Dylan borrowed the dark-blue convertible Audi, tossing her purse into the
seat next to her. It was a sunny day, and she could use the feel of wind
whipping through her hair.
Instinctively, she reached up and gingerly touched the tiny bald patch on the back of her head. She still couldn't believe that he was alive, and that she hadn't had the guts to even check the alley after the fight. How long had he suffered down there? Impaled by his own sword, protecting her.
Dylan slammed her hands on the steering wheel. How could she have been so heartless? She kept driving, more determined to get to the agency and see him. He was being held in an observation room at a secret headquarters in southern California. Charlie wouldn't mention why he was being kept, but Dylan suspected that it had something to do with the Knox case and his involvement.
"That was before," Dylan whispered to the air that rushed past her head, "before he helped us, before he saved Max, before he saved me..."
A car honked at her, and she realized that she'd been slowly edging into another lane. Deciding to keep her mind on driving, Dylan turned on the radio. "Love Song," by The Cure. She switched the station.
Her mind wandered again. This time, she thought about all the short, strange encounters she had with the Thin Man. The party, when he'd been standing by, so aloof. In his pinstripes and intense stare, he looked like he belonged to a life of luxury, but the cross around his neck had told her otherwise. They'd followed him into the alley, and she'd smashed him in the ribs with a kick, sending him flying backwards. But she couldn't help study him, the way he moved when fighting, the fluid grace of him. And he was so slight, tall and thin, with sinewy muscles that she could feel even through her boot.
That was when he'd stolen a lock of her hair, ripped it right out of her head with a primal scream. The look in his ice-blue eyes–a pure, intense, crazed kind of joy that overtook his body and forced the thin frame to shake uncontrollably. It had frightened her.
And again, when she had been lured by Knox...Knox, she could almost kill herself over that one. But no, she was too proud to die over him. His stupid, cocky grin, and his, at the time, loveable eyes. Damn Knox, ruining her already destroyed self-esteem. Standing in that apartment, watching Knox rub himself all over Vivian, in nothing but a bed-sheet. How stupid could she have been?
"Not stupid," she said aloud to no one, "Lonely. Just lonely."
But Thin Man had been there, emerged from the shadows with a knowing look, admired her in her bed-sheet attire. He smoked the cigarette with caressing lips, savoring it. And she couldn't believe he worked for that rat Knox...all that time. A double dealer. An assassin. Her enemy.
No, not an enemy. He didn't have enemies, or friends. He only had himself.
"If that was the case, though, then why did he save Max?" She was talking to herself again, but she didn't care. Driving always gave her time to think, to gather her thoughts and put them in some kind of logical order. And for Dylan Saunders, that was terribly hard to do.
He saved Max because it was a piece of his childhood, a fellow orphan. Maybe that's why he had saved Dylan. Orphans, the both of them. Alone. She smiled a little, thinking of his strong arms, frail-looking, but strong, supporting her on the roof-top. She'd stared deep into his eyes, as deep as she could without drowning. And he'd relaxed, allowed his lips to join hers in a fleeting moment of joy, and he was ripped away from her. Along with a lock of her hair.
"Bastard," she grinned. When she saw him, she was going to demand her hair back.
Instinctively, she reached up and gingerly touched the tiny bald patch on the back of her head. She still couldn't believe that he was alive, and that she hadn't had the guts to even check the alley after the fight. How long had he suffered down there? Impaled by his own sword, protecting her.
Dylan slammed her hands on the steering wheel. How could she have been so heartless? She kept driving, more determined to get to the agency and see him. He was being held in an observation room at a secret headquarters in southern California. Charlie wouldn't mention why he was being kept, but Dylan suspected that it had something to do with the Knox case and his involvement.
"That was before," Dylan whispered to the air that rushed past her head, "before he helped us, before he saved Max, before he saved me..."
A car honked at her, and she realized that she'd been slowly edging into another lane. Deciding to keep her mind on driving, Dylan turned on the radio. "Love Song," by The Cure. She switched the station.
Her mind wandered again. This time, she thought about all the short, strange encounters she had with the Thin Man. The party, when he'd been standing by, so aloof. In his pinstripes and intense stare, he looked like he belonged to a life of luxury, but the cross around his neck had told her otherwise. They'd followed him into the alley, and she'd smashed him in the ribs with a kick, sending him flying backwards. But she couldn't help study him, the way he moved when fighting, the fluid grace of him. And he was so slight, tall and thin, with sinewy muscles that she could feel even through her boot.
That was when he'd stolen a lock of her hair, ripped it right out of her head with a primal scream. The look in his ice-blue eyes–a pure, intense, crazed kind of joy that overtook his body and forced the thin frame to shake uncontrollably. It had frightened her.
And again, when she had been lured by Knox...Knox, she could almost kill herself over that one. But no, she was too proud to die over him. His stupid, cocky grin, and his, at the time, loveable eyes. Damn Knox, ruining her already destroyed self-esteem. Standing in that apartment, watching Knox rub himself all over Vivian, in nothing but a bed-sheet. How stupid could she have been?
"Not stupid," she said aloud to no one, "Lonely. Just lonely."
But Thin Man had been there, emerged from the shadows with a knowing look, admired her in her bed-sheet attire. He smoked the cigarette with caressing lips, savoring it. And she couldn't believe he worked for that rat Knox...all that time. A double dealer. An assassin. Her enemy.
No, not an enemy. He didn't have enemies, or friends. He only had himself.
"If that was the case, though, then why did he save Max?" She was talking to herself again, but she didn't care. Driving always gave her time to think, to gather her thoughts and put them in some kind of logical order. And for Dylan Saunders, that was terribly hard to do.
He saved Max because it was a piece of his childhood, a fellow orphan. Maybe that's why he had saved Dylan. Orphans, the both of them. Alone. She smiled a little, thinking of his strong arms, frail-looking, but strong, supporting her on the roof-top. She'd stared deep into his eyes, as deep as she could without drowning. And he'd relaxed, allowed his lips to join hers in a fleeting moment of joy, and he was ripped away from her. Along with a lock of her hair.
"Bastard," she grinned. When she saw him, she was going to demand her hair back.