A/N: Thank you, Ninkita! I'm going to rename you Eagle Eyes for seeing and correcting all my silly typos and punctuation errors.
The manicure and pedicure were relaxing.
The facial was tedious, but otherwise okay.
The waxing was everything she expected and more. So much more. It was pure misery. Stray hairs around her eyebrows, the hair on her upper lip, arms, legs, even the peach fuzz on her lower back was stripped away a few inches at a time. By the time the aesthetician was done with her she felt like her body had been scrubbed with sand paper from her hairline down. It was a blessed relief to learn she was only slated to have her bikini line waxed and trimmed, not a complete Brazilian. Thank God for small mercies.
"You really should wait a couple weeks after shaving to wax your legs and underarms. Come back in two weeks and we'll try again. It'll be soooo smooth. You'll love it!" the woman told her enthusiastically.
Bella tried to smile and thanked her stiffly. Getting dressed again and walking was far from comfortable. Carrying a small, conspicuously pink bag filled with creams, exfoliating scrubs, moisturizers and coupons for her 'next visit', Bella walked carefully back to her car and eased herself behind the wheel. Looking at the clock, she realized she had just enough time to go through a drive-through for lunch before heading to her next appointment.
Forty minutes later she pulled into the driveway of a cute rambler. The house had white siding, light blue shutters and a meticulously groomed front yard. There was a beige and brown camper parked alongside the house under a gray pop-up awning. She double-checked the address just to make sure, but unless Agent Masen had made a mistake, she was at the correct location.
Bella knocked on the door and stood waiting, glancing up and down the street to see if anyone was watching her. A couple of adolescent boys were shooting hoops three driveways over, and an older man was pushing an electric lawn mower around a yard across the street. From what she could see, the neighborhood was completely unremarkable.
The door opened and Bella blinked twice to force her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. The man who greeted her was tall. Very tall. His shoulders, chest and arms hinted at past power and formidable strength now faded with age. His hair hung in straight sheets of silver, cut at a severe angle just below his sharp jaw. Dark, deep set eyes scanned her slowly before he took a step back and motioned for her to enter.
"Hi, I'm Be-"
"I know who you are," he cut her off with a voice as dry and brittle as grass in the heat of late summer. "And I know who sent you. No names here. No names but mine. You may call me Jacob."
He held out his hand and she shook it slowly. His fingers were long and slender, although his knuckles were slightly swollen with early signs of arthritis.
"Hello, Jacob," she spoke softly, instinctively matching his low, slow speech.
"You have come to learn."
"Umm, yes. I think. That's what I understand, at least. . ."
"Hmm. Our friend does not speak more than is necessary."
"Sometimes not even that much," she retorted with a wry smile.
"Ha ha. Yes. You know him well." His laugh was a breathy cough.
"Hardly. But I doubt many do."
"No. No. Not many do. But come. Follow me," he beckoned as he led her into the house. "We have a lot to do."
Bella followed him along a hallway lined with Native American artwork from the Pacific Northwest, the red, white and black paintings staring at her boldly in the low light. The home smelled of pine and rich earth and secrets as old as the bedrock resting far beneath their feet. Every wall of Jacob's living room had built in glass shelves. It looked like a museum. Each shelf was spotless and dust free. The items on display were breathtaking - handmade tools, pottery, leatherwork, carvings and countless artifacts from another era. Bella took it all in, breathing in deep and smiling at the warmth and mystery of the strange, enchanting place.
Jacob was watching her with his lips curved up in a patient smile. "Thank you," he said.
"For what?" she asked, confused.
"You have a beautiful smile."
"Oh, well. Um. Thanks. . ." she responded.
"Come. Follow me," Jacob beckoned again with his fingers. He activated a switch behind one of the shelves. It slid forward barely two feet revealing a narrow staircase. Taking one last glance around the room, Bella followed his surprisingly fast descent to the hidden basement.
After the dimness of the main house, the bright lights of the concealed studio were almost blinding. The area was pristine and equipped with everything she had come to expect at a hair salon, but only had room for a single client. Cabinets lined one wall and there were literally hundreds of small drawers beneath the counters. Bella sat in the black chair as directed and waited while he opened drawer after drawer, seemingly at random, amassing a pile of combs, brushes, styling products and more.
"First, the hair. Wash and cut, then several basic styles you can manage alone."
"Okay," Bella agreed readily, fascinated by how quickly he moved about despite his size and age.
"Then makeup. Again, several basic techniques to create the looks you will need."
"Did he give you instructions?"
"Of a sort," he smiled up at her, his dark brown eyes twinkling and his skin showing deep lines of humor around his eyes and mouth.
"Ahh. Of course. I guess you get pretty good at interpreting and filling in the odd blank spot, don't you?"
"If he lets you, yes."
"Cryptic. Every damn one of you," she huffed with an exaggerated sigh. His response was another rasping laugh, one that shook his wide shoulders and made his hair sway around his face.
Within a few minutes, Jacob was ready. He shampooed and conditioned her hair with the practiced ease and strong fingers of a veteran hair dresser. Bella watched with wide eyes as he rapidly trimmed away several inches of length, then roughly layered her hair. With a blow dryer and round brush he added voluminous waves that flowed gently around her shoulders. It made her look young and innocent. And vulnerable. While she thought it was pretty, it was also unsettling given the context of her assignment.
"Can you do that?"
"I think so. Show me again?"
"Like this," he said, placing the hair dryer and brush in her hands.
With his gentle guidance, she learned the easy pace of the style. It was a carefree look and she was happy she could accomplish it on her own with little effort. He spritzed her hair with water, brushed out the curls and demonstrated how to use a flat iron. Her hair was almost as blade-straight as his when they finished. Styling her hair into braids, buns and twists was much more challenging, but Jacob instructed her on how to apply and work with mousse, gel and spray to get her hair to cooperate and stay somewhat under control.
"Practice. It takes practice. These few styles are versatile enough for what you'll be doing. You practice and you'll do just fine."
"Okay," Bella said, as she attempted a French twist for the second time in a row. She was curious how much Masen had told Jacob, and how much the older man had deduced on his own. "I can do this," she said under her breath, battling wayward strands that randomly puffed and slipped out of her grasp. When she finally jammed the final pin into place, it looked almost respectable.
"Beautiful. Do you want to take a short break? Or should we move straight on to cosmetics?"
"Let's keep going before I lose my nerve. I hate makeup."
"Don't say that. Not when you are shut in a locked, hidden studio with a professional cosmetologist."
"Retired cosmetologist," she teased, smiling at him in the mirror.
"And you think that makes me any less protective of my chosen profession?"
They both laughed, enjoying each other's company. Liking Jacob was so simple. Effortless. He was as warm and easygoing as Agent Masen was closed off. Even so, Bella did not forget the shrewd way he had evaluated her when he first answered the front door. He might be fun to work with, but she was under no illusions about his history with Agent Masen. If she was a betting girl, she would lay good money down that Jacob was just as formidable in his younger days. Maybe more.
Out of all the looks Jacob had designed for her, Bella only liked one. It was subtle, understated and easy. The rest were too bold. She sat and grimaced at her reflection when he finished applying lipstick for her fourth trial run.
"You don't like it?"
"I look like a high-priced hooker."
"Excellent. That is exactly the point."
"Do men really like this sort of thing?"
"Are you asking me personally, or are you seeking my opinion as a professional?"
"Both, I guess," Bella shrugged. She had enjoyed the hair dressing lessons and was disappointed that the second part of her appointment was such a let-down.
"Personally, I prefer clean and natural skin." He paused and smiled, his eyes turned soft and nostalgic. He shook his head ruefully. "But perhaps that is my age speaking. Professionally, I appreciate the many ways we can trick the eye and subtly influence the minds of those around us. Take a pretty young lady like you, add a darker shade of lipstick, brighter highlights across the cheekbones, nose and forehead, extend the eyeliner a millimeter further and. . . ahh. . . you are exotic and sexy." His smile was teasing and his voice became more animated. "To a man, that look says you are hungry for him. You want him to look not once, but twice, and then come closer. And it is clear, so clear to a man's way of thinking, that when a woman is looking at a man that way she wants him to be thinking of sex. It can make him very interested. Very excited. Or, if another man moves in on his target, it can make him jealous, possessive, bold and rash. A woman with this knowledge can control a room. I have seen it. It is art. It is power. It is a weapon, if you learn to wield it."
Surprised by his long speech and the intensity of his words, Bella clamped her lips tightly over her objections. Masen hadn't sent her to a makeup counter in a department store. He had sent her here, to this man. To this mysterious, sweet and talented older man. He sent her to Jacob to learn something she couldn't learn anywhere else. Bella raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror and nodded her understanding.
"Teach me more."
He grinned and rubbed his aged hands together meditatively. "You want more? Sure, sure. We can do more."
Bella was exhausted by the time they finally climbed the stairs back to the main house. Jacob invited her to join him in his tiny kitchen for tea and homemade berry muffins. It was so easy to talk to him that another hour passed before she realized it was dark outside and she should probably be heading back to her apartment.
Bella excused herself to use the restroom. When she returned, Jacob was waiting for her in the living room with a worn leather makeup bag and matching satchel filled with the basic tools and products she would need to manage her hair and makeup.
"I bought these especially for you."
Bella could not hide the skeptical look that twisted her features. The bags were of good quality but well worn, and she remembered him using makeup products from containers that showed various stages of use and external wear. Some of the primary colors had used on her were half gone!
Jacob grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Your favorite things should look like your favorites. Old and trustworthy friends always show a bit of wear and tear."
"Of course. I should have thought of that," she agreed, embarrassed by the latest reminder of her inexperience.
"You'll do very well. He trusts you. That's high praise."
"Thank you. And he trusts you, too."
"As well he should. He was my protégé once upon a time." The aged face crinkled up into its now-familiar smile. On impulse, Bella hugged him. He felt more frail than he looked, bones pressing up in knobs and ridges beneath wiry muscles and paper thin skin. "Take care of yourself. And make sure he comes back whole," he murmured against her hair as he returned her embrace.
"I'll do my best. Thank you, Jacob. You're a good man."
"So is he. Although he may not know it yet."
"I know he is. Even if he does piss me off. Thanks for everything." Feeling oddly emotional, Bella waved good bye and drove home.
A/N: I had a couple questions from recent reviews that I want to answer here:
- Bella is 23. Agent Masen is in his mid to late 30's. I honestly don't know his exact age.
- There will not be an EPOV for this story. This story is about both of them, but Bella's perspective is most appropriate especially in later chapters.
- If you had a question or concern and I DID NOT respond to it in my reply to your review, it's because it will be addressed soon. . . ish. . . eventually.