Okay, boys and girls. This is it. The part where so many little threads come together. While this part doesn't reveal every answer, it probably reveals a good 80 percent. At the very least, you might want to review Roswell, Part II before reading. So many threads reference back to that part.
Also, this part is MASSIVE. Over 19 pages, 6200 words. Practically two to three times the size of most other parts. So I don't want any lip, my little wallabies.
And finally, I'm really proud of this chapter. In my own opinion, it's about as good a chapter of fanfic I've ever written. So I'd especially appreciate reviews for it, good or bad. Thanks.
PART THIRTEEN: SECRET AGENT DREAMS AND STRANGER THINGS, PART TWO
Just breathe.
Just breathe.
Don't scream.
Keep it together.
Can't lose it now.
Just hold on.
Hold on.
Please, God, don't go.
So much blood.
What do I do?
I need you.
What do I do?!
Don't leave me.
I can't breath.
I love you.
Just breath, just breath, just breath...
---------------
"Babysitting? Because that's what this is, a babysitting job. So you gonna leave me enough money to order a pizza or should I just raid the fridge for leftovers?"
"Agent Roe—"
"So what time is Mr. Beisel's beddy-by? He's old enough to bathe himself, right?"
"Agent Roe, I understand your frustration, but you put yourself in this situation. Remember that."
--------------
"Agent Roe, allow me to introduce Heinrich Beisel." Her superior agent leaned in, whispered into her ear: "For the foreseeable future, he is your entire world. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
At first glance, she didn't think much of Heinrich Beisel. Tall, a bit gangly, with deep brown eyes and a mop of unruly brown hair. With black wire rim glasses and white button down dress shirt.
"Good day, Agent Roe," Heinrich greeted warmly. "This is my daughter, Sabine. Sabine, say hello to Fräulein Roe."
A young girl stepped forward, eight years old. With long brunette hair and an oddly familiar set of chocolate brown eyes. The child stared up at Rachel with wide eyes, amazed by the towering redhead before her. Then the child seemed to recover from her initial shock, and with a cheeky little smile, curtsied in her lovely floral print sundress.
"Guter Tag, Fräulein Roe," she said.
Rachel fought to keep a smile from appearing on her own face. She couldn't help but be charmed. She bowed slightly at the child. "Guter Tag, Fräulein Beisel."
----------
It was certainly a change of pace. Turns out, this job wasn't nearly as bad as she originally thought. Okay, so she wasn't chasing arms dealers and human traffickers around the Eastern Block, but the dress code was easier.
And when you're pretending to be the new girlfriend of a widowed vice-president and chief computer specialist for Germany's largest bank who also happens to come from significant family money, you can't simply go around wearing standard G-man suits.
Rachel still wasn't used to the flowy sundresses and sandals she was to wear around the Beisel estate. On the plus side, dresses allowed for better execution of kicks. Down side, she had to think of imaginative ways to strap on her Beretta. And where to hide her spare clip.
Dress code aside, it wasn't exactly torture to sit outside on the patio of Schloss Beisel, sipping lemonade and eating the lunch the kitchen staff served. And all she had to do was watch over Sabine.
The little girl was presently sitting at the same table, working with a set of watercolor paints. She was attempting to recreate the west wing of the villa.
"Do you like it, Rachel?"
"It's very good," Rachel answered honestly. And for an eight year old it was.
"Would you like to try?"
"Uh...sure."
Rachel pulled her seat closer to Sabine and took the offered sheet of paper and paintbrush. It had been ages since she held a brush, nearly ten years.
She wasn't even aware of the slight smile that suddenly graced her face. Her hand moved nearly of its own accord, sweeping between the paper and the paints, creating marvelously accurate colors from the cheap, store bought set.
Sabine laughed in delight when Rachel finished the project. "Rachel, it's beautiful!" she decreed.
"Not bad for being so out of practice, is it?" Rachel asked, quite pleased with her effort. She never actually cared for watercolors. Now oils, she was a master at oils...
"How is my girl?" a voice called out.
Laughing, Sabine launched herself into her father's outstretched arms. In a swift move, the child was on her father's back receiving a horsey back ride, replete with a few enthusiastic "Neighs". Rachel couldn't help but smile.
"Daddy! Look at what Rachel painted! Isn't she good?"
With a giggling girl on his back, Heinrich peered down at the watercolor on the patio table. His brows lifted in wonder.
"You made that... with those? That is extraordinary."
Rachel briefly wondered why his compliment brought a heat to her cheeks.
"Do you paint often?"
"No, not in years. I, uh, haven't had time since joining the Agency."
"A shame," Heinrich declared. "I see a true talent."
"I always loved painting. I used to skip school and hang out in my room experimenting with colors. It was my one safe place when I was growing up."
Rachel's cheeks flushed once more, this time from embarrassment. Why the hell did she say that aloud? She was terribly grateful when Heinrich didn't pursue the topic. Though the next conversation topic still left her feeling awkward.
"We should go on a date tonight."
"Excuse me?"
"What sort of fake beau would I be if I didn't take my fake girlfriend out on occasion? After all, mein liebes, we must keep up appearances."
Strictly speaking, he wasn't mistaken. But Rachel was still a little befuddled and disturbed that the first words she replied with were:
"What should I wear?"
Heinrich smiled broadly. "Leave it to me."
-----------
Rachel tried not to wonder too hard why the satiny green dress she currently wore fit so perfectly. Certainly he didn't contact her bosses to inquire about her dress size. No, that wouldn't explain how the bust fit so well. She always needed to make alterations on top. And it wasn't like she had any ridiculously expensive evening gowns of her own lying around in her expansive walk in closet of the venerable Beisel Estate (of Beisel Steel and Shipping fame).
Maybe he just had a really good eye. A really, really good eye.
Nor did she put too much though into why she blushed – she never used to blush! – when Heinrich pulled out her chair like a perfect gentleman.
Nor did she put much thought into how easy idle dinner conversation with him was. Or how she found herself genuinely listening to him talk about computer systems and chuckling at his silly jokes.
And she especially didn't put too much thought into that spark of electricity that shot up her arm and directly into her brain when their hands touched while simultaneously reaching for the wine bottle.
Man, she was thinking too damn much.
"I can't understand how you don't like the Impressionists," Heinrich said in disbelief.
"They're too pretty," Rachel answered after a sip of pinot noir.
"Too pretty? No such thing."
"Give me a Dutch Baroque any day," Rachel insisted. "Vermeer, Rembrandt, Ruisdael. Not so much Rubens, the chubby chaser."
And she really didn't put too much thought into the warm, happy feeling she got at eliciting a full blown laugh from her companion at that comment.
"I like the Romantics, by and large. Particularly Joseph Turner and Thomas Cole. Love me some Jean Baptiste Carot, though he's more Neo-Classical. And don't get me started on this Modernist crap."
"So why government work?" Heinrich asked. "Why not become an artist?"
"That was the plan, actually," Rachel said, suddenly finding her wine glass fascinating. "I used to dream about attending the Hudson University Art Institute in Manhattan. Actually, I kinda got accepted to go."
Heinrich was flabbergasted. "Incredible. Hudson is one of the premier art institutes in the world. Why didn't you attend?"
"Stuff happened," Rachel vaguely stated. "Didn't have time for it anymore."
"It is my opinion, my dear Miss Roe, that we should always make room for our true passions."
Before the situation became too morose, Heinrich extended his hand to Rachel. "Dance with me."
"I don't know..." Rachel began.
"We must keep up appearances. Remember, we're a couple now."
Strictly speaking, he wasn't mistaken. "There's no one on the floor."
"Then we'll be trend starters. May I have this dance?"
While she contemplated the question for at least five seconds, the answer came immediately to mind. "Okay. So long as the song isn't up tempo. And keep your hands where I can see them."
His laugh sent a warm vibration down her spine to her... Oh yeah, thinking too much.
Rachel suddenly felt very exposed on the dance floor. While the band played soft music as background noise for the restaurant patrons, none had dared stepped onto the floor. Until now.
Heinrich whispered a few words to a passing waiter, who in turn whispered into the ear of the bandleader. Suddenly the opening tones of Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade echoed through the room.
"Slow enough for you, Miss Roe?"
Aw hell.
Heinrich took her right hand in his left. His right hand dipped down to her left hip – and ever so gently – moved around to the small of her back.
JustBreathJustBreathJustBreath
Crap.
For just an instance, as Heinrich's fingers performed their own gentle dance against her back in time with the music, Rachel's breath caught. Just for an instant.
He was smiling. Rachel just knew it.
She couldn't tell for certain though. Because she couldn't – wouldn't – look into his eyes.
Don'tLookDon'tLookDon'tLook
Double crap.
Rachel was startled by what she saw. It was something she wasn't used to seeing from a man. She was familiar with most of the expressions men sent her way – most of which were derivations of lust. This was...
Don't think.
-----------
"Did you brush your teeth?"
"Yes, Rachel."
"Let me see."
The girl hesitated a moment. "I'll be right back," she said before disappearing into the bathroom.
Rachel smiled as she heard the faucet turn on. A moment later she heard the unmistakable scrubbing of toothbrush on teeth.
She clicked on the nightlight near the bed. Then placed a glass of water on the nightstand. All just the way Sabine liked it. She then curled up on the bed, waiting for the child to return.
The girl returned moments later and went immediately towards her bookcase.
"So what shall it be tonight?" Rachel asked.
Sabine crawled into bed, handing Rachel a book. As the child climbed beneath the blankets, Rachel examined the cover.
"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe".
A faraway look crossed her features, as well as a soft, fond smile.
"You're smiling," Sabine pointed out.
"Am I?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"I have a friend who loves this book."
"Oh?" Sabine curiously questioned. "What's her name?"
"Well, she goes by Sarah," Rachel answered, though Sabine didn't quite understand the joke.
"What's she like?" Sabine pressed. Rachel never talked about herself. The child was immensely curious about this woman she was becoming so fond of.
"Smart. Pretty. A penchant for finding trouble. Like somebody I know." Rachel punctuated her statement by tickling Sabine's belly. The girl squealed in delight.
"Stop! Please!" the child begged.
Unnoticed by the girls, watching from the slightly ajar bedroom door, was Heinrich. He smiled, shook his head in amusement, and gently closed the door.
----------
"I don't like surprises," Rachel warned.
"You'll like this one," Heinrich promised, smiling that smile of his. The one that always seemed to weaken her knees.
Rachel distinctly remembered a day when she was a hard assed government agent. She also remembered a day when she rued the fact she was given this assignment.
Those days had long gone the way of the proverbial dodo.
How the hell did he have this effect on her? It wasn't like this man that walked a few paces ahead could be described as sexy. Well, not in a traditional sense anyway.
Rachel had traveled the world. Seen some very sexy men. Men with bodies chiseled from granite. With features molded to absolute perfection. With perfectly coiffed hair and designer duds custom made.
But Heinrich wasn't like that. True, he was relatively fit. But his brown curly locks could never quite be tamed. His nose was a bit too large for his face. And his suits – which were custom cut – always seemed to have a few inexplicable wrinkles, as if he slept in them.
So why the hell did she find him sexier than nearly every other man she'd ever met? More so than that MI6 fellow, Barker. Or that Italian Forumla One driver. Or that Spanish soccer player.
Bad thoughts. These thoughts weren't healthy. It could compromise her ability to protect her asset (had to keep thinking of him that way). Sooner or later thoughts like these could get her reassigned. Or him dead.
Just breath. Don't become attached. And whatever you do, don't fall in—
"We're here," Heinrich said, breaking her from her thoughts.
They stood before a heavy wooden door in a relatively isolated part of the Schloss. Rachel tried to look stern at Heinrich's self-satisfied expression.
"You realize if I don't like this surprise..."
"Yes, yes, Miss Roe. You'll take your gun and shoot me. Tell me a new one."
She distinctly remembered a day when she'd put three bullets into anybody who dared direct that sort of cheeky retort in her direction.
She didn't miss those days nearly as much as she should.
"Here you go," he said, handing her a key.
"What's this?"
"A key to this lock. You're the only person with access to this room."
Rachel blinked, not quite sure where this was going. "O-kay," she drawled.
At Heinrich's wave, she slipped the key into the lock and turned. Gently pushing open the door, she cautiously moved into the room. She thought about reaching for her weapon, but thought Heinrich might take offense. Behind her, she heard a soft click. An instant later the lights came on—
"Oh my God," Rachel breathed.
It was a studio. Just like the one she dreamed of as a teenager. Just like the one she described in intimate detail to Heinrich as they enjoyed a midnight snack of chocolate cake in the kitchen nearly three weeks before.
In the corner near the large window overlooking the rear grounds of the schloss, bathed in warm sunlight, was an easel prepared with a fresh blank canvas. There were shelves fully stocked with tubes of oil paints – and not the cheap stuff either – but the prime goods. Brushes of all sizes, any size she could desire. There were enough blank canvases to keep her busy for the next decade.
And in the corner opposite the waiting canvas, in a darker lit area, was a small cot. The one Rachel said she always imagined she'd need after an all night marathon session.
She delicately lifted a tube of cadmium blue. She was almost afraid to speak, terrified it would be the catalyst that woke her from this dream. It was Heinrich who finally broke the spell, fearful that her prolonged silence indicated his gesture was a mistake.
"Rachel? Does this not please you?"
Rachel wiped her eyes before turning to face him. No tears, no tears, no tears...
"I can't accept this," she lamely stated. "This is... this is something you should give a real girlfriend."
In that moment, Rachel knew – Heinrich understood her perfectly. So he played it the only way he could, the only way Rachel could save face.
"Perhaps. But we must keep up appearances. A man learns his girlfriend is a budding artist. He has the means to create her dream studio. It only makes sense he would provide it upon an important occasion. It is our four month anniversary."
Good save. Though Rachel still felt guilty as hell. Seeing her indecision, Heinrich picked a brush from the table and handed it to her.
"Of course, to keep up appearances, his girlfriend should accept the gift. Otherwise he might think she's planning a break-up. And that certainly wouldn't do."
Rachel managed a smile. Damn him and his ironclad logic.
"Well... maybe one painting."
Heinrich instantly perked, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Excellent! I'll leave you to it!" Before Rachel could offer a response, Heinrich turned to leave the room. But just before he left, he turned back and said, "I'll have someone bring you lunch around noon. Will sandwiches suffice?"
Sandwiches could be eaten with one hand. Leaving the other hand free to paint. That man was just...
"They will," she replied shyly.
-----------
"C'mon, Sabine, you can do it," Rachel murmured.
She was on the edge of her seat, eyes glued to the stage before her. So nervous was she that Rachel barely registered the fact her hand instinctively reached for Heinrich's. He, however, was fully aware.
Who would have thought that Rachel Roe, badass secret agent extraordinaire, would be so invested in a grade school piano recital? Yet she was, hanging on every stroke of the keys. The sounds of Mozart's Piano Sonata No. 5 in G major filled the auditorium. And Sabine was nailing every single note.
As Sabine finished, the last note reverberating in the air, Rachel was the first to leap to her feet, offering a thunderous applause. Heinrich was a split second behind, equally enthused by his daughter's performance.
"She was magnificent!" Rachel shouted into his ear.
"Of course," Heinrich simply said. "She is my daughter."
The proud adults shared a fond smile.
After the performance, Heinrich and Rachel went backstage to greet the little virtuoso. He wasn't disappointed in the slightest when Sabine ran directly into Rachel's arms.
"Did you hear me?" the little girl shouted excitedly. "Was I good?"
Rachel hugged the child tightly. "Good? You were amazing. Wasn't she dad?"
"Amazing doesn't begin to cover it," Heinrich replied. He couldn't help but grin at the sight of his two favorite women. The way Rachel embraced his daughter, it evoked some very pleasurable dreams.
After a few moments, Rachel finally allowed dad to have a hug. Like Heinrich, she couldn't help but smile at the sight. But then a chill ran down her spine and the smile vanished. Very discretely, she turned her head from the wondrous sight of father and daughter and began to scan the room. Something wasn't right...
Her spidey sense was tingling. Danger was afoot. Instinctively, Rachel's hand reached for Heinrich's. He knew something was wrong from the intense pressure of her grip.
"Rachel? Is everything okay?"
"Fine, sweetie." The underlying message was: "Later. Not in front of Sabine. It's time to go." Remarkably, Heinrich understood the concealed message. The man never ceased to amaze her.
"I think I know a brilliant little girl who deserves some ice cream," Heinrich said in his most even voice. Yet even Sabine seemed to know something was amiss. She was a remarkably perceptive child.
"That's okay. We can go straight home."
Remarkably perceptive.
Rachel clutched her purse tightly, feeling a bit secure knowing she had a Walther PPK in easy reach. On this day, however, she wouldn't have to use it.
--------
In a singular moment it became painfully obvious she was too close. She never felt him enter the room. Never felt his eyes upon her. As though her subconscious knew he was the one person in the universe she could drop her guard around. Not a good trait when he was the person she was tasked to protect.
"A beautiful sight," Heinrich's voice stated behind her. Thankfully he waited to speak until she pulled the brush away from canvas. Otherwise she might have ruined a perfectly good landscape portrait.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Turns out it's just like riding a bike. Everything I've ever learned about painting has just come back to me."
"Oh. The painting. It's quite lovely, too."
Rachel shot him an exasperated look. She truly thought him to be joking. After all, she was wearing a pair of ratty old jeans and flannel shirt, both of which were stained in various paints. There were even a few blotches on her cheeks and in her hair.
Then she saw it. The Look. He was completely sincere. She turned away, a futile attempt to hide the flush to her cheeks.
"We can't."
"Why?"
"Because it's a bad idea. For so many reasons."
"I want to kiss you."
Rachel had no response for his words. But when his arms encircled her waist from behind, her body's response was to tip her head back into his shoulder, exposing her neck for his lips.
"Stop," she pleaded. But there was something in her eyes...
"Say it like you mean it," Heinrich demanded.
Rachel tried to form the words, but the only ones that came out were—
"Oh, I am so screwed."
----------
Rachel had been awake for an hour, since the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds.
He looked so beautiful, she decided, lying atop the white cotton sheets, basked in the glow of the morning sun. She hated to disturb him. He looked so at peace. Safe from the real world were bad men wished to do him harm.
But she couldn't help it. Of its own accord, her hand reached out and brushed a strand of his curly locks away from his face. Then slowly, his dark brown eyes opened, registering the fact the woman he was completely crazy about still occupied his bed. He smiled.
Rachel's breath caught. Much as she liked watching him sleep, she could never get over the expression on his face when he first woke to see her lying next to him. It was like watching the sunrise all over again.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello."
"I like waking up next to you," he admitted.
"Can't say I blame you. I'm hot."
"I love you."
Her smile instantly disappeared. "Why'd you have to say that?"
"Because I won't let the opportunity slip away." He could feel her slipping away from him, literally and figuratively. He wrapped his arm around her waist. "Do you know how long I had with Anna? Four years. Just four years. And you know what else? The day she died, before she climbed into that car, I forgot to say those words."
"Heinrich..."
"It's okay if you can't say it. At least for now. But I just wanted you to know. Because any moment together could be our last. So from now on, whenever we part ways, I'm going to say it. Though I may be more discreet when in the presence of other agents."
"Heinrich," she tried again. But his fingers pressed gently against her lips, silencing her.
"I love you," he repeated.
She needed to dissuade him. To ruin any romantic notions he had of her. For both their sakes.
"I kill people for a living," she said. "I'm exceptionally good at it. Is that the sort of person you want hanging around your daughter?"
"That's your job," Heinrich dismissed. "It's not you. You read bedtime stories to my daughter. You attend her piano recitals. You help with her homework and play with her in the garden."
Rachel turned her eyes away. "I'm a killer," she again proclaimed.
"Fine. You're a killer. But you're not a monster. That's a person I would never let around my daughter." He cupped her cheek delicately, forcing her eyes upon him. "All I know is the woman I've seen, the woman who's protected my daughter and myself. That woman is more than deserving of love. Maybe some day she'll figure it out."
---------
It was nearly eleven pm when Heinrich and Rachel arrived at his study. He wore a sharp black tuxedo, she wore a shimmering green backless gown. They had just put Sabine to bed. He was surprised by this slight detour, thinking they would return to the ballroom. After all, being his birthday, he still had guests to entertain.
"So, what brings us here?" he questioned curiously.
"I have a present for you. I wanted to give it to you in private."
"Ah! I was wondering why my girlfriend hadn't supplied a gift. I think our guests were wondering too." A shiver of desire rippled through her body as Heinrich's fingertips brushed against the exposed skin near the base of her spine. Her knees nearly gave out as he whispered into her ear, his warm breath tickling her lobe: "That's hardly keeping up appearances, my love."
Going against every desire in her body, she broke from the contact, moving towards an easel, the canvas covered by a white sheet.
"Remember three weeks ago? That day the three of us spent in the garden? When I carried that camera around all day?"
"I do. Is this your way of telling me you'd like a dark room, too?"
"No. Photography isn't my medium. I just needed a photo as reference so I could make your gift."
She removed the sheet, exposing the finished canvas. Heinrich's breath caught. "Rachel..." he breathed.
"Do you like?" she asked hopefully.
"My God. It's perfect."
There, etched in oil, was Heinrich and Sabine. It was a bright, sunny day in the garden. Father and daughter played in the grass. On the child's face was an expression of pure delight. Heinrich remembered the moment. Gazing down at his daughter cradled in his arms, in the aftermath of a tickle attack. And the look on his face – complete love and adoration.
He wiped away the wetness that spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks.
"Rachel..." he breathed again.
"Did I do good?" Rachel asked.
Heinrich answered by cupping her face in his hands and kissing her passionately. "I love you," he declared.
In that moment, she might have answered him back. But Rachel felt his lips press once more against hers and rational thought, for the most part, abandoned her.
"What about your guests?" she managed between kisses.
"They'll show themselves out," he responded. "Right now, I need you."
Rational thought, for the complete part, abandoned her.
-----------
"Checkmate," the little girl teased.
From her position on the floor, laying flat on her belly, Rachel stared at the board. Her eyes roved over her remaining pieces. How the hell is that...? Oh. Where'd that other rook come from?
"I think I've been hoodwinked," Rachel announced.
"Wanna play again?"
Sabine lay on the floor opposite Rachel, in an exact replica of the posture the agent used. Although Rachel was fairly sure she wasn't swinging her legs about like the eight year old. Oh, wow, she was.
"Fine. But if you beat me one more time..." Rachel warned.
From his armchair, as he read the newspaper, Heinrich gently chided his daughter. "Sabine, let Rachel win. You know how cranky she can get when she loses."
"I do not get cranky when I lose," she defended. Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. "You're messing with me. Watch it, buddy. I know how to deal with you."
"You mean you won't have sex with him," Sabine stated. The eyes of both adults bulged from their sockets.
"Sabine!" Heinrich admonished.
"What?" the child defended. "I'm nearly nine years old now. I know things."
Rachel covered her mouth. It wouldn't do to laugh. Just as Heinrich was about to continue his admonishment, the lights in the study went out.
"What the--?" Heinrich questioned.
Rachel stood and went to the window. "It's all the lights." A sinking feeling developed in the pit of her stomach. She really hated this feeling.
She lifted the small walkie-talkie she carried at all times to her lips. "This is Roe. Report."
"Mueller here. Electricity's out all over the estate. We've lost surveillance."
"Why aren't the backup generators running?"
"No idea, ma'am."
"Call the substation. Get reinforcements here. Then get off your ass and find out why the damn generators aren't working."
She turned to Heinrich. "Okay, this is a secure room. I want you and Sabine to stay here."
"Rachel..." he began. She cut him off, already knowing the words he was about to speak.
"Heinrich, please," she implored. "I need to be an agent right now. So I'm asking you properly, just do as I say. Because I can't... I can't feel right now, okay?"
Her eyes implored him to understand. Heinrich nodded slightly, reaching out to his daughter and scooping her into his arms.
"Secure the door behind me," she instructed.
In the hallway, she waiting until hearing the large click indicating the study was locked down. Drawing her Beretta and flashlight, she cautiously moved down the hall, her predatory instincts kicking in.
She entered the dining room - the one for everyday usage – and traveled its length. At the far end of the room was a door – a kitchen entrance. Rachel stared at the door for several moments, then— BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
She put three rounds through the wood. On the opposite side came a dull thump. A body hitting the floor. She pushed through the door, struggling against the corpse—
Her instincts were correct. The man wasn't one of hers, nor was she a member of Heinrich's staff. Plus, the all-black gear and semi-automatic machine gun were dead giveaways.
She pressed through the kitchen. One hundred twenty feet straight ahead, thirty-eight to the right. That's where the door to the formal dining room would be. Good thing she knew the dimensions of this estate by heart. The only light flowing into the kitchen was a bit of moonlight reflecting off the metal surfaces.
Exactly forty-nine feet into her journey, Rachel hit the deck in a hail of machine gun fire. The shots echoed in the cavernous room, but Rachel surmised there was only gunman.
She also knew the instant the gunman ran dry. Calculating the approximate location of the shooter, Rachel unloaded the remaining rounds in her clip. A sick satisfaction coursed through her body when she heard at least one round impact flesh.
Very coolly, she ejected the spent magazine and slammed home another. She leapt over the counter, moving in the direction of the shooter. Nearly forty feet away, she found a small pool of blood on the floor. But no body.
"Crap," she murmured.
At the last instant, Rachel saw the shooter attack from her right. A heavy body slammed into her, tackling her to the floor. Her pistol skidded away on the tile.
Rachel responded by driving a knee into Shooter's groin. The man cried in pain as Rachel heaved him aside.
She flipped to her feet, intent on tracking down her gun. Shooter was up quickly, too. The man grabbed her roughly from behind, wrapping Rachel in a bear hug. She struggled in his arms, her feet finding the edge of a countertop. She pushed off hard, driving the base of Shooter's spine into another countertop behind them.
Shooter lost his grip, allowing Rachel to grab a paring knife from a nearby cutlery set. Shooter grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around—
Rachel jammed the knife into Shooter's left inner thigh, slicing through the femoral artery. Her other hand wrapped around Shooter's neck, holding him in place as he struggled. In a few moments the fight was over, Shooter having bled out. Rachel took the earwig from Shooter's ear and slipped it into her own. She then dropped the body unceremoniously, it thudding dully in its own blood.
Now tapped into their communications, Rachel retrieved her weapon and double-checked the clip.
She went through the formal dining room, into a reception area. Essentially a large parlor, this was the room where Heinrich received guests on his birthday just a few weeks earlier...
Stop it. Can't feel. Can't think. Just do your job.
In her earwig, Rachel could hear their communications. This area of the estate was about to become occupied by hostiles. At least three. But not all at once.
One in the formal dining room. Another sweeping through rooms in the east grand hall. A third lingering in the stairwell.
Her best chance was to take them out silently, one at a time. Engage them all at once and she would be a goner. And so would Heinrich.
Stop it! Can't feel. Can't think. Just do your job.
She grabbed a lamp off a nearby end table. She yanked out the electric cord, looped each end around her hands, forming a garrote.
Silence. To her own ears, her breath sounded like ragged gasps, her heartbeat like a drumbeat. Irrationally, she feared those sounds could echo throughout the darkened, silent hall of the estate.
Stop it! Just. Focus. Do. Your. Job.
Footsteps. Ever so quietly sounding from the direction of the entrance to the formal dining room. Rachel held her breath. The sounds of footsteps drew closer. Closer. Closer...
The electric cord was around the man's neck before he could blink. He barely struggled as the plastic cut into his throat. Very delicately, Rachel lowered the body to the floor.
She searched the body. Tucked into a holster on his left hip was an eight-inch hunting blade. That'll do.
She crept along silently, moving into the east hall. She hid behind the ornate wooden base of the stairwell banister, waiting for the man to come down.
He never saw her strike. The first blade stroke punctured through his back, between his ribs, piercing his lung, preventing any screams. The second blade stroke punctured his liver.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Not fast enough. The third man in the area arrived on scene. He unleashed a burst of semi-automatic gunfire. One round slammed into the body of his recently alive comrade and then through, finding its way into her gut.
Rachel cried out, hitting the floor. No use for silence now. She drew her Beretta and emptied the clip in the shooter's direction.
Shooter dove for cover. Using the moment, Rachel summoned up a burst of adrenaline to get to her feet. Another hail of gunfire erupted just as she slammed through the doors leading back into the formal dining room.
Shooter entered, eyes sweeping the room. Almost immediately a heavy wooden chair swung down, slamming into his arms, his semi-automatic dropping to the floor.
But she was too slow to resume a defensive position. Shooter's fist slammed into her gut, right where the bullet entered. Coughing up blood, Rachel was mostly helpless as Shooter wrapped his hands around her neck and slammed her atop the heavy dining table.
As large hands tightened around her neck, Rachel was remarkably at peace.
She was never going to say those words he desperately wanted to hear. But he would be okay. They both would. Nothing short of plastic explosive could breech the safe room, and probably not even that. Reinforcements would come. They would be okay...
Just before she could black out, the pressure around her neck was released. Struggling to a sitting position, she tried to find the reason why the large man was no longer atop her. Her eyes widened at the one sight she didn't want to see.
"No... Heinrich..."
He stood there, the shattered remnants of a chair in hand. Shooter was on the floor, in pain, but recovering quickly.
"Run..." she gasped. "Heinrich, run..."
He saved her. Goddammit, no... He'd been safe!
"Run," she choked, blood seeping from her lips.
Not long. Fairly serious wound. Gonna bleed out. Gotta get him. Gotta get him to safety. Only thing that matters. Heinrich and Sabine. Sabine. Gotta save her daddy.
Somehow a Glock appeared in Shooter's hand. The men struggled over the weapon.
BOOM!
A single shot.
Silence.
Heinrich. His eyes instantly glazing over.
A scream. Tortured.
Rachel's scream.
Heinrich fell to his knees. Instinctively, his eyes found hers.
I love you.
He slumped to the floor.
A scream. Inhuman rage.
Rachel's scream.
Somehow the hunting blade was again in her hands.
Shooter screamed as the blade pierced the base of his spine. His knees instantly gave out, his spinal cord severed.
Blade strokes. Again and again and again and again.
Rachel barely registered his death gasps. The blade continued to penetrate his body, long after his lifeblood spilled out onto the floor.
A scream. Infinite anguish. Tears spilling.
Rachel's anguish.
Suddenly, whatever force had willed her to strike back completely vanished. She fell to the floor, drained. Dying.
"Heinrich..."
Vacant eyes stared back.
She crawled to him. Shaking hands pressed against the wound in his stomach.
"Hold on, baby," she pleaded. "Please hold on."
So much blood.
"Don't leave me."
----------
Breath.
Just breathe.
Don't scream.
Keep it together.
Can't lose it now.
He needs you. They both do.
Just hold on.
Hold on.
Please, God, don't go.
So much blood.
What do I do?
I need you.
What do I do?!
Don't leave me.
I can't breath.
I love you.
Just breath, just breath, just breath...
Heinrich...
Oh god. I can't breath.
-----------
Her eyes slowly opened. She was greeted by the sight of her own image. Leopard print sheets pulled up over her breasts, a white gauze bandage covering the area just below her left shoulder.
Mirror on the ceiling?
A flood of images struck. Bad hotel room. The bar. Joey. A fire. Searing pain. The money. Alexander Harris.
Chuck.
He saved her.
Her eyes found him. He was resting in a chair on the left side of the bed, looking like shit warmed over.
He was scared for her.
Rachel's heart fluttered.
She offered a wisp of a smile. "Chuck... you saved me."
Chuck shifted nervously in his seat. "Well..."
CLICK.
The sound of a hammer being cocked on a pistol. A Colt 1911, if Rachel wasn't mistaken.
"Hey Rach," Sarah offered. She sat backwards in a chair on the right side of the bed. She gave a smile, but the warmth didn't reach her eyes.
"Chuck...?" Rachel whimpered.
For his part, Chuck looked sick to his stomach. "Yeah. Maybe you should hold off on thanking me."
END PART