Chapter 3: Covert Operation
American Woman by The Guess Who
~Agent Cullen~
I pulled into the secure garage and jumped from the car to immediately get into another. It was my fifth and final exchange until I would be back at Quantico. I still had only my duffle and carry on and I tossed them in the seat before lying down and covering with a blanket.
The agents in the front seat didn't say anything and I knew they wouldn't until we were safely at Quantico. I was almost excited to see the guys from my RICO team. I hadn't seen anyone in nearly two years; and simply being back on U.S. soil lifted my mood. Romania now seemed like it was years ago. I knew eventually I would be back underground and back with the black cancer that was the Draconi crime family. But for some reason, it felt different already. I would be in New York. I would be on my home turf. And for the first time in two years I didn't hate the thought of what my job would entail every day. I didn't particularly like it, but…
No, I had to admit it. I was energized to get my shot at the inside, to meet Vladimir and Stefan. I knew I was the one who could bring them down. I could destroy them from the inside out and that was enough to send a shot of adrenaline through my veins.
I felt the car pull to a stop and finally I let out the first truly deep breath I was able to take in two years. I knew it would be short-lived; however, it was comforting to know I was finally in a place where I could speak freely.
Suddenly I was no longer covered by the blanket and I was being pulled from the car. I reacted instinctively and wrapped my arm around the man's waist and spun to his back. With two more quick moves I had him in a headlock and I looked down at my attacker.
"Fucking A McCarty, you can't be doing that shit, I've been undercover for two years!" I admonished him as I quickly realized my "attacker" was my best friend in the Bureau, Emmett McCarty.
I released him and he rubbed his neck as I just shook my head.
"Jesus E, try to give a guy a hand and he attacks you." Then he looked at me more closely and I already knew what he was thinking. "Fuck man they selling roids over there like candy or something?" He scratched his neck again.
"Dude, you know I wouldn't take that shit, I don't want to go shrinking my dick; it's a valuable commodity." I smirked at him, though I was lying through my teeth.
"Cocky SOB, you never fucking change." He laughed and then gave me the man hug and hit my back with his fist. "It's good to see you E. You are fucking huge though did you do any work over there?" He quipped.
"A little." I said dryly and he just nodded. Emmett knew as well as I did that being undercover sucked and that I had probably seen a lot of nasty shit. Glossing over it and joking was honestly one of the few ways the agents were able to deal with it on a daily basis.
For me it was just nice to be able to joke with someone again. Someone I trusted anyhow.
"Well you're fucking fast as hell too, what else have you been training in? You had my ass in a headlock in three seconds flat?"
I shrugged. "It's not my fault you're a big slow oaf." He punched me in the arm and I actually winced. I was bigger than I had been, but Emmett was a monster at about 6'5, 250lbs of pure muscle. I knew he was nothing to mess with and he knew how to throw his weight around.
But I was always faster.
"Mixed martial arts." I finally relented and ran my hand through my hair.
He nodded, knowing that was the end of it. It was like a sick twisted version of the Vegas saying, "what happens undercover stays undercover" for agents. Too bad it's not all fun and games like Vegas.
I stepped to the car to grab my duffle and we went inside for my debriefing. But I was more pumped to have a real shower, some American food and to take the dark contacts out of my eyes. At least for a little while.
I made it home in a matter of twelve hours, even with all my connections and it was early morning in Virginia due to the time change. I didn't have to be back under with the Dracs for a week and I was fucking ecstatic about that. It didn't mean I could run around willy nilly not paying attention. Obviously, I had to take multiple cars to get here. But I would have some time to do a few things I needed, I just had to be extremely careful coming and going from Quantico.
We made our way into the FBI facility. I couldn't help but think about the first time I was here…
I walked through the door, the anticipation and adrenaline racing through my veins. My mouth was dry, but I was beyond determined to become an agent. I was going to avenge Eric's death. I wanted to work in counterterrorism or with organized crime and take down the scum of the world that caused his death and the death of so many innocent others.
I walked into the waiting area and I gave the receptionist my name. I smoothed my hair down and pressed my hand down my black Armani. I had just finished law school at Columbia, graduating at the top of my class. I applied for the FBI in January, and completed a battery of physical and mental tests throughout the spring. Today was our first day as recruits. I was simply waiting to get the nod to join the other recruits in the auditorium.
"Mr. Cullen?" I was pulled from my reverie by a tall dark-haired woman with a serious expression on her face.
"I'm Maria Vasquez. Please follow me." She offered her hand quickly and I just nodded, assuming I was being taken to join the other recruits. We wove our way through corridors and hallways, and as I instinctively did anyhow, I made mark of where I was being taken.
Call it obsession, call it instinct, or call it paranoid preparation, but I was accustomed to finding an exit and knowing my exact whereabouts regardless of the building or city I was in.
Even before I considered becoming an Agent.
Twenty paces, right turn, thirty paces, left turn, ten paces right turn, abrupt left and circular of doors.
I looked at the name on the door and gaped in recognition. Peter Fortnight, Director International Operations Division.
Fuck. What was I doing here?
Ms. Vasquez knocked lightly and entered the door. I followed, unsure where exactly we were going.
I stepped in to the cold, almost hospital-like office and immediately my nerves and senses were on high-alert. I was always a bit uptight, but ever since Eric's death, I was constantly wary and on edge. Claire fucking hated it.
"Mr. Cullen. Please have a seat." He motioned to the seat in front of his desk. Ms. Vasquez sat next to me in the other chair as Fortnight moved to the window.
"Mr. Cullen, you appear to have some exceptionally intriguing and high scores in several areas. The highest I have ever seen in fact."
"Thank you sir." I wasn't exactly sure how to respond.
"How many languages do you speak?"
I had to urge myself not to delay my responses, or think too intently about the questions he was asking and merely answer. "Five sir. English, of course, Dutch, German, French and Spanish."
He nodded, apparently unfazed. "And how does a twenty-five year old man like yourself come to speak five languages?"
"Well, sir, I had exceptional schooling in New York." I wasn't sure if he was aware of, or even wanted, the real reason.
"I don't think even schooling can teach that, are you sure there isn't another reason for it?" The inflection in his tone was knowing and calculated.
"I have a photographic memory." I responded while blowing out a silent breath. Quite often people didn't believe me, they either thought I was cheating or I somehow faked the abundant amount of information I stored in my brain.
Most of its useless really…I couldn't help but think.
"I see. So that would explain how you are number one in your class at Columbia and still had the time and ability to place off the charts in all of the tests administered by the Bureau?"
I nodded. Was this a bad thing? I couldn't see how.
"Not to mention you have 20/8 vision and exceptional speed, acuity, hand-eye coordination and physical capacity."
I felt like I should be smirking, but I couldn't decide if his words were complimentary or if he was somehow questioning my skills. Yes, I had rare vision, as well as senses. However, I had spent most of my life not using them, and even hiding their effect because I didn't want to appear different.
"Yes sir." I simply responded.
"Mr. Cullen, Edward. May I call you Edward?" I nodded again. He was a fucking Director, he could call me anything he wanted couldn't he?
"What are your intentions? Why do you want to be an Agent?" He eyed me peculiarly just then.
But it was so automatic I didn't even have to think about it. "I want to serve, I want to give back and I have thought of nothing for the last two years except to become an Agent." I was straightforward and unwavering because it was the truth.
"Two years? Any particular reason?"
Shit. Did I really have to say it out loud? Didn't everyone know what happened two years ago, wasn't that the reason for triple the number of applicants to the FBI?
"My brother. He was killed…on 9/11." I said it firmly, as lacking in emotion as possible.
"And you want revenge?"
"No. I want to give back, to make him proud." I stated.
"Bullshit. You want to avenge his death." He eyed me carefully. "And I can't say as I blame you…but my only question then is this." He leaned his hands on his desk and bent over to give me a steely stare. "How far are you willing to go?"
I pondered it for a moment. I wasn't sure what he was getting at, but I was sure that this was not like the other recruits first days. I knew I had exceptional capabilities, I knew I could do things that a normal human would never dream of being able to do.
No. This was something else entirely. This was beyond a normal recruitment meeting.
I set my jaw then and leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and I looked up at him. Staring him straight in the eye I answered with resolve. "As far as possible."
I looked up just then to find myself at the same door. Not many came to this door, but of course I was different from everyone else.
I was an anomaly. One of few of my kind. Perfect killers, born inherently to be predators of other men. Only weapons and technology made us even more lethal. I was a modern day Jason Bourne, and I knew it. Except for the memory loss and all that.
Although sometimes I wished I could forget my life. Forget the grief, my name, my family, all the pain I was sure I had caused them as well.
McCarty knocked on the door just then and I realized I hadn't said anything to him during our walk inside. But he simply gave me a knowing look. He knew how difficult it was coming back from being undercover. Returning to the person you actually are, rather than pretending to be someone entirely different. Especially since the pretending tends to consume you after a while.
McCarty slapped my back and this time only I entered. Fortnight and I had become close over the years. Well, as close as you can get when you see someone once every two years. But he personally managed my special training at the FBI. I went through the normal 20 week training that all agents completed. However, it wasn't nearly as taxing for me, with my special skills and all. So I took additional marksmanship courses and advanced hand to hand training. I learned covert operations and other undercover techniques well before any others. I became a highly skilled, highly dangerous asset for the FBI. Not to mention I began to learn two more languages.
Romanian and Italian.
Why? Because I would be joining the RICO team. The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act was passed in 1970 and since then a division of the FBI was set up to specifically take down organized crime in the U.S. and its networks abroad.
I was being groomed to go undercover and help take down some of the most notorious crime families in the U.S. and frankly the world.
And my cover. An assassin for hire.
Too bad it wasn't entirely a cover.
"Edward. It's good to see you." Peter offered his hand.
"Peter. You're looking well." Really he never aged. He still had the same incredibly pale skin and white blond hair, which had only receded a bit more from his forehead. Fortnight was one of those people who you could never really pinpoint his age and because he was inside all the time, he hardly tanned or changed.
"I know you want to get on with debriefing and decompress before you go back under, but I need to inform you of a change in your assignment."
I quirked my eyebrow at him. Change?
"You will have a partner Edward, a cover partner. He will be your local contact. He's been working with some of the low-level New York family to get in on the drug trade side and you will now be able to bring him in on the rest, hopefully."
A partner. I had never worked with a partner. I always worked alone. Largely due to my skills and largely due to the fact that I simply liked working alone.
"Who is this agent?" I was speculative.
"His name is Seth Clearwater. He's young. Only twenty-six. But he has been an agent for three years and he is very good. Joined up immediately when he was twenty-three. Reminds me a lot of you actually…But nicer." He smirked.
I couldn't help but reciprocate. Peter liked to call me a broody, self-interested, hard ass. He was right. I was. At least for the last thirteen years I had been. I knew I didn't used to be this way.
But that was my old life.
"Fine then. When do I meet him?" Wait did he say twenty-six? Fuck. He is young. I had ten years on him. Well almost. I knew my 36th birthday was in a few weeks, but fuck, I already felt 36 and considered myself as such. Hell I felt fifty some days.
"Today actually, he was down here to debrief at the same time you came in, so it worked out quite well. Go shower, change and you can meet with him at 10."
Peter understood. He had been in my position before. He had come out from being undercover and knew I wanted nothing more than to wash myself of the grime and disgust I'd been immersed in for the last two years.
I nodded and shook Peter's hand as I left and he gave me a guide sheet on Clearwater. I looked it over as I made my way to the gym in Quantico.
Seth Harold Clearwater
Agent No.: 41389
DOB: February 12, 1984, Brooklyn, NY.
I stopped short. February 12.
Fuck.
It just had to be didn't it? My new partner would share Eric's birthday. What were the chances?
I continued scanning his sheet. He was quite accomplished. He had some advanced training like me and was apparently rather good at manipulating information out of his contacts. He had already helped to bring down three major drug rings in New York City. He had a law enforcement background, but had advanced intelligence like me as well. He graduated high school at only the age of sixteen. He began classes immediately at NYU and eventually completed his stint at the police academy before joining the force when he was only twenty.
I wasn't sure what it was going to be like working with a partner, but on paper he appeared okay, even though he was young. He grew up in Brooklyn, the son of a cop and a nurse, but his father was deceased. He had one sister, Leah, and no other family to speak of.
He was expendable. Like me.
He could go under cover and never come back and hardly anyone would know. A casualty of the secret war us Agents were fighting daily.
I walked into the gym area, never more excited to be taking a shower in a locker room in my life. I stripped down out of my standard black pants, black t-shirt and boots. I took off my watch and pulled the shitty black contacts from my eyes. I shaved off the scratchy beard for the first time in two years.
I looked in the mirror at the sight before me and I could see the change of two years undercover. I was pale, well, more pale than normal. But in an ashy sort of way that showed the stress in the pigment. I ran my fingers through my almost black hair and as I lifted my arm I looked at the tattoo on my bicep and the scar running down my left side.
The tattoo was a testament to my mother's side of the family, the Irish side that so clearly shone on my face. It fucking hurt like a bitch, since a significant amount was over my vein in my underarm. But it represented so much of her in me and my will to avenge Eric. It was a symbol of the celtic bull.** It stood for strong-willed and unwavering, relentless.
That, I was.
Then I looked down my side at the scar from my first undercover operation. It also hurt like a bitch, but it was a combat wound, so the pain was almost electrifying. I killed the fucker who cut me and I never looked back. He was my first kill.
Finally, I stood back and stripped out of my boxer-briefs as I turned toward the shower. I glanced a quick look in the mirror at the tat across my back between my shoulder blades and the one down my right tricep. I couldn't do anything with the FBI or my real name, lest I go under and someone were to see my ink. Instead I kept it Dutch, like the ever prominent part of my heritage, and displayed my pain on my skin for my fallen brother.
On my back was my tribute to Eric. It was the Dutch Lion, born on a shield. Behind it were crossed swords. On one sword were Eric's initials and Mijn Broer. On the other were his birth date and death date. I stared at the tatt for a moment, my much larger muscles flexing it in the fluorescent light. Again one of my sole reminders of him.
Then I looked down my right tricep.
deze wereld verlaten maar niet vergeten
Left this world, but not forgotten. These were the few symbols I could always carry with me. No matter my cover or the person I was pretending to be, these would forever be engrained on my skin.
Maybe I should get another one this week?
I made my way to the shower and turned on the hot faucet. I let the searing water pour over my tense muscles as I tipped my head back in satisfaction. I just stood there letting it almost burn my skin, but welcoming the pain of my first truly hot shower in two years. The pulsing water massaging the muscles of my stiff shoulders, down my back over my tatt, and warming the muscles in my chest and my legs. The feeling was almost erotic it had been so long since my last hot, pressure-filled shower.
I stood, with my hands against the wall, not washing, just thinking as the water flowed over me. Thinking about my tatts made me think about how much I had changed in the last thirteen years. I used to be the straight-laced, calculating one of the Cullen boys. The one who wore Polo and was the epitome of the private schools I attended. The one who never would have done anything remotely out of line or against the will of my parents. The thought of killing someone would never have crossed my mind. Maybe Claire was right, maybe I wasn't the person she started dating.
Who the fuck was I kidding? Of course I wasn't and I never would be again.
But some part of me, now that I was back in the States, yearned for that person. Yearned to be maybe practicing as an attorney or working in the DA's office putting away bad guys like I always told Eliot.
No, now I just take them out. Eye for an eye.
Part of me wanted that apple pie America that my parents shared. The wife, the kids, the home, the neighbors. All of that shit in a nice little package.
But life wasn't a nice little package. Our brothers are taken in inexplicable acts, those who you would think would never leave you, do. And then you become a person you don't even recognize anymore, only wishing that the family you left behind can go on without you.
I wasn't sure how long I stood there until finally I scrubbed through my hair and down my body; attempting, albeit futilely, to clean myself of the filth I was covered in for the last two years.
I sighed as I shut off the water and wrapped the towel around my now red skin. Maybe, just maybe, someday I would have peace. Maybe someday I could at least partially come out of this darkness and rid myself of the incessant need that tore at my insides to avenge Eric's death.
I dressed quickly, once again in a black shirt and this time jeans. It felt weird to be without my holster, even if it was just my standard issue Glock. I slipped back on my watch that my parents gave me for my law school graduation and ran the towel through my disheveled hair.
Shit, I need a haircut too.
I made my way to the RICO unit and once again saw McCarty waiting for me. I met Emmett on my second day of training. He scared the fuck out of me at first, because he's a beast of man. But he has a giant heart and he would do absolutely anything for a fellow agent. He was from Boston, unfortunately, and we liked to rib each other about the Yankees and the Red Sox. But he came from a very similar family as my mother and I appreciated the hard work and tenacity it took for him to become an agent. He didn't have all doors and options open to him like I did.
He grew up in South Boston, the son of a bricklayer, and helped raise his four brothers after his Mom died. He worked his ass off, stayed out of the ever present gangs in South Boston, and got into Boston College on a football scholarship. He finished his degree in Psychology and eventually attended the state police academy. He joined the state police and became an exceptional interrogator. He was good at it, damn good at it. His size made him menacing and instilled fear in the hearts of his subjects. Even though he was a teddy bear to those he cared about, he could make a subject break like the snap of his fingers.
"Cullen, bout time you got cleaned up. Couldn't handle a little dirt under your fingers rich boy." He also loved to rib me about being an elite from New York.
"Nah, I just wanted to look pretty for you McCarty." He chuckled and we walked into the office of our RICO director, Agent Romelli. He was an old bird with beady eyes and gray skin. He had been around forever, since the passage of the RICO Act and the instigation of the division.
"Agents Cullen and McCarty. This is Agent Clearwater." I looked at the young man next to Romelli and was met with a blinding white smile. He had to be 6'4, and was bound with muscle. He had russet colored skin and looked to be Native-American.
I thought he was from Brooklyn?
"Cullen, McCarty, good to meet you. Seth Clearwater." He was damn near as big as McCarty and his paw firmly shook mine. Fuck, I was bigger from Romania but I felt like a shrimp compared to these two.
I looked at him then and noticed he looked young, but yet older than his twenty-six years. He held himself confidently and most people wouldn't think to mess with him. But there was something else, he had that same sadness and hunger I held in my eyes.
He's from Brooklyn…son of a cop.
I wonder.
"Good to meet you Clearwater, Yankees or Mets?" I hid my inquisition for a later time, figuring I could at least try to make it pleasant and also get a dig in on McCarty if I had a chance.
"Neither. My Dad was from out west. Washington, I'm a Mariners fan." He shrugged and smiled and I could see his young face take on a hint sadness at the mention of his Dad.
Maybe a partner wouldn't be so bad. We might have a lot in common.
Emmett snickered then. "Fuck off McCarty." I playfully ribbed him.
"Cullen, already trying to get the new guy on your side. My Red Sox already kicked your Yankees asses in this year."
"It's all about the playoffs, how many Series have your boys won?"
Romelli just shook his head and Clearwater laughed at our banter.
Romelli had us sit then and we discussed our assignments with the Dracs in New York. I knew we would have a much more detailed briefing once we met with the head of the field office in NY, before we both went back under cover. But at least we got an overview of time frame and mission plans.
The Bureau was hoping to take down the family within the year. Between my contacts in Romania, Seth's work on the drugs, and another Agent, an Agent Ivanova, we had gotten the inside track on their three biggest commodities, girls, drugs, and weapons. The only remaining piece was the bio weapons connection and that was going to be up to me as well. The RICO analysts figured I had the best play now that I was actually meeting with the brothers and I would be introduced to some of the more high powered business associates of the organization.
The Dracs seemed to realize that I was educated, albeit they didn't know where from. They just knew I was smart, spoke a lot of languages, and was an assassin for hire that could disappear into the night. I simply pretended to be in it for the money.
Oh the irony.
I didn't need money. Obviously anything they paid me went to some secret account held by the FBI. The FBI foot my bill for my Romanian expenses and anything else I needed in travel and accommodations.
But ironically, even if I was rogue and off the reservation as an assassin, I wouldn't need the money. Hell I never needed to attend law school or become an Agent. I could have lived off my family's fortune and played party elite like a lot of the yuppies I grew up with. But I was never…satisfied, with that idea. Then once Eric was gone, it didn't matter, nothing mattered.
Maybe that's why I joined the deadliest of professions.
I shook my head and refocused on what Romelli was saying when he finally dismissed us after two hours of discussion. Apparently McCarty was going to be joining the mission as a potential buyer for weapons that I could introduce to the brothers. I had to admit, the thought of the mission heating up and getting to work with other agents made my adrenaline race a bit.
Finally as we were about to leave, my stomach growled. Just as I was about to suggest it, Clearwater mentioned food.
Thank fucking God.
I hadn't eaten in hours, and I couldn't wait to get my hands on some real food. We made our way to a conference room where Fortnight had ordered us pizza.
Now these are the benefits of being a top FBI agent.
It was the best fucking thing I had tasted in two years.
After we broke from lunch I knew I had the rest of the day before I would be back for my day long debriefing tomorrow. I already knew what I wanted to do.
I made my way down to a secure room before I planned to just crash in one of the in-house rooms they had at Quantico. They kept a few of these for the agents like me who came back in undercover. It was no different than a hotel room, with a big king bed and a private bath.
Right now it sounded like fucking heaven to me.
But I dialed up the number I called nearly every day and I waited. It was summer time, so they should both be home, unless Ang had him out playing.
"Hello?" Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper as she answered the phone.
"Ang? It's E, is Eliot there?"
"I'm sorry E, but he's at a friend's house for the day."
Damn. Well maybe I could at least arrange to see him.
"Ang, I'm going to be back in town in a few days. Could I maybe see him?"
She paused for a moment and I could almost hear her thinking it over in her head.
"When?" She asked quietly.
"Well, what works for you?" I wanted to leave it open to her since she was the one who was secretive in this situation.
"Um. Saturday. I teach a class in the morning while he goes to practice. 12:00?" She offered.
"Great. Thanks Ang."
I sighed and replaced the phone and made my way to my room. I would get to see Eliot in few days and I knew it would be difficult. But as I drifted off to sleep I couldn't help but appreciate that I was back in the States.
*&^%$#
The next day I awoke, refreshed from a dreamless sleep for once. I stepped into the bathroom to rinse my face with water before heading to the Agent's gym. I would just shower there again before my debriefing, but first I needed to release some of the pent up anxiety that built up from my travels back.
I glanced up, caught a bit off guard by my green eyes. They had been black for so long, I almost forgot what they looked like. It was almost scary looking at my green eyes in the mirror. I was looking into the eyes of my mother and I hadn't seen her in two years.
I knew I had a week. A week to see the people I wanted. Even though I was going back under I wanted to see them. It was always with mixed emotions, the pain it brought to see my family because of the memories it brought of Eric. But at the same time a welcoming relief, knowing they were well, and moving on with their lives.
Even if I couldn't.
My first priority, however, was to go and see Eliot. Even if my family would never know of him, I would always keep him close. He was all I had left of Eric, regardless of the fucked up situation that he was left in.
I knew I had a long day of debriefing ahead before I would make another set of exchanges and board a train for New York to arrive early morning tomorrow. I hit the gym and found McCarty by the bench.
"You ready to show off your new muscles E."
"Let's do it. Rack 'em up Em."
Emmett and I hit the bench, squat and deadlifts hard before lifting arms. I finished out with a few miles on the treadmill and hit the shower to clean up and change. I knew I was in for a day long debriefing. I had been undercover before and debriefing was hard. You were expected to recall all of the tiny bits of information we catalogued from our time. Because I had been so deep and gone for so long, I knew it was going to be extremely taxing, even with my memory.
I grabbed some coffee and a bagel, and met with Fortnight, Romelli and two other agents to get started.
I pulled out everything in excruciating detail, from the time I got off the train in Romania to my first meeting with a low-level Drac. I moved on to each contact I made and how I eventually gained access to Corin. My first assignment, my subsequent kills, all the things I had seen from the girls, to the drugs, to the Dracs on the inside and the foreign buyers who came through the doors.
Around 6:00 P.M we wrapped. I was exhausted, but glad to be done at least for now. I knew I would have subsequent follow-ups, things that emerged once I was away from Romania for a while or triggers after being back under with the Dracs. But I felt…almost cleansed this time, handing over the information I stored in my brain for the last two years. It wasn't that I wouldn't need it anymore, but I didn't have to hold on to it like it was some secret file that was waiting for its deliverance.
Finally, I was given my assignment specifications. I read it and, as I was accustomed to, handed it back to Fortnight who just shook his head. I was to meet with Garrett Morgan, director of the New York field office on Wednesday and would go back under on Thursday. I would make contact with a low-level Drac Seth knew and once again, become Emil Mazzonn.
I shook Fortnight and McCarty's hands and as I left the FBI headquarters again in darkened SUV to make my first exchange it began to sink in that I was really going back to New York.
New York.
My home.
I knew it would actually be more difficult to remain inconspicuous in my birthplace. I ran the risk of running into old friends or family. The one thing I had going for me was that I physically looked so much different than I used to. Not only that, but once Eric died I closed off to a lot of our friends and then once I joined the FBI I hardly saw any of them. None of my operations were based out of New York before this one. I only saw my family fleetingly over the last eleven years. And I could recall with particular clarity the heartbreaking look on my mother's and sister's faces when I left for my first mission.
The only thing positive which came from leaving them, was that I knew they cared. I knew, regardless my sister and mother and father would always be there. No matter when or how I returned they would welcome me back.
Unlike Claire.
I made two more transfers, from the SUV to an inconspicuous family vehicle and finally to a truck and through a back entrance at Union Station. At last finally I boarded a train bound for Penn Station. I layed my head back and let the stress from debriefing melt away to the hum of the wheels whirring across the tracks beneath me. My mind slipped into a slumber.
"Edward, why are you doing this you have nothing to prove."
"Yes, I do Claire. Why can't you understand that?"
"He isn't coming back."
"I know that. I am not fucking crazy. I don't think he's coming back!" I shouted and then sighed in a frustrated tone. I pinched the bridge of my nose. We were at an impasse. Ever since I told Claire I wanted to join the FBI she fought me on it.
We had been together for almost three years. We met at Georgetown at the end of our third year and being native New Yorkers hit it off immediately. She was a Whitney, another heir to a namesake of New York. Her father was a prominent businessman and her mother a housewife. She was smart and beautiful with blond hair and big blue eyes. She was every elite from New York's dream and an apparent perfect match for me.
We dated through our final year and then decided to move in together in an apartment on the upper west side close to school. I would attend Columbia and she was starting her job in marketing at her father's company downtown.
But she wanted to live the high life as one of the socialites of New York. I attended the parties and functions with her, even though it was never my thing. She was quite beautiful and could work a room like any good businesswoman. I thought, this must be it; this must be what it means to settle down and make a relationship work.
But only two weeks after I started law school 9/11 hit. She was more than there for me, having known other friends and acquaintances who fell in the Towers. But after Christmas her life all but returned to normal and she couldn't understand why I couldn't move on.
I was stuck in turmoil. I had lost my best friend, my brother, the closest person to me in the world. Claire and I began to drift apart. But I started to realize he was closer than she ever would be. What we had was circumstantial. I was a Cullen, she was a Whitney; therefore, we were meant to be together. Right?
But as I looked at her on that cold February day nearly a year later, I could see in her eyes what we had was nothing to her. She was done. She wanted the wealthy mate who could give her children and a condo and a home in the Hamptons. She wanted to be a socialite and attend fashion week and sip champagne while shopping. She wanted me to move on like it was a blip on the radar to lose my brother.
I couldn't believe she expected me to forget him, to go on with life as though nothing happened. She told me she would always be there for me, she told me she would never give up on me. But she did.
I told her I wanted to be an agent and move back to D.C. and she said she wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it. For all I did for her, she couldn't do that for me.
It was over, we were over.
"So that's it then?" I asked. "You don't care that it's my dream."
"It's not your dream Edward it's your obsession, and I just…I can't live like this." She threw her hands in the air. "You're not the same person I met three years ago."
"So you just give up. I didn't think that was what this was about. Be there for each other during anything, isn't that what we promised each other?" I didn't even know why I was saying it. It wasn't going to happen, we weren't going to happen. We had hardly spoken in two months, we hadn't been together in three.
"I can't compete with one ghost and try to live with another Edward." She said. "I'm sorry. But…this is good-bye." She bent over and picked up her suitcase and made her way for the door, her heels thumping on the hardwood floor. The only sound that registered was the click of the lock as the door closed behind her.
"Arriving at Penn Station in ten minutes. Ten minutes, Penn Station, New York City." I was awoken by the sound of the conductor's voice. My dream was so vivid, like it was yesterday. Over time I came to realize that what Claire and I had wasn't love. It was superficial. She wanted the lifestyle and the name. I wanted the relationship. I didn't know if I would ever find someone that I could be close to.
Fucking Eric was right; I was always too loyal for my own good.
I shook off my memory and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It dawned on me then that I was officially back in New York. I grabbed my duffle from the overhead and made my way off the train. I was still wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday and immediately decided to check into a hotel for a shower, a shave and a nap.
I made my way to the subway. I knew that later I wanted to go to Central Park and decided to stay close to the Park on the south side. Surely most of the hotels would be booked, but I figured there had to be cancellations and if I needed I could work my charm. Being undercover did have some advantages. I was able to win over almost any woman, or man really, in a matter of minutes.
I jumped on the subway, ever watching the passengers as they sat, checking the exits, my back, my sides, scanning my surroundings. It never stopped and my brain never quieted, even here in my home city I couldn't keep from cataloging the possibilities.
I stepped off the blue line and walked up to the street level. I decided to change up my appearance and swung into a touristy store off Madison and bought a new Yankees hat. I slipped the hat on my head, paired with my aviators and I was comfortably disguised.
I made my way to the Essex to try my hand at a room. Luckily they had a cancellation, it may have also had something to do with the grin I gave the hotel receptionist. But I went upstairs and settled into my room. After doing some push-ups and sit-ups to keep my muscles in check, I jumped in the shower for another long hot soak.
Finally I slipped under the covers for a few hours of serenity.
*&^%$#
When I awoke it was 11:00, and I was hungry. Damn hungry. I had an instant craving for the one and only, New York's best Gray's Papaya hot dogs.
What a better way to welcome myself back to the States than a hot dog?
I almost chuckled at myself, in the best mood I had been in years. I wasn't sure if it was the rested feeling I had or the fact that I was back in New York but I was content, almost happy.
I donned the hat and aviators again and my standard black shirt and jeans. I knew I had a chance to run into someone today. But I also knew between my dark hair, my larger frame and my hat and glasses it was unlikely they would recognize me after all these years.
I decided to walk, knowing I had a good twenty blocks ahead of me. But I was looking forward to stretching my legs, and I was used to walking frequently after living without a car in Romania. I stopped on Broadway and bought a paper, noting the strangeness of seeming connected to the world once again. I strolled up Broadway, just taking in the sites and the sounds of the bustling city. I could smell the heat and rubber, the exhaust and the indescribable smell of…people. It wasn't dirty, but it wasn't clean, it was just representative of one of the most fantastic and bustling cities in the world.
I walked up to Gray's at a quarter after noon and noticed the line around the corner. Of course, I came at the busiest time. But I wasn't in a hurry. In fact I almost wanted to take my time and enjoy the experience.
I leaned against a fire hydrant and I glanced down at my paper, reading about Congress' new energy policy and some scandal in D.C.
Suddenly a familiar twinge of blonde hair was making its way down the sidewalk.
You've got to be kidding? What are the chances? The Met is across the park, it has to be a mile from here?
Only seven or eight people down from me was my brother-in-law Jasper. I noticed he had his back to me now though and he was gesturing as though he were talking to someone.
I considered leaving. I quickly analyzed my surroundings, trying to determine if he saw me. But then I relaxed, the last time I saw Jasper I had short hair, was twenty pounds thinner and less muscular and I was dressed in a suit.
He's not going to recognize me. Fuck I don't recognize myself.
I looked back down at him, half way peering behind my newspaper when he moved.
Holy fuck.
Who the hell is that?
Standing next to him was a woman. The sunlight parsed its way through the trees and cast a gleam down upon her. She was…I couldn't put a word on it. Beautiful wasn't enough…extraordinary, incredible, otherworldly.
She had dark chestnut hair, which glistened in the sunlight and contrasted perfectly with creamy pale skin. It was almost translucent in its clarity and I felt my fingers twitch with the thought of running my hand down her cheek.
What the fuck are you saying Cullen? You are essentially undercover.
Yes, but I could admire her. And admire I would.
My eyes traveled her body and I was glad I was hidden by the sunglasses and newspaper. She was trim and petite but had the curves of a woman. My hand twitched again at the thought of running it down her side, over the inset of her waist and resting it on her hip. Her legs were long and lean and she couldn't have been very tall, but she was wearing nude colored pumps that only accentuated her figure. And the dress, the dress she was wearing was perfect. It was a midnight blue which stood in perfect distinction from her creamy skin. It was short, but not too short. Fitted, but not tight. It showed off her exceptional figure yet left much to the imagination. And it allowed for those long creamy legs to flow up to her…
Suddenly she glanced over to me and then hit Jasper in the shoulder and looked down at herself.
Shit, I hope she didn't catch me staring. I quickly buried my head deeper in my newspaper when another thought occurred to me.
What the fuck is Jasper doing with this woman?
Jasper would never cheat on Alice, that much I knew. Maybe they worked together? Maybe they were friends meeting for lunch? Yes, their exchange looked comfortable, like friends, not like lovers.
Yet, for some strange reason I became insanely jealous of the fact that Jasper was even talking to her. I wanted to be talking to her, I wanted to know her. I wanted to be in reach of her creamy pale skin. I wanted….
Seriously Cullen. What the fuck is your problem?
I made my way around the corner and they followed shortly behind. I could almost feel the distance between us, and I couldn't determine if it was my overactive senses kicking in, or some strange draw I had to this woman. All I wanted to do was look at her again.
**Finally, I glanced up again from the paper just as she pushed her large sunglasses on to her head.
Jesus Christ.
I almost gasped at the sight of her. Her hair now encircled her face in a slight, but alluring, disarray. She had her arms crossed over her chest still and she looked like she was pissed at Jasper.
But it wasn't her expression that made me gasp, although that was sexy as hell in and of itself. No, it was her large eyes, which from here I could see were a deep, dark brown. Almost coffee colored in appearance, like the chestnut and espresso colors of her silky hair. She had a small nose and perfect pink lips which I could only imagine were as soft as her skin.
I shook my head again, pulling myself from my daze. What the hell? She's only a woman, and apparently friends with Jasper which makes her completely out of the question. That would only risk your cover, your mission, everything.
But before I could stop them, my eyes traveled back to her and I was caught once again in the way the sunlight danced off her chestnut waves and the way, even though she seemed pissed, her eyes glistened with passion and a bit of admiration.
Yes, they are definitely good friends.
Who was she? Did I know of her? I had to know who this woman was.
I racked my brain thinking of all of Jasper and Alice's acquaintances when I realized that they were married shortly after college, around the time I joined the Bureau and I had all but closed off to everyone in my family. Of course I wouldn't know her. Jasper and Alice's wedding was small and private at my parents at the Hamptons. And she wasn't there.
I most certainly would have known if she was there.
I entered Gray's and made my way to the counter, ordering my two dogs, with ketchup, mustard and kraut and a soda. I found a spot at the side, determined for some unknown reason to get just one more look at her. She and Jasper placed their orders and I couldn't help but feel a sudden magnetism or sensation when she was now only mere feet away from me. My body turned without willing it to and I felt like I was being wrenched from my own two feet towards her.
What is happening to me?
I had to place a hand on the side table as I stood there mindlessly chewing the lunch I was so desperate for only minutes earlier. At once, they received their order and turned to leave. I instantly felt a longing, and as though a vacuum had sucked the atmosphere completely from the restaurant. Without thinking, I quickly finished my second sandwich and my soda and threw my things away and grabbed my newspaper.
I was going to follow them.
What the fuck? You can't follow them Cullen, you're undercover.
My rational mind was warring with the inexplicable need to feel that magnetism once again. Then suddenly I felt it, and I looked up to see her hurry back in and frantically grab napkins off the counter.
My body began moving without my mind even prodding it. I was drawing closer to her. Unable to control my legs as they moved forward. My fingers were twitching when abruptly she turned and ran smack into me.
She humpfed.
I gasped.
Holy shit.
It was like an explosion occurred, I grabbed her arms to keep her from falling and at the same time a scorching sensation shot through my fingertips and throughout my entire body. I was on fire, like I was combusting from the inside out.
Seriously, what the fuck is happening to me?
Then she lifted her head up and it was like all time stopped. I wasn't at Gray's, I wasn't in New York, I wasn't undercover, I wasn't anything…but me. Holding this woman's arm as her stunning brown eyes seared into me. All I could feel, all I could sense was warmth and coffee and vanilla and cinnamon. I couldn't decide if it was her smell, her touch or the blistering look in her eyes, but I felt as though my hand was welded to her arm. I couldn't let go if I wanted to.
Finally, she shook her head a bit and spoke.
"I'm sorry; I should really watch where I am going." She stated nervously. "I was just in a hurry because I spilled on my dress."
I couldn't stop it, I couldn't if I tried. My eyes followed down to her dress and I noticed ketchup right over her left breast. I had to suppress a moan and will my hand to stay on her arm and not travel to her perfect round…
Fuck. Am I staring?
I pulled one hand from her arm and coughed and immediately looked back up and found her gazing at me as well.
The hand which was now removed was simmering like I had set it on fire and then doused it with water. I clasped it and unclasped it, my mind trying to register the sensation.
Did she feel this? Was it possible? Was I making this shit up in my head?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I tried to remove my other arm, but my body wouldn't let me. At last I found some coherence and responded to her.
"It's not a problem. I just wanted to make sure you didn't fall." I said, but I noticed her eyes darken and my body instantly responded. I could feel a twitching below my beltline and the warmth radiating from her was almost unbearable.
I glanced down at her again and then back up at her face. She was feeling this. She had to be.
Finally reality came crashing into my consciousness. How long had we been standing here? Who saw this? Really Cullen what the fuck are you doing? Jasper could come back in at any moment.
I stepped back and released her other arm and instantly the fire that was searing me dissipated.
"Well, thank you, for saving me or whatever." She smiled impishly. I just stood there, willing my body to calm down and become one with my mind once again.
And then she bit her lip.
Mijn Dio.
Fuck now I'm mixing languages.
The fire returned with a vengeance and instantly shot to my groin.
How is this possible? I have never in my life had a reaction like this to a woman.
Then her eyes widened and she nodded. I nodded back at her, unable to speak, my mouth dry, my hands clenched at my side and fire raging through my body.
I realized my chest was heaving and I was locked in place fighting the most intense desire I had ever felt to run after her.
You can't do this. Your cover. Your mission. Focus Cullen.
I willed my breathing to return and glanced around the shop at the patrons. An encounter which seemed to last an eternity must have only been a few seconds.
I shook my head. No, I have to know. I have to…
Fuck it.
My hands were still twitching and before I knew what I was doing, I picked up the newspaper and exited Gray's. I walked toward the park almost unconsciously. I could see them ahead of me chatting and laughing as they finished their lunch.
I was enraptured by her gate, her laugh as it danced from her lips. The way the sun literally seemed to sparkle off of her creamy skin. I followed them all the way to the Met and finally I stopped and sat on the steps.
Maybe I could talk to her. I wanted to see Jasper anyhow; she could give him a message.
But I can't risk Jasper seeing me here.
Surely there's a way.
I made my way back to the park, contemplating, berating myself for my actions. But every time I tried to will myself to walk back to the hotel, I felt an intense dread.
But of what?
Of never seeing her again?
But she works here obviously.
Of never knowing her the way I want to know her?
The dread was so suffocating, I could only compare it to one other feeling...
I shook my head. Not possible.
This is insane Cullen!
I am a highly trained, highly dangerous, lethal assassin.
You can't have relationships.
Relationship? Where the fuck did that come from?
I was screaming at myself in my head. It was like I had been thrust from the blackness by a meteor screeching across my dark sky, lighting it up as bright as the sun on this hot New York Day.
Dear God what is wrong with me?
Maybe I'm losing it?
Maybe I really have gone insane. I am just a ghost of myself.
But I couldn't deny that the single touch I felt from this one woman made me feel so very…alive?
I sat down on a bench and forced myself to think of my options, forced my brain back to its rational state. What were the risks? What were the outcomes? Had I been followed? Did anyone see me? Did anyone know me?
I looked around, calculating, checking my surroundings once again and noticed that no one was watching, no one saw me. They were all preoccupied with enjoying the day.
Fuck it. I thought and once again before I could think any further I found myself scaling the stairs to the Met. I paid my way in and wandered through the main level exhibits. My mind still racing, still weighing the pros and cons of my actions.
I 'm just a tourist?
No.
I'm an old friend?
Yes.
I was working it all out in my head as I made my way into the Greek and Roman exhibit.
It's not like you're going to see her. The Met is enormous.
But I could find her. I knew I could. And just as I was considering what only hours ago would have seemed like the most preposterous of options, I caught a glimpse of blue and chestnut out of the corner of my eye.
Holy shit. It's her.
I couldn't help but gaze at her as she made her way into the hall. She must work here with Jasper. How fitting that she work here, amongst some of the most beautiful pieces in the world.
Though she surpasses them all.
I could see her walking in a ray of sunlight, peeking through the windows at the top of the hall. It shone down on her like a spotlight, as if she was only person there. My eyes followed her svelte form, that blue dress moving so effortlessly over her curves. I felt my mouth go dry again just watching her. I knew I didn't have my sunglasses on this time and I needed to be more discreet.
But I couldn't.
It was inexplicable, the draw I had to her. I wasn't technically undercover yet, but I knew I had to be careful at all times. Nevertheless, I stood there in the Greek and Roman exhibit, the light shining across the statues of Gods and the great columns, yet all I could focus on was her. As the sun shone on her chestnut waves and pure pale skin sheseemed to reflect it all directions.
Without realizing it, I was moving forward again.
Jesus Christ. This feeling. What is it?
I could still feel the tingle of her arm under my hand from earlier. My fingers twitched at the burning sensation. She was like a sun, radiating warmth and beauty, a beacon of light pulling me in and guiding me home.
Mijn Zon. Mijn licht.
What the fuck was I saying? My sun, my light? I can't be drawn to this woman. I'm going undercover in a week. I shook my head, this was first of all impossible, and second of all stupid.
And then it was not lost on me, the paradox of the thoughts that just ran through my head. My sun. The irony. My cover name. Mazzonn.
A sun, guiding me out of the blackness that I had been lost in for the last two years.
Hell thirteen years.
I shook my head. No. I could not talk to her. I needed to move out of the exhibit and find a different way to give Jasper a message and quietly slip away.
Assess, initiate, execute, and release. Like any other covert operation.
Release.
Fuck.
Why am I thinking these things? Is it simply because I have been surrounded by the worst of the world for the last two years? Only young girls sold into slavery which made me so repulsed I couldn't think of seeking my own desires. Or that I haven't felt the touch of real woman in over a year, and even then it was pure carnal gratification.
Still, as I fought my thoughts, my body wouldn't listen. I continued moving toward her and suddenly I realized she had stopped.
She was gazing at the Apollo in quite obvious admiration.
Apollo. God of the Sun. How fitting.
For Christ's sake! Is there some force planting these thoughts in my head? I must just be brokeneck from coming out from my years undercover.
That must be it. I can't do this. I can't allow myself to get connected to anyone.
Then why did I have the unyielding urge to throw all caution to the wind and speak to her? I couldn't place it, it was a need, a hunger gripping at my gut from the moment I touched her at Gray's to now seeing her in the light of the great hall.
I had to say something, to be near her. I stepped close to her, just feeling her presence and her warmth. She was like a sun, exuding energy and I gravitated to her. Like a lost traveler following the sun to direct them to safety.
I wanted her to be my sun, though I knew in my brain I couldn't. But I still had to say something; I couldn't slip back into the darkness without basking in her warmth for just a moment.
"It's really remarkable isn't it?" It slipped from my tongue before I could even think.
I saw her tense and I could instantly feel a heightened sensation in the magnetic field that seemingly surrounded us once again. It was like at Gray's when as the closer I got to her, the stronger it felt. I was being drawn to her by some inanimate force, pulling me along and I had to no will to resist it.
"Remarkable is the perfect word for it." She said quietly, but her eyes remained upon the statue.
Maar jouw schoonheid is niet van deze aarde.
But your beauty is otherworldly.
How I wanted to tell her that in so many words. I was so close to her now. I could almost taste the sweet coffee and vanilla of her hair and feel the warmth of the blood under her cheeks. My rational mind and my impervious body warring with emotions as I neared her.
I can't do this.
But I want to.
I deliberated for a moment.
"Hmmm." I gave my pondering aloud.
"I would venture to say there are more beautiful things in this room however." It was so quiet I couldn't tell if I only thought it or if I said it.
It was true. But I can't have her. It's impossible.
Then I gazed at her and realized I must have said it aloud because I saw her chest rise and fall with a deep breath. I could see her face flush and practically hear her heartbeat quicken.
My mouth was lost of all wetness once again.
I knew I was staring at her intently, but I couldn't pull myself away. Finally, she turned and her eyes widened in recognition, but she seemed to be contemplating something as well. Her rich brown eyes, just as bold as the chestnut and espresso of her hair, bore into mine. We stood entranced once again, simply hypnotized by one another and unable to look away. Then she tipped her head in question.
"So if it's not the Apollo…the Aphrodite perhaps?" She quirked one perfect brow at me, obviously toying with me a bit. She was sharp as well.
Intelligent and beautiful, a deadly combination.
Aphrodite. Indeed. You are.
I smirked at her, thinking, how to tell her what I thought without saying it in those words? I lifted my hand to my head without realizing, only to be met with my Yankees hat.
Her eyes followed mine and I saw a flicker of something cross her face.
Desire?
Dear God.
I swallowed. Focus.
Finally, I spoke. Telling her what I wanted to say in so many words.
"An equivalent let's say." Her eyes blazed at me then and once more I felt my body moving closer, greedy for her warmth. I wanted to touch her again. I wanted to feel the warmth of her skin on mine. I wanted…
Then I stopped. As realization dawned on me regarding this place and this time, my cover and the impossible situation.
No. You can't have her.
I willed myself to step back, removing myself from the intense situation. The warmth of her body and the current between us slightly fading, reminding me that I couldn't have her, no matter the draw.
What are you here for Cullen? Focus. My training kicked in and I resumed my façade.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," I said then, "but I saw you walk away from Gray's with a man. His name wasn't Jasper Whitlock perhaps?" I asked coming back to my original intent for visiting the Met.
"Yes he works here." She said, appearing a bit taken aback. "Do you know him?"
I sighed. No Mijn Schoonheid, please don't be offended. But I resumed my cover.
"We go way back." I turned to look at the statue, trying to be as vague as possible. But then I realized, she probably thought I followed her here. Or worse, she thought I only followed her here to get to Jasper. I couldn't tell her that I was inclined to follow her anywhere for reasons I couldn't possibly explain. I needed to back track and cover that mistake.
"Sorry, I just happened to come to the Met for the afternoon when I saw you. And I don't mean to trouble you, but could you give him a message for me?" I asked her and gave her a small smile.
Even though I did follow you because I am absolutely enraptured by you for some ungodly reason.
"I can, but he works just down the hall you can go talk to him yourself." She gestured kindly, but still observing me questioningly.
I shifted and cast a fleeting glance across the gallery. Ensuring that no one was watching and re-checking my exits out of habit. I wanted to see Jasper, but knew I couldn't, not in this public place. I needed an exit strategy.
"I really can't."
Though I want to. Really, I want to be with you.
I quickly looked at my watch. "I have to go actually. But can you tell him…" I waited, hoping she would give me her name.
She was looking at me strangely. Obviously unsure of who I was and the situation.
"Can I tell him what?" She asked.
I blew out a breath and motioned my hand. If I was never going to see her again at least I would get her name. I could give myself just that.
Mijn zon please give me that.
Recognition immediately took her angelic face and she answered.
"Bella." She said in a hushed tone.
"Bella." I repeated almost breathlessly without even thinking before I uttered the words.
Of course. Fucking perfect. Of course her name is Bella. Beautiful. Bella. Enchanting. Bella. Schoonheid in the flesh.
Impossible. Bella.
I lifted my head and forced myself to keep my composure. Drawing on every ounce of training I could at the moment. This was harder than an assignment, harder than staring down my next kill and pulling the trigger.
Because I knew; I knew that I would say these few words to her and never see her again. I would slip back undercover and she would move on with her life, seamlessly without remembering our interaction.
"Can you tell him that E's back in town." I said as succinctly as possible. She looked at me in confusion and I stepped forward slightly, once again drawn by her gravity.
It hit me with a force. She was so perfect and petite, I towered over her, but yet she fit right next to me. I could see the look in her eyes. She wasn't afraid, if anything she appeared to be as in awe of me as I was of her.
Which scared me all the more and made me want her all the more.
Again, I wanted to touch her; I wanted to trace my fingers down her perfect pale skin and over her sumptuous red lips. I wanted to hold her and protect her and feel her body against mine. Her eyes burned into me and I couldn't comprehend the tumult of feelings wreaking havoc on my body.
Instead, I bent down slowly, getting as close to her as possible without physically touching her, knowing that if I touched her again it would be my undoing.
"Thank you….Bella." I said in a whisper. And with all the resolve I could muster I stepped away, willing my feet in front of the other. I continued past the columns until I was out of sight.
I all but raced out of the Met, ignoring the pull that was tempting me to turn behind. I ran down Fifth Avenue and to the doors of the Essex. I didn't even bother to take the elevator. I couldn't look back, I couldn't stop. Because if I did I would go back to her and jeopardize everything.
I opened the door to my room and slammed it shut dropping to the floor. I put my head in my hands trying to pull myself together.
What the hell just happened to me? It was like an out-of-body experience. I was so taken with her and every part of my being was enticed to her. This has never happened to me, I have never lost focus, I have never felt like that about a woman. Shit about anything.
Yet I couldn't will away the images or the smells, nor did I want to, of chestnut and coffee and vanilla and the perfectness of her next to me, her arms in my hands.
I banged my head against the door and sat there in frustration before once again slipping into the darkness.
But in that final moment, before sleep over took me, only one thing crossed my mind.
Mijn Zon. Mijn Licht. Mijn Schoonheid.
XXXX
