Miscommunication

by Lassar

Ian is given his orders, but thanks to the static on his cell phone, misunderstands what Kenneth wants him to do. COMPLETE

Valentine Contest Project Title: Miscommunication Author: Lassar Pairing: Sara/Ian Rating: R, to be safe, for adult situations A/N: To save any confusion, this is set in Season 1. Kenneth Irons still owns everything, Top Cow is just a front. Song is Whitesnake's 'Slow and Easy' from the album 'Slide it In'. Link to the song graciously supplied by DehPenguin. Please go to the link provided and download the song so you can play it along with the scene. You'll know when you get there. ;-) http://www.maliburenee.com/dehpengu/distractions.htm



Kenneth Irons gazed out at the familiar skyline. He enjoyed the view afforded from his office window, as it let him gaze upon a great deal of the city. Kenneth knew he was master of all he surveyed, except a certain fiery homicide detective. She had not realized that it was inevitable that she should belong to him, as the game was still in its early stages.

Or rather it had been. Today was February fourteenth. It was the most traditional day to move his plan along its natural progression. He understood very well the importance of dovetailing his endeavors with the weighty sentiment of the masses. It always had a stronger impact that way, without any extraneous effort on his part.

Not that HE would be putting forth any Herculean labors in any case. Oh no. He had servants to do his bidding, even in situations like this. He had a very competent and reliable messenger in mind, one that would do exactly as he was told. It was an added bonus that the mission would enforce upon the young man that Sara Pezzini belonged to Kenneth Irons. Watching the pleasure and gratitude in Sara's face as she received his gifts should squash any foolish notions running around in his fevered imagination.

With a superior little smirk, he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Ian, I have a little job for you."

************************************************************************

Ian shook his head. These new security guards could barely hit center mass on the paper silhouettes. Obviously the City of New York had less stringent requirements for licensing individuals to carry firearms than he would have liked.

He had been with them all morning, attempting to break them of bad habits and improve their aim. It was clearly going to be the work of several more sessions before he made any appreciable improvements on their dubious skills.

. The dark haired Head of Security regretted the fact that there were not more ex-military personnel in this latest batch of employees. They never needed much remedial instruction. Of course, they all had trained with Drill Sergeants that would have verbally disemboweled them if they had shot like that.

Ian wished he could fob this duty off on one of his lieutenants, but Mr. Irons wanted him to be personally involved in their instruction. He could see no real advantage in his presence at their level of proficiency. His time could be put to better use elsewhere in his opinion, but he was used to obeying orders he did not agree with nor fully understood the meaning of.

Sometimes he would be told the whys of Irons commands, sometimes he would find out for himself, and sometimes he remained in the dark. Ian suspected he was better off with the latter most days.

The insistent vibrations at his waist broke off his musings. 'Speak of the devil' Ian thought with a wry smile as he pulled the cell phone free of its belt clip. He signaled for a break and took off his hearing protection. He flipped open the phone and listened for the familiar voice.

" * sputter * job for you." Came the garbled transmission.

"Good morning Sir." Ian made sure his voice carried no traces of the humorous thought that had just passed through his mind. Not that it was likely to carry anyway. Reception at the underground firing range was terrible.

"Ian? * crackle *n barely hear * hissing *" Kenneth's voice was barely audible.

"I am at the firing range. There's a lot of concrete between myself and the nearest tower." Ian replied, wondering how much of his message was getting out.

"What does your * sputter hiss * with anything?" Irons snapped back, making Ian wonder just what Kenneth had heard.

"Never mind Sir. What can I do for you?" Ian asked as he moved around trying to find better reception.

" * crackle * Valentines Day * garble * for Sara Pezzini. You will * sputter * chocolates * hiss * Irish tea roses * sputter hiss * for dinner, strip tease."

Did he just say strip tease? Ian struggled to wrap his brain around this concept, and for once in his life he questioned his orders. "Did you say you want me to bring her chocolates, Irish tea, and roses before dinner, and perform a strip tease?"

"No you * crackle * Irish tea roses! Be sure that she * crackle * that it's from me * hiss* Do not * garble * my gesture. I expect * sputter * six o'clock." The message may not have made it through complete, but the venom in Irons tone transmitted just fine.

Ian listened for a moment to the static-laced dial tone in disbelief. Irons expected, nay insisted, that he do a strip tease before six o'clock? Had the world gone mad?

**********************************************************************

Kenneth hung up; feeling rather displeased, and buzzed his secretary. "See to it that a phone line is installed inside the firing range."

That should ensure that he never had to deal with that particular situation again. It had been terribly inconvenient. He just hoped Ian had understood everything, he hadn't heard one word in five that Nottingham had said in response. He would give him some time to get out of the concrete bunker, and call again to make sure everything proceeded according to plan.

Or perhaps.he should call back now? No. It was simple enough: candy, flowers, an invitation to dinner, and a nice dress to wear to said dinner, preferably something in silk. Besides, he was already making his eleven o'clock appointment wait. He could call Nottingham in a few hours. After all, he had told him not to deliver it until six o'clock. That left him plenty of time to make any necessary corrections.

Irons went into his eleven o'clock meeting never once considering that Ian had heard 'strip tease' instead of 'silk please' or that he had misunderstood the delivery time.

************************************************************************

There were very few things Ian Nottingham did not know how to do, and do well. This, however, was an area he had not been trained in. Did Irons believe he was capable of anything at a moments notice, even something like this? Or did he expect Ian to fail spectacularly, making a complete fool of himself in front of Lady Sara?

Ian winced at the sudden image of green eyes filled with scorn. Failure was not an option. Sara already had a low opinion of him as a person because of whom he worked for, and what she thought he did. To have her reject him on yet another level was too much to bear.

One thing he had learned young, and the lesson applied to everything, was to research a subject thoroughly before attempting it. Fortunately the Internet put a great variety of resources at his fingertips, even on topics as frivolous as stripping. Ian went to the Google search engine and typed in 'Male Strippers'. On the first page was a link to something called 'Hunk- Mania', and it was based out of New York.

It seemed like an omen. Upon opening the site, he found a short video clip that could be played. He leaned forward in horrified fascination. These men stripped down to something that barely covered the genitals and gyrated to music while women screamed, groped them, and stuffed money into that thin cloth covering. Just when he was getting used to that, the clip moved to the males sliding their bodies all over the women, including several short clips of men thrusting their pelvises just above (and sometimes right into) the faces of the females.

He didn't think he could do that. The very idea of Sara's face that close to his groin made Ian squirm slightly in his chair. The women in the video seemed to really like it though. He played the video again, but it was exceedingly short, and he gained no further information from it. With a sigh of frustration he went on to the next web page from his Google search.

Half an hour later, and 38 pages viewed, he was getting annoyed. There wasn't any truly useful information on stripping, just sites that you could hire strippers out of. Ian went back to the first site he had visited and checked for addresses, since it had been local and the most informative. Looking under club locations, he found one at 248 W 14th Street. That wasn't all that far from the 11th Precinct.

He would make arrangements for all the other things Irons had requested by phone, and have Speedy Delivery Service package and hold them in one of their vans. For as well as he paid them, they would sit at the police station until he arrived to relieve them of his purchases.

***********************************************************************

Ian stared at the building, a frisson of trepidation rippling over him. He was very much out of his element. He had called ahead to inform them of his arrival, since the club itself did not open until late in the evening. He had not explained what he needed, he wasn't certain himself, simply arranged for their most popular stripper to be available to him for a few hours. Once the matter of money had been discussed, the manager had fallen all over herself to accommodate him.

The door to the club opened, and a slender blonde woman in a blue baby-doll tee waved him forward. This must be the day manager he had spoken with on the phone. "Hello! Come on in Mr. Nottingham. I've been watching for you."

Feeling committed now, Ian resolutely crossed the street and entered the bar. "Thank you for agreeing to my request Ms. Kirkengaard. I realize it is unusual."

"Please, call me Carol or I may forget to answer. No one calls me by my last name except new brewing distributors. Your request was not so odd as you may think. Britney Spears arranged to have a private showing just last week, and we do deliver for bachelorette parties all the time." Carol shrugged, carefully not saying that the unusual part was the gender of the person making the request.

"Carol then." Ian inclined his head in agreement. He did not offer his first name, as she obviously desired, nor any further explanation. Once his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, he surveyed the area as he always did. Knowing where all the exits were to be found had saved his life more than once.

The first thing he registered was the size of the place. It was much larger than he expected, with lots of seating. The sheer number of women that the place was designed to hold gave him pause. Upon further thought he realized that they must be doing something right to need so much space. It reassured him that he would be learning from someone who understood what women wanted. If his encounters with Sara had shown him anything, it was that he certainly didn't.

"Just have a seat right here. Rafael will be on as soon as I've cued up the music." Carol said over her shoulder as she headed for the D.J. booth.

"That won't be necessary. I did not come for a show, I came for instruction." Ian gritted his teeth as she turned around, certain he was going to be the target of her curiosity again.

"It's your money, you can do whatever you want." Carol shrugged before cupping her hands around her mouth and yelling, "Hey Rafe, change of plans, get out here!"

The red stage curtain parted with a dramatic swish to reveal a strikingly handsome young man. His short black hair and olive complexion clearly denoted Latin ancestry. He was dressed like a pirate, complete with cutlass. He strode commandingly across the runway, exuding confidence and sexuality in much the same way that Irons projected power and control.

Rafael sprang off the stage with practiced ease and stopped just inside Ian's personal space. He smiled at the seated man and extended a hand in easy familiarity. "I am pleased to meet you Mr. Nottingham."

Ian hesitated for a moment, unused to such gestures, and then took Rafael's hand. "I would like to say the same, but I fear I am here for purposes other than pleasure."

"Hmm, pity. Pleasure is my purpose, and I am very good at it," Rafael purred as he looked Ian over lasciviously.

Taken aback, Ian pulled his gloved hand free and stared in consternation at the young man. Had he just been propositioned? Deciding the best thing he could do was ignore the possible flirtation he went on as though nothing had been said, "A very unusual circumstance has required that I learn to pass as a male stripper for the evening. I have my orders. Do not make this any more difficult for me than it already is."

"Is this one of those 'If I tell you, I'll have to kill you' kind of things?" Rafael pouted slightly.

"Yes, it is. Teach me what to do, and remember I am on a tight schedule." Ian said sharply, his eyes grimly forbidding any more nonsense.

"First, lets see what we have to work with. Take off the coat and hat," Rafael gestured at the offending items, the smile on his face clearly saying he was refraining from making any 'tight' comments.

Ian pulled off the black watch cap he habitually wore, and shrugged out of the heavy wool coat. Underneath he wore a snug black turtleneck and fatigue pants, tucked into combat boots. He had thought it wise to divest himself of all weapons before leaving his vehicle, as he had no idea what he was going to be required to do. It would not be safe to have unsecured firearms in an establishment that he had never patronized before, nor to have them see just how much armament he carried. Not that he needed any to deal with these two. If he wished it, they could both die as easily as he drew his next breath.

Rafael and Carol stepped back, neither one prepared for the aura of waiting violence that came from their unusual patron. Rafael noted the shift into fighting stance and nodded. Mr. Nottingham was for real. No one who was that defensive about his person would come in here on a lark.

"Do I pass muster?" Ian said sharply into the silence.

Carol smiled at him nervously, "You are in great shape. No problem areas that I can see."

"If there are no further impediments, can we get to work? I only have a few hours to master the movements in." Ian growled, totally out of patience. He felt like he was back at his first inspection, only he didn't know what he would be penalized for.

"The first thing to learn isn't the moves, it's the attitude. Without it the gestures are empty. You must believe in yourself, to know that you are the sexiest man alive. The fact that you are desirable should show in your every move, glance, and touch." Rafael began, having decided that Mr. Nottingham was serious.

"I know no such thing. I am one of the deadliest men alive, but I have not often been given the opportunity to be around the fairer sex." Ian confessed, fearing that he was doomed to fail this endeavor.

"Military school as a kid, then you went career military?" Rafael asked with an arched brow.

"Something like that, yes." Ian felt it best to keep his response simple. They did not need to know of the long succession of tutors or the rigorous conditioning he had endured.

"Ok, what we need to do is broaden that confidence in your martial abilities to other areas. Look at it this way; women really go for the bad boys, and I suspect you are one VERY bad boy." Rafael waggled his eyebrows.

Ian said nothing in response to that sally, just gave him another hard look.

"They like a man who is strong and capable. Your abilities make you desirable. The body that you have honed for conflict is also primed for sexual prowess. They see a male in his prime, with the endurance to go all night." Rafael paused and looked at Ian to see if he was following him.

Seeing the look of confusion, Rafael decided direct action was necessary. "You don't believe me do you? Well, that's all right. I'm going to prove it to you. Carol wait here for me. I'm going to want your honest opinion in a moment." Saying that, he gestured for Nottingham to follow him, and sprang back up onto the wooden platform.

Rafael didn't stop once they were both onstage. He headed for the back. "Come on, let's get you out of those clothes. You'll never break your military mindset dressed like that."

Ian hesitated at the curtains, and then followed Rafael through to the other side. Backstage was filled with various backdrops and discarded props, including a giant inflated penis. He gave it a wary berth and sidled after his guide, who was opening a door labeled Janitorial Supplies. To his surprise, it was actually the dressing room.

Correctly interpreting Ian's look, Rafael explained, "Any overeager female that somehow gets backstage will never think to look in here."

"Is that a problem?" Ian asked as he looked around the room, which was bordered on two sides by standing racks of costumes. There were three areas for make-up and hair, which looked a lot like the setup at the television station Irons owned.

"Not usually. Our security is pretty tight, but someone occasionally gets through. That will be enough of the professional curiosity Mr. Nottingham, at least about that topic. Must I continue to call you Mr. Nottingham?" Rafael cocked his eyebrow in inquiry.

"Nottingham is fine, I am more used to answering to it than my first name." Ian replied as he picked up a small piece of black leather. It was shaped somewhat like a T, but. He dropped it like a hot potato as he realized it was one of those miniscule undergarments he had seen in the video clip.

"It's clean." Rafael laughed, and then confided, "They really are very comfortable, you know. There's no excess fabric to ride up. I find that I prefer it to briefs these days. Besides, it drives women wild."

"Will I really be expected to wear this?" Ian asked, knowing the answer but hoping anyway.

"No stripper would wear anything else. No thong, no disguise. Speaking of which, would you be more comfortable if no-one could recognize you?" Rafael asked as he turned toward the first rack of costumes.

Ian froze for a moment. The idea had never occurred to him. Now he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. He could follow Irons orders without risking true personal humiliation. The concept was very appealing. "Could you do that?"

"Of course. A lot of the guys do that in the beginning. They have this fear that somehow their mothers are going to come to the club. Which sounds very Freudian if you ask me. But we do have several masks, a spacesuit helmet, a motorcycle helmet, a Viking Helm, and there's always bandanas lying around." Rafael opened a box and pointed at its contents. Ian peered inside and tentatively lifted out the motorcycle helmet. Considering Sara's fascination with Harley's, maybe that was the way he should go.

"That could work, but once you raise the visor, you lose the disguise. Unless." Rafael trailed off speculatively. "How attached are you to that beard?"

"It keeps my face warm on outdoor surveillance missions. Why?" Ian asked, slightly taken aback at the question.

"People tend to focus on things like that. If we shave off your beard it is unlikely that anyone will recognize you. " Rafael shrugged.

"My beard tends to grow back rapidly, I suppose I can shave it for this." Ian rubbed his chin. Truthfully, he'd gotten so much teasing as a Black Dragon for having a 'pretty face' that he'd grown the beard once he had been released from the military and could grow one.

"That's the spirit! Let's get started. Finish undressing, then put on that black leather thong you had a moment ago." Rafael wisely turned away and let Ian strip in peace.

After several seconds of quiet rustling, Ian complained, "Did you call this comfortable?"

Rafael bit back a laugh at the statement before turning around, suspecting Nottingham was holding on to his sense of personal dignity by a shred.

Any thought of laughter went out of his head when he finally did turn around. Nottingham looked very sexy in an unapproachable kind of way. Now to get him to think of himself as such, "Come on, I think you'd feel better hearing how hot you look from someone of the opposite sex. Besides, once you walk around in the thong, you won't even know you're wearing it."

Ian muttered something that might have been 'Fat chance', but followed Rafael out of the dressing room, trying vainly not to pick at the leather bisecting his cheeks.

Rafael stopped suddenly. "Wait, we've got to shave your beard off before Carol sees you. I want her to get the full effect."

Ian turned stiffly around, wishing the leather had more give. It made him wonder what Rafael's definition of comfortable was based on.

********************************************************************

Carol sat on the edge of the runway, swinging her feet and taking periodic sips of her beer. She wondered what was taking so long when the curtains finally parted and Rafael stepped through.

"Come on out Nottingham, it's just the three of us." Rafael called back, clearly trying to encourage his protégé, and held the curtain open.

Nottingham stalked past the parted velvet panels like a panther pacing the length of its cage. Carol couldn't help but want to try stroking his fur, even knowing that she'd probably get bitten or clawed for the attempt. It would have been worth it for the chance to run her hands over that sleekly muscled flesh.

The beard was gone; it no longer concealed his high cheekbones or strong jaw. Nottingham had been handsome with it and it had really brought attention to his hazel eyes, but now he was stunning. His lips seemed fuller, more prominent, just begging to be nibbled, licked, and devoured.

Of course, so did everything else. The man was made for female appreciation, and she was very appreciative. Nottingham's muscles were sharply defined, but not overdone. This was not a body make in a gym, but honed by living.

Carol sucked in her breath as her gaze traveled downward. The black leather thong barely confined him, and she felt her stomach tighten as she dwelled on his masculinity. He was not as clearly defined in the leather as he would have been in one of the silk or spandex thongs, but she still couldn't tear her gaze away.

As if he felt her gaze Nottingham turned, giving her his back, his very bare back. From a distance she heard a soft clink, but was to busy staring. The thin strips of black leather nicely framed his tight ass. It was even more erotic than if he had been completely naked. If he bent over she would go up in flames. Oh God, and those thighs! She suddenly became aware that something cold had begun to seep into the left leg of her jeans. The unexpected sensation brought her out of her rapt contemplation of the very sexy Mr. Nottingham.

Rafael threw back his head and laughed. "That has to be the most ringing endorsement I've ever seen."

Carol flushed as she righted the now mostly empty beer bottle. It had fallen unnoticed from her fingers at some point after Nottingham had walked onstage. Talk about presence! If he could dance half as well as he looked right now, she'd hire him on the spot.

For his part, Ian was staring at Carol as if she were something he'd never seen before. He couldn't believe she'd been that distracted merely by his presence. Perhaps there was something to what Rafael had been saying. For the first time since he'd hung up the phone this morning, Ian felt confident in his mission. Secretly, he was beginning to anticipate seeing the same look on Sara's face.

"So what are you going to strip to?" Carol asked, desperate to shift the attention away from her, cheeks still burning with a mixture of lust and embarrassment.

Rafael turned to Nottingham, "It should be something you know well, since you'll want to be in sync with the song. Try and pick something suggestive, as it helps with the mood you're projecting."

Ian wracked his brain. The only music Irons allowed in the mansion was classical in nature. Hardly the stuff to strip to. Back when he had been with the Black Dragons, Rook had been a Whitesnake fan, and he'd played their tapes whenever the opportunity presented itself. That was really the only thing he could think of that had that feel to it. In fact, one song in particular had always affected him, and the lyrics seemed appropriate as well. "Do you have the song 'Slow and Easy' by Whitesnake?"

Carol, freed at last, bounded over to the D.J. booth and began flipping through CDs. Using her free hand, she began to surreptitiously blot her leg with a bar towel. "That's off the 'Slide It In' album isn't it?"

"We've used the title track from that album a few times over the years so we should have it." Rafael said as he started toward the booth to help her look.

"Ha! Found it. I'll just cue it up so it's ready to go whenever you are." Carol brandished the plastic case triumphantly.

"Great. Now we just need to figure out what you're going to be taking off to the music." Rafael looked at Nottingham with a wicked little grin.

Ian leveled a deadly glare at Rafael, warning him without words that he had taken off all he intended to remove.

Rafael smiled, Nottingham was very easy to tease, but he supposed they'd better get back to work. "You have that aura of danger that would work with leather, that whole 'bad boy' rebel image could work well for you. Or we could go the other way and get out the motorcycle cop costume. Unless that would be too close to your normal image?"

Ian's lips twitched as he tried not to smile at the idea, "No, it is not. In fact, one could say it is the perfect disguise."

"Then let's go see if we've got that costume in your size. You'll need to practice taking it off to the music. It isn't as easy as I make it look." Rafael informed Nottingham in a self-important tone.

Behind him Carol rolled her eyes and made a face. Rafe's ego was unbelievable. In some ways it was deserved, but it didn't make it any less wearing on her nerves. She hoped Nottingham could put up with his nonsense until he learned what he needed to know. She was really looking forward to watching him practice.

************************************************************************

Ian was not having fun. Despite what Rafael had said, he was still very aware of the strip of leather dividing his gluteus maximus. At least the leather boots fit properly. They were a little snug over his calves, but a good fit overall. They ended up using the white helmet, instead of the black one he had originally picked up, as it was the correct style and color for a motorcycle cop. There was even a pair of mirrored silver sunglasses hooked into the chinstrap.

The shirt was straightforward enough; it buttoned just like any other. The pants were a different story entirely. They were only stitched together at the crotch. The side seams were nothing but Velcro. Ian had feared it would pull open with the slightest provocation. Fortunately the Velcro proved, after some experimental tugging, to be sturdier than he had thought.

A leather duty belt completed the outfit. It was the real thing, but obviously retired long ago. It was scuffed and the holster only had a single snap closure, instead of the dual safety features that were now mandatory.

Not that it mattered, as it contained a penis-shaped water gun instead of anything lethal. Ian sighed as he made that particular discovery and made a mental note to get rid of it and the bright red heart-shaped rabbit-fur lined handcuffs. There was only so much humiliation he was willing to endure.

Finally dressed, they headed back out to the stage, Rafe in the lead. "Carol, set the song on continuous loop. We'll need to time it and figure out the ROCR."

"ROCR?" Ian tilted his head like a confused dog.

"Rate of clothing removal. It means we have to decide how much time you have to get everything off, how much discretionary time you'll have for dragging out the removal of each piece, or just plain flirting." Rafael replied as he took his sword belt off and put it out of the way against the curtain.

"It's six minutes long, I already checked." Carol said over the microphone.

"Well, that gives you a lot of time to get undressed, maybe to much time. Are you sure you want to do something that long?" Rafe asked in surprise.

"It's the only one I know well enough that has that 'feel' to it." Ian shrugged. There wasn't much he could do about his limited musical exposure at this point.

"Ok, we'll play it through and see what the music lends itself to." Rafael nodded. He had a feeling this was going to be difficult enough for Nottingham without asking him to become familiar with a totally new piece of music.

********************************************************************



Sara was in a foul mood. February 14th was far from her favorite holiday. The mushy cards, the sappy decorations, the cheap-ass candy hearts, and the general aura of commercialized romance poisoning the air all combined to make her heartily wish the day over.

It had been annoying enough when Danny Woo sat across from her, making cutesy calls home to his wife and sending her flowers. That at least had been honest, if a little syrupy. They really did love each other; the sentiment had not rung empty or false.

Sara had to admit, she had enjoyed the opportunities given her to tease Danny with the overheard endearments from Lee. For weeks after last Valentine's Day she had called him 'Her SugarDanny' and 'Pookiekins'. Danny swore that Lee, knowing that Sara would use the names, made them up specifically and didn't really call him any of those things. It might have even been the truth, but that didn't lessen the entertainment value one bit.

Now it was downright disheartening to look across her desk and realize he would never be there again. Instead she had a new partner, Jake McCarty, who happened to be dating every unmarried female in the greater metropolitan area. At least, that's what it looked like. He had a stack of cards, several boxes of candy, balloons, and at least two stuffed animals that she could see. Not that she was counting or anything.

The only thing on Sara's desk was a dissected chocolate heart from Vicki Poe, part of an elaborate in-joke. At least this year she hadn't gotten a bouquet or balloons made of condoms from the guys in the department. Dante did not encourage the casual atmosphere that spawned such sexist practical jokes, and for once Pezzini was glad of his no-nonsense personality.

In fact, she would vastly prefer to be in Dante's office right now. It had to be better than sitting with the Lothario Ken doll. Jake positively radiated smugness, but at least he had stopped reading the cards aloud. Sara knew if she was forced to listen to one more affidavit of his prowess, she was going to eviscerate him where he sat.

Sara was pulled out of her homicidal musings by a polite rap on the doorframe. She looked up, ready to take her frustration out on the hapless female visitor, who undoubtedly came bearing more gifts for her dog of a partner.

Leaning against the door was a motorcycle cop. He was still wearing his white helmet and those silvered glasses that seemed to be department issue, but the rest of his face was bare and very attractive. Nice high cheekbones, full lips, strong chin. Filled out his uniform quite nicely too. None of that flabby midsection that tended to plague many of the male officers. Sara wondered if he was from a different precinct, surely she'd have noticed him if he worked out at the department's gym? There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Then she realized he was swinging a rather large gift basket in one hand.

'Great, another fan of Jake', Sara thought uncharitably. Then grinned. Jake was soooooo homophobic, and she was never going to let him live this one down. It was even better than her plan to get the rest of the guys in the department to give McCarty Valentines for the next month. She'd seen the sour looks they'd been sending Jake all morning, and knew she had ready allies for whatever evil she could dream up, but she never would have thought of this.Maybe the holiday had a few redeeming factors after all.

"Come in, I'm sure Jake's been waiting for you all day." Sara smiled brightly at the officer, and squinted to read the nametag on his uniform. She had to get as much dirt as she could while he was here.

Instead of making any reply, the officer sat the basket in front of Sara, right on top of the open case file. Momentarily distracted by the fact that his nameplate said Hardbody, what the Hell kind of name was that for a cop anyway? It took her a few moments to realize that the name written on the card taped to a rather large box of Godiva Chocolates was Sara Pezzini.

Sara looked at the tasteful arrangement. There was a bouquet of some old-fashioned tea roses that smelled divine, much headier than the more common modern version. She fingered the card, making a little game out of trying to figure out whom it was from. The handwriting on the outside wasn't any she recognized, no one she knew wrote with such large gracefully looping letters.

While Sara stared at her gifts, the officer shrugged the black strap off his shoulders. It held a small but expensive boom box, which he sat on the desk as well. He pressed the play button and let the soft intro to the song spread through the room, the guitar joining in with soft slides.

It wasn't until the lead vocalist, whom she recognized as David Coverdale, raised his tortured voice around the melody that Sara looked up in surprise. 'Officer Hardbody' was watching her intently, and once her gaze settled on him, he began to unbutton his shirtsleeves to the old Whitesnake song.

You keep on pushing, babe,Like I've never known before. You know you drive me crazy, child, An' I just wanna see you on the floor. I wanna superstitious woman An' she got a superstitious mind.

Sara spun her chair around and shot a hard look toward the squad room. This was exactly the sort of thing the guys would think was funny. She fully expected to see the entire department huddled around the door, waiting to see her face. Now she knew why she'd been spared the condom bouquet this year, the bastards had sprung for a male stripper instead.

Or maybe not. The door to her office was closed, and there wasn't even a single face pressed against the glass window. Jake had a hand clamped hard over his mouth, whether in shock or to contain his mirth she couldn't say. Surely her doofus rookie partner hadn't set this up?

I can't see you, baby, I can't see you anymore, no more. You keep on loving me Like I've never known before. I wanna superstitious woman With a superstitious, a superstitious mind, an' I don't mind, baby.

Smiling a sexy little half-smile, as if he knew she was completely confused, Hardbody grasped his shirt and pulled it out of his waistband. There was a flash of naked torso as the fabric came free, which burned itself into her brain in spite of the speed it was once again hidden. Starting at his throat, he began to undo the buttons while his hips gyrated slightly to the music. Once the last button had been undone he let the shirt hang open to give her more flashes of hard-muscled torso, but did not remove it.

My heart is beating faster, babe, It's beating like a big bass drum.

In synch with the singer, he ran a hand inside his unfastened shirt and pulled it aside, baring his chest as if inviting her to feel his heart. During the small guitar break in the lyrics he slid the same hand lower.

You know you got me speeding, child, Faster than a bullet from a gun.

His hand passed lightly over his groin, leading her eyes down to catch the hard thrust he made in time with Coverdale's grunt. Sara flushed as she felt her own body react to the suggestive movement.

You're a superstitious woman An' I got a superstitious mind, an' I don't care.

He grasped his shirttails and ripped the cloth from his body in the pause before the chorus began. His chest and arms were nicely muscled. There was a line of dark hair that started just below his navel and thickened as it disappeared into his pants.

So take me down slow an' easy, Make love to me slow an' easy.

The beat changed from seductive to demanding, and he moved with it. In spite of the lyrics, the music was fast, rhythmic, and anything but easy.

I know that hard luck an' trouble Is coming my way, So rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone, Rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone.

His hips moved in hard pulses that couldn't help but make Sara think of sex. His hands never stopped moving, sliding over his chest and down his thighs then back up. It was a path that she would dearly love to trace for herself. By the end of the chorus he had moved right next to her. He was gyrating that magnificent body just inside her reach, and she suspected he was daring her to touch him.

I don't care about, ooooohhhhhhhhh, I don't care about love, no more.

The next verse continued in the same vein as the chorus, as if the singer had been pushed beyond restraint and could not disguise his hunger any longer. During the wail, he moved in close enough that he was straddling her seated form. Her lips were level with his navel, and it took an act of will not to lean forward and taste him. When Coverdale swore he didn't care about love, Sara found her hands captured in his gloved ones and brought to the stripper's waist.

The way you keep abusing me Oh, I can't take no more. I wanna woman She got a superstitious mind.

He shifted her hands to his belt and guided her to the buckle. For a moment she paused, hands surrounded by leather, as a tactile memory flitted across her mind. Once again she had the feeling that she knew the man from somewhere, but she couldn't place him. The tentative sense of recognition shredded under the feel of him using her hands to remove his duty rig.

She registered the weight, heard the handcuffs click, and realized it was not filled with props. Those were the real things. No wonder she hadn't pegged him for a stripper, in spite of his incredibly handsome features. Maybe he was a cop, just one who moonlighted?

So take me down slow an' easy, Make love to me slow an' easy. I know that hard luck an' trouble Is coming my way, So rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone, Rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone,

The duty rig was lifted over her head and dropped unceremoniously onto the desk behind her. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she let them settle on his thighs. They were hard as steel, and she dug her nails in experimentally. He gave a little hiss of pleasure that could barely be heard over the throbbing beat of the chorus.

Rock me 'til I'm burned...

The singer trailed off and the guitar soared into a solo. Hardbody moved his hands to the snap at the top of his trousers, and deftly unfastened them. In an unconscious gesture, Sara licked her lips as he slowly lowered the zipper tab. Her hands flexed as she debated helping to hurry him along.

As if reading her mind, he backed away. Sara gave a moue of disappointment as he moved out of her reach. He tutted at her and shook one black-gloved finger in remonstration.

She could see her features reflected in his silver glasses, and almost didn't recognize herself. Was this the same woman who had been ready to commit bodily harm to her partner mere minutes ago? Her eyes were glittering and her cheeks were flushed. There was a huge grin threatening to split her face in half. She was the very image of a happy woman. Of course, it was difficult to be cranky when a handsome man was taking his clothes off.

Hardbody turned around, and glancing over his shoulder at her, let his trousers drop teasingly, just exposing the top of. Was that black leather?!?

The pants dropped further, and she realized that not only was it leather, but it was a thong. She could see a thin line of flesh between the trousers and the leather. He let it dip a little lower; giving her a quarter moon, then pulled it back up.

Sara was about to protest when he gave a hard jerk, causing his pants to split down their Velcro seams. He whipped the covering away from his body contemptuously and tossed it toward her desk.

Perhaps it was deliberate; perhaps it was an accident, but the discarded trousers sailed past her desk and thwapped Jake in the head. "Hey!" came the muffled complaint, but neither of them paid him any attention.

"Oh My God!" Sara blurted out as Hardbody bent over slightly and sinuously rolled his tight ass as the guitar solo increased tempo. She had thought herself beyond blushing, but her cheeks burned at the ideas floating through her head. Oh, the things she could do to that man!

He spun back around just as the guitar cut out, to be replaced by rhythmic clapping. Sara could only stare in fascination at the frontal view; black leather boots, black leather gloves, and a little black leather thong that barely covered his.

So take me down slow an' easy, Make love to me slow an' easy.

Hardbody stalked back to her side like a predator who has sighted his prey. Sara felt a little thrill go through her at the idea. He might find the tables quickly turned though, should he try taking a bite, for she was feeling rather hungry herself.

Take me down slow an' easy, Rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone.

Once again he was straddling her lap, but this time he had moved in closer. He thrust his pelvis toward her face in shallow pulses, always managing to stop just short of her face. Her breath stirred the line of hair she had itched to follow since he bared it. The scent of leather and male filled her senses.

Take me down slow an' easy, Make love to me slow an' easy. I know that hard luck an' trouble Is coming my way, So rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone...

He ran one of his hands teasingly through her hair, and settled it on the back of her neck while he continued to pump his groin toward her face. The other slid caressingly back up his torso and his head dropped back as if in ecstasy.

Rock me 'til I'm burned to the bone, Rock me 'til I'm burned ..... to the bone

Sara was the one being burned. Her every nerve ending was on fire. This wasn't like the Bachelorette parties she had gone to where the male attention was spread out. She was finding it very arousing to be the sole focus; even though she knew when the song was over she'd never see him again. Except perhaps in her dreams.

As the singing ended, he stepped back, still keeping his hand on her neck. As the music segued back into the quiet little keyboard solo that had started the song, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Thank you."

Sara stared up at him in shock. It was the first thing he had said to her, and the voice was so familiar. It couldn't be Nottingham, could it? Nahhhhh, this was so far out of character for him as to defy the imagination.

He moved away from her and began picking up his discarded clothing, and she felt he was watching her from behind his glasses as he did so. Sara wondered if it would be unprofessional of him to accept an offer to go out to dinner. She opened her mouth to ask when Dante's unwelcome voice broke the moment.

"Pezzini, my office, now!" Captain Dante glowered at her from the door. He was clearly not amused.

"Yes Captain." Sara saluted jauntily. Dante was going to have to dish out one Hell of an ass-chewing to break her good mood.

She turned around to finish extending her invitation, just as 'Officer Hardbody' was shouldering his portable stereo system. He flashed Sara a warm smile and deliberately brushed against her as he headed out of the office.

Not wanting to make a big scene in front of the rest of the department, Sara reluctantly decided not to call out to him. She did watch him until he exited the building before heading for Dante's office. Hopefully there'd be some way to get hold of him again through whoever had sent her Valentine's gifts.

***********************************************************************

Ian practically floated out of the station house. Sara's response had been everything he could have wished for. She had finally seen him as a man, and not an extension of his master.

Humming softly, he headed back to 248 W 14th Street. He needed to return the costume, and he owed Rafael a very large thank you.

He was only a few blocks away from Hunk-Mania when his cell phone vibrated in the seat next to him. He'd left it there after a long internal debate, as there was no place on his costume to put it. Ian picked it up and answered it; glad Irons had not called while he had been without the phone.

"Ian, have you picked up everything I asked?" Kenneth demanded.

"Yes sir. You were not specific about the chocolates, so I assumed you wanted the gift assortment from Godiva. The Irish tea roses were a bit difficult to find, but worth the effort. I have delivered them along with a suitable card before six, just as you commanded." Ian replied warily.

"I said to deliver it at six, and to invite her here to dinner." Irons voice had gone frosty.

"There was a great deal of interference during our earlier conversation. I must not have received all your instructions." Ian offered, a sinking sensation filling him. If he had heard that wrong, it was possible he had heard other things wrong as well.

Irons would devise some ingenious form of torture for him if he had not been meant to strip for Sara. It was one thing to make a spectacle of oneself if it had been Kenneth's idea, but quite another if it hadn't.

"I suppose this means you didn't pick up a silk dress for her to wear either." Irons sighed into the phone. "Well, it can't be helped. Go back and invite her to dine with me this evening. We will just have to make do with whatever her limited wardrobe has to offer."

"Yes sir." Ian agreed miserably. So much for his plan to avoid direct contact with Sara until his beard grew back in.

First things first, he would return the outfit and thank Rafael. Regardless of the way this farce played out, he had his memories. Sara gazing at him as a desirable man, licking her lips, the feel of her hands on his body. It was liberating to know that he could be seen in such a light by the one woman who's opinion he cared about.

This time Ian parked in the back and buzzed the service entrance, instead of going to the front. The club would be opening in a few hours, and the employees had already started setting up in the public area.

The back door was opened by a harried looking stagehand. Ian cruised by him and headed for the 'Janitor's Supply Room'. He wanted to get this damn thong off before it strangled him. How Rafael could wear one all the time was beyond his understanding. Of course, the leather really didn't have much give to it, and he doubted that anyone was meant to wear it longer than an hour.

Rafael was seated in one of the chairs at the makeup station, smoothing a goatee. He saw Nottingham's reflection in the mirror, "What do you think? I rather fancy the look myself."

Ian stared for a long moment, caught up in the implications of what he was seeing. "That is a very good look for you. I find I am missing mine; my chin is cold. Could you.?"

"No problem, but you might want to buy a scarf to wear until your beard comes back in. This doesn't work once the stubble starts to grow." Rafe warned as Nottingham began to shed the motorcycle costume behind him.

"Thank you," Ian replied gratefully, knowing he had just been handed the solution to his latest problem, "and thank you for the instruction. Everything went perfectly."

"Of course it did, I taught you everything you know didn't I?" Rafael said with the same surety that most people would have used to say that water was wet.

Ian sighed in relief as he finished dressing. Now that he was not so constricted, he began to concoct a story to protect himself as best he could, for he suspected that Sara was going to mention the striptease to Irons. Of course, he was assuming that Sara would accept Kenneth's invitation to dinner. She was willful enough to refuse, and she had done so before. Nottingham thought it best to be prepared, just in case.

Safe behind his false beard, Ian was looking forward to seeing Sara again. It should lay to rest any suspicions she may be harboring about the identity of her stripper. He had watched brief flickers of recognition cross her face during the striptease, especially when he had whispered his thanks. He hadn't meant to say anything to her at all, not having the means to disguise his voice, but he had been unable to stop himself.

**********************************************************************

Sara sailed back into her office; Dante's lecture about 'unbecoming conduct' had failed to make a dent in her good mood. In fact, she had hardly heard him. She kept replaying the afternoon's events in her mind's eye the entire time.

Dante had finally given up reaching her when he paused long enough to hear that she was humming under her breath. It had been the last straw. A vein began to visibly pulse on his forehead, and he had sent her out with the parting shot that there would be a write-up in her file.

As she closed the door, her partner looked up from his paperwork. A half-eaten sugar cookie paused in it's path to his mouth as he asked, "So, who was all that from?"

"I don't know yet. Dante jerked me into his office before I could check the card." Sara plopped down in her chair and tore open the envelope. An expensive Valentine card dropped into her hand, the paper heavy and tastefully edged in gold leaf. She opened it slowly, stretching out the suspense, then gasped in shock.

"What?" Jake prodded after several moments of silence.

Sara couldn't seem to find her voice, so she passed the card to McCarty. Her partner read the inscription aloud, disbelief coloring his voice, "Please accept these tokens of my affection, Kenneth Irons?"

They looked at each other across the desks, both wondering if they were having a very bizarre dream. Kenneth Irons, cultured billionaire, had sent a stripper to a homicide detective? It didn't make any sense.

"Well, at least he's got good taste." Jake gestured to the basket.

"Yeah. I wonder where he hired the stripper from?" Sara's mind was not on the gifts, but on the delivery method. Had her stripper been Irons' paid assassin, Ian Nottingham? It seemed impossible, but until today she would never have thought Kenneth would send her anything but cryptic replies and veiled threats.

The insistent ring of her cell phone jerked Sara back to the present. She answered automatically, still trying to understand what was going on, "Pezzini, go."

"Mr. Irons wishes to extend an invitation to dinner for seven o'clock tonight, at the mansion." Ian's voice was very formal. Sara couldn't be sure, but it also seemed that he was reluctant for her to accept.

Was he afraid that if she saw him, she would know he had been the one taking his clothes off in her office? "What's the dress code?"

"Mr. Irons has requested that you wear something nice, preferably a dress." Ian replied, and this time Sara knew he was trying to discourage her from attending.

"I don't know about the dress, it's hard to drive the Buell in one, but I'll be there. Tell Kenny I appreciated ALL my gifts, even the one I didn't get to unwrap as far as I would have liked." Sara couldn't resist giving the little dig. She hung up the phone before Ian could retort, laughing softly to her self.

***********************************************************************

For reasons Sara would barely admit to herself, she had gone to a great deal of effort getting ready for this dinner date. She had even borrowed a departmental vehicle so that she could wear the one formal dress in her wardrobe. It was a basic black cocktail gown in silk crepe, appropriate for everything from dinners to funerals.

While getting changed, she had been perversely tempted to wear the only other dress in her closet. It was a shiny red PVC dress that she had purchased as part of her Halloween costume last year. Somehow she didn't think Kenneth would get it if she showed up at his door dressed as Elizabeth Hurley's version of the Devil, even if she was feeling a little wicked.

Besides, she was sure that the real 'Prince of Darkness' of this piece, who had his forked tail tucked down his specially tailored trousers, would only see it as a sign of her coming around to his way of doing things. The last thing Sara wanted to do was encourage Irons. The man could not be trusted any farther than she could see him. Maybe not even that far.

Even the radio seemed pulled into the unintended theme, playing 'Devil With a Blue Dress', 'Sympathy for the Devil', and 'Devil Woman'. Heart's 'Magic Man' was playing as she pulled onto the private driveway. Sara drove right up to the main doors of the mansion. If Kenny had a problem with where she parked he could damn well send a flunkie out to move it.

There was no way she was walking any farther than she had to in the torture devices barely disguised as footwear. 'Why couldn't Nike make dress shoes?' Sara mused to herself as she strode toward the entrance, absently noting the placement of surveillance equipment.

The massive door swung open silently. Nottingham stood in the entryway, head down, looking exactly as he always did. Surprised by a sudden stab of disappointment, Sara realized she had been convinced on some level that 'Officer Hardbody' was Ian Nottingham. Yet here he stood, his neatly trimmed beard and mustache a striking contrast to her stripper's clean-shaven face.

"You look lovely this evening, Lady Sara." Ian said softly, raising his eyes to hers.

The terse retort that had been on her lips died unsaid as she looked into his eyes. Something primal lurked in those normally soulful orbs. The 'puppy-dog' expression he usually had was gone; in its place was a wolf.

"Please, come in." There was the slightest hint of humor in Ian's voice, as if he knew he had surprised her.

Sara could only assume he had seen the show, and was treating her differently because of it. The flash of anger, on top of the let down of finding out that her fantasy man was not Ian, freed her tongue, "Did you and your master watch this afternoon? Did you two get your rocks off imagining what it would have been like in his place?"

Ian's eyes widened and he stepped back. "Watched what? Were you intimately entangled this afternoon?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Kenny's Valentine gifts were delivered by a male stripper." Sara's eyes flashed green fire.

"Sara, I hired a delivery service to bring you your packages on Mr. Irons' behalf. I assure you, that is all I authorized. If someone took their clothes off it was purely on their own recognizance. Surely you do not think either of us would do something of that nature. It fair boggles the imagination." Ian stuck to the plan he had concocted while driving back to the mansion.

Since this jived with her initial reaction, Sara was inclined to believe him. She shook her head slightly, as if trying to jar the image out of her mind. "Of course it does. I have to admit that the name on the card completely floored me. It seemed more like something Gabe would have thought up. I just couldn't see Irons ordering something of that nature."

"Young Bowman? It is something he would have found entertaining, but I doubt he had the resources to know you would be receiving a gift at that time." Ian shrugged.

"True, but it does beg the question of who did arrange it." Sara's brow furrowed in puzzlement. The argument he made against Gabe was the snarl in almost every scenario she could come up with. Only Nottingham, Irons, and the delivery service knew when and where in this instance, and it seemed unlikely that any of the three would have even considered such a thing.

"Would you like me to investigate? I could enquire as to the identity of the delivery driver. Since I placed the order, the information should be readily available to me." Ian reached for his phone, hoping Sara would not call his bluff.

"No Nottingham, that's all right. I can look into it myself. I do have some investigative experience." Sara waved him off. She really didn't want him involved any more than he already was. Involving Ian meant involving Kenny, which she did not want to do.

"As you wish." Ian lowered his head, partly in obeisance and partly to hide his relief and began to lead her down the hall to the formal dining room. He was going to have to talk to the delivery driver, and make sure he told Sara only what Ian wanted her to hear.

Sara followed for a few feet and paused, "Hey Nottingham?"

"Yes Sara?" Ian paused, shoulders tense.

"Does Irons have to know? About the stripper, I mean." Sara trailed off hesitantly. She couldn't believe she'd even asked that question.

"No, he does not have to know, if that is what you desire." Ian felt his muscles relax. He had not expected to be spared lying to Irons. He had not been at all confident of his ability to dissemble about the afternoon's events to him.

"What I desire." Sara murmured to herself softly, thinking of the officer who wasn't.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for her. Irons was smooth, urbane, and charming, but nothing really made it past the fog of disappointment Sara was adrift in. She was quiet during dinner, content to let Kenneth talk. Sara made encouraging noises when he paused, because she had no idea what he had been saying.

For his part, Kenneth was congratulating himself on his brilliant tactics. Sara seemed totally overwhelmed by his earlier gesture and his attentive behavior this evening. He had never seen her so compliant or agreeable to his views.

Ian watched from the shadows as he always did, but this time there was a tiny smile curving his lips.

Once dessert had been cleared away, Sara made her excuses to leave. She needed to go home and think in peace. Kenneth let her go without incident, content with his night's work.

Sara strode to the car, silently castigating herself the entire way. Why was she so disappointed to learn that Nottingham had not been the one to strip for her today? He was a hired killer, and she was a cop. If the Witchblade hadn't come into her life, the only way they would have met was during the course of her investigating a list of suspects in a homicide. It seemed pointless to even contemplate a relationship with the man.

And yet. Sara couldn't help but notice him. Even before today she had been far too aware of Nottingham. She just wanted to go home, ditch the dress that she had honestly worn for him, and throw her shoes at the wall.

**********************************************************************



Sara went to open the car and realized she had no keys. The dress had no pockets so she had been forced to purchase a small matching clutch. She never carried a purse, except with this outfit, so she was always forgetting the damn thing. Swearing under her breath, she turned and marched back into the mansion without bothering to knock or ring the doorbell. They were probably watching her on closed circuit television anyway, so what was the point?

"What is this?" The disembodied voice of Kenneth traveled down the hall.

Sara flinched in sympathy for whoever was on the receiving end of that icy disapproval. Irons sounded like he was in rare form.

The response was indistinct, but something in the tone made her think it had been Ian speaking. Sara slowed; glad the Persian carpet muffled the sound of her high heels. She wasn't sure she wanted to interrupt, but she needed that stupid purse. She hesitated at the entrance, decided there was no help for it, and stepped through.

"Your explanation has more holes than a political campaign. Have you learned nothing from me, after all these years?" Irons was saying to Nottingham as Sara walked back into the dining room.

Kenneth's hand was gripping Ian's jaw tight enough to whiten his knuckles. Nottingham stood quietly, making no attempt to free himself. In fact, he seemed resigned to the situation, even though Irons' fingers were indenting his flesh. Kenneth tilted Nottingham's head to the side to better examine something, and Ian saw Sara hesitating at the door.

Sensing Ian's shift in attention, Kenneth turned to see what had distracted his poorly prevaricating servant.

"Excuse me, forgot my bag." Sara apologized as they both turned to stare questioningly at her.

Sara grabbed her purse off the ornately carved back of the wooden chair she had sat in during dinner, and walked up to them. She rose up on her toes and kissed Kenneth on the cheek to disguise the fact that she was trying to see what Irons was looking at. "Thank you for everything. It has been a most enlightening day."

It was hard not to burst out laughing at the startled looks they both gave her, but her ploy had worked. She had seen everything she needed to see. Ian's mustache was starting to droop on one side because it was a fake. He must not have used enough spirit gum adhesive and it was slowly pulling free.

Sara sashayed out of the dining room humming 'Slow and Easy'. She paused just past the doorframe and glanced over her shoulder. Both men were still watching her, Kenneth with the half-smile he favored when he was feeling pleased with himself, Ian with a look of complete mortification.

It was clear to see that Nottingham had never intended for her to find out, but Sara was glad she had. The vulnerability in that whispered 'thank you' had stayed with her just as much as the erotic visuals from the striptease. It had made her want to get to know him as a person, knowing his identity had not changed that. In fact, it made her even more intrigued. There was a great deal more to Ian than she had guessed.

"Feel free to boggle my imagination anytime." It was the closest Sara could come to reassuring Ian in front of Irons. She winked at Ian, not caring if Kenneth thought it was for him, and continued humming down the hall.

"Women are the most unfathomable creatures on Earth." Kenneth finally said, after a long silence. Sara's behavior had been most odd, and what was that abominable tune she was humming?