A Family Affair
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while. Enjoy!
Chapter 60.
~~~~~~
We will fly way up high
Where the cold wind blows
Or in the sun, laughing and having fun
With the people that she knows
And if the situation should keep us separated
You know the world won't fall apart
And you will free the beautiful bird
That's caught inside your heart
~ From "The Horses," by Rickie Lee Jones
~~~~~~
What felt like mere seconds after she closed her eyes, Sara heard Ian say softly, "Wake up, Sara. It is time to get moving."
It was still pitch-dark outside, but he must have turned on the bedside lamp, because the light behind her eyelids suddenly became much brighter.
"Nooooo!" she protested, pulling the comforter up over her head. But Ian immediately pulled it back down.
"Sara."
"Okay, I'm up, I'm up," she muttered groggily, sitting up. "Need coffee. Now!"
"Coming right up." Ian threw back the blankets and swung his long legs over the side of the bed, but then hesitated, glancing at her. "But what about Mini-Ian?"
"Shit," Sara said succinctly. "I forgot all about him." She fell back onto the bed with a groan, but then grinned as a thought struck her. "Awww! I think that's the first time you've called him that."
Ian shrugged self-consciously. "Ever since the Witchblade shared that last vision with me, I find myself thinking of him as a real person."
"Me, too." But then Sara remembered what Marie had told her last night. 'Oh, hell,' she thought forlornly 'I have to tell him what she said.'
"I know it is poor substitute, but I will brew you a pot of decaf while you are showering," Ian said rising and heading toward the bathroom.
"Thanks, baby. Are you gonna fix breakfast, too?" she asked hopefully, admiring his morning wood.
"Sure," he said agreeably, not bothering to close the bathroom door as he peed. 'She certainly has her priorities straight,' Ian thought with amusement. 'First coffee, then food.'
"Is another omelet acceptable?" he asked, flipping the toilet seat back down.
"That'd be great." She lay there, trying to work up the courage to tell him that she probably wasn't carrying their child.
"Ian," she said when he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, "remember last night when I told you I had a very interesting conversation with Marie?"
"Yes, I remember." He went to the wardrobe and took out the black kimono-style robe and navy-blue drawstring pants he'd worn the last time he'd cooked breakfast for the two of them -- had it really only been two days ago?
"Well, when I mentioned to her that I might be pregnant, she said she doubts that I am," Sara told him, sitting up again and hugging her knees to her chest.
Ian froze in the act of pulling on the pants, startled hazel eyes meeting hers. "Did she say why?"
She nodded. "She just doesn't think the Witchblade would allow me to conceive while things are still so unsettled in our lives."
He shrugged into the robe and belted it, a thoughtful look on his handsome, bearded face. "That makes sense. You still have so much to learn about wielding the Blade," he murmured. "And then there is my own situation, which must be dealt with first."
"Marie pointed out both of those things, too," Sara told him, studying his expression carefully. "So, you're not upset?"
Ian lowered his eyes. "I would be lying if I said I was not disappointed," he admitted softly. "But I am also practical. I realize that now is not the ideal time to start a family."
"Yeah, I'm with you on that. So, why do I feel so sad?" Sara muttered, appalled to feel her eyes well up. She'd shed enough tears over the past week to last her a lifetime. For someone who didn't consider herself to be the emotional type, this new tendency was rather alarming.
Instantly, Ian was kneeling on the bed and gathering her in his arms. "Perhaps because you want those visions to become reality as badly as I do," he whispered, lips brushing her forehead tenderly. "I did not realize just how much I want to be the father of your children until the Witchblade shared that amazing vision with me, Sara. The intense emotions my future self experienced upon witnessing the birth of our second child were earth- shattering for me. I never knew such joy was possible. Even the mind- blowing pleasure our lovemaking gives me pales in comparison to what I felt during that vision. As I said before, Sara, I will do everything in my power to make what we were shown become reality."
"And I'm gonna do everything I can to help you," she promised, hugging him tightly.
"So, will you be having full-strength coffee this morning, my Lady?" he inquired after a couple of minutes, during which they both struggled to control their emotions.
Sara shook her head. "I think I'll stick with decaf. Just in case Marie is wrong."
"When will you know for certain?" Ian asked quietly.
"Well, as you so observantly noted thanks to my desk calendar at work, I'm expecting my period sometime this week, or possibly early next week," Sara said, squirming just a little at discussing such a personal subject with him. "I'm usually extremely regular, except when I've been under a lot of stress, which pretty much describes this past week." She shrugged. "So, I'm not really sure when to expect it. Marie suggested I take one of those early pregnancy tests instead of waiting for nature to take its course. Maybe we can stop at a drugstore along the way and pick one up?"
"There is a 24-hour drugstore in Scarsdale, but it may have been forced to close because of the weather. We can stop by and see if it is open."
"Okay." Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. "As usual, I'm famished," she said ruefully. "I'd better hop in the shower."
Reluctantly, Ian released her and stood up. "And I will get breakfast started," he said, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly 05:00 hours.
Sara took a quick shower, mindful of leaving enough hot water for Ian to do the same. Her stomach rumbled insistently as she rummaged through her duffle bag for a change of clothes. Once dressed, she started packing up the rest of her stuff, and had almost finished when Ian sent *Breakfast is ready, my love.*
*Hallelujah!*
They ate in companionable silence except for the appreciative sounds Sara made as she devoured her share of the once again perfect omelet, along with two cups of decaf and three slices of buttered toast. There was a faint but perceptible brightening in the eastern sky by the time they had cleaned up the breakfast dishes and finished packing up their belongings.
While Ian showered, Sara brewed a thermos of peppermint tea, stripped the bed, tidied up a little, and then stood staring blindly out the living room window, nursing her third cup of coffee. She didn't hear her Protector come out of the bedroom some twenty minutes later, and her heart leapt when she caught movement out the corner of her eye.
*I'm sorry,* Ian sent. *I didn't mean to startle you.*
She turned and saw that her easygoing, sensitive lover had been transformed into the lethal assassin who had once automatically caused her to frown irritably and finger her service weapon whenever she set eyes on him. Dressed entirely in black, his long, dark hair severely confined in a club at the nape of his neck, beard and mustache neatly trimmed, Ian Nottingham looked devilishly handsome and deadly.
"Ready to go?" she asked softly.
"Almost." With pantherish grace, Ian strode across the room to the shopping bag that held his weapons harness and took it out. He put it on with the ease of long practice, and buckled the straps. "Now I am ready."
They put on their coats. "Wait here, please," Ian requested, and soundlessly slipped outside. He reappeared a couple of minutes later and shouldered her duffel bag before stepping outside again and holding the door open for her.
Sara slung her knapsack over her shoulder, took up the first-aid kit, and gave the garage apartment one last lingering glance before closing and locking the door behind her.
The automatic garage door opening sounded unnaturally loud in the hushed quiet of the snowy suburban street, as did the chirp of the SUV's alarm when Ian deactivated it. Opening the hatchback, he stowed the first- aid kit and duffle bag in the trunk, while Sara took the thermos of tea out of her knapsack, putting it in the storage area between the front seats before tossing her bag into the back seat. Then the two of them made their way to the main house in the watery grey predawn light, every exhalation creating puffy white clouds in the intense cold.
The side door opened moments before they reached it, revealing a sleepy-looking Joseph Siri, Jr.
"Morning," he mumbled, hastily retreating to the warmth of the kitchen, where, much to their surprise, the rest of his family and his grandparents had assembled to see them off.
'Here I go again!' Sara thought exasperatedly as she felt tears burn her eyes. "You didn't have to get up at this ungodly hour, you know," she told her surrogate older brother huskily, handing him the keys to the garage.
Robert grabbed her in a fierce hug. "Yes, we did," he said. "We wanted to wish you and Ian luck."
His wife took his place when he released her. "Good luck," Paula whispered, her own eyes bright with tears as she gave her sister-in-law a warm embrace.
"Good luck, Aunt Sara," Gina Marie Siri said, not bothering to wait until her mother was through hugging Sara before she threw her arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. She then turned to Ian and repeated the gesture. "Good luck, Ian."
"Thank you, Princess," he whispered, hugging her small form back.
Paula stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Ian's bearded cheek. "The best of luck to you, Ian. Take care of yourself, you hear me?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Ian said, hazel eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Thank you for everything."
Joey gave his aunt a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "Everything's gonna work out fine," he told her confidently. "So, we'll be seeing you and Ian in just a few days at Thanksgiving." He turned to Ian and stuck out his hand. "I know I'm right, Ian."
Ian grasped the teenager's hand and shook it. "With all my heart, I hope that you are, young Joseph." He turned and extended his gloved hand to the boy's father. "I am forever indebted to you and your family for providing me with a much-needed refuge, Robert. I will remember your kindness and generosity for as long as I live."
Robert shrugged and shook his hand. "You're family now, Ian," he said simply. "You're always welcome here. I mean that."
"Thank you," Ian rasped, throat tight with emotion.
"There will always be a place for you at my table, Ian Nottingham," Marie Siri said, reaching up to pat his tear-streaked cheek. "Stay strong."
"I will try," he said softly.
Joe Siri, Sr. held out his hand to Ian. "I share my grandson's confidence. You'll do fine," he said. "But when things get tough, just remember that we're all pulling for you."
Ian grasped the older man's hand firmly. "I will remember that."
Marie turned to Sara. "Come give your poor old godmother a hug before you leave," she demanded.
Sara went willingly into her familiar, comforting embrace. "Wish me luck, Marie," she whispered. "I'll need it!"
"I wish you luck, love, and happiness. I always have and I always will," she told her goddaughter, hugging her tightly. "Never doubt that."
"Good luck, Sweetheart," Joe Siri Sr. said, when his wife finally released her. "Remember: we're here for you and Ian 24-7," he told her, enveloping her in one of his patented bear hugs, which Sara wished would never end. But, of course, all too soon, it did.
"Let's get going, Nottingham," she said gruffly. "Bye, everybody!" Blinded by tears, she fled out the door of the mudroom.
"Bye, Sara," her family called after her. "Goodbye, Ian!"
Ian raised a hand in farewell and then quickly followed Sara outside, where the first rays of weak winter sunlight were struggling to dispel the dawn gloom. The SUV's alarm chirped as he deactivated it again.
"I sure hope we don't get stuck in the snow," Sara muttered, opening the front passenger-side door. "That would be sorta anticlimactic after that send-off." She climbed into the front passenger seat, absently wiping tears from her cheeks.
"Just a little," Ian agreed, getting behind the wheel and fastening his seatbelt. "Please buckle up, Sara." He started the engine and let it warm up for several minutes, during which they both sat there lost in their own thoughts.
Ian shifted into reverse. "Here goes," he murmured.
It took them half an hour just to reach the main thoroughfare, and they nearly did get stuck in the deep, never-plowed snow several times.
"I am sure I do not have to remind you to keep an eye out for a tail," Ian said, sharp eyes scanning the street intently. "I would be very surprised if Mr. Irons did not have someone watching for us. In fact, I would count on it."
"Does a Hummer full of ex-military types fit the bill?" Sara asked, rubbing her right wrist. The Witchblade had abruptly come to pulsating life in clear warning.
"You spotted them, too," Ian nodded approvingly.
"Yeah, and they've spotted us. Think you can lose them?"
He shrugged unconcernedly. "I am confident that will not be a problem. The Hummer may be at the top of the SUV food chain, but --"
"The BMW is the Ultimate Driving Machine," Sara interjected, watching in the side-view mirror as the huge, gunmetal grey Hummer pulled into traffic and began following them.
Ian spared her a quick glance. "While I agree with you that German engineering is far superior to most countries' automotive efforts, I was going to say the BMW's smaller size makes it more maneuverable and responsive, which will work to our advantage, especially in these driving conditions. Plus, it is a much less conspicuous vehicle."
"Oh." Sara shook her head ruefully. "I keep forgetting that you don't watch TV very often. More like never, hunh?"
He nodded. "This is true. Mr. Irons felt my time was better spent learning how to become a world-class assassin and bodyguard. Among other things, I excelled at the art of losing tails."
He swiftly proceeded to prove that he was right, even when a second Hummer joined the pursuit moments later.
"All gone," Sara said ten minutes later, "and we're not even out of Brooklyn. Good work, Nottingham." She was impressed not only with his driving skills, but by the cool, confident way he handled the car in driving conditions that were extremely challenging.
The so-called Thanksgiving Blizzard had really done a number on the entire tri-state area. Only the major arteries had been plowed and salted since the snow had started in earnest, and even they were still slick and treacherous. The sheer volume of snow, which at times had fallen at a rate of several inches an hour, had made it impossible for the hapless road crews to keep on top of it. As a result, ill-equipped motorists who had been foolhardy enough to venture out during the height of the storm had quickly found themselves in trouble. Abandoned cars littered the Belt Parkway, narrowing the normally three-lane highway to a single lane at times. But Sara was now confident that they would reach their destination. The SUV's four-wheel drive and the man behind the wheel would see to that. A jaw-cracking yawn took her by surprise.
"It will take us at least an hour, probably longer, to reach Scarsdale, Sara. Feel free to nap until then," Ian told her.
"That's all right," she refused, cracking the window to let in some cold air. "Besides, you must be tired, too."
"I am fine. I do not require as much sleep as most people," he informed her.
"Well, be that as it may, I'll feel better if you concentrate on driving while I keep an eye out for a tail," Sara said firmly, fixing her gaze on the side-view mirror.
But her eyelids swiftly grew heavy. After jerking awake for the third time, Sara conceded defeat. "I'll just rest my eyes for a little bit," she murmured, discovering that her seat reclined nearly flat.
The last thing she heard was Nottingham's soft "Sleep well, my love."
******
Sara surfaced from a deep, dreamless sleep when she sensed a lack of motion. Feeling surprisingly refreshed, she glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that more than an hour had elapsed since she'd dozed off. It was a little past 8:30 a.m.
"The drugstore is open, Sara," Ian said, and she realized that they were in the store's parking lot, which was dotted with several ten-foot- high mountains of plowed snow.
"Great," she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Do you want anything while I'm in there? Maybe a snack, or some bottled water?"
"No, thank you. Here," he held out a twenty-dollar bill. "Will this be sufficient?"
"More than enough, I think. Thanks." She opened the car door and hopped out. "Be right back."
Sara quickly found the item that she wanted and brought it to the cashier in the front of the store. Out the window, she could see Nottingham standing next to the SUV. He was watching the street.
"Do you have a rest room?" Sara asked the cashier.
"Can't wait to find out, hunh?" the 60-ish woman said knowingly. "It's in the back to the left."
"Uh, thanks," Sara muttered, coloring. She'd only wanted to empty her uncomfortably full bladder, but decided there was no time like the present. After all, the package promised easy-to-read results in less than five minutes. *I'm gonna use the facilities, Ian,* she sent. *And while I'm in there, I may as well take the test. It'll only take about five minutes.*
*I'll be waiting for you in the car.*
Exactly seven minutes later, Sara left the bathroom and headed for the exit. She felt the cashier's eyes on her but didn't glance her way as she left the store.
As promised, Ian was sitting behind the wheel when Sara came out of the drugstore. Apprehensively, he examined her expression, which was curiously blank, as she approached the car, opened the passenger-side door, and got in. She fastened her seatbelt and then just sat there, staring straight ahead out the windshield.
"Well?" he finally prompted, unable to stand the suspense any longer.
She started guiltily, then grimaced. "I feel like such an idiot! It wasn't until after the fact that I noticed that the insert said you should wait at least a week to take the test in order to get the most accurate results," she said dully. "It's been less than three days since we first made love."
"Oh," Ian said, crestfallen.
"That's why we shouldn't get all excited just because it was positive."
Hazel eyes widened in shock. "It was positive!?!"
Sara nodded, uncaring that her eyes had filled with tears yet again. "But we shouldn't get our hopes up," she warned him again. "It could be a false positive."
"So, we must wait at least five more days to be certain."
"Yeah," she sighed. "I'm sorry; I should have read the insert more carefully." She held up some crumpled bills. "And if it's all right with you, I'm gonna hold onto your change, 'cause I need to buy another test, but no way was I gonna do it in there. That old lady cashier was way too nosey," she said in a rush, ending on a broken little sigh that tore at Ian's heart.
He removed his glove before gently wiping away her tears. "It is all right, Sara. I am glad our hopes have not been dashed, even if the timing is atrocious," he told her.
"Me, too," she whispered. Leaning over, she pressed her lips against his in a short, sweet kiss. "Now, let's get going again. The sooner we get this confrontation over with, the better!"
"Agreed."
Less than ten minutes later, he pulled the SUV into the driveway of a large, Spanish-style house that was surrounded by an eight-foot-high wrought-iron fence.
"Why are we stopping here?" Sara asked curiously.
"Deep beneath this house is a tunnel that leads to the estate," Ian explained, rolling down his window. He entered a code into the keypad, and the gates slowly swung open.
"Wow. But how can you be sure that nobody's home?" she questioned nervously as they continued on up the driveway.
"The house is uninhabited."
They stopped in front of a four-car garage that was attached to the house.
"Inside is a state-of-the-art surveillance system that I designed and installed myself," he told her. "It is twin to the one in the command center at the estate. First, I must disable the motion-detection sensors in the tunnel. I should also be able to pinpoint my father's location before we leave here. I will be right back." He got out of the SUV and made quick work of the lock on the garage door, raising it, and then got behind the wheel again.
As they pulled into the garage, Sara saw that yet another Hummer sat in one of three remaining spaces; however, the structure was otherwise empty.
"It was sloppy of my replacement not to change the security codes," Ian murmured punching a code into the keypad located next to the door that led to the house. The blinking lights on the device went from red to green, and Sara heard the lock click open. "Father will not be pleased when he discovers this oversight."
"Yeah, but if it's a trap, wouldn't he have instructed his security team not to change the codes, thus making it easier to lure us in?" Sara queried. "I'll bet he's that devious."
Ian shot her a dark look at this reminder of the danger he was potentially leading her into. "We shall see," he said, opening the door.
The garage opened onto what would most likely have been a storage room in a normal household setup, a place to keep nonperishable groceries, like cases of soda and bottled water, and automotive items, such as antifreeze, motor oil, and the like. But the shelves that lined the walls were empty. Sara soon discovered that the entire house was devoid of furniture and decoration, except for window treatments: heavy, opaque drapes hid the abnormally bare interior from prying eyes.
'What a waste,' Sara thought, glancing around. She'd always been partial to Spanish-style houses, and this was a particularly beautiful example of one. It seemed like a crime to leave it empty.
Ian led the way to a steel reinforced door with yet another keypad. Like he had with the others, he punched in a code from memory, unlocking it. He flicked on a light switch just inside the door, revealing stairs leading downward. Stepping aside, he allowed Sara to descend first, and then pulled the door closed behind him.
The security system was located in what would have been a spacious rec room had the house been inhabited. Several large, plasma video screens were mounted above a semicircular workstation that housed half a dozen built-in computers. There were two sets of keyboards and two chairs. Ian took one and immediately began typing in commands. Sara took the other and sat back to watch him work. Three of the video screens flickered to life, displaying interior and exterior views of the estate, and what looked like different New York City street grids.
Ian indicated the screen with the grids. "Those blinking dots indicate the locations of the three security teams that are searching for us. Please keep an eye on them and alert me if it appears that one or all of them are heading back here," Ian requested.
"Sure." Sara blinked, and looked more closely at one of the grids. "Well, would you look at that: one of the teams is sitting on my loft. Does Irons really think we'd be stupid enough to go there?" she muttered, forgetting that that was exactly what they'd intended to do before Ian came up with the idea of coming here instead.
"Apparently, he is taking no chances," Ian murmured, hazel eyes focused on the screen that showed interior views of the estate. He was cycling through images of the various rooms faster than Sara could follow.
"Hmmm. Oddly enough, none of the teams appears to be watching the precinct. I wonder why that is?" Sara said thoughtfully. "It's as if Irons already knows I'm not going in to work today." Then it dawned on her. "He does know. That means he's got someone on the inside, which doesn't surprise me one bit. Who is it, Ian? Dante?"
"That would be my guess," Ian responded, never taking his gaze off the screen. "It makes perfect sense. Who better to control than the person who has direct supervision over you? However, I do not know for certain that Dante is working for my father," he admitted.
"I'm pretty damn sure it's him," Sara said frowning. "He's had it in for me ever since he took over for Joe. Plus, I get the feeling that he might be dirty. Him and a couple of the other members of the All Boys Club at the 11th. And that hunch has only grown stronger since I went through the Periculum."
Her Protector nodded approvingly. "Excellent. You are learning to trust your Witchblade-enhanced instincts, my Lady."
She made a skeptical face. "I'm not so sure about the enhanced part. As you know, I'm not exactly the trusting type. Dante is way too oily for my liking, and the fact that he so obviously enjoys busting my balls, and has from day one, doesn't exactly endear him to me," she admitted wryly.
"No, I cannot imagine it would."
"So, have you managed to find Irons yet?" Sara asked, noticing that he'd suddenly gone very still.
"Yes. I have also discovered that Dr. Immo did, in fact, survive the Russians' attack, although apparently not unscathed. He is currently hospitalized in the estate's infirmary."
"Oh yeah?" Something in his voice made her take her eyes off the screen she'd been tasked with monitoring and look at his face instead. What she saw there alarmed her. "Where is Irons, Ian?"
"In the infirmary with Dr. Immo," he said tonelessly. "On life support."
More to come. I know: Evil, evil dragongrrl and her cliffhangers! Drat her! :) Darn! I was really hoping to wrap up this story on a nice round number, like chapter 60. Oh well, the best laid plans . . . Once again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the enthusiastic, highly entertaining, and occasionally downright threatening (bad, bad Eli!) feedback. Receiving your reviews and comments is the highlight of my day! Please, keep it coming and I'll keep on writing! I promise! dragongrrl
Disclaimer: I don't own the Witchblade characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while. Enjoy!
Chapter 60.
~~~~~~
We will fly way up high
Where the cold wind blows
Or in the sun, laughing and having fun
With the people that she knows
And if the situation should keep us separated
You know the world won't fall apart
And you will free the beautiful bird
That's caught inside your heart
~ From "The Horses," by Rickie Lee Jones
~~~~~~
What felt like mere seconds after she closed her eyes, Sara heard Ian say softly, "Wake up, Sara. It is time to get moving."
It was still pitch-dark outside, but he must have turned on the bedside lamp, because the light behind her eyelids suddenly became much brighter.
"Nooooo!" she protested, pulling the comforter up over her head. But Ian immediately pulled it back down.
"Sara."
"Okay, I'm up, I'm up," she muttered groggily, sitting up. "Need coffee. Now!"
"Coming right up." Ian threw back the blankets and swung his long legs over the side of the bed, but then hesitated, glancing at her. "But what about Mini-Ian?"
"Shit," Sara said succinctly. "I forgot all about him." She fell back onto the bed with a groan, but then grinned as a thought struck her. "Awww! I think that's the first time you've called him that."
Ian shrugged self-consciously. "Ever since the Witchblade shared that last vision with me, I find myself thinking of him as a real person."
"Me, too." But then Sara remembered what Marie had told her last night. 'Oh, hell,' she thought forlornly 'I have to tell him what she said.'
"I know it is poor substitute, but I will brew you a pot of decaf while you are showering," Ian said rising and heading toward the bathroom.
"Thanks, baby. Are you gonna fix breakfast, too?" she asked hopefully, admiring his morning wood.
"Sure," he said agreeably, not bothering to close the bathroom door as he peed. 'She certainly has her priorities straight,' Ian thought with amusement. 'First coffee, then food.'
"Is another omelet acceptable?" he asked, flipping the toilet seat back down.
"That'd be great." She lay there, trying to work up the courage to tell him that she probably wasn't carrying their child.
"Ian," she said when he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, "remember last night when I told you I had a very interesting conversation with Marie?"
"Yes, I remember." He went to the wardrobe and took out the black kimono-style robe and navy-blue drawstring pants he'd worn the last time he'd cooked breakfast for the two of them -- had it really only been two days ago?
"Well, when I mentioned to her that I might be pregnant, she said she doubts that I am," Sara told him, sitting up again and hugging her knees to her chest.
Ian froze in the act of pulling on the pants, startled hazel eyes meeting hers. "Did she say why?"
She nodded. "She just doesn't think the Witchblade would allow me to conceive while things are still so unsettled in our lives."
He shrugged into the robe and belted it, a thoughtful look on his handsome, bearded face. "That makes sense. You still have so much to learn about wielding the Blade," he murmured. "And then there is my own situation, which must be dealt with first."
"Marie pointed out both of those things, too," Sara told him, studying his expression carefully. "So, you're not upset?"
Ian lowered his eyes. "I would be lying if I said I was not disappointed," he admitted softly. "But I am also practical. I realize that now is not the ideal time to start a family."
"Yeah, I'm with you on that. So, why do I feel so sad?" Sara muttered, appalled to feel her eyes well up. She'd shed enough tears over the past week to last her a lifetime. For someone who didn't consider herself to be the emotional type, this new tendency was rather alarming.
Instantly, Ian was kneeling on the bed and gathering her in his arms. "Perhaps because you want those visions to become reality as badly as I do," he whispered, lips brushing her forehead tenderly. "I did not realize just how much I want to be the father of your children until the Witchblade shared that amazing vision with me, Sara. The intense emotions my future self experienced upon witnessing the birth of our second child were earth- shattering for me. I never knew such joy was possible. Even the mind- blowing pleasure our lovemaking gives me pales in comparison to what I felt during that vision. As I said before, Sara, I will do everything in my power to make what we were shown become reality."
"And I'm gonna do everything I can to help you," she promised, hugging him tightly.
"So, will you be having full-strength coffee this morning, my Lady?" he inquired after a couple of minutes, during which they both struggled to control their emotions.
Sara shook her head. "I think I'll stick with decaf. Just in case Marie is wrong."
"When will you know for certain?" Ian asked quietly.
"Well, as you so observantly noted thanks to my desk calendar at work, I'm expecting my period sometime this week, or possibly early next week," Sara said, squirming just a little at discussing such a personal subject with him. "I'm usually extremely regular, except when I've been under a lot of stress, which pretty much describes this past week." She shrugged. "So, I'm not really sure when to expect it. Marie suggested I take one of those early pregnancy tests instead of waiting for nature to take its course. Maybe we can stop at a drugstore along the way and pick one up?"
"There is a 24-hour drugstore in Scarsdale, but it may have been forced to close because of the weather. We can stop by and see if it is open."
"Okay." Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. "As usual, I'm famished," she said ruefully. "I'd better hop in the shower."
Reluctantly, Ian released her and stood up. "And I will get breakfast started," he said, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was nearly 05:00 hours.
Sara took a quick shower, mindful of leaving enough hot water for Ian to do the same. Her stomach rumbled insistently as she rummaged through her duffle bag for a change of clothes. Once dressed, she started packing up the rest of her stuff, and had almost finished when Ian sent *Breakfast is ready, my love.*
*Hallelujah!*
They ate in companionable silence except for the appreciative sounds Sara made as she devoured her share of the once again perfect omelet, along with two cups of decaf and three slices of buttered toast. There was a faint but perceptible brightening in the eastern sky by the time they had cleaned up the breakfast dishes and finished packing up their belongings.
While Ian showered, Sara brewed a thermos of peppermint tea, stripped the bed, tidied up a little, and then stood staring blindly out the living room window, nursing her third cup of coffee. She didn't hear her Protector come out of the bedroom some twenty minutes later, and her heart leapt when she caught movement out the corner of her eye.
*I'm sorry,* Ian sent. *I didn't mean to startle you.*
She turned and saw that her easygoing, sensitive lover had been transformed into the lethal assassin who had once automatically caused her to frown irritably and finger her service weapon whenever she set eyes on him. Dressed entirely in black, his long, dark hair severely confined in a club at the nape of his neck, beard and mustache neatly trimmed, Ian Nottingham looked devilishly handsome and deadly.
"Ready to go?" she asked softly.
"Almost." With pantherish grace, Ian strode across the room to the shopping bag that held his weapons harness and took it out. He put it on with the ease of long practice, and buckled the straps. "Now I am ready."
They put on their coats. "Wait here, please," Ian requested, and soundlessly slipped outside. He reappeared a couple of minutes later and shouldered her duffel bag before stepping outside again and holding the door open for her.
Sara slung her knapsack over her shoulder, took up the first-aid kit, and gave the garage apartment one last lingering glance before closing and locking the door behind her.
The automatic garage door opening sounded unnaturally loud in the hushed quiet of the snowy suburban street, as did the chirp of the SUV's alarm when Ian deactivated it. Opening the hatchback, he stowed the first- aid kit and duffle bag in the trunk, while Sara took the thermos of tea out of her knapsack, putting it in the storage area between the front seats before tossing her bag into the back seat. Then the two of them made their way to the main house in the watery grey predawn light, every exhalation creating puffy white clouds in the intense cold.
The side door opened moments before they reached it, revealing a sleepy-looking Joseph Siri, Jr.
"Morning," he mumbled, hastily retreating to the warmth of the kitchen, where, much to their surprise, the rest of his family and his grandparents had assembled to see them off.
'Here I go again!' Sara thought exasperatedly as she felt tears burn her eyes. "You didn't have to get up at this ungodly hour, you know," she told her surrogate older brother huskily, handing him the keys to the garage.
Robert grabbed her in a fierce hug. "Yes, we did," he said. "We wanted to wish you and Ian luck."
His wife took his place when he released her. "Good luck," Paula whispered, her own eyes bright with tears as she gave her sister-in-law a warm embrace.
"Good luck, Aunt Sara," Gina Marie Siri said, not bothering to wait until her mother was through hugging Sara before she threw her arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. She then turned to Ian and repeated the gesture. "Good luck, Ian."
"Thank you, Princess," he whispered, hugging her small form back.
Paula stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Ian's bearded cheek. "The best of luck to you, Ian. Take care of yourself, you hear me?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Ian said, hazel eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Thank you for everything."
Joey gave his aunt a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. "Everything's gonna work out fine," he told her confidently. "So, we'll be seeing you and Ian in just a few days at Thanksgiving." He turned to Ian and stuck out his hand. "I know I'm right, Ian."
Ian grasped the teenager's hand and shook it. "With all my heart, I hope that you are, young Joseph." He turned and extended his gloved hand to the boy's father. "I am forever indebted to you and your family for providing me with a much-needed refuge, Robert. I will remember your kindness and generosity for as long as I live."
Robert shrugged and shook his hand. "You're family now, Ian," he said simply. "You're always welcome here. I mean that."
"Thank you," Ian rasped, throat tight with emotion.
"There will always be a place for you at my table, Ian Nottingham," Marie Siri said, reaching up to pat his tear-streaked cheek. "Stay strong."
"I will try," he said softly.
Joe Siri, Sr. held out his hand to Ian. "I share my grandson's confidence. You'll do fine," he said. "But when things get tough, just remember that we're all pulling for you."
Ian grasped the older man's hand firmly. "I will remember that."
Marie turned to Sara. "Come give your poor old godmother a hug before you leave," she demanded.
Sara went willingly into her familiar, comforting embrace. "Wish me luck, Marie," she whispered. "I'll need it!"
"I wish you luck, love, and happiness. I always have and I always will," she told her goddaughter, hugging her tightly. "Never doubt that."
"Good luck, Sweetheart," Joe Siri Sr. said, when his wife finally released her. "Remember: we're here for you and Ian 24-7," he told her, enveloping her in one of his patented bear hugs, which Sara wished would never end. But, of course, all too soon, it did.
"Let's get going, Nottingham," she said gruffly. "Bye, everybody!" Blinded by tears, she fled out the door of the mudroom.
"Bye, Sara," her family called after her. "Goodbye, Ian!"
Ian raised a hand in farewell and then quickly followed Sara outside, where the first rays of weak winter sunlight were struggling to dispel the dawn gloom. The SUV's alarm chirped as he deactivated it again.
"I sure hope we don't get stuck in the snow," Sara muttered, opening the front passenger-side door. "That would be sorta anticlimactic after that send-off." She climbed into the front passenger seat, absently wiping tears from her cheeks.
"Just a little," Ian agreed, getting behind the wheel and fastening his seatbelt. "Please buckle up, Sara." He started the engine and let it warm up for several minutes, during which they both sat there lost in their own thoughts.
Ian shifted into reverse. "Here goes," he murmured.
It took them half an hour just to reach the main thoroughfare, and they nearly did get stuck in the deep, never-plowed snow several times.
"I am sure I do not have to remind you to keep an eye out for a tail," Ian said, sharp eyes scanning the street intently. "I would be very surprised if Mr. Irons did not have someone watching for us. In fact, I would count on it."
"Does a Hummer full of ex-military types fit the bill?" Sara asked, rubbing her right wrist. The Witchblade had abruptly come to pulsating life in clear warning.
"You spotted them, too," Ian nodded approvingly.
"Yeah, and they've spotted us. Think you can lose them?"
He shrugged unconcernedly. "I am confident that will not be a problem. The Hummer may be at the top of the SUV food chain, but --"
"The BMW is the Ultimate Driving Machine," Sara interjected, watching in the side-view mirror as the huge, gunmetal grey Hummer pulled into traffic and began following them.
Ian spared her a quick glance. "While I agree with you that German engineering is far superior to most countries' automotive efforts, I was going to say the BMW's smaller size makes it more maneuverable and responsive, which will work to our advantage, especially in these driving conditions. Plus, it is a much less conspicuous vehicle."
"Oh." Sara shook her head ruefully. "I keep forgetting that you don't watch TV very often. More like never, hunh?"
He nodded. "This is true. Mr. Irons felt my time was better spent learning how to become a world-class assassin and bodyguard. Among other things, I excelled at the art of losing tails."
He swiftly proceeded to prove that he was right, even when a second Hummer joined the pursuit moments later.
"All gone," Sara said ten minutes later, "and we're not even out of Brooklyn. Good work, Nottingham." She was impressed not only with his driving skills, but by the cool, confident way he handled the car in driving conditions that were extremely challenging.
The so-called Thanksgiving Blizzard had really done a number on the entire tri-state area. Only the major arteries had been plowed and salted since the snow had started in earnest, and even they were still slick and treacherous. The sheer volume of snow, which at times had fallen at a rate of several inches an hour, had made it impossible for the hapless road crews to keep on top of it. As a result, ill-equipped motorists who had been foolhardy enough to venture out during the height of the storm had quickly found themselves in trouble. Abandoned cars littered the Belt Parkway, narrowing the normally three-lane highway to a single lane at times. But Sara was now confident that they would reach their destination. The SUV's four-wheel drive and the man behind the wheel would see to that. A jaw-cracking yawn took her by surprise.
"It will take us at least an hour, probably longer, to reach Scarsdale, Sara. Feel free to nap until then," Ian told her.
"That's all right," she refused, cracking the window to let in some cold air. "Besides, you must be tired, too."
"I am fine. I do not require as much sleep as most people," he informed her.
"Well, be that as it may, I'll feel better if you concentrate on driving while I keep an eye out for a tail," Sara said firmly, fixing her gaze on the side-view mirror.
But her eyelids swiftly grew heavy. After jerking awake for the third time, Sara conceded defeat. "I'll just rest my eyes for a little bit," she murmured, discovering that her seat reclined nearly flat.
The last thing she heard was Nottingham's soft "Sleep well, my love."
******
Sara surfaced from a deep, dreamless sleep when she sensed a lack of motion. Feeling surprisingly refreshed, she glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that more than an hour had elapsed since she'd dozed off. It was a little past 8:30 a.m.
"The drugstore is open, Sara," Ian said, and she realized that they were in the store's parking lot, which was dotted with several ten-foot- high mountains of plowed snow.
"Great," she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Do you want anything while I'm in there? Maybe a snack, or some bottled water?"
"No, thank you. Here," he held out a twenty-dollar bill. "Will this be sufficient?"
"More than enough, I think. Thanks." She opened the car door and hopped out. "Be right back."
Sara quickly found the item that she wanted and brought it to the cashier in the front of the store. Out the window, she could see Nottingham standing next to the SUV. He was watching the street.
"Do you have a rest room?" Sara asked the cashier.
"Can't wait to find out, hunh?" the 60-ish woman said knowingly. "It's in the back to the left."
"Uh, thanks," Sara muttered, coloring. She'd only wanted to empty her uncomfortably full bladder, but decided there was no time like the present. After all, the package promised easy-to-read results in less than five minutes. *I'm gonna use the facilities, Ian,* she sent. *And while I'm in there, I may as well take the test. It'll only take about five minutes.*
*I'll be waiting for you in the car.*
Exactly seven minutes later, Sara left the bathroom and headed for the exit. She felt the cashier's eyes on her but didn't glance her way as she left the store.
As promised, Ian was sitting behind the wheel when Sara came out of the drugstore. Apprehensively, he examined her expression, which was curiously blank, as she approached the car, opened the passenger-side door, and got in. She fastened her seatbelt and then just sat there, staring straight ahead out the windshield.
"Well?" he finally prompted, unable to stand the suspense any longer.
She started guiltily, then grimaced. "I feel like such an idiot! It wasn't until after the fact that I noticed that the insert said you should wait at least a week to take the test in order to get the most accurate results," she said dully. "It's been less than three days since we first made love."
"Oh," Ian said, crestfallen.
"That's why we shouldn't get all excited just because it was positive."
Hazel eyes widened in shock. "It was positive!?!"
Sara nodded, uncaring that her eyes had filled with tears yet again. "But we shouldn't get our hopes up," she warned him again. "It could be a false positive."
"So, we must wait at least five more days to be certain."
"Yeah," she sighed. "I'm sorry; I should have read the insert more carefully." She held up some crumpled bills. "And if it's all right with you, I'm gonna hold onto your change, 'cause I need to buy another test, but no way was I gonna do it in there. That old lady cashier was way too nosey," she said in a rush, ending on a broken little sigh that tore at Ian's heart.
He removed his glove before gently wiping away her tears. "It is all right, Sara. I am glad our hopes have not been dashed, even if the timing is atrocious," he told her.
"Me, too," she whispered. Leaning over, she pressed her lips against his in a short, sweet kiss. "Now, let's get going again. The sooner we get this confrontation over with, the better!"
"Agreed."
Less than ten minutes later, he pulled the SUV into the driveway of a large, Spanish-style house that was surrounded by an eight-foot-high wrought-iron fence.
"Why are we stopping here?" Sara asked curiously.
"Deep beneath this house is a tunnel that leads to the estate," Ian explained, rolling down his window. He entered a code into the keypad, and the gates slowly swung open.
"Wow. But how can you be sure that nobody's home?" she questioned nervously as they continued on up the driveway.
"The house is uninhabited."
They stopped in front of a four-car garage that was attached to the house.
"Inside is a state-of-the-art surveillance system that I designed and installed myself," he told her. "It is twin to the one in the command center at the estate. First, I must disable the motion-detection sensors in the tunnel. I should also be able to pinpoint my father's location before we leave here. I will be right back." He got out of the SUV and made quick work of the lock on the garage door, raising it, and then got behind the wheel again.
As they pulled into the garage, Sara saw that yet another Hummer sat in one of three remaining spaces; however, the structure was otherwise empty.
"It was sloppy of my replacement not to change the security codes," Ian murmured punching a code into the keypad located next to the door that led to the house. The blinking lights on the device went from red to green, and Sara heard the lock click open. "Father will not be pleased when he discovers this oversight."
"Yeah, but if it's a trap, wouldn't he have instructed his security team not to change the codes, thus making it easier to lure us in?" Sara queried. "I'll bet he's that devious."
Ian shot her a dark look at this reminder of the danger he was potentially leading her into. "We shall see," he said, opening the door.
The garage opened onto what would most likely have been a storage room in a normal household setup, a place to keep nonperishable groceries, like cases of soda and bottled water, and automotive items, such as antifreeze, motor oil, and the like. But the shelves that lined the walls were empty. Sara soon discovered that the entire house was devoid of furniture and decoration, except for window treatments: heavy, opaque drapes hid the abnormally bare interior from prying eyes.
'What a waste,' Sara thought, glancing around. She'd always been partial to Spanish-style houses, and this was a particularly beautiful example of one. It seemed like a crime to leave it empty.
Ian led the way to a steel reinforced door with yet another keypad. Like he had with the others, he punched in a code from memory, unlocking it. He flicked on a light switch just inside the door, revealing stairs leading downward. Stepping aside, he allowed Sara to descend first, and then pulled the door closed behind him.
The security system was located in what would have been a spacious rec room had the house been inhabited. Several large, plasma video screens were mounted above a semicircular workstation that housed half a dozen built-in computers. There were two sets of keyboards and two chairs. Ian took one and immediately began typing in commands. Sara took the other and sat back to watch him work. Three of the video screens flickered to life, displaying interior and exterior views of the estate, and what looked like different New York City street grids.
Ian indicated the screen with the grids. "Those blinking dots indicate the locations of the three security teams that are searching for us. Please keep an eye on them and alert me if it appears that one or all of them are heading back here," Ian requested.
"Sure." Sara blinked, and looked more closely at one of the grids. "Well, would you look at that: one of the teams is sitting on my loft. Does Irons really think we'd be stupid enough to go there?" she muttered, forgetting that that was exactly what they'd intended to do before Ian came up with the idea of coming here instead.
"Apparently, he is taking no chances," Ian murmured, hazel eyes focused on the screen that showed interior views of the estate. He was cycling through images of the various rooms faster than Sara could follow.
"Hmmm. Oddly enough, none of the teams appears to be watching the precinct. I wonder why that is?" Sara said thoughtfully. "It's as if Irons already knows I'm not going in to work today." Then it dawned on her. "He does know. That means he's got someone on the inside, which doesn't surprise me one bit. Who is it, Ian? Dante?"
"That would be my guess," Ian responded, never taking his gaze off the screen. "It makes perfect sense. Who better to control than the person who has direct supervision over you? However, I do not know for certain that Dante is working for my father," he admitted.
"I'm pretty damn sure it's him," Sara said frowning. "He's had it in for me ever since he took over for Joe. Plus, I get the feeling that he might be dirty. Him and a couple of the other members of the All Boys Club at the 11th. And that hunch has only grown stronger since I went through the Periculum."
Her Protector nodded approvingly. "Excellent. You are learning to trust your Witchblade-enhanced instincts, my Lady."
She made a skeptical face. "I'm not so sure about the enhanced part. As you know, I'm not exactly the trusting type. Dante is way too oily for my liking, and the fact that he so obviously enjoys busting my balls, and has from day one, doesn't exactly endear him to me," she admitted wryly.
"No, I cannot imagine it would."
"So, have you managed to find Irons yet?" Sara asked, noticing that he'd suddenly gone very still.
"Yes. I have also discovered that Dr. Immo did, in fact, survive the Russians' attack, although apparently not unscathed. He is currently hospitalized in the estate's infirmary."
"Oh yeah?" Something in his voice made her take her eyes off the screen she'd been tasked with monitoring and look at his face instead. What she saw there alarmed her. "Where is Irons, Ian?"
"In the infirmary with Dr. Immo," he said tonelessly. "On life support."
More to come. I know: Evil, evil dragongrrl and her cliffhangers! Drat her! :) Darn! I was really hoping to wrap up this story on a nice round number, like chapter 60. Oh well, the best laid plans . . . Once again, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for the enthusiastic, highly entertaining, and occasionally downright threatening (bad, bad Eli!) feedback. Receiving your reviews and comments is the highlight of my day! Please, keep it coming and I'll keep on writing! I promise! dragongrrl