A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't pretend to own the rights to the Witchblade characters. I'm just borrowing them. Enjoy!
Chapter 39.
The traffic light Sara had stopped at turned green, then yellow, then red again, but she was so stunned by what Gabriel had just told her, she failed to notice. Even the loud horns of the irritated drivers behind her barely registered.
"Chief? Are you still there?" Gabriel said.
"Oh my God!" she whispered. "What am I gonna do, Gabriel? Nottingham will die unless he gets that antidote. What am I gonna do?" The light turned green again, and nearly blinded by tears, she pulled around the corner and parked next to a fire hydrant. Sobs began to rack her slender body.
"I'm sure help is on the way to Irons' estate as we speak. Maybe after the Russians are defeated, Irons can rush the antidote to Nottingham. He's gotta have more than one helicopter, right? Or maybe one of his rich buddies can lend him one of theirs. Don't worry, Chief, Nottingham is gonna be fine," her friend tried his best to reassure her.
"No, he's not, Gabriel!" Sara wailed. "His fever is going through the roof. It could be hours before it's safe to fly a helicopter into or out of that place. Nottingham doesn't have much time. If you saw him, you'd realize it, too. What the hell am I gonna do?"
"Just be there for him, I guess. Don't let him die alone, even though he'll probably insist that you leave in order to spare you the pain of watching him suffer," Gabriel said quietly.
"Uh, not exactly the advice I was looking for there, guy!" Sara hiccupped, regaining her equilibrium with an effort. "There has to be something I can do. Like maybe use the Witchblade to heal him. The other night, you said you had come across some history that suggested past Wielders had used the Witchblade to heal their Protectors, right?" she recalled, a seed of hope taking root in her heart.
"Yeah, but I also told you it indicated that the bond between the Wielder and her Protector had to be very, very strong in order for it to work. Much as I hate to say this, Chief, I don't know if your bond with Nottingham is strong enough for that to work."
"I gotta try it, Gabriel. Nottingham doesn't have any other options. I can't lose him now. Not after I just discovered who he is. I need him if I'm gonna survive long enough to really learn how to use this thing," she said, glancing at the bracelet's quiescent stone. "Maybe that will be incentive enough for the Witchblade to heal him. It can't want me to go around Protector-less, can It?"
"Go for it, then," Gabriel told her. "Have you figured out someplace safe to take him?"
"Yeah, I think so, but I'm gonna play it by ear. I'll call you and let you know how everything works out, okay? Right now, I've gotta get back to Vicky's place."
"Okay, Chief. I'll keep monitoring the situation at Irons' estate. If I hear that the siege has ended, I'll give you a call. If need be, I'll borrow my neighbor Henry's car and drive out to Westchester to get the antidote and bring it to wherever you and Ian are."
"He's grown on you, hasn't he?" Sara asked the young businessman.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said. "I know I'd like the opportunity to get to know him better. Plus, he's really knowledgeable about my line of work. I was totally serious about consulting him on some of my finds."
"Well, hopefully, you'll get the chance to do that. Speak to you later, Gabriel. Wish me luck!"
"Goodbye, Chief, and good luck!"
Exhausted by her crying jag, Sara pulled away from the fire hydrant and suddenly found herself fighting the urge to burst into tears again. She sincerely hoped that Nottingham had been too busy having his injuries tended by Vicky to notice the breaking news story about his employer being attacked. Not that it mattered; he was sure to figure out something had gone wrong as soon as she returned without the antidote. If by some miracle he hadn't seen the news story, Sara dreaded having to tell him why Dr. Immo hadn't shown up. She was also afraid that, despite being injured and weakened by blood loss, he would attempt to mount a rescue of Kenneth Irons. If Nottingham decided he wanted to do something foolish like that, Sara highly doubted she could stop him. The man he called his master had some kind of psychological hold over the assassin that she didn't fully understand. Add to that his fever-induced irrationality, and it could spell disaster. She decided to call Vicky to see how things were going.
"Hello?"
"Vicky, it's me."
"Sara! Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured, wondering why her friend sounded so relieved. "How is Nottingham?"
"I bandaged his thigh and taped his ribs. Although the bullet wound wasn't serious, he did suffer some blood loss and I'm pretty sure he's got at least three cracked and two fractured ribs. However, he's got a much bigger problem than that, Sara. As I'm sure you're aware, he's running a scarily high fever," Vicky told her and then dramatically lowered her voice, "and I think he's starting to hallucinate."
Sara's heart sank. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, about ten minutes ago, he became agitated, saying that you were upset and crying, and that he had to go to you. He seems to think he has some sort of psychic connection to you."
"What is he doing now?"
"Well, he calmed down after a couple of minutes, and now he's just sort of standing there, staring into space and rocking. It's really weirding me out, Sara. When will you be back?"
"I should be there in less than ten minutes, Vic. Um, by any chance did he happen to see a breaking news story on the TV around the same time that he became agitated?"
"Yeah. How did you know that? By the way, he claims that billionaire Kenneth Irons -- coincidentally, the same guy whose estate is under attack, according to the news -- is his boss. Is that true or just another hallucination?"
"No, it's true. What did Nottingham say when he saw the report?"
"Not much, aside from the fact that Mr. Moneybags is his employer. What's going on, Sara? I get the feeling that there's much more here than meets the eye."
"It's kind of a long story, Vic. I promise I'll explain everything when I have more time. I'm gonna come up and get Nottingham, and then we're heading someplace safe where he can recuperate."
"Okay. I'll see you in a little bit. Bye."
"Bye." Sara hung up and took off the headset, sighing. So, Nottingham knew that Irons' estate was under siege, but hadn't rushed off to his employer's rescue. This meant he also knew that Sara hadn't gotten the antidote. Apparently, her highly emotional reaction to the news that Dr. Immo wasn't coming had alerted him to the fact that something had gone wrong, and she realized that he must have sensed how upset she was through his bond with her. Ordinarily, this would have freaked her out in a big way, but now it gave her added hope that maybe she could heal him using the Witchblade. She tried not to think about the fact that the bond was not mutual, nor could it be, according to Gabriel and Witchblade lore, unless she and Nottingham became much more than just friends. However, there was nothing she could do to change that now: She highly doubted he was in any shape to do the horizontal tango. But in the future -- if Nottingham had a future -- Sara decided that she would consider the possibility of them exploring a relationship.
"Just consider, mind you," she said aloud to the bracelet on her right wrist, which chose that moment to flare to life, almost as if it were pleased by her decision. "So, don't get your hopes up! None of this changes the fact that he's an assassin and I'm a cop, or that he works for a seriously twisted and evil man. Only please, please, please help me heal him, Witchy! I don't want my Protector to die!"
****
Vicky Po hung up her phone and regarded the tall, black-clad man standing in the middle of her living room.
"I suppose you 'sense' that Sara is on her way back here," she murmured, not expecting a response.
"Yes," Nottingham said, surprising her. "She is not far."
With her help, he had put his thick, black, cable-knit sweater back on. He also had on the sling, having decided to wear it under his overcoat rather than outside like before, meaning there would be one less layer to painfully remove later.
After watching the news report, Nottingham had become withdrawn and restless, pacing to and fro in front of the door to the apartment. When Vicky had quietly reminded him that physical activity would only drive his fever higher faster, he had moved to the spot where he now stood. Taking her digital thermometer from her medicine cabinet, Vicky had approached him and requested that he let her take his temperature, but the look he'd given her from beneath his dark brows had instantly made her back away. She'd kept her distance since then.
"I am in love with Sara, but she does not love me," he announced.
"You mean she's just using your hot bod to satisfy her base desires?" Vicky blurted out. "That selfish bitch!"
For the first time in nearly 20 minutes, Nottingham focused on his hostess.
"I do not like it when anyone insults my Lady," he said softly, febrile hazel eyes meeting hers. "But in answer to your question, no, our relationship is platonic."
"What is she, nuts?" Vicky exclaimed. "Oops, sorry. That was insulting again, wasn't it? Oh, what the hell -- sue me. She's obviously stupid or blind, or both."
Ian frowned in confusion. "Why do you say that?"
Vicky stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"
He shrugged, then winced, his right hand going to his injured shoulder. "Of course. Whenever I perform personal grooming."
Vicky laughed. "Seriously, Ian, you do realize you're gorgeous, don't you?"
He shrugged his good shoulder. "I have never given it much thought," he said truthfully. "Perhaps my appearance is simply not pleasing to my Lady."
"Then she must be either a lesbian or paralyzed below the waist," Vicky opined, shaking her head. "I'd do you in a New York minute!" She watched, fascinated, as a blush reddened his already flushed face. "However, you do hide your, ahem, light under a bushel."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "'Light' is a euphemism for my 'hot bod,' correct?"
"Yes! What I'm trying to say, Ian, is that you tend to hide your considerable assets beneath all those layers of black clothing. Try showing Sara a little skin from time to time!" she suggested.
Ian frowned, lowering his eyes. "As you are no doubt aware, I am highly uncomfortable showing skin, as you put it. Besides, the opportunities to do so are few and far between."
Just then, Vicky's doorbell rang. "Oh, somebody must have let Sara in," she said, heading for the door.
"That is not Sara, Ms. Po," Ian murmured.
She threw him a disbelieving look over her shoulder. "How do you know that?"
"Through my bond with her."
"Oh, yeah. Right." Humoring him, Vicky peered through the door's peephole and then gasped. "Jake! What the heck are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
"Uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," Jake McCartey's voice said through the door. "Can I come in?"
"Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Just let me straighten up a bit," Vicky said, glancing rather wildly around at all of the evidence of her unexpected and injured guest that was in plain sight, not the least of which was the man himself.
"Hey, mess is not a problem, Vicky girl!" Jake called. "Let me in!"
"Um, yes, it is! I'll just be a minute. Quick," she whispered to Nottingham, "hide in my bedroom!"
"Why?" Ian asked, frowning.
"Because Jake doesn't know about you and I think Sara would like to keep it that way, that's why!" she hissed. "Come on!" She grabbed his discarded clothing and overcoat, the first-aid kit, the harness that had once held his katana and the one containing all of his numerous weapons, and started to head for her bedroom.
"How will you explain Sara's arrival to Detective McCartey, Ms. Po? She is parking the car as we speak, and will be here momentarily," Ian said, still not moving.
"I'll call her on her cell phone and tell her to stay downstairs until I can get rid of him! Now, move it, Nottingham!" she whispered exasperatedly.
"Very well." He preceded her into her bedroom.
Vicky tossed the first-aid kit and his clothing onto the bed, carefully placing the weapons on top of them, then snatched up the phone on the nightstand.
"Pezzini, go."
"Um, Sara, we've got a problem: Jake is at my front door," she told her friend.
"I do not like Detective McCartey," Ian commented, reaching down to finger one of his Glocks. "He is not what he seems."
"Oh shit! What are you gonna do about Nottingham?" Sara asked Vicky, dismayed.
"I've hidden him in my bedroom, where he's currently fondling one of about a gazillion weapons and talking about how he doesn't like Jake."
"Must be the fever," Sara murmured, unconcerned.
"Uh, yeah. Please put that very big gun away, Ian, there's a good boy," Sara heard her say cajolingly to Nottingham.
"Okay, listen Vicky, here's what you do: Earlier today, on the way to the drug bust, Jake mentioned that he had rented several movies and stocked up on all kinds of munchies. He also told me that he was thinking of inviting you over to his place to ride out the blizzard with him. If he invites you over, go with him. After you guys leave, I'll come up, get Nottingham, and we'll be on our way," Sara told her.
"Did he really say he was thinking of inviting me over?" Vicky asked, grinning happily.
"I do not believe Detective McCartey is as naïve as he pretends to be either," Ian opined, admiring the way the light shone on the razor-sharp blade of one of his throwing knives.
"Focus, Vicky," Sara said. "Put Nottingham on the phone, and then go and let Jake in. Turn the volume on the TV up loud so he doesn't hear us talking."
"Okay. Ian, sweetie, put your toys away now, Sara wants to talk to you," Sara heard her say to the assassin. "And try to keep your voice down, okay?"
"Sara, why were you crying?" Nottingham asked as soon as he came on the line.
"Um, PMS," she mumbled. "I get really emotional during this time of the month and often start blubbering for no reason at all."
"Forgive me for saying so, but I think you are lying, my Lady. I think you were weeping because you found out that Dr. Immo may have been killed and therefore will not be able to bring me the antidote," he told her. "I think you are sad that I am going to die."
"You're not going to die, Nottingham, so stop saying that!" Sara shouted at him, horrified to feel tears fill her eyes again.
"'No longer mourn for me when I am dead than you shall hear the surly sullen bell give warning to the world that I am fled from this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not the hand that writ it; for I love you so, that I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, if thinking on me then should make you woe,'" Ian whispered. "There. I said it. I love you, Sara. I love you."
"Nottingham, you're not in your right mind," Sara said, trying and failing to keep from sobbing. 'Oh God,' she thought desperately, 'we're running out of time! Please hurry up, Vicky!'
"On the contrary, I have never been more lucid," he told her. "I do not know why I waited so long to tell you how I feel about you. I know you do not love me, but -- Oh, Ms. Po is back and wants to speak to you, my love."
"You were right, Sara. Jake invited me over to his place. I'm just gonna throw a few things into an overnight bag and then we'll be off," Vicky said, eyeing Nottingham, who was staring dreamily into space.
"I confessed my love to Sara," Ian told her, smiling. But then he frowned. "But I also made her cry again. It hurts me when she weeps. Here," he placed his right hand on his heart.
"Not a moment too soon, Vic," Sara sniffled. "As you can probably tell, Nottingham's pretty far gone. I've got to get him someplace safe before he really loses it." She paused, wiping the tears from her face. "Oh, by the way, I told Jake some story about coming to your place after leaving the burning warehouse. He thinks you treated me for a concussion and that you're gonna call me every half an hour at home to make sure I haven't slipped into a coma."
"Oh, so that's what he was babbling about! I got you covered, girlfriend. I'll just talk to your answering machine. Listen, Sara, now that I've treated his bullet wound, you might want to think about taking Ian to a hospital. I think he's seriously ill. However, if you don't want to take that risk, your first priority should be bringing that fever down. I'll call you on your cell tomorrow to find out how he's feeling, okay?"
"Okay. Tell him I'll be up to get him after you guys leave."
"You know, since I won't be around for the next couple of days, you're both welcome to stay here, Sara."
"Thanks for the offer, but something tells me that Nottingham is gonna be out of action for more than a couple of days. I have a better place in mind for him to hole up in. Somewhere the neighbors won't hear him if he starts raving deliriously. Thanks again for everything, Vic. Have fun at Jake's."
"I intend to! No, Ian, you can't have the phone back. Sara told me to tell you that she'll be up to get you in a few minutes," Sara heard her friend tell the feverish assassin. "Bye, Sara. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Bye, Vicky."
From where she sat in the SUV across the street, Sara saw Jake and Vicky leave the building arm in arm five minutes later. Jake was carrying the petite ME's overnight bag. They looked for all the world like a couple of excited kids who were looking forward to a snow day, she thought, smiling. She was glad that her friends were growing closer. Vicky's battle with alcoholism had been rough on her, especially at first, and Sara knew that she hadn't dated anyone since becoming sober. The program she had arranged for her friend to attend discouraged starting a relationship until the recovering alcoholic had been sober for at least six months, but Sara knew Vicky was lonely and figured that a little appreciative male companionship would do wonders for her attitude.
Getting out of the car, she crossed the street and pressed the intercom button belonging to Vicky's apartment. The buzzer sounded a moment later.
Nottingham opened the door before she could knock, and smiled shyly at her. "Sara."
"Yeah, how are you feeling, Nottingham? Vicky fixed you up good, hunh?"
"Yes, Ms. Po is a very competent doctor. However, she has extremely poor taste in men. She left with Detective Jacob McCartey, whom I do not care for at all."
"And why is that?" Sara asked, walking into the bedroom. She found a shopping bag in Vicky's closet and started to gather up various items of discarded black clothing.
"Then again, Ms. Po did say she would do me 'in a New York minute,' so perhaps her dalliance with Mr. McCartey is an aberration," Ian said thoughtfully.
Sara stopped what she was doing and stared at him. "Let's just see how high your fever is, Nottingham,' she murmured, taking the digital thermometer out of her pocket.
"Oh, I think it is very, very high. However, I am not feeling as hot as before because Ms. Po suggested that I just put my sweater back on and I concurred. She also encouraged me to show more skin from time to time."
"Okay, now you're starting to scare me, Nottingham," Sara said. "Open up." She stuck the device in his mouth, but less than a minute later, he removed it.
"I think it is broken, Sara," he confided, handing it to her.
"No, you didn't leave it in long enough. Let's try again." She reset the thermometer and slid it beneath his tongue. He started to take it out again after a minute but she prevented him from doing so by the simple expedient of placing a finger on his lips. At her touch, he shuddered, a fractured groan escaping him, and his glazed eyes darkened with what was unmistakably desire. Sara closed her eyes as an answering twinge of need flooded her loins. Fast double beeps sounded 30 seconds later.
"Oh God," she whispered. The tiny readout said 105.2.
"I guess it was not broken after all," Ian said huskily, not bothering to look at the reading. "Had my lips become chapped again, Sara?"
She blushed self-consciously. "Come on, Nottingham. We've got to get going," she said, surreptitiously brushing tears from her pale cheeks as she turned to pick up his overcoat from the bed. She helped him into it, and then put his shirts, the empty katana sheath, and the weapon-laden harness into the shopping bag. Picking up the first-aid kit, she started for the door.
"Excuse me a moment, my Lady," Nottingham said, reaching into his coat pocket and taking out his cell phone, adroitly using his chin to open it. "Ian Nottingham. Oh, good evening, Mr. Brown."
"Shit! I forgot all about Alonzo," Sara muttered. "Give me the phone, Nottingham."
"The Wielder wishes to speak to you, Mr. Brown. Goodbye." He handed her the phone, smiling. "See? I even remembered to say goodbye."
"Um, yeah. Hi, Alonzo, this is Detective Pezzini."
Pause.
"Yeah, I just need to make a phone call and someone will bail you out."
Pause.
"What? Oh, Nottingham is a little under the weather, that's all."
Pause.
"Yeah. Thanks for coming through tonight. I'll see to it that you get compensated for your trouble."
Pause.
"Okay, then."
Pause.
"Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye." She hung up and then immediately dialed the narcotics squad at the 11th Precinct, swiftly arranging for someone to bail Alonzo Brown out. But then the person she was speaking to said "Hold on a moment, Detective Pezzini. Captain Phillips would like to speak to you."
'Oh, crap!' Sara groaned mentally.
"Detective Pezzini?"
"Yes, sir."
"What the hell happened back at that warehouse? I was gonna put in a commendation for you owing to your invaluable help in bringing down Angel and Joaquin Medina, but after that stunt you pulled, I'm having second thoughts!" he tore into her.
"I apologize for causing you and the others concern, Captain. I know it doesn't excuse my reckless behavior, but after the bust went down with a whimper instead of the bang I was expecting, I was kinda spoiling for a fight. It was stupid of me not to wait for backup, I know that now. Again, I'm really sorry."
"Are you all right?" his voice gentled, perhaps because he could hear how exhausted she was. "Detective McCartey said you suffered a mild concussion."
"Yeah, but aside from a slight headache, I'm fine. I could really use some rest, though. It's been a stress-filled week."
"Well, I just wanted to hear for myself that you're okay. Your informant is already in the process of being sprung. Get some rest, Detective," the narcotics squad's CO told her.
"I will. And if we ever have the pleasure of working together again, I promise I won't go off half-cocked like that again. According to Captain Dante, it's gonna be the end of me one of these days," she told him.
"That would really be a shame. You're a truly gifted detective, Pez. Should you ever decide you want to transfer to narcotics, I'd be damned glad to have you. Good night."
"Good night, Captain Phillips." Sara hung up, and looked at Nottingham, who was standing near her, staring into space and rocking. Her eyes widened as she saw that his sweater had ridden up to expose a killer set of abs as he absently rubbed his battered, tightly taped ribcage. Beneath the bandages, a light furring of dark chest hair was just visible, a narrow line of which arrowed downward to disappear beneath the waistband of his black wool trousers. She shook her head. 'Focus, Pezzini! You've got to get him someplace safe and heal him with the Witchblade. Now is definitely not the time for lustful thoughts. He's a very sick man, for crying out loud!' she reprimanded herself.
"Come on, Nottingham. Let's get out of here," she said, handing him back his cell phone.
"Yes, my love," he said, smiling at her. "Whither thou goest."
More to come. Thanks for the feedback. Your torture is almost at an end. I promise!
Disclaimer: I don't pretend to own the rights to the Witchblade characters. I'm just borrowing them. Enjoy!
Chapter 39.
The traffic light Sara had stopped at turned green, then yellow, then red again, but she was so stunned by what Gabriel had just told her, she failed to notice. Even the loud horns of the irritated drivers behind her barely registered.
"Chief? Are you still there?" Gabriel said.
"Oh my God!" she whispered. "What am I gonna do, Gabriel? Nottingham will die unless he gets that antidote. What am I gonna do?" The light turned green again, and nearly blinded by tears, she pulled around the corner and parked next to a fire hydrant. Sobs began to rack her slender body.
"I'm sure help is on the way to Irons' estate as we speak. Maybe after the Russians are defeated, Irons can rush the antidote to Nottingham. He's gotta have more than one helicopter, right? Or maybe one of his rich buddies can lend him one of theirs. Don't worry, Chief, Nottingham is gonna be fine," her friend tried his best to reassure her.
"No, he's not, Gabriel!" Sara wailed. "His fever is going through the roof. It could be hours before it's safe to fly a helicopter into or out of that place. Nottingham doesn't have much time. If you saw him, you'd realize it, too. What the hell am I gonna do?"
"Just be there for him, I guess. Don't let him die alone, even though he'll probably insist that you leave in order to spare you the pain of watching him suffer," Gabriel said quietly.
"Uh, not exactly the advice I was looking for there, guy!" Sara hiccupped, regaining her equilibrium with an effort. "There has to be something I can do. Like maybe use the Witchblade to heal him. The other night, you said you had come across some history that suggested past Wielders had used the Witchblade to heal their Protectors, right?" she recalled, a seed of hope taking root in her heart.
"Yeah, but I also told you it indicated that the bond between the Wielder and her Protector had to be very, very strong in order for it to work. Much as I hate to say this, Chief, I don't know if your bond with Nottingham is strong enough for that to work."
"I gotta try it, Gabriel. Nottingham doesn't have any other options. I can't lose him now. Not after I just discovered who he is. I need him if I'm gonna survive long enough to really learn how to use this thing," she said, glancing at the bracelet's quiescent stone. "Maybe that will be incentive enough for the Witchblade to heal him. It can't want me to go around Protector-less, can It?"
"Go for it, then," Gabriel told her. "Have you figured out someplace safe to take him?"
"Yeah, I think so, but I'm gonna play it by ear. I'll call you and let you know how everything works out, okay? Right now, I've gotta get back to Vicky's place."
"Okay, Chief. I'll keep monitoring the situation at Irons' estate. If I hear that the siege has ended, I'll give you a call. If need be, I'll borrow my neighbor Henry's car and drive out to Westchester to get the antidote and bring it to wherever you and Ian are."
"He's grown on you, hasn't he?" Sara asked the young businessman.
"Yeah, I guess so," he said. "I know I'd like the opportunity to get to know him better. Plus, he's really knowledgeable about my line of work. I was totally serious about consulting him on some of my finds."
"Well, hopefully, you'll get the chance to do that. Speak to you later, Gabriel. Wish me luck!"
"Goodbye, Chief, and good luck!"
Exhausted by her crying jag, Sara pulled away from the fire hydrant and suddenly found herself fighting the urge to burst into tears again. She sincerely hoped that Nottingham had been too busy having his injuries tended by Vicky to notice the breaking news story about his employer being attacked. Not that it mattered; he was sure to figure out something had gone wrong as soon as she returned without the antidote. If by some miracle he hadn't seen the news story, Sara dreaded having to tell him why Dr. Immo hadn't shown up. She was also afraid that, despite being injured and weakened by blood loss, he would attempt to mount a rescue of Kenneth Irons. If Nottingham decided he wanted to do something foolish like that, Sara highly doubted she could stop him. The man he called his master had some kind of psychological hold over the assassin that she didn't fully understand. Add to that his fever-induced irrationality, and it could spell disaster. She decided to call Vicky to see how things were going.
"Hello?"
"Vicky, it's me."
"Sara! Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she murmured, wondering why her friend sounded so relieved. "How is Nottingham?"
"I bandaged his thigh and taped his ribs. Although the bullet wound wasn't serious, he did suffer some blood loss and I'm pretty sure he's got at least three cracked and two fractured ribs. However, he's got a much bigger problem than that, Sara. As I'm sure you're aware, he's running a scarily high fever," Vicky told her and then dramatically lowered her voice, "and I think he's starting to hallucinate."
Sara's heart sank. "Why do you say that?"
"Well, about ten minutes ago, he became agitated, saying that you were upset and crying, and that he had to go to you. He seems to think he has some sort of psychic connection to you."
"What is he doing now?"
"Well, he calmed down after a couple of minutes, and now he's just sort of standing there, staring into space and rocking. It's really weirding me out, Sara. When will you be back?"
"I should be there in less than ten minutes, Vic. Um, by any chance did he happen to see a breaking news story on the TV around the same time that he became agitated?"
"Yeah. How did you know that? By the way, he claims that billionaire Kenneth Irons -- coincidentally, the same guy whose estate is under attack, according to the news -- is his boss. Is that true or just another hallucination?"
"No, it's true. What did Nottingham say when he saw the report?"
"Not much, aside from the fact that Mr. Moneybags is his employer. What's going on, Sara? I get the feeling that there's much more here than meets the eye."
"It's kind of a long story, Vic. I promise I'll explain everything when I have more time. I'm gonna come up and get Nottingham, and then we're heading someplace safe where he can recuperate."
"Okay. I'll see you in a little bit. Bye."
"Bye." Sara hung up and took off the headset, sighing. So, Nottingham knew that Irons' estate was under siege, but hadn't rushed off to his employer's rescue. This meant he also knew that Sara hadn't gotten the antidote. Apparently, her highly emotional reaction to the news that Dr. Immo wasn't coming had alerted him to the fact that something had gone wrong, and she realized that he must have sensed how upset she was through his bond with her. Ordinarily, this would have freaked her out in a big way, but now it gave her added hope that maybe she could heal him using the Witchblade. She tried not to think about the fact that the bond was not mutual, nor could it be, according to Gabriel and Witchblade lore, unless she and Nottingham became much more than just friends. However, there was nothing she could do to change that now: She highly doubted he was in any shape to do the horizontal tango. But in the future -- if Nottingham had a future -- Sara decided that she would consider the possibility of them exploring a relationship.
"Just consider, mind you," she said aloud to the bracelet on her right wrist, which chose that moment to flare to life, almost as if it were pleased by her decision. "So, don't get your hopes up! None of this changes the fact that he's an assassin and I'm a cop, or that he works for a seriously twisted and evil man. Only please, please, please help me heal him, Witchy! I don't want my Protector to die!"
****
Vicky Po hung up her phone and regarded the tall, black-clad man standing in the middle of her living room.
"I suppose you 'sense' that Sara is on her way back here," she murmured, not expecting a response.
"Yes," Nottingham said, surprising her. "She is not far."
With her help, he had put his thick, black, cable-knit sweater back on. He also had on the sling, having decided to wear it under his overcoat rather than outside like before, meaning there would be one less layer to painfully remove later.
After watching the news report, Nottingham had become withdrawn and restless, pacing to and fro in front of the door to the apartment. When Vicky had quietly reminded him that physical activity would only drive his fever higher faster, he had moved to the spot where he now stood. Taking her digital thermometer from her medicine cabinet, Vicky had approached him and requested that he let her take his temperature, but the look he'd given her from beneath his dark brows had instantly made her back away. She'd kept her distance since then.
"I am in love with Sara, but she does not love me," he announced.
"You mean she's just using your hot bod to satisfy her base desires?" Vicky blurted out. "That selfish bitch!"
For the first time in nearly 20 minutes, Nottingham focused on his hostess.
"I do not like it when anyone insults my Lady," he said softly, febrile hazel eyes meeting hers. "But in answer to your question, no, our relationship is platonic."
"What is she, nuts?" Vicky exclaimed. "Oops, sorry. That was insulting again, wasn't it? Oh, what the hell -- sue me. She's obviously stupid or blind, or both."
Ian frowned in confusion. "Why do you say that?"
Vicky stared at him in open-mouthed disbelief. "Have you ever looked in a mirror?"
He shrugged, then winced, his right hand going to his injured shoulder. "Of course. Whenever I perform personal grooming."
Vicky laughed. "Seriously, Ian, you do realize you're gorgeous, don't you?"
He shrugged his good shoulder. "I have never given it much thought," he said truthfully. "Perhaps my appearance is simply not pleasing to my Lady."
"Then she must be either a lesbian or paralyzed below the waist," Vicky opined, shaking her head. "I'd do you in a New York minute!" She watched, fascinated, as a blush reddened his already flushed face. "However, you do hide your, ahem, light under a bushel."
He raised an eyebrow at her. "'Light' is a euphemism for my 'hot bod,' correct?"
"Yes! What I'm trying to say, Ian, is that you tend to hide your considerable assets beneath all those layers of black clothing. Try showing Sara a little skin from time to time!" she suggested.
Ian frowned, lowering his eyes. "As you are no doubt aware, I am highly uncomfortable showing skin, as you put it. Besides, the opportunities to do so are few and far between."
Just then, Vicky's doorbell rang. "Oh, somebody must have let Sara in," she said, heading for the door.
"That is not Sara, Ms. Po," Ian murmured.
She threw him a disbelieving look over her shoulder. "How do you know that?"
"Through my bond with her."
"Oh, yeah. Right." Humoring him, Vicky peered through the door's peephole and then gasped. "Jake! What the heck are you doing here?" she exclaimed.
"Uh, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," Jake McCartey's voice said through the door. "Can I come in?"
"Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Just let me straighten up a bit," Vicky said, glancing rather wildly around at all of the evidence of her unexpected and injured guest that was in plain sight, not the least of which was the man himself.
"Hey, mess is not a problem, Vicky girl!" Jake called. "Let me in!"
"Um, yes, it is! I'll just be a minute. Quick," she whispered to Nottingham, "hide in my bedroom!"
"Why?" Ian asked, frowning.
"Because Jake doesn't know about you and I think Sara would like to keep it that way, that's why!" she hissed. "Come on!" She grabbed his discarded clothing and overcoat, the first-aid kit, the harness that had once held his katana and the one containing all of his numerous weapons, and started to head for her bedroom.
"How will you explain Sara's arrival to Detective McCartey, Ms. Po? She is parking the car as we speak, and will be here momentarily," Ian said, still not moving.
"I'll call her on her cell phone and tell her to stay downstairs until I can get rid of him! Now, move it, Nottingham!" she whispered exasperatedly.
"Very well." He preceded her into her bedroom.
Vicky tossed the first-aid kit and his clothing onto the bed, carefully placing the weapons on top of them, then snatched up the phone on the nightstand.
"Pezzini, go."
"Um, Sara, we've got a problem: Jake is at my front door," she told her friend.
"I do not like Detective McCartey," Ian commented, reaching down to finger one of his Glocks. "He is not what he seems."
"Oh shit! What are you gonna do about Nottingham?" Sara asked Vicky, dismayed.
"I've hidden him in my bedroom, where he's currently fondling one of about a gazillion weapons and talking about how he doesn't like Jake."
"Must be the fever," Sara murmured, unconcerned.
"Uh, yeah. Please put that very big gun away, Ian, there's a good boy," Sara heard her say cajolingly to Nottingham.
"Okay, listen Vicky, here's what you do: Earlier today, on the way to the drug bust, Jake mentioned that he had rented several movies and stocked up on all kinds of munchies. He also told me that he was thinking of inviting you over to his place to ride out the blizzard with him. If he invites you over, go with him. After you guys leave, I'll come up, get Nottingham, and we'll be on our way," Sara told her.
"Did he really say he was thinking of inviting me over?" Vicky asked, grinning happily.
"I do not believe Detective McCartey is as naïve as he pretends to be either," Ian opined, admiring the way the light shone on the razor-sharp blade of one of his throwing knives.
"Focus, Vicky," Sara said. "Put Nottingham on the phone, and then go and let Jake in. Turn the volume on the TV up loud so he doesn't hear us talking."
"Okay. Ian, sweetie, put your toys away now, Sara wants to talk to you," Sara heard her say to the assassin. "And try to keep your voice down, okay?"
"Sara, why were you crying?" Nottingham asked as soon as he came on the line.
"Um, PMS," she mumbled. "I get really emotional during this time of the month and often start blubbering for no reason at all."
"Forgive me for saying so, but I think you are lying, my Lady. I think you were weeping because you found out that Dr. Immo may have been killed and therefore will not be able to bring me the antidote," he told her. "I think you are sad that I am going to die."
"You're not going to die, Nottingham, so stop saying that!" Sara shouted at him, horrified to feel tears fill her eyes again.
"'No longer mourn for me when I am dead than you shall hear the surly sullen bell give warning to the world that I am fled from this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: Nay, if you read this line, remember not the hand that writ it; for I love you so, that I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, if thinking on me then should make you woe,'" Ian whispered. "There. I said it. I love you, Sara. I love you."
"Nottingham, you're not in your right mind," Sara said, trying and failing to keep from sobbing. 'Oh God,' she thought desperately, 'we're running out of time! Please hurry up, Vicky!'
"On the contrary, I have never been more lucid," he told her. "I do not know why I waited so long to tell you how I feel about you. I know you do not love me, but -- Oh, Ms. Po is back and wants to speak to you, my love."
"You were right, Sara. Jake invited me over to his place. I'm just gonna throw a few things into an overnight bag and then we'll be off," Vicky said, eyeing Nottingham, who was staring dreamily into space.
"I confessed my love to Sara," Ian told her, smiling. But then he frowned. "But I also made her cry again. It hurts me when she weeps. Here," he placed his right hand on his heart.
"Not a moment too soon, Vic," Sara sniffled. "As you can probably tell, Nottingham's pretty far gone. I've got to get him someplace safe before he really loses it." She paused, wiping the tears from her face. "Oh, by the way, I told Jake some story about coming to your place after leaving the burning warehouse. He thinks you treated me for a concussion and that you're gonna call me every half an hour at home to make sure I haven't slipped into a coma."
"Oh, so that's what he was babbling about! I got you covered, girlfriend. I'll just talk to your answering machine. Listen, Sara, now that I've treated his bullet wound, you might want to think about taking Ian to a hospital. I think he's seriously ill. However, if you don't want to take that risk, your first priority should be bringing that fever down. I'll call you on your cell tomorrow to find out how he's feeling, okay?"
"Okay. Tell him I'll be up to get him after you guys leave."
"You know, since I won't be around for the next couple of days, you're both welcome to stay here, Sara."
"Thanks for the offer, but something tells me that Nottingham is gonna be out of action for more than a couple of days. I have a better place in mind for him to hole up in. Somewhere the neighbors won't hear him if he starts raving deliriously. Thanks again for everything, Vic. Have fun at Jake's."
"I intend to! No, Ian, you can't have the phone back. Sara told me to tell you that she'll be up to get you in a few minutes," Sara heard her friend tell the feverish assassin. "Bye, Sara. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Bye, Vicky."
From where she sat in the SUV across the street, Sara saw Jake and Vicky leave the building arm in arm five minutes later. Jake was carrying the petite ME's overnight bag. They looked for all the world like a couple of excited kids who were looking forward to a snow day, she thought, smiling. She was glad that her friends were growing closer. Vicky's battle with alcoholism had been rough on her, especially at first, and Sara knew that she hadn't dated anyone since becoming sober. The program she had arranged for her friend to attend discouraged starting a relationship until the recovering alcoholic had been sober for at least six months, but Sara knew Vicky was lonely and figured that a little appreciative male companionship would do wonders for her attitude.
Getting out of the car, she crossed the street and pressed the intercom button belonging to Vicky's apartment. The buzzer sounded a moment later.
Nottingham opened the door before she could knock, and smiled shyly at her. "Sara."
"Yeah, how are you feeling, Nottingham? Vicky fixed you up good, hunh?"
"Yes, Ms. Po is a very competent doctor. However, she has extremely poor taste in men. She left with Detective Jacob McCartey, whom I do not care for at all."
"And why is that?" Sara asked, walking into the bedroom. She found a shopping bag in Vicky's closet and started to gather up various items of discarded black clothing.
"Then again, Ms. Po did say she would do me 'in a New York minute,' so perhaps her dalliance with Mr. McCartey is an aberration," Ian said thoughtfully.
Sara stopped what she was doing and stared at him. "Let's just see how high your fever is, Nottingham,' she murmured, taking the digital thermometer out of her pocket.
"Oh, I think it is very, very high. However, I am not feeling as hot as before because Ms. Po suggested that I just put my sweater back on and I concurred. She also encouraged me to show more skin from time to time."
"Okay, now you're starting to scare me, Nottingham," Sara said. "Open up." She stuck the device in his mouth, but less than a minute later, he removed it.
"I think it is broken, Sara," he confided, handing it to her.
"No, you didn't leave it in long enough. Let's try again." She reset the thermometer and slid it beneath his tongue. He started to take it out again after a minute but she prevented him from doing so by the simple expedient of placing a finger on his lips. At her touch, he shuddered, a fractured groan escaping him, and his glazed eyes darkened with what was unmistakably desire. Sara closed her eyes as an answering twinge of need flooded her loins. Fast double beeps sounded 30 seconds later.
"Oh God," she whispered. The tiny readout said 105.2.
"I guess it was not broken after all," Ian said huskily, not bothering to look at the reading. "Had my lips become chapped again, Sara?"
She blushed self-consciously. "Come on, Nottingham. We've got to get going," she said, surreptitiously brushing tears from her pale cheeks as she turned to pick up his overcoat from the bed. She helped him into it, and then put his shirts, the empty katana sheath, and the weapon-laden harness into the shopping bag. Picking up the first-aid kit, she started for the door.
"Excuse me a moment, my Lady," Nottingham said, reaching into his coat pocket and taking out his cell phone, adroitly using his chin to open it. "Ian Nottingham. Oh, good evening, Mr. Brown."
"Shit! I forgot all about Alonzo," Sara muttered. "Give me the phone, Nottingham."
"The Wielder wishes to speak to you, Mr. Brown. Goodbye." He handed her the phone, smiling. "See? I even remembered to say goodbye."
"Um, yeah. Hi, Alonzo, this is Detective Pezzini."
Pause.
"Yeah, I just need to make a phone call and someone will bail you out."
Pause.
"What? Oh, Nottingham is a little under the weather, that's all."
Pause.
"Yeah. Thanks for coming through tonight. I'll see to it that you get compensated for your trouble."
Pause.
"Okay, then."
Pause.
"Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye." She hung up and then immediately dialed the narcotics squad at the 11th Precinct, swiftly arranging for someone to bail Alonzo Brown out. But then the person she was speaking to said "Hold on a moment, Detective Pezzini. Captain Phillips would like to speak to you."
'Oh, crap!' Sara groaned mentally.
"Detective Pezzini?"
"Yes, sir."
"What the hell happened back at that warehouse? I was gonna put in a commendation for you owing to your invaluable help in bringing down Angel and Joaquin Medina, but after that stunt you pulled, I'm having second thoughts!" he tore into her.
"I apologize for causing you and the others concern, Captain. I know it doesn't excuse my reckless behavior, but after the bust went down with a whimper instead of the bang I was expecting, I was kinda spoiling for a fight. It was stupid of me not to wait for backup, I know that now. Again, I'm really sorry."
"Are you all right?" his voice gentled, perhaps because he could hear how exhausted she was. "Detective McCartey said you suffered a mild concussion."
"Yeah, but aside from a slight headache, I'm fine. I could really use some rest, though. It's been a stress-filled week."
"Well, I just wanted to hear for myself that you're okay. Your informant is already in the process of being sprung. Get some rest, Detective," the narcotics squad's CO told her.
"I will. And if we ever have the pleasure of working together again, I promise I won't go off half-cocked like that again. According to Captain Dante, it's gonna be the end of me one of these days," she told him.
"That would really be a shame. You're a truly gifted detective, Pez. Should you ever decide you want to transfer to narcotics, I'd be damned glad to have you. Good night."
"Good night, Captain Phillips." Sara hung up, and looked at Nottingham, who was standing near her, staring into space and rocking. Her eyes widened as she saw that his sweater had ridden up to expose a killer set of abs as he absently rubbed his battered, tightly taped ribcage. Beneath the bandages, a light furring of dark chest hair was just visible, a narrow line of which arrowed downward to disappear beneath the waistband of his black wool trousers. She shook her head. 'Focus, Pezzini! You've got to get him someplace safe and heal him with the Witchblade. Now is definitely not the time for lustful thoughts. He's a very sick man, for crying out loud!' she reprimanded herself.
"Come on, Nottingham. Let's get out of here," she said, handing him back his cell phone.
"Yes, my love," he said, smiling at her. "Whither thou goest."
More to come. Thanks for the feedback. Your torture is almost at an end. I promise!