DARK ROADS & OPEN DOORS
CHAPTER 3
She was being shaken gently by the shoulder, coaxed from slumber and loath to move from her spot cosily nestled in the curve of another's body. "Mmmm?" she responded sleepily to the shaking, snuggling back into the warmth he provided, enjoying the arm still wrapped around her waist.
"Much as this is a pleasant way to wake up, I believe we have more important matters to attend to today." His voice caused her to snap her eyes open – it was not the voice she expected to hear first thing in the morning, husband with a double life or not Tom's voice was familiar to her in the mornings; Red's voice, while husky, deep with sleep and not unpleasant in the least, wasn't Tom's. She craned her neck around to frown at Red but before she got to him she noticed how bright it was outside – they were late.
"Shit!" She bolted out of bed and crossed to her bag to get her clothes. "Shit, shit, shit... what time is it?"
"Nine fifty-six," Red responded, amusement evident in his voice.
"We have to go."
"Oh, but this trip was turning out to be so much more fun." He rose from the bed, unabashedly nude, and moved to stand behind her, lightly rubbing circles into her shoulders with his thumbs. "I call shower first," he muttered into her ear and moved away toward the bathroom.
"Red, we don't have time!"
"There is always time for a shower, Lizzie," he called through the door before she heard the shower hum to life. She had not heard the snick of the lock after he shut the bathroom door and this decided her actions; quickly, she dressed and brushed her hair back until it looked presentable then stormed into the bathroom to find Red in the shower, his back to her, before striding to the taps and turning the water off.
"Raymond Reddington," she began in a tone that brooked no argument, "you get yourself dressed and out of that motel door, or so help me I will have your immunity revoked for refusal to co-operate with a federal agent." She took a breath. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," he responded all too enthusiastically, amusement dancing in his blue eyes. She threw his underpants at him and with a sigh she whirled around and left the bathroom, picking up her bag to wait outside for him; when he caught up to her she checked them out and got the number of a local vehicle recovery firm from the clerk. She used the payphone as her cell still had no signal – they really were out in the sticks – and agreed to meet the recovery truck at the car, giving them a vague description of where the car broke down.
"They're going to be about an hour and they're coming from the opposite direction, so we should walk back to the car, I think."
"And I suppose I should lead?" At her nod in the affirmative he took her bag and swung it over his shoulder once more; without waiting for her surprised 'thanks' he turned and began the trek back to the car. Liz caught up to him and before long they were walking side by side, feeling something ambiguous in the silence between them as they trudged. Red soon broke the silence as they approached the crossroads. "I quite enjoyed your rant this morning; it was authoritative, yet desperate... and undeniably sexy." She snorted, before considering that their early morning tumble in the sheets might mean something more to Red than she wanted it to.
"Red, what happened this morning-"
"I won't say a word," he assured her.
"Yeah, not until it suits you to. Anyway, it's not going to happen again."
"Ho, ho! So sure of yourself. How do you know?"
"Because we're never going to be in that situation ever again."
"Shame."
They spent the rest of the walk to the car in a more tense silence; Lizzie fuming at Red's presumptuous nature and his blatant amusement at her fury. Soon enough they were back at the car.
"So, are we playing house again for the recovery company?" Red asked as he deposited their overnight bags in the trunk.
"I did say I was travelling with my husband, yes," she responded curtly.
"Hmm. I suppose you are still wearing that ring." He sniffed dismissively.
"Despite what's happened, Tom is still my husband and I don't like the tone you use when you refer to anything to do with him."
"There's something off about him, Lizzie. He's too perfect."
"It's none of your business, Reddington. He's perfect for me, and we don't keep important secrets from each other. There'll be a logical explanation for everything, just you wait."
"So he knows it's an open marriage now? No important secrets, after all."
"You gave me no choice!" she blurted, knowing it was a bad move and a lie.
In a flash, Red had her pinned to the car with his body and tugged on her hair to pull her head back. "So it was rape, now, was it?" he questioned, eyes flashing ruthlessly; she found herself suddenly frightened. "I didn't hear you complaining; in fact, you didn't once tell me to stop – were you thinking of your perfect husband then, Lizzie? Hmm?"
"N-no. I didn't mean- I didn't know that-" her eyes misted with unshed tears as she searched for an explanation that she hadn't found yet. "What am I doing?" His grip slackened on her and his eyes softened, he sighed and she watched his features changes from anger to his usual neutral mask and finally to a concerned frown.
"Your best?" he offered quietly.
"I thought I was, but my best is now jeopardising my chances at adopting a child, mistrust of everybody I should be able to count on, and I don't feel safe in my own home or know who I've been sharing that home with for years; oh, and did I tell you about that one time I shacked up with one of the FBIs Most Wanted – the Concierge of Crime no less!" She sagged against him, content in her self-pity to have him hold her upright against the car.
"Lizzie, Lizzie... you're doing fine. Your life is tumultuous at present, yes, but things will soon be clearer for you; give yourself time," he assured her, drawing her head to rest on his shoulder.
"I don't suppose you have any mad scientist contacts that've cracked time travel?" she mumbled, only half-jokingly.
"Mad scientists, yes, although they specialist in the 'enough firepower to blow you back to last Wednesday' sort of time travel."
"I would like to arrive in one piece, so I'll pass."
"Where? Or, rather, when?"
"The day I decided to become an agent."
He was silent for a moment before he responded. "You'd change your mind?"
"I feel like I would, if I knew how I was feeling now." She sniffled into his shoulder. "I mean, how is it that you irritate me beyond all reason, yet you're the only one that ever listens to me and doesn't judge?"
"I've told you before," he began, moving her so he could see her face before offering her a handkerchief, "you're special, Lizzie." She offered a small smile at his familiar words, though her eyes did not meet his. The roar of an engine signalled the arrival of the recovery truck. Liz straightened her jacket, blew her nose and wiped her eyes. "Here come the saviours," Red joked as the pickup pulled up in front of their sedan.
"I don't think he's coming today," Red muttered surreptitiously to Liz, who was now nursing her second glass of red wine in the only bar in the small township of Edison.
"Maybe he's having car trouble?" she jested, idly running her finger around the rim of the glass.
Reddington sipped his wine. "Perhaps."
"Is it worrying you, him not being here?"
"Not at all. I'll leave a message for him behind the bar and we can see how our only mode of transport is faring. Besides, he is infamous for being late."
"How late is 'late'?"
"Last I heard, his personal best is three months."
"Oh, Jesus," Liz cursed and rubbed at her temples with her fingertips in an attempt to stave off the blooming headache she felt coming on. "Just how essential is he?"
"He is the key to Number Nine."
"Well, he'd better hurry it up then," she thought aloud. "So it'll be another overnight stay?"
"Indeed."
"I think I saw a guesthouse as we came into town."
"No need."
"What?"
"I've taken the liberty of arranging a short lease property."
"In town?"
"Yes, just on the outskirts. I've had the legalities checked and moved some of my furniture in; I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been surrounded by my own things."
"How long have you known we would be coming here?"
"My contact is essential to your apprehending Nine and this little town is his old stomping ground; he feels safe here, so there was naturally never an alternative."
"I see," she nodded. "So how long have you got the place rented for?"
"It's on a rolling monthly contract."
"And it's fully furnished?"
"Yes, and you have your own bed, you'll be pleased to know. We just need to stock the kitchen cupboards."
"We can head to the store after checking out the car?" Lizzie suggested.
"Perfect," Red announced, flashing her a wolfish smile. Liz continued to insist that he walked slightly ahead of her, and Red had an idea, "Would you mind masquerading as my wife when we meet my contact?"
"Why?" she questioned defensively.
"I have been absent for a time and he's the paranoid sort. If he thinks I've been gallivanting around on an extended honeymoon he'll loosen his jaw quicker, I'd wager."
"So long as that's all."
"Of course."
Lizzie pulled the car, now fully repaired, into the driveway of the little two-bed house Reddington had directed her to. They had shopped, argued about Lizzie's cooking, and eventually agreed that Red would act as chef for the duration of their stay. He had convinced her to play the part of his wife whenever they were seen together in town – his contact had eyes everywhere – and she had eventually agreed, though reluctant. Laden with shopping bags, the pair entered the property and Red headed straight through to the kitchen signalling for Liz to follow.
Together they unpacked the groceries and stocked the cupboards, Red keeping a few aside for their dinner; when she would stop to think on it much later, the ease with which they decided what should go where would unnerve her. He rummaged in the cupboards, set a mixing bowl on the counter, a frying pan on the burner, and fetched a whisk from the nearest drawer which he shut with a tap of his hip; Liz had the distinct impression that Red enjoyed cooking, which was a good sign – if he enjoyed it then he was probably good at it, and she was hungry.
"Would you be a dear and chop the mushrooms?" Red asked, snapping her out of her train of thought; she nodded mutely and took the knife he held out for her.
"What're we having?"
"Mushroom omelette," he responded, cracking eggs into the mixing bowl and adding a splash of milk. Sea salt and cracked pepper went in next. Done with the mushrooms, she moved to set their places at the small kitchen table in the middle of the room, setting their plates on the counter ready for the omelettes to be served before she sat herself down at the table. In a matter of minutes Red placed her dinner in front of her, and she felt her stomach rumble appreciatively at the smell wafting from the plate. "Tuck in," he urged before cutting into his own meal. She was right about his cooking skills; hell, she'd eat omelette every day if it was as good as this – her own efforts had always ended in black smoke and burnt eggs stuck to a non-stick pan. Her thoughts drifted to her own home and how its kooky charm used to be something to rush home to but now, compared to what Red had done with the property she sat in, her home felt more like a dive. He had evidently had the place cleaned, and it seemed to be newly decorated; elaborately woven rugs covered plush carpets and the lighting not too bright, further adding to the warmth of the place; wooden beams and aged oak furniture lent a certain solidity to their surroundings. She realised that this was essentially her home, until the contact deigned to show himself at least, and she wondered then what her room was like – had Red furnished it with her in mind? She was snapped out of her reverie when her empty plate was removed from the table, and she immediately rose from her seat to find Red depositing their cutlery in the sink. She watched as he methodically rolled up his shirtsleeves and set the hot tap on.
"Let me," she said softly, moving to join him at the sink.
"You can dry if you like," he responded, testing the heat of the water in the bowl and turning the cold tap on to even it out. Lizzie nodded and grabbed the dishtowel, taking each item from him once he was done cleaning it, and placing them back into the drawers and cupboards she watched him remove them from. She stood from her crouched position at the cupboard the mixing bowl had been returned to and turned around to find Red leaning against the opposite counter, arms loosely crossed over his chest, regarding her casually. She raised a brow at him by way of a question. "I think we ought to lay some ground rules," he said in his usual dry tone.
"Really?"
"No stabbings, please; you'll notice there aren't any pens just lying around. I won't be endangered in my own home by my own housemate."
"No talking about Tom," she retorted.
"No shoes upstairs."
"No smoking in the house." At his stunned silence she expanded; "I've seen you slinking off when you think nobody notices."
"Touché," he acquiesced. "Is there anything further you wish to add?"
"I will be agreeable and civil provided you will do me the same courtesy," she said and he nodded his understanding and agreement. "Now, can I see my room?"
"Top of the stairs, door on the right," he directed.
Lizzie climbed the stairs to find herself on a small landing; there were three doors. She took the one to the right – hers – and stepped inside the room. The lamp on the nightstand was already on, bathing the room in soft light. The room was furnished tastefully with dark wooden furniture; vanity table, bedside cabinet, armoire, and a queen size sleigh bed. A chaise longue sat in front of a set of doors, flanked by deep red velvet curtains, which led out on to the balcony. As she wandered around her new room, touching all of the furnishings, she wondered what Red's room was like – it would tell her so much more about the enigma of Raymond Reddington. Rather than snoop completely unannounced she returned to the landing and called down the stairs to him; "Which door is the bathroom?"
"The one opposite yours," came the response from downstairs. She opened and closed the bathroom door, making it sound like she had gone to freshen up, but instead tiptoed over to his door and carefully turned the handle. The drapes were drawn, the bedside lamp – the same as hers, she noted – switched on; the room was dark and brooding, walls painted deep burgundy, and the furniture was dark, however the linens on the four poster bed were a crisp white – starkly contrasting with the rest of the room. The room smelled of sandalwood and musk; it was Red's scent, but so much more concentrated.
"Curiosity killed the cat, Lizzie," his voice carried from the doorway, startling her.
"I was curious about the whole place."
"I find it curiouser still that you would ignore the bathroom completely, then." She hoped that he did not register the blush she knew stained her face and neck from being caught doing something she shouldn't.
"I wanted to see how my room compared."
"And?"
"I like my room," she assured, "and we share a balcony."
"I shan't be swooping into your room at all hours; both sets of doors have their own keys, likewise with the bedroom doors. I've left the keys for the doors in your room in your bedside cabinet," he informed her. "Come," he turned and gestured for her to follow, "you should see the bathroom."
Lizzie was impressed; she could see herself spending hours in the tiled sanctuary of the bathroom. The room itself was large, with a walk in shower – featuring the biggest shower head she had ever seen, a sunken bathtub, and a double sink unit with gleaming tap; even the toilet looked comfortable. He looked over to her and she nodded her approval; he smiled, having seen her eyes light up at the sight of the bath.
"I'm glad you like the house. I'll just fetch our things from the downstairs; we may need more clothes if we're going to wait for my contact to show."
"I'll need to update the bureau on the situation."
"Of course," he nodded, "I keep forgetting you're my handler."
"Yeah, well... don't," she replied lamely.
"Tired?"
"Yeah." She checked her phone. "Still no goddamn signal."
"Yes, Sir," Liz affirmed down the headset plugged into her laptop – Red had given her the Wi-Fi password in order for her to have some contact with the FBI – Cooper was checking on their status and the plan; he wasn't happy about it. "Yes, the house is secure... Quite secluded, yes... No, I have them... Our cover story is holding up. Yes, I'm sure Reddington and I will work out the details." She paused while Cooper spoke. "I'm aware of that, Sir." A roll of her eyes before becoming serious again. "Tom? No, I haven't called him yet... I will do that, Sir. I appreciate that... I'll be in touch daily via e-mail and will call if there are any important developments. Yes. Thank you, Sir." She shut off the connection and disconnected her headset, sighing at the laptop screen.
"You were lying," Red stated from the doorway where he'd been quietly listening.
"You were eavesdropping," she retorted flatly.
"What did you expect? You told Cooper you had the keys, didn't you?"
She sighed, turning to fix him with a withering look. "Face it, Reddington; we're hardly working by the book. If I'd told Cooper the situation as it is he'd have surveillance setting up camp outside, asap."
"What makes you think he won't?"
"There'll be a weekly meeting in the next town over that he'll personally attend, and daily updates via e-mail. I've impressed upon him the skittish nature of your contact."
"And if the locals ask where we go at the same time every week?"
"Visiting a relative?"
"Who?"
"An uncle?"
Red sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, unimpressed. "We need to flesh out our cover, sort out the back story."
"Now?"
"No, we'll dedicate tomorrow to that. Perhaps you should get some sleep?"
"Maybe I should have the keys?"
"What?" he laughed at her suggestion and shook his head, bemused. "Nonsense."
"What if I just have the keys to your room? I could lock you in overnight?"
"Or you could trust me to deal with the security of this house and our safety. Don't offend me by thinking I'm under the illusion that I am free here, Elizabeth; while I am surrounded by my own possessions for the first time in a very long time, this is still a prison of sorts." He moved into her room, though remained by the door. "You've already lied to Cooper, Lizzie, just tell him you lock me in every night."
"I just-"
"Lizzie, don't you trust me?"
"For the most part," she admitted.
"Well that settles it. I've no plans to go disappearing off into the night at any rate; somebody in the town would notice."
"In the middle of the night?"
"For the most part, people in these small townships are naturally suspicious of newcomers."
"I suppose I get that," she admitted.
"Right." He nodded to her and moved to exit her room. "Goodnight, Lizzie."
"Night." He closed the door quietly and she listened to his footfalls as he descended the stairs before moving to find her pyjamas. Slipping the camisole over her head she caught Red's scent still clinging to it and her emotions roiled a little at the memory of the night before, which felt more like a week before after the events of the day. She shook herself a little, told herself to get a grip, and moved across the landing to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Back in her room she sat on the bed for the first time to find the mattress firm but not uncomfortable; she slid under the heavy duvet and snuggled into the plump pillows, soon slipping into a deep slumber, the events of the past two days catching up to her.