A/N: While the talented Ninkita was editing this chapter, I tacked on another 800-900 words behind her back, so any mistakes are all mine.
Swallowing the sudden flood of terror, Bella shook off his grip, shut the mailbox and locked it before turning to face the interloper. He was not much taller than her, with brown hair and dark eyes framed by thick, black lashes. He was brazenly looking her over, so she did the same. His frame was muscular in that wiry way that long distance athletes acquire through rigorous, regimented training. His eyes reminded her of someone. It only took her a second to recognize the familiar calculated look that she had learned to associate with Agent Masen's gray-green gaze.
"Did he hire you? Was he afraid to come here himself?" The man's voice had a decidedly Spanish flavor to it.
"I'm sorry. You must have me confused with somebody else," she bluffed. "My name is Abigail. I just moved here a little while ago. What floor do you live on? Maybe we're neighbors?" She held her hand out to shake his with a sweet smile.
"Abigail. . . Abigail. . . No, I don't think so."
"Well, it was nice to meet you. Please excuse me." She slipped around him, certain he would reach out and grab her again. When the elevator door opened and he did not follow her in, she was relieved. She selected the floor two levels above the one she was supposed to go to, and did her best to stand patiently as the doors slid shut. At the last second she looked up and almost screamed when she saw a pair of dark eyes glaring at her inches beyond the space between the doors.
Her heart was pounding the entire elevator ride. She half expected him to be waiting for her when the doors opened. How fast could the second elevator reach the lobby? Did he know which floor she got out on? She looked both left and right, but the hallway was deserted. In a moment of inspiration, she swiped her hand down the control panel, highlighting all of the floors between her current one and the lobby, ensuring that one elevator at least would be out of service for several minutes. There were emergency exit signs at both ends of the corridor. She raced through eenie-meenie-miny-mo in her head, then scurried for the stairwell on the left.
She slipped through the door, yanking her luggage along behind her. When the fire-safe door slammed shut, she realized how vulnerable she was. The stairwell was a cement-lined echo chamber. Bella paused on the landing and held her breath for a moment, listening intently for any sounds of pursuit from below. She counted off the seconds in her head, breathing shallowly until she hit a count of two hundred.
When there was still no sound, she removed her shoes, collapsed the handle of her suitcase and carried everything down two floors as silently as she could. She couldn't tell if she was excited or terrified. The adrenaline pumping through her body drowned out all emotions, leaving behind the intensified senses of sight, sound and touch. Using the same master key that had opened the lobby doors, Bella let herself back into the building's interior. She could hear music and the sounds of pots clanging together to her left, and there was a muffled conversation taking place behind the next door.
Tip-toeing with her nylons snagging in the rough carpet, Bella hurried to the correct door, unlocked it and darted inside, her suitcase smacking against the door jamb. She cursed a bit as she shoved everything to one side, shut and locked the door, then slid the security chain into place.
All of the strength fled from her body at once, and she sagged against the door in relief. The feeling was short-lived. She heard low laughter accompanied by carefully metered applause. All the blood drained from her face. She flicked on the lights and looked around the apartment. Seated on a beige couch, with his feet propped up on an ottoman, was the man from the lobby.
"Abigail, huh? You're new. I assumed the bureau was putting Masen out to pasture. Tell me, is he really heading into the field again?"
Gathering her shattered nerves, Bella responded, "I'm sorry. Who are you?"
"Ouch. I am wounded. He didn't tell you about me?" The shrewd and calculating face morphed into an innocent, hurt expression.
Bella scowled at his pouting lower lip and chose not to reply. It didn't take superior deductive powers to realize this man was the CIA agent Masen hadn't wanted her to meet. The challenge was determining why he felt that way. She brought her luggage further into the apartment and looked around. It was a nice enough space. Nothing fancy, but not shabby either. The kitchen had formica countertops, and evidence of a recent take-out meal was strewn across the counter. The furniture was bland; there were no personal touches to speak of.
Walking around, she found that one bedroom was set up as an office with a printer and FAX machine, but no computer. The other room held a narrow bed and basic furniture. The bathroom was stocked with linens and toiletries; however it didn't appear to have been used recently.
"Judging by your response to my presence here, he didn't tell you about me, either," Bella eventually said, playing it cool. She was humiliated by her earlier panic and angry at the other operative for lording it over her. She couldn't save face, but at least she could do damage control.
He craned his head to look back at her. She had worked her way around the living room as she explored and was now behind the couch. Bella came up beside him, rested her hands on the back of the couch and smiled. His expression was unreadable for several moments before he finally returned her smile. There was little warmth in the expression.
Without warning, the man pulled a knife out of his pocket and flipped it open, his movements as swift and fluid as Masen's. Bella knew she had the high ground, both literally and figuratively. She was standing and therefore more agile. If she moved away, he would have to vault over the couch to reach her. Having spent so much time training with Masen, the sight of the knife didn't frighten her. She didn't even flinch. The man looked impressed, so maybe he was only testing her and she had passed. It was only a small step forward, but Bella was grateful for any opportunity to gain back lost ground.
The man held up a familiar envelope. Either he had a key to the mailbox, too, or he had jimmied the lock after she got in the elevator. With a flick of the blade, he slashed through one end of the envelope and pulled out the contents. He fanned the pages out across his lap. Bella recognized several photos. They were profiles from Tanya's database. Apart from their alleged connection to the Volturi, they had one other thing in common. . . they were all foreign nationals.
If the man beside her was CIA, as she suspected, these individuals and any international transactions were his domain. Was Masen sharing information with him as part of an authorized collaboration? Their mission objective was to find the thread that lead to the mastermind behind the trafficking ring. If the CIA was involved, then their interest was almost certainly political or financial. There had been nothing in any of their preparations to indicate that Masen intended to pursue international targets.
Nothing other than internet communications with someone in Hong Kong in the middle of the night. . .
"Did you know what you were carrying?"
"Did you know what he was sending you?" she countered.
"I suspected. Come now, there is no need to hold me at arm's length. Sit down, tell me about yourself. I am thinking that maybe I judged you too quickly."
"I'd rather not. I have stuff to do. Please excuse me." With his eyes following her every step, Bella took her purse into the bathroom and shut the door. She turned the water on at the sink to muffle any sounds, then pulled the message from her purse and unfolded it.
Ms. Swanson is taking an extended leave of absence. Her luggage and all other identifying possessions will be destroyed. Leave them grouped together in the bedroom. When you finish changing, take Marie's hair and makeup supplies and jewelry case to the north stairwell. Hide everything except the necklace beneath the stairs and return to the unit and wait for me. Marie is going to attempt to escape at 2 o'clock. She will find a neighboring apartment and ask to use their phone to place a 911 call asking for help. She will whisper, mumble, give ambiguous or conflicting information then hang up and go to the lobby. Edward Cullen will be waiting.
Bella pursed her lips and wondered how she was supposed to complete her transformation with the unexpected guest in the living room. However, if she was going to be traipsing about in her underwear in front of strange men in a week or two, now was as good a time as any to practice. She pulled out the phone Masen had given her and shot him a text.
~We have a guest. Thought you should know.~
Almost two minutes passed before she received a reply. ~Asshole. Who needs enemies. . . ~
~Nicely put. Although he is behaving himself. Sort of.~
~If he steps out of line, crush his balls.~
Bella grinned and responded, ~With pleasure.~
She shut off the water and exited the bathroom, taking everything into the bedroom where she changed out of her suit and into Marie's clothes. Through the open door she kept an eye on Masen's CIA friend. He watched her unabashedly. Unlike with Masen, she could tell he was thinking about all the things he could do with her. . . or to her. It made her feel simultaneously vulnerable and angry. She tried to think of calm and happy things as she changed, shimmying into the too-tight pants and trading her blouse for a sheer, off-the shoulder blue top.
She crossed to the bathroom and gunked up her hair with mousse before pulling it into a straggly bun. She spent more time on her makeup, glamming up her eyes and selecting one of her darker lipsticks. The goal was to make herself unrecognizable. She had entered the building as a professional woman, and she was leaving as a haphazard, sexed-up captive.
Even though she was taking her time, it was only a little after noon when she finished. She went to the kitchen and dug through the fridge for a snack. The shelves were empty, but sure enough, there was a selection of condiments in the door. For laughs, she opened the mustard and looked inside, but all she saw was yellow sludge with a layer of vinegar swimming on top. She snorted and put it back with a smile.
"Something funny?"
"I'm sorry. I almost forgot you were there," she retorted sarcastically. "Just an inside joke."
"You're a real firecracker. How is Masen going to keep you in line?"
"You're a real asshole. No wonder he's avoiding you." His dark, staring eyes were off-putting. She had no reservations about letting him know just how much she disliked him. Unfortunately, her annoyance seemed to entertain him.
"If you're hungry, it would be my pleasure to treat you to lunch."
She was going to turn him down outright, but she had given all of her cash to the guys at the detail shop. She didn't want to risk using the cards. She decided to steal a page from Masen's playbook. It had pissed her off. She was hoping it would have the same effect on the asshole. "Actually, that would be great. Thanks."
"What would you like to eat?"
"Anything works."
"Do you have a preference?"
"No," she shrugged casually.
He looked mildly annoyed. She sat down on one of the dining chairs, put her bare feet up on another chair and watched him. His eyes narrowed into a scowl before he finally gave her a begrudging smile, made a call and ordered Thai food to be delivered to the apartment. Just before he hung up, he requested they make it five-star spicy.
Bella licked her lips and smirked. He was a bastard. Fortunately, she had a high tolerance for spicy food.
While they waited for their food, Bella carried her kit downstairs as instructed. She kept up the devil-may-care attitude even after the food arrived and they began eating. Her host's eyes were watering, but he gamely ate half of everything. She was keeping a mental ledger of their points thus far. By her estimation, she was gaining on him.
Conversation was stilted. Neither was willing to give the other information, or ammunition, so they continued to speak in circles until even those generic words failed. Eventually, Bella excused herself to use the bathroom to fix her makeup. Behind the locked door, she reread the note and disposed of it in the same manner as Masen's last set of instructions. As the appointed time approached, it became progressively harder to stay calm and composed. The CIA agent in the living room wasn't helping. Every time she moved, he looked up to watch her. It rattled her no matter how hard she worked to shut it out.
A few minutes before 2 o'clock, a key turned in the lock, and the door slammed up against the security chain. Bella held the door closed, released the chain and stood to one side as Masen came in, looking like a millionaire in the same dark suit he had worn the day before.
"Peter. You came early," Masen fixed the CIA operative with a baleful look.
"That's what she said," Bella said quietly with a snort.
Masen's head snapped around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.
"What? You guys have this whole macho posturing inter-agency rivalry thing going on. It's stupid. We're both going after the same guys. You've worked together before. I don't see why you can't do it again."
"Because Peter here can't stick to a plan, and goes off half cocked whenever his emot-"
"Instincts," Peter cut in.
"Emotions get the better of him." Masen looked as angry as she had ever seen him. "Sharing information is fine, but this is our operation, Peter. I can't have you getting in the way and muddying things up. This is clearly under the FBI's jurisdiction. Besides, as I told you on Saturday, I won't hold anything back if I think it might be of use to you. Anything involving our friends in Italy or Hong Kong is all you. Just remember, it's not your life on the line if our cover is blown."
"How could I forget?" Peter asked with a sly smile.
"Excellent question. I think we all want to know the answer to that one."
"Gentlemen, if you're done circling the ring, could I cut in? We have a timeline to stick to. Masen, I'm ready to go."
Agent Masen looked her over, taking in the slinky, off-the-shoulder blouse and skin-tight leggings. Her hair was styled and her makeup was perfect. He pursed his lips, then nodded his approval. "You need different shoes and your collar."
Peter looked on as Masen opened his briefcase, and tossed Bella a pair of strappy heels. As she wiggled her feet into the shoes, he retrieved the black leather box that held the shock collar. When he popped open the case and pulled it out, Peter let out a low whistle. "Jenks?"
"Of course. He's the best."
"Gorgeous work."
"That's why we pay him the big bucks," Masen muttered. He opened the clasp, and Bella lifted her hair off her neck to allow him access.
Without warning, her skin broke out in goosebumps, and her hands started shaking. It was a completely involuntary response to having the collar around her neck again. The memory of fire scorching her skin was too vivid to ignore. When the clasp clicked into place, and the choker settled snugly against her throat, she let go of her hair and shook her head. The pressure of the cool metal was an uncomfortable reminder of the vulnerability of her role.
Bella caught Peter watching her face closely. He looked thoughtful. She scowled at him, then went to the bathroom to look over her reflection one more time. Her fingers rose up of their own volition, pulling on the collar as if it were too tight, even though it fit the same as it had the night before.
"Damn you, Masen," she muttered. She understood now, and understanding made it impossible to resent his actions.
By shocking her without warning, he had perfected her disguise. Any woman wearing an expensive piece of jewelry voluntarily would have an emotional, almost sensual connection to the piece. She had actually smiled last night, pleased with the way the necklace looked on her. Her facial expressions and body language now made it clear that the choker was a source of discomfort, if not pain. It repelled her.
The subconscious details. . . they were what gave her authenticity as a slave, not just an actress playing a part. Forget keeping a tally between Agent Isabella Swan and Peter the scuzzy Spanish spook. The entire time, Agent Masen was the one writing the rules of the game.
"Okay. Showtime," she whispered to her reflection.
"You know what you're going to say and do next?"
"Yep."
"Great. See you downstairs," Masen said with an encouraging smile.
Bella rolled her head from side to side, wiggled her arms and legs to shake out the nerves, and reached for the front door.
"Wait!" Peter called out. "You know my name. Come, senorita. . . it is only fair."
Bella allowed her shoulders to roll forward, transforming her back into a hunched, protective shell. She shuffled around to face him, her eyes darting from the floor to his feet, then up to his eyes, before jerking back down to the carpet. Moving backwards, her body always facing the greatest threat, she inched around the door until only her face and fingertips were visible to the apartment interior. In a cracked whisper she replied, "Marie," then she fled.
A/N: Kudos to everyone who guessed the identity of the dark stranger. In your opinion, who came out on top in the end, Bella or Peter?