Chapter 2: Interlude
Dillingham Residence, Georgetown
Friday, November 26
4 p.m.
Elizabeth sat back on her heels and surveyed her guest room. She'd spent a fair amount of the day boxing up "non-essentials," since there was little sense in putting it off. It would give her a chance to weed out things that she didn't need in combining households. Most of the surplus would go over to the women's shelter where she still volunteered; they were always in need of things to make the place "homier."
Her cell rang at her hip. "Hello?"
"Hey, Liz." Tara's voice was on the line. "Whatcha doing right now?"
"Getting ready to apply for a job at Interstate Van Lines," the psychologist quipped. "I've gained enough packing experience today."
Tara laughed. "Getting a jump on it, huh? Myles told us today that you guys had set a date."
"Yup. May first. So mark your calendar, because we want as many of you as we can get in the wedding party." She got up and went over to the bed, flopping onto her stomach and crossing her feet like a teenager. "So what has you calling me before work's out?"
"You feel up for a little shopping spree?"
"I think I could manage that. What's the occasion?"
Tara's voice got a mysterious edge to it. "Well, apparently Sam's decided to make a showing at 'Grand Maggie's shindig,' as he keeps calling it. He asked me to go with him."
Elizabeth drew in a breath. "Wow. That's progress and a half for him, considering what they told us yesterday morning. But what about whatever this is that Myles refused to discuss? Do you think this is a good idea, since he's obviously pretty worked up about it?"
"Dunno." Tara's shrug was almost audible. "But he's always a grouch over the holidays, more so than usual. Might be a good insight into why."
"True." She turned over on her back, stretching the kinks out from bending over most of the day. "But how do I go shopping with you when he's expecting me for dinner tonight, without tipping him off?"
Tara laughed. "That'll be easy, because I bet he'll be calling you in about ten minutes. Something came up on a case we've been following, and he'll be running a sting with D and Howie tonight. I don't have to hang around for it, so I'll just let him know I'll keep you company."
The psychologist swung her feet off the bed and got up. "Well, then, I guess I'll see you in a few minutes."
Author's note: Special thanks to RivenRebelPoet for the creation of a truly weird guy... besides Sam, of course... :-)
Corner of 14th and "E," Downtown D.C.
Friday, 8 p.m.
"Will you please stop pacing, before I nail your feet to the floor?" It came out in a low volume, but the exasperation was still very clear.
Howie Fines swung around again. "I just got a bad feelin' about this, is all. You know, like when you walk into a room and it's too quiet, and you know that any second somethin' nasty is gonna walk up behind you and— hey!" The informant ducked as Myles aimed a swat at the side of his head.
"In a second, that 'somethin' nasty' is going to be me," the agent growled quietly. "Just take a breath already."
In reality, he couldn't really blame Howie for being nervous. There was something very different about this case, which should have been a routine setup on a dealer of counterfeit jewelry, a great deal of which had been finding its way into local high-end boutiques (much to the owners' dismay, since they were paying for the real thing). The evidence had finally come in solid, and now it was simply a matter of working their way up the ladder.
But the guy they were supposed to meet tonight was… the only word Myles could think of to describe him was quirky, and not in a normal, eccentric way. This guy made Sam at his worst look positively sedate, and even Howie paled in comparison.
Dimitrius was watching from the door of the abandoned tenement building they were in. "Here he comes. Look alive, gents."
Howie's pacing got a bit more frantic. "Hoh, boy…" He stopped abruptly as Myles reached out to snag him mid-lap. The shorter man cringed a little as the Harvard grad bored a glare through him. "I'm sorry, okay? This guy just gives me the willies like you wouldn't believe."
Time for a different tactic, Myles thought, realizing that this really wasn't just one of Howie's acts. He grabbed both of the informant's shoulders, a bit less roughly than he normally would. "Howie, listen, because I've only got time to say this once. Get a grip, because you're starting to make me nervous. Which would you rather have; the guy we're meeting giving you the 'willies', or the guys who are here making sure you don't get yourself killed in the process being too nervous watching you to be worried about what he's doing?"
"I-I… I see your point," Howie replied, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Okay." He perched on a crate just as the door swung open.
Myles turned smoothly, watching as Dimitrius checked the guy for weapons. He leaned against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, pushing back the lined leather duster. "You're late," he said, allowing a touch of bored irritation into his voice.
"Time immemorial exists only to bind man in its fetters," was the cryptic reply.
Myles wasn't impressed, even as he felt Howie fidget beside him. "Well, the next time you're late, your fee gets docked by the same amount. How's that for liberation?"
The man stepped into what little light they had in the room. Almost manic blue eyes shifted around nervously. "Let us bargain, then." He opened a small leather case and began to lay out several necklaces and other pieces, all rich gold and set with precious stones – diamonds, rubies, sapphires. By the time he finished, there was a sizable pile.
Howie's eyes just about left their sockets. "Woah." He hopped off the crate and came over, picking up an emerald bracelet. "This is good stuff," he glanced at Myles, "really classy merchandise."
Myles rolled his eyes slightly— Nice touch though, Howie, I have to admit. "Well, thank you for your 'educated opinion,' but I think I'll get my own appraisal, if you don't mind. D?"
Dimitrius nodded, and came over to the table. He pulled out a jeweler's loupe and picked up a sapphire necklace. After a moment's inspection, he let out a low whistle. "Gotta tell you, Myles; Howie's dead-on. This is really top line stuff."
"If I did deal in goods untrue, then a dishonest man on all planes of mind I would appear." The man's face showed no trace of emotion.
Myles gave him another long look. We have ourselves a real winner here, he thought. "How much for the whole load?"
"A bargain is a bargain if the bargainers do barter. You name your price and I will name my protest."
Howie was back on his crate, eyeing the other man as if he were about to sprout another head.
The man tilted his hand and gazed at Howie for a moment, before speaking in the same dry monotone from before. "What compels you to keep the company of the plebian?"
"Hey!" Nervous he might be, but the snitch had some pride. "Who you callin' a 'plebian'? I happen to know what that means, by the way, and I resent the in-sin-oo-ation! I'll have you know these gentlemen do business with me because they know I can deliver on ANYTHING." He jumped down from his perch and advanced a step or two. "So you just shut your yap and finish up with my associates here before I decide to do something..." He trailed off as Myles shot him a glare, and retreated once again.
The man ignored the outburst, and gazed up at the sky, eyes half closed. When he looked at Myles again, his icy blue eyes were dancing feverishly. "Haste with your greed-driven reasoning. Great Artemis is calling. I must away, as is his bidding."
Myles and D exchanged a glance. Then Myles slid one hip up onto the table and folded his arms over his chest. "500 grand for the load."
"800." The man snapped in reply. "You think to cheat me with your calm demeanor. I will not be a fool before such mortal men."
"650, and you want higher, you'd best take it to the guys you swiped it from." Myles' voice was hard as stone.
"Harsh words and placed upon the very precipice of peril." The man's voice was as cold as his eyes, now. "700, or I will find another more suitable recipient. I 'swipe' no man's treasure, only relieving him of the burden which he is too weak to bear."
Myles eyed the man for a very long moment, gauging just how ready the man was to walk away. Then he looked at the pile of gems spread out before him. He stood, leaned both hands on the table and came to within six inches of the man's face. Matching the frigid tone and look, he replied, "Done. D..."
Dimitrius brought a metal briefcase up onto the table and opened it.
A triumphant and eerily inhuman grin spread across the man's face, and he donned a pair of thin leather gloves. "I note that you are not standing in the common marketplace of such material, giving yourself over to the honesty of a common plane. It is good to know I deal with men who understand power and things greater than that which we see. Artemis will be pleased."
As their mark picked up the case, Myles slid his hand back and removed the .45 from its holster. "Only one problem, 'Socrates'," he replied, bringing the gun into line. "Artemis will be waiting on you for quite awhile. FBI."
Sudden repulsion, not fear, filled the man's eyes. "Fare it well to thine own mind that you can so arrest me, but be ye warned that with my absence will Artemis be testy. I will be avenged and with it comes a freedom more lofty than that which you could hope to obtain, for such a simple mind."
"Oh, stuff a sock in it," D quipped as he fastened the handcuffs.
Howie swaggered back over. "Hmph. Call me a 'plebian.' At least I have the foresight to ally myself with the right side." Much more relaxed now, he eyed Myles. "Y'know, I never woulda figured you for silk, but it actually works."
Myles rolled his eyes. "Can we just get out of here, please?"
Dillingham Residence, Georgetown
Friday, 11 pm
Elizabeth hung the garment bag in the closet and headed downstairs as she heard Myles' car pull into the driveway. He'd called a few minutes earlier to see if she was still up; it had sounded like the evening had been successful, but disturbing somehow. Amazing how I'm learning to pick that up just from the tone of his voice, she thought with a smile.
The knock on her door came as she got to the bottom step. I must be in love, if a simple knock on the door sends my pulse racing. When she opened the door, however, her eyes went very wide and her brows shot up.
"Good evening, Dr. Dillingham."
Myles leaned against the doorjamb. He hadn't bothered to change after the "sting," and the wind was blowing the long leather coat back, revealing the dark blue silk beneath and the black jeans. He watched her reaction, a silent straying of her eyes from his head to his highly-polished black boots, and felt a wash of warmth for her that he hadn't realized could still catch him by surprise.
After a long moment, she motioned him inside and turned to face him. A slow smile was working its way across her face. "Well, well." She cocked her head to one side, and the smile got mischievous. "Antonio Banderas you're not, but you'll do. But wasn't Halloween over a month ago, 'Señor Zorro'?"
He chuckled and caught her in his arms. "You know, if I'd wanted abuse, I could have just gone home. Sam would have been more than happy to oblige."
She placed a hand on the lapel of his duster. "Just not a look I'm used to seeing on you, love. I can't decide which I like better, the leather or the silk." A playful smile crossed her face as she looked up at him. "But the combination is positively lethal."
"Now you're just trying to get back on my good side," Myles grinned. "I don't recall 'The Fox' putting up with sharp-tongued señoritas."
Elizabeth laughed as he gently maneuvered her against the corner of the entry area and the staircase. "I don't believe he did. I can't seem to recall the tactic he used to quiet them, though." Her eyes were bright.
He caught her face in his hands. "I do."
She'd been expecting a classic "leading man" kiss, a capturing of her mouth guaranteed to leave her breathless. Instead, he stopped barely a hair's-breadth from her lips, then very gently brushed across them, not giving her time to respond before he followed it with a second, third, a series of kisses along the corners of her mouth and drifting down over her jaw line, her throat, to the one spot at the base of her neck he knew would make her breath catch.
Her hands slipped around his waist and over the silk shirt, sliding up his back and holding him tightly. His name crossed her lips on a shaken breath, and he could feel her pulse jump beneath his mouth. After a moment, he came back to her lips and tasted her in the way she'd been expecting. Then he released her, slowly.
"Wow." Her eyes were a bit foggy.
"So what was that about Antonio Banderas?" he asked with a smile, stroking her hair.
"Who?" Her eyes finally cleared, and sparkled as she looked up at him again. "Who needs a fantasy, when, at the risk of sounding completely corny, I have all the fantasy I need standing right here?"
He laughed. "Okay, I think you redeemed yourself from the Zorro quip."
She took a breath, and hugged him again. "Hungry?"
"Ravenous," he replied with a wicked grin, aiming one last nibble across her bottom lip. "But, since it's nowhere near May 1st, I assume you're referring to dinner."
Five minutes later, he was seated at her kitchen table, the duster tossed over the back of the next chair, with a sandwich and a glass of lemonade in front of him.
Elizabeth watched him for a moment. "You look like you've had an interesting evening; and I don't mean just the wardrobe. Anything you can share?"
He gave her an ironic look over the rim of the glass. "How about I have a new patient for you? Besides Howie."
"That bad, huh?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But it's a good start up the ladder on this case. This guy needs some serious help, though." He shook his head as he took a bite of his sandwich.
Elizabeth sat down next to him, leaned her cheek on her hand and smiled. "Couldn't be that bad, if he managed to get your mind off whatever you're dreading about tomorrow night."
His head snapped up, and only the fact that his mouth was full stopped him from an immediate retort. By the time he could speak, the sharp comeback had mellowed considerably. He sighed. "You know, I could have done without the reminder."
She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "What is it, love? It's just a party. Even if it's the highest of highbrow, how bad can it be?"
Myles sighed again, leaning back in his chair and absently spinning his lemonade glass. "It's not that I don't want to tell you ahead of time, sweetheart… I guess I don't want to have to vocalize it any sooner than I have to. That means acknowledging it, and I avoid that for as long as I can."
"All right, love," she replied softly, squeezing his hand. "Whatever it is, I'm right beside you through it. I think you need some sleep."
He grabbed the last bite of his sandwich and nodded. When they got to the front door, he pulled her into his arms and gave her a lingering kiss. "I love you, sweetheart. I'll see you tomorrow at about five-thirty?"
Her brows went up. "The party isn't until seven, you said. Why so early?"
He sighed. "Part of what I'll explain tomorrow, okay?"
Elizabeth ran her fingers through his hair. "Okay. I love you, too, my dearest. Sleep well."
He stood for a long time, staring at the case on the shelf in the darkened study. A single glow from the desk lamp broke through the gloom.
"Why do you do this to yourself year after year?" Sam's voice slid around him.
Myles turned his head just slightly, another heavy sigh escaping. "Because it's easier than trying to explain to Grandmother why I don't want to do it anymore."
"It's masochism, bro. Plain and simple. What are you punishing yourself for?"
The Harvard grad snapped around to look at his twin. "You're starting to sound like Elizabeth."
Sam shrugged. "Spend enough time around shrinks, you learn the lingo." He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You don't have to make up for someone else's broken dreams. No matter how much they want you to. Make tomorrow night the last time, Myles. Don't let her do this to you anymore."
"Maybe." Myles shook off the leather duster and folded it over his arm. "I'm going to bed. I still have to put in most of a day tomorrow."
Sam Leland watched his twin trudge up the stairs, knowing sleep wouldn't come easily. Glorfindel wound his way around Sam's long legs, and he scooped the cat up, petting it absently as he continued to gaze thoughtfully at the stairs.
"'Fin, he doesn't know it yet, but he won't be alone this time. I'm not going to watch this happen any more." He closed the cabinet doors on his twin's secret, and headed for the guest room.
