Disclaimer: Characters are not mine but the plot is. Thank you so much for your patience and your reviews. One more chapter to go.
Thirty-five
"…nothing in this world now affords me delight. I do not know what there is now left for me to do or why I am still here, all my hopes in this world being now fulfilled."
-Saint Monica to Augustine
The phone had apparently been ringing nonstop since the story began running on the BBC. Of course, it had taken some time and likely the exchange of money before the facts were roughly guessed at. First reported as an unexplained explosion potentially attributed to a gas leak, the story transformed when on-site reporters noted special forces police on the scene. The speculations ranged from a terrorist cell that had somehow set off its munitions stores to a domestic dispute gone horribly violent. Fortunately, the mix of N.E.X. security and constables first arrived to the street were able to keep the news vans at bay, but Emmett surmised someone had leaked details of our hospital admissions when the phones began exploding with inquiries.
"There's no way ITV and Sky 1 and…Christ…the Associated Press could have any clue we had anything to do with what occurred at the safe house without someone having spilled the beans." He sighed heavily as his phone began vibrating again with another call from a number he didn't recognize.
"It can't be helped," Edward replied, his shoulder lifting with the slightest shrug.
"I bet it was one of the nurses here at the hospital—I know that brunette had it in for me," Emmett muttered, brows mutinously low.
"If you listen about your dressings," Rozalina began to admonish, a gentle hand resting on his curls.
Emmett huffed in exasperation and she wisely refrained from continuing.
Mixed in with the calls from obnoxious journalists, morning show producers, and curiosity seekers were frantic messages from my dad and Alice.
"Thank God you're okay! I was about to call the airline—"
"Oh, no, Dad—don't do that! We already have tickets for Saturday." It was Edward's phone at my ear as no one had been able to recover the device he'd bought me from the safe house; while Emmett had access, he'd confessed the place was so smoke and water damaged that it was unlikely they'd be able to salvage much of anything. I couldn't quite feel upset about it, wanting more than anything to forget the entire nightmare.
"Why not sooner?" Charlie asked, concern still evident in his voice. My gaze darted to Edward, who watched me with pinched features from the chair at my bedside.
"I'm not yet out of the hospital—I'll be discharged tomorrow they think. And Emmett has some leads on Viktoriya he wants to resolve before we hit the road. It isn't as if coming to London is a day trip, after all…" I didn't admit that my own curiosity was keeping me here, unwilling to leave without trying to understand, to make sense of what had happened.
"I'm going to meet you at the airport, Bells." The firmness of Charlie's voice brooked no argument. I glanced up at the television that had been flickering with stories of my supposed escape from kidnapping…a home invasion…a crazed, heavily armed stalker…None of it quite right, though some details glanced close enough to the truth that Emmett had requested guards remain at the semi-destroyed safe house to prevent any scavenging.
Would reporters be waiting for us at SeaTac? I shook my head, unwilling to imagine my dad in the melee. Whispering to Edward, I requested the details or our arrival, then repeated the flight numbers and times to Charlie at a normal volume.
Alice was not nearly so calm. "What the fuck, Bella? !"
"It's a long story—" I tried to begin as Edward frowned at the phone in my hand, her voice audible to his ears.
"Our guard won't tell us anything—Jasper was about ready to punch him out—"
"Jasper? !" I gasped, unable to imagine the easy-going professor as anything other than congenial and conciliatory.
"And I couldn't get through to Charlie for hours…" His single land line—without call waiting—had likely been equally tied up with trying to get in touch with me, with Interpol, with N.E.X., with anyone who might have a clue as to what had happened. "You promise you're safe now?" Alice finally reached the end of her rant, the genuine concern in her voice causing my heart to contract that she cared so deeply…and with guilt for making her worry.
"They're dead, Alice," I responded quietly. I saw Edward's chin drop in my peripheral vision and blindly reached out for his hand. I knew he still felt guilty that his involvement with Viktoriya had somehow unleashed this entire ordeal on our heads. I'd tried to reassure him multiple times that it wasn't his fault...but my words seemed not to matter, his continuing contrition revealing itself in these small reactions.
"You're sure?"
"Emmett himself verified their identities." I didn't yet want to share that Emmett had been responsible for their deaths, unsure what Alice's response might be. Having been directly threatened, I could only be grateful. But the various reports and news items that had found their way onto the television in my hospital room questioned the violent end, speculating about extreme force and insinuating that American vigilantism was to blame for the deaths of the two foreigners whose names had thankfully been withheld from the press.
Alice's sigh blew through the line before she spoke up again. "And when will you be home? We're definitely going to meet you at the airport." I exhaled wearily, realizing her voice was as insistent as Charlie's, turning my gaze to Edward to request the flight information again. It appeared we were going to have quite the homecoming.
First, however, was the matter of my discharge from the hospital. Though I stubbornly resisted the wheelchair Edward pushed into the room for a solid ten minutes, I lost the battle when Emmett scooped me up off my feet and planted me in the seat. Before I could voice any further protest, Edward spun the chair on its wheels and began rapidly pushing me down the hall away from the main elevator. "We're exiting through the staff entrance since there are a few journalists and photographers still gathered outside."
"You'd think they'd have given up by now," Emmett muttered. Rozalina was at his side, hurrying after us as we approached another exit sign lit up in red. After several more turns, we finally reached a small elevator not meant for carting patients between floors, Rozalina and Emmett barely able to squeeze in around the wheelchair.
"Still think this thing was a good idea?" I looked up to Edward, a brow raised as I gestured to the stupid chair.
"A better idea than wandering around Dresden with no phone and no sense of direction."
"You will never let that go, will you?" I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Never." I could hear the smile in his voice but refused to look up, glaring at the elevator doors as Emmett struggled to muffle a chuckle.
Thankfully, an electronic ping announced we'd arrived at the ground floor. Edward rapidly pushing me into a corridor filled with people in scrubs and on to a glass-doored exit. I managed to scoot off the chair into the silver sedan waiting at the curb, refusing to give either Edward or Emmett the chance to pick me up again. I could hear Edward's sigh as I slammed the door behind me, a faint smile tilting my lips.
"So stubborn," he murmured as he opened the opposite door and slid onto the bench seat.
"You love it," Emmett remarked as he settled into the front passenger seat. Rozalina was wedged between him and the driver, who I could easily discern was an N.E.X. guard—the ex-military buzz cut and ear piece instantly gave him away.
We were soon swimming through streets clogged with traffic, my attention distracted by the maze of tiny foreign cars darting down the wrong side of the lane. I recalled that I'd slept on the ride from the airport to the safe house, exhausted after being unable to sleep on the plane. It was no wonder then that these London streets were new to me, especially considering there had been no chance to leave the safe house after learning of Demitri's involvement. Though the thought of his name still made me shudder, I realized the tension that seemed to have haunted my muscles for ages was now curiously absent, my shoulders loose, my breathing even despite the soreness still evident in my ribs. After all, this was the first time in weeks I hadn't been racked with worry about the safety of my loved ones…or myself.
The driver turned down a narrow, cobblestoned alley and I saw we were going to continue evading the press, approaching our new place of residence from the rear. Despite the unassuming doors leading into what was clearly a service entrance, I could tell from the high brick façade and arched Georgian windows that it was no humble little hostelry. "The Carlton Towers," Edward explained, as if the name might have meaning for me.
"You could never settle for a Best Western," I teased.
"I don't know if he has any idea what that is," Emmett interjected as we climbed out of the car. The security guard handed the keys to a valet who had appeared without my notice, then led the way inside.
"I do, too," Edward grumbled, his fingers lacing through mine as he tugged me along.
I couldn't resist landing a kiss on his cheek, so thankful to be in a position to poke fun at his little pomposities. I had a vague idea of the divide between us as far as income was concerned and could only mock that which I could not change…and which I knew, to some extent, made him uncomfortable given his history with women and the various sycophants he'd encountered in his youth. "I even stayed at one during spring break," he broke into my musings, a mischievous glint in his eye.
I was unable to respond, uncertain whether he was perpetuating the joke or being sincere…then distracted by the opulence of our surroundings. We'd turned from the service corridors into space clearly intended only for hotel guests, the rich carpets beneath our feet muting all sound, an ornate mirror framed in gilt at the end of the hall reflecting our motley group as we approached the elevator bank.
The security guard scanned ahead as we arrived at our floor, even going so far as to check over our rooms before ushering Edward and me inside. With a wave, Emmett and Rozalina continued down the hall, promising to see us first thing in the morning.
The door closed behind us, locking us in cushioned quiet. My gaze darted around the room, barely taking in the tufted back armchairs and the French doors leading into the bedroom. I couldn't absorb the details, my suspicion piqued by the diligence of the guard…a feeling of dread in my stomach giving away my fear that I might be in the dark about…something, anything. Sensing my misgivings, Edward hurriedly explained, "I don't fear for our safety—not any longer." He grasped my hands, pulling me near. "But I don't want to risk a hotel maid or concierge having tipped off the press as to our presence here." He lifted his hands to my shoulders, trying to reassure me.
I searched his gaze and found only guileless sincerity there. I inhaled, gaze falling, relieved— though I felt a bit embarrassed at my continued lack of trust in him. My thoughts quickly shifted, though, lips twisting as I told myself that I could likely handle a nosey journalist—especially after everything we'd been through. Sensing my burgeoning dissent, Edward cut me off at the pass. "I have no doubt you could send Barbara Walters packing in the blink of an eye, but I'd rather not put either one of us through that if it can be avoided."
I hesitated a silent moment then finally relented, shoulders sagging. A deep breath reminded me that my ribs were still sore and that I should be glad he was trying to protect me…protect both of us. "Thank you," I replied simply.
"And you're sure you want to go through with this tomorrow? Emmett's relatively certain—"
"Yes," I firmly replied, my gaze level as I met his eyes.
Emmett's leads had been more substantial than I had realized at the time that I'd spoken to my father. While I'd been reluctantly sharing my flight information with Alice and Charlie, Emmett had been working with the special police forces and N.E.X. to follow up on various pieces of evidence, and had solidly confirmed Viktoriya's presence at the location we'd be visiting in the morning. "I have to…see," I attempted to explain, my gaze falling to my feet.
Edward pulled me close, the smell of him filling my nose as my cheek pressed close to his shirt front. I returned his embrace, wrapping my arms around his waist, sensing that he understood, relieved that I didn't have to explain further.
His lips pressed into my hair, a gesture that had grown familiar over the weeks that we'd spent confined together—first in his penthouse, then the safe house, and now, over the past few days, the brightly lit space of my hospital room. Of course in the hospital, he'd been limited to this type of affection, the pressure of lips against my hair, my temple, the back of my hand, the stroke of his fingers against my forearm, the inside of my wrist, the curve of my neck. But now we were alone.
I couldn't resist pulling him closer, my fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, inhaling deeply despite the pain in my ribs, reveling in the scent of him.
"Bella…" Edward's voice broke the quiet, a note of reluctance evident in his tone.
I stilled, surprised, before exclaiming, "I swear to God, Edward, if you tell me I'm not well enough after just having been discharged, I don't know what I'll do!" The words were nearly a growl, my brows knitting together as I lifted my head to meet his eyes.
I was rewarded by the glint of humor in his gaze before he burst out laughing. I glowered at him though my own lips were twitching. I opened my mouth to argue further but he silenced me with a swift kiss…a kiss that instantly changed from an attempt to keep me from speaking to utter intensity.
"Edward," I managed to murmur against his mouth, before his tongue surged past my lips, tasting, savoring, as if he could drink me dry. I groaned in response, wrapping my arms around his neck, sucking at his bottom lip, stumbling as he shifted, urging me backwards…I mistakenly thought towards the bed until I felt the low seat of one of the armchairs behind my knees.
The room spun and I gasped as the kiss was broken, then tumbled into Edward's lap with the realization that he'd simply sat down, his green eyes hungry and expectant as he looked up at me.
"Bella," he murmured into my throat, his arms sliding around my waist as my knees found their way to either side of his hips. I smiled against his temple, thrilled he wanted me as much as I wanted him…that his protest had been superficial at best.
Then the thought was gone as his right hand slipped under my shirt and found the weight of my breast, a gasp caught in my throat. I leaned down to kiss him, swallowing the sound, unable to control the jerk of my hips as his fingers reached my nipple, toying with the sensitive nub through the cotton of my bra. My hands were in his hair, sliding down to his nape, pulling him ever closer, struggling to intensify the kiss.
Edward's other hand snuck beneath my shirt, more awkward in its cast but insistent in reaching my flesh. My hips jerked again and I groaned as I felt the evidence of his arousal against the heavy seam of my jeans. I began to pick at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with the small shell discs, grunting in frustration as I failed to get more than two open. I felt his smile before his hands fell away, reaching down between us to tear the shirt over his head.
It was my turn to smile, realizing that the brightness and excitement in Edward's gaze was likely reflected in my own. The world abruptly shifted and I squealed, throwing my arms around his neck as he lifted me up, carrying me to the bed. I laughed as I bounced on the mattress, then squealed again as he began tugging at my jeans. "These…" he grunted, struggling to pull them off despite the fact that I was still struggling to unbutton them, "are in the way!"
Then he was on top of me, his arms a cage, his breath hot against my face before his lips found mine again. My hands sought out the muscles of his back, caressing, pulling him closer, luxuriating in the feel of skin and tendon, the strength of him. "Oh, Edward…"
He reared away, but only to tug at his own jeans, fumbling with the motion due to the stiff angle at which the cast forced him to hold his wrist. I reached up, easily slipping loose the button and lowering his fly. My gaze caught his at that moment and I felt my cheeks flush hotly at the intense look of want in his eyes, bright and on fire for me.
Edward's body covered mine before I could think, before I could speak, skin on skin, unbelievably warm, lips dragging along my throat, my collar bones, pushing aside the straps of my bras before I closed my eyes, lost to the sensation. He pulled away only a moment, fetching the condom from the pocket of his jeans, before his body shadowed mine again. I reached for him, following his motions, smoothing the condom along his length. My own breath shuddered in my lungs, panting as he fell to his forearms, lips covering mine as he pushed into me.
"Edward…" I moaned against his lips, hips lifting, my body hungering for him more than I could have ever realized until that moment.
"Bella…" The same pleasure and hunger was evident in Edward's voice, the word a groan against my throat. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, desperate for him, hips lifting, falling, lifting, matching him, meeting him.
The muscles in my belly tightened, my legs trembling as I struggled to keep pace, hands slipping in the sweat that had formed on his skin. "Edward!" My pace lost time with his, consumed with a frantic need for him, struggling to breathe as my eyes flared wide. The sight of him above me, features lost in the same sensations, sent me hurtling over the edge, shuddering as he sank into me, impossibly deep.
Edward held me close as I recovered my breath, my legs lazily twining about his hips. Only when he began to move again did I realize he was still aroused, my breath catching in my throat as my body flared to life again.
Hours later, a loud, insistent rumble sounded from my stomach, reminding me of the world beyond our bed, our room. "Hungry, love?" Edward grinned at me, ceasing the lazy trace of his fingers upon my shoulder.
"I guess," I muttered, reluctant to disturb our idle.
"Don't worry—no need to get up," he smiled up at me as I rose from my position, cradled against his chest in the nest of pillows and duvet. I lifted a brow, failing to understand. "Room service, silly." He raised a brow in turn. "Or don't they have that at Best Westerns?"
"You!" I exclaimed ineffectually, reaching for a pillow to thump him.
Such easy humor felt impossibly distant as we made our way down narrow, winding lanes beneath dreary skies, the entire car silent as Emmett drove to the supposed base camp Viktoriya and Demitri had used.
"You're certain?" Edward's voice was a whisper, his hand squeezing my own where it rested between us in the back seat.
I nodded mutely though I was no longer sure, eyes wide as the car passed decrepit warehouses behind chain link fences, the unmistakable smell of river mixing with the fog that still wisped near the Thames.
The neighborhood appeared almost entirely abandoned—perhaps due to the fact that it was the weekend, any business subsiding for the time being. But it was hard to imagine this desolate, industrial neighborhood as anything other than uninhabited, rusted padlocks hanging from every fence, the high windows of the warehouses broken and gaping in many spots, rotting wood pallets piled high near the road.
It was that much more surprising then, when the quiet sedan turned a corner and came upon a bustling scene: parked cars angled around the high sliding door of a warehouse, some clearly marked as official police vehicles while others were black and innocuous; people huddled in groups speaking in low voices, or busy with large, unwieldy cameras, or fussing with clear plastic bags that appeared to hold clothes, pens, every day items.
Emmett parked beyond the gate, rounding the car to open the door for Rozalina as I swung from my own spot in the back, firmly planting my feet on the cracked pavement. I had asked to see this. I had insisted. I lifted my gaze and was relieved to find Edward already at my side, his hand slipping into my own as we followed Emmett through the gate and into the concrete courtyard. He was greeted as a familiar face by many of the people present, and introduced us to a slew of grim, official looking men and women who all nodded briskly and respectfully in our direction.
One in particular took the lead, shaking my hand as he introduced himself as Detective Brady. His features were lined but clean shaven, nicotine stained teeth apparent when he spoke. "If you'll come this way." I forced myself to follow, hanging on tightly to Edward's hand as the detective, then Emmett and Rozalina disappeared into the dark interior of the warehouse.
Detective Brady was speaking, explaining that the license plates on the car that had crashed into the safe house had somehow been salvaged. "We were able to track down the original owner as the title had never been transferred." He led us further into the open space, my pupils adjusting to the reduced light, as he went on. "He said they paid in cash and he assumed they were drug dealers. He was just glad to be rid of the junker." The detective continued, but his voice was a blur, my mind attempting to take in the shadowed interior, to comprehend the motives that had driven Viktoriya to this extreme, to this end.
There was only a limp mattress on wooden pallets similar to those I'd seen on our drive to the area, elevated from the damp cold of the concrete floor. I couldn't help being reminded of Immanuel's simple, sagging cot in the cell outside the walls of the monastery at Zlatá Koruna, my throat constricting at the memory.
"…traced the serial number on Volkov's gun to the manufacturer but must have been bought from a dealer illegally, likely stolen…"
Shafts of light made their way through the high windows and I realized boards had likely been pulled down for that purpose. Dust motes swam through the weak rays, thick on air that remained musty despite the open warehouse door. A white poster on the far wall caught my eye, a bright spot in the dark space; I released Edward's hand to investigate, and felt my eyes widen as I neared. It was a shooting target, the anonymous silhouette of a person pockmarked with the evidence of Viktoriya's practice.
"We've collected all the shells and determined they match Viktoriya's gun," the detective called over to me.
I turned, knowing my face was pale, my hands shaking slightly with the reality of what I was seeing. "Right," I whispered, figuring I had to respond.
The detective turned back to Emmett, Rozalina and Edward, who was glancing worriedly in my direction. "It was the gas masks that gave them away. We scoured more than a dozen local Army Navy stores with the presumption that the sale, even if paid in cash, wouldn't be a common occurrence. And unlike the sale of the car, Viktoriya was present for the purchase."
"And the clerk remembered her," Edward concluded.
"The red hair," Detective Brady nodded, lips lifting in a grim smile. "The gas mask sale happened only a few miles from here—it allowed us to narrow our focus."
My eyes continued to drift around the room as the conversation resumed, taking in the steel beams above my head, the concrete floor beneath my feet, the random debris piled in corners. I couldn't imagine living here for however many days, plotting, planning, fixating. If Edward were to reject me, to dismiss me, would I go to such lengths?
I turned to him and found his gaze upon me, green eyes fixed as if trying to work out my thoughts. He crossed to my side, leaving the detective to further explain the investigation to Emmett and Rozalina, his stride purposeful. He didn't speak as he reached me, simply slipping a hand into my own. My own gaze was despairing, knowing how much I loved him, how much it would destroy me if he were to change his mind, if he were to leave.
My voice was a whisper when I finally spoke. "People do desperate things out of passion."
Edward abruptly shook his head, eyes tightening with the frown flashing across his brow. "We met twice, three times—this was not love."
"For you," I murmured, my gaze falling.
Edward's fingers were on my chin, lifting my face, forcing my eyes to his own. "Bella," his voice was firm. "I love you. More than anything. Don't you see…" The words trailed away, his tone frustrated. His hand fell from my chin though the other tightened around my fingers. "We should go," he insisted.
He tried to tug me away but I remained frozen, distracted by the arc of a flashlight swinging through the gloom, paralyzed by an eerie sense of déjà vu...my gaze seeing only the black, muffled silence of the catacomb before the glow of Edward's flashlight illuminated the darkness. The officer carrying the torch turned and I exhaled as the spell was broken, his portly figure clearly nothing like Edward's. He bent to a trunk on the far wall that I hadn't noticed in shadows, lifting its lid with a grunt.
He began shoveling the contents into the clear plastic bags I'd noticed the officers handling outside, and my breath caught as I noticed a crumpled mass of black shantung in his hands. "Edward!" I gasped, then, unable to speak further, mutely pointed.
His green eyes glanced down at me with concern, before following my finger to the officer and his array of evidence. Releasing my hand, he swiftly crossed to the man's side, speaking in a hushed, urgent tone. This caught Detective Brady's attention, breaking up his monologue as he turned, then moved to join the conversation.
I forced my feet to work, though the room seemed to wobble as I made my way over to Rozalina and Emmett. Her pale hand found my shoulder, blue eyes wide with worry as she saw my pale, pinched face, gaze darting over to the officers and Edward as the discussion apparently intensified. "What is…" she barely managed to begin the question before Edward was back at my side, the dress grasped in his hands, obscuring the white plaster of his cast.
"They'll need to catalog it as evidence but I can arrange to have it released to you—mailed back to you in Seattle." My gaze rested on the dress, the wrinkled fabric that had adorned my figure the night Edward and I had finally talked. Images flashed through my mind, everything that had led up to this point…the mad dash of careening around central Europe searching for the book, the sadness and denial of my return to Seattle and flight to Forks, and the fear and stress in the weeks after I'd learned Viktoriya had escaped.
My gaze lifted and found Edward's green eyes focused on me, intent, protective, ever ready to act as my shield, my savior. I finally spoke, filled with resolve. "No." I turned my head, taking in the sad, awful space. There was nothing here for me to discover, to understand—I would have to find a sense of closure on my own. I turned back to him, my voice firm when I spoke again. "I'm ready to put this behind me."
Much to Edward and Emmett's chagrin, the arrivals terminal at SeaTac was absolute insanity, the bright lights of flash bulbs bursting in my eyes as microphones were thrust towards me, strange voices shouting questions. I held up a hand to my eyes, trusting that the arm around my waist was guiding me in the right direction. I knew there was only one other instance in which I had been more grateful for Emmett's presence, but this was a firm second. His bulk blocked the majority of the reporters and journalists, deep voice firm as he pushed through the melee. "No comment. No comment. Excuse me. No comment."
A brusque voice shouted above the fray, my hand dropping and my head lifting with sudden recognition. "Dad?"
"Bells!" I could see him jockeying behind the press of men and women in sleek suits with too neat hair, his tanned features flashing into view before sinking behind a tall, overly tan man who I recognized from the local news.
"Emmett," I spoke up, grasping at his coat to try to slow his push through the mob. "My dad—he can't get through."
Emmett looked over his shoulder at me, brown eyes reassuring. "Where?"
Still shuffling forward, Edward's arm around my waist, I nodded to the left. "Over there."
Emmett lifted a muscled arm, "If you could let the gentleman through." His voice was so firm and authoritative that the crowd parted instantly, the reporters looking on with harried curiosity as my dad shouldered through to my side. I gazed up at him with relief, then gasped with surprise as he enveloped me in a fierce hug.
Camera flashes abruptly exploded, my eyes squeezing shut at the sudden, blinding brightness. I embraced Charlie in return, tears of relief and joy pricking my eyes. I forced myself to blink them back, releasing my dad reluctantly as he did the same. Emmett continued forward, the entire affair having taken less than a minute, my breath caught in my lungs at the madness of it all.
Edward's arm snaked back around my waist, ever protective. Charlie, on my opposite side, spoke above my head, his gruff voice every inch the equally protective father.
"So you're Edward Masen."
I tripped over my own feet at Edward's response and would have tumbled head long into the floor had it not been for the strong arm around my waist.
"Yes, sir, I'm the man who's going to marry your daughter."