2TT
Neither noticed the limousine's route, they were much too involved in the wonder of each other. It wasn't until all motion ceased that Ian reluctantly pulled back from Sara's embrace. The last thing Ian wanted was to have Robert open the door and find them wrapped around each other like a couple of overheated teenagers in the back seat of Daddy's car.
That would certainly be how Robert would see the situation. Most of the older staff still considered him their adoptive child, and they all knew that Ian had never taken a girl out before. The chauffer had already made a comment about their boy growing up. Not that Robert was indiscreet, but he would tell the other members of his extended family out of genuine fondness. Rather like an over-proud uncle sharing his nephew's exploits at a family gathering.
Nottingham really did not want to have the magic reduced to something so common. Nor did he feel like sharing the feeling with anyone just yet, even if Robert could understand that it was more than a juvenile infatuation. It was too new. He wanted to hold the memory of Sara's kisses tight to his chest and silently revel in the wonder.
He smiled gently at the source of his thoughts, one hand tugging the wayward fabric of her dress back into place. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. He moved closer to the door once Sara was presentable, ready to leap out so he could in turn help her exit the vehicle.
Chivalry also mandated that he escort his lady to her door. If it earned him another kiss at the entrance to her apartment, well, who was he to argue? Ian smiled at the thought, although he was surprised that the door had not yet opened. Robert must be giving them time to pull themselves together. Perhaps he was hoping his young master was taking the opportunity to steal a kiss, having no way to know that Nottingham already had.
Even as he thought it, Nottingham felt a prickle of wrongness. The sensation grew into a stabbing sense of danger. He couldn't explain the feeling, and he didn't try. Instead he pushed Sara to the floorboard as he reached for the door handle. If he was wrong, he could always apologize later. Assuming there was a later.
Nottingham pressed his body as far back into the cushions as he could and turned the handle. The door did not budge. Clearly they were locked in, and somehow he did not think it was because Robert was playing Cupid. Ian would have cursed the excellent soundproofing of the limousine that kept him from hearing what was going on outside, but one did not swear in front of a lady.
Especially since the lady in question probably knew better and more inventive explexitives.
Sara spat out the carpet fuzzies she'd acquired during her unexpected descent. What the hell was he doing? She was debating getting back up as Ian tried to open the door. When it failed to give under his hand, she knew he had sensed something she hadn't.
The Witchblade responded to the spike of alarm from her by changing from bracelet to gauntlet with the harsh whisper of metal on metal. There was a moment to glance down at her wrist, and then the silence was shattered by automatic weapons fire.
Keeping the Witchblade in front of her like a shield, she knelt up and grabbed Ian by the open front of his white shirt. She pulled him down and rolled so that she was over him. The gauntlet expanded to full body armor as a hail of bullets filled the back of the limousine.
"Shit!" Sara cursed, knowing that any limo of Kenny's had to be bulletproof, which meant that the rounds coming through were armor piercing. Would the Witchblade prove up to the challenge of cutting edge technology? If it didn't, they were done for. There was no way to escape without rising up into the lethal barrage.
Or was there? Sara eyed the grey leather cushions. In a normal car, the back seats were the only thing between the trunk and the passenger area. Was the same thing true of limousines? She couldn't remember ever seeing a schematic of a limo, but she was about to find out.
Pezzini pulled her arm back as far as she could, glad of the spacious interior, and shoved the Witchblade into the wooden kickboard of the seat. The blade slid through with less resistance than she had expected, making her lurch forward. Grinning behind her visor, Sara dragged the gauntlet through the wood without regard for the veneer of polished oak, periodically having to saw as she hit a difficult angle.
The sound dampening filler stuck out behind the cuts in white clumps by the time Sara was confident that she had carved out an escape hatch. The blade pulled back, leaving two armored fists to lash out at the crude square she had cut. All those nights punching the bag really paid off. The panel shot into the open space of the trunk, leaving Sara space to crawl through.
"Stay down!" Sara hissed through her visor, not comfortable with the idea of moving away from him, but not seeing any other way to get out and confront the shooter.
Once in the trunk it was simplicity itself to hit the interior release. The hatch opened and Pezzini dived out in that split second that it took the shooter to realize what was happening. She hit the ground rolling, realizing as she hit the concrete that the armor had disappeared again. Sara fleetingly wondered why the Witchblade was so inconsistent in its protection, but had more important things to worry about.
There was a pile of pallets just to her left. Sara moved to the meager shelter, taking a moment to slip out of the high heels. There was no way she was going to be able to maneuver in the damn things. At least the dress was designed with mobility in mind, and wouldn't tangle around her legs or hamper movement.
Bullets chewed through wood, uncomfortably close to her head. Pezzini got her feet under her and scuttled for the next section of cover, trying to figure out how to close with her assailant without eating lead. Next time, assuming Ian wanted another date, she wasn't going to dress in anything she couldn't wear her sidearm with.
Sara almost missed the quiet pff of a silenced round under the automatic weapons fire, but the sudden cessation of bullets convinced her she had heard correctly. She peeked around the edge of the support beam she was behind just in time to see Nottingham spring out of the trunk.
Ian had a pistol with a silencer screwed onto the barrel in one hand. He held it in the ready position, calmly and professionally quartering the area. Sara realized anew how good it could be to have this man at your back.
The last time he had intervened to help her had been when Conchobar was killed. She had not been in the frame of mind to truly appreciate his skill at the time, but she had noted it. Unfortunately those memories had been part of the pain of losing her lover, and Pezzini had avoided looking too closely at those bitter hours.
Sara had believed herself cursed to lose those she cared for, and that she had somehow doomed Conchobar. Time, however, had worked it's magic, dimming the pain and the cutting edge of guilt that had slashed at her. The harsh truth was; they weren't really suited, no matter how romantic it had all seemed in the beginning. There were too many differences in their personalities and lifestyles for it to have lasted.
She knew now that their relationship would have gone the same way as most of her other tattooed, long haired drummer bad boy type boyfriends, regardless of the past life they had supposedly shared.
He'd have stayed in her apartment all day, drinking her beer and eating her out of house and home. Then he'd play at the clubs, when he had a paying gig that is, and come rolling in at obscenely late hours smelling of cigarettes, strange perfume, and booze. Eventually Pezzini would have gotten tired of his bullshit, groupie groping, and mooching and kicked his ass to the curb.
There was only one tattooed long haired bad boy in Sara's life these days, and she was having to face the fact that she had done him a grave disservice in her treatment of him. Nottingham would never even dream of abusing her house or her feelings, and he had a better understanding of her than anyone except Danny. Given the time and opportunity, Ian could become just as close.
The thought brought a stab of resistance, an instantaneous denial that anyone could rival the connection she had shared with her best friend and partner. Was that part of why she was so reluctant to accept Nottingham? Her new partner, Jake McCarty, was no competition for the relationship she used to have with Woo.
Nottingham had finished his scan while Sara was held with the force of her thoughts, and was moving to the limousine. His free hand came up and the hand signals he flashed her were so familiar she fell in without really thinking about what she doing.
Ian handed her a second pistol from the small of his back. Sara would have sworn he didn't have it while they were dancing. He must have some sort of weapons cache in the limousine. She checked the magazine, chambered a round, and nodded her readiness to proceed.
Together they moved through the warehouse like a mini S.W.A.T. team, checking for any other dangers. She did not feel like she was being disloyal to Danny when she was breaking in the surfer dude rookie. But right now this, oh yes this, connection with Ian almost felt like a betrayal of her partner's memory. Sara pushed the thought away and focused. Inattention at this juncture of the game could have a terminal effect.
However, their search turned up nothing more dangerous than some very large rats, and the infamous hissing cockroaches that plagued the poorer sections of New York. Convinced that they were in the clear, the two retuned to the limousine.
Pezzini focused for a moment, willing the Witchblade to return to its gauntlet form. She had no intention of putting her fingerprints all over the perp, and she had no rubber gloves handy. Using the protected hand, Sara turned the shooter over. There was a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
"Very clean shot for firing on the move," Sara was torn between admiration for his skill and the wish that he had simply disarmed the man, for she did not recognize his face. It would have been nice to know who he was and why he had been trying to kill them.
"Thank you Sara." Ian heard the conflict in her tone, and decided to let her voice her concerns, if it truly bothered her. He hoped she was not angry because he had terminated the shooter. Nottingham would not apologize for protecting her life, or his.
A quick riffling of the dead man's pockets did not turn up any identification, but Sara hadn't really expected it to. Most professionals made sure there was nothing on their person to incriminate them if they were picked up. The 'matchbook clue' was pretty much a literary device only.
Pezzini could count on one hand the number of times that such a thing had occurred, out of the hundreds of homicide cases she had worked. Not that she would have objected to such a thing being as common as it was in the movies and detective novels. It would be nice of the universe to make things that easy for her. Too bad she didn't live in a nice universe.
"We're going to have to burn the limousine." Ian said quietly, almost as though he was talking to himself.
"Why?" Sara cocked her head to the side so she could look up at him over the corpse.
"Because you used the Witchblade to cut through the back seat. The bullet holes I can explain as the work of a business rival, but those gouge marks are a different story. We'd best wipe down the vehicle, I don't want to take the chance that the fire will burn your fingerprints into any of the metal surfaces." Nottingham opened the back of the limousine and pulled their coats out.
"Won't Irons be angry that the limo was destroyed?"
"Not as angry as he would be if he found that I had spent the evening with you. He wants you for himself." There. He'd said it. Ian hunched his shoulders miserably and waited for Sara's reaction.
"He WHAT?!?! Of all the... What makes Irons think I'd ever belong to him? I wouldn't touch that Aryan control freak with a ten foot pole, much less crawl into bed with him." Sara spluttered. She was shocked and appalled at this latest piece of information.
"Your predecessor was quite smitten with him." Nottingham pointed out.
"My predecessor must have been very naïve not to see through Kenny's bullshit. That, or she stood too close to a detonating grenade at some point." Sara shook her head.
A small smile crept over Ian's face. So, fair Sara's affections were not so fixed upon his master as he had been led to believe.
"Wait a minute. I take it you are going to be in deep trouble if Irons finds out we went out tonight, right?" Sara asked.
"Yes. I cannot say what he would do for certain, but it would not be pleasant." Ian kept from wincing at the understatement, but it was a close thing.
"You really need a new job." Sara shook her head.
"It's a little more complicated than that." Nottingham sighed.
"Somehow, it always is," Chalk up yet another obstacle to having a relationship with the darkly handsome man in front of her. Pezzini stood, the hand without the gauntlet smoothing her green skirt.
"Yes, but none of it changes the way I feel about you. There has to be a way for us to be together, and we will find it. I have faith." Ian's voice was filled with conviction.
Sara smiled at the picture he presented with his hair falling wildly around his shoulders. With the white shirt now torn almost to his waist from her urgent grab in the limousine, he really did look like the cover of a romance novel. Now he was talking like one too.
"Come on Fabio, let's get the car taken care of. We can figure the rest out later." Sara opened the front of the limo, intending to check for something to wipe down the interior with.
A grey haired man fell out of the opening door onto Pezzini, who tried her best to catch him. Her balance was better without the high heels, but the angle of his fall was awkward. In the end, she managed to keep hold of his shoulders, but his lower body hit the concrete with a muted thump.
Pezzini could see the blood behind his ear, and lowered him the rest of the way to the ground. There was a knot formed under the broken skin, consistent with a strike from a blackjack. She checked for a pulse. It was thready under her hand, too much so to be accounted for by the head wound. She began to look him over for the cause and found it rather quickly.
The black of his chauffer uniform had hidden the blood from a casual glance, especially in this crappy light, but the sticky feel of it under her hand was unmistakable. Robert had been shot through the stomach, arm, and left leg. Stray bullets must have ricocheted through the seat and into the unconscious man.
"Call an ambulance. I don't think Robert can wait while we destroy evidence." Sara's voice was grim as she laid the poor man out and started basic first aid. She needed to do what she could to stop the bleeding and get his core temperature back up. From the clammy feel of his skin, Robert was already in shock.
Neither noticed the limousine's route, they were much too involved in the wonder of each other. It wasn't until all motion ceased that Ian reluctantly pulled back from Sara's embrace. The last thing Ian wanted was to have Robert open the door and find them wrapped around each other like a couple of overheated teenagers in the back seat of Daddy's car.
That would certainly be how Robert would see the situation. Most of the older staff still considered him their adoptive child, and they all knew that Ian had never taken a girl out before. The chauffer had already made a comment about their boy growing up. Not that Robert was indiscreet, but he would tell the other members of his extended family out of genuine fondness. Rather like an over-proud uncle sharing his nephew's exploits at a family gathering.
Nottingham really did not want to have the magic reduced to something so common. Nor did he feel like sharing the feeling with anyone just yet, even if Robert could understand that it was more than a juvenile infatuation. It was too new. He wanted to hold the memory of Sara's kisses tight to his chest and silently revel in the wonder.
He smiled gently at the source of his thoughts, one hand tugging the wayward fabric of her dress back into place. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. He moved closer to the door once Sara was presentable, ready to leap out so he could in turn help her exit the vehicle.
Chivalry also mandated that he escort his lady to her door. If it earned him another kiss at the entrance to her apartment, well, who was he to argue? Ian smiled at the thought, although he was surprised that the door had not yet opened. Robert must be giving them time to pull themselves together. Perhaps he was hoping his young master was taking the opportunity to steal a kiss, having no way to know that Nottingham already had.
Even as he thought it, Nottingham felt a prickle of wrongness. The sensation grew into a stabbing sense of danger. He couldn't explain the feeling, and he didn't try. Instead he pushed Sara to the floorboard as he reached for the door handle. If he was wrong, he could always apologize later. Assuming there was a later.
Nottingham pressed his body as far back into the cushions as he could and turned the handle. The door did not budge. Clearly they were locked in, and somehow he did not think it was because Robert was playing Cupid. Ian would have cursed the excellent soundproofing of the limousine that kept him from hearing what was going on outside, but one did not swear in front of a lady.
Especially since the lady in question probably knew better and more inventive explexitives.
Sara spat out the carpet fuzzies she'd acquired during her unexpected descent. What the hell was he doing? She was debating getting back up as Ian tried to open the door. When it failed to give under his hand, she knew he had sensed something she hadn't.
The Witchblade responded to the spike of alarm from her by changing from bracelet to gauntlet with the harsh whisper of metal on metal. There was a moment to glance down at her wrist, and then the silence was shattered by automatic weapons fire.
Keeping the Witchblade in front of her like a shield, she knelt up and grabbed Ian by the open front of his white shirt. She pulled him down and rolled so that she was over him. The gauntlet expanded to full body armor as a hail of bullets filled the back of the limousine.
"Shit!" Sara cursed, knowing that any limo of Kenny's had to be bulletproof, which meant that the rounds coming through were armor piercing. Would the Witchblade prove up to the challenge of cutting edge technology? If it didn't, they were done for. There was no way to escape without rising up into the lethal barrage.
Or was there? Sara eyed the grey leather cushions. In a normal car, the back seats were the only thing between the trunk and the passenger area. Was the same thing true of limousines? She couldn't remember ever seeing a schematic of a limo, but she was about to find out.
Pezzini pulled her arm back as far as she could, glad of the spacious interior, and shoved the Witchblade into the wooden kickboard of the seat. The blade slid through with less resistance than she had expected, making her lurch forward. Grinning behind her visor, Sara dragged the gauntlet through the wood without regard for the veneer of polished oak, periodically having to saw as she hit a difficult angle.
The sound dampening filler stuck out behind the cuts in white clumps by the time Sara was confident that she had carved out an escape hatch. The blade pulled back, leaving two armored fists to lash out at the crude square she had cut. All those nights punching the bag really paid off. The panel shot into the open space of the trunk, leaving Sara space to crawl through.
"Stay down!" Sara hissed through her visor, not comfortable with the idea of moving away from him, but not seeing any other way to get out and confront the shooter.
Once in the trunk it was simplicity itself to hit the interior release. The hatch opened and Pezzini dived out in that split second that it took the shooter to realize what was happening. She hit the ground rolling, realizing as she hit the concrete that the armor had disappeared again. Sara fleetingly wondered why the Witchblade was so inconsistent in its protection, but had more important things to worry about.
There was a pile of pallets just to her left. Sara moved to the meager shelter, taking a moment to slip out of the high heels. There was no way she was going to be able to maneuver in the damn things. At least the dress was designed with mobility in mind, and wouldn't tangle around her legs or hamper movement.
Bullets chewed through wood, uncomfortably close to her head. Pezzini got her feet under her and scuttled for the next section of cover, trying to figure out how to close with her assailant without eating lead. Next time, assuming Ian wanted another date, she wasn't going to dress in anything she couldn't wear her sidearm with.
Sara almost missed the quiet pff of a silenced round under the automatic weapons fire, but the sudden cessation of bullets convinced her she had heard correctly. She peeked around the edge of the support beam she was behind just in time to see Nottingham spring out of the trunk.
Ian had a pistol with a silencer screwed onto the barrel in one hand. He held it in the ready position, calmly and professionally quartering the area. Sara realized anew how good it could be to have this man at your back.
The last time he had intervened to help her had been when Conchobar was killed. She had not been in the frame of mind to truly appreciate his skill at the time, but she had noted it. Unfortunately those memories had been part of the pain of losing her lover, and Pezzini had avoided looking too closely at those bitter hours.
Sara had believed herself cursed to lose those she cared for, and that she had somehow doomed Conchobar. Time, however, had worked it's magic, dimming the pain and the cutting edge of guilt that had slashed at her. The harsh truth was; they weren't really suited, no matter how romantic it had all seemed in the beginning. There were too many differences in their personalities and lifestyles for it to have lasted.
She knew now that their relationship would have gone the same way as most of her other tattooed, long haired drummer bad boy type boyfriends, regardless of the past life they had supposedly shared.
He'd have stayed in her apartment all day, drinking her beer and eating her out of house and home. Then he'd play at the clubs, when he had a paying gig that is, and come rolling in at obscenely late hours smelling of cigarettes, strange perfume, and booze. Eventually Pezzini would have gotten tired of his bullshit, groupie groping, and mooching and kicked his ass to the curb.
There was only one tattooed long haired bad boy in Sara's life these days, and she was having to face the fact that she had done him a grave disservice in her treatment of him. Nottingham would never even dream of abusing her house or her feelings, and he had a better understanding of her than anyone except Danny. Given the time and opportunity, Ian could become just as close.
The thought brought a stab of resistance, an instantaneous denial that anyone could rival the connection she had shared with her best friend and partner. Was that part of why she was so reluctant to accept Nottingham? Her new partner, Jake McCarty, was no competition for the relationship she used to have with Woo.
Nottingham had finished his scan while Sara was held with the force of her thoughts, and was moving to the limousine. His free hand came up and the hand signals he flashed her were so familiar she fell in without really thinking about what she doing.
Ian handed her a second pistol from the small of his back. Sara would have sworn he didn't have it while they were dancing. He must have some sort of weapons cache in the limousine. She checked the magazine, chambered a round, and nodded her readiness to proceed.
Together they moved through the warehouse like a mini S.W.A.T. team, checking for any other dangers. She did not feel like she was being disloyal to Danny when she was breaking in the surfer dude rookie. But right now this, oh yes this, connection with Ian almost felt like a betrayal of her partner's memory. Sara pushed the thought away and focused. Inattention at this juncture of the game could have a terminal effect.
However, their search turned up nothing more dangerous than some very large rats, and the infamous hissing cockroaches that plagued the poorer sections of New York. Convinced that they were in the clear, the two retuned to the limousine.
Pezzini focused for a moment, willing the Witchblade to return to its gauntlet form. She had no intention of putting her fingerprints all over the perp, and she had no rubber gloves handy. Using the protected hand, Sara turned the shooter over. There was a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.
"Very clean shot for firing on the move," Sara was torn between admiration for his skill and the wish that he had simply disarmed the man, for she did not recognize his face. It would have been nice to know who he was and why he had been trying to kill them.
"Thank you Sara." Ian heard the conflict in her tone, and decided to let her voice her concerns, if it truly bothered her. He hoped she was not angry because he had terminated the shooter. Nottingham would not apologize for protecting her life, or his.
A quick riffling of the dead man's pockets did not turn up any identification, but Sara hadn't really expected it to. Most professionals made sure there was nothing on their person to incriminate them if they were picked up. The 'matchbook clue' was pretty much a literary device only.
Pezzini could count on one hand the number of times that such a thing had occurred, out of the hundreds of homicide cases she had worked. Not that she would have objected to such a thing being as common as it was in the movies and detective novels. It would be nice of the universe to make things that easy for her. Too bad she didn't live in a nice universe.
"We're going to have to burn the limousine." Ian said quietly, almost as though he was talking to himself.
"Why?" Sara cocked her head to the side so she could look up at him over the corpse.
"Because you used the Witchblade to cut through the back seat. The bullet holes I can explain as the work of a business rival, but those gouge marks are a different story. We'd best wipe down the vehicle, I don't want to take the chance that the fire will burn your fingerprints into any of the metal surfaces." Nottingham opened the back of the limousine and pulled their coats out.
"Won't Irons be angry that the limo was destroyed?"
"Not as angry as he would be if he found that I had spent the evening with you. He wants you for himself." There. He'd said it. Ian hunched his shoulders miserably and waited for Sara's reaction.
"He WHAT?!?! Of all the... What makes Irons think I'd ever belong to him? I wouldn't touch that Aryan control freak with a ten foot pole, much less crawl into bed with him." Sara spluttered. She was shocked and appalled at this latest piece of information.
"Your predecessor was quite smitten with him." Nottingham pointed out.
"My predecessor must have been very naïve not to see through Kenny's bullshit. That, or she stood too close to a detonating grenade at some point." Sara shook her head.
A small smile crept over Ian's face. So, fair Sara's affections were not so fixed upon his master as he had been led to believe.
"Wait a minute. I take it you are going to be in deep trouble if Irons finds out we went out tonight, right?" Sara asked.
"Yes. I cannot say what he would do for certain, but it would not be pleasant." Ian kept from wincing at the understatement, but it was a close thing.
"You really need a new job." Sara shook her head.
"It's a little more complicated than that." Nottingham sighed.
"Somehow, it always is," Chalk up yet another obstacle to having a relationship with the darkly handsome man in front of her. Pezzini stood, the hand without the gauntlet smoothing her green skirt.
"Yes, but none of it changes the way I feel about you. There has to be a way for us to be together, and we will find it. I have faith." Ian's voice was filled with conviction.
Sara smiled at the picture he presented with his hair falling wildly around his shoulders. With the white shirt now torn almost to his waist from her urgent grab in the limousine, he really did look like the cover of a romance novel. Now he was talking like one too.
"Come on Fabio, let's get the car taken care of. We can figure the rest out later." Sara opened the front of the limo, intending to check for something to wipe down the interior with.
A grey haired man fell out of the opening door onto Pezzini, who tried her best to catch him. Her balance was better without the high heels, but the angle of his fall was awkward. In the end, she managed to keep hold of his shoulders, but his lower body hit the concrete with a muted thump.
Pezzini could see the blood behind his ear, and lowered him the rest of the way to the ground. There was a knot formed under the broken skin, consistent with a strike from a blackjack. She checked for a pulse. It was thready under her hand, too much so to be accounted for by the head wound. She began to look him over for the cause and found it rather quickly.
The black of his chauffer uniform had hidden the blood from a casual glance, especially in this crappy light, but the sticky feel of it under her hand was unmistakable. Robert had been shot through the stomach, arm, and left leg. Stray bullets must have ricocheted through the seat and into the unconscious man.
"Call an ambulance. I don't think Robert can wait while we destroy evidence." Sara's voice was grim as she laid the poor man out and started basic first aid. She needed to do what she could to stop the bleeding and get his core temperature back up. From the clammy feel of his skin, Robert was already in shock.