A/N: Raise your hand if you live in Florida. . . .
Okay, you Floridians. Don't be too critical of me here. I haven't been to Florida in almost 15 years, so I'm bound to mess a lot of stuff up. I remember hot and humid. That's about it right there. Everything else is gonna be coated in a generous dose of 'artistic license'.
The last three legs of their trip were uneventful. They drove all day, quizzing one another on the finer details of their plan, discussing communication and contingencies from every angle as the black BMW devoured long stretches of highway. Masen only took short breaks for food and restroom visits, preferring to give them longer stops at night where they could drill, exercise and stretch in private. And sleep. Bella couldn't believe how good it felt to straighten her limbs and relax after a long day on the road.
Late Sunday morning, they crossed the peninsula just south of Orlando and kept on driving east until they came up against the wide blue-green Atlantic. Agent Masen took the car to another custom car wash to have the accumulated filth of the road removed and the car returned to a glossy black finish. While they waited, they found a lunch truck near the shore that served Puerto Rican food. They washed down empanadillas, rice and beans with bottles of ice-cold Coca Cola while they sat, watching the waves wash in with the regularity of a metronome.
"This is it," Bella mused.
"Yeah."
"I want Mary Alice to be able to do this. Sit on a cement wall, eat greasy food off a paper plate and stare out across the ocean."
"She will. Soon. We'll find her. We'll make it right."
"We will," she vowed, and finished her last meal as a free person.
It was full dark when Edward Cullen and his slave arrived at their hotel in Palm Beach, Florida on Sunday night. A concerned doorman stepped in to help her when she stumbled while climbing out of the car. Mr. Cullen shouldered him aside and took her arm, supporting her as she shambled sluggishly into the building.
"She's exhausted. She needs to lie down right away," he snapped as if her impaired state was the hapless man's fault.
"We'll get you settled in right away, sir," the doorman reassured him and hustled ahead to get the clerk's attention.
Marie clung to her captor's arm for support. It was solid and immovable as a pillar. The room tipped lazily so she tilted her head to make the lines lie straight again. Her eyelids were so. . . heavy. . .
"Marie," an angry voice hissed in her ear.
She shook away the fog and stood upright, clutching the edge of the polished counter when her ankles wobbled. It was so hard to concentrate. She could hear the strangest rushing sound as if torrents of water were pouring through the walls and ceilings. Her eyes were drawn to a blur of red right in front of her. With real effort, she was able to focus her vision. Oh. It was her fingernails. They were chipped, the pale pink and white of the natural nail showing through the garish red paint.
The concierge left his shiny desk to introduce himself and offer his services to their valued guests. Mr. Cullen declined stiffly, but the man smirked and bobbed his head as if the wealthy businessman had just promised to buy him a new car. They were finally escorted up to their room. Unlike the concierge, the bellhop really was rewarded for his services and walked away grinning with a wad of cash stuffed in his back pocket.
When the door swung closed, Masen bolted it and helped his partner across the living area to the massive bedroom. She slumped onto the bed with a victorious smile and closed her eyes.
"We made it," she slurred.
"You're gonna hate yourself for going to sleep in that ridiculous get up," he warned her, referring to her sequined minidress and the platform sandals that tied in a criss-cross pattern up her ankles and calves.
"Don't care," she moaned, no longer bothering to fight the effects of swallowing three Benadryls an hour earlier.
"Come on, Swan," he insisted. He helped her peel off the scratchy dress and shoes, then dumped her limp body unceremoniously into the center of the bed and folded the quilt over her.
She woke up eleven hours later.
Bella looked around, intending to thank him, but he was gone.
"This again? Oh, great," Bella moaned, flopping back into the soft mattress.
However, her annoyance faded quickly. It was Monday, June 18th. They had reached Palm Beach as planned. Agent Masen was already reaching out to key contacts that would solidify his cover and maybe, hopefully, garner an introduction to the reclusive Volturi family. And somewhere, probably no more than a few miles away, their targets were carrying on their inhuman depredations with no inkling that their reign was on the verge of being crushed.
Bella took stock of her surroundings. She had been drugged and borderline comatose when they arrived the night before. The bedroom furniture was heavy, made from solid walnut and stained a rich, dark brown. She had to scoot several feet from the center of the four-poster California king-sized bed to clamber off. The carpet was soft and thick, a blushing cream color that worked well with the dark furniture. The coffered ceilings gave the room an almost palatial feeling. Bella pulled aside one of the bedroom curtains and gasped. Their suite was on the seventh or eighth floor and commanded an unobstructed view of the ocean. She looked down on a crystal-clear pool, surrounded by nodding palm trees and padded deck chairs.
The rest of the suite was breathtaking. Obviously, Edward Cullen spared no expense where his comfort was involved. The sitting area had firm but inviting sofas in striped cream and silver upholstery with coral accent pillows. She hesitated to call them 'throw' pillows, although once she had that thought, she was tempted to pick one up and chuck it across the room, just to be perverse.
The dining area could seat eight comfortably. There was a wet bar and a kitchenette that made her own D.C. kitchen look squalid by comparison. And everywhere there were windows. The block of rooms sat on the southeast corner of the building. The south facing windows overlooked an emerald-green golf course that was so well manicured she would have felt guilty just stepping onto the grass.
Remembering that they would be staying in this hotel for days, if not weeks, Bella got to work unpacking their belongings. They had a pile of dirty laundry to send out, but there was still plenty to hang in the closets or fold away into the bedroom furniture. Bella set Marie's jewelry case on top of the vanity alongside her makeup supplies. She organized 'his and hers' toiletries in the bathroom next to the twin sinks. Her showering, exfoliating, hair and makeup routine took another hour, but only because she moved as slowly as she could. Finally, she straightened the bedclothes, then looked around. There was nothing else left to do.
Bella's stomach was grumbling, but she wasn't sure if Marie would be allowed to order food. Surely, Masen wouldn't let her starve. But Edward Cullen might. . .
Agent Masen's modified laptop was set up on the desk that occupied the nook adjacent to the sitting room. She tried to guess the password a few times, but nothing she typed let her through. He had probably set it up with maximum security, as his cover required.
Apparently, her cover required boredom and hunger.
It was well past lunch time when she heard the door unlock and Masen came in. Bella was lying on her stomach in front of the couch, doodling on an embossed hotel notepad. She had colored in the 'B' in 'The Breakers', then gone on to sketch a dozen curling waves in fine detail around the border.
"Hungry?" Agent Masen greeted her.
"Famished," she confessed, as she clambered to her feet.
"Come and eat. I'll give you the rundown."
He unpacked sandwiches and drinks and shunted silverware across the polished surface toward her. Bella examined her food before taking a bite. Subway was on the same level as her kitchenette. Completely, totally outclassed. These sandwiches were composed of layers of hand-sliced, oven-browned turkey breast, fresh basil, capers, halved cherry tomatoes and a balsamic reduction, pressed tightly between two slices of herbed focaccia bread. They lay on a bed of hand-picked spring greens. A fresh sprig of fragrant mint was the garnish.
"This is almost too pretty to eat," she laughed, twisting the black cardboard box one way and then the other.
"Hmph?" Masen grunted around a mouthful of food.
"Never mind. You're right," Bella agreed and bit into her sandwich. "Hrmm. Mmmmm. Oh my God. This is so good," she groaned, then didn't speak again until she had swallowed her last bite. She stretched her arms high above her head, the slumped back into her chair with a satiated sigh. "I was so hungry. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Masen replied, looking bemused.
Bella watched sheepishly as he finished the second half of his sandwich.
"So, anyway. . . You had some stuff to tell me?" she prompted.
"In a minute."
"You're stalling."
"No. I'm digesting," he teased her with a smirk, lifting another bite of salad to his mouth.
"You suck."
"Okay. Fine. I'll take pity on you. I had an appointment at 7:30 this morning. A gentleman banker has been dragging his feet about selling his local chain of five banks to a much larger organization. It seems the company has been in his family for four generations. He's having trouble putting a price on sentimentality. Poor business sense, if you ask me. My contact has offered to hire me to change his mind. Fast."
"You gonna take the job?"
"As a matter of fact, I'm thinking about it. Doesn't do to look too eager, right? He did promise to pass on Edward Cullen's information to a couple of his associates who are in the market for a game changer. We made small talk for a while and he gave me some tips about buying real estate along the water. He seemed very anxious to help when I told him my target price was under eight million. I'm meeting his real estate buddy for drinks tonight. What a happy coincidence that his realtor is on our list."
"Yeah. What a coincidence," Bella smirked. Aiming for multiple birds with each stone was the only way to get their plan moving forward quickly.
"They also happen to both play golf here at The Breakers on Wednesday mornings, and he asked me to join them."
"You play golf?" Bella asked skeptically.
"Ha. Hardly. I told them they could come cool off in the pool after their round. I'm buying lunch. How do you feel about modeling one of those tiny bikinis for a couple of slouchy old bastards?"
"When you put it so beautifully, how could I possibly refuse?" Bella simpered, then rolled her eyes. "Well, I might as well get my feet wet, so to speak."
"Good girl. I'll be gone a lot this week. Need anything to keep yourself occupied?"
"I guess I could always watch TV," she replied, wondering how long it would be before cabin fever set in.
"We'll hit the hotel gym in the mornings and spend some time in the restaurant or by the pool each evening. Will that help?"
"Yeah. I need face time anyway. Tomorrow night might be a good time for the collar demo," Bella added reluctantly.
"Sure. And we'll do the cuffs thing on Thursday. We'll definitely need maid service by then," Masen added.
"Ugh. Don't remind me," Bella twitched her shoulders uncomfortably. They had come up with half a dozen 'scenes' to contribute to their cover. None of them were going to be pleasant for her. Each one was going to require that Marie make a public appearance. Zoning out in front of the big screen for days on end was starting to sound better and better.
A/N: Cyber high five's to anyone who got the 1-2-3-4-5 movie reference last chapter.
Anyone else conk out when they take Benadryl? If I take 1, I'm fine. 2 turns me into a narcoleptic zombie.