The Glee characters belong to Glee, the rest of the characters belong to me. This story is improved no end by wood-u-like-2-no's contribution as beta and soundboard.
Conceit: Chapter titles are song titles. From West Side Story as we all should know. Blaine/Darren's version, Richard Beymer's, Jose Carreras's, the stud performing it in my high school's version, whoever rocks your boat.
+...+
Chapter Eleven: Something's Coming
"I'm fine, Dad, honestly." Rachel had been on the phone with first Hiram and then LeRoy for over an hour.
They had called her as soon as they read the gossip piece, wanting to know what was going on. She didn't blame them. When she'd taken the part, they had been so confused it had taken her two days to persuade them she was doing the right thing. She had forbidden them from talking about Finn for so long they couldn't understand why she would even consider working with him. She had patiently set out the rationale she'd used to convince herself: I've buried my past and I'm not letting it get in the way of my future; I was born to play Elsa.
They had been sceptical. They said they accepted it at the time although not without securing her promise that she would speak to them daily. So here she was again, having to reassure them that she knew what she was doing and that she was not hooking up with Finn again. She told them the article didn't bother her one bit, that gossip was par for the course in Hollywood. She reminded them of how they'd had to get used to it when she made it on Broadway. Hollywood was the same but more intense, much more intense. She was finally able to put down her phone, her dads content.
That wouldn't be the word to describe herself she thought as she stared at the pile of Kleenex that littered the floor around her. She'd been crying since she read the darn thing. Hangovers and tears were horrible bedfellows. It was only her fathers' call that forced her to get a hold of herself. Persuading them went some way to convincing herself that she had to let it go. This happened all the time. She didn't need to be a baby about it. So, the article painted her to be a gold-digging bitch using dirt on her ex to land the show. So what? She knew it wasn't true. It was a grain of truth twisted and distorted into an ugly thing. She certainly wasn't using her body to seduce Finn into accepting her even if she did want him to accept her. She wanted him to like her again, she wanted him to… She felt the prick of tears again and shook her head angrily. Enough.
She stood up with a jump and grabbed a wicker waste basket kept in a corner of the lounge. She picked up all the used tissues hurriedly and raced to the garbage bin outside. She didn't want any reminders in the house of how pathetic her day had been.
She had two scenes to prepare for tomorrow, one with Sallis in the morning and one with Drumm. She deferred working on the second scene, not least because she felt so guilty about Finn. His precious boat had been identified in the article and she knew he'd hate that. She hadn't told anybody about the boat but she still felt guilty. She'd texted Quinn who was on set with Finn about the article and asked her to tell him how sorry she was.
She had the first scene down pat when the phone rang again. Truth was she had over-prepared the scene to put off turning to the second. Grateful for another excuse to procrastinate, she answered without checking. "Hello?"
"Rachel! You've been holding out on me."
Rachel's heart sank on recognizing Wally Worth's voice. "Hi, Wally," she said carefully. "I'm not sure what you mean." She was lying. The last thing Wally had told her was to play the spurned lover ignored by the mighty star. She'd rebelled.
"Yes, you do but it's fine," Wally said cheerfully. "This is even better! Now we have a love triangle!"
Rachel closed her eyes. "Love triangles suck, Wally," Rachel said. "They're old, they're predictable, they're-"
"-fodder for the masses in real life, Rachel. They'll keep the gossips arguing amongst themselves for ages. Which will he choose, which should he choose? Team Edward/Team Jacob. Team Peeta/Team Gale. Team Serena/Team Kath. Team Wesley/Team Mindy. Hmmm, that's an idea. If we throw in a little side action with you and Quinn, it could be a goldmine. I mean, you two are living together now so that can work. We'll need to raise Quinn's profile. Give me the high school dirt on her. I'll be able to…"
Rachel held the phone away from her ear, staring at it as if it was toxic. She could still hear Wally yammering. She couldn't believe his gall. She was so tempted to tell him to fuck himself that she had to wait twenty seconds before she could listen to him again.
"Rachel! Tell me!"
"I told you everything already, Wally. If you want more on Quinn, you'll have to talk to her. For the record, that piece is bullshit. Finn and I are friends, it was a friendly peck on the cheek, and Quinn and Puck were on the boat with us. There were no planks involved."
"Yeah, yeah. Prince Waldorf gets everything wrong but that's beside the point. The real point is the buzz this creates. Have you seen the comments?"
Rachel had seen some comments but had been too upset to take much notice. "No," she said hesitantly.
"Take a look. I think you'll be surprised. Then try and tell me that mining your personal lives isn't creating buzz for the show." With that, Wally signed off.
Rachel snorted and threw the phone across the floor. On realising she should warn Quinn, she ran to rescue it, relieved it was still functional. She texted Quinn to say Wally would be stalking her. She collapsed back on the couch to consider Wally the Weasel's words.
The higher ground would be to dismiss the call and get to work on her scene with Finn. The low road was a further excuse to stonewall. Rachel took the low road. Her abused phone needed recharging so she turned on the television and went online. She found the article again and looked down the comments.
When she'd first seen the story, there had been maybe twenty comments. The first four just said "First!" She saw with astonishment that there were now over two thousand. She couldn't imagine what on earth was so all-inspiring about Prince Waldorf's piece. She settled back and began to read.
She turned off the television after an hour. She hated to admit it, but Wally was right. People loved talking about her and Finn, their murky history and how it would impact on the show. Of course, many of those people were crazy, making assumptions and in short order turning those assumptions into facts.. She wondered why it didn't bother Wally how many were saying that the show would be a train wreck because of it but she supposed he was from the school that held any publicity was good publicity.
Well, she thought, she was out. Not out of the show, but out of getting involved with this crazy stuff. Wally would get nothing else from her and she wouldn't be reading anything more about herself. She hadn't yet sorted out a press agent for this coast and it was time she did, time she left it to the professionals. She wondered if she could ask Finn for his recommendation. Quinn, she knew, didn't have one yet either. Maybe they could get a two-for-one deal. Rachel giggled.
Thinking about Finn made her finally pick up the scene for the next afternoon. It was short and she learned it quickly, all the while her heart racing. Oh God, this is it.
She threw down the script and laid her head back on the couch. It would be a rough day tomorrow, she thought. Back in New York, it was easy to convince herself she'd be okay working with Finn. Well, maybe not easy but necessary and necessary was more important; necessary would see her through. Necessary saw her through her less than honourable actions to secure the role, after all. It was so unfair that fate's first test of her resolve was the sight of Finn stark naked. It was a sharp reminder – one that stabbed her in the heart – that it being necessary to be this close to Finn may not be enough to push all the feelings that came rushing up from her depths back down where they belonged. Getting to know him again, getting to like him again, these were fate's gentler trials but they made it even harder for her to keep her emotions at bay. The past was past, sure, but facts were facts. She had loved Finn and everything inside her was screaming that maybe she'd never stopped. No. She couldn't go there. A house of cards or not, she had to build a barrier between the actress and girl who had curled herself into a ball for a week after the man she loved left her. She had to find a means to lock it all away, a way that didn't adversely affect her ability to show Elsa's growing attraction to Drumm convincingly. She just had to or everything she'd worked for would come tumbling down and the sacrifices she'd made would be meaningless.
Rachel picked up the script again, determined to make it work. What she couldn't predict was how he would be with this. It had been in the back of her mind all day that something had happened on the boat but the article and everything else had kept it there. It came to the fore now. Much of the night before was a blank to Rachel but there was one thing she remembered with piercing clarity. The words were whispered but they were clear and they were gentle, loving almost, at least that's how it seemed to her. They were his words.
"Mine too."
+...+
"If it's so God damned easy to be a professional, John, then tell me, when was the last time Brad worked with Angelina! Or with Jennifer or Gwyneth! I'm done!"
Finn stormed off the location. He saw Rachel in tears through the corner of his eye but he resolutely ignored her. He went straight to his trailer and slammed the door shut. He dropped onto the leather couch and buried his face in his hands.
He knew he was being unreasonable. He was being a jerk to everyone out there by having a tantrum. It was beneath him and they didn't deserve it. Rachel didn't deserve it. Finn groaned. He'd have to make some mighty big reparations tomorrow, but for now, he couldn't face it. They'd shot the scene sixteen times, unheard of in television, and John still wasn't happy. Finn didn't blame him. He knew he was giving a poor performance. He just hadn't been able to get a handle on it. Rachel was probably doing well but he was so tense and screwed up, he couldn't trust his own judgement on that.
They left him alone for an hour. Finn supposed that they were doing what they could without him – Rachel's follow up scene, he guessed. When the hour was done, there was a knock on the trailer door. Two bottles of water – he didn't drink alcohol on set, a matter of regret in the moment – and a violent session of Halo 9 had calmed him. He unlocked the door and backed away. Amy and John climbed in. Rachel held back, looking up at him, worried. He shook his head.
"It's okay, Rachel. Come on in. I'm sorry I was such a bastard."
Rachel stepped in and joined the other two, making themselves comfortable on the couches. Finn checked if they wanted drinks before sitting down next to Amy. They must have dragged her out from the studio. It was a sign of how much trouble he was in that she had gotten to the location shoot so fast.
"Finn," Amy started, "we need to get this sorted. Drumm and Elsa's relationship is central to the story and if you two can't work out your demons, we're sunk. The network may let us recast…"
Rachel stared down at her hands at this. Finn knew she was thinking she'd be the one to go. She was probably right. It didn't make him feel any better.
"…but there's no guarantee." Amy finished before sighing and turning to John.
"Both of you, listen to me," he pleaded. "The chemistry is there, it's burning up the screen but you're both so tight that it's coming over forced and wrong. Now, I know both of you can act this with your eyes closed so clearly the issue is between you."
Finn rolled his eyes and glared at Amy with raised eyebrows. He'd warned them and they hadn't listened.
John continued, "We're going to try again tomorrow but we don't have a lot of time for takes so you need to resolve it. Finn, you're going to need to take the crew out for a drink too. They're grumbling."
Finn nodded. He agreed with everything they were saying. He just didn't want to go through what came next. John and Amy rose. Amy bent down and gave Finn a hug while John did the same with Rachel. The director and producer shrugged at each other and left their actors alone. Finn kept his eyes on the door until long after they left, until Rachel cleared her throat. Reluctantly, he turned his gaze on her.
+...+
Quinn was about to consign dinner to the garbage disposal when she heard Rachel arrive home. "You're late!" she called out. "Was there a problem on set?" Quinn stopped the food sliding into the sink and levelled the plate. She'd need to reheat and wondered how long before Rachel would be ready to eat. She realised Rachel hadn't responded. "Rachel?" There was no answer.
Slightly fearful, Quinn grabbed the nearest blunt instrument at hand – a rolling pin covered in flour – and crept silently forward towards the lounge. She saw her immediately. Rachel was slumped down at the bottom of the front door, her head on her knees. She was racked with copious tears. Quinn flung away the rolling pin and ran to her friend, crouching down and putting her arms around Rachel. Quinn gently rocked her until the choking sobs stopped.
After getting Rachel onto the couch and making them cups of herbal tea, Quinn sat next to Rachel, remaining quiet until Rachel was ready to talk. Then it all came rushing out, the problems filming the scene, Finn's outburst, the ultimatum from Amy and how Rachel and Finn were forced to face their past to try and deal with it.
"It was so hard. I-I…" Rachel succumbed to her tears again and Quinn put her arm over Rachel's shoulder.
"You don't have to tell me," Quinn said softly, "unless you think it will help."
Rachel stared at her with huge brown eyes made red. She fought for control of her breathing and then, chewing her bottom lip and letting silent tears fall unchecked, Rachel told her.
Drumm: Chapter Eleven
The day he'd checked himself out of hospital, Drumm had gone straight to the agency. He'd spent the next hour being harangued first by Sid and then by Alyssa for leaving the hospital and for refusing to go home. Mitch knew better and had slapped a high five on the hand with the broken fingers. Subtle expression of disapproval, Drumm had thought as he blanched, very subtle. Despite the pain, he grinned at Mitch. After they had finally stopped trying to mother him, Drumm was briefed on the state of play. The only matter of significance to Drumm was what Sid had found out about Cantor Corp.
"I always thought your extensive network was made up of cops," Drumm had said, impressed.
Sid had bestowed him with a glare that was both contemptuous and pitying of his ignorance. "Cops retire, get other jobs, moron."
Drumm had mouthed "Sorr-eeeee" at him and pointed to his bruises as if to offer an excuse. He had then watched the old man shamble back to his desk. Drumm had decided to make himself scarce to avoid the dirty looks and made his way to Theo's office. As soon as he had taken his seat, the phone rang. "Yeah," Drumm had answered, irritated at the interruption and the surfacing of the memory of Theo telling him that insulting Sid was never a good idea.
"Mr. Drummond? It's Jeff Jensen."
Drumm had quickly reviewed events in his mind. He'd forgotten Jensen. He'd better be nice. "Dr. Jensen, hello. My apologies. I've been out of the office since I last saw you. I'm arranging for the contents of the file to be sent to you today." Drumm had hoped that his toadying would take any bluster out of Jensen's sails.
"Um, right, okay," Jensen had stuttered. Drumm had got it right and that pleased him. "If you could, yes, that would be excellent. Send them here, please, my office. And send everything, okay?"
"Got it," Drumm had said. "Anything else Drummond Investigations can do for you?"
"No, no, thank you. Goodbye." The phone had gone dead as he hung up.
Drumm hadn't had a leap in him but he had levered himself out of the chair and made his way to the main office. He had been lucky that Mitch was still there. "Mitch, remember the Jensen case? The guy wants everything we got sent to him so he can destroy it. Can you sort that out for me?" Mitch had nodded and Drumm had returned to Theo's office to read the Cantor Corp. file.
Whatever cop or cops it was that Sid had pumped, they were financial experts now and what Drumm had in front of him was a report on the movements of the company and what those movements meant. The upshot was that Cantor Corp. was going public and that it was going to cost a small fortune to do it. It wasn't much really, Drumm thought. How could it be relevant?
What made it relevant came to light six days later, the afternoon of the night Drumm broke into Sophie Cantor's apartment. Drumm, in a fit of boredom at being stuck in the office because he still looked like the Hulk – although it wasn't so bad now and he had sworn that this was his last day of incarceration from the world of light –went through the agency's copies of Cliff's files, seeing if there was anything that had been missed. He had nearly skipped the Washington file, remembering that it was the couple who had reconciled but he had the time and had thought what the hell.
There was a picture in the file that Drumm hadn't recalled seeing in Cliff's file. It was a handsome guy in his forties in corduroys and a yellow sweater. Drumm had idly understood why Mrs. Washington was possessive enough to have a private detective follow him. Drumm checked the back of the photo. It was printed with a name: Jason Montana. It was Theo's writing.
Drumm had returned the picture to the file and continued checking the others but something had niggled at him, something that didn't make sense. Washington, Montana. Washington, Montana. Washington-
Drumm had picked up the phone and called Cliff. "Have you ever seen Mrs. Washington's husband, seen a picture or met him? Can you describe him?" he had said in a rush as soon as Cliff picked up the phone.
"Well, hello to you too," Cliff had responded. "I know that you've taken a beating but in the real world the normal pleasantries are still considered-"
"Cliff! This is important!"
"No doubt. Give me a minute to get my brain in gear. Okay, I never met him but I was treated to the photo album the first day she came in. It's not uncommon. Mr. Washington is fifty-two, about six foot tall, black, greying hair-"
"Thanks!" Drumm had slammed the phone down. He had grabbed the Washington file and pulled out the picture. Levering himself up again, he'd run as fast as he could, waddled really, back to the main office. "Sid, can you find out who Jason Montana is?"
Two hours later, Drumm had stared at the picture of Jason Montana. "You bastard," Drumm had whispered to himself, "you hid it in plain sight. Washington, Montana. You never opened a file for Sophie Cantor, you just stuck it in an existing one that was dead. What else have you got socked away? Where's your stuff on Thurlow?" Six hours later had found him sitting on Sophie Cantor's armchair in the dark.
+...+
Elsa crammed Sally Prior's file back in the drawer. She prayed it was in the right place as she quickly closed the cabinet and raced back to the couch. She didn't have time to settle, so she went through the motions of just waking up as Sallis entered. He was surprised and not happy to see her.
"What are you doing in here?" he demanded.
"Oh, hello baby," she said, yawning. "I wasn't feeling well so Tony let me lie down." She rose and sashayed her way over to him. "Seeing you makes all the difference." She snaked her arms up his chest and over his shoulders, squirming against him as she extinguished all the air between them. She pressed her lips to his. He hadn't moved and Elsa had to work at it to get him to finally admit her tongue entrance. It was perfunctory as he disengaged himself roughly, squeezing the tops of her arms hard. Elsa would have to remember to get the orange dress back from Trudy first thing tomorrow and prayed it would be wearable.
"I don't like anyone in here when I'm not here," Wilson said. "You know that, princess."
"I know, baby, but it was that or go home and I just had to do everything I could not to let you down out there." Elsa was saved further excuses by the arrival of Tony. He wasn't looking too happy either. Elsa checked her watch. "Is that the time? I've got to run." She kissed Sallis's cheek and made for the door into the club. She wasn't stopped.
Elsa's racing pulse didn't start to slow down until she was back in the dressing room, chiding herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. What was she thinking? Truth is, she had to admit to herself, she wasn't. She'd let a pair of puppy dog eyes and a few bruises risk everything she'd worked so hard for and it could not happen again. Ever.
+...+
Captain Christopher Thurlow prided himself on his smart appearance. There wasn't a speck of grey to be seen running through the luxuriant raven hair, he exercised regularly to keep himself as fit and slim as he had been in college, and he took care of his skin. His appearance was much like his life: disciplined, ordered, planned, deliberate. He mixed with the best people, he did favours when he could be sure of a much larger return, and he kept the status quo running smoothly. He was a true political animal, working his way up life's ladder with a ruthless ambition that he'd never troubled to hide. It was better than a business card. People knew immediately where they stood with him – tools to his interests and his aspirations. Even his wife understood her station in his world. After all, she'd been chosen for no other reason than her connections.
Drumm thought that with all that going for him, he still looked like a snake. Thurlow's face was narrow but broad across the forehead. It made his brow more prominent and it hung over small, black eyes. Drumm wouldn't have been shocked to see inner eye lids. Thurlow had the forked-tongue already, after all. The man looked like a snake, he was a snake and, for the life of him, Drumm couldn't find one rational reason why this rotten snake was standing in his office. Thurlow didn't want to be there, that was clear enough. His lip had all but curled when Sid showed him in. Drumm didn't want him there, that was for damn certain. This was the other man that had ruined his brother's life and Drumm could easily believe that Thurlow would have gone a step further if it suited him and ended it. The problem was that Drumm hadn't found anything on Thurlow. He knew there had to be something. He made a mental note to search the apartment again for the file Theo must have compiled.
"Unless you're here on official business," Drumm said, "get out of my office." That it was the first time he'd said "my office" escaped him.
Thurlow didn't respond to Drumm. Instead, he put his hand on Sid's shoulder, saying "Thank you, Sid. You can leave us now." Sid couldn't shrug the touch off fast enough and muttered darkly as he hobbled away. Thurlow shut the door and looked around. Without invitation, he took a seat in the chair opposite the desk.
"So," Thurlow said, with a tone that was equable, "you have taken over the agency. I am surprised someone with your record is allowed to even work here." He even sounded like a snake, his sibilant speech formal and stiff.
"What record?" Drumm didn't bat his eyelids because it would be unmanly and stupid but he was sorely tempted.
"True. You were never actually brought to justice thanks to your brother. You, at least, should appreciate the value of having friends in the right places. That is very important in life, you know. Your brother was too stupid to understand that."
Drumm felt his temper rise and his fingers curl into fists. The pain in his broken fingers jerked him out of the rising swirl that would lead to nothing but catastrophe so Drumm settled for grinding his teeth and tightening his jaw. "What do you want, Thurlow?"
Thurlow shrugged. "Besides offering advice on the value of friends, the risk of upsetting the wrong people," Thurlow paused to gesture at the fading bruises and the splinted fingers, "and the wisdom of keeping your nose out of places you don't belong, you mean?"
Drumm stayed calm. "Yeah," he said shortly, "besides that." Drumm had to make an effort not to sound truculent.
"Courtesy call," Thurlow said. "I am here to tell you that we are closing the case on your brother. We have no evidence and we do not have the manpower to devote any more time to what was almost certainly a random mugging. I thought you would want to hear it from the horse's mouth."
"The horse's ass, you mean," Drumm said softly. Thurlow didn't react except to rise from the chair and walk to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob.
"Remember what I said about needing friends, Tommy. For example, if I had recently authorised a sweep to pick up all the street dealers and one of them had made a statement to the effect that he had sold you heroin, you would need a friend now, wouldn't you?" Thurlow gave his approximation of a smile which simply stretched his thin lips a little wider before opening the door and leaving. Drumm leaned back in the chair, stunned.
"Shit."
+...+
Elsa's resolve to forget about Drumm lasted three days. In those days of forgetting about him, all she saw whenever she closed her eyes was him. She'd felt a physical attraction the moment she'd seen him even though she wasn't in the business of letting herself be attracted to anyone. He was a good looking guy, she was human and it was a hard, lonely road that she was travelling with Wilson Sallis. Just enjoying his features was light relief, a bizarre reaction for her to have at a funeral. Then he'd turned up at the club. She hated that her justifiable dismay on seeing him was diluted by the thrill that ran through her. The less thought about the times he'd actually opened his mouth, the better. She couldn't remember when she'd last engaged in banter. She who weighed every word, every action let herself go with him. She was drawn to help him because, for a moment in time, she'd had fun despite him lying bruised in a hospital bed with one warm brown eye never leaving her face as he tried to charm her. Something worked for him because here she was.
There were two times in any given week when Elsa was certain to be free of Sallis and Tony. One was her weekly appointment at the hairdresser's. Sallis had yielded to Tony's pleas that she didn't need protecting when she was there as all the guys were gay. For once, Elsa was grateful that the two of them were bigots. The second time was when Elsa went to confession. Sometimes she was alone on Sundays too, when Sallis got bored of going with her to the service, but it could never be guaranteed that she would be on her own. She got out alone other times, but those occasions took planning and guile. Sallis even preferred her to be accompanied when she went shopping. Slipping out and avoiding the escort often resulted in retaliation, like the black eye she got after evading Tony to pay her respects to Theo Drummond.
It was Theo that she was doing this for. He'd understood instinctively that talking to her put her at risk and he'd protected her with that slap. It was a small gesture but after living so long in the hellholes that were the Pink Leopard and Sallis's apartment, small gestures meant a lot. She was doing it because she reckoned she owed him. At least, that's what she told herself when she called Drumm and demanded he meet her at St. Ignatius' Church on Sunderby Road at noon. It had nothing to do with any desire to see the oaf again.
Exiting the confessional, Elsa saw Drumm immediately. She smiled. He was too big to meld into the shadows of an empty church. Instead, he'd taken to one of the pews and was on his knees. He glanced over at her as soon as she appeared. With her head, Elsa indicated that she should follow him. Elsa led Drumm towards the altar and out a heavy wooden door at the side of the sacristy. There was a small private garden enclosed between the church and the wall surrounding it. The contours of the church hid it from view of any onlookers. As soon as Drumm closed the door behind him, Elsa turned to face him. She licked her lips and shook back her long hair.
"This is the one and only time we will meet again," she said quickly. "I found Sally Prior's employment file at the club. This is the address on the file." Elsa tried to thrust a piece of paper into Drumm's hand.
Elsa had resolutely determined in advance that she wouldn't look at Drumm while she rattled off what she wanted to say but she stole a glance up at him through her eyelashes as she handed him the address. The bruises had faded and he looked back to normal. He was staring down at her and once his eyes locked onto hers, she couldn't turn away. She licked her lips again, feeling parched. He didn't take the piece of paper immediately. He let his fingers rest against her skin before he accepted it. She felt a bolt of electricity sweep up her arm and snatched her hand away.
"Thank you," he said softly. Elsa didn't want to linger on why those two words made her stomach churn. "Why are you doing this for me?"
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for your brother and for Sally," she responded indignantly.
"No," Drumm said, his head shaking. "I don't think that's it. You didn't come to the hospital for Theo. Something else is going on here. You feel it, I feel it. Whatever it is that you have going on with Sallis, you came for me. I think you're developing a soft spot me. For what it's worth-"
"Concussion," Elsa interrupted, "wasn't it? It's made you delusional."
Drumm smirked. "No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities."
"What book of quotes did you pull out of your ass for that gem?"
"Don't remember," he said with a shrug. "I just liked it and it stuck. Why are you avoiding the topic?"
"Why am I-?" She was getting cross. "You are insane. The topic is Sally, not some stupid notion that there's anything, that there can ever be anything going on between-" Elsa was getting drawn in and it was a mistake, a huge one. She took a deep breath. "I don't have time for this. They'll come looking for me if I don't get back soon. Do you want to know what I found out or not?"
Drumm nodded. She hated that the smirk was still playing across his face.
"Sally stopped working at the club six weeks ago. That's all I have and all I can get. I have to go."
Elsa walked past Drumm to terminate the meeting and to terminate any further dealings with the man who was provoking her to such madness. Drumm didn't step aside for her, so she had to go around him. When level with him, she was horrified to see the iron ring that marked the handle of the door start to turn. Someone was coming into the garden. She had taken too long.
Elsa was frozen but Drumm wasn't. He grabbed her, swung her around in front of him, shielding her with his body, and bent his head down to kiss her. Elsa struggled uselessly against him, already fearful of her chances of surviving to explain just meeting him. This made it a hundred times worse. As the door rattled open, the kiss deepened and Elsa's terror was coupled with a new and very different kind of feeling.
"Oh, sorry! I didn't realise anyone was out here. I'll leave you two youngsters to your privacy."
Drumm let her go in time for her to look around him and see the trailing robes of one of the priests as he vanished behind the door. She stared at the door and then up at Drumm. He was grinning and oh so very smug. Not wanting to exacerbate his recent concussion, because dear God he couldn't afford to lose anymore brain cells, limited her options.
She drew back her leg and kneed him hard in the groin.
