"What… what do you want? Where's-"
"You have something that doesn't belong to you," the woman told him, cutting him off – but not cutting him, luckily. "And I want it back."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Of course, pretty much everything in the house either didn't belong to him or was paid for by selling something that didn't belong to him.
"No. I know. But we're going to find it," she replied. "Or I'm going to carve the value of it from your hide." She pulled the knife away from his neck and took a step back. "Get up."
There were a lot of things that he could do. He could toss the blankets at her, hoping to tangle her in it or to maybe startle her long enough for him to overcome her, or get his gun and kill her. He could yell for help – which was embarrassing, but was better than the present alternative. All of them – and more – went through his mind, but he was too frozen to actually act on any of them. And she exuded deadly intent.
Instead, he tried to talk his way out of whatever was going on.
"You're in the wrong house…" he said, shakily.
The knife vanished, and he looked half shocked that it seemed to be working. He'd expected someone who seemed as stealthy and dangerous as she was to be smarter than that. Stupid woman. Whoever sent her should have sent a man…
She pulled a different blade, then. This one wasn't blackened like the previous. It was gleaming in the faint glow from the bathroom nightlight. It was curved and deadly-looking.
"Know what this is?"
"A knife…"
"A gelding knife. Do I start taking my pound of flesh below the belt? Or are you going to get up and take me to your trove?"
"Who are you?" he asked, again, feeling his testicles try to vanish into his belly at the threat.
"Last chance." She brandished the blade and took a menacing step forward.
"No!" Martin held up a hand and tossed the blankets – carefully – aside. "I'll take you to my stuff. But you're wasting your time. I don't have what you're looking for."
She was way too good to be the lackey of someone low-level and he didn't have anything on the premises that would attract the attention of anyone who could afford her services. On purpose.
"My intelligence says that you're wrong," was the reply. "I hope, for your sake, that you're wrong. It took me a long time to track what I'm looking for, and I'm frustrated and annoyed. You don't want me to take that out on you."
As he proved that he was willing to cooperate – whether he wanted to or not, really – she took a step back and the knife disappeared, replaced by a handgun with a silencer. He didn't miss the action.
"I don't have anything worth killing me over," he told her, reaching for his pants and wishing that the gun was in a pocket. "Jesus…"
She didn't reply. Her eyes watched his every move, though, as he slipped on his pants and moved carefully toward the door. The question of where his bodyguard/cousins were was answered, immediately. Both men were laid out in the living room as they walked through it. One had been eating chips and was still holding the bag, but he appeared to be lifeless. The other was slumped on the couch, a small trickle of blood going down his cheek.
"Did you kill them? They-"
"They're not dead," she said, coldly. "Getting rid of bodies is annoying, and I only have enough room in my trunk for one."
He shivered.
"What are you looking for?" he asked as he led her to the vault. "I'm not being smart, or anything," he added, quickly. "I just have it catalogued and could find it faster."
She didn't look all that grateful, but she nodded.
"A Zippo lighter with a diamond on it. A ruby pendant with an Irish maker's mark. A man's wristwatch. And a one of a kind Magic the Gathering card – from a green deck."
He frowned.
"Seriously?"
"Find them for me."
She didn't go into the vault as he hoped that she would. Instead she waited, watching as he pulled the drawer that had all of the Zippos – wondering how the hell she knew he had any. Lighters were something that were collectible, of course, and very much in demand from a number of people. The ones that he had were some of the nicest, going for several thousand dollars each. The one she wanted was worth even more, because of the jewel. He grabbed it and pocketed it, then searched through another drawer for the pendant, which was easy enough since he didn't deal in fine jewelry often. The Magic the Gathering card was another oddity, but he only had one and he reluctantly put that in his pocket, careful not to bend it.
"I have a dozen wristwatches," he told her, opening the drawer for the last item.
"It's the third one from the right."
Since he was blocking her view of his inventory he turned, surprised, but the gun was pointed right at him and he knew she wasn't going to tell him how she knew which was where in the drawer. He pulled the one she was referring to, uncertainly, since the one beside it was actually a Rolex and worth a lot more than the cheap one he had in his hand.
"This one?" he verified.
"That's the one. Put everything in a bag and toss it to me."
"You'll damage the card and ruin its value."
"Do it."
He did as he was told and carefully – very carefully – tossed the bag her direction. The woman caught it, easily, her gaze never wavering from his.
"You got what you wanted," he said, trying to throw in bravado since she had what she wanted. "Now what?"
"Now you're going to call the police and tell them you've been robbed and that you need someone out here."
"What? No. I don't want anyone-"
"You call, or I will. If I do, it'll be because you're in no condition to…"
"Jesus, lady. Who sent you?"
"Are you going to make the call?"
"I left my phone upstairs."
"You can use mine." She tossed a phone to him and he caught it, reflexively. "911," she reminded him. "Tell them someone has you at gunpoint, that way the police come faster."
The woman didn't have any mercy in those cold eyes of hers, and it showed. She was literally forcing him to call the police out to his own home – which automatically gave them permission to enter without a warrant. When they did, they were going to find everything.
He was going to be ruined.
"Come on… Let's talk this over…"
"Do I start counting?"
"Shit."
He looked down and dialed the phone.
OOOOOOOO
The SUV was parked a good half mile from the house, and police cars were speeding by, lights on and sirens wailing, when the rear door opened, startling Sam and Steve, both.
"Damn, woman," Wilson said, holding a hand dramatically over his heart. "Knock, first, or something."
Romanoff smirked, and her hand came up, pulling off the black wig even as her features blurred and the mesh netting that had been her disguise deactivated, as well, revealing her true face. Which was amused.
"You knew I was on the way."
She'd walked Martin to his bedroom after he'd made his call and had tied his hands to the headboard, to keep him from activating anything that might conceal his vault. The police were going to search through the house, find the knocked out thugs, the vault and anything else that might be lying around – and then find Martin in his room trussed up, neatly, for their convenience.
"Getting rid of bodies is annoying, and I only have enough room in my trunk for one?" Steve said, incredulously. "Could you have come up with something cheesier? I thought I was watching a bad gangster movie."
Sam chuckled, though.
"It was great. You don't use all your good lines on small time crooks, after all."
Romanoff smiled, opening the bag and pulling out the wristwatch that had once belonged to Peter's father.
"Nicely done, Nat," Steve told her, approvingly. "Should we take it over, tonight?"
She shook her head, her smile growing.
"No. I have a better idea. Let's keep this between ourselves, for now."
Both men shrugged, and Steve started the SUV.
They were done skulking in the dark. For tonight, anyway.
"What are you going to do with that other junk?" Sam asked, knowing that Natasha hadn't singled out the watch, alone, to make sure there was no way to know that she had only been after the watch. She'd wiped out the security system and the guards hadn't even seen her. She wasn't going to risk someone being smart enough to realize that the watch was the target and trace back to who it belonged to, originally. "It's probably worth something to the right people."
"I know who they belong to, as well," she assured him, putting her seatbelt on. "I'll have them mailed off from somewhere in Europe, anonymously."
"Good plan."
Another police car zoomed by, even as they turned onto the road that led back toward the compound.