Dark Mysteries Read online

  She could feel them staring at her, taking in her black eye that had started to take on a green and yellow tint around the blue, the scratches on her face, her cut lip. She could almost hear the thoughts pass through their heads. Abused woman. Hannah smiled at her softly, as if sensing, or expecting skittishness in the small blond-haired, blue-eyed, battered woman in front of her. "If you don't mind..."

  "Not at all," Ellie said, moving out of the way. "I'm... Ellie," she said, looking awkwardly around the office. It really wasn't meant for receiving guests.

  "I'm..."

  "Hannah," Ellie finished. "And you're Elliott," she said, inclining her head at him. He really was good looking in a very distant, almost cold kind of way. He wore his power like an aura around him.

  "Do you work for Xander?" Hannah asked, moving to sit on the edge of the desk.

  "Oh, no," she said, deciding the truth would probably be the easiest course of action. "He's working on a case for me." They both nodded at her and a awkward silence fell. She didn't even have a cell number to call Xander at to tell him to get back. "Do you guys want some coffee?" she asked after a long minute.

  "That would be great," Hannah smiled, nodding.

  "Cream or sugar?" Ellie asked, wincing a bit at the rehearsed sound to her words. Years of serving tables did that to you.

  "Black," Elliott said, looking at the pictures on the corkboard, "for both of us," he said and received a pointed stare from Hannah and smiled, shaking his head. "Please," he added.

  Ellie let herself in to the apartment, taking her time pouring the cups, in no hurry to get back to the uncomfortable silence in the other room. She could hear them talking to each other in quite tones, unaware how the sound carried.

  "This is where you went for help?" Elliott asked, his tone disbelieving.

  "Trust me," Hannah said, sounding confident. "I did research. Xander is who you want on your side. I just... waited too long."

  Ellie walked back in as they stepped away from each other like guilty teenagers. What must it be like to be that infatuated with another person?

  Ellie had just handed them their cups when the door opened, Xander looking down at his phone. "What the hell are you thinking leaving the door unloc..." his voice trailed off, looking up and seeing Hannah. His eyes looked confused at first, like he wasn't sure about what he was actually seeing. Then his eyes fell automatically to her wrists and a guarded darkness came over his features.

  "Sorry," Ellie said, admitting it was really stupid of her to not lock the door after them. "I wasn't sure if it was okay to..."

  "It's fine," he said, his tone firm, but oddly gentle. Like he didn't want her apology.

  "Hey Xander," Hannah said, smiling at him. "How have you been?"

  Xander shook his head. "Fine. How have you been?"

  "All better," she said, waving a hand. "I called. Left messages..."

  "I've been busy," he hedged, looking like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him right then and there.

  "I wanted to thank..."

  "You have nothing to thank me for," Xander said, moving behind the desk and opening a drawer. He pulled out a manilla folder and held it out to her. "Actually, I've been meaning to have this sent back to you," he said shoving it toward her until she had to take it.

  She looked at it suspiciously, opening the tab and looking inside. "Absolutely not," she said, shoving it against his chest, making him stumble back a foot.

  Ellie almost wanted to laugh. A big, hulking man like Xander being pushed back a step by a pretty black-haired woman in heels. Judging by the strange tilt to the edge of Elliott's lips, he was having the same struggle with his composure.

  "Sweetheart..." he started and then looked almost guiltily at Elliott. "Hannah," he corrected himself, "I didn't do the job you hired me to do. I owe you your money back."

  "You did a lot of work on the case," Hannah corrected. When he still refused to grab the folder, she threw it on his desk. "You read all those notes. And you broke into my apartment..." she said, almost laughing. "You got into a fist fight with Elliott..."

  Ellie looked at Elliott, who nodded at her. She tried to imagine the fight: huge dangerous Xander rolling around on the ground with impeccably dressed, powerful Elliott Michaels. It was a funny image and she found herself bringing a hand up to cover her mouth.

  "And then you were drugged, kidnapped, and tortured," Xander said, his tone attempting to sound rational, but sounding sad instead. He was trying to keep it together. The absolute last thing he had expected to deal with that day was a confrontation with Hannah. He wouldn't have even considered the idea that Ellie would have let anyone in his office. He glanced over at her, her hand covering her lips. Maybe her fear had slipped when she heard a female voice. Maybe she felt comfortable letting someone in who had been similarly abused.

  Hannah was in rare form. Haughty and determined. Angry almost at him for not getting back to her. For making her trek all the way into his neck of the woods.

  "Oh my God," Hannah said, rolling her eyes, exasperated, "it wasn't your fault. If this was anyone's fault, it was mine..."

  "Hannah..." Elliott broke in, his tone rational, firm.

  "Not in a 'I slept with my boss so I deserved to be stalked by a crazy bitch who was in love with him' kind of way," Hannah shot back. "I mean... for not getting help earlier. I knew it was escalating and I just kept... pretending it wasn't that bad." She reached out and touched Xander's arm and his eyes went to her wrists again. "This was on me, not you. So stop punishing yourself, you idiot," she said, letting her hand drop. "And you're taking the damn money," she added for good measure.

  Ellie watched Hannah with a sense of awe and envy. The girl had just gotten out of the hospital a few days ago and she was already back to being some kind of force of nature. She was strong, sure of herself, unashamed of her scars. Ellie looked down at her wrists, covered in hair bands. She was always worried someone would get the wrong impression.

  Of course, Hannah hadn't been tortured for years by someone who was supposed to love her. Maybe it was easier to move on when your tormentor was just some random whack job, when they were safely locked away behind bars, when you had someone by your side who held you through the nightmares, who kissed away the fears.

  God, what was wrong with her?

  "Fine," Xander sighed, his lips quirking up. "I'll take the money. I'll buy a new stun gun and name it after you," he winked.

  He hadn't even winked at her, and she felt a rush of desire flood her system, making her skin feel tingly and her heart beat a little faster. She should have lied to another private investigator. One less unnervingly sexy, preferably an old, fat guy. Or a surly, loud-mouthed woman. That would have been the better choice. Now she was stuck in close quarters with someone she was having slightly inappropriate thoughts about. Okay... really inappropriate thoughts about. He looked just as good in a long sleeved shirt as he did without one. Well... maybe not as good. But he was yummy to...

  "Ellie," Xander broke into her thoughts. Her head snapped up, her cheeks heating and her eyes looking guilty. Had she been staring at him? She was pretty sure she had been staring. And from the strange look on his face, he had called her name more than once.

  "What? Sorry..." she said, her face feeling like it was on fire.

  Xander shook his head. She was acting really strange. And her face was red as a beet. "I said I am going to go show Elliott and Hannah a building in the neighborhood," at her blank look, he pressed on, "for the low income housing complex he is building..." he added, wondering how long she had been zoned out. What was making her look so embarrassed. "Do you want to come?"

  "No," she said too quickly. "No thanks... I need to..." Take a cold shower, a really, really cold shower, "straighten up the kitchen," she finished, knowing he knew she was lying and not caring.

  He sent her a weird smile, leading the Hannah and Elliott toward the door. "Okay," he said, reaching out an
d touching her arm. "Lock the door," he said and was gone.

  Yup, Ellie nodded, sliding the lock, a really cold shower.

  Ten

  She needed to go out. The idea hit her hard and fast and made her feel a little sick. There was a quiet sort of determination in the thought. She needed to go. There wasn't really a way around it. And she needed to do it when she knew Xander would be gone for a while.

  It was the perfect time. He would be busy with Hannah and Elliott for at least an hour. It wouldn't take her more than fifteen minutes. She walked into the apartment to find the plastic container full of her belongings. She grabbed her wallet and stuffed some money into it. Slipping into her shoes, she looked over at Xander's closet of pain. Before she had even decided to do so, she was moving into it, grabbing one of the extend-able batons, slipping it into the waistband of her leggings, and pulling her t-shirt down to hide it.

  Finding a spare key to the front door turned out to be the biggest challenge. After rummaging around in his desk for a few minutes, she pulled out a giant key ring like the kind janitors carried, full of keys. She set out on the task of finding which one fit into the front door lock while standing just far enough into the office to not be seen by anyone on the street. When she finally found it, and without any pockets to store it, she pulled it off and slipped it inside her bra.

  She walked out the front door, her head titled down, and hailed a cab. Normally, she hated wasting money on frivolous things like cab rides. But she needed to get there as quickly as possible. And she needed to not be seen.

  The taxi pulled off a few blocks away from her apartment building, out front of a post office. She paid the driver and climbed out, rushing inside. She turned toward the right once inside, going to the back corner where her P.O box was located. She rummaged in her wallet for her key, her hands shaking wildly. She was way too worked up. She needed to get herself under control.

  Ellie opened the box, reaching inside, noticing the attendant at the desk watching her. She recognized him. He had been there every time she had ever gone to pick up her mail. Every two weeks. Like clockwork. She shrugged off his glance, grabbing the three envelopes. One was her check from the diner. Which, sever salary being what it was, probably amounted to a whopping three dollars... if it wasn't a voided check, that is. She folded it without opening it, slipping it into her wallet. She reached for another envelope which had her P.O. Box number and address, without her name. And was sent from a town in Washington. No name. Or street address.

  She ripped it open, relieved for his continued discretion. But, then again, if there was anyone in the world who knew how important her secrets needed to be kept, it was him.

  E-

  Money is in the account. I prepped another bug-out bag and left it with a friend. It has all the necessary identification, clothes, snacks, and instructions for the next location. Get ready for an early summer. If you need it, call me on the burner when you're out of the city and I'll give you the address. THEN WIPE AND TOSS THE BURNER. I hope you found a Krav Maga class like I suggested. You need to practice. - K

  She took a deep breath, feeling guilty for not getting into another class. He was right. He was always right about that kind of thing. She opened the last envelope, another from him, with a pit in her stomach. He never wrote twice.

  E-

  Where the fuck are you? I haven't heard from you in over a week. You can't miss your check-ins. If I don't hear from you in three days, I am coming to the city. - K

  Ellie walked over toward the table, turning over the note and scribbling a quick reply, feeling guilty as hell. She had missed her check-in. For the first time ever. And that was unacceptable.

  K-

  Sorry. He found me. I have help. Will keep you posted. - E

  She quickly grabbed an envelope and bought a stamp out of the machine, filling it out and dropping it into the box.

  It was then that she saw the attendant still watching her. He was not just casually looking around, taking in the people. He was staring at her. She glanced at him from under her lashes, her stomach clenching tightly. Still watching her, he slowly picked up the phone. He pulled something out of his desk, looking at it as he typed in the number. She watched, horrified, as he started talking, his voice a whisper, his hand blocking his face so no one could read his lips. His head turned to her again, watching her and nodding.

  Ellie grabbed her wallet and ran. She knocked into someone at the door, making him lose balance knock into the stamp machine. But she couldn't stop.

  Because he was onto her. He knew about her P.O. Box. He had gotten to the post office staff. He had bribed them to call him if or when she showed up.

  She had a small, precious window of time to get the hell out of there.

  She took off on the street, away from her apartment, away from Xander's. She slipped the string of her wallet around her wrist and grabbed the baton in her hand, still folded in on itself. She veered down a side street, knowing if she took it down four blocks, she could turn up for three, and then take a turn to lead her all the way back to Xander's. Right after she had moved to the city, she had spent hours pouring over maps of the streets, making routes. Then she would spend the next day learning them until there was no fear of not knowing how to get somewhere. Until there were no mistakes that could be made.

  "Eleanor," a voice shouted, making her heart jump into her throat. Not his voice, but Bobby's. That was just as bad. She didn't look. She knew he was behind her. She knew that his legs were longer. She kept her eyes forward, seeing the long road ahead. The buildings would get closer. There would be no side streets to turn down for a long time. No way to catch him off guard.

  With only a second of hesitation, she took an unplanned route down the closest side street. It was the back alley to all the stores and restaurants on the main street. Dumpsters, piles of cardboard, and makeshift homeless huts littered it, making running awkward and treacherous. Behind her, she heard Bobby curse followed by a slamming sound. She pushed herself faster, taking the short reprieve to slip down another alley.

  "He just wants to talk, El," Bobby yelled, sounding further away than he had been before.

  He never wanted to talk. He wanted to punch, and kick, and stab, and choke. He wanted to kill people she loved to prove a point. He wanted to drag her down in his basement prison and almost kill her. Almost. But never do it. Because he wanted to get her well. Then do it all over again.

  Ellie felt the angry words catch in her throat, pushing them away. She needed to save her breath. She needed to avoid a pointless fight that would only slow her down. She needed to run. She needed to think. She was prepared. She knew the streets. If she could just stop thinking about him and...

  She threw herself down an alley to the left, a narrow space that if she threw her arms out, she would be touching both walls. She sucked in air, thanking her instincts to take up running as soon as she had left him. Stamina. She needed so much stamina to get away. She jumped over a pile of discarded shipping pallets. She heard Bobby crash into them and took the chance to slip between two buildings, running up and throwing open a door.

  Inside, she pulled it closed behind her, running in through the big, restaurant kitchen. Someone yelled at her as she passed, but she moved through the door that would lead her into the bar. It was the bar next door to the diner. She burst into the main room, making the men at a back table stand up, reaching inside their jackets.

  She looked around for a split second, feeling unsure of herself. But he would be right behind her soon.

  "Panic room," she heard a woman to her side yell. She came barreling out from behind the bar, her dark hair streaming behind her and grabbing Ellie's arm. "She needs the fucking panic room," she yelled, pulling her behind her toward the men. "Move!"

  The men scrambled out of the way and the woman shoved a chair to the side, reaching into the wall and opening a hidden door. She pulled Ellie forward, slamming her into the room and closing
the door behind her.

  Alone, Ellie felt the cold wall against her back. She leaned forward, her hands on her knees, trying to get her breath to slow down. The bartender had said two blissful words, the only two words that were keeping her from having an absolute panic attack at being locked up: panic room. She was in a panic room.

  Ellie straightened. A panic room because she was in a mafia bar.

  She had never been in a panic room before. The idea had always stirred up images of tiny cinder block-type structures, barely big enough to turn around in. This was roughly the side of, well, a restaurant dumpster. The walls were painted white and there was small bench that ran along three sides of it, white boxes underneath which, she assumed, held food and water... and knowing the club owners, weapons. The door had a huge black wheel on it. To unlock when it was safe. And there was a small television screen mounted next to the door, showing the image feed from the restaurant bar.

  Ellie watched in stunned silence as Bobby finally flew into the restaurant, a gash above his right eyebrow bleeding half-heartedly down his cheek. He was met immediately by four guns from the men, small black things, scary only because she knew how willing they were to use them. The female bartender came out from behind the bar, like she had been there all along, a shiny metal bat propped up against her shoulder like she was walking to the plate.

  There was no sound on the video, but she saw Bobby throw his hands up, shaking his head. He was explaining. She saw his hand wave near his chest, like indicating someone's height. The men shook their heads, putting their guns back into their jackets. Vin, the owner, her savior one night... now two times, pat the man on the back, turning him and leading him to the front door.