I recently had the pleasure of Beta'ing Ninkita's entries for the Meet The Mate Contest. Her one shot, "Hot Dude, Reading" won 4th place in the popular vote. . . out of 79 entries! Her other entry "A Long Ago Library Love Story" is a sweet, multi-generational tale which she plans to continue.
Take a few minutes to hop on over to her page and leave her some love. She's been a huge part of this story and many others I've written/am writing. Plus, she's got an incredible amount of talent! You don't even have to waste time searching for her profile, she's in my favorites list. :)
Bella had been starting to crave the sanctuary of the hotel room after every outing. Now she dreaded it. Fortunately, her nervous tension and discomfort gelled perfectly with her cover. She couldn't speak, hum, laugh or watch television. She had to be the captive. She had to be Marie. Masen turned on some music as soon as they entered the suite. It was dark and heavy, providing a sinister ambience as a backdrop for the Volturi's audio surveillance. She sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest while Masen paced back and forth across the living room, talking on his phone.
At least some of the calls were real, she knew that. Edward Cullen was conducting business. The first call he made was to Malcolm Delancy, badgering the realtor for updates on their purchase negotiation. The listing agent had promised that a counter was in the works, but he claimed that they needed an extension because the sellers were not on speaking terms. The divorce attorneys were doing all the talking. Throughout the call, Masen's voice was brimming with impatience and anger, but when he got off the phone, he shot Bella a triumphant smile. A long, drawn out negotiation was exactly what they wanted. The longer his living arrangements were in limbo, the longer he could lean on the Volturi's hospitality without attracting suspicion.
Masen placed another call, ordering that his shipment of personal items be held in storage for at least another 30 to 45 days. Somewhere in an overland freight facility, he had boxes of clothes, household goods and other personal effects just waiting for move-in day. Until then, he was living out of suitcases. If the Volturi managed to find where they were stored and break in, all of his possessions would be consistent with Edward Cullen's rigid, but luxurious lifestyle. Details. So many details.
Bella closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the Volturi watchdogs would think based on everything they were hearing right then. Hopefully they would be as bored as she was. Boredom leads to complacency and errors. Nothing neutralizes an adversary as effectively as mind-erasing, sense-numbing boredom.
Time marched on. She shifted her weight to ease the tingling cramps in her butt and thighs. First, two hours of kneeling against the bed. Then, hours in the car talking, driving around, getting lunch and their long conversation afterwards. Now she sat, leaning up against the wall of their hotel suite for an interminable amount of time. She had been inactive for hours. Being quiet and still was harder than she had realized.
Masen noticed her squirming and put his phone on mute. "If you need to use the bathroom, go. I don't want to find a puddle of piss on the carpet. Jesus Christ, you're an imbecile. And eat something." His accompanying offhanded shrug and crooked smile went a long way towards softening the harsh words.
"Yes, sir," she said. "Thank you, sir." She wasn't really hungry yet, but she was grateful for the excuse to move around.
"No, you listen to me," Edward Cullen's voice rang through the closed bathroom door as she washed her hands. "You will do everything that I say, exactly as I tell you, or every tabloid will receive copies of those pictures before the end of the day. What will your constituents think of their family man hero then? If you cross me, you can kiss your picture-perfect life with your sweet wife and trio of Goldilocks clones goodbye. I want that paragraph struck from the bill before it goes up for review. Make it happen."
Edward Cullen's bank accounts showed hefty consulting fees dating back several months from a shell company based in Colorado. The transactions were split apart and shuffled around between his many accounts and business entities, mixed in with normal expenditures and dozens of other deposits. It would take a forensic accountant to pick it apart. Masen and Bella were laying money on the belief that the Volturi had the resources and expertise to do just that.
In actuality, their operation had zero connections to any politicians. The phone call was a one-sided sham. However, anyone who followed national news was aware that Senator Devlin Beach was a beloved politician from Boulder, Colorado. A man who had graduated magna cum laude from his hometown college, married his high school sweetheart and gone on to father three adorable kids with blue eyes and blond curls, he was the all-American, doting patriarch. He was also a vocal critic of fracking and was actively pushing legislation to limit operations within his state. Bernard Morahan, his challenger in the upcoming elections, was brutal, cutthroat and known to be in bed with several high-profile energy investors.
A simpleton could connect the dots. Edward Cullen had been hired by somebody in the natural gas business, if not Morahan himself, to steamroll one of their most dangerous opponents - Devlin Beach - into softening the terms of the bill he was writing. Somebody as outspoken as Beach could never drop his fight completely. That would raise red flags from coast to coast. But he could be castrated, his bill made impotent by deleting the harshest restrictions and introducing loopholes big enough for an elephant to march through. In the end, even if the doctored bill was passed, it would only be a temporary inconvenience, a speed bump.
This tactic was all about finesse. It would be impossible to prove or disprove their involvement in Senator Devlin's anti-fracking campaign or the associated bill. There were too many moving pieces. Too many layers. That made it the perfect addition to their con. While on the road, Bella and Masen had spent many long hours researching current events, fabricating that script and others like it.
At one point she had asked Masen, "Do you think this kind of thing really goes on? The backdoor deals, blackmail, all this garbage undercutting real progress?"
"Hell yes, it does. Why do you think our legal system and the political landscape are such a convoluted mess?"
"So this is going to seem completely normal to the Volturi."
"You got it. Edward Cullen is just their kind of crook."
Smoke and mirrors. That's what they were using. Edward Cullen had to appear to be busy and successful. His money had to come from somewhere. That's what Masen's cover was built on. Smoke, mirrors and innuendo.
The Devlin Beach script and associated income were just one of nearly a dozen irons that Edward Cullen had cooking in the fire. The beauty of it was, their scripts were lean on names and specifics, but heavy on the bullying tone and condescension, giving the impression of more complex business dealings with fewer potential pitfalls. Just like Bella's work to build Bree Tanner's life and history into her cover story, they had opted for subtleties and illusion over bold-faced claims with Edward Cullen.
If the Volturi were listening, and she had no reason to believe otherwise, they would be digging for a while to uncover Mr. Cullen's careful trail of backroom deals and dirty cover-ups. Masen wasn't giving them much to work with. However, if the Volturi were as good as Tanya and Masen believed they were, they would find the trail and follow it to the only logical conclusion. Edward Cullen was a belligerent, vicious manipulator. And he was filthy rich. He was exactly their kind of client. Maybe even somebody worthy of a position of trust within their organization.
Bella walked softly past him as he placed another mock call. It was getting late. She ate standing in the kitchen, then put together a plate of food and set it at Masen's elbow. He had turned the music up when he set his phone down, and a Rachmaninov piano concerto swelled through the room. He was back at his laptop, typing furiously. A quick glance showed her that he was sending SAC Mahardy and Agent Filipovna detailed notes of everyone he had spoken to or met with. Several names jumped out at her, names from Tanya's database. What she had witnessed and overheard these last four days only comprised a fraction of Masen's activities since their arrival.
"Stop hovering. I don't want you right now. Go to bed," he said impatiently.
"Yes, sir," Bella replied automatically, wondering if she could even sleep.
His left hand left the keyboard long enough to grasp hers and give it a squeeze.
She brushed her teeth and got ready for bed, then curled up on the floor, mindful that even the squeak of bedsprings could be picked up by the bugs in the bedroom. They had to limit all audio cues to sounds consistent with the scene Demetri had found that morning.
With her eyes closed, Bella ticked off every step they had completed, every gate they had passed through to get to this point. Everything was set. They were ready. As ready as they could ever be. Despite her anxiety, Bella fell asleep long before Masen turned out the lights and climbed into bed.
When Bella woke up, Masen was already in the shower. There was a handwritten note on the floor beside her pillow. She recognized Masen's slanted script immediately.
Checking out at 9:30. Expect a miniature explosion before we depart.
Bella waited for her turn in the bathroom, then took her time creating her look for the day. Edward Cullen would want her at her best, polished and primped to make him look good. This was his only chance to make a powerful entrance on the Volturi's stage.
Bella grimaced when she felt how bad her leg hair was getting. She would trade a lot for a simple disposable razor. Then again, that had been one of many details in Masen's plan. He needed the Volturi connection for everything from legal papers to grooming for his sex slave. He couldn't very well take her to the DMV or a local salon.
Bella sifted through Marie's lingerie and jewelry to find the most glitzy, provocative ensemble possible. She was starting to appreciate Masen's decision to take such a monochromatic approach to her wardrobe. Everything matched everything else. It made her job that much easier.
Soon after 9:00, Bella was ready to go. Her hair was gathered into a pile of loose curls and held in place with rhinestone clips. She had made her face up as if she were going to a club, with dark, sooty eye shadow, black mascara and plum-colored lipstick. She wore low-rise black leggings, peep-toe pumps and a belt of hand-stamped sterling silver medallions around her hips. Her shirt was made of thousands of strands of navy blue silk, gathered at the seams to form swooping drapes. Every time she moved, they shifted and swayed, revealing tiny glimpses of the skin beneath.
Masen spared her a quick nod of approval as he tidied the desk. All of their other luggage was packed and waiting by the door. Bella sat down near the entryway and watched him work. He had his briefcase open and was carefully putting his notes and documents away when he paused.
"That slimy little prick. I should have known," he growled. Bella looked on as Masen removed a small metal device and wire from the desk lamp. "Listen up, asshole," he spoke into the device, his voice glacier-cold and sharp. "Tell your boss that I'm seriously reconsidering his invitation. I'm choosing not to be offended, but with me you only get one strike. You've got thirty minutes, I repeat, thirty minutes, to make sure my room is clean. If I find even a trace of a bug or wire, I'm marching out of there, and we will never work together. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next. Cross me, and it will cost you. Nobody tries to collect dirt on me and gets away with it. Oh, one more thing, tell that little fucker you sent over here yesterday morning that he hits like a girl. Find some real muscle if you really want to threaten me. Thirty minutes. I'm on my way."
Masen picked up the nearest heavy object, a crystal paperweight, and slammed it down onto the bug with a crash. He pocketed the mutilated device and threw the remaining items into his briefcase, shutting it with a loud snap. He was muttering under his breath as he dialed the front desk on the room's telephone.
"Where is that bellhop?" he demanded. "Then send someone else. Now."
Masen opened the door and stood in the hallway with his hands on his hips, waiting impatiently. Bella got to her feet, picked up her purse and the jewelry case and joined him, standing just out of arm's reach. An unfamiliar, uniformed bellhop burst out of the elevator down the hall a few minutes later. Bella wondered briefly if he was another Volturi plant. She hadn't seen his face any of the times they had passed through the lobby, but it was a large hotel and they had only been there for a few days.
"So sorry, Mr. Cullen. Allow me," the man apologized, loading their luggage efficiently and following them back to the elevator.
The black BMW was clean and ready for them at the entrance, the engine rumbling at idle. One of the hotel managers was waiting outside to see them off, thanking them for their business. Masen accepted the man's gratitude stiffly, showing as much civility as Bella had ever seen while he was in character. She slid into her seat and waited with her head down and her hands folded in her lap. When Masen angled into the driver's seat, he took off his glasses, rubbed his right temple and put them back on. He wasn't taking any chances. Bella bit her tongue and waited, hoping he would pull over somewhere so they could talk out of range of prying ears. She didn't have any real questions, per se, but she had been counting on having one final moment to share with her partner before entering the snake pit.
She didn't get that chance. Their destination was closer than she had expected. Frighteningly close. They traveled less than half a mile up the North County Road before pulling into a wide paved driveway. They passed under an arch of iron and stone, and Bella was stunned by the thickness of the walls. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw metal glinting atop the rough-hewn limestone barrier. Razor wire? Electrified coils? This wasn't just a beachfront mansion, it was a military-grade stronghold.
The gate swung shut, closing silently, but securely, behind foliage grew right up against the driveway, a stunning, but impenetrable visual barrier. There was no way to determine how large the property was, or what else was out there, except from the air. The drive took a sweeping curve, and the main house came into view. Framed by towering palms, with terraces, balconies and imposing walls constructed from blocks of imported stone, the building reminded her of a Mediterranean castle. One of the dark-stained front doors stood open, giving them a glimpse of the grandeur within.
At the top of the circular driveway, Masen parked the car and opened his door. A tall but slender man with black slicked-back hair rapidly descended the stairs to meet them. He wore Italian-cut, gray plaid pants that clung to his thighs. His bright pink shirt sported a wide collar, unbuttoned at the neck, with the sleeves rolled up above his wrists. He wrung his hands gleefully as they climbed out of the car.
"Welcome, welcome, dearest guests. Consider me your concierge, your maitre d', your very best friend. And who are you?" he asked with a seductive purr, looking Agent Masen up and down.
"Cullen. Edward Cullen." Masen held out his hand in greeting, as formal as if he were introducing himself to a head of state.
"Ooooh. Bond. . . James Bond," the man intoned in a deep voice, holding out his hand. He squeaked when Masen grasped his fingers. Bella could hear his knuckles popping from several feet away. "Mmm. Ow! Ahahahaha. Edward. I like it. My name is Aro. Oh. You are strong," the younger man drawled appreciatively, his eyes tracing up Masen's wrist and arm. "And is this adorable thing yours?" Aro asked, turning to look at Bella, his eyes gleaming.
"For now. I'm looking to upgrade. Maybe. If you have a girl that suits me."
"We have girls to suit anyone's taste. It's a point of pride. Although. . . I have a feeling you might be a tough man to please. A real connoisseur." He tapped his lower lip speculatively with one perfectly-manicured finger. "But that's okay. We love a challenge," Aro concluded, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
As detestable as his words were, Bella couldn't help being drawn to the flamboyantly dressed concierge. He had a natural charisma and charm about him. She could see why he had been hired. His cheerful, but subservient persona would put almost any visitor at ease.
"Well, don't just stand there. Come in, come in! Mr. Volturi will be so happy you came. We are expecting quite a fun gathering tonight! You came at just the right time. Allow me to show you to your room."
"Will Mr. Volturi be joining us for dinner tonight?" Masen asked as they climbed the steps. Two young men in tan suits unloaded their suitcases from the car and fell into step behind them.
"Oh, I never know what he plans to do or not do. I guess we'll see!"
"A minute, Aro," Masen called out, halting just outside the magnificent front doors. "I have one little matter to discuss with your boss before we settle in." He held his hand out, palm up, displaying the crushed remains of the bug. "I'm a private sort of man. I will inspect my room. When I do, will it be clean? Because neither my host nor I will be happy if it isn't."
Aro's eyebrows jumped, and his lips formed a silent 'O'. "That would be unpardonable. Your room is spic and span, from rafters to sub floor. You have my word."
"Hmm. That seems to be a common phrase around here."
"Oh, Mr. Cullen. Do come in. Your accommodations will exceed your expectations. Have no fear."
"In that case, lead on," Masen said. He grasped Bella by the upper arm, dragging her forward into the house.
A/N: And they're in.
By the way, there's a whole crew of incredible ladies that greet each new chapter with some pretty entertaining commentary over on Facebook. They keep me on my toes. Care to join us? I'm Maggie Chambers. You'll sometimes find me lurking in Frannie Walsh's "Pay it Forward" group or the "Fan Fiction Discussion for WIPS" group.