A/N: Thanks to Cophine, "the incredible beta"! Also a big shout out to all of my readers who've been following the story, I really don't think I praise you enough for all the encouragement you give me.
I wasn't really sure what to expect from Ms. S's contact, but when the coordinates lead me to a narrow, dirt road covered in deep snow in the middle of nowhere, my mind starts to make some conjectures. An old, bitter man living as an eremite, away from civilization, awaiting us with a shotgun seemed like the most plausible scenario. Of course, this is not exactly what we find.
It's the middle of the afternoon and we only have a few hours of weak sunlight left when the GPS system indicates that we've finally reached our destination. Still, I have to drive a few miles down the same road until I find signs of human life in the form of a low brick wall, painted a dirty salmon, and an iron gate. I suspect it was placed there more to enclose the property than to serve as security. I stop in front of the gate and search the area for a bell of some sort, but find nothing. Delphine remains silent. She's been awake for a while, but is in a foul mood. We've barely spoken, and I really don't want to get into it now.
I exit the car and shut the door, hugging myself against the cold, and move to get a better look - at least the snow has stopped. I approach the gate and scan the area inside, seeing that the road leading to a large, single story house, is cleared of snow, indicating that someone has used the driveway at some point today. The fields surrounding the house seem well taken care of. A wooden structure, resembling a small barn, sits at the east edge of the property, while at the west end, I see a green house. A fairly new Ford truck is parked next to the main building, indicating that someone must be home.
"Hello!" I shout, my breath forming a thick cloud in front of me. "Anyone there? Mr. Calvin!"
The only response is the barking of a dog in the distance and I look back to see Delphine, still in the car, staring at me with an arched brow. For a moment I don't know what to do, standing here, on what looks like a ranch in the middle of some thick woods that will be crawling with predators once night falls. My eyes travel between Delphine and the house, while I consider calling S again, or perhaps the number she has given me as the man's contact.
Suddenly, the door opens and I hear the furious barking grow closer as a German Shepherd races towards me and slides to a stop on the other side of the gate, clearly in an attack position.
"Shit!" I step away from the gate, my eyes only leaving the dog to look at the man slowly walking down the path.
"Calm down, girl," the man says in a soothing voice, patting the animal's head. "I'm sure Cosima means no harm," he looks at me squinting his eyes, "unless you're not her."
"I'm definitely her," I say, my eyes returning to the big dog, even though she's much calmer now, her nose moving between the gate's bars to sniff my hand.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you so soon," he then says, moving to open the gate. "Why don't you park next to my truck?"
"Yes. Thank you."
I return to the car and do as he says, while in the rearview mirror I watch him close the gate. He's not an old man, maybe in his early fifties, not very tall but with a strong, compact body. His skin is dark, permanently tanned by many hours spent under the sun, but his features are pleasant, the sort that indicates a smile is never too far away from his clean shaven face. His dirty blond hair is already graying at the roots, but he walks with steady steps in our direction, the dog happily following him with the tail swinging energetically.
Still without uttering a word, Delphine gets out of the car as soon as we stop, pulling the coat over her shoulders and the collar up. I get out as well and watch the dog approaching Delphine, who, without flinching, lowers her hand to let the animal sniff her fingers before she scratches behind raised hears, a little smile on her lips.
"I was only expecting one person," John comments as he approaches us, observing the interaction between his dog and the blonde.
I look at Delphine, but she's distracted by the animal - or, more likely, pretending to be, in order for me to offer an explanation for her presence.
"Delphine is..." I introduce in a casual tone. "She's sort of my bodyguard." I offer, and see Delphine smirk at my response.
The man looks between the two of us and eventually shrugs. "Very well," he says. "Why don't we get out of the cold and go inside."
They start to walk to the door, while I stay behind just to open the back door of the car and collect the briefcase with Oskar's notes.
The front door opens directly into a large space with high ceiling, a roaring blaze in the fireplace to warm the place against the wall that leads to the interior of the house, judging by the door on either side. A long, black leather couch, draped with colorful blankets is in the center of the room, and a dining area is set off to the left side of the room. An audiovisual station, with a large, flat screen TV and an assortment of electronic boxes one would expect in the lower shelf is relegated to second plane, as well as a desktop computer. Shelves filled with books are distributed along the walls, as well as on the low table in front of the couch, along with a large astray and a pipe resting on it. It's not exactly a risk to assume this is where John spends most of his time.
"Are those the notes?" He asks and my attention is pulled back to him in the middle of the room, looking at my hand.
"Hmmm... yes!" I say and hand him the briefcase. "They seem to be quite extensive and there appear to be some documents too."
He opens the briefcase and slides the stack of papers on top of the dining table. "Well... this could take a while," he comments to himself while flipping through the papers. "Where do you plan on staying?"
"I'm sure we can find a place nearby," I answer, glancing at Delphine, who's produced a phone and is staring at its screen with a frown.
"Not likely," John says discouragingly. "But I have a spare room, you're welcome to stay the night," he offers.
My gaze falls again on the blonde. "What do you think, Delphine?"
She's obviously distracted by whatever is on the phone, and seems caught by surprise when I call her name. Her eyes meet mine, but not really focusing. "Whatever you decide," she answers. "I need to make a call," she announces, and is already walking to the front door. Incredibly, the dog follows her outside.
"Zoey likes her," John comments, I assume referring to his dog. "And she's usually a good judge of character."
"Your dog might be broken then," I mumble, but my words are heard.
"If you don't trust your bodyguard, we might have a problem," he says, moving to the couch and sitting.
"It's not that I don't trust her, it's more like..." I stop and think for a second. "Like I don't know if I should," I decide.
He hums. "How much does she know about what you're doing here or about our friend in common?"
"She doesn't know Siobhan, or that I work for her, and I'd like to keep it that way," I pause for effect and he nods in understanding. "About what I'm doing here, to be honest, even I'm not sure."
"It happens," John says in a calm way, reaching for his pipe and removing a tobacco pouch from his breast pocket. "Sometimes, circumstances change, and what we're supposed to do initially gets a bit blurred by all the rest. But, if you're as smart as Siobhan tells me, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
He pauses to light his pipe, and a fragrant steam rises around us as he takes the first drag and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, his expression is much more serious as his gaze meets mine.
"Siobhan has told me you're looking for information regarding one Mariusz Baczkowski, and that those notes," he points at the papers on the table, "belong to a journalist who met his maker a little too soon."
I nod. "Yes, that's correct, but I haven't had much luck so far. The man seems to be pretty subtle in his moves."
"Oh... He is now, but not when he was younger. I think your luck is about to change," John says with a big smile. "You see... When S called me, I immediately recognized the name, but I wasn't sure from where, so I did a little digging of my own. As it turns out, Mariusz is from a small town not too far from here. In fact, he's sort of a celebrity there. Growing up poor and making it big, he generously donated to a few local charities."
"Ohhh... That's interesting."
"Indeed..." The man nods and turns to the front door when Delphine steps inside. He looks back at me and I see hesitation in his eyes, probably unsure of how much he can share in her presence.
"And if we go there, do you think we can find out a bit more about him?" I ask, subtly letting him know that, as far as Mariusz is concerned, Delphine's on the know.
"It might be hard to get them to talk," he explains. "You'll find some English speaking locals at the post office and other public services," he goes on. "But, like I said, Mariusz has contributed greatly to the town, so you won't find people willing to badmouth him."
"What if we pose as journalists?" I offer and I'm very aware of Delphine's eyes on me, in the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of her frowning. "We could say we're there to do some research for a fluffy piece about him; his background, how he came from humble origins and became successful, his philanthropic efforts... It could work."
"How are you going to explain the sudden interest of an American newspaper in him?" Delphine asks and for the first time she seems engaged in the conversation, pulling a chair from the table and sitting with her back straight. "More importantly, how are you going to prevent him from knowing there were some foreign journalists in there asking questions about him? Certainly, the moment we get there someone will warn him."
My stare is locked with hers, and I feel the flame of defiance rising inside me. "You don't know that for sure," I challenge. "I seriously doubt that he has no enemies. It's impossible to keep everyone happy."
"Yes, you're right," she nods, but I see that Delphine's far from convinced. "Maybe we get lucky and find a childhood friend he has forgotten about, or a distraught ex-girlfriend." At the last words she meets my stare and I roll my eyes. "But, in the meantime, someone has already warned him."
"And what do you propose we do, then?" I ask with a bite. "All I hear from you is problems with no solutions."
"I'm just pointing out the obvious flaws in your plan," she answers in a overbearing tone and moving an arm forward.
"Then, how about you come with a plan yourself, huh?" My blood is starting to boil and I don't bother to hide my irritation. "One that's bullet proof, since you're so fucking perfect and think of everything!"
At this, John, who's been silent during our exchange, gets up from the couch and my eyes go to him, suddenly becoming aware of my surroundings. He empties the remains of tobacco left unburned in his pipe in the ashtray and stretches.
"I'm going to get us something for dinner," he announces in a calm voice, a stark contrast with the bitterness between Delphine and I. "You girls figure out what you want to do." He says as he leaves the room, exiting through the door to the right of the fireplace. The dog stays put, curled on the bed placed closed to the fire, and exhales deeply as she shifts slightly to another position. Delphine and I remain quiet, not looking at each other, swallowing the embarrassment for a while.
"I'm sure we can find another way."
She's the first to break the awkward silence, extending a hand in an offer of truce. Her words sound much softer, but when I turn to answer, her eyes are trained on the flames keeping the room warm. Or perhaps the heat I'm feeling is from me losing my temper and not the temperature in the room.
"We just need to think about it for a little bit, don't jump to the first idea we get. Don't be impulsive, Cosima," she advises in the calm voice.
Silence again.
It's not that I think she's wrong. I realize that all the problems she pointed out are valid and should be addressed, but it was her tone; patronizing and arrogant. And the hand she stretched out to me falls short, doesn't feel like enough. Not only because of the discussion we just had, but mostly because this is simply the latest in a very long list of situations where she has shown little respect for my input. Something that has happened for as long as I remember.
Perhaps I've catered to Delphine's stubbornness for too long; let her stand her ground without pushing back too many times. I suppose the moment has arrived when I also need to stand my ground, take back some of the territory she has taken from me on this battlefield we've called our relationship. She's too dominant, has had the lead on too many aspects, and I'll no longer allow her to win every battle.
Although I still haven't had the time to process or even understand it, I'm sure our night together is not completely irrelevant to this change in dynamics. Until then, I wasn't sure if she was merely playing her games, manipulating me for her own benefit, but that was a fucking revelation. There are things a person can't fake, no matter how hard they try: biology doesn't lie. The eagerness was there, the passion was present at every moment, and I suspect Delphine might have let on more than she wanted to. Even if she used sex to achieve her goal of gaining my trust, which I find entirely possible, it doesn't mean that what I felt coming from her wasn't real, that the desire doesn't live inside her. And that could very well have been a misstep on her part. I think it's safe to assume that it has caught her by surprise as much as it did me. Today, she's no longer as calculating as she was yesterday, her decisions are no longer purely designed to her own convenience. Perhaps I can feel her self-control slipping and I'd be a fool not to take advantage of it. So, I'm going to push back when I see the opportunity, when I think I can get something out of it. But for now, I'm better served working with her.
"My first thought was actually to locate his previous business partners, not exploring his private life," I tell her in a low voice and she looks me in the eye, so I continue. "People he's done business with in the past are more likely to spill the beans on some dirt, since they don't have any sort of personal relationship with him."
Delphine nods slowly. "Yes, that's a much better idea," she agrees. "Oskar's notes may give us some names and we might be able to track down some of Mariusz's previous business partners."
"How long have you known exactly what I'm doing here?" I ask flatly, no inflection in my voice, because at this point very little will surprise me regarding the information Delphine has acquired.
"I've known all along," she smirks a little, some of her confidence returning, seeming much more comfortable discussing non-personal issues. "If it gives you any comfort, it wasn't from you that I got this information. I've probably known about Mariusz long before you ever heard of him."
"So Daniel is the source," I state with conviction. "I'm surprised he'd share something like that with you, since he was very clear that this was to remain only between he and I," I say, but in reality I'm not surprised at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if he shared something like this with Delphine, it was not voluntarily or even with his knowledge.
Delphine looks straight at me and smiles innocently, and if I had any doubts about my suspicions they disappear. I'm curious as to how she managed to get her hands on this information, but won't ask - it would be useless. Instead I just accept it and move on. It's completely irrelevant how she knows, it won't change anything and there are more pressing issues that I want answers to.
"Have you looked into him?" I ask. "How much have you found out about Mariusz Baczkowski?"
"Not much," she answers and her stance relaxes a little against the back of the chair. "But I knew he was from around here. In fact, I thought that was where you were taking us when I saw where we were headed.
"There's very little record of his early activities," she continues in the calm, clear voice of someone who's sure of what they're talking about. "Which is not exactly surprising since we're talking about some 30 years ago. Also, these sort of people are especially suspicious. They leave as little paper trail as possible, and avoid technology that leave footprints all over the place."
"Which is exactly why we need to go straight to the people," I push my theory again, but she remains impervious, already shaking her head. "There's no way to erase that trail... well... unless they're dead, of course. Killed in some freakish accident or disappeared when they left home to buy a pack of cigarettes or a carton of milk."
"Let's hope not," she chuckles, but I see that my arguments have not persuaded her. "People lie or change their minds, which is why we need to go directly to the source. That was Oskar's mistake, we shouldn't repeat it."
"Okay..." I decide to give her the benefit of the doubt. "What then?"
"As you mentioned, Mariusz is famous around here for all that he's given to his hometown, all the benefit works he's supported, but... there's a little problem with that," she pauses for effect and her smile widens. "He really doesn't have that kind of money. He's nothing but a front man for the Russians, and I suspect that's where the money for all these good deeds comes from.
"Baczkowski has very few things going on for him, but he made good use of them," she continues to explain. "His mother was a Russian emigrant and he speaks the language perfectly. He probably started to work for the Russian mob very young and was scrupulous enough to rise up through the ranks as much as his humble origins allowed him - again this is all speculation, nothing that can be proven. But we can make an educated guess as to how this all started. As a Polish national, it raised very little suspicion when he started to give back to his community, doing the bidding of the Russians. Money laundering, exchange donations for favors with local politicians. Small scale corruption."
"And some not so small," I interrupt. "Our adventure at the hotel never reached the media."
"I know," she says, nodding her head and I notice her features turn darker, her expression hardens as if this is something that bothers her significantly. "And I'm not exactly surprised. They would've hidden Oskar's death if they could have as well. But an execution in the middle of the day, on one of the busiest streets in the city is not as easy to hide as an electrical failure in an hotel, or some crazy kids doing drag races in the city in the middle of the night."
"Yes," I agree, my mind working fast, propelled by the information she's giving me. "His death was rather public, very messy. Doesn't seem to be their style at all."
"Of course they could be sending a message with Oskar. The same with Alexei Lebedev, a Russian oligarch with alleged ties to the mafia who was sniped a few weeks back," she comments rather casually and I believe, that while she's making the connection between the two assassinations, she's unaware of my sort of involvement in both situations.
"You think they're connected," I say, because I still need to keep my thoughts to myself, but I won't insult her by pretending I don't know what she's talking about.
"Of course! And so do you," she adds with certainty and I have to smile a little.
"Back to our current problem," I refocus the conversation, "what exactly do you think we should do?"
"Well, there has to be some record of the dealings, property registration, a contract that needs notarizing, these sort of things are public record and can steer us in the right direction," she goes on to explain. "Corporate names, identification of the parties involved. The documents in Oskar's notes could be exactly that."
"So, your plan is to wait for whatever John tells us?" I ask, raising a brow in slight annoyance. "Do nothing."
"Yes, we stay put for now." She nods. "No reason to run around chasing information that we could very well already have."
"Okay, fine." I reluctantly agree. "I just have one last question."
I pause and Delphine looks at me, her expression already shifting, probably predicting that she won't like my next question.
"What's in it for you?" I ask. "I mean... I know why I'm doing it, I'm being payed to track this guy down. What about you?"
She breathes in deeply, calming herself down not to sound too exasperated. "Why do you need to know?" She says. "Isn't it enough for you to know that we're looking for the same thing? We work together to get it, and once we have the information we do with it whatever it is that we want. We stay out of each other's way."
I press my lips together and shake my head a few times. "How do I know that our interests are not conflicting? That once we get what we're after, you're not gonna pull the rug from under me?"
Delphine smiles, she even releases a small chuckle. "You don't," she says matter of factually. "The same way I don't know if when you get back to the States you're not going to out me to Daniel."
I laugh at her choice of words. "I suppose you're not wrong."
Delphine arches her brow and locks her stare on mine. "I guess we're just going to have to trust each other."
John returns to the room a few minutes later, the tension not as overwhelming as it was when he left, but it's still there, remnants in the fringe of our minds. He must sense it still, he has to, but acts like he's unaware of it and simply asks for our help setting the table. During dinner, John informs us that he plans to work on Oskar's notes tomorrow. He doesn't ask what we've decided to do or our plans for the next day, but he implies that if we need to stay in the area for a few more days, his house is open to us.
After dinner, Delphine and I go outside to get my bags from the car and we carry them to the bedroom John has made available to us. The room is quite large and it should have great lighting during the day, coming from the double doors that open to the back of the house and onto a generous porch that surrounds the entire house. The rustic theme is present in the dark wooden decoration, the bed large enough to fit both of us comfortably and then some. Just before he leaves, John tells us that we can use the bathroom at the end of this hall and that he'll be on the other side of the house.
When he leaves, Delphine and I look at each other, for a while not really sure of what to do. Then, I snap out of it and surprise Delphine by going to my luggage and handing her a pair of sweatpants and a large t-shirt, which she takes and gives me a small head nod before walking through the door, presumably to the bathroom. When she returns, I do the same, carrying my pajamas with me and when I get back, Delphine's already in bed, curled on the side, facing the window.
I slip into bed and turn on my side as well, our backs facing each other. Neither of us sleep for a while, but we don't say a word either. I don't know the reasons behind her silence, but I know I'm just too tired to get into any sort of conversation that could become emotionally draining.
I wake up alone in the bed, slightly disoriented for a few seconds, not really knowing where I am, only that something is missing. I turn my head to the side when reality comes back into focus, and see that Delphine's side of the bed is empty, the pillow cold to the touch. The red tip of the cigarette burning when she takes a drag catches my eye and I spot her outside, elbows on the rail of the porch, leaning forward and gazing out into the night.
I search for my hoody on the small couch until I notice Delphine is wrapped up in it, causing my heart to skip. I shake my head and grab my coat instead.
She turns around when she hears the door slid open.
"My sweater will smell like an ashtray," I half-heartedly complain in a low voice.
"I'm sorry. I'll wash it when we'll get back," she says and immediately I feel like something is off. There's no fire in her voice. She sounds defeated somehow, and I'm dismayed by the disparity between this emotion and what she showed not that long ago.
I take a couple of steps and only stop when I'm close enough that she has to look down to look me in the eyes.
"What's wrong?" I have to ask, because that's who I am; regardless of how annoyed I'm with her - and I still am, despite reaching some sort of agreement - I will always care. I learned to accept that a long time ago.
Delphine crushes the cigarette butt on a small plate that's filled with the evidence that she's been up for a while and shrugs. "Nothing," she says in the same tone, "I just can't sleep."
I feel empathy squeeze my heart and swallow the lump growing in my throat. "That's no reason to be outside in the cold."
She gives me a weak smile and nods once. "You're right."
"I am!" I state with determination and smirk.
Delphine's smile widens and she raises a hand to tenderly rest on my cheek, her thumb brushes slowly over my skin. I'm mesmerized by the softness in her brightening eyes, the delicate shape of her lips as her tongue subtly sweeps over them and I forget to breathe. But something snaps in my head when she leans to me and I step back, surprising not only her but myself as well.
"We should go back inside then," I say, clearing my voice.
She frowns, but follows me in and closes the door. Without a word, she steps into the hallway, and I hear water running in the bathroom as I settle once more into the warmth of the bed. When she returns, her steps are light and she closes the door quietly.
When she gets in the bed, she slides up next to me, her arm draping over my stomach and a hand curls around my waist. I shiver and only a fraction of it is due to the coldness of her body lightly pressed against mine.
"I'm sorry," she says and Delphine is so close to me that I can smell the fresh menthol in her breath from the toothpaste.
"About..?" I'm not trying to be a smart ass, I simply can't speak more than one word.
"Earlier... I didn't intend to sound so condescending, I just..." Delphine stops briefly and I feel her take a deep breath against my neck. "I don't play well with others."
"Well, admitting it is the first step," I joke, because I feel the nervousness getting the best of me.
"I guess... I'm still sorry, though."
And I know she is. I might not know much about her anymore - if I ever did - but I know she's not the kind of person who would dim someone else's light just to shine brighter. Mostly because she doesn't need it. She never did.
This is why this time, when she searches for my lips, I give them to her. It's soft, just on the edge of something more and I feel her breath catch against my mouth. The hand on my hip slips beneath my shirt, her fingers gently grazing their way up until they close softly around my breast as I feel her tongue request entry against my lips. However, for the second time, I pull back. My hand finds hers and pushes it away, and I don't even know why. Something makes me stop in confusion, and when that's the case, moving forward is never the answer.
Meanwhile, Delphine is somewhat frozen. Her body is tense, and her breathing is short. And then she's retreating completely, moving herself back until we're no longer touching at all.
"I'm sorry," she repeats and I can hear the strangle in her voice, "I didn't mean to presume." She turns to face away from me as she curls into herself.
I've never denied her, never put the brakes on her advances, but I needed it. It would've felt wrong to go on. Perhaps not while we were doing it, and maybe not even tomorrow or the next day, but I would regret it. I needed to hold my ground, to rearrange the dynamics of our relationship. I need to find some sort of balance in my interactions with Delphine. She may not like it, but this is really not about her; it's about me and being able to maintain the self-worth I've worked so hard to attain. And while I know all this, it still feels like I just lost something.
I've denied Delphine and lost a part of me, but perhaps gained something else.