Parallelogram : Day Two : Chapter 14
Five Days, Twenty Hours, Eight Minutes
The bliss of sleep faded away as Indiri awoke in her bed. She stirred quietly, opening her eyes to the dim light filtered through the hotel room drapes, and realization dawned on her as to where she was and what she had been doing.
She smiled happily to herself.
Lying perfectly still, her head pressed to the pillow, she lay there and allowed her mind to wander. She could still feel the sensation of Richard DeMarco on top of her. She still felt the welcome warmth of his naked thighs pressing into hers. She felt the rugged motion of his hands, his lips, and his teeth fondling her breasts. She felt the tingling of her neck – he had spent a healthy amount of energy kissing and suckling there – and she was certain that her hair – his long fingers wrapped in her delicious sheen – was unkempt. It had a long time – far too long – that she had felt so good about herself, about setting aside the hesitation she almost always felt at bedding a near-total stranger. Something about the evening – something about Richard – had felt so right. He spoke to her with such kindness, such courtesy. He looked at her with such tenderness. He had listened to her hapless tales of fashion, of models, of photographers, and he had seemed honestly interested in each and every yarn. Then, he made love to her with no reservation, with tremendous intensity, with an almost animal ferocity – at times – that she lost her breath in his arms, in his clutches, under the welcome wait of a true ... soulmate?
'Stop it,' she told herself. 'You're behaving like you're sixteen. You've had a quickie in the back of your father's sedan, and you're ready to rush to the altar, girlfriend.'
Rolling over easily, she discovered that she was alone in the bed.
Softly, she cried out, "Richard?"
There came no reply.
She sat up in the bed, craning her neck in the direction of the bathroom. She didn't see any slivers of light shining out from under the door, so, she realized she was completely alone in the room.
'That sonuvabitch,' she thought.
No. It couldn't be that way. He wouldn't have simply rushed off as soon as she had fallen asleep. It had only been a few hours, she realized as she glanced at the bedside clock, and she refused to accept that Richard DeMarco – the dark, handsome, gentlemanly Richard DeMarco – would be so callous as to have his fun and then run.
'That sonuvabitch.'
No.
She refused to believe it.
The chime of her cell phone broke her from the mental debate. Rising from the bed, taking the silk sheet with her, she fumbled through the darkness across her high heels and clothing until she found her purse. Yanking it open, she dug inside, found the phone, and pressed the activator button.
"Hello?" she said.
"Boss?"
She recognized the voice immediately. "Iceland? Is that you?"
"Oh, boss, thank goodness you finally answered your telephone! I've been trying to call you for an hour!"
Indiri sat on the floor, draping the sheet completely around her. "Well, I had fallen asleep, Iceland."
"Asleep?" she heard. "What in the world would you be doing asleep ... at this hour? The parties are just beginning!"
Clearing her throat, Indiri tried harmlessly, "Iceland, it's what happens to a woman after she's been totally ... oh, never mind. What's so urgent that you've been trying to call me for this time of night? You should have gone home for the evening. You're not still at the office, are you?"
"No, ma'am," Iceland replied, but her voice trailed off into silence ... however, Indiri could hear some very distinct music in the background.
"Are you calling me from a club?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Confused, Indiri sighed and began rustling through the clothing for her underwear. She found them, and, still crouching on the floor, she somehow managed to stick her leg through one of the holes. "Iceland, why are you calling me from some club?"
"Well ..."
"Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Suddenly, the music in the background faded, and Indiri heard the sound of applause.
"No, ma'am," the woman replied. "I'm not in any kind of trouble. It isn't me ... it's ..."
The red sting of embarrassment burned into Indiri's face.
"It's Ulrika," she finally realized. "Isn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What did she do?" Miraculously, Indiri was managed to get both legs through the proper holes, and, letting go of the sheet, she dropped onto the floor, on her back, and slid them up to her waist. "Don't hold back, Iceland. If Ulrika is up to no good, this wouldn't be the first time."
The applause on the phone faded, giving way to the hollering and catcalls of ...
... men.
With as much authority as she could muster, Indiri demanded, "Tell me where you are ... right now."
"We're at the Sanction Club."
Oh, no.
Indiri took a second to press her free hand to her forehead. Was it a fever, or was she burning hot with anger now?
"The gentleman's club?" she asked, trying to maintain her decorum.
"You have to understand what Ulrika has been going through these last few weeks," Iceland offered. "You were in Europe!"
"I was working, Iceland."
"I know, but ... she's such a free spirit, ma'am ... you know what I'm talking about. There was this congressman who came by ... to tell you the truth, I don't remember which one it was ... but he put her in touch with the manager of the Sanction ... and she's here! I told her not to, but when she called me to come down here and watch her first performance, she seemed so pleased with herself that I thought I could talk some sense into her! Please! Please, don't be angry with me! I honestly did the best I could!"
Now struggling to get all of her clothes on, Indiri forced herself to remain calm. "Has she danced yet?"
"No ... but she's set to go on any minute!"
Skirt, on. Blouse, on. Bra ... ah, forget it. Heels, on.
"No, no, no," Indiri insisted. "You do whatever you have to do to keep her off that stage, Iceland!"
"Ma'am, it isn't as if the Sanction is a dirty place," the secretary tried. "I mean ... I've never been in here before, but it's actually quite nice. Very tasteful."
"That may be," the woman conceded, "but dancing in a club like the Sanction will cause Ulrika to lose any chance at a credible modeling career, and I've invested too much of myself in her – too much of our assets – in allowing her to throw herself away just because some congressman with a willing smile popped by the office for a look-see."
"I understand."
"You keep her off that stage," Indiri ordered. "Do whatever it is you have to do, Iceland. You can use my name. You can threaten to call the police. Hell, you can get up there and take her spot on the stage, for all I care, but – whatever you do – you do not allow Ulrika to shake her goods for the benefit of paying customers ... do you understand me? I'm on my way."
[At the same time]
Lisa kept her temper under control.
She admitted to herself that she was attracted to Richard DeMarco. What woman wouldn't be? He was so very, very handsome, with skin so smooth, dark, and polished that the mere thought of wrapping her naked self around the tale, succulent stranger drove shivers through her body. She trusted – given their conversations – that he felt likewise. This woman – this Indiri Farris – she was a necessary evil, a loose end that had to be tied up. They had met on his place ride to the United States, and Richard – ever the charmer – had taken to her quickly. A light dinner and a healthy romp in bed later, Lisa herself would finish her rival for affections off ... with a twenty-two caliber bullet fired into the back of her head, execution style. The size of the bullet would force the skull to trap the slug inside, causing it to ricochet of the bone, tearing into and through the brain, cutting short Ms. Farris's hold on life and sending her painfully into the afterlife.
Then, Lisa would have Richard all to herself.
Still, there was Matthew to worry about. Her brother had made it expressly clear – when he brought her into this business – that she would inevitably find herself attracted to these men. They were powerful, he had warned her, and women – some women – were naturally charmed by such power. At the time, she had dismissed it as a schoolgirl notion. This was, simply, business in its most pure, simple, and violent form. However, with each passing day, she more clearly understood Matthew's fears for her admirations. These weren't ordinary men. These were cunning men. They were intelligent. They had missions and hopes and dreams, and they were completely willing to sacrifice anything necessary to see those goals achieved. Each 'dealer' or 'buyer' had become more attractive to her in the past year, and Matthew warned her that her reaction was only natural. However, she hadn't expected Richard DeMarco ... and now she was willing to put a bullet in the back of another woman's head in order to stop this man from disappearing from her life.
It didn't make any sense, she knew, but she had to do it.
Glancing up, she saw that the elevator reached the seventh floor. The car pinged, and the doors parted.
To her surprise, Indiri Farris stepped onto the car. "Going down?" she asked, smiling politely.
Lisa took a second to respond. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes, I am."
Again, the woman grinned at the potential killer. She pressed the 'L' button for the lobby, and she turned and faced the closing doors.
"Your skirt," Lisa said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your skirt," she whispered.
Reaching out, Lisa grasped the lip of the zipper and pulled it up. The teeth locked into place, setting the garment firmly onto Indiri's waist.
"You weren't quite all the way up there," she said.
Embarrassed, Indiri sighed, drawing one hand over her eyes. "Thank you very much."
"Don't mention it."
The car reached the lobby, and the doors opened.
"Have a nice evening," Indiri offered.
"You, too."
They stepped out of the car, and the agent quickly marched across the glossy marble floor and through the twirling doors.
Stepping up to the glass window, Lisa brought a finger up to her ear and activated her communications unit. Matthew wasn't going to like this development, she realized. He wasn't going to like it a single bit.
[At the same time]
They were halfway back up the maintenance ladder when both men stopped as their comm units signaled. Matthew reached up and toggled his switch.
"What do you have?"
"Target has left the building," Lisa said over the line.
Matthew was in the lead climbing up the ladder. He glanced down at his friend, and DeMarco frowned.
Touching his ear, DeMarco said plainly, "Lisa, you must follow and intercept. Kill her ... or you risk my incarceration."
"Understood," she said, and then the line went dead.
END of Chapter 14
Five Days, Twenty Hours, Eight Minutes
The bliss of sleep faded away as Indiri awoke in her bed. She stirred quietly, opening her eyes to the dim light filtered through the hotel room drapes, and realization dawned on her as to where she was and what she had been doing.
She smiled happily to herself.
Lying perfectly still, her head pressed to the pillow, she lay there and allowed her mind to wander. She could still feel the sensation of Richard DeMarco on top of her. She still felt the welcome warmth of his naked thighs pressing into hers. She felt the rugged motion of his hands, his lips, and his teeth fondling her breasts. She felt the tingling of her neck – he had spent a healthy amount of energy kissing and suckling there – and she was certain that her hair – his long fingers wrapped in her delicious sheen – was unkempt. It had a long time – far too long – that she had felt so good about herself, about setting aside the hesitation she almost always felt at bedding a near-total stranger. Something about the evening – something about Richard – had felt so right. He spoke to her with such kindness, such courtesy. He looked at her with such tenderness. He had listened to her hapless tales of fashion, of models, of photographers, and he had seemed honestly interested in each and every yarn. Then, he made love to her with no reservation, with tremendous intensity, with an almost animal ferocity – at times – that she lost her breath in his arms, in his clutches, under the welcome wait of a true ... soulmate?
'Stop it,' she told herself. 'You're behaving like you're sixteen. You've had a quickie in the back of your father's sedan, and you're ready to rush to the altar, girlfriend.'
Rolling over easily, she discovered that she was alone in the bed.
Softly, she cried out, "Richard?"
There came no reply.
She sat up in the bed, craning her neck in the direction of the bathroom. She didn't see any slivers of light shining out from under the door, so, she realized she was completely alone in the room.
'That sonuvabitch,' she thought.
No. It couldn't be that way. He wouldn't have simply rushed off as soon as she had fallen asleep. It had only been a few hours, she realized as she glanced at the bedside clock, and she refused to accept that Richard DeMarco – the dark, handsome, gentlemanly Richard DeMarco – would be so callous as to have his fun and then run.
'That sonuvabitch.'
No.
She refused to believe it.
The chime of her cell phone broke her from the mental debate. Rising from the bed, taking the silk sheet with her, she fumbled through the darkness across her high heels and clothing until she found her purse. Yanking it open, she dug inside, found the phone, and pressed the activator button.
"Hello?" she said.
"Boss?"
She recognized the voice immediately. "Iceland? Is that you?"
"Oh, boss, thank goodness you finally answered your telephone! I've been trying to call you for an hour!"
Indiri sat on the floor, draping the sheet completely around her. "Well, I had fallen asleep, Iceland."
"Asleep?" she heard. "What in the world would you be doing asleep ... at this hour? The parties are just beginning!"
Clearing her throat, Indiri tried harmlessly, "Iceland, it's what happens to a woman after she's been totally ... oh, never mind. What's so urgent that you've been trying to call me for this time of night? You should have gone home for the evening. You're not still at the office, are you?"
"No, ma'am," Iceland replied, but her voice trailed off into silence ... however, Indiri could hear some very distinct music in the background.
"Are you calling me from a club?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Confused, Indiri sighed and began rustling through the clothing for her underwear. She found them, and, still crouching on the floor, she somehow managed to stick her leg through one of the holes. "Iceland, why are you calling me from some club?"
"Well ..."
"Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Suddenly, the music in the background faded, and Indiri heard the sound of applause.
"No, ma'am," the woman replied. "I'm not in any kind of trouble. It isn't me ... it's ..."
The red sting of embarrassment burned into Indiri's face.
"It's Ulrika," she finally realized. "Isn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What did she do?" Miraculously, Indiri was managed to get both legs through the proper holes, and, letting go of the sheet, she dropped onto the floor, on her back, and slid them up to her waist. "Don't hold back, Iceland. If Ulrika is up to no good, this wouldn't be the first time."
The applause on the phone faded, giving way to the hollering and catcalls of ...
... men.
With as much authority as she could muster, Indiri demanded, "Tell me where you are ... right now."
"We're at the Sanction Club."
Oh, no.
Indiri took a second to press her free hand to her forehead. Was it a fever, or was she burning hot with anger now?
"The gentleman's club?" she asked, trying to maintain her decorum.
"You have to understand what Ulrika has been going through these last few weeks," Iceland offered. "You were in Europe!"
"I was working, Iceland."
"I know, but ... she's such a free spirit, ma'am ... you know what I'm talking about. There was this congressman who came by ... to tell you the truth, I don't remember which one it was ... but he put her in touch with the manager of the Sanction ... and she's here! I told her not to, but when she called me to come down here and watch her first performance, she seemed so pleased with herself that I thought I could talk some sense into her! Please! Please, don't be angry with me! I honestly did the best I could!"
Now struggling to get all of her clothes on, Indiri forced herself to remain calm. "Has she danced yet?"
"No ... but she's set to go on any minute!"
Skirt, on. Blouse, on. Bra ... ah, forget it. Heels, on.
"No, no, no," Indiri insisted. "You do whatever you have to do to keep her off that stage, Iceland!"
"Ma'am, it isn't as if the Sanction is a dirty place," the secretary tried. "I mean ... I've never been in here before, but it's actually quite nice. Very tasteful."
"That may be," the woman conceded, "but dancing in a club like the Sanction will cause Ulrika to lose any chance at a credible modeling career, and I've invested too much of myself in her – too much of our assets – in allowing her to throw herself away just because some congressman with a willing smile popped by the office for a look-see."
"I understand."
"You keep her off that stage," Indiri ordered. "Do whatever it is you have to do, Iceland. You can use my name. You can threaten to call the police. Hell, you can get up there and take her spot on the stage, for all I care, but – whatever you do – you do not allow Ulrika to shake her goods for the benefit of paying customers ... do you understand me? I'm on my way."
[At the same time]
Lisa kept her temper under control.
She admitted to herself that she was attracted to Richard DeMarco. What woman wouldn't be? He was so very, very handsome, with skin so smooth, dark, and polished that the mere thought of wrapping her naked self around the tale, succulent stranger drove shivers through her body. She trusted – given their conversations – that he felt likewise. This woman – this Indiri Farris – she was a necessary evil, a loose end that had to be tied up. They had met on his place ride to the United States, and Richard – ever the charmer – had taken to her quickly. A light dinner and a healthy romp in bed later, Lisa herself would finish her rival for affections off ... with a twenty-two caliber bullet fired into the back of her head, execution style. The size of the bullet would force the skull to trap the slug inside, causing it to ricochet of the bone, tearing into and through the brain, cutting short Ms. Farris's hold on life and sending her painfully into the afterlife.
Then, Lisa would have Richard all to herself.
Still, there was Matthew to worry about. Her brother had made it expressly clear – when he brought her into this business – that she would inevitably find herself attracted to these men. They were powerful, he had warned her, and women – some women – were naturally charmed by such power. At the time, she had dismissed it as a schoolgirl notion. This was, simply, business in its most pure, simple, and violent form. However, with each passing day, she more clearly understood Matthew's fears for her admirations. These weren't ordinary men. These were cunning men. They were intelligent. They had missions and hopes and dreams, and they were completely willing to sacrifice anything necessary to see those goals achieved. Each 'dealer' or 'buyer' had become more attractive to her in the past year, and Matthew warned her that her reaction was only natural. However, she hadn't expected Richard DeMarco ... and now she was willing to put a bullet in the back of another woman's head in order to stop this man from disappearing from her life.
It didn't make any sense, she knew, but she had to do it.
Glancing up, she saw that the elevator reached the seventh floor. The car pinged, and the doors parted.
To her surprise, Indiri Farris stepped onto the car. "Going down?" she asked, smiling politely.
Lisa took a second to respond. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes, I am."
Again, the woman grinned at the potential killer. She pressed the 'L' button for the lobby, and she turned and faced the closing doors.
"Your skirt," Lisa said.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Your skirt," she whispered.
Reaching out, Lisa grasped the lip of the zipper and pulled it up. The teeth locked into place, setting the garment firmly onto Indiri's waist.
"You weren't quite all the way up there," she said.
Embarrassed, Indiri sighed, drawing one hand over her eyes. "Thank you very much."
"Don't mention it."
The car reached the lobby, and the doors opened.
"Have a nice evening," Indiri offered.
"You, too."
They stepped out of the car, and the agent quickly marched across the glossy marble floor and through the twirling doors.
Stepping up to the glass window, Lisa brought a finger up to her ear and activated her communications unit. Matthew wasn't going to like this development, she realized. He wasn't going to like it a single bit.
[At the same time]
They were halfway back up the maintenance ladder when both men stopped as their comm units signaled. Matthew reached up and toggled his switch.
"What do you have?"
"Target has left the building," Lisa said over the line.
Matthew was in the lead climbing up the ladder. He glanced down at his friend, and DeMarco frowned.
Touching his ear, DeMarco said plainly, "Lisa, you must follow and intercept. Kill her ... or you risk my incarceration."
"Understood," she said, and then the line went dead.
END of Chapter 14
