Disclaimer: This Disclaimer applies to all future reference of this
Fan Fiction.
Sailor Moon is copyright © 1992 Naoko Takeuchi/Kodansha, TOEI
Animation. English Language Adaptation © 1995 DiC Entertainment.
And…
'Reinventing Romeo' is basing itself on another. In giving credit to
the book, Plagiarism is not in effect. Reinventing Romeo is copyright ©
2000 Connie Laux/Lane; Cover art copyright © Bill Schmidt.
Many Thanks for such a excellent story for so many to enjoy.
Reinventing Romeo
Author: Dipi
Genre: Alternate Reality, Fantasy , Action, Romance
Rating: R
Chapter 1
Inside of the FBI headquarters in New York City, sat on her left was
white haired man in a blue-striped suit, and that man just so happened
to be her immediate superior. On her right sat a tight-lipped
representative of the New York City Police Department. An attractive
middle-aged woman from the mayor's office sat next to him. She was
dressed covered in red staring dreamily at the man pacing in the
particularly spacious room.
Two plainclothes detectives sat directly across from Serena, their
backs to the floor-to-ceiling viewing windows. She'd worked with them
for the last nine months, though not always amicably. Now they were
finally close to blowing the top off a money-laundering scheme the
likes of which even this town hadn't seen in years, and the cops made
no secret of what they thought of having what they optimistically
called 'their work' usurped by the FBI.
And then there was Darien Romero.
The last time she had seen Darien Romero, he was wearing nothing but
one of those swimsuits that show off way more of a man's body than they
actually cover.
It was blue, a shade darker than the dark sapphire eyes placed upon his
breath-taking face as a gift from god. Water sparkled off every
delicious inch of his well-tanned body.
The swimsuit was tapered enough to make the most of his broad
shoulders, small enough to show off his washboard abs and rock-hard
stomach, but tight enough to ignite any number of fantasies.
Every one of which came back to Serena Ellison in a flash that made her
insides warm and tingly.
This was not the time or the place to be thinking in such a way, and
just to remind herself, she looked around the rectangular shaped table
where she was seated,
Serena Ellison demanded herself to calm down. She forced herself to
forget the image of Romero in his swimsuit, the one she, and at least a
couple million other women had drooled over when it had appeared on the
cover of a popular supermarket tabloid under the headline
World's Sexiest Man – Millionaire Playboy Romero is Jet Set Romeo.
It took more willpower than she knew to convince herself that a long,
heart trending sigh wasn't wise. Or professional. If a picture was
worth a thousand words, the real Darien Romero, live, in person, and in
an incredible package of poise, polish, and a suit that looked like it
cost more than she made in a month, was worth more than any fashion
magazine, gossip column, or tabloid.
He was a smidgen under 6 feet 4, with the chiseled features and dark
eyes that made so many women all over the world swoon over. Though
Serena had been introduced to him only a few short minutes earlier, she
already knew that he more than lived up to his prodigy. He was
confident, refined, aristocratic, and even sexier in person than he was
in print, and at the moment, as stubborn as a pig.
There was no doubt about it: Darien Romero was the Romeo of the
tabloids. He had the patrician good looks, the razor sharp mind of a
man who'd attended all the best boarding schools.
Right then, he was also in something of a crisis.
"You can't possibly know what you're asking from me." With the slow
lift of one eyebrow, Romero let them know exactly what he though of the
plan they'd proposed.
It was not the response Serena was expecting from a man she had assumed
would be reasonable; one who was apparently intelligent enough to run a
corporation that employed more people rivaling Bill Gates. A little
disappointed, she straightened herself up in her seat and watched as
Romero rose from his leather cushioned chair and leaned forward, his
hands flat against the polished marble tabletop. As eminently composed
as he was obviously piqued, he flashed a look down the long table.
"Are you out of your minds?"
"It will only be for four months."
Artemis Harrison, the special agent in charge of local FBI operations
and Serena's boss, was enough of an old combatant not to be
intimidated.
Or at least not to give you any idea about it.
He poked one finger at the report on the table in front of him.
"We've been through it all before. Our people talked to your people.
Your people were supposed to talk to you, and-"
One of Romero's hands went up, stopping Artemis mid-sentence. Romero
shot a look toward a middle-aged man who stood behind the massive desk
that dominated the far end of the room. Early on in her investigation,
Serena had talked to Kenneth Fielding. She knew he served as a
combination of Wilson [A.N.- Cast Away ;)] and confidante to Romero,
but the look his boss gave him made her wonder how much longer he'd
stay in the inner circle. And out of the unemployment lines.
"My people," Romero said, "were told not to talk to your people." He
shifted his gaze back to Artemis. "My people were told to tell you
we'd see you when the time was right. In court."
Artemis could be the very soul of discretion, but apparently, even he
found it hard to believe they were meeting a brick wall. "It's not as
bad as it sounds," he said in a mollifying voice his direct reporters
hardly ever heard.
"Believe Me. We've got all the details worked out. If you'd like to
look this over…" When he offered a slim stack of papers, and Romero
firmly refused to even glance at it, Artemis's cheeks went a hue of
blue.
"Four Months isn't forever. After the trial is over, you can get back
to your life."
"Impossible!"
Romero's sniff of disrespect could only be portrayed as epic.
"I have business to conduct. Important business. A man of my stature
simply can't up and disappear. Not for four months. Not even for four
days. A corporation like this doesn't run itself. Not when you've got
fifteen different divisions reporting to one office. And to one man."
He allowed the thinnest of smiles to touch his face. "Me."
Artemis didn't smile back. "That's all well and good," he said. "But-"
"There are no buts." Fitfully, Romero undid the button on the jacket of
his impeccably tailored Armani suit. He paced to the windows and, one
arm braced against the glass, leaned forward, his back to the room.
Obviously he was used to having the last word in any conversation, and
just as obviously he was telling them that the topic was no longer open
for discussion.
The two detectives shuffled their feet and the papers on the table in
front of them. The man from the police commissioner's office looked up
at the ceiling. The woman representing the mayor studied her red nail
polish.
"Spoiled-son-of-a-," Artemis's growl was loud enough for only Serena to
hear. She stifled a giggle and sat back to watch, more interested now
in how the game was being played out than she was fascinated at the one
whom it was directed to.
It was funny how quickly reality could chase away fantasies, especially
for a woman as down-to-earth as Serena.
No illusions or delusions.
Wasn't that what she always said about herself?
It hadn't taken her long to see through the illusion that was Darien
Romero. And as for delusions that his personality might actually match
the fantasy lover she'd built in her head?
She smiled again, and then erased the expression before Artemis could
see it and wonder why one of his most dependable special agents was
suddenly acting like a lunatic in a situation that was far from funny.
Free of Romero's spell, she was able to assess the man objectively for
the first time.
She would have had to be completely without imagination not to
appreciate the dramatic silhouette he made against the glass. But this
time when she let her gaze skim over his shoulders, she noticed not how
broad they were, but how stiffly he held them, which was obstinate to
the last. His head was turned for effect, his chin firm and
inflexible. Just like his personality.
Kate wondered how long he would stand that way and pretend they didn't
exist. But even as soon as the question presented itself, she knew the
answer. He would stand there forever if he had to. He would do
anything, to anyone, at any time, to get what he wanted. And right
now, Darien Romero wanted to be left alone.
Surprisingly it was the woman from the mayor's office who had the nerve
to break the silence. She cleared her throat, coughed politely.
"I suppose, Mr. Romero, that you're worried about the meeting of the
city business leaders' consortium." It was more of a question than a
statement, as if she were testing the waters before she took the chance
of dipping a toe into them. "The meeting is scheduled for July and if
everything goes as planned, you'd be gone in July." She sighed and
drummed her nails against the tabletop. "It would be something of a
problem of course."
"Something of a problem?" Romero's statement was an echo of the
woman's, but it contained far more cynicism than Serena would've
expected to come from the mouth of an esteemed man.
"I've got twelve hundred invitations ready to send out. The most
influential journalists…the most powerful businessmen…" Even a man as
articulate as Romero couldn't find the words to voice his outrage. He
balled one hand into a fist.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking, Sophia? You and the mayor
don't honestly think I sit here twiddling my thumbs all day, do you?
Tell me you don't really believe that."
Sophia calmly entwined her fingers on the table in front of her.
Serena couldn't help but notice that they were trembling just a little.
"Mr. Romero."
She aimed a smile at his back, one that wavered just a bit around the
edges.
"Of course the mayor doesn't think that at all. He's worried about
you, as an important member of this community, and as a friend. He
told me to assure you that the consortium is in good hands. We've
already contacted Bill Gates, and-,"
"Gates?"
Serena didn't think Romero's back could get any more rigid.
It did.
She didn't think his voice could be any chillier.
But the single word contained all the warmth of an iceberg.
Any other time-in any other circumstances-Serena would have found
Romero's whole performance laughable. But there was more at stake here
than Romero being upstaged at some event that sounded more like a media
circus than a business meeting.
He was messing with the case. Her case. And she'd be damned if she'd
see it doomed from the start by some pampered Romeo who was more
worried about his image than he was about his testimony.
Out of patience, she snapped closed the leather portfolio that sat on
the table in front of her and pushed back her chair. It wasn't until
she was already on her feet that she even bothered to think about what
she was doing, and by that time, it was too late. Every eye in the
place was on her-all but Romero's-but right then, he was the least of
her problems. Artemis Harrison didn't stop her. He must have thought
she had a plan.
Now all she had to do was come up with one.
Stalling for time, Serena scraped a hand through her blonde bangs.
"He's right," she said with a look toward Romero. Had he bothered to
look at the expression on her face, he would have seen that she didn't
think he was right at all. "Mr. Romero is absolutely right. He wants
to stay in town until July so he can host his important meeting, who
are we to stop him?"
In one quick movement, she reached for her black leather purse, pulled
it open, and grabbed the first folding money she could find. It was a
single wrinkly dollar, and she waved it in the air for everyone to see,
then tossed it into the center of the table. "I say we let him
continue with business as usual," she suggested to no one in
particular. "But I want to be the first one to bet that if he does,
when time comes July, he'll be dead and buried."
Her statement wasn't as outrageous as it sounded, and they all knew it.
Apparently, so did Romero. He turned to face her.
For one split second, she thought he might actually show some emotion.
She was wrong.
Tightly restrained and totally in control, he skimmed an icy glance
from the toes of her functional black pumps, up her sensible gray suit
and white oxford-cloth shirt, to the top of her head.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Special Agent Serena Ellison. FBI."
Convinced that any sign of weakness would be a tactical error. Serena
met look for look. "We were introduced when the meeting started."
Of course Romero remembered. Something told her he never forgot a
face, or a name, or a woman. He waved away her explanation with one
well-shaped hand.
"Yes. Yes. I know that. I remember that. What I mean is, who are you?
Who gives you the right to-,"
"This is my case, Mr. Romero." Serena ignored the outraged looks on
the faces of the two NYPD officers. They weren't putting their necks
on the line. Not like she was. She'd fight with them later about her
choice of words.
"I'm the one who's been eating, sleeping, and breathing this assignment
in these past twelve months. We've finally got all the evidence we
need and we've finally got you, someone with the balls to testify. I
don't know about anybody else in this room," she gave them all a quick
look "but I'm not willing to lose everything I've worked so hard over
just because you're too pig-headed to-,"
"Special Agent Ellison!"
It was the man from the commissioner's office, and Serena didn't have
to look at him to know he was telling her she'd overstepped her
boundaries. With an effort that left her knuckles white, she contained
her anger and decided on another tactic.
"Look…" Serena's voice was just about as unsteady as her stomach
suddenly felt. She drew in a long breath, hoping to settle them both.
"You're a pretty successful businessman, Mr. Romero." It was an
understatement, but she didn't give Romero a chance to point that out.
"You understand about fighting your way to the top. I've got a secret
to share with you. I'm planning on using this case to make a name for
myself. I deserve it. I've worked long and hard. I've talked to
hundreds of people. I've read thousands of pages of information. I've
looked at so many numbers on so many computer screens; my eyes hurt
just thinking about it. I'm not going to let you blow it for me by
getting yourself gunned down by some two bit hit man who's being paid
to keep you from opening that mouth of yours."
Was it her imagination, or was Romero actually surprised she'd had the
nerve to tell him the truth?
Before she could find out, Romero decided to make a great show of
looking at his watch. He made an attempt for the door, but before he
could even so much touch the knob, Serena said in a rock steady tone…
"Hold it. Not so fast."
Serena wasn't about to be put of by some egotistical male just because
he said so. Not so easily.
"We're not done. I told you I'm not willing to lose this case, and I
mean it. You've got to listen to us, Mr. Romero. This is for your own
fortification.
Romero made that might have been a laugh. Or maybe it was just a growl
of impatience.
"I think," he said, "you're overreacting. I'm surprised an
organization that runs as smoothly and efficiently as the local FBI
office would tolerate such an overactive imagination in one of its
agents."
He gave Artemis a quick look. It was as friendly as it could be, but
it left no doubt that if someone didn't shut Serena up, there'd be hell
to pay.
Artemis took the hint. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out an
eight-by-ten glossy. He tipped the photograph forward so Romero could
see it.
"Malachite Bartone." He explained at Romero's questioning look.
Serena didn't even bother to look at the photo. She'd studied it so
many times, she could see it in her sleep, not that she particularly
wanted to. It was a head-and shoulders shot of a sharp looking man.
Silver hair. Ice chilling eyes, and a complexion so pale that he
looked like he strived in the darkness, not that Bartone wasn't quite a
looker, it was just that his eyes made it look like he was staring
right at you.
Sophia wasn't familiar with it, of course, and so she leaned forward
for a better look. Kenneth Fielding came across the other side of the
desk to take a look, too. Darien Romero bent forward, studied the
photo, and then shifted a questioning gaze back to Artemis.
"Seen him around?" Artemis asked.
"Of course not."
Whatever interest Darien Romero may have had in the picture and the
question dissolved into a grunt of annoyance.
"I'm not in the habit of keeping company with people whoa are regularly
in police lineups. That is where that picture was taken, isn't it?"
Artemis nodded.
"A couple years ago. Unfortunately. Wish I knew where this guy was."
Apparently Romero was not the type who was content with only part of
the story. He pinned Artemis with a look, waiting for more.
It was of course, exactly what Artemis wanted.
"Bartone is the most skilled, the most vicious, and the most determined
hit man on the East Coast," he said.
"And you're telling me-,"
"I'm telling you that you've made some powerful enemies, Mr. Romero.
They know you're going to testify against them, and I think they'll do
anything they can do to stop you."
"Bull!" Romero spun away and stalked over to his seat.
Artemis nodded to Serena. He'd given her the rest of the photographs
to bring along and, on signal; she retrieved them from her portfolio
and took them across the room to Romero.
"We've tried to keep him under surveillance, and we've had some luck,"
she told him. "Bartone's been seen three times in the past month. And
let me remind you, it's been a month since you agreed to testify."
She offered the first two pictures to Romero one at a time.
"The first time he was spotted, he was near the entrance to the garage
of your Manhattan penthouse. The next time, he was on the street just
in front of this building. The third time…"
Before she gave him the final photograph, she looked up, watching to
see what Romero's reaction might be.
"The third time, he was right there."
She pointed at a shadowy spot on the picture, a figure standing in the
shade of a giant oak that grew alongside an impressive brick wall and
Iron Gate.
"Right outside your Long Island home."
Darien barely looked at the photograph. He turned his full attention
to Serena. At close range, his eyes were more intense than ever.
There was a tiny crescent-shape scar at the left corner of his mouth
and she watched it curiously out of the corner of her eye, jump when he
gritted his teeth.
When he spoke, his voice was so quite; she had to strain to hear it.
"I'm not the type that runs from trouble, Agent Ellison."
"No."
For the first time, she knew they were in agreement.
"I don't suppose you are."
"I am the type of man who gets what I want. Every time."
For the briefest of moments, his gaze slid from her face down to where
the unbuttoning collar of her shirt bared the hollow at the base of her
throat. Serena felt her blood rise in the opposite direction. Heat
flooded her chest and raced up her neck and into her cheeks. It was a
good think her skirt was just long enough to cover her knees, Otherwise
he might've seen them knocking.
If it weren't for this case, it was likely that Serena Ellison's and
Darien Romero's paths would never have crossed, but had they been
anywhere socially-some cocktail party or dinner or one of the society
fund-raisers he was famous for attending-there would have been no
question what he was hinting at.
Somehow Serena managed to find her voice. She forced herself to
pretend they were talking only about the fact that he wanted to be left
alone until it was time for him to testify.
"You can't always get what you want, Mr. Romero."
"But if you try, sometimes…"
He closed the space between them. Not enough to cause any of those
still seated at the conference table to notice. Just enough for Serena
to feel as if all the air had been sucked dry from the room.
She scrambled to catch her broken breath and hold on to what was left
of her common sense. It wasn't easy. Not when he was in full Romeo
mode. She managed a small smile.
"What you need Mr. Romero is a safe place to lie low and twenty-four-
hour security. We've got the perfect place all ready for you. No one
will be able to find you. Not even most of these people in this room."
"You've been watching too many old movies!" With a bark of laughter
that didn't contain any amusement, Romero backed away and broke the
well practiced spell that held Serena dizzy and slightly confused.
As graceful as an athlete, he moved towards the door, hauling Serena by
the arm along with him.
"It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do," he said
over his shoulder, effectively ending he meeting. "It's just that I am
really a very busy man. You understand, don't you, Ms. Ellison?" He
beamed a smile down at her at the same time he snapped open the thick
metal door.
Before Serena could find out, the door of the private room clicked open
and an FBI agent sailed in.
"I'm sorry to interrupt this meeting." He didn't look sorry. He
looked almost…smug. Serena couldn't quite place his face and rank.
Not at the moment.
"Um, yes Agent Lasalle. What matters at hand are so important, that it
deemed you to disrupt this conference?" asked Artemis.
Right, that's who he was. Agent Juan Luc Lasalle, the new guy in HQ.
He recently arrived a few days ago, just finished training and was
somehow incredibly fascinated by the Martinez case. Unfortunately for
him, Artemis had given him just about every folder and portfolio, for
just about every other file in the cabinets, but the Martinez case. He
seemed just like every other agent in the HQ, just another workaholic,
but Serena had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't all he seemed to be.
"Sir, the New York City Police Department has just received reports for
the Martinez case, sir."
"Oh, well, you still have to work on the Avery case, so…give me the
information, and then get on with your case.
Agent Lasalle looked a bit disgruntled, handed the reports to Artemis,
but didn't show sign of leaving soon.
"Agent Lasalle! This is not a playground where you can do as you
please. Now start working on the Avery case, instead of poking your
nose where it doesn't belong! Meaning the Martinez File!" barked
Artemis.
Serena caught a glimpse of the glaring headlines. Today, like every
day for the past three weeks, the media was in a major frenzy over a
dissident writer by the name of Rubeus Martinez, who was being help
under house arrest in his homeland. With a book on the New York Times
list and a reputation for working human rights, Martinez and his
detention had become something of a crusade.
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't leave, not when I have orders to attend
to."
"I GIVE YOU ORDERS, AND AT THIS MOMENT, I ORDER YOU TO LEAVE!" yelled
Artemis, completely at his wits end. "Didn't mean to…Er…like interrupt
anything. I was just gonna knock."
Apparently he still wouldn't move, but he made a move for his right
pocket.
It was apparently that made Serena suspicious. Alerted by her sudden
interest, Lasalle moved quickly. When he pulled his hand out from
underneath, Serena caught a flash of light against the barrel of an
automatic weapon.
After that, instinct basically took over, and her first instinct was to
keep Romero safe.
At the same time she shoved Romero out of the way, Serena called a
warning to Artemis and tackled the hired killer.
He managed to get a shot off.
It blew through the metal door, before Serena knocked the gun out of
the guy's hands.
The gun flew in one direction, Serena and Lasalle in the other. By the
time she realized they were sprawled on the floor together and she had
him in a painful headlock and his arm twisted behind his back, both
tangled in her knee length long blonde hair, Artemis and the two
detectives had things under control. They pulled the man away from
Serena and had him up against the wall and cuffing him before she even
had a chance to exhale.
Someone offered her a hand up, and Serena automatically accepted it.
When she finally unsuccessfully tried to neaten her hair for appearance
and steadied herself on rubbery legs, she was more than a little
surprised to find her self face-to-face with Darien Romero.
Romero looked over at Kenneth Fielding, who had a phone in his hands,
then at the team of company security guards who had apparently come
running when Fielding called. He then turned his attention to Serena.
"Thank You." He said, and he was either a remarkable actor, or he
actually meant it. "I never thought…that is, I didn't imagine…"
It was as much of an apology as she was likely to get and Serena knew
it. She nodded her head and took a step forward. It wasn't until she
nearly fell that she realized one of her shoes was missing.
"Careful!"
Romero grabbed to brace her. His hand was steady around her slim
waist, his grip tight and warm, and Serena wondered if he was trying to
reassure her, or calm himself.
"Do you believe me now, Mr. Romero?" she asked.
Romero looked over to were the two detectives were repeated the Miranda
warning to the now arrested Lasalle.
"But that wasn't-,"
"Bartone? No, it was one of his more likely slow handymen."
Wondering if the rush of adrenaline that was making her heart pump
wildly was caused by the attempt on Romero's life or the fact he was
still holding her quite intimately. Serna sucked in a lungful of air.
"But you can be sure he was behind it. Which means-,"
"He'll try it again."
Romero didn't sound discouraged or afraid. He accepted the truth with
no more than a nod and a grim sort of determination that made his jaw
go rigid. An expression she could only describe as outrage flashed
across his face. He glanced at Serena out of the corner of his eye.
"Looks like you win." He said.
"No."
She couldn't quite bring herself to smile.
"Looks like you do. The sooner we put some distance between you and
New York, the safer you'll be. Don't."
She stopped him when he made a move to talk to Kenneth Fielding.
"I told you. No one needs to know any more about this than they
already do."
"Very well." He didn't argue. Funny what a near-death experience can
do to some people. It seemed to have knocked some sense into Darien
Romero's pretty head. "But my papers…my clothes…how will I-?"
"We've got everything you need, including a new identity for you to use
for the next four months. You'll get a full briefing on the way."
"On the way…where?" It was clear Romero was the type of man who liked
to have all the facts at his fingertips and all the secrets in his
toes. And just as clear, at least to Serena, that this was not the
time or place to discuss them. Not when the office was swarming with
people, not when she didn't know which of those people she could trust.
"It's a secure place," she told him. "Right about now, I'd say that's
all that matters."
Romero didn't look convinced. Lasalle was being carted off out the
door into the hallway, and she could tell that the near-death
experience was already fading and Romero and his big-mouthed protests
were about to come back in full force. Before they could though,
Serena gave Artemis Harrison a signal that told him everything was
finally under control. Artemis hurried over looking more relieved than
surprised, and hustled Romero out of the room.
Watching them go, Serena's insides went icy cold, then suddenly hot.
Though witness protection was usually left up to the U.S. Marshals
Service, the powers-that-be had decided this was a special case.
Darien Romero was a special witness. They'd decided that the FBI
should be in on this operation, beginning to end. Thanks to Artemis's
recommendation, Artemis's urging, Artemis's encouragement, and in no
little part to Artemis's less-than-subtle hints that she'd better not
even think about opposing the decision, Serena had been chose to spend
the next four months with Romero at the safe house. It was enough to
make any woman week-kneed.
The next second, Serena thought about the house, and about the identity
they had prepared for the Romeo of the tabloids, and she found herself
with a grin on her face. She bent to retrieve her abandoned shoe, and
once she'd slipped it on, she followed Artemis and Romero out of the
door, mumbling under her breath.
"Maybe you can't always get what you want, but you know what, Romeo?
This time you're going to get exactly what you need."
Fan Fiction.
Sailor Moon is copyright © 1992 Naoko Takeuchi/Kodansha, TOEI
Animation. English Language Adaptation © 1995 DiC Entertainment.
And…
'Reinventing Romeo' is basing itself on another. In giving credit to
the book, Plagiarism is not in effect. Reinventing Romeo is copyright ©
2000 Connie Laux/Lane; Cover art copyright © Bill Schmidt.
Many Thanks for such a excellent story for so many to enjoy.
Reinventing Romeo
Author: Dipi
Genre: Alternate Reality, Fantasy , Action, Romance
Rating: R
Chapter 1
Inside of the FBI headquarters in New York City, sat on her left was
white haired man in a blue-striped suit, and that man just so happened
to be her immediate superior. On her right sat a tight-lipped
representative of the New York City Police Department. An attractive
middle-aged woman from the mayor's office sat next to him. She was
dressed covered in red staring dreamily at the man pacing in the
particularly spacious room.
Two plainclothes detectives sat directly across from Serena, their
backs to the floor-to-ceiling viewing windows. She'd worked with them
for the last nine months, though not always amicably. Now they were
finally close to blowing the top off a money-laundering scheme the
likes of which even this town hadn't seen in years, and the cops made
no secret of what they thought of having what they optimistically
called 'their work' usurped by the FBI.
And then there was Darien Romero.
The last time she had seen Darien Romero, he was wearing nothing but
one of those swimsuits that show off way more of a man's body than they
actually cover.
It was blue, a shade darker than the dark sapphire eyes placed upon his
breath-taking face as a gift from god. Water sparkled off every
delicious inch of his well-tanned body.
The swimsuit was tapered enough to make the most of his broad
shoulders, small enough to show off his washboard abs and rock-hard
stomach, but tight enough to ignite any number of fantasies.
Every one of which came back to Serena Ellison in a flash that made her
insides warm and tingly.
This was not the time or the place to be thinking in such a way, and
just to remind herself, she looked around the rectangular shaped table
where she was seated,
Serena Ellison demanded herself to calm down. She forced herself to
forget the image of Romero in his swimsuit, the one she, and at least a
couple million other women had drooled over when it had appeared on the
cover of a popular supermarket tabloid under the headline
World's Sexiest Man – Millionaire Playboy Romero is Jet Set Romeo.
It took more willpower than she knew to convince herself that a long,
heart trending sigh wasn't wise. Or professional. If a picture was
worth a thousand words, the real Darien Romero, live, in person, and in
an incredible package of poise, polish, and a suit that looked like it
cost more than she made in a month, was worth more than any fashion
magazine, gossip column, or tabloid.
He was a smidgen under 6 feet 4, with the chiseled features and dark
eyes that made so many women all over the world swoon over. Though
Serena had been introduced to him only a few short minutes earlier, she
already knew that he more than lived up to his prodigy. He was
confident, refined, aristocratic, and even sexier in person than he was
in print, and at the moment, as stubborn as a pig.
There was no doubt about it: Darien Romero was the Romeo of the
tabloids. He had the patrician good looks, the razor sharp mind of a
man who'd attended all the best boarding schools.
Right then, he was also in something of a crisis.
"You can't possibly know what you're asking from me." With the slow
lift of one eyebrow, Romero let them know exactly what he though of the
plan they'd proposed.
It was not the response Serena was expecting from a man she had assumed
would be reasonable; one who was apparently intelligent enough to run a
corporation that employed more people rivaling Bill Gates. A little
disappointed, she straightened herself up in her seat and watched as
Romero rose from his leather cushioned chair and leaned forward, his
hands flat against the polished marble tabletop. As eminently composed
as he was obviously piqued, he flashed a look down the long table.
"Are you out of your minds?"
"It will only be for four months."
Artemis Harrison, the special agent in charge of local FBI operations
and Serena's boss, was enough of an old combatant not to be
intimidated.
Or at least not to give you any idea about it.
He poked one finger at the report on the table in front of him.
"We've been through it all before. Our people talked to your people.
Your people were supposed to talk to you, and-"
One of Romero's hands went up, stopping Artemis mid-sentence. Romero
shot a look toward a middle-aged man who stood behind the massive desk
that dominated the far end of the room. Early on in her investigation,
Serena had talked to Kenneth Fielding. She knew he served as a
combination of Wilson [A.N.- Cast Away ;)] and confidante to Romero,
but the look his boss gave him made her wonder how much longer he'd
stay in the inner circle. And out of the unemployment lines.
"My people," Romero said, "were told not to talk to your people." He
shifted his gaze back to Artemis. "My people were told to tell you
we'd see you when the time was right. In court."
Artemis could be the very soul of discretion, but apparently, even he
found it hard to believe they were meeting a brick wall. "It's not as
bad as it sounds," he said in a mollifying voice his direct reporters
hardly ever heard.
"Believe Me. We've got all the details worked out. If you'd like to
look this over…" When he offered a slim stack of papers, and Romero
firmly refused to even glance at it, Artemis's cheeks went a hue of
blue.
"Four Months isn't forever. After the trial is over, you can get back
to your life."
"Impossible!"
Romero's sniff of disrespect could only be portrayed as epic.
"I have business to conduct. Important business. A man of my stature
simply can't up and disappear. Not for four months. Not even for four
days. A corporation like this doesn't run itself. Not when you've got
fifteen different divisions reporting to one office. And to one man."
He allowed the thinnest of smiles to touch his face. "Me."
Artemis didn't smile back. "That's all well and good," he said. "But-"
"There are no buts." Fitfully, Romero undid the button on the jacket of
his impeccably tailored Armani suit. He paced to the windows and, one
arm braced against the glass, leaned forward, his back to the room.
Obviously he was used to having the last word in any conversation, and
just as obviously he was telling them that the topic was no longer open
for discussion.
The two detectives shuffled their feet and the papers on the table in
front of them. The man from the police commissioner's office looked up
at the ceiling. The woman representing the mayor studied her red nail
polish.
"Spoiled-son-of-a-," Artemis's growl was loud enough for only Serena to
hear. She stifled a giggle and sat back to watch, more interested now
in how the game was being played out than she was fascinated at the one
whom it was directed to.
It was funny how quickly reality could chase away fantasies, especially
for a woman as down-to-earth as Serena.
No illusions or delusions.
Wasn't that what she always said about herself?
It hadn't taken her long to see through the illusion that was Darien
Romero. And as for delusions that his personality might actually match
the fantasy lover she'd built in her head?
She smiled again, and then erased the expression before Artemis could
see it and wonder why one of his most dependable special agents was
suddenly acting like a lunatic in a situation that was far from funny.
Free of Romero's spell, she was able to assess the man objectively for
the first time.
She would have had to be completely without imagination not to
appreciate the dramatic silhouette he made against the glass. But this
time when she let her gaze skim over his shoulders, she noticed not how
broad they were, but how stiffly he held them, which was obstinate to
the last. His head was turned for effect, his chin firm and
inflexible. Just like his personality.
Kate wondered how long he would stand that way and pretend they didn't
exist. But even as soon as the question presented itself, she knew the
answer. He would stand there forever if he had to. He would do
anything, to anyone, at any time, to get what he wanted. And right
now, Darien Romero wanted to be left alone.
Surprisingly it was the woman from the mayor's office who had the nerve
to break the silence. She cleared her throat, coughed politely.
"I suppose, Mr. Romero, that you're worried about the meeting of the
city business leaders' consortium." It was more of a question than a
statement, as if she were testing the waters before she took the chance
of dipping a toe into them. "The meeting is scheduled for July and if
everything goes as planned, you'd be gone in July." She sighed and
drummed her nails against the tabletop. "It would be something of a
problem of course."
"Something of a problem?" Romero's statement was an echo of the
woman's, but it contained far more cynicism than Serena would've
expected to come from the mouth of an esteemed man.
"I've got twelve hundred invitations ready to send out. The most
influential journalists…the most powerful businessmen…" Even a man as
articulate as Romero couldn't find the words to voice his outrage. He
balled one hand into a fist.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking, Sophia? You and the mayor
don't honestly think I sit here twiddling my thumbs all day, do you?
Tell me you don't really believe that."
Sophia calmly entwined her fingers on the table in front of her.
Serena couldn't help but notice that they were trembling just a little.
"Mr. Romero."
She aimed a smile at his back, one that wavered just a bit around the
edges.
"Of course the mayor doesn't think that at all. He's worried about
you, as an important member of this community, and as a friend. He
told me to assure you that the consortium is in good hands. We've
already contacted Bill Gates, and-,"
"Gates?"
Serena didn't think Romero's back could get any more rigid.
It did.
She didn't think his voice could be any chillier.
But the single word contained all the warmth of an iceberg.
Any other time-in any other circumstances-Serena would have found
Romero's whole performance laughable. But there was more at stake here
than Romero being upstaged at some event that sounded more like a media
circus than a business meeting.
He was messing with the case. Her case. And she'd be damned if she'd
see it doomed from the start by some pampered Romeo who was more
worried about his image than he was about his testimony.
Out of patience, she snapped closed the leather portfolio that sat on
the table in front of her and pushed back her chair. It wasn't until
she was already on her feet that she even bothered to think about what
she was doing, and by that time, it was too late. Every eye in the
place was on her-all but Romero's-but right then, he was the least of
her problems. Artemis Harrison didn't stop her. He must have thought
she had a plan.
Now all she had to do was come up with one.
Stalling for time, Serena scraped a hand through her blonde bangs.
"He's right," she said with a look toward Romero. Had he bothered to
look at the expression on her face, he would have seen that she didn't
think he was right at all. "Mr. Romero is absolutely right. He wants
to stay in town until July so he can host his important meeting, who
are we to stop him?"
In one quick movement, she reached for her black leather purse, pulled
it open, and grabbed the first folding money she could find. It was a
single wrinkly dollar, and she waved it in the air for everyone to see,
then tossed it into the center of the table. "I say we let him
continue with business as usual," she suggested to no one in
particular. "But I want to be the first one to bet that if he does,
when time comes July, he'll be dead and buried."
Her statement wasn't as outrageous as it sounded, and they all knew it.
Apparently, so did Romero. He turned to face her.
For one split second, she thought he might actually show some emotion.
She was wrong.
Tightly restrained and totally in control, he skimmed an icy glance
from the toes of her functional black pumps, up her sensible gray suit
and white oxford-cloth shirt, to the top of her head.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Special Agent Serena Ellison. FBI."
Convinced that any sign of weakness would be a tactical error. Serena
met look for look. "We were introduced when the meeting started."
Of course Romero remembered. Something told her he never forgot a
face, or a name, or a woman. He waved away her explanation with one
well-shaped hand.
"Yes. Yes. I know that. I remember that. What I mean is, who are you?
Who gives you the right to-,"
"This is my case, Mr. Romero." Serena ignored the outraged looks on
the faces of the two NYPD officers. They weren't putting their necks
on the line. Not like she was. She'd fight with them later about her
choice of words.
"I'm the one who's been eating, sleeping, and breathing this assignment
in these past twelve months. We've finally got all the evidence we
need and we've finally got you, someone with the balls to testify. I
don't know about anybody else in this room," she gave them all a quick
look "but I'm not willing to lose everything I've worked so hard over
just because you're too pig-headed to-,"
"Special Agent Ellison!"
It was the man from the commissioner's office, and Serena didn't have
to look at him to know he was telling her she'd overstepped her
boundaries. With an effort that left her knuckles white, she contained
her anger and decided on another tactic.
"Look…" Serena's voice was just about as unsteady as her stomach
suddenly felt. She drew in a long breath, hoping to settle them both.
"You're a pretty successful businessman, Mr. Romero." It was an
understatement, but she didn't give Romero a chance to point that out.
"You understand about fighting your way to the top. I've got a secret
to share with you. I'm planning on using this case to make a name for
myself. I deserve it. I've worked long and hard. I've talked to
hundreds of people. I've read thousands of pages of information. I've
looked at so many numbers on so many computer screens; my eyes hurt
just thinking about it. I'm not going to let you blow it for me by
getting yourself gunned down by some two bit hit man who's being paid
to keep you from opening that mouth of yours."
Was it her imagination, or was Romero actually surprised she'd had the
nerve to tell him the truth?
Before she could find out, Romero decided to make a great show of
looking at his watch. He made an attempt for the door, but before he
could even so much touch the knob, Serena said in a rock steady tone…
"Hold it. Not so fast."
Serena wasn't about to be put of by some egotistical male just because
he said so. Not so easily.
"We're not done. I told you I'm not willing to lose this case, and I
mean it. You've got to listen to us, Mr. Romero. This is for your own
fortification.
Romero made that might have been a laugh. Or maybe it was just a growl
of impatience.
"I think," he said, "you're overreacting. I'm surprised an
organization that runs as smoothly and efficiently as the local FBI
office would tolerate such an overactive imagination in one of its
agents."
He gave Artemis a quick look. It was as friendly as it could be, but
it left no doubt that if someone didn't shut Serena up, there'd be hell
to pay.
Artemis took the hint. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out an
eight-by-ten glossy. He tipped the photograph forward so Romero could
see it.
"Malachite Bartone." He explained at Romero's questioning look.
Serena didn't even bother to look at the photo. She'd studied it so
many times, she could see it in her sleep, not that she particularly
wanted to. It was a head-and shoulders shot of a sharp looking man.
Silver hair. Ice chilling eyes, and a complexion so pale that he
looked like he strived in the darkness, not that Bartone wasn't quite a
looker, it was just that his eyes made it look like he was staring
right at you.
Sophia wasn't familiar with it, of course, and so she leaned forward
for a better look. Kenneth Fielding came across the other side of the
desk to take a look, too. Darien Romero bent forward, studied the
photo, and then shifted a questioning gaze back to Artemis.
"Seen him around?" Artemis asked.
"Of course not."
Whatever interest Darien Romero may have had in the picture and the
question dissolved into a grunt of annoyance.
"I'm not in the habit of keeping company with people whoa are regularly
in police lineups. That is where that picture was taken, isn't it?"
Artemis nodded.
"A couple years ago. Unfortunately. Wish I knew where this guy was."
Apparently Romero was not the type who was content with only part of
the story. He pinned Artemis with a look, waiting for more.
It was of course, exactly what Artemis wanted.
"Bartone is the most skilled, the most vicious, and the most determined
hit man on the East Coast," he said.
"And you're telling me-,"
"I'm telling you that you've made some powerful enemies, Mr. Romero.
They know you're going to testify against them, and I think they'll do
anything they can do to stop you."
"Bull!" Romero spun away and stalked over to his seat.
Artemis nodded to Serena. He'd given her the rest of the photographs
to bring along and, on signal; she retrieved them from her portfolio
and took them across the room to Romero.
"We've tried to keep him under surveillance, and we've had some luck,"
she told him. "Bartone's been seen three times in the past month. And
let me remind you, it's been a month since you agreed to testify."
She offered the first two pictures to Romero one at a time.
"The first time he was spotted, he was near the entrance to the garage
of your Manhattan penthouse. The next time, he was on the street just
in front of this building. The third time…"
Before she gave him the final photograph, she looked up, watching to
see what Romero's reaction might be.
"The third time, he was right there."
She pointed at a shadowy spot on the picture, a figure standing in the
shade of a giant oak that grew alongside an impressive brick wall and
Iron Gate.
"Right outside your Long Island home."
Darien barely looked at the photograph. He turned his full attention
to Serena. At close range, his eyes were more intense than ever.
There was a tiny crescent-shape scar at the left corner of his mouth
and she watched it curiously out of the corner of her eye, jump when he
gritted his teeth.
When he spoke, his voice was so quite; she had to strain to hear it.
"I'm not the type that runs from trouble, Agent Ellison."
"No."
For the first time, she knew they were in agreement.
"I don't suppose you are."
"I am the type of man who gets what I want. Every time."
For the briefest of moments, his gaze slid from her face down to where
the unbuttoning collar of her shirt bared the hollow at the base of her
throat. Serena felt her blood rise in the opposite direction. Heat
flooded her chest and raced up her neck and into her cheeks. It was a
good think her skirt was just long enough to cover her knees, Otherwise
he might've seen them knocking.
If it weren't for this case, it was likely that Serena Ellison's and
Darien Romero's paths would never have crossed, but had they been
anywhere socially-some cocktail party or dinner or one of the society
fund-raisers he was famous for attending-there would have been no
question what he was hinting at.
Somehow Serena managed to find her voice. She forced herself to
pretend they were talking only about the fact that he wanted to be left
alone until it was time for him to testify.
"You can't always get what you want, Mr. Romero."
"But if you try, sometimes…"
He closed the space between them. Not enough to cause any of those
still seated at the conference table to notice. Just enough for Serena
to feel as if all the air had been sucked dry from the room.
She scrambled to catch her broken breath and hold on to what was left
of her common sense. It wasn't easy. Not when he was in full Romeo
mode. She managed a small smile.
"What you need Mr. Romero is a safe place to lie low and twenty-four-
hour security. We've got the perfect place all ready for you. No one
will be able to find you. Not even most of these people in this room."
"You've been watching too many old movies!" With a bark of laughter
that didn't contain any amusement, Romero backed away and broke the
well practiced spell that held Serena dizzy and slightly confused.
As graceful as an athlete, he moved towards the door, hauling Serena by
the arm along with him.
"It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do," he said
over his shoulder, effectively ending he meeting. "It's just that I am
really a very busy man. You understand, don't you, Ms. Ellison?" He
beamed a smile down at her at the same time he snapped open the thick
metal door.
Before Serena could find out, the door of the private room clicked open
and an FBI agent sailed in.
"I'm sorry to interrupt this meeting." He didn't look sorry. He
looked almost…smug. Serena couldn't quite place his face and rank.
Not at the moment.
"Um, yes Agent Lasalle. What matters at hand are so important, that it
deemed you to disrupt this conference?" asked Artemis.
Right, that's who he was. Agent Juan Luc Lasalle, the new guy in HQ.
He recently arrived a few days ago, just finished training and was
somehow incredibly fascinated by the Martinez case. Unfortunately for
him, Artemis had given him just about every folder and portfolio, for
just about every other file in the cabinets, but the Martinez case. He
seemed just like every other agent in the HQ, just another workaholic,
but Serena had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't all he seemed to be.
"Sir, the New York City Police Department has just received reports for
the Martinez case, sir."
"Oh, well, you still have to work on the Avery case, so…give me the
information, and then get on with your case.
Agent Lasalle looked a bit disgruntled, handed the reports to Artemis,
but didn't show sign of leaving soon.
"Agent Lasalle! This is not a playground where you can do as you
please. Now start working on the Avery case, instead of poking your
nose where it doesn't belong! Meaning the Martinez File!" barked
Artemis.
Serena caught a glimpse of the glaring headlines. Today, like every
day for the past three weeks, the media was in a major frenzy over a
dissident writer by the name of Rubeus Martinez, who was being help
under house arrest in his homeland. With a book on the New York Times
list and a reputation for working human rights, Martinez and his
detention had become something of a crusade.
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't leave, not when I have orders to attend
to."
"I GIVE YOU ORDERS, AND AT THIS MOMENT, I ORDER YOU TO LEAVE!" yelled
Artemis, completely at his wits end. "Didn't mean to…Er…like interrupt
anything. I was just gonna knock."
Apparently he still wouldn't move, but he made a move for his right
pocket.
It was apparently that made Serena suspicious. Alerted by her sudden
interest, Lasalle moved quickly. When he pulled his hand out from
underneath, Serena caught a flash of light against the barrel of an
automatic weapon.
After that, instinct basically took over, and her first instinct was to
keep Romero safe.
At the same time she shoved Romero out of the way, Serena called a
warning to Artemis and tackled the hired killer.
He managed to get a shot off.
It blew through the metal door, before Serena knocked the gun out of
the guy's hands.
The gun flew in one direction, Serena and Lasalle in the other. By the
time she realized they were sprawled on the floor together and she had
him in a painful headlock and his arm twisted behind his back, both
tangled in her knee length long blonde hair, Artemis and the two
detectives had things under control. They pulled the man away from
Serena and had him up against the wall and cuffing him before she even
had a chance to exhale.
Someone offered her a hand up, and Serena automatically accepted it.
When she finally unsuccessfully tried to neaten her hair for appearance
and steadied herself on rubbery legs, she was more than a little
surprised to find her self face-to-face with Darien Romero.
Romero looked over at Kenneth Fielding, who had a phone in his hands,
then at the team of company security guards who had apparently come
running when Fielding called. He then turned his attention to Serena.
"Thank You." He said, and he was either a remarkable actor, or he
actually meant it. "I never thought…that is, I didn't imagine…"
It was as much of an apology as she was likely to get and Serena knew
it. She nodded her head and took a step forward. It wasn't until she
nearly fell that she realized one of her shoes was missing.
"Careful!"
Romero grabbed to brace her. His hand was steady around her slim
waist, his grip tight and warm, and Serena wondered if he was trying to
reassure her, or calm himself.
"Do you believe me now, Mr. Romero?" she asked.
Romero looked over to were the two detectives were repeated the Miranda
warning to the now arrested Lasalle.
"But that wasn't-,"
"Bartone? No, it was one of his more likely slow handymen."
Wondering if the rush of adrenaline that was making her heart pump
wildly was caused by the attempt on Romero's life or the fact he was
still holding her quite intimately. Serna sucked in a lungful of air.
"But you can be sure he was behind it. Which means-,"
"He'll try it again."
Romero didn't sound discouraged or afraid. He accepted the truth with
no more than a nod and a grim sort of determination that made his jaw
go rigid. An expression she could only describe as outrage flashed
across his face. He glanced at Serena out of the corner of his eye.
"Looks like you win." He said.
"No."
She couldn't quite bring herself to smile.
"Looks like you do. The sooner we put some distance between you and
New York, the safer you'll be. Don't."
She stopped him when he made a move to talk to Kenneth Fielding.
"I told you. No one needs to know any more about this than they
already do."
"Very well." He didn't argue. Funny what a near-death experience can
do to some people. It seemed to have knocked some sense into Darien
Romero's pretty head. "But my papers…my clothes…how will I-?"
"We've got everything you need, including a new identity for you to use
for the next four months. You'll get a full briefing on the way."
"On the way…where?" It was clear Romero was the type of man who liked
to have all the facts at his fingertips and all the secrets in his
toes. And just as clear, at least to Serena, that this was not the
time or place to discuss them. Not when the office was swarming with
people, not when she didn't know which of those people she could trust.
"It's a secure place," she told him. "Right about now, I'd say that's
all that matters."
Romero didn't look convinced. Lasalle was being carted off out the
door into the hallway, and she could tell that the near-death
experience was already fading and Romero and his big-mouthed protests
were about to come back in full force. Before they could though,
Serena gave Artemis Harrison a signal that told him everything was
finally under control. Artemis hurried over looking more relieved than
surprised, and hustled Romero out of the room.
Watching them go, Serena's insides went icy cold, then suddenly hot.
Though witness protection was usually left up to the U.S. Marshals
Service, the powers-that-be had decided this was a special case.
Darien Romero was a special witness. They'd decided that the FBI
should be in on this operation, beginning to end. Thanks to Artemis's
recommendation, Artemis's urging, Artemis's encouragement, and in no
little part to Artemis's less-than-subtle hints that she'd better not
even think about opposing the decision, Serena had been chose to spend
the next four months with Romero at the safe house. It was enough to
make any woman week-kneed.
The next second, Serena thought about the house, and about the identity
they had prepared for the Romeo of the tabloids, and she found herself
with a grin on her face. She bent to retrieve her abandoned shoe, and
once she'd slipped it on, she followed Artemis and Romero out of the
door, mumbling under her breath.
"Maybe you can't always get what you want, but you know what, Romeo?
This time you're going to get exactly what you need."
