Sheep's Clothing

Summary: With Oliver's messed-up life, danger comes in all shapes and sizes… Late Season 9.

Let's see… Oliver was a wee bit ticked at the end of last chapter and was off to confront the person who paid the hitman… Now, on we go!

Chapter Six

Oliver stalked down the street, trying to keep his temper in check. It wasn't working well, but he still had to try. He'd considered having his driver take him, but he knew it would take time for him to calm down. Unfortunately, the reverse was happening. The longer he walked, the angrier he was getting.

Abruptly, Oliver stopped in his tracks. He had that tingling sensation between his shoulder blades, that itch he couldn't quite scratch that said he was being watched. He ducked into a doorway that offered him some cover and carefully scanned the street around him. He didn't think there would be a second hitman, especially not one aiming for him, but he couldn't be too careful.

Oliver waited for several minutes, and finally the sensation seemed to pass. Maybe he was being paranoid. Or maybe he was going nuts. It was hard to tell at times. In any case, he had somewhere to be.

Oliver stepped back out onto the sidewalk and resumed marching. His brain was telling him he couldn't kill anyone, but his heart… his heart was ready to commit murder. When he'd left the bomb for Lex it had been a pre-meditated, cold blooded decision meant to save them all from a monster bent on ending them. This, however, was completely different. There was nothing cold blooded about this. This was a furious, spur of the moment, rage-induced decision to rip a person limb from limb with his bare hands and then dance on their grave.

Getting Tammy back to her mother had momentarily kept the homicidal thoughts at bay, but now that he knew exactly who had paid for Chloe's shooting as well as the kidnapping of a little girl to get the job finished, every bit of his completely pissed-off being was centered on death and destruction.

Oliver reached the building, an expensive high-rise apartment complex. He stopped momentarily and tried to center himself. He closed his eyes and purposely slowed his breathing, using every calming technique he knew and, thanks to his many yoga instructors and his years of martial arts training, he knew quite a few. He blocked out the noise of the city around him and focused on clearing his thoughts. This was a job, just like any other job. Someone had hurt a young woman he just so happened to know. He was going to do something about it, just like he'd handled a hundred other cries for help.

Someone grasped his arm and Oliver's eyes snapped open. He reacted instinctively and grasped the hand, reflexively twisting so that by the time his eyes had focused on his attacker, the man was turned the other way, bent over at the waist, a brutal torque on his arm, his hand twisted painfully at the wrist.

"Sir?" the man gasped.

Oliver immediately released the uniformed doorman who backed away rubbing his wrist. "Sorry, Max," he quickly apologized. "I didn't know it was you."

"Quite all right, Mr. Queen," the man answered formally, no doubt used to putting up with the ways of the rich and crazy. "It was my fault for surprising you. I… " He paused nervously, still keeping his hands up in the I'm unarmed position. "I heard about the… incident a few days ago."

Incident. Very polite way of saying assassination attempt. Oliver quickly nodded. "Yeah. Still a little unsettled," he said, latching onto the excuse rather than admit he was so homicidally angry right then he was lashing out at anything that even remotely resembled a threat.

"Sir, are you sure you're all right?" The doorman dropped his hands and took a step closer.

Oliver realized the man was staring at his side and he looked down. Oliver swore and pulled his jacket closed. He was bleeding through the bandage and it was beginning to seep through his light colored t-shirt. He was pretty sure he'd popped a couple of stitches doing a somersault onto the warehouse where Tammy was being kept. At this stage of the game, however, it couldn't really be helped.

"I'm fine, Max. But are you sure your wrist is ok?" Oliver hadn't been pulling his punches when he grabbed the doorman. Max wasn't a young guy anymore and Oliver could have easily broken his wrist. The man shook his head, still staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "Well, you let me know if you need anything," Oliver offered. His lawyers would kill him if he managed to get himself into another lawsuit for accidentally harming a civilian because of his own psycho reflexes.

Max opened the door to the building and allowed Oliver to walk through. Once inside, he gave a mock-salute to the concierge/security guy behind the desk to one side of the foyer. As soon as the man recognized him, he waved Oliver past.

Oliver punched the elevator call button with more force than was strictly necessary. Once inside, he paced like a caged animal, all the while staring at the numbers as they rose closer and closer to his destination. He'd been in the building dozens of times, and never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that of all the places, of all the dangers that they faced, criminal, supernatural, meteor rock induced or otherwise, that this was where near disaster would come from.

The elevator dinged sedately and the door opened in a barely audible glide. This was one of the most expensive apartment buildings in all of Metropolis and it showed, but instead of the opulence of the plush carpets and the elegant furnishings, all Oliver could see was a wolf hiding in sheep's clothing.

Oliver stalked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door. He once again paused to compose himself. This was war and he couldn't go off half-cocked.

Finally, when he was as ready as he was going to be, he knocked on the door. The building's soundproofing was second to none and he didn't hear a thing as someone came to the door, his only hint was the winking of the light coming through the peephole as someone checked to see who he was. Barely a moment later, the door burst open.

"Oliver!" Portia practically threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm so surprised! Are you all right? I heard what happened. They wouldn't let me in to see you at the hospital even though I told them who I was. They said you hadn't put me on the list of accepted visitors."

Oliver was exceptionally grateful for that right now or Chloe would no doubt be dead. His medical files had a standard list of people allowed to see him whenever he got hurt and Portia was such a non-entity in his mind he'd never have even considered allowing her in.

"I was so worried," the woman continued, "and those stupid people wouldn't tell me anything."

Oliver carefully pried her hands away and pushed her back. "I'm fine, Portia."

"But you were shot." Her eyes widened as her gaze fell to his side, blood once again visible because of her latching on like a leech and setting his jacket askew. "You're bleeding! Come inside." Portia ushered him in through the door and pushed it closed. "Did something else happen? Do you need an ambulance?"

Oliver held his hands up to stop her. "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you, Portia?"

"What do you mean?" Her voice had taken on that hint of a strident tone that always grated on his nerves.

"We both know you don't actually like me all that much," Oliver said plainly.

To her credit, she really did her best to look affronted. "Of course, I do, Oliver. You know how important you are to me."

"Ah," Oliver drew the word out, "but that's not really the same thing is it?"

"I don't understand." At this point, Portia was beginning to shift back and forth on her feet nervously, this conversation obviously not going how she'd thought it would.

"Oh, you understand just fine. I may be important to you, or my wallet might be, but you don't really like me, do you?"

"You know you mean more to me than money," she tried again.

Oliver cocked his head to one side. "How much more?" he asked.

"What?"

"Just how much do I mean to you? What are you willing to do to keep me?"

Portia paled visibly. "What?" she said again.

"Are you willing to hire someone to shoot the competition?" he said, his tone deceptively light. "When that doesn't work are you willing to have a little girl kidnapped to ensure the job will get done?"

"Oliver, what are you talking about?" she said, her voice getting higher and higher with tension.

"I heard you."

"I don't-"

"I heard you," he bit out. "I have a recording of your last conversation with the man you hired. It's amazing what modern technology can do. Disguising your voice just isn't really enough these days."

A flush began to creep upward from the base of the woman's neck, covering her beautiful face in a blotchy red pattern. Her hands were fists at her sides, and if Oliver didn't know better he'd say she was ready to scratch his eyes out.

"Why, Portia?"

"I had to do something, didn't I?" Her voice had lost any hint of supplication or confusion. He'd known underneath her pretty exterior was a hard-hearted woman. He just hadn't realized how far she would go. "I saw that picture of you in the magazine with that girl. I let it go because you asked me out again, almost the same night, but then I heard you on the phone with her. I knew then it was serious and if I was going to hold onto you, she had to go."

"Are you kidding me?" Oliver snapped. "You tried to kill her because you thought you had a chance with me? What, I'm the only billionaire around who meets your demanding standards?"

Portia's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'tried'?"

"I mean she's not dead." Oliver reminded himself to remain calm. Chloe was fine. "And guess what? You never had a chance with me. You were camouflage, sweetheart, just the pretty thing on my arm to keep the paparazzi away from the person I really care about."

"But we… you…" Portia looked genuinely appalled that she had been the one being used.

Oliver cocked his head to one side in disbelief at her nonchalant attitude toward her homicidal behavior. "Accident or not, you had me shot, Portia. Not really the best way to endear yourself to the boyfriend."

Her expression changed from appalled to mutinous then, and Oliver had the impression it was the hitman she most wanted to kill for messing up her plans. If Doug was smart, he'd never come near her or he'd probably get a lot more than a broken nose for his trouble. "Oliver, he wasn't supposed-"

"There are a lot of stupid rich men out there, Portia. Why didn't you just go find another one?"

Portia smiled at him, trying for coy, which was enough to turn Oliver's stomach. "Why settle for a half-deaf, Viagra-popping, seventy year old when there's better to be had? You really are one of a kind, Ollie."

The rage that had been simmering just beneath the surface suddenly boiled over. Exactly three women had earned the right to call him Ollie. His mother was dead, Lois was Lois, and Chloe had every right to use a pet name. Portia did not.

Before he knew it was happening Oliver had her backed up against the wall, nose to nose, the expression on his face letting her know the very real danger she was in. His hands were flat against the wall on either side of her, caging her in, expressly for the reason that as long as he kept his hands there, they weren't wrapped around her pretty little neck.

"Portia, you tried to murder the person I care about most in this world," he said, his voice scarcely above a whisper, everything he had going into keeping his barely contained rage in check. "You kidnapped a child, and tried to force an innocent woman to do your dirty work for you. That really, really pisses me off."

Portia stared up at him, nearly cross-eyed he was so close. "I- I d-didn't-" Her stuttering came to an abrupt halt when Oliver slammed one of his hands against the wall close enough to her head that it ruffled her too perfect hair.

"You didn't what?" he demanded through clenched teeth. "You didn't mean to kill me? Just her?"

She nodded and her nose bumped his, making her press back against the wall, desperate to get away from him.

"Problem, Portia?" Oliver whispered. "What? You don't like being blindsided? You don't like being the one in danger?"

"Please," she managed to squeak out.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" he asked, menace in every syllable. "Maybe you thought I only got where I am today because of Mommy and Daddy. Oh no, I had to be smarter and faster, more ruthless than every single one of the fat-cats who'd been running my company all those years I was a minor to take it back. Did you really think that a man in my position wouldn't look into every nook and cranny when he was threatened? Or did you think I was just a dumb rich kid who was only looking for some tail and too bad if one of his girlfriends got bumped off."

She looked properly terrified now, which was exactly what Oliver wanted. She had badly misjudged him and she wouldn't be the first… or last. The newspaper reports of his scandalous life often helped in the business world. People thought he was a moronic, silver spoon toting, company figurehead right up until he snatched their businesses out from under their noses.

"What…" She cleared her throat nervously. "What are you going to do?"

"What would you do in my position?" he asked. She shook her head, unable to say anything. Oliver pushed away from the wall, allowing her to slump into a nearby chair, her legs apparently no longer able to keep her up. "I could kill you I suppose," he said offhandedly. "It would save me from having to deal with anything else like this."

"I- I'll call him off," Portia said almost desperately. "He'll never bother you again."

Oliver smiled, and from the look on her face it must have been an unnerving sight. "Oh, I've already taken care of your hired thug. He won't be bothering anyone in this city every again."

"You… you..."

"I took care of it," he said, his voice hard, causing her to shut her mouth with a click of her whitened teeth. "You, however, are the problem here."

Oliver moved to sit in the plush lounge chair across from hers. He leisurely crossed his legs, meticulously resettled his jacket so that the lapels lay smoothly, then clasped his hands in his lap, all the while studying her as if she were an interesting insect.

"You, Portia, are about to leave on an extended trip to Europe."

She blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I want you out of the country by tonight. If my information is correct, you're in debt up to your neck trying to pretend you still have enough money to run in the right circles. I have therefore purchased a plane ticket in your name and the information has been e-mailed to you. Take my advice, Portia. Use the ticket and don't ever come back."

"Why would you do that?" She regarded him curiously.

"Don't misunderstand me." Oliver's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I could kill you." She gasped and Oliver shrugged. "But I'm not going to."

Oliver wasn't lying either. He knew what he was capable of. He knew he could kill someone who'd crossed him and threatened his loved ones. Chloe, however, was relying on him. She needed him to be one of the good guys and no matter how much he wanted to hurt this woman for what she'd done, Chloe was what was important. She was his Watchtower in every way that mattered. Physically, emotionally, morally. When he went astray, she was the one who guided him back.

"What if I don't want to go to Europe?" Portia asked, some of her earlier spirit showing again.

"Then you'll be ruined before you know it."

"What?"

"I'm about to start a few carefully placed, but especially nasty rumors about you," Oliver explained casually. "You won't be welcome at a McDonald's in this town, let alone any of the high society events you enjoy so much. Now… if you go to Europe, it will take a little time before the rumors reach there. I would suggest you already have a protector by then. Try Paris. I hear de Montfort is single again. In any case, he's too old and deaf to keep up with the rumor mill anymore. I would start there. Who knows? Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll die before he gets bored and divorces you like all the others."

Portia sat forward in her seat, furious. "How dare you!"

Oliver was on his feet in a second, towering over her and she cowered down in the chair, holding her hands up to ward him off. "Me?" he demanded furiously. His hands were fists and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to back away from her. He took a deep steadying breath and moved toward the door. "I want you gone, Portia. Get out of town," he warned, "or I might change my mind about how lenient I've chosen to be. Understand?"

He waited only long enough for the woman to nod, then left the apartment. She would do what he'd said or there would be hell to pay. Either way, Chloe was waiting for him back at the hospital.

More soon… next chapter is D-Day for Oliver... Happy New Year everybody!