
soon after Cora started dating Marcus and faced their sharpened curiosity of
her dark and mysterious knight, she grew tired of them. Declining all
invitations to go clubbing again, she lost touch with her old friends.
Watching her reflection in the glass windows of the shops she
passed, she realized she had no regrets. The young woman looking back at
her was a big city girl. Her apartment was only a walk away from the
boutique where she worked and the neighborhood was a better one than she
would have been able to afford.  But seeing as it was let out by a relation of
Marcus Ubeli, and he was willing to put in a good word for her, she got it
for astonishingly little, furnished, with no down payment required. When
she asked who owned it, he said it was his cousin.
Standing now in front of her door, picking up her mail, she threw a
glance at the door to the other apartment. Whoever this cousin was, she was
rarely at home in the adjacent apartment, where Marcus claimed she lived.
At least it was quiet.
Cora turned the key and stepped into the darkness with a smile. She
breathed deeply the smell of lemony cleaner and florist flowers. She knew
before she flicked on the lights the apartment was spotless and picture
perfect. The housekeeping, which was included, always happened Cora was
out; often she returned home to crisp new sheets and cabinets stocked with
food, drink, toiletries. And Marcus always left her a bouquet of flowers.
 Marcus is a perfect gentleman, she told herself an hour later, as she
put in her earrings in front of the foyer mirror, waiting for Sharo to knock
on the door. Sometimes Marcus sent his employee to pick her up; he got
caught up in meetings sometimes but didn’t like to be late for their outings.
Sharo was a decent stand in, taking her to a restaurant, where they would
serve her a glass of wine, and Marcus would always arrive soon after,
smiling and full of compliments to her beauty.
A perfect gentleman, she thought again. He hadn’t even tried to kiss
her, just put his arm around her to keep her warm whenever they went on
long drives through the park, or to his favored private club on the edge of
the city. And when he took her to more dangerous parts of town in order to
show her a friend’s restaurant, he would loop her arm through his as they
walked from the car into the building, and stay at her side all night. She felt
safe with him.
He was generous, too. The roses in the foyer were a gift from him.
The dress and necklace she wore were other gifts. She always blushed when
she got a gift—it seemed too much.
Once, telling her that he had to miss a date because of business, he
told her to go into a shop and try on some of the wares. Sharo had followed,
a silent shadow who saw everything, and said nothing. Everything she
touched, whether she liked in or not, arrived in large shopping bags at her
apartment the next day.
She certainly lacked for nothing. Indeed, sometimes it seemed that
she was given too much attention. Once in a while, returning home from
work in the evening, she would be coming down the street and get the
feeling that she was being watched. She’d look over quickly, and there
would be the sleek tip of a car, just turning out of an alley, or parked on the
street. Its windows were tinted, but she could just imagine the smooth head
of Sharo, waiting patiently and following her movements with a steady
stare.
It’s just a coincidence, Cora thought to herself as she got ready for
her evening out. You’re making up something to be worried about, things
are so perfect. Standing in the small room that served as a foyer in front of
the door, she faced the mirror one last time.
Tonight was important. Marcus had been busy lately, working early
and late and all hours in between, so that she barely saw him for weeks
unless he was worn out. Their last date had been three nights ago, at a new
restaurant called simply Nectar. His car had met her after work and taken
her straight to the place, despite her protests that she wasn’t dressed for the
occasion. The night started with champagne in the car, and ended with them
both on the top of the building, looking down over the world while the band
played softly for the few late customers.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“You’re beautiful,” Marcus wasn’t looking at the city. “I think I like
you in your work clothes.”
She half-frowned. “You owe me for this, Marcus Ubeli.” She rarely
spoke so freely to him, but tonight she was relaxed. His mouth quirked—
the closest thing to a laugh he had—and she went on. “Dragging me to this
fancy restaurant, plying me with champagne… I’m barely fit to ride on
public transport in these clothes.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he had said. “I’ll buy you a dress.”
She had blushed; she always did. And his face, usually so serious
under the dark hair, had held a little half smile. “I’d buy you all this if I
could.” He swept his hand over the city, glittering below them like a box of
jewels. Cora had giggled. She knew he was teasing.
“You mean you can’t?” she smiled back. “Mr. Ubeli, what will we
do with you? You’ve been working so hard.” She had looked up at his dark
features, at the slates under his eyes, evidence of long, long nights.
“I’ve missed you, kid.” He said. Two fingers came to stroke her
cheek. “I can’t believe I have someone like you.”
Then they both stared at each other. These words were like nothing
they had ever spoken to each other, and stunned them both. For a moment
they were silent, looking down at the city. Then Cora spoke up, haltingly.
“You’ve been great too. You’re kind, more than generous. You’ve
treated me like a princess. I came to the city with such big dreams, but…
every girl dreams of a life like this. You’ve made it come true.”  She looked
up at him there, knowing that her cheeks were alive with the heat of the
moment and the cold of the wind. His fingers were still there against them,
but still as if any movement more than breathing would shatter it all.
“Cora,” he whispered, and she strained to hear, for the wind nearly
took his words. “I want…”
 “What?” she had whispered back, but there was no answer. In the
silence she had shivered a little, and then he was there, folding her into his
chest, suit jacket and satin handkerchief pressing into her cheek. And he
had been warm, so strong, and nothing could take her away from his shelter,
or his heat.
“I want to keep you safe,” he had said. “I want to hold you, like
this…”
“Shh…” she had said, and closed her eyes. They had stayed that
way for a long time, till after the band stopped playing, and the waiters
swept up, and finally they went back down to where Sharo sat in the car
with a fist over his mouth to keep from yawning. She had kept her head on
Marcus’ shoulder all the way home, as the light on the car window softened
with dawn.
Cora looked up again to the mirror in the foyer. Marcus had kept his
promise. The dress had arrived that afternoon, with a note: Wear it, and
we’ll call it even. She had grown used to opening gifts in the weeks that he
had been preoccupied with work, but this one made her gasp as she lifted it
from the tissue—the fabric was luminous grey and covered over with clear
beads that glinted like city lights. A small box accompanied it. It opened to
showcase a necklace. The setting was shaped like tear, two diamonds and
another stone, a large red one she could not recognize.
So she found herself standing in the dim light of the little foyer,
allowing herself one last look in the mirror before her escort knocked on the
door and whisked her away to Marcus. The dress was lovely, soft and grey,
like the stuff of clouds. The tiny beads twinkled, even though the only light
in her dark apartment came from the cityscape outside her windows. She
had turned out the lights in preparation to go out, and now saw her
reflection in stark shadow and dulled light.
Still, her eyes were shining, and the jewels at her ears and neck
flashed in the light of the city. She smiled. A happy, but pale face smiled
back. She touched her cheek with cold fingers. So white, as if she’d been
frightened. Patting them sharply to give them some color, she breathed in
the scent of the roses…
A knock sounded behind her, and she jumped out of her skin.
Grabbing her clutch, she turned to the door and checked through the peep
hole, as Marcus had instructed her. City instinct, he had told her. Don’t trust
you know what’s beyond your own front door.
The head outside the door was bent. Frowning, she waited for it to
straighten so she could see a face. It certainly wasn’t Sharo; his head was
shaved. The one she was looking at had a full head of hair, brown and a bit
tousled, though wet as though it was raining on the streets.
Finally, the head raised. She went cold as she recognized the face
from that night at the dive, the night that ended with her on her back for
brief seconds in a car, and then a brief chase through the streets, and,
finally, the empty club where she had met Marcus.
She backed away from the door, fright closing her throat, and
though she knew he hadn’t seen her, she still wanted to run to her bedroom
and hide, like a child, under the bed. Instead, she retreated to the kitchen,
grabbed her phone, and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Shaking,
she dialed. It was a number Marcus had given her if she needed to reach
him. No one ever picked up, but she had never left a message before
without Marcus or Sharo getting the information.
“Hello,” she whispered in the bathroom, “this is Cora.” Her voice
was probably shaking, but she gave every detail as carefully as she could,
speaking slowly, like a small child. Then she hung up and waited.
Twenty minutes later, she thought she could hear another knock on
the door. Phone in hand, she didn’t move. Again, a knock. Then the phone
rang, breaking the silence and nearly causing her to scream. She answered it
with a half-strangled,
“Hello?”
Sharo was at the door. It took three tries for her shaking self to undo
the lock, and when she did, he came in before she asked him, ushering her
to a couch with a strong hand, flipping on lights as he did. He poured her a
drink and assured her Marcus was on his way. Darting out again, she heard
voices in her foyer, and looked up in fear.
But it must have been one of Sharo’s acquaintances, because he was
back with her quickly, a certain look on his face that told her that he was
cautiously pleased with something.
“You okay?” In his deep voice and dark eyes, there was something
of concern.
“Yes,” she said. “I think so.”
 “Two of my men was outside the apartment, and I think he may
have spotted him. They think he may have spotted them, and dived down
into city transport. They’re still on the trail.” There it was again, a look of
quiet smugness that suggested Sharo was sure he’d have his hands on the
man soon. “You’ll never see him again.”
“He didn’t do anything,” she said. “Just scared me, that’s all. How—
how did he find me?”
But Sharo’s face was now impassive, and he was suddenly no longer
willing to speak. A few minutes later, Marcus arrived, and she was
comforted, complimented and even cradled again. All the while Sharo
watched, and Cora felt the silent, knowing glances between the man and his
boss.
“Why don’t we stay in tonight, babe. Go order Greek; Sharo will
pick it up for us.” She left the room reluctantly, feeling the eyes of two men
on her. When she returned, they were standing close to one another, both
faces were hard and strained, though she had heard no raised voices. As
quiet as she was creeping back, she only heard Marcus mutter “Don’t let it
happen again,” before he turned back to her, a cold but gracious host.
“Give Sharo the number so he can get the food.” As the bald man
left the room, Marcus added, “I don’t want any delivery boy knowing where
she lives.” The quiet fury on his face made her pause halfway to the couch,
even when he put out his hand to call her to him. She remained where she
was.
“Marcus,” she asked when Sharo had gone, “who is this guy?”
“I told you, kid. Just some dick off the streets who saw a goddess he
can never touch and can’t get wise.” With a sigh he seated himself on the
couch, staring off into nowhere, his face turned to stone. Finally he relaxed,
started breathing again.
“Come here,” he said, and held out his hand again. Slowly she
moved forward, took it, allowed him to pull her down onto the couch. He
cradled her as he had when they had first met, arm around her, her head
against his suit jacket. “I don’t want you scared,” he whispered, his lips
right near her face, “Don’t think you aren’t safe. Nobody, I mean nobody,”
she felt him tense up, angry, “touches my girl.”
They sat in silence for a time after this, and as the clock ticked the
tension left his body. Cora could feel his breathing soften. She held herself
very still, like a moth trapped against a lamp; feeling the danger, unable to
break away. “You’ll be okay,” she heard him murmur, “I won’t let you out
of my sight.”
Looking back, she didn’t know why it happened, but suddenly she
saw the gleam of the black car, the shaved head of Sharo. “You already
don’t,” she said sleepily, lulled by the rise and fall of the chest underneath
her. Eyes almost closed, she was drifting when a sharp word pulled her
awake.
“What?” His voice mixed with the doorbell; she pulled away.
“It’s okay,” Marcus said, his hands steadying her, “it’s only Sharo.”
He mistook her anxiety and she let him, body still taut and held away from
him, even though she was still so close her hair spilled over his suit. “Cora,”
he repeated, and she relaxed. He seemed to have forgotten her foolish,
whispered words, or dismissed them as naïve.
And this shocked her more than the fact he was having her followed.
As he went to answer the door, her eyes followed, her heart pounding with
something like anger. He thought she was clueless! He didn’t think she
knew.
Moving to one corner of the couch and tucking her legs under her,
she listened hard. Voices in the foyer—Marcus and another, no, two other
men. Sharo? Or the other two, the ones who had been so conveniently close
to her apartment? Why was he watching her?
“You okay?” Ubeli asked when he returned with a paper sack of
food. Cora smiled and nodded, but it was a different girl Marcus found
waiting for him on that couch. They set out the food, and before they tucked
in, he asked again, “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” the answer was shaky, but sure. And the eyes she turned on
him saw differently, now. Marcus didn’t notice.
“I told you, babe,” he said, “I’m going to take care of you.”
*
“I’d like to try to visit my aunt,” Cora said.
“I thought she’d moved.” Marcus was preoccupied, looking out at
the cars they were creeping past. They were on their way to another night
out, this time at Marcus’ new place of business, a nightclub and concert
hall.             
 “She did,” Cora took a deep breath, “but I’d like to find her. It’s not
like her to just disappear. She practically raised me when I was younger,
before my mom took me out to the Midwest.”
“Nowheresville. I thought you were a country girl, through and
through.”
“Not quite,” she found it in herself to smile. Marcus liked to tease
her about this. “I was born near the city, in sight of the high rises.”
“Well, well,” this was enough to turn his head away from the
passing traffic. He looked her up and down, “You’re a city girl, turns out.”
“Guess so.”
“Too bad,” he looked back out at traffic, but his hand was busy
around her neck, “I kinda like pig tails.”
“And overalls,” she reminded him.
“Oh yeah, overalls.” He let out a whistle. “Sexy.”
They were still laughing, Cora’s aunt forgotten, when Sharo pulled
up to the club’s entrance. Marcus was nearest the door, so Cora didn’t see
what was happening when her boyfriend stopped short, half way out of the
car, and started swearing at someone outside of it.
“Mr. Ubeli, Mr. Ubeli,” she heard someone shouting, and then the
world turned white. Stunned and half blinded, she sat back, hearing the
combined voices of both Sharo and Marcus rising over the hubbub, but
unable to catch what was being said. It wasn’t until Marcus was back in the
seat, the door slamming beside him, that she saw what had caused the fuss.
“Unbelievable,” Marcus said, along with a few more of his choice
expressions. The front door slammed; Sharo had returned, and the car
squealed away from the curb, leaving the curious crowd behind.
“Photographers?” she asked, confused. Marcus had curbed his
cursing, but his lips were white as if only great control kept him from
bursting out profanity. She looked back to the sidewalk flooded with light
from the marquis. Sure enough, there were crowds of waiting press, some
with microphones, others with cameras.
Marcus’ lips tightened. He jerked forward and hit the intercom button. “Get
Thane on the phone,” he ordered. Cora hoped Thane was a lawyer, and not
a thug like most of the men Marcus employed. “I want to know how
sidewalk trash knows where I’m going to be.”
 Cora sat silent. She had only seen Marcus like this the night the
strange man had knocked on her apartment door. Somehow, even though it
had nothing to do with her, this was worse. She dared not speak.
Suddenly, he turned on her. “Have you ever spoken to them?” he
asked, his face so twisted she didn’t recognize him.
Mutely, she shook her head, but it wasn’t good enough for him.
“Did any of those rag writers approach you?”
“Marcus, no,” her voice came out a frightened cry. “I would never
talk to them. I didn’t even tell anyone I had a date tonight. You didn’t tell
me where we were going—you just said it was some new place.”
Marcus breathed out hard, through his nostrils. Silently, Sharo drove
on through the streets of the city.  In the alternating light and shadow, the
planes of Marcus’ cheeks seemed cut from black marble. “Of course you
didn’t.” He said finally. “I’m sorry. You’d never betray me.”
Cora stared at him. Her lips trembled involuntarily, and Marcus
cursed at himself. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He slid his arms around her and
cupped her head, holding her to his chest. She could feel her heart beating
rapidly, a frightened bird.
  Marcus kissed her hair. “I lost my cool. I just wanted to make sure
—”
“Boss.” Sharo’s voice rumbled from the front of the car. Cora felt
Marcus’ head rise to meet his second in command’s eyes in the rearview
mirror.
“Go back to the apartment,” Marcus ordered after a pause. “Get her
home.” Sharo made the next right turn.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said when they pulled to the curb. He
jumped out to open her door himself, as if he couldn’t wait for her to be
gone. She went, biting her lip, wondering if she should say anything.
“I’m sorry,” he made a stiff attempt to salvage the mood. “We’ll try
again tomorrow. I’ll get you early from work.”
“Can it be later?” she asked. “I’m volunteering at the animal rescue
tomorrow.”
If it was possible, Marcus’ face turned a shade darker. “I thought you were
going to stop doing that. We decided it wasn’t a good idea for you to be out
so late.”
 “I wouldn’t be walking home. You could pick me up there,” she
pleaded, hoping he could hear her over his anger. “Please.”
He stared at her so long she was sure he wasn’t seeing her anymore.
Finally he jerked his head: a nod. “Tomorrow night, then. Seven.” He
ordered before the car door slammed. “Wait for Sharo; don’t walk home.”
*
“Have to get off early tonight,” Cora called to the back.
“Okay,” the cry came from Maeve, who ran the shelter. “Just start at the end
and get as far as you can, cleaning. The bucket is in the closet, sponges and
soap by the sink.”
Cora passed two hours in silence, cleaning cages the animals slept
in. It was hard, dirty work. Somehow, though, she felt cleaner after doing it.
Scrubbing reminded her of being a child, in a little rancher out west with
her mom and step-dad where life was simple and full of honest, hard work.
At the age of ten, it had been her job to scrub the floors of the house and the
dairy.
The city is another world compared to home on the farm, she
thought. She leaned forward and a bracelet slid down her arm. The stone set
into the silver caught the light and blazed. The jewelry was new; she had
forgotten to remove it before working. It was a simple piece, a silver chain
that thickened into a setting for a fine, red stone. She had never seen
anything so fine or delicate before, much less worn it unthinkingly on her
arm.
Suddenly, she felt very homesick. She had spoken before to Marcus
about visiting her aunt. He said all the right things about making
arrangements, but nothing had come of it. He doesn’t want to let me go, she
thought suddenly. The thought, which would have been quietly pleasing as
a sign of his devotion a week ago, was now unsettling.
A long time later, Maeve found Cora sitting in one of the cages
surrounded by cleaning supplies, one rubber glove on and the other off. The
woman who ran the shelter had long red hair she mostly kept braided back.
She came to check on her volunteer, briskly rebraiding the long auburn
tresses threaded with grey.
“Cora,” Maeve called, and the young woman seemed to come
awake. The hand without the glove was on her other arm, rubbing it as if
the work had given her a rash.
 “There’s a man out here, looking for you.”
Cora looked up at the clock. Seven o’clock.
“Oh,” she found a curse coming to her lips. Maeve’s eyes widened,
although the older woman wouldn’t take offense at the word, she looked
surprised to hear the normally prim volunteer use it. Shocked at herself,
Cora brought her hand up to her lips to keep the word in. Maeve saw what
she had been fiddling with—a small chain that encircled her left arm.
“You okay?”
“Yes, I’m just late, I better go.”
Maeve hesitated, “Are you sure? He’s kinda rough looking; I nearly
sent him away. Are you sure you want to see him?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Cora mumbled, stripping off her apron.
Maeve looked at her critically. “Careful,” she finally said. “You’re a
sweet girl, Cora. I hope you know how to take care of yourself.” She moved
so Cora could go hang up her apron, but went on chatting. “This city is as
dangerous as it ever was. I mean, look at this—“ The redhead held up a
newspaper, the top one on the stack they’d be using to line the cages.
“Known crime boss surfaces at club. The Underworld Emerges. Can you
believe this? Mob men, right on 35th street! This was at the club that’s just
opened, what’s the name?”
“Elysium,” Cora whispered. She had gone all still. She recognized
the marquis in the picture splashed across the front page. Silently, Maeve
handed her the newspaper so she could get a closer look. The photographer
took the picture just as a black car was pulled right in front, and a familiar
dark head was emerging from it into the marquis lights.
Maeve was watching her. “Take care of yourself,” she said gently.
Without asking what the woman meant, Cora turned away. “I have
to go.”
Thoughts buzzing, Cora readied herself to meet Sharo, smoothing her hair
with her fingers nervously. She would have to ask for a few extra minutes
time to change out of her work clothes. Marcus wouldn’t be happy. Marcus
didn’t like to be kept waiting. Marcus—
She took a deep breath, almost dizzy. Waiting until she had steadied,
she opened the door.
The front of the rescue was a little shop for pet goods. Cora come
out, an apology ready and on her lips even before she saw who it was that
waited between the aisles of dog food. Rounding the corner, she stopped
dead. The hair on the head of the waiting man was curly, brown. His back
was to her, but at her voice he turned around.
Cora gasped. Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward in pity. “What
happened to you?”
The man’s face was misshapen, bruises covering his face in mulit-
colored patchwork. It was the man from the club, from her first night out in
the city. She should run, or speed-dial Marcus on the cell phone he insisted
she carry. But he wasn’t making any move to come closer, so she stayed.
“Did Sharo do this?” She asked, her heart beating hard.
“Yeah,” the man’s words were a mouthful of pain, spoken through
all the bruises and swelling. “Boss don’t like it when a man oversteps his
bounds.”
“What?” she whispered.
“I came to warn you,” he said. “Boss won’t like it, but you’ve got to
get wise. That way, you’ll be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
The man shook his head, looking down. He squeezed his eyes shut as if this
movement brought the pain to a head. Cora, heart soft from an afternoon of
solitude, forgot about her plight. “Are you okay? You look like you might
need to see a doctor.”
“No,” the man gasped. “Boss takes care of his own. I went there that
night, I didn’t mean to—“
“Hurt me,” Cora finished his sentence, nodding soothingly. “I
understand. I was just scared. I overreacted. What they did to you is my
fault. I’m so sorry.”
This silenced him. He stared at her in disbelief.
“When I saw you outside my apartment,” she went on, but he shook
his head. “No, not that time. The first time.”
She fell silent, but he didn’t bring himself to say more, so she
continued, crossing her arms in front of her. “The night at the club, when
we danced and then you drugged my drink and then tried to rape me. Look,
thank you for coming,” she dismissed him, not unkindly. She felt conflicted,
wanting to stand up for herself, yet feeling pity for the victim before her.
“You need to go. Really, Sharo is coming to pick me up and he won’t like
—”
 “No— don’t go with him. Don’t trust him.”
“Don’t trust Sharo?”
“Him, Ubeli, any of them.”
Cora just stared at him.
The man glanced out the window as if someone was following him.
“Look, do what you want. I have to disappear. I just felt bad. I mean, I was
the one who scouted you.” He shrugged, and coughed a little as the
movement caused him pain. “So I wanted to warn you.”
Her head was spinning. “Wait a minute. Marcus and Sharo protected
me. From you. Why should I trust you?”
Your aunt,” he started, and then the word caught in his mouth and he
choked.
“My aunt? You mean you’ve spoken to her?” Cora waited as the
man stopped coughing. He truly sounded horrible. She wondered if his
injuries were all visible.
“Yeah. Saw her two days ago.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s safe. A little worried for you. She asked me to tell you that
she’ll go to the cops if you don’t come back. If he doesn’t let you go.”
“What? What do you mean?” Cora shook her head in confusion.
Was this man sick from the blows to his head? “Who wouldn’t let me go?”
But the man was going through another bout of coughing. “Boss
don’t like it when girls get away. He won’t let them go. That’s why, that
first night—”
“The first night? The night we first…” she stumbled around for a
better word, “met? When you drugged me. You were scouting me?”
“Those were my orders.”
“Wait,” she struggled to understand, “You took me to the car. You
were going to—" She broke off because her informant/stalker/ former-
would-be-rapist was shaking his head vigorously.
“There was a plan. They wanted you drugged, scared up, and
brought in.” The wheezing around his words was cruel. “I didn’t think
you’d run. But it still turned out, all according to plan.”
“Plan,” she said carefully, still holding on to disbelief. She looked
up at the man for something dishonest, untrustworthy. All she saw there
was a quiet pity, directed towards her.
 “Thank you,” she said, and stepped backwards. The newspaper was
still in her hands, she held it between them like a shield.
“Believe me,” the man said, looking worried. “I’ve got to go, but I
wanted to make sure I told you the truth.”
Cora nodded but didn’t answer. She didn’t feel like she had answers.
Just a million more questions. The man wasn’t satisfied.
“He’s dangerous. Don’t trust him. Don’t say yes. Once you’re in,
you’re in forever.”
“You should go,” she said, looking at the storefront. A long, black
car had just pulled up to the curb. “The boss is here.”  She turned back, but
the man had gone. The door to the back was swinging back closed.
Sharo found her there, still clutching the newspaper among the
aisles of dog food. “Ready to go?” he asked, looking her up and down.
“I need to change,” she said, fighting the urge to back away. He
seemed to sense this, and stayed close, hovering, protective.             
“You can do that at the club.” He turned, stiffening, when the back
door opened, but it was only Maeve, frowning for some reason.
“You nearly forgot this,” she said in her low, no nonsense voice,
handing over Cora’s rucksack. Sharo held out a hand for it, and Maeve
pulled it back out of his reach. The older redhead gave him a level glance.
“Excuse me.”
“It’s okay, Maeve,” Cora said. “I trust him.” She blinked suddenly,
surprised at how quickly she said those words, wondering if they were lies.
She needed to think.
Maeve looked at her with an unhappy expression, but gave Sharo
the pack. Cora turned to go, but the man stopped her. He had seen the paper
Cora still held.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” he said, and looked at her, black eyes
glinting. “He won’t like it. Boss has been looking at it all day.”
Cora handed the paper back to her fellow volunteer. Maeve took it.
The redhead looked like she wanted to say something more, but Cora cut
her off.
“Good night.” The young woman’s small smile must have helped
Maeve hold her thoughts in, but the older woman’s expression was fierce
and worried as she watched the two get in the black car and drive away.
*
 Cora survived the drive in silence. She was still thinking about what
the man had said. Warn me? She felt numb, stunned. When Sharo guided
her down the steps to the club where she had run to, that night long ago, she
did not struggle. A minute later she was alone with a man in his office.
Marcus. Mr. Ubeli. The shadows still cut across his face among the
mahogany and rich carpet. From the first night nothing had changed. No,
everything has.
“Hey, babe,” he said, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. With
one hand he scrubbed his hair out of his face; the other reached out, calling
her towards him. She had planned to be strong, but something in the way he
pushed the dark spikes of his hair away from his eyes reminded her of a
little boy, up past his bed time. She went to him.
“Long day?” She asked, and he didn’t reply, simply put his hands on
her hips and pushed her back so that she was leaning on the desk. His
fingers stroked her arms, wrists, hands, and finally, the fine silver chain on
her left arm, pushing it and pulling it back. And she let him, remaining still,
heart hardly daring to beat, as if even a breath might break the moment.
“I should have done this a long time ago,” he murmured.
“What?” she started to say, and leaned forward to hear the answer,
but at that moment he looked up, and caught her mouth on his, and then it
was all over. Every thought went out of her head, all but Marcus, Marcus,
and he was standing now with his arms around her and body pressing hers
over the desk.
“Marcus,” she gasped, when he let her lips. He was still standing
close, however, and his arms still held her.
“It shouldn’t have taken me so long. With no other girl, would it
have taken me so long.”
“So long to do what?” she asked, her thoughts still swirling.
“This,” he said, and kissed her again. Now she came alive,
responding, and her hand came up to stop him but, no, it simply took the
plane of his cheek as if she would hold him to her, and then her fingers
raked through his hair, her breath coming out in a shudder now that he had
let her go again—
“Hey, kid,” he said softly, his hand on her cheek, “you’re crying.”
She was. Her sobs were such that her body was shaking. He folded
her into himself, almost lifting her onto his lap, lips still hovering close, him
crooning, “Hey, hey.”
The sobs left her, and they kissed again. Then he held her quiet, her
head against his chest. She listened for his heart beat again, and soon,
realized he was speaking, telling his love to her over and over again.
“I’ll keep you safe, babe, you know it. You won’t ever need a thing,
or have to get wise. You’re my goddess, and I won’t let you go—”             
“Marcus,” she sat up, her whole body shuddering in the aftermath of
the sobs. He let her lean away from him, to get some distance so she could
face him. “I don’t know. I’m not sure of anything.”
“Shhh, shhh. I’m with you. You don’t have to be.”
“But I—”
“I know you’re scared, babe.” The dark eyes never left hers. “But
you’re with me. You’re going to be okay. I know that dick turned up again,”
his face grew sober. “Sharo saw him in the shop. But babe,” his voice was
reassuring, “he won’t ever bother you again.”
Cora could feel the shudders starting to come back; her whole sanity
was slipping away. “He won’t?” she whispered.
“No.” Marcus’ face, cut from the dark, held a smile. “Don’t worry,
babe. I told you I’d take care of you.”
They rode through the streets to the restaurant. Marcus had his arm
around her; he held her close as if afraid of losing her. But she had already
escaped, her mind swirling with thoughts—of newspapers with Marcus, of
her aunt, of the man who stalked her, of that first long night. She had been
drugged, scared, and completely alone. Perhaps she still was.
Once she said, “Marcus—“
“Yeah, kid?” his fingers paused where they were, playing with the
strap of her dress and her hair.
“What was happening last night—at the club?”
“You don’t want to know,” he said. She took a deep breath and
turned to look at him, forcing herself to wait for an answer even though she
could see a glint of anger in his eyes. He took his arm from around her, and
she became frightened. After a moment, something like a smile quirked in
his mouth, though the coldness didn’t leave his face.
“But you’re my girl, and you’re beautiful, so I’ll tell you.”
She submitted to his kiss, then listened without comment.
 “Couple of weeks back two friends of mine decided to go in on a
club. They bought the old theater, renamed it, set it up real nice. Big project
like that, they needed some help.” He paused as if wondering how much he
should share with her. “I helped them.
“But rumors were circling—you know, people talk. Someone thinks
something’s up, and the press hooks on it like it’s the only story in town.
There were stories going around even before the place opened. Then last
night,” a large sigh, “the press showed up.”
She waited a moment after he stopped, then said, “And?”
“They took pictures and jumped to conclusions. They slandered my
friends, and tried to shut them down. And, because they can print whatever
trash they want, it got smeared on the front page. All my friends wanted to
do was open a club. Who’s business is it how they run it? And the stuff they
said—drug and dirty money—none of that’s been proven. Those
accusations belong in court. To slap it on a front page to sell papers—that’s
what’s illegal.”
From where she felt, Cora could feel him getting angrier, though his
voice never rose. She could feel it through the small distance between them,
waves of cold fury, kept tightly clenched under the suit and silken tie. “It’s
one thing to come after me directly. It’s another to use my friends.” He
stared forward at the rearview mirror; he and Sharo’s eyes met there.
The car glided through the streets. The windows were thick, keeping
out sound, so it seemed silent outside and in. Cora studied Marcus’ face,
afraid of what she saw there. He was distant, cold.
Without thinking, she shivered, and with a murmur—“you, okay,
babe?”—he put his arm around her, and she rode on with the heavy weight
across her shoulders. And, though the questions screamed inside her—who
are you? Are the stories true?— she found she couldn’t say any more.
So deep was the silence, it took them both a moment to realize the
car had stopped.
Then Sharo opened the door and she found herself looking up at a
tall building, with many stairs leading up to its large doors.
“Go on,” Marcus pushed her gently, and she dutifully she climbed
out.
“Is this the restaurant?” she asked, teeth chattering with the sudden
cold wind. Marcus, having stopped to speak with Sharo, came and took her
under his arm and coat jacket, ushering her forward.
“Babe, you don’t know the half of it.” Her questions seemed to be
forgotten, but he still hovered close. They went up the steps, she close to
being carried, it seemed. She could barely see beyond his sheltering arms.
Then they were inside.
The humid heat rolled over Cora, lapping at her arms and face like
an ocean wave. She relaxed; stopped resisting, walking into the darkness
without being afraid. Marcus held back, a smile on his face as he watched
her.
“What is this place?” She breathed. A flashlight switched on, and
the beam danced: over palms and fern, flowers and green—a whole host of
growing things, sheltered in the building of glass.
“A green house!” she said, and he laughed as he came forward to
show her around. They traipsed the narrow paths, feeling the beckoning,
soft branches, and finding their way through the dark with only a single
flashlight.
“I see something up ahead,” she pressed forward, he obligingly
following with the light, until they pushed past one great frond and found it:
a little table and some wine, lit by a small, flickering candle. Going around
her, he pulled out one of the chairs.
“Welcome to paradise, kid.”
Speechless, she sat quiet while he poured the champagne, and took a
glass without a word.
“A toast,” he said, “To our new favorite place.”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. His eyes sparkled over the glass as
he drank first. She was still waiting, wide eyed, when he finished. He toyed
with his glass before placing it down decisively.
“I told you, babe, I should have done this a long time ago.”
“Done what?” she asked, feeling stupid. He came over to her, and
she looked up at him, afraid. He might kiss her again; she wouldn’t know
how to tell him to stop, or worse, she would like it.
“When I first saw you, Cora,” he said, “I knew we would be
together. Forever.”
Cora was mute. He came near her and cupped her cheek. “So lovely,
so innocent. I need you, Cora.” He knelt down before her. “You’re the only
woman who’s made me feel this way.” He reached into his pocket, keeping
his eyes on hers.
“Marcus?” she started to ask, but then he opened the jewelry box,
and she found she couldn’t speak. It was a ring to match the jewelry she
already wore.
“Marry me,” he said. He was smiling at her shock.
“Oh, Marcus,” she said, and then her breath was gone; she was
mute. Instead, she reached forward to touch the ring. The metal was silver
colored, but she knew it would be white gold. There were tiny diamonds,
cut to sparkle. But the main gem was red. Mesmerized, she realized he was
speaking.
“I almost get you a diamond, a real nice rock. But you look so great
with red.” He looked at her suddenly in such a way that she blushed. She
leaned back in her chair, away from both him and the ring, hoping she could
hide the fear that had pierced through her.
“So?” He prompted, after a moment of silence.
“What if I’m not ready?” She didn’t know where the words came
from. Dark fire flashed through Marcus’ eyes, but otherwise he hid his
anger well.
“I think you’re ready,” and he stood up, towering over her, until he
drew her to her feet. He moved his face close, as if he would kiss her, and
she was frozen, watching his lips, “I think you want to say yes.” And he did
kiss her, “Say yes,” and whispered while his lips played over her skin, “Say
yes.”
It was difficult to breathe. “I need … time.”
“You have as long as you want.” Marcus’ dark eyes were
unfathomable. But his lips murmured against her skin, “Just don’t make me
wait too long.”
*
Dawn found Cora still awake, standing at her window. When
Marcus had dropped her off, she had gone straight to the window, and
stayed there all night, without turning on the lights. When the light started
to come in, she moved back, staying in darkness. She didn’t want the men
watching to see her face, tired after keeping vigil through the night.
Though she had stood there for hours, her thoughts were no clearer
than they were. The moment Marcus asked her to be with him—forever—
she had felt her world tilting, spinning, changing. It was as if he had
swooped her up, spun her around in some fun and frightening whirlwind
ride. But when she looked at the new path of her life, it seemed to lead
inevitably down.
Staring at the city all night had afforded no answers. Now, with the
sun encroaching on her living room, she still felt lost. Stiffly she began to
move, her body miserable and lifeless at the start of a new day. The
apartment around her was bleak, cold, silent as a tomb. The thought
fluttered into her mind—What am I going to tell Marcus? Immediately she
stopped, almost paralyzed again, feeling desperate, alone, scared. She did
not know what to make of these feelings. She did not know what she was
going to do.
Below, in the street, a dark car pulled up. Two suits got out of the
back seat, and crossed to an alley way. In another minute, two suits left,
walking wearily and rubbing sleep from their faces—not the same men. A
rare view of the changing of the guard. As the two got into the car, one of
them looked up at her apartment, to the window where she stood. She
pulled back, but not before her breath frosted the cold glass.
I’m trapped. She realized. The mere thought propelled her back into
her apartment. Pulling on a coat, she hurried out the door. No one should
stop me from taking a walk. She flew down the stairs and then hesitated
before turning from the front door. And why would it be strange for me to
take the back hall to the basement door instead?
I need a break, she told herself as she wove through the back alley
ways, glancing back between the trash cans. I can be alone for a while. It
might be a while before they catch on, unless, of course, the back door is
watched.
She hurried into the city, past the sleeping neighborhoods and shut
up shops. I just want some space. It isn’t that life isn’t good. Marcus is
great. Every thing is fine, fine, fine.
With each step she took her thoughts turned over and over, trying to
pick out the truth from the lies she told herself. What did she really feel?
She loved Marcus, yes, but what other feelings did she have, submerged
under the facts of her perfect life? When the city came awake and alive with
noise and traffic, Cora barely looked up.
 At one bright corner, she did pause. The fruit sellers were out in
droves, the sun was high enough to give the jewel colored wares glorious
setting. Cora tried to buy something; she passed her hand over the mounds
of grapefruit, lemons, oranges of every shade. Further on were the more
exotic: papaya and pineapple, kiwi and starfruit. The old fruit seller
appeared before her, offering a free sample. It was a red fruit, duller than an
apple, but inside filled with glistening seeds. Obediently, she tried a few of
the juicy pips. Smiling, the seller pressed her to eat more. Cora stretched
out her hand, saw the red jewel on her finger, and began to tremble.
Throwing a bill to the old man, she fled.
Morning overtook her. With beautiful dress and high heels peeking
out from below the long coat, she walked on, ducking down quieter streets.
There were houses, homes of white stone with iron gates to keep them safe.
She paused in every garden square, seeing the flowers, remembering the
jungle greenhouse Marcus had taken her to.
Say yes.
Though noon was high over her, she shivered. When the sun set, she
knew she would have to go back. Finally realizing her legs were aching, she
went into a donation shop to swap her fine clothes in for faded jeans and a
grey sweater.
“Long night, honey?” the woman behind the counter asked. Cora
nodded, and left her discarded dress and heels along with the change. At the
nearest café, she sat and breathed deeply with her legs tucked up under her.
It had taken some presence of mind at the goodwill shop not remove the
jewelry.
It would be so easy to slip away…but where to go? Cora considered.
She had left her friends, her old home out west. Her aunt, her closest
relative, had disappeared.
All I have is Marcus—him and everything he’s given me. He is my
world.
She realized she was twisting her ring. The night before, she had
asked for time. Before they parted, after one last kiss, Marcus had slipped
the ring onto her finger.
“Keep it,” he had said. “I want you, no matter if you say yes.”
Rather than press it back onto him and see the pain in his eyes, she had
looked down, nodded. Now she wondered. What had made him so
confident? Her hand moved down from her finger to her wrist to pluck at
the silver chain. No matter what I say or do, he knows I’m his.
“Miss, do you want to order something? Coffee, or…”
Cora looked up at the waiter and shook her head, “No. I mean, I’ll pay to sit
here, but I only want water.” She couldn’t possibly eat.
Still, the man stood waiting expectantly.
“Here,” she fumbled with her wallet, drawing out a bill. From some
hidden fold, a larger one fell out on the table. There was a slight gasp from
the wait staff at the digits on the second bill.
“Oh,” she mumbled, smoothing out the second bill. Marcus must
have slipped it in her wallet; his idea of a joke—she still had a job and
Marcus never let her pay for anything. “Well, just take it,” she offered, but
the man was drawing back nervously. He went to whisper to a manager.
Meanwhile, a young mother came in, pushing a stroller with another
toddling behind. She used the stroller to prop the door, help the child
through, and was losing the battle to keep the door open when Cora stepped
in.
“Thank you,” the young woman said, and Cora felt a rush of
warmth. She watched the toddler move back to his place clinging to his
mother’s pocket, other hand in mouth. Perhaps she should ask Marcus if he
ever wanted children. The thought struck her. She really didn’t know
anything about him. But when she was with him, all her questions melted
away.
When she returned to her table, the café help had filled her table
with plates of pastries, fruit and a whole coffee service. Cora shook her
head but they left it all, adding three bottles of designer mineral water. The
other customers were staring.
Sighing, she grabbed a paper. This day was hers to waste in walks
and bury in papers, if she chose. She skimmed the fashion pages, grew
quickly bored, and flipped to the news columns.
Rise in violence, streets unsafe. The headline caught her eye. Police
helpless in war between crime lords. Criminals must choose sides. Man
found dead, multiple stab wounds—most likely gang violence. The cold
print rolled on down the page.
The opinion column on the next one was headed Unrest in
Underworld, and full of theories about crime families, changing leadership
and black market business takeovers that left hustlers, thugs and kingpins
alike dead at the scene. “Now even murderers need protection,” was the
writer’s attempt at black humor. Below was a picture of the man, the war’s
most recent victim. Once glance at the marred face and Cora got up so
suddenly her chair fell over.
“May I help, miss?” the manager and waiter rushed to her side, but
she had already righted her chair, mumbling to herself.
“Everything okay?” the young mother was nearby with toddler and
stroller in tow. For now Cora was shuffling the newspaper, a pathetic
attempt to reorder them, to hide the face of the man who had come to her
that night to warn her.
“Yes, I’m fine. Here,” Cora gave up with the paper and gestured to
the table laden with food. “You can have this. I didn’t touch it.” The young
mother looked startled.
“She can have it all,” Cora told the manager and waiter, and, while
they stared, picked up her purse and fled.
As she left the café, she noticed a white van parked near the café,
somehow out of place. Even in her distress, Cora paused to think what
seemed wrong about it: the butcher the van might have been making
deliveries to was on the opposite side of the street. There was a man
standing by it, taking a smoke break. Or maybe that was what it was
supposed to look like— the cigarette wasn’t lit and he never brought it to
his mouth. Instead, the delivery man, if that’s who he was, was watching
her. Shrugging deeper into her coat and flipping up the coat collar, she
turned and hurried down the nearest alley.
The journey back home somehow seemed even longer. In the day’s
declining hours, she made her way back across the city by a few landmarks.
Tiredness was taking over, but she was sure that the white van was
following her. Occasionally she caught a glimpse of it around a corner or at
a stoplight. At some point, the white van disappeared and a black car took
over, cruising slowly enough to be noticed.
She ignored it. If Sharo was coming to pick her up, let him make the first
move and stop the pretending. She would play the game as well as they did.
When she finally hit familiar roads, she hailed a taxi. Arriving at her
apartment at dusk, Cora showered and dressed. The second-hand clothes, so
dingy beside her other wardrobe, went in a bottom drawer for later. The cell
phone Marcus had given her—left behind for the day—was blinking with
messages. As if he didn’t have other ways of finding out where she was.
She chewed her lip for a moment. All this attention, was it flattering or
creepy? When did love cross a line?
She would find out. Tucking her wet hair behind her ears, she turned
on all the lights. Then she sat on the couch, and waited.
Not five minutes later the doorbell rang. She closed her eyes,
suddenly too tired to move. A second knock, a pause and then the jingling
of keys. He let himself in and came to her on noiseless shoes.
“Cora.”
She looked up at him. Dressed as usual in grey suit and tie, he stood
with his hands in his pockets and looked her over. She waited, but he had no
questions. There was expectancy on his handsome face.
She could play the game. “How was your day?”
“Business as usual. Yours?”
Tiredness overtook resolve. “I was out,” she admitted. “All day. I
just needed some time to think…Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I thought I
could get tired walking.”
He waited to see if that was all. Cora felt pathetic. Marcus was
looking down at her like a parent with a disobedient child.   
But he didn’t chastise her. Taking a seat next to her on the couch, he
leaned forward with hands clasped, studying the floor.
“Last night was…a dream come true. I wanted to sweep you off
your feet, this great crescendo up to the ring, right up to when you said
yes.” He was twisting a ring he wore on his finger, not looking at her. “I’ve
done everything I know to do for you, Cora. I’ve never felt this way with
any girl. And, last night, I guess…” he paused. “I just got carried away. I
wanted it to be perfect.”
“It was perfect,” Cora said in a soft voice. Marcus finally looked at
her.
“I want you. I…love you. When I look at my life without…” he
trailed away. He paused for a moment with a bent head.
“You redeem me.” He said finally. “Your innocence. I didn’t know I
needed it until I met you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.” 
Cora looked into his dark eyes, searching them. She found nothing but
sincerity.
 Emboldened by her gaze, Marcus took her hands. “I’m telling you
sorry for pushing. I just wanted to get started. Life with you, babe, it’s just
gonna be so good.”
“Marcus, I—” the words caught in her throat. “I forgive you.”
Raising her hands to his lips, Marcus kissed them. His eyes were
fixed on hers; she couldn’t hold the gaze any longer. His moves were too
good; she couldn’t win. When he opened his arms, she leaned into him.
Exhausted, she again closed her eyes, pretended she was home.
*
Held in the light of the fire, Cora dozed as Marcus stroked her arm,
his lips at her temple. Second by second, she would fade into sleep, only to
wake and see him watching her.
“Hi,” she murmured lazily, smiling.
“Hey, kid,” he lowered his lips to hers.
She was still smiling when he pulled away, but he looked more
serious. “How have you been sleeping?”
“Okay,” she said. It had been a week since the long day of walking.
“I’ll sleep well tonight,” she added, so his frown would not deepen.
“I bet you will,” another kiss. “But I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” she said. “It’s just…” she couldn’t find the words, and
sighed. She watched the firelight for a moment, trying to think what might
possibly be wrong with her life. Over the course of a week, so much had
changed. She hadn’t said yes to the proposal, but Marcus had been sweeter
than ever. Of the suits who usually watched over her, there had been no
sign. I can play this game. That afternoon, he had picked her up from her
apartment, driven her himself to a spa in the hills. Dinner was waiting in
front of the fireplace, and, after the final course of strawberries and
champagne, Marcus drew her into his arms on the thick hearth rug.
“I just don’t know,” Cora finished, embarrassed at her non-answer.
She started to pull away from Marcus to get up, but he said, “No, no, don’t
go,” and held her more tightly. She let him, content to be trapped against his
chest.
“I think I know what it is,” he murmured. “You’re bored.”
“Oh really,” Cora snorted.
“No, no, hear me out,” she could hear Marcus’ smile, “You came to
the big city for stimulation…opportunity, parties, work and all that. A little
country girl dazzled by the lights.”
The kick in Cora’s stomach was a laugh. Marcus’ hand went to her
stomach; he stroked it and she almost stopped breathing.
“You found me,” he purred, “but, when I’m not around...”
Struggling to keep her thoughts, Cora teased. “I might as well just
shrivel up and die.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth, kid.” A few more minutes
went by with him tracing unreadable words out on her skin. Cora closed her
eyes and drifted away on pleasure. Hours may have passed before she heard
him murmur something more.
“Hmmm?” She lifted her head.
“I said, what if I got you a car?”
“Marcus, you can’t buy me a car.”
“Can’t I?” he growled, and suddenly Cora found herself rolled onto
her back. Marcus was suspended over her, holding his weight on his arms
so their bodies were not quite touching. She came awake immediately,
wide-eyed under him. They still hadn’t gone all the way, although they
kissed often now. She was ready for him; but Marcus clung to some old
fashioned code, and wouldn’t initiate things. She thought he was waiting for
marriage, although she hoped they could become intimate soon.
She looked up at him now, feeling breathless. Excitement rushed
through her and made her ready. But he only lowered himself close enough
to whisper, “I can do anything I want. I can give you the world.”
“Okay, then,” Cora found her voice, “a car.”
“That’s better,” Marcus raised himself a little and grinned, the cat
who had trapped a live mouse. “What sort?”
“I don’t know, you pick,” her voice came in little gasps. His close
physical presence was distracting. When she rolled her eyes to the left and
right, her view was blocked by Marcus’ arms, which bulged with sudden
strength. He did not seem in any hurry to release himself the pose. Or her.
Trapped, she looked up at him.
“A nice Aston Martin. You liked the way it hugged those curves
coming up the mountain?”
“Uh,” Cora’s brain was too scrambled to remember the drive up
only four hours previous. “I don’t know. Was that an Aston Martin?”
With an annoyed growl, Marcus rolled away from her.
 “It was grey, right?” Cora tried again, hoping her boyfriend was
only kidding. She was relieved when he returned to lie next to her on his
side, his head propped on an arm. From this slight vantage he could look
down on her where she lay, still on her back. “Sorry,” she giggled.
“You break my heart,” years seemed to come off his face as he
teased her. “For that, you’re going to pay.”
“Oh, no,” she laughed.
“I’m serious,” he warned, “You’re going to have to do something for
me.”
Her heart leaped, but she rolled her eyes, “Alright, I’ll drive the Austin
Marie or whatever. The grey one.”
His eyes narrowed, “Cora…”
“You said you wanted to buy me a car! I don’t care about what type.
I don’t know.” She wriggled a little under him and his eyes heated up. “You
could just buy me a dog.”
“Great,” Marcus pretended disgust, “Some little pooch I
accidentally kick every time I walk into your place.”
Cora made an indignant noise. “You are so bad. Behavior like that,
you won’t be allowed at the animal rescue anymore.”
“Oh, really? And how will they find out about my abusing little
Fluffy?”
“I would not name a dog Fluffy,” Cora laughed.
“Bitsy, then.”
“No!”
“Alright. So I kicked poor little Soccer—“
“Marcus!” Cora shrieked.
“—what do you expect? You name a dog Soccer and it’s going to
get kicked. Fact of life. How’s the rescue going to find out?”
“I would report you,” Cora put on her most holier-than-thou tone.
“Hmmm,” Marcus leaned in to kiss her, “Traitor. All’s I wanted was
to get you interested in something, for fun. Get you out of the house, get
you something to do. Guess we’re going to have to go to plan A.”
“The Ferrari?”
“Aston Martin…you little…” Marcus put hands on either side of her
body again, but did not shift himself over the full length of her. With his
torso twisted, he leaned down to kiss her. “You...are…in trouble,” he
punctuated each word with a kiss. The last one went on for sometime. “You
owe me.”
“Okay,” she said dreamily.
A few minutes later, drunk with one another, Marcus told her the
plan, “A friend of mine is starting up a new fashion line. You know him; he
owns the little spa you go to.”
“Armand?”
“Yep. He is looking for a certain type of girl to show the stuff. Are
you interested in being a model?”
“They had me do that sometimes, at the shop. That’s why I quit,”
she said. “I was sick of just putting on the clothes and walking around.
They never let me do any work.”
“Work, volunteer. You’re such a farm girl…always doing chores.”
“It’s the way I was raised.”
“Please, Cora,” he said. “This will be much more intense than the
shop. Promise.”
“Do you want me to do it?” Cora asked.
“I do. I want the whole world to see this goddess of mine. Share the
beauty,” he was back to nuzzling her throat. “But only for a little while.”
“Mmmm,” she said. “Okay.”
He pulled back to grin at her, and she smiled, too. The game they
played was still going, and she was becoming a better adversary. For a week
she had kept close to home, so as not to alarm him. With the sweet way
he’d been treating her, apparently he already had been. He seemed
determined not to let her get away.
“Could I have some more wine?” As he poured her a half glass, she
wondered when the cards would slip from her hands. Every time he looked
at her, she wondered if there were layers to what he was thinking. She
wanted so desperately to trust him. When she was with him, and they were
playful like this, she forgot almost everything. Almost.
He handed her the glass, but immediately took possession of her
lips. She let him. In moments like these, close to the Marcus she loved, she
wondered if the game was worth it.
The fire died down low.
“Alright,” Marcus finally said, nuzzling at her throat and then
slowly rising, “it’s time for bed.”
 Reluctantly, Cora rose as well. Marcus had ordered separate rooms
—“I know you’re sweet and innocent. And you haven’t said yes to me…”
She went to the door and paused there, looking back at him. I know I
can play this game.
“See you in the morning,” he said.
“See you.” Cora watched until he disappeared behind his door. But
which one is he playing?
*
“Babe, babe, come on, move!” Cora turned and was blinded by the
lights. She took a step to the side, uncertain, and then noticed the camera
man trying to pass her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said as she stepped aside. He went by with
a nice smile. She stood unsure, until a make-up artist rescued her.
“Come on, dear,” he said, leading her by the arm to a chair in front
of the mirrors. She recognized him from the spa she frequented.
“Hey, did we meet at Metamorphoses?”
“Yes, yes, Double M. That’s what we call it. Armand owns it.”
“The designer?” Cora recognized the name from Marcus’ mention.
“Mmmmhhmm.” The man flicked a switch and Cora was blinded
again.
“Let’s see what we have here,” in the blurred shapes beyond Cora’s
vision, she could see the man was studying her. “Good bone structure,
classic cheekbones,” some heat came onto her face and she realized the man
had pulled a light close to examine more closely. She kept her eyes closed
throughout the scrutiny, “Great skin.
An hour later, Cora was covered in violet shaded white powder, with
an iridescence to the skin of her face. There was striking purple and black
makeup around her eyes.
“Perfect,” the artist said, and spun her out of the chair. “Let’s get
you to costuming.”
Marcus, you owe me for this, she thought as she wove through racks
of clothes to the designer’s assistants. Ten Aston Martins, at least.
She was still imagining the line of new cars—a dog in the front seat
of each—while being dressed. The garments were cool, long, draping
fabrics sheer as clouds and falling like water. With a pleased sound she
turned in them and watched the material float.
 The assistant was less happy. With a string of curses, he stepped in
to pin something, and stuck Cora’s flesh. Startled, she jumped. The curses
were directed to her. Cora froze and gritted her teeth, waiting for more
abuse, more pins. But another one of the assistants turned from the rack of
clothes and pulled the second away. He spoke in an urgent whisper.
“Mr. Ubeli,”  were the only words Cora caught as she waited, trying
to keep a brave face. The first assistant returned and finished his work,
silent and stiff. The second disappeared, and reappeared with a bottle of
water.
“The lights can be hot,” he explained. Cora noticed none of the
other models being given water, but accepted it. She was directed off to
another room to wait for their call, and went. With her clothing draped like
a Greek statue and water bottle in hand, she felt like the Statue of Liberty.
The room she had been sent to wait in was quiet and calmer than the
rush of people and lights just without. Cora wandered the long racks of
fabric, touching bolts of fabric sheer and crisp and many colored. Alone,
she relaxed.
“Ms. Cora?”
She turned with a swirl of gorgeous material. “I’m ready! Is it my
turn?” The words stopped on her tongue as a man approached her, tall and
slim, wearing a suit. Somehow, he didn’t look like a designer or an
assistant. Cora regarded him, instantly wary.
“I’m not here for the fashion, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he
said.
“Then you probably shouldn’t be back here.”
He put up his hands at her defensiveness. “Don’t be alarmed,
ma’am. I’m not going to be here long. I came to see you.”
Cora stepped away, looking down at some set props for the shoot—
false flowers, faux marble columns.
“I’ll be brief. We’ve been watching you for some time, and think
that you might need some help. Someone to talk to.”
“Did Marcus send you?” She cut him off.
To her surprise, he almost laughed, “Marcus Ubeli? No. Quite the
opposite, in fact.” He still seemed to think what she said was funny.
Cora’s face was a mask.
 “No, ma’am, I’m not with your boyfriend. But I’m acquainted with
him, you might say. My people have been watching him for some time.”
                     Now she felt a little kick of fear. The man was not laughing
now, as he held out his ID and badge. “We’re very interested in asking you
some questions.”
“What sort of questions?” she whispered.
“We can get to that later,” he said now with in a lighter tone. “For
now, enjoy the photo op. There will be information waiting for you
afterwards. Once you get it, we’ll expect you to rendez-vous with us soon.”
He showed her a small white square. “My card.”
“I don’t have any pockets,” she said.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Cora,” a flash of his white smile and the card had
disappeared. “We’ll be discreet. The last thing we want to do is put you in
any danger.”
Cora felt like she had turned to wood. Now a statue, she couldn’t
breathe.
“Oh, and Cora,” the man said, just before ducking out between the
large bolts of fabric, “Your aunt says hi. We have her, too. She’s safe.”
For a moment after he left, Cora stood still, facing a sheath of gauzy
maroon. Then, followed by a train of whispering silk, she floated from the
closet room and back out into the chaos.             
“Babe, there you are—” a photographer waved at her, “You’re
next.”
Cora nodded without really hearing. Another model, being unpinned from
her clothes, turned her head. “Wow,” she remarked on Cora’s get up, “you
look really cool. Who are you supposed to be?”  
“Uh…I don’t know.” Cora stood a side as two men pushing a huge
mirror came through. The things stood six feet tall, and was still higher on
its wheeled mount and gilt frame. They stopped in front of her, cutting off
the other model’s conversation. Into the reflected surface, Cora stared at the
striking woman in robes. Coal-darkened eyes stared back. Her hair was
pulled up and back simply, so that nothing distracted from the sheen of her
skin—luminous violet.
“Well, well, if it isn’t a goddess.”
She turned around and saw a familiar grin. The room around them,
chaos only a second ago, seemed to clear of everyone. Stepping back to see
beyond the mirror, she could see the model’s bare back, the assistant
helping her with the bottom half of her costume as they both hurried away.
Cora looked back into the mirror at the man who approached with the smile
of a hunter. “Marcus,” she said.
He was looking her up and down. With his handsome face and
sculpted cheekbones, he looked like a model himself. She took a deep
breath when she realized he fit in better here than she did.
Marcus smiled deeper at her when he realized she was checking him
out.
She realized then how see-through her garment was. Caught
between Marcus and his gaze in the mirror, she crossed her arms in front of
her. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”
“Do I make you nervous?” his lazy smile told her he wouldn’t mind
if that were true. A few steps and he had crossed the distance between them.
She gazed at him in the mirror. The woman there looked almost frightened,
swallowed by his dark eyes.
Cora was thinking about the agent who had approached her—what
if Marcus had seen him?
“I’m here to get you into the part, give you confidence,” From the
mirror, she watched as Marcus took hold of the woman. Cora twisted her
head back to him as he leaned in to her lips.
She startled out of her spell just in time, “No, you’ll smudge my
makeup.”
Accepting this, he detoured downward, pressing feather kisses along
the line of her collar, blowing lightly up her shoulder and neck. Cora
watched him in the mirror, then closed her eyes.
“You are a goddess,” he said breathed.             
“You shouldn’t call me that…” she sighed.
Marcus turned her to him, “Look at me.”
She couldn’t bear to obey, so she stared at his shirt. It was grey, a
color he often wore. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and the shirt’s smoothness
could not hide his musculature.
When he raised her chin to look at him, she was able to follow the
sculpted line of his neck up to the jaw, and then to the strong features of his
face. He said, “Perfect body, pale skin…How could you not be a goddess?”
“You’re just saying that—” she started.
 “No, beautiful one. In a second, you’re going to walk out there, and
everyone will know how lovely you are.”
Her eyes darted away.
“Look at me,” he took her in his arms, not letting her get away.
After a long pause, “Beautiful,” he pronounced.
She laughed nervously. Marcus smiled, tightened his hold around
her, “My friend Armand called in a favor for this, but I’m telling him that
owes me big. Not just one—three or four favors. I’m the luckiest guy
around, because when it’s all over, you’re coming back to me.”
Cora looked at the couple in the mirror, unsure what to think. The
woman there had her lips parted slightly too, while the man let his eyes
browse along her bare shoulders and neck. When he raised his head, his
look was cool, but his eyes smoldered. They consumed her.
They were a beautiful couple, she realized. The mirror’s portrait
showed Marcus drawing her closer, arms framing her. The cool glow of her
skin was set off perfectly by his grey shirt—the color he always wore.
“Goddess,” the man whispered to the woman. “My own.”
“Queen of the Dead, we’re ready for you—” a woman with a clip
board came out, saw the two of them and took a step back. “Oh, Mr. Ubeli,
I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, no,” Marcus called back, “She’s ready.”  
Cora flowed away from him, accompanied only by a silent train.
“Queen of the Dead?” she paused to ask the woman with the clipboard. “Do
you mean me?”
The woman nodded.
“Come find me at the after party,” Marcus called. “After the show.
I’ll be waiting.”
Without looking back, Cora crossed through the door, into the lights.
Afterwards, her eyes remained dazzled by cameras. She went from
one end of the after party to the other, on the arm of the designer, Armand,
who looked a little like Marcus, only younger and less refined. The kid
designer spoke excitedly to everyone, and introduced her as “Marcus’ girl.”
More than one man heard this and immediately stopped looking at her
directly.
Cora wanted to fuss, but she was so tired and Armand so animated
she just let him work the room. When at last he abandoned her, Marcus was
ready to pull her to a private corner.
“I told you,” he said, wrapping her in his gaze. She relaxed a little in
his arms, only to hear him murmur, “Now everyone will know the most
beautiful woman in the world is my girl.”
“Marcus,” she drew back, her mouth working. But she only said,
“I’m tired.”
“Go change,” he said. “I’ll wait for you out back.”
When she approached him next, in jeans and a plain white t, he did a
double take, “I almost didn’t recognize you. That was a lot of makeup.”
She nodded, feeling drained.
Marcus noticed her drooping and frowned. “You’re exhausted. He
owes me big for this.” He turned his glare up the street, “the car should be
here.”
While Marcus called someone on his phone, Cora leaned on him.
But once the car slipped up the curb, seconds after Marcus had phoned in
his a few curt orders, Cora paused.             
“Ready?” Marcus waited with the door open.
Cora stood there, waiting for her heart to start beating again. She
had just slipped her hand into her pocket, felt the little square card there.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Please take me home.”
*
The next day, Cora went early to the animal shelter to volunteer.
Since leaving her job, she spent more and more time at the charity, filling
her days with animals. They helped her forget. When Cora asked herself
what she needed to forget, her brain’s answer was vague as a grey sky, until
even the question floated away and was forgotten.
This morning, Cora arrived to the animal rescue before the front
doors were unlocked. She shivered as she waited, wearing only a t-shirt and
jeans she had been wearing the night before. When she slipped her hands
into her pockets to warm them, Cora felt the card the agent had given her
the day before. Its corners were sharp, unforgettable. Last night, Marcus
had lulled her to sleep on red wine and a few light kisses. Cora had
forgotten all about the card, and the man who had given it to her.
“Cora!” came the sound, muffled through glass. Cora looked up
guiltily, about to draw the card out. But it was only Maeve, the volunteer
coordinator, surprised to see her so early.
 As Maeve worked on unlocking the door, Cora caught, in the glass
reflection of the door, a white van parked just outside an alley way close by.
Then the door flashed open and Cora went in.
“I didn’t know we’d see you today,” Maeve trilled. The woman had
a newspaper behind her back, and she brought it out with a flourish, “I
didn’t think such a fashion queen would be so eager to descend from her
throne.”
The older woman was smiling, but Cora’s face was sober as she
took the paper and stared down at the media coverage of the fashion line’s
debut. Sure enough, there on the style page was her picture, with the
caption Queen of the Dead under the frozen image floating in ephemeral
dress.
Heat touched Cora’s cheeks. “Oh,” she said, embarrassed, “I didn’t
know it get publicized this quickly.”
Maeve pooh-poohed Cora’s humility, “Of course it would. You look
beautiful, dear.”
Standing with the newspaper in hand, looking askance at her other
self, Cora still did look beautiful, if a frightened.
“What’s wrong?” The older woman asked Cora, when the newly
minted model sighed.
Cora shook her head. “It’s nothing.”             
But, not thirty minutes later, Maeve came to the kennel were Cora
was. “A visitor for you,” Maeve said with a frowning face.
“              I’ll be back,” Cora told the old black lab that was due a bath. The
dog looked relieved when Cora stripped off the rubber gloves, though it
whined as the young woman left. “Who is it, Maeve?”
From the tight-lipped look on Maeve’s face, Cora could guess.
“Muscle Man,” said Maeve, using her code for Sharo. “He’s in my office.
I’ll let you show him out.” The older woman bustled off, leaving Cora with
the warm feeling that Maeve was a friend.
Maeve had never altogether approved of Marcus Ubeli, but, being
too reserved to say anything of this to Cora, took out her prejudice on Sharo
instead.  The older woman had a touch of motherly concern for all the
shelter’s volunteers.
Tall, bald, impeccable in his dark suit, Sharo was rooted just outside
Maeve’s office door. Muscle man he was. Cora wondered, not for the first
time, why Marcus would need such a strong, imposing man as a personal
assistant. She took a deep breath and approached.
“Is everything okay, Sharo?”
“Mr. Ubeli asked me to check on you.”
“What?” Flame touched Cora’s cheeks again; the jerk of anger was
unfamiliar, but unmistakable. “Why?”
“Have you seen this?” the man held a newspaper out, folded to the
Style section.
“The publicity should be good for designer, right?” Cora looked up
from the picture of her other self and met Sharo’s impassive look.
“Mr. Ubeli is concerned. He doesn’t like having pictures of you all
over town,” Sharo said.
“But…why not?”
Shrugging, Sharo didn’t say any more.
“Why did Marcus want me to do the photo shoot if he didn’t want
my picture publicized? I’m mean, that’s sort of the point of the debut. Not
that my face is anything special,” Cora felt a little heat in her cheeks,
talking about herself  and modeling in the same sentence, “But there was
always the chance it might happen.” Even as she studied Sharo’s face,
waiting for the poker face to crack, Cora heard the echo of Marcus’ voice,
For this, my friend’s gonna owe me favors.
Even after a minute of Cora staring at him over the picture of Queen
of the Dead, Sharo didn’t answer any more questions. Cora wondered if he
had held up under sterner questioning than she could give. If the game
required players keep secrets, Sharo, as Marcus’ right hand man, was in
league with the best.
“Is this the only place you’re going to be today?” Sharo asked.
“Yes,” Cora said. “Why do you want to know?”
Sharo ignored the question. “How late are you volunteering here?”
Cora shrugged. “Until the work is done, or until I’m tired and ready
to go home.”
“Mr. Ubeli asked me to drive you around today. Anywhere you go,
I’m to be there.”
Cora gave a slight gasp, “But why?”
“Protection.”
 “Protection? Why? Just because my face is suddenly splashed
around town doesn’t mean I need…” Cora could see Sharo’s face darkening
a little, so she went on wondering for herself, “I’m not anyone special. Even
after this photo shoot. I can’t understand who would want to hurt me.”
Sharo did clear his throat. “Not just you. Him. Mr. Ubeli.”
Cora stared. If anything happened to you, she could almost hear
Marcus saying, ending the sentence with a dark shake of his head. “Hurting
me would hurt Mr. Ubeli,” Cora said.
Sharo didn’t respond to this. Cora stared at him, but her mind was
whirring with other thoughts. In her jean pocket, the card the agent had
given her was smoothly outlined. Cora found her hand was stroking it, and
stopped. Her guilty look must have signaled acquiescence to Sharo, for he
said, “I’ll pick you up at seven tonight.”
“The rescue closes at nine.”             
“Mr. Ubeli doesn’t want you out late too long after dark.” Sharo
moved closer, looming over her. His chiseled features would make him a
good candidate for a photo shoot, too. The dark circles under his eyes
reminded Cora of Marcus. “He wants to make sure you’re safe.”
Feeling like a child, Cora wilted into obedience, “Seven thirty, then.
I’ll come out to you.”
When he was gone, Maeve found her young volunteer still outside
the office, staring at nothing.
“Cora? Is something wrong?”
“Maeve,” Cora croaked. “I—” Her sentence ended with her courage.
The older woman was quick, “Sweetheart, you look like you need a break.
Come on in.”
Cora let the older woman draw her into the office. The room was cluttered,
papers and files sharing space with cheerful frames filled with pictures of
dogs—past “guests”, as Maeve liked to call them. A tea pot on a heating
pad sat on one stack. Maeve pushed the on button and bustled to get two
mugs. Then she sat down across from Cora.
“Nothing tea and a talk won’t solve. Well?”
“I think I’m in trouble,” Cora said haltingly.
“Mmmm?” Maeve’s expectant look made Cora shake her head.
“No, it’s not that I’m pregnant or anything. And I’m not in any
danger, at least…” Cora thought of Sharo’s troubling words. “I don’t think I
am.”
“Is this about your boyfriend?” Maeve got up when the kettle dinged
done, and returned with two mugs.
“Yes,” Cora hesitated, then, fortified with the warmth of her mug,
explained.
“Marcus is great—really he is. He proposed—” Cora blushed as
Maeve examined the giant ring solemnly.
“Red, very unique. I like it.” The woman raised her grey head. “You
said yes?”
“Not quite,” Cora admitted. “I’m wearing the ring but I need some
time to think about marriage. About life with…” A man like Marcus. Dark.
Secretive. Who might have enemies. “..a husband. In the meantime,
something hasn’t been quite right.” This time, Cora’s pause was so long,
Maeve had time to finish her drink.
                     “Dear, if you can’t give me details, don’t bother. Just keep it
vague and we’ll see how much that helps. More tea?”
                     “Okay,” Cora said, and when she got her mug back she
continued, “Okay. Marcus doesn’t tell me a lot of things. I know he works a
lot, but I don’t know exactly what he does. He has properties and
restaurants around town. And a lot of people working for him. And I’m
pretty sure he invested in different places, like a club and…” She thought
for a second about the young Armand and how everyone on the designer’s
staff seemed to know Marcus. Maybe he supported Armand somehow?
“Anyway. Yesterday a man came to see me about Marcus…an official
looking somebody. This agent wants to meet with me and ask questions
about Marcus’ business.”
“Ah,” said Maeve, “that sort of trouble. Go on.”
“Well. There’s not much more to say,” Cora stared at her tea.
“Did you meet with the agent?”
Cora shook her head.
“But you’re concerned.”
“I want to meet with him. He said that he can put me in touch with
my aunt; she came to him looking for me.”
“So meet with him.”
“I would,” Cora said, “but I don’t know…Marcus…”
“Are you afraid Marcus will find out and be mad?”
 Cora shrugged, “Maybe. It’s not only that, though.”
“Do you feel safe?” Maeve looked at her sharply.
“From Marcus? Yes, absolutely, no question.” Cora defended him
vehemently. And she did feel safe, she realized. Maybe too safe. Followed,
scrutinized.
Maeve peered at Cora’s face, looking for signs of feelings in the
marble cheeks and mouth. “Are you afraid this agent will tell you things
about Marcus you’d rather not know? The truth, perhaps?”
Miserable, Cora nodded.
“Do you want to know the truth about a man who may become your
husband?”
“Yes,” Cora said.
Satisfied, Maeve sat back, only to watch Cora’s face grow more
shadowed. “But?” Maeve prompted for Cora’s thoughts.
The young woman did not answer for a time. Then Cora whispered
“But I love him.”
*
Two hours later, Cora sat in a diner near the animal rescue. Her heart
thumped every time the door opened, but she gripped the edge of the table.
Hang on. When the agent did arrive, she did not notice until he was at her
elbow. Business attire and a bland face made him fade into a crowd. Cora
chided herself for expecting a tuxedo and dark glasses as the agent slid into
a seat and smoothed his tie. A pause, and then Cora put the agent’s card—
now worn—on the table top. The agent opened his badge for her to study.
When she was done, she gave a nod and he flipped the badge quickly shut.
“Ma’am, thank you for meeting me. I wasn’t sure my offer was well
received.”
“You said that my aunt contacted you,” Cora’s voice wobbled. “I
want to know how she is.”
“In a little bit,” the agent inclined his head as if to say, We’ll take
this at my pace.  “First I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
A waitress arrived for their order. “Two coffees, that’s all,” said the
man across from Cora. He didn’t take his eyes from Cora’s face. But he
didn’t ask any questions, not until the mugs were placed in front of them.
If he’s trying to make me nervous, he’s doing a good job, thought
Cora, and then jumped when the agent said, “How long have you known
Marcus Ubeli?”
Cora thought back to the night she had gone to the club with her
friends, “About six months.”
“And you’ve been in a relationship that long?”
With a blush, Cora said, “Yes. About that long.” Her hands met
under the table so she could play with her ring.
“How would you describe your relationship with…your boyfriend?
Are you close?”
When I first saw you…I knew we would be together. Forever. “Yes,
we’re close.”
The agent squinted at her, making her wonder if he needed glasses,
“How well do you know Mr. Ubeli?”
Cora shrugged, “We spend time together, when he isn’t working. We
eat dinner, go to restaurants or clubs his friends own.”
“You have dates mostly at night?”
“Or some mornings or afternoons he has off. He works long hours.”
She had an image of herself waiting for Marcus at a restaurant table, a glass
of sweet wine her only companion. Marcus would arrive only to be
interrupted halfway through the appetizer course by a call from a business
partner. “He always tries to make time for me.”
“Has he ever spoken of business or what he does at work?”
“No,” Cora said. “But I think he’s an investor.”
“Any particular idea of what he’s investing in?”
“Restaurants, maybe. Clubs—like his friends.” Memory rose to
Cora’s mind: a marquis blotted out by brighter flashes from cameras.  
“So you don’t know what he does for a living,” the agent stated.
“No.” Cora felt very small in her seat. “I never asked him. He…”
she hesitated. The agent waited. “He sometimes seems upset about his
business. So I don’t ask him to talk about it. I try to take his mind off of it.”
She blushed again at the agent’s stare. “It’s just the way our relationship is.”
The agent stared. Cora could hear his question now: Are you telling
me that you’ve dated this man six months and you don’t know his
profession? If he asked her this, she would be forced to admit the truth: she
didn’t know her would-be fiancé very well at all. He loved her; that was
enough. At least, it had been enough, until lately.
But the agent said, “Let’s talk about your aunt.”
 Cora sat up eagerly. “Do you know where she is?”
“You haven’t been in contact?”
“No, we haven’t been able to find her.” A raised eyebrow from the
agent made
Cora explain, “Marcus and I have been looking for her ever since the
morning after we first met. We went to her house; I thought I could stay
with her. But she had moved. I don’t know where she could have gone.”
The agent was frowning, and Cora trailed off,
“Marcus has been trying to find her.”
“I see,” The agent said after a pause.
“Do you know where she is? Where she’s been?”
“Cora, your aunt contacted us a few weeks ago. She told us that
you’d disappeared a months ago. Said she would have tracked you down if
she hadn’t felt she was in danger.”
“In danger?”
“She told us she was being followed. That a few men had showed
up at her house one night and told her she would have to move—something
about the landlord needing the place cleared for maintenance.”
“But…why didn’t she leave a forwarding address?” Something
inside Cora was twisting, as if her gut knew the truth even if her mind
refused to believe.
“Your aunt did leave one. It must have slipped the super’s mind
when your boyfriend’s men came looking for it. Either that or…”
“Do you think Marcus hasn’t been looking?” Cora’s voice rose
defensively, even as her stomach gave a lurch.
“Miss Cora, your aunt’s townhouse—where she lived until she was
told to move—was one of Ubeli’s.”
A slight hiccup exploded in the back of Cora’s throat, threatening
more to come. “Oh,” she said and half rose.
“Is everything okay?” The agent rose, hovered.
“I’m fine,” Cora was bent over the table, hand on her belly. “I just…
need a moment.” She rushed from the table, taking sanctuary in the diner’s
restroom. There, in front of a dusty mirror, she wiped sweat from her face
and shuddered. The tension was too much—in her gut, in her head. What’s
wrong with me? She asked her reflection, avoiding her eyes. Her face held a
marble pallor, no longer a child’s face. Oh, Marcus, she thought, and her
stomach near heaved. She was still trying to dupe herself, and her body was
protesting.
Turning on the tap, she ran cold water over her hands. When she
looked up at the mirror again, her face was cool and beautiful. A woman’s
knowing look had surfaced, harder and more resolute.
When she walked back to the table, graceful with a model’s gait, she
turned heads.
“Are you able to continue?” the agent asked.
Cora was composed. “Please, go on. It just…took me by surprise.”   
                     The waitress chose that moment to interrupt. Cora kept her
eyes down, using the pause to gather strength. The agent, annoyed, sent the
waitress away all too soon with a wave of his hand.
“I understand that Mr. Ubeli must have hidden things from you,” the
agent said. “I am sorry you have to hear about it this way.”
“Will you please tell my aunt that I am safe, and that I’d like to see
her?”
The man nodded. “She would like that. She is living in a secure
location where she feels safe.” He paused, looking at her frozen profile.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll need to be back to the rescue soon.”
“One more item, then. There’s the matter of this man.” The agent
slid a photograph across the table to her. Even with muscles tightened to
hold her in calm, Cora jerked back a little in her seat. The picture was
blurry, but the face could be recognized as the man who had drugged, near
raped her, then followed her to her apartment and workplace.
“Why…why are you showing this to me?”
“He’s an average joe, does a bit of business on the street. He sells
things like watches, purses, wallets—a mini outlet store right on the
sidewalk. We picked him up once or twice, and he always tells us a few
things we need to know. Turns out he was in Mr. Ubeli’s pay, at one point.”
“A lot of people work for Marcus.”
“True. They tend to have interesting jobs. Ask the bald strongman
what he does when he’s not playing chauffeur to the boss’s girl.” The agent
studied Cora, and she felt he could see, below her surface, the layers and
layers of fear. “The man in this photograph was involved in an interesting
plot, too. He was told to go to a club, pick up a certain girl, get her wasted
or whatever—”
Cora gripped the table edge, holding on to its flat surface as her
world tilted.
“And then bring her to his boss.” The agent cocked his head at Cora. “Do
you know this man?”
“I need to go,” Cora mumbled. She looked around for her purse.
“Did this man ever approach you at a club?”
“I’m sorry…I…”
“Cora, how did you come to meet Mr. Ubeli?”
That night—she had been running, drugged, unable to see clearly.
How long was the road beyond the club? Had she been driven down a street
with no outlet, straight down the steps to the underworld?
Purse in hand, she paused in her exit. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. It
was so long ago, and I….” She hesitated. “I was drugged. He,” she pointed
to the picture, “did it to me.”
“Do you think you’re the girl he was supposed to target?”
Cora shook her head. “I was new to the city, just a visitor, few
friends. There’s no way he could have known me.” She didn’t know
whether he was the man in the photograph or Marcus.
“He might have seen you, when you were staying with your aunt.”
Cora nodded. There was no doubt now which he the agent spoke of
—Marcus. Marcus had done it all, arranged everything.
“Do you know what happened to this man?” The agent tapped the
picture.
“No.”
“He’s been missing for some days. He was supposed to go into
witness protection a week ago, but we haven’t seen him since.”
The memory of Marcus’s angry voice came to Cora. No one touches
my girl. Breaking her poise, Cora put a hand to her head. Don’t worry,
babe.
“Miss Cora? Do you know where he might be?”
“No…I…no.” She looked up, her eyes unfocused. “I should get
going, though. Back to the rescue.” She groped for her purse and found its
strap was already wound around her arm.
 The agent rose when she did. “I know this has been hard, but your
involvement will help us get down the truth. People’s lives are at stake. We
need your help.”
“Oh, right,” Cora murmured anything that would move the agent
from her path.
“Think about it. If you like, I’ll be here a week from now, same
contact place and time.” the agent said.
“Okay,” Cora nodded. Apparently she said the right thing, for the
man stepped to the side.
As he allowed her to pass, he spoke to reassure—or warn. “And
don’t worry. We’ll be watching.”      
*
That night, when Sharo picked Cora up from the shelter, silence sat
like a wall between them. Cora’s gaze slid over the city streets, recognizing
few of them. She was still a little country girl, lost and alone. But for
Marcus. The car finally stopped in an alley way. Focusing, Cora finally
recognized it. She sought Sharo’s face in the mirror.
“We’re not at the town house.”
“Mr. Ubeli asked that you meet him at his office. He has a project
running that he’d like to attend to.”
“I’m not clean or dressed…” Cora fretted. Suddenly, her whole
world seemed held together only by her beauty and clothes.
“There’s a shower here. Mr. Ubeli uses it some mornings after a
night’s work. I also brought a change of clothes,” Sharo held up the
shopping bags in the front seat.
Cora got out of the car. While Sharo was collecting things from the
front seat, she walked a little ways down the alley.
She rounded the corner and stopped. There was the street with the
marquis sign for the club her friends had brought her to the night she first
met Marcus. Looking around, Cora did the calculations. If the car was
parked there I would have run down here. The way was long, but unbroken
by any exit besides a small alleyway blocked with trash cans. Anyone being
chased would be driven straight down towards the intersection where she
now stood. Moving to one corner, she entered the shadows of the brick
building where she might have waited, heart pounding, for her pursuer to
find her. I was drugged; he wouldn’t have expected me to get so far. He
thought he would catch up before I came out onto the street. Then he could
drag me to Marcus. Closing her eyes, Cora remembered the shout breaking
the darkness. She had run across the street at an angle, and down the steps
to the only haven she could find. The dark steps of the club, leading straight
to Mr. Ubeli.
“Cora?” Sharo stood waiting for her, bags in hand.
“I’m coming,” she returned to the steps of the club, following Sharo
down the way she had taken six months ago.
Later, dressing in the gorgeous bathroom, Cora recounted the rest of
that first night. Marcus had seemed like a hero. He offered me a place to
stay, she thought as she applied a soft layer of lipstick. He gave me
something to drink. Cora frowned at the mirror, then smoothed her features.
The clothes Sharo had purchased fit very well. The fabric of the skirt and
blouse was silky and fine, if a bit light for colder weather. Marcus liked it
when she was cold, though. He would see the prickles on her skin and offer
her his coat. Such a move marked her as his own.
And as she walked down the hall to Marcus’ office, Cora
remembered the night the fairy tale had begun. The next morning, he
brought me clothes in my size. Standing in her new dress, light and grey as
a cloud, Cora’s fingers froze on the doorknob. Then she pushed it open.
“There’s my girl,” Marcus said, looking up from his accounts.
Without answering, she walked to him; his eyes devoured her form. “Come
to me,” he begged and she did. She leant towards him only to kiss him, but,
swiveling his chair to face her, he tugged her into his lap.
“It’s so good to see you,” he purred.
“You too, Marcus,” she whispered.
He captured her lips with his. She submitted, but sighed when the
kiss was done. It was a sigh of fatigue, not passion, and he could tell.
Instead of impatience, though, he leaned back in his seat with a thoughtful
look on his face.
“Long day?”             
“Mmmm,” she nodded. Her head sank down; her eyes felt heavy, as
if the warmth of Marcus’ den was pulling her into sleep.
“Tired, too? You’re not getting sick, are you?” Marcus put a hand to
her forehead. Finding no heat there, he stroked her hair instead. Cora’s heart
beat faster. Marcus’ hands moved downward; Cora’s body rippled with
another sigh, then straightened as the searching hands found her hips. There
the hands cradled her gently, further trespass confined to a small area under
his thumbs. Just the slight stroking of the skin stretched across her pelvic
bones, however, was enough to madden her. She was awake, now. And
Marcus was smiling with the knowledge that he had brought her quickly to
life.
“You’re getting thin,” he said. His thumbs slipped across her skin,
the fragile bones.
“Models usually are,” she said, alternately arching her back to
escape, and leaning in to find his lips. He eluded her, but she felt his breath
on her face as he gave a chuckle.
“It’s not right that you’re not eating enough…after all the
restaurants I take you to.”
“Marcus,” was all she could say, feeble protest against the
interminable movement of his thumbs. She wanted him. Despite everything,
she wanted him to take her.
Marcus kept whispering. “You’ll have to promise to eat tonight. I’m
taking you to 6th street—Santonio’s place. You remember old Santa?”
Memory and thought eluded Cora. Her body could not draw breath.
“Good dinner, good wine, a little chat with Santonio…then I’ll take
you home.”
“Take me home,” Cora echoed. She was breathing again, all in a
rush.
“That’s right.” Marcus leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the
temple. The movement of the thumbs abruptly stopped. Cora drooped, her
head coming to rest on her lover’s shoulders. Under the new clothes Sharo
had bought her, Cora was faintly damp with sweat. Marcus pulled her
further too him, sliding his arms around her in ultimate embrace. He rocked
her slightly, whispering, “Cora, my love. My own.”
She closed her eyes and wished that life was only this.
*
Cora met the agent at the diner again. This time, their booth was
deep in the corner, and the waitress had strict instructions not to disturb
them.
“Can you tell us of your boyfriend’s movements, Miss Cora?”
 “I don’t know. He goes to work and then visits me, or calls to say
he’s working late and will see me another day. Lately, he has worked late
two days in a row. Is that what mean?”
The agent nodded. “Do you know where he has been?”
“No, he doesn’t tell me. What is this about?”
Instead of answering her, the agent countered with a question. “How were
you selected to be in the fashion debut last week?”
“Uh…Marcus told me about it. He set it up; he was friends with the
designer.”             
The agent’s eyes swept over her and Cora felt strangely bare. The
man’s eyes rested on the jewel on her finger, the red tear. Cora knew that
look. In this man’s eyes, she was as good as bought and paid for.
“What’s this about?” Cora asked again.
“We have reason to believe that Ubeli’s whole purpose in attending
was to conduct business with Santonio.” The agent slid a picture of an older
gentleman towards Cora. “Do you recognize this man?”
She almost laughed. “Papa Santa? He’s one of Marcus’ old friends. I
think he and Marcus’ father went to school together.”
The agent was not laughing, his fingers still on the
photograph. “You know him?”
“Every so often Marcus takes me to his restaurant. Santa always
comes around and says hi.” The agent’s eyes bored into her, so she said,
“Everybody calls him Santa. At least…” her voice died under the agent’s
stare, “that’s what he said...”
For a moment the agent said nothing, studying Cora as if trying to
see if she was real. Then, in an abrupt movement, the agent slid the picture
away. “Miss, I’d like to take you in for more questioning.”
Panic rose. “Take me in? Like, to the station?”
“No, not the police. My partner is in a mobile operating station
nearby. We can debrief you there and give you what you need to continue
surveillance of Mr. Ubeli.”
“I don’t know….”
The agent leaned in towards her. “I think that you have information
that could do a great deal of good towards our line of investigation. But
that’s only if you want to help us.”
 “But if Marcus found out…” Cora was still fretting. Part of her told
her to run away from this man, and his empty promises to give her answers.
But part of her had to know.
The agent shifted in his suit and straightened his tie. “Ma’am, we’re
going to do everything in our power to keep your involvement from his
knowledge. Our concern is for your safety.” He rose and waited until she
slid out of the booth after him. “This way.”
Keeping her head down and hoping no black cars were sneaking around
corners, Cora followed him out of the café. The agent led her into the street,
then down an alley way, heading straight towards a white van. When he
reached it, the side door slid open. With some hesitation, Cora stepped into
the van.
Inside was a dark cave of surveillance equipment. Stooping until
offered a corner seat at a little table, Cora absorbed the scene slowly. Bulky
black monitors lined the van’s walls; further down were screens a second
agent was watching intently.
“This is my partner,” the first one introduced the man, but he barely
took his eyes from the screen. Seated so far away, Cora couldn’t see more
than dim grey shapes flickering on the boxy eye. She wondered if her image
ever had walked across the screen, on the way to a shop or home.
“We’ve been following Mr. Ubeli’s operation for some time. His
presence has been linked to some murders in the Sticks.”
Cora could barely comprehend what the agent was telling her. The
agent interpreted her stare as confusion about something else, “The Sticks
are the south sections of the city. A really rough area.”
“Very hot with crime,” the second agent finally swiveled his chair
and took his gaze away from the computer screen. He blinked at Cora, as if
surprised to see her, even though she’d just been introduced to him. “Very
hot,” he repeated, looking her over. Cora crossed her arms lightly in front of
her, looking away.
The first agent noticed her discomfort. “Forgive my partner,” he said
smoothly, “He doesn’t get out of this van very often.”
“You’ve been…doing surveillance a long time?” Cora asked.
“We’ve been investigating activities in this area for a long time
now,” The first agent said.
 “Your boyfriend has been a long time player in the city’s
underworld,” said the second.
Disbelief played across Cora’s face, though in the back of her mind
a voice whispered, You knew this, you always wondered… “Just what has he
done?” she appealed.
The second agent snorted, “Just about anything. Smuggling in
illegals—weapons and goods, drug rings, heists small and large, money
laundring, petty theft.”
“We can’t prove he’s directly involved, yet,” the first said
cautiously. “We’re building a case.”
“But we’re pretty sure he’s had his fingers in all of this and more.
Violence, murder, prostitution. He’s the kingpin. He’s the boss.”
“I…I can’t believe…” Cora said.
“We’re not asking you to believe us, ma’am. We just want you to let
us know if you hear or sense anything suspicious,” The first agent had a
look of grave concern and the second one mirrored it. “To be honest, we’re
concerned for your safety as well. When there’s crime involved, the people
around tend to get hurt. Even if they aren’t aware of what’s going on around
them.” The agent glanced at his partner and said, as if to emphasize his
point, “She called Santonio ‘Papa Santa.’”
The second agent looked shocked. “Sell-em-by-Santonio? The man
who owns half the red light district?” He leaned towards Cora as if passing
secrets, “They call him that because some of his workers have ended up in
snuff films. Like they have a sell by date. He likes them young.”  
Cora looked from one agent to the other, unsure if the nightmare
was real.
“I bet he told you himself to call him ‘Papa Santa.’ You’re just his type…”
the second agent remarked.
Blood flooded Cora’s cheeks, and the first agent cleared his throat.
“So you see, you could be in considerable danger,” the first took the
role of counselor. “Any information you give us on these people will save a
lot of lives.”
“I don’t know…” Cora murmured. She felt nauseous, trapped in a
cave. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“Recent surveillance has uncovered a deal between Marcus Ubeli,
your boyfriend, and Mr. Santonio. Evidence suggest some arrangements
were made before and during the after-party of a designer’s debut.”
It took Cora a moment to understand this, “What…the photo
shoot?”
“That’s right,” one agent held her eyes while the other shuffled
through a file. A picture was produced—Marcus with Santonio, both
holding glasses of champagne. “We think that the two men met and agreed
on date and price. Their excuse to come together so publicly was their
mutual friend.” The agent snapped a second photograph towards Cora: it
pictured her as the Queen of the Dead, on the arm of the designer, Armand.
The shot was grey and blurry. “Santonio often befriends young designers.
We think he hires new models for photo shoots of his own.”
Again, the nausea clenched her stomach. Cora didn’t flinch. I can do
this. I can play the game. Only it wasn’t a game, anymore.
Agent #1: “Now there are shipments arriving at your boyfriend’s
warehouses.”
“Shipments of what?” Cora asked.
Agent #1: “We’re not sure yet.”  
“So, it could be anything…” Cora wanted to reason out of their
bleak world.
Agent #2 snorted. “Anything. As long as it’s Underworld business.”
His eyes went to the screen and stayed there, even when Cora stared at him.
Agent #1 cleared his throat softly. He was a thin man, wearing a suit
and tie. He looked…bland, plain. Utterly nondescript. Cora realized she
could have seen him on the street a thousand times, and never remembered.
But she had seen the white van outside the cafe that day she went walking.
If she had been approached that day and asked about Marcus, she would
have spilled everything suspicious: the cars that followed her, the private
club where Marcus spent days “doing business”, the friends of his who
studied the world shrewdly behind ranks and ranks of bodyguards. Dating
Marcus Ubeli, Cora felt like an ocean diver plunged into new depths, able
only to stare silently at a strange new world.
A month ago, she would have told them all of this. She wouldn’t
have been able to help it. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Swallowing hard, she
asked, “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“We need to establish who Marcus’ business partners are, and what
the nature of the transaction was. Any info would be useful.”
 “Okay.”
Sensing her uncertainty, Agent #2 pitched in, “Could you ask him
about his designer friend? Maybe if he had any business during the party?”
Cora recoiled instantly, “Marcus doesn’t like me asking about
business.”
“Did you ever wonder why?”
There was a long pause, during which Cora twisted and twisted the
ring on her finger. She was unaware she was doing it, but both men noticed
and exchanged glances filled with quiet victory.
“Miss Cora,” Agent #1 said soberly, “do you know what men on the
street call your boyfriend?”
Mute, she shook her head.
Agent #2: “Lord of the Underworld.”
“What?” Cora whispered.
“We’ve had him under surveillance for years. Crime in this city used
to be controlled by three families. The first moved. Now it’s all Ubeli. And
while your Marcus isn’t the head of the family, we suspect he’s at the
bottom of every deal the family does.”
The second agent tapped his head. “Business sense. Of all his
cousins, Marcus has the most…” He trailed off when the first agent shot
him a warning glance. “I’m just saying,” the second agent mumbled,
swiveling around in his chair to face the computer screen again, “In all
these years of survelliance, not once has the Lord of the Underworld lost a
deal. Marcus Ubeli always gets what he wants.”
“This all is too much,” Cora blurted. Her eyes darted around the
tight space of the van, looking for escape. “Survelliance and crime…I’m
just someone he’s dating. I’m not involved in any of this.”
“You were involved as soon as Marcus saw you, and decided to go
after you,” the first agent said quietly, looking at her ring. Cora stared at the
red gem and shining noose around her third finger.
“It doesn’t make sense…” she protested, even as her thoughts traced
the path from the thug in the bar, the drug slipped into her drink, the alley
way and steps leading down…her aunt scared off, and finally, a job,
apartment and relationship with no escape. Marcus Ubeli always gets what
he wants.
 “Lord of the Underworld,” the second agent was tapping on his
computer keyboard.             
Cora roused herself from grim thoughts. “But, why all that trouble?
What would he want with me?”
The agents exchanged glances, but didn’t answer.
“Cora,” one finally said. “We can help you escape. Your aunt is
waiting; she’s safe. You can be, too. Believe us, you’ll need our help to get
out. You can’t get away from Ubeli alone.”
Cold at the core, Cora remembered her long, fruitless walk.
“We’re willing to give you a way out,” the first agent spelled out
carefully, “in exchange for information. Just a few private sessions of
Marcus Ubeli can be very instructive.” Focusing a direct stare into her eyes,
the man spoke in slow staccato. “Are you willing to help us?”
“Okay,” Cora said at last, “I’ll do what I can.”
“Excellent.” The van became filled with activity. The first agent
took down equipment from the wall; the other swiveled to his computer and
typed furiously.  
“We’ll need to act fast,” the first said.
“Roger that,” said the second. “Watchman number one is on his way
back for her. The bald guy. Always in suits. He drives you everywhere,”
Agent #2 added Sharo’s description to clarify for Cora. “We call him
Watchman. And we always watch him.” He guffawed like it was a great
joke.
“He’s Ubeli’s right hand man. The most trusted that we can tell.
Every time there’s a sensitive job, you’ll find Watchman. Lately he’s been
paying a lot of attention to you.” Agent #2 gave Cora a weighing look of his
own. In her seat, Cora shifted and tightened her arms around her body.
Closing her eyes, she hummed until everything went away—the agent’s
voices fading into dull, electronic bleeps, one with their equipment.
Marcus’ face rose up before her, handsome and shadowed. He was telling
her it would all be okay.
“We’re almost ready.” Agent #1 touched Cora’s arm, jolting her out
of reverie. She stared up at the bland face, mediocre features swimming
together to make the personality of a plain, white wall. In the van’s
electronic glow, the agent’s face seemed more sinister than Marcus’, and
just as shadowed. “Lift your shirt a little.”
 Cora blinked in shock as Agent #2 approached with device in his
hand.
“I’m not wearing that,” she said.
Agent #1 was still looking down at her, willing her to speak again.
Cora shook her head. “Marcus trusts me. I…I can’t do this to him.”
There was a pause, to test her. “Ma’am…” Agent #1 sighed,
glancing back at his partner.
Agent #2, to Cora: “We’ll get him anyway.”
Agent #1: “You must know this is the right thing to do. We need
your help.”
“I’ll help you anyway I can, but I’m not going to wear that—”
“A wiretap is our best chance,” Agent #1 said, as Agent #2 held up
the thin, black thread.
“I said no.” Cora’s arms were crossed, but her lip trembled.
A pause. Then #1 turned to his partner. “Looks like we just lost our best in.
We’ll have to get him another way.”
Agent #2 made a frustrated sound. “Listen. I’ve watched this guy go
on the hook for things before with no way of knowing what we were going
to ask him. He’s tight. He has a reason, every single time. Every single
time.” In his passion, he slipped into street talk, and, switching the gadgets
to one hand, slammed the side of the van.
“Cora,” said Agent #1, ignoring his partner’s fury and squatting
down to meet her downcast eyes, “You can trust us with this. We’re not
sending you into any danger, not more than you already are whether you
believe it or not. We want to help you.”
“You said I could see my aunt,” Cora’s voice was small, a child’s.
“We will get you to her straight away. Just do this one thing for us.
For her.”
“Just this once. Part of the deal,” Agent #2 echoed.
“What do I have to do?” Cora asked.
“Go to him to dinner, get him relaxed. Then ask him about the guy
who disappeared.”
“I don’t know.” The green light of the equipment cast shadows
under Cora’s eyes as she whispered, “What if I really do love him?”
Agent #1 straightened, looked at his partner, who shrugged back at
him. The electronic wire was strung between his fingers like the single
strand of a spider web.
“Then, kid, you have to make a choice. Do you want to help us or
not?”
*
The penthouse was dark when Cora entered. Go to the place he lives,
works. Look for anything telling—papers, accounts, files. Anything. She
could still hear the van’s beeping equipment, the sharp rip of the tape in the
agent’s hands.
Eyes wide in the dark, Cora ventured further. The long room was
grand, even set in grey shadow. She went to the sunken area, passing the bar
and Greek statue on the way. Through the blinds came the city light, a
galaxy of buildings and streets.
Start in his penthouse. Wait until he’s gone, then search his rooms.
The other agent had said, Do you know when he’ll be gone next?
She had nodded. Tonight.             
When the two men had smiled at each other, Cora knew her future
was decided.
Marcus had given her a key to his penthouse months ago, telling her
she had access to his private lair. She had never used it.
You must understand, the agents had said, lives hang in the balance.
Cora you must help…
It all happened so fast. They spoke to her much longer, their words
overlapping and weaving one giant net. Now, in the silence of the dark, the
words were all she had. Looking around the dark, she knew she was alone.
“Cora.”
The voice sounded in the deep, chilling Cora. Marcus was not
working late; she had mistimed. He’s here.
Slowly, her dark sight made the division between space and shadow.
Marcus was sitting on the couch, his form a slighter shade of grey than the
rest of the dark room. In one hand, he held a drink. Slowly, he stretched out
the other to her. “Come.”
She went to him. Stepping into the sunken area, she nearly stumbled
in the thick carpet. Words rose in her. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to betray you.
I just wanted to help my aunt, I didn’t mean...
But she said nothing. Somehow, in the colorless space, silence could
not be shaken. Cora stood before her boyfriend, not touching him. Her head
was bowed.
After draining his drink and setting it aside, Marcus stood. Cora
knew she might have one fragile moment to explain herself. Marcus, she
begged silently. But outwardly she was mute.
With slow fingers, Marcus took the first button of her blouse. A
slight pull, and then he was touching skin. The touch jolted her.
He knows, Cora thought wildly. Words spilled into her mouth again,
and again the quiet took them. She could not see her lover’s face, but she
hoped what she read in the planed shadows was not violence or vengeance.
Another pull, another button. Forcing a smile, Cora lifted her hands to
Marcus’ own shirt collar; he blocked her hands, and undid another button.
A few more and she would be bare before him.
I’m sorry, they came to me, I never meant…
Did he look at her? Cora could not tell. His fingers spoke slowly,
finishing her shirt and letting it slide. The light shuttered over Cora’s belly
and chest, crossed with shadows, the bars of Venetian blinds. Trapping her
wrists, Marcus lifted both Cora’s arms over her head while his other hand
trailed down to her hip. Shuddering, Cora bowed her head. The man
released her hands; the maiden left them crossed above her head. A twitch,
and her skirt was undone, falling to the floor.
Marcus Ubeli sat back down on the couch, eyes on the innocent
form bare before him. “Turn around.”
Cora swiveled and light lapped over her. When she was done, he
beheld her trusting flesh. There was nothing taped to her skin—no wire, no
device. Looking at him, questioning, she found only darkness. She took a
step back.
Suddenly everything she’d held in bubbled out of her. “You knew
they would approach me. You knew about the wire.”
Realization hit her and she nearly crumpled to the floor. “You’ve
been one step ahead this entire time.”
He watched her carefully as her mind spun, piecing things together.
“There was a plan. You saw me in the bar.” She went slowly,
thinking through events. “You liked me. You couldn’t get close. The lord of
the Underworld can’t get close. You told your man to get me. He
overstepped his bounds. So you punished him.”
 “Sharo did.” Marcus’ voice rasped. He looked calm, if a little sad. A
man waiting for a sentence to be pronounced.
“You moved my aunt.” It was almost a question.
“We had to vet her. Sharo made sure she wasn’t being paid off by
any of my enemies, and then made sure she’s safe.”
              “Your enemies want to get to you through other people.” She
reasoned.
Pain flashed in his eyes. “It’s happened before.”
“So you had me followed. And then, when I figured that out, you
arranged one final test. The wire. And I passed.” She touched her bare
stomach, where there was no wire, no tape. She hadn’t betrayed him. In the
end, she’d run from the agents who sought to save her, back to the man who
would drag her life down into the underworld.
“I had to know. I had to know I could trust you completely.” He
cleared his throat, and looked away. “I love you.”
“Marcus,” she started, and then shook her head. She didn’t even
know what to think.
“You know everything now. Everything I’ve done has been to keep
you safe.”
“You manipulated me.”
“For a time.” He rose from the bed, towering over her. Even with his
physical proximity, she still wasn’t afraid of him. “In my world, sometimes
manipulation is necessary to keep people safe.”
“And you want me to enter that world.”
“Be with me, Cora. Be with me.” He entreated her, and he looked
like a man asking a lover. Not a kingpin making a deal.
“You know now.” She said. “You know I wouldn’t betray you.”
“You gave me this beautiful gift.” He reached out hesitantly, and
touched her hair. Her breath caught in her throat at his tenderness. She’d
never seem him act so unsure before.
Slowly, he knelt before her. She stood nervously in place, wanting to
touch him, hold him, tell him it was okay. But she waited as he spoke in a
halting voice. “I can’t erase what I’ve done. What I have to do. The sort of
man I am.” His dark head tipped up to look at her face. “But I can love
you.”
 Her own knees weakened. He noticed her wobble, and he gathered
her close, resting his forehead on her belly. Cora breathed with great care.
“Your innocence called to me the first time I saw you. I wanted you.
I had to possess you. But in the end…” He bowed his head to her. “You
possessed me.”
She stroked his hair in response. The darkness pressed on her,
waiting. She had to make a decision.
She felt like she had been sleeping for a long time. But now,
awakened, she knew the one answer to all the questions. And it satisfied it
all.
“I love you,” she told him, told herself. And, trembled when
Marcus’ lips pressed her skin in voiceless passion. I want you.
“You asked me a question some time ago,” Cora’s words came with
shreds of shuddered breath, “in a beautiful garden.”
Marcus rose. Taking her hands, he guided them, and soon freed
himself of his shirt. Silk rippled to the floor and Cora’s heart beat faster.
Underneath her lover’s business armor lay an athlete’s form. Her fingers
traced the linear muscle, tempting and bare. Marcus’ own fingers were
sweet on her jaw and face.
“Marcus,” Cora said, though it was becoming hard to breathe. “I
want to tell you my answer.”
But even as her mouth parted, Marcus met it with his own. The two
clung to one another, wishing their bodies could lose all boundaries of skin
and bone, and merge. Cora forgot all words as Marcus gathered her up and
carried her like a bride to his bedroom.
*
                            For more scenes, stories, and first glimpses, sign up to be
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more Tales of Olympus .
*
Coming soon--Book two:
Awakening, A Novel of Olympus
*
“Who’s there?” Cora jerked away from the balcony ledge and
peered into the shadows beyond the French doors. She wasn’t afraid, only
startled. She could hear loud laughter and talking drift up from the party
downstairs. If she screamed someone would hear her.
The young man approaching her looked familiar. Cora’s eyes
widened as she recognized the famous singer. “Chris? What are you doing
here?”
At his name, the Orphan came forward quickly. He wore his usual
outfit, well fitted jeans and a plain white t-shirt. His clothes looked more
rumpled than usual, but his presence still held that hypnotic aura she
remembered.
Then he spoke, panic in his voice. “They’ve taken her.”
Cora stepped close, stopped. The young man’s eyes were wild.
“What? Who’s been taken?”
“Iris. My fiancé.” The Orphan ran a hand through his curls, a move
she recognized from his performance onstage. Now it conveyed more worry
than rock god charisma. “She left—she was only supposed to be gone a few
hours. It’s been two days. I don’t know where she is.”
Cora clutched her wrap around her more tightly. Her party dress,
though fashionable, wasn’t designed to keep out the night chill. Here on the
balcony, the city at their feet, the wind reached them more easily. “Did she
call or leave a message or anything?”
“No,” he rasped miserably. “She’s gone. Please, you have to believe
me.”
“I believe you,” Cora said automatically. The singer’s soulful gaze,
beloved by so many women, implored her to. “Did you go to the police?”
The Orphan shook his head. “They won’t let me.”
“Who’s they?” Cora asked, even though she knew. AJ, the creepy producer.
Maybe even Thane and Hype, the club manager’s at Elysium.             
“My manager says it’s not safe for me to leave the hotel.” The
Orphan was explaining. “They won’t even let me alone. I had a concert last
night, and three this weekend. I have a contract to fulfill, they say. They
won’t let me out.” He gazed at her, his hypnotic aura holding her
spellbound. “We were going to elope. They say she probably got cold feet,
and that’s why she left.”
Realization struck Cora, and she jerked backwards. “You think they
found out you wanted to leave, and they took her. They’re holding her
hostage.”
 The singer doubled over almost like he was in pain. “It’s my fault.”
he moaned. He stumbled backwards until he hit the wall of the building.
The sounds of the party below almost washed his words away.
Cora crouched down to where he cowered in the shadows. “Ok, it’s
ok.”
“You’re the only one I can talk to. No one else will listen.”  The singer
whispered brokenly. “Please, you have to help her. Before it’s too late.”
*