Chapter Thirty
Washington, D.C.:

Raking in a harsh, burning breath, Sarah arched her back and felt like screaming. Since her first death at the hands of one of her clients, she'd only died one other time, and that had been early on in her immortal life. She'd not believed what her teacher Cassandra was telling her about immortality. So Cassandra had shot her with the small derringer that she kept in her bag. Sarah had determined after that, there would be no repeat performances. She hated the pain, and she hated being vulnerable. Anything could happen while one was dead.

She fumbled beneath the white, silk sheet covering her to feel where the sword had been thrust into her chest. It still hurt… or was it the memory of that fatal thrust and the terror that had accompanied it. Her skin beneath her fingertips was flawless… and gave no testament to the wound that had been there.

She began to sob… partially in relief… partially because the stress of the situation was taking its toll on her emotionally. When she finally calmed, she leaned up on her elbows and looked around to get her bearings.

This room, immaculate and white, was a far cry from the filthy set she'd been imprisoned on. Gone was the mattress with its dubious stains upon stains. Gone were the handcuffs and shackles that had kept her there. Gone also were the camera and film crew. Cocking her head, Sarah could feel a nearby immortal… likely Kingsley. Sniffing the air, she thought she could detect the odor of his omnipresent cigar. He was likely in the next room.

Sarah noticed sunlight filtering through the thin sheers covering glass along one wall of the room. All for getting out of here, she tossed back the sheet and rose, stopping only as she considered that she was nude. Her chestnut hair fluttered about her… clean and smelling of some floral shampoo. Sarah made a face at the scent. It reminded her of the smell of the cheap rose water that had been the rage over a century ago for the less economically favored. The scent of florals all too often reminded her of her beginnings. Noticing the drawers in the white lacquered dresser, she crossed to it and pulled them open. Empty! She flung back the mirrored doors of the closet along one wall… again… there was nothing there. She reached back and pulled the top sheet from the bed and tied it around her. She glanced at the ceiling corners as if expecting to see a camera there… but saw nothing except the white ceiling fan spinning slowly.

Satisfied that she was at least covered, she pulled back the sheers and stared out at a wide balcony. Also seeing the roofs of nearby buildings, she surmised she was in some penthouse suite. The next thing that she noticed was that the window was solid. Evidently no sliding glass door had ever been here. Looking about, she noticed a brass floor lamp and ripped off the parchment shade as she hefted the lamp and rammed it against the window. It rebounded. Evidently it would take more than that to break the glass. And then what? She'd be on the balcony of a skyscraper with no way down and an immortal nearby. She could jump, she supposed, but shuddered at the thought. He might claim her body anyway and bring her back.

Reluctantly she replaced the lamp and the shade. Maybe another time… when Kingsley wasn't here… she could make the attempt.

Sarah crossed to the door and laid her ear against it. Yes… there was definitely an immortal on the other side. She glanced about for anything she could use as a weapon or defense. Nothing presented itself besides the unwieldy lamp. She glanced in the small bathroom, again wrinkling her nose at the floral smell redolent in the air. He'd brought her here… bathed her… and put her into a clean bed. Sarah shivered wondering what else he might have done. One hand massaged her throat… still wondering why he'd not taken her head. He'd been interested in Ben… well not Ben… but in some friend of Ben's. That's when he'd seemed interested in her. Perhaps she could use that. She could play along with him until she could make her escape.

She set her smile in place, turned and opened the door leading to the next room.

If the bedroom had been light, white, and airy, the next room… the main room… was anything but. It seemed almost steamy by contrast. The smell of the cigar didn't help as it made each breath she drew one of fire. The darkly painted walls and dark furniture reminded Sarah of the parlors of her youth. The ones where the men would sit with their cigars and ogle and judge the parade of femininity being offered for the evening. This was more modern, true… almost sleek… but she still had the feeling she was being judged.

As she entered, she noted the small kitchenette and bar to her right and the archway to a small foyer. She pretended no interest in the route of escape, and focused instead on the figure of Martin Kingsley, nattily dressed in pressed charcoal slacks with a crisp pleat, and a dove gray silk shirt with matching tie. He was looking at her sharply as she sauntered toward him.

"You should have waited until I woke up for your fun," she smirked as she struck a pose.

Kingsley drew in on his cigar deliberately… then tapped the ash into a small ashtray before laying the cigar in it. He held out a hand.

Sarah smiled thinly and stepped forward, expecting to be pulled onto his lap. Instead, He yanked her to her knees and twisted her arm behind her. She could feel the sudden snap of small bones in her hand. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

With his other hand, he ripped the sheet from her. "Sheets are for the bed!" he hissed. He dragged her by her hair back into the bedroom and shoved her to the floor against the bed. Tossing the sheet at her he said menacingly, "Make the bed."

"Sorry I don't make beds… only use them…" she began and was rewarded with a roundhouse punch to her mouth. Blood spurted and teeth felt loose. Her nose was bleeding… and obviously broken.

"Now make the bed. Nice and neat. I want to see hospital corners," he ordered her with one hand pointed at the bed.

Sarah didn't argue. She rose and cupped one hand over the free-flowing blood as she attempted to make the bed. He tapped on her shoulder. She flinched but he was only offering her a handkerchief. She nodded her thanks and pressed it to her face. A few moments later, the bleeding had stopped, but it was still swollen and painful. He held out his hand for the handkerchief. "Now wash up and then make the bed."

Sarah did so. She hadn't made beds since she was thirteen and had moved from drudge at the house to being one of the "ladies". But she remembered how. Madame Claire had been a real stickler for starched white sheets, duly ironed and smoothed on the beds. After each use, the beds had been stripped and remade with clean linen. They'd gone through a lot of linen some nights.

Satisfied that she'd done the best she could, Sarah stepped back.

Kingsley nodded. "From now on, when you rise, you will make the bed." He grabbed her arm and pushed her back into the other room.

"I needed something to wear!" she pouted slightly.

"You need only what I give you. When you earn clothes… you'll have them!" he spat as he shoved her onto the sofa. Then he returned to his armchair, picked up his cigar, tapped off the ash and took another deep draw on it as he crossed his legs and regarded her.

Sarah crossed her legs and held her hands over her breasts. This certainly wasn't going the way she'd thought it would. She felt vulnerable and exposed. She didn't like the feeling.

Kingsley laughed. "Not used to not having your own way… eh?"

Sarah shrugged, fearful of saying anything that would prompt him to hit her again. The pain in her mouth and nose had stopped, but she refused to touch them, fearful that to do so would stop the healing, or let her know how bad she looked. In her mouth… two teeth were still loose.

Another draw on the cigar. "So… tell me about you and the good doctor."

Sarah swallowed as she thought frantically for a lie that he would believe. "He was the first immortal I met after my death." She smiled and moved one shoulder slightly as if that explained things. "We were good for each other."

"And you don't recall a man with him? Medium height, usually bearded, a bit portly?" Kingsley asked. "He might have used Gerard, or Phillips, or Madison as part of his name."

Sarah shook her head. "Ben was alone at the time. I moved on after being trained. I saw him recently and he gave me a picture of where he was living now."

"A picture?"

Sarah smiled more broadly. "It was in my purse. Do you have my purse?"

Kingsley spat as he pulled the cigar from his mouth. "Damn that Miller! He didn't bring me a purse."

"Well… I need the photograph to find him. It's of an island."

"Where?"

Sarah licked her lips, again uncertain as to how much to tell him and how much to try lying about. "Greece, I think."

Kingsley's face broke into a predatory grin. "Greece? Gerard was likely Greek. Would you recognize it again if you saw it?"

"I suppose," she lied.

Kingsley rose and motioned her to join him at the table near the window. Red sheers covered this window so that what light filtered through gave a bloody hue to everything. On the table was a notebook-sized computer. Sarah whistled. In her time in the government the last few decades she had seen and used many types of computers. This was one of the super-powerful ones. Not as portable and easy to carry as the standard PPC's… it generally served people as their home machine.

She slid into a chair and expertly booted it up. Even without her addresses and codes on her PPC, she still knew enough to use a search program to show various Greek Islands. The picture she'd stolen from the little girl's room looked professionally made. Perhaps the same picture would be on-line. Sarah could only wish for that. At the same time, she was reluctant to find it… at least not with Kingsley standing over her shoulder. While he said he wasn't interested in Ben… he might be. While Sarah wanted to find Ben… and possibly eliminate or woo him away from his current wife for herself… she didn't want him dead. Nor did she want to do anything that might cause him to turn away from her forever.

After a good hour of going through travel pages on Greece, Kingsley leaned over and shut the machine off. "That's enough for now."

"If you have to leave, I can continue to work," Sarah said pleasantly. "Or perhaps we can adjourn to more pleasant activities?" She gave him a knowing look.

Kingsley slammed it shut, nearly breaking her fingers. "Only when I'm here. Do you take me for a fool that I would leave you with access to the outside world?"

Sarah paled. "Of course not." She meekly laid her throbbing hands in her lap.

"Then we try again tomorrow. But since you had no luck today, I think a little lesson is in order."

"Lesson?" Sarah didn't like the sound of that.

She barely got the question out before he laced his fingers into her hair and pulled her along with him toward a door on the far side of the main room and leading to another room that Sarah had not seen. She clamped down, trying to show neither fear nor pain.

He switched on a light-switch as they entered the otherwise dark room. Sarah struggled to be free or him when she saw the padded and insulated walls covered with dark maroon splotches. In the center was a rack of some sort with rusty shackles. He pulled her to face him and slammed a fist into her face again. She moaned as her knees buckled.

As he bent her over the rack and attached the shackles, he laughed. "I usually have to be so gentle with the mortal women I bring here. I've never had an immortal one to play with. I wonder how much you can take? After all… if you die, you'll heal and then come back. We can do this again and again. I don't have to worry about you dying unless I take your pretty little head… which I won't."

Once she was shackled over the rack, Sarah watched as Kingsley set his cigar in an ashtray and looked at several things on a long table. He finally selected a heavy lead pipe and slapped it into his palm a few times as he leered at her menacingly. "I think we can dispense with the switches. Something with more weight to it is required."

"Please," Sarah said following the movement of the pipe, "I can be very agreeable. I've very well versed in things as you saw in the film studio."

"Oh my dear. I never mix business with pleasure. And you my dear… are business. But one has to have a clear understanding of what is required. You will search again tomorrow… and if you find nothing… this lesson will be repeated."

He stepped forward and slammed the pipe across her back.

Sarah screamed.

The second blow shattered one of her femurs. By the time the third blow landed… she was unconscious.

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"It's not her," Beatrice Carter, the morgue analyst said as she entered John Parker's office and nodded to Cecile and Ryan. "From what we've been able to tell from the remains of the head, she was Asian. We're doing some tissue analysis to be certain."

"Thank god," Ryan mumbled as he collapsed into a chair.

"Then who was she?" Cecile wondered aloud.

"Likely another young woman caught up in this film scam. Maybe a quite willing one who had outlived her usefulness."

"We have to let the police know!" Ryan said. "This is murder!"

"And how do we explain knowing what we know and why we hid the body?" John rocked slightly in his chair. "Besides… if we alert the authorities… and an immortal is involved… Sarah Manning will likely breathe her last."

"We can't… not… do anything!" Ryan exploded.

"No… we can't," Parker admitted. "Which is why I'm calling in one of our experts to deal with this. He's had experience in this sort of thing, and he has credentials that will satisfy the authorities if it comes to it." Parker picked up his phone. "Denise… get me Burt Meyers in Paris."

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