Stratagem

Part 1

* * *

It started not of light, not of sound; but something else, something more…illusive. It played on imaginary strands of music as it danced before her eyes. Then it was a sound, a word, a name…Nottingham.

+Magnificent isn't it.+

Images of the man from the museum flashed through her mind. His reflection in the glass as he studied the gauntlet, the smug look on his face. Another flash, a later time, he was in her apartment, his beard thicker and his gaze darker as he spoke to her.

+Fragments of your history, but not the piece you seek.+

She tossed in her sleep trying to grasp at something just beyond her consciousness.

+I love you…in unguarded moments.+

No! This was not real, it was not happening. The man dressed in black sat atop the filing cabinet, in her office, waiting for her. The expression in his brown eyes soft as he glanced at her then returned his stare downward. She fought the dream as it dragged her to an abandoned warehouse. His hair was down and urgency filled his voice. There were other men there. She heard the sound of gunfire ring through the building and the black clad man fell to his knees. He turned, then, and looked at her, his eyes and face full of mixed emotions.

+If you ever see me again, Sara, run.+

The final shot ripped through her consciousness as the man fell flat, looking much like a slaughtered animal.

Sara Pezzini woke from her dream sweaty and shaken. She put her right hand up to her face, rubbing her weary eyes. In the predawn, Sara detected a soft red glow through her eyelids. She opened her eyes wondering if it was some new neon sign and found that it was the bracelet cuffing her wrist.

"What the?" She mumbled in the silence around her. Sara went to remove the bracelet, but when her other hand touched the metal it burned her. She quickly drew her hand away suppressing a cry as she looked at her palm. Remarkably, there was no mark only the memory of the pain.

Sara looked over at the clock that sat on the nightstand next to her bed. The digital numbers read, 5:27 A.M. ~Only a few hours before work.~ She thought to herself. ~Might as well get up.~ With her mind made up, Sara rose from her bed stretching tense muscles and walked towards her dresser. She passed by her windows and out of the corner of her eye, saw a figure dressed in black. Sara blinked her eyes and tried to focus on the figure, but it disappeared, melting into the shadows.

"Get a hold of yourself." She said aloud shaking her head in disbelief. "You're seeing things, again."

As she walked across her loft, she tuned on the television. Sara watched it for a few moments then turned the channel. "Typical," She muttered. "Infomercials, the only thing on this early." She flicked the machine off and put on the radio. It was some sound in the hushed silence, but it was not mindless dribble.

Sara changed into her workout clothes and headed for the punching bag. She went through her normal motions but her attention was elsewhere. Her inner thoughts slipped, moving away from her.

+When somebody messes with my friends, they mess with me.+

The images of a young man, someone to be called a friend, flashed through her mind. A genuine smile on his face, his dark eyes full of laughter. Then a feeling of sorrow and loss washed through Sara as she kicked the punching bag for the final time. She put her gloved hands up to her face and fought back tears.

~What are these…dreams, visions?~ Sara wondered. ~Why is this happening to me?~ She felt a heavy weight settle on her heart as she put her boxing gloves away and headed for the shower.

Sara let the warm water run over her, relaxing mind and body. It worked for a while, until she began thinking of her current cases. ~Gallo.~ She thought the name with disdain. ~Make one mistake and you're mine.~

When she finished with her shower, she walked back into her bedroom toweling her hair dry. Sara pulled out black leather pants and a forest green shirt from her closet then tossed them on her bed. She dressed quickly and combed her hair, pulling it away from her face with two clips. She pulled on her ankle boots, and then went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. As she did, she turned the TV back on, and somehow it made its way to the VCN network. A female anchor was reporting on the explosion at the Midtown Museum.

"…irreplaceable. The Joan of Arc collection on loan from Kenneth Irons…"

~Kenneth Irons.~ The name struck an all to familiar note in her mind but she could not place why. Her mind continued weaving a web that she was unaware of. ~The Midtown Museum…does this bracelet belong to him?~

+Does anything really belong to anybody, Sara?+

She heard the self-assured voice in her head and the tone in it disturbed her slightly. Sara finished off the last of her coffee as she grabbed her motorcycle helmet and headed out the door. She walked down the stairs to where her Buell was parked. Sara fastened her helmet on, and then threw her leg over the bike. With everything set, Sara took one last deep breath before heading out onto the busy streets of New York.

* * *

"You look marvelous." Kenneth Irons said as Hunter entered his den. She moved like a breeze towards him with soft footsteps. She wore a Chinese-style gown of midnight blue silk embroidered with silver dragons. The dress had a high collar that formed a slight "v" at her throat and a slit up the right side that went well above mid-thigh. She wore coin saddles that made a soft chiming sound with each step. The dress was well fitted and sleeveless, showing off finely toned muscles. Irons offered her his hand and she accepted it graciously. He kissed her hand lightly noticing her nails manicured in the same blue as the dress with rhinestone fragments. She wore a single white opal ring on her right hand and the Eye of Ra hung from a delicate chain around her neck. "I see you made yourself right at home."

"Yes, thank you." Hunter replied flashing Irons a coy smile. "Everyone was very helpful."

Irons moved away from her to a small table nearby and picked up two champagne flutes then turned back to Hunter. She stood calm and still like a willow, framed beautifully by the fire behind her. Hunter looked up as he approached her and accepted the glass.

"Thank you." She said lifting the flute to her rouge lips. Hunter took a sip of the bubbly liquid, holding it in her mouth for a moment savoring the taste.

"Please help yourself to some hors d'ouervres." Irons spoke softly to her, catching her eye with a half grin. He motioned to the table where the champagne flutes had been and escorted her over there.

"What are these?" Hunter asked looking down at a plate of small morsels of questionable origin.

"Sea urchins." Irons told her, setting down his glass. He stood directly behind her and the faint scent of roses wafted to his nostrils. Kenneth closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and spoke. "You should try one."

Hunter arched an eyebrow at the tone in his voice, not quite seductive, but also not pure. She gasped one of the urchins in two small fingers and brought it to her mouth. The morsel was heavily spiced with pepper and a few other herbs that Hunter could not place. "Interesting." She replied not quite sure what to say about such an odd dish.

"They grow on you after a while." Irons stated, his lips just brushing her ear. Hunter turned into him leaving only a hair's width between their two bodies. He leaned his head down close to her, and then suddenly turned away. Hunter looked at his back confused but quickly covered it when Irons looked back at her. "Dinner will be waiting for us." He said hurriedly, offering Hunter his arm. She took it, if a bit hesitantly.

Irons escorted her through several halls before at last they reached the dinning room. It was beautiful with an extravagantly sculpted ceiling. A highly polished wood table stood in the center of the room and hanging above that was a crystal chandelier. There were two settings at the table, one at the head and the other just to the right of that.

The couple moved over to the table. Irons pulled out her chair, waited for Hunter to settle herself and straiten her dress then pushed in her seat. A moment later, he was in his place and servants started bringing out the dishes. A fresh garden salad with a spicy honey-Dijon dressing started the meal. Then, Cornish game hen stuffed with wild rice in a plum sauce served with a heady red wine. Finishing off the meal was a delicious chocolate mousse with mint. There was light conversation throughout the dinner. They spoke of art and literature, business and travel.

As the last of the dishes were being removed, Irons motioned for more wine to be poured. When the servant moved to refill her glass, Hunter clapped her hand over the top. Kenneth gave her a questioning look. "I only drink one glass." She stated in a way that left no room for argument. Irons dismissed the servant and turned his attention back to the woman that he found intriguing.

Nottingham stood unnoticed in the shadows, always there, always listening.

* * *