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Fuck this shit.
I groaned and rubbed my eyes in exasperation.
8:34
The digits winked back at me lazily as I caught the last drops of black coffee on my tongue. The remnants of my third cup. Unfortunately, the caffeine was uncooperative and my hangover was a bitch.
I reminded myself to personally kill Alice when I met her for dinner that day.
I was, for lack of a better term, in a foul mood.
Squinting into my Mac, I glanced to the bottom of the document to inspect the progress I had made in half an hour. Ten words. Wonderful.
It wasn't my fault that Lisa Uley's email was extensive, and extremely dry. Not to mention filled with complete bullshit. Purchase confirmation for expensive designer clothing, scripts for new movies, adverts for sex toys, newspaper articles, emails from her lawyers, (another drug scandal) friends, one-night-standers.
Clicking on one conversation dated 6th June—
From: "Nahuel"n_.in
Subject: Thursday
Babe, I'm back in town. Call me if you're back from that hellhole.
Either way I'll pick you up at 12.
Hmm.
Frankly, I didn't give a shit who she fucked, but the psycho who had just recently rummaged through her underwear drawer was the one who I was interested in. And my hunch was that he was one of her many conquests. If this ridiculous heap of messages was to be believed, Ms. Uley certainly enjoyed her night life and that made it no easier for me.
Suddenly the door slid open, and a shadow in a dark pinstriped suit, with a crown of thick salt and pepper hair, grey eyes and an olive toned, crooked nose stormed in. Slamming a thin manila file on my mahogany desk, he grunted, "Isabella." I raised my eyebrow in surprise. "Mr. Banoub."
Lifting the receiver of the telephone on my desk, he placed it down beside the empty mug and settled his ass on the only leather seat. Hm. That's new. I wonder what calls for this special occasion.
He proceeded to grace me with his blank stare.
Um.
Giving him a gentle smile, and an expectant expression, (the one I saw Nurse Yorkie use on the little kids in the Orthodontist's office, because clearly the man had decided to honor his granddaddy Benjamin Banoub's footsteps.) Waiting for him to tell me that he was going to throw himself off a cliff to find self-actualization, (I'm not making this up. It's documented and all that shit.) I folded my fingers together on the keyboard.
Sighing, he stroked his snowy beard. Finally he began, "Isabella, you're my one of my top researchers. You may be the youngest, perhaps the least experienced but you rarely send in less than water-tight documentation. You have the facts, enough proof and evidence to back up every statement and you're bold enough to risk stepping on a few toes in order to obtain your information." His eyes glinted and my lips twitched as I tried not to let my amusement show. "You're smart Swan." A pause. I crossed my legs, feeling anticipation crawl on my skin.
"This case is Top Priority. Completely confidential; meaning, you don't breathe a word of it to anyone but me." I nodded once. "I trust you Bella. You work every case for what it's worth, and that's admirable. Not this one. If there's any sign of trouble, even the slightest hint, you get out as quick as you can. Understand?"
"I understand, Sir." I quipped, my curiosity piqued. He had my full attention now.
Amun Banoub opened the folder and flipped to the seventh page. Sliding it towards me, he tipped his head to the sheet. Scanning the sheet, I saw the blurry image of ponytailed blonde man behind the wheel of a worn, old model Porsche. Hawked nose, scar on the left cheek and light irises.
"James Camargo. Alias David Webber. Born in Chicago, year 1972. His parents, Leo and Elsie Camargo died just a few years after, reasons unknown. He usually works low key, but is alleged to have committed several murders, kidnappings, and also suspected of drug dealing, mainly heroin. Sentenced only for an ugly bar fight he got into eight years back, he's always managed to vamoose every single police stint and the dozen scrupulous officers tailing him." Nodding, I noticed the usual pattern. Every bad guy had his hands dirty in some shit or the other. But I had a feeling that this wasn't just another asshole that muddied the illegal drug trade.
"So, this is a police investigation?" I asked skeptically, eyebrows raised. Amun rarely mixed with law enforcers and his disrespect for the law often got him into trouble. Moreover, researchers at Aquila Security hardly ever complied with computer security. In fact, hacking was our specialty. So, the last thing we'd need is cops hijacking our offices for not following standard procedures in procuring information for our research.
He snorted loudly. I guess not. "Hardly. Our client is very well placed in society and particularly vengeful." Wincing slightly, he shuffled through the file once more. My lips quirked. Interesting.
Mysis Security also handled an exclusive group of clients, primarily medium-sized corporations and well-to-do individuals. Moreover, the company was known to be very undiscriminating in terms of choosing its customers. Meaning, Amun didn't give a shit if you snorted illegal coke every night, as long as you paid for the services his company rendered.
"Apart from Camargo's records of regular substance abuse and auto theft, rumor has it that he indulges in trafficking. Particularly the East European sex trade."
Blondie certainly had his hands full.
Slapping it down, I noticed a black and white photo of a girl. Blonde, mid-twenties, slim, sharp cheek bones and dark eyed. A picture of innocence.
"Kate Denali. Born 1987, Lviv, Ukraine. Daughter of Eleazar Denali (deceased) and Carmen Denali, Sister to Irina Salvatore and Tanya Denali. Found barely alive in a ditch last month, she suffered massive injuries including a couple of fractured ribs, a broken jaw, extensive bleeding in the vagina and severe infections. Doctors say her body has sustained prolonged injuries both anal and vaginal suggesting frequent sex or rape. Before the cops could question her, she went missing. Vanished into thin air. And that was three days ago." His finger jabbed the image repeatedly as he spoke.
"On April 26th, three months before we found her barely breathing, Kate met with Camargo at the Newton's Café. Now, we don't know what they talked about, but we have evidence that the meeting definitely took place." Another distorted snap shot of the blond thug and the fair haired girl. "Bella, James is extremely lethal, he has the reputation of stumping even the slightest threat and whoever he works for, is clearly very powerful and smart enough to clean up nice after him; thread cautiously and never trade information unless you're knee deep in shit."
I nodded in response again, and he continued in a stern voice, "Now, I want you to find out where she is and what happened to her. But first, look for any shred of evidence you can find, anything solid with which we can connect him to Denali." Nodding once, he backed towards the door, "Good luck, Swan."
And it slid close with his customary parting slam.
Gazing down at the hesitant smile on the girl's face, I felt an unpleasant feeling working its way to my throat.
What are you hiding?
Jumping into the shower, I rest my palms in front of me as I let the water slide down my back. My eyes slid shut and the screen behind my lids swirled in empty colors. Blue, orange, red, gold.
"Did you kill her?" The cold voice rang through the dark room. Bouncing along the wet, slippery walls.
"Answer me Isabella." The voice was harder. A shiver slid down my spine.
Not a whisper breathed in response.
"Answer me Isabella." Iron hardened his voice.
"No." A choked sob rippled through the air.
He graced me with quiet, quick breaths; I shuddered.
He loved it when I disobeyed.
"Wrong answer."
I startled out of the nightmare with a heavy breath. The cold floor caressed my bare thighs, goose bumps erupting in its wake. Gasping, I gripped the steel handle with white knuckles, and pulled my crumped form to an upright position. I felt the warm tears slide down my face before I felt the clenching sobs rip though my chest.
It was getting worse, every day.
Shivering in the steamy humidity, I stepped onto the soft rug with trembling ankles. I slid into a Mary Alice Cullen original- A strapless, knee length, blue Faberge, silk dress with mechanical lace roses coupled with a sexy belt- and slapped on some makeup. Turning the hair dryer on, I quickly combed through my damp tresses—
"ISABELLA, some blond fucker claiming to be you chauffer is here." Tyler, my brother hollered from wherever he had situated his fat ass in the house today.
Fuck. I'm late.
Tripping down the massive, wooden staircase in a mad rush for the door, I was greeted warmly from the dinner table- "Bella, is he your boyfriend?" Phil, my psycho step daddy asked, dressed in his tweed Paul Smith cashmere bathrobe.
"Yes," I snapped, shoving my cellphone into my clutch quickly as I stared into his eyes, daring him to make a response. I make my own rules Dwyer. Don't you dare tell me what I should or shouldn't do.
He sighed, chomped on his salad and managed, "Have fun."
"Make sure you're back by one." Paolo emerging from the hallway in an identical blue robe, called to my departing form, as I reached the door.
I responded with a slam.
Glancing at the suave, slightly built blonde by the white Lamborghini in the driveway, and noticing the tire skid marks by the gate right away, I couldn't resist a snigger. He clearly knew how to make an entrance. No wonder step-daddy almost had an aneurysm.
Gingerly stepping down the marble stairs, I watched him smirk playfully. He was all too well informed of my lack of equilibrium, an unfortunate mistake. I silently admired him- he was dressed in a black Calvin Klein tuxedo and silver undershirt. His blonde hair was spiked casually, his black loafers gleaming and eyes glistened like melted caramel.
Finally reaching the passenger seat, heels crunching on gravel, I spoke, "Sorry I kept you waiting, the bitch and his play toy decided to play twenty questions with me today."
"Bella, must you insist on calling your step father a bitch?" Jasper sighed, though his lips quirked.
"Um, well, he is. The guy humps absolutely anything on two legs." I shrugged, sliding into the plush leather seats.
"Isabella." Jasper reprimanded using my hated first name, chuckling; but he dropped it. We had had this conversation way too many times.
I rolled my eyes in response, and the car leaped forward. Skidding and crunching on the pathway; we were soon accelerating down the sleepy highway at a speed that barely made the legal limit.
Glancing out the window, I felt the comfortable silence in the air waver slightly. A tension slinked into the darkness of Jasper's car. I could sense that he was about to speak. But he wasn't sure how to say it.
"Don't you ever wonder where you're real parents are?" He asked softly; his voice had a touch of hesitance to it. Like he was testing the water; I had known him long enough to realize that the calmer he became, the more nervous he really was.
One of the reasons Jazz and I had gelled so well together besides the fact we both cherished silent conversations, could be attributed to the fact that Jasper Whitlock Cullen wasn't actually born a Cullen. He was a Whitlock before his parents vanished and he was herded into an old orphanage. Where subsequently, the Cullens had found him, and adopted him as one of their own. I had only sketchy details to go by, something I didn't press because it was enough to know that Jasper trusted me as his friend.
I knew it wasn't easy to recall hurtful memories. And much harder to share them.
But I trusted him too.
I turned to him gently, noticing his curious eyes. "No." I murmured honestly, abruptly.
He turned away, sensing that the conversation had reached its conclusion. But before I could stop myself, I muttered to the window, "But it's no use anyway."
I knew he had heard me, when I felt his eyes pierce the back of my head. Turning back to him, I noticed that his eyes spoke the questions that he didn't want to say aloud for fear of upsetting me. I sighed.
"They're dead." I stated, with no remorse, but a dirty taste in my mouth. I stared right back into his widened brown eyes. Sharp surprise coated them.
I guess I may have missed out that tiny detail in my own admission.
I felt my jaw scraping stone floor of the ancient hallway we were passing through. The ceiling was a depressed or four-centered arch, which set off a feeling of being flattened under pressure; the intricate designs webbed along the ceiling creating hauntingly breathtaking patterns. The Cullen Manor was huge. It looked like a gothic architectural monument rather than a private residence. Complete with steep towers, ribbed vaults and pointed arches. Tall stained glass windows, in every hue and tone, crowded the magnificent structure.
I mean, holy shit, I swear there were like fifty rooms in there. And that was my assessment from the outside.
Since we were late, I couldn't demand a tour of the place, and so Jasper escorted me right to the piazza. As we strolled out of the dark chill into the waning warmth of the sun shine, I couldn't help but let out a gasp at the scene before me.
It was beautiful. Sun dappled, rich green shoots of grass whistled in the breeze and tall, thick stemmed trees swayed in rhythm. Bouquets and scented flowers- roses, orchids, freesias- dotted every inch of the grounds, while bees and dragonflies loitered over the small pond of white lilies. Next to it, a bright white gazebo on stilts of peach surrounded the refreshments and a few garden chairs.
Quiet laughter and low conversations buzzed through the mellow August air, setting the sky in a palate of bright hues. Everywhere, everything I saw just screamed rich, influential and sexy; I saw intricate French braids, twists, pin straight hair-dos, elegant dresses and dinner suits (Assorted with Alexander McQueen, MAC, Gaultier, Emanuel Ungaro, Gucci), expensive jewelry (Tiffany's, sprinkled with Fabergé, Thomas Sabo and Pandora) and heavy security.
The dark head, near a Venus porcelain fountain stood impassively, his shades shielding his eyes. Reaching for something, his jacket lapel was pulled aside, revealing black metal in his belt, winking in the sunlight. Intriguing.
Clearly Alice's daddy was either way too paranoid or he owned all of Saudi Arabia's oilfields. Probably both.
"Jasper?" I turned to him, as he gently but firmly guided us through the loose throng of guests. "Where did you say you're father worked again?"
He chuckled in response, "I didn't." I raised my eyebrow. "Constructions, specifically Cullen Skylines." And Phil was pregnant. Right.
Dismissing it for the moment, I glanced forward to see a small crowd hovering around a stunning couple- the woman spoke animatedly; her pale, heart-shaped face highlighted by shiny caramel-colored hair and glittering green eyes; her flushed, bright smile brightened with dimples and her slim, rounded form was draped in another one of Allie's creations- a peach strapless, sweetheart neckline, knee length cocktail dress with crushed silk on top. Her blunt exuberance brought her daughter to mind in an instant.
The loose, chiseled arm slung on her slender hips, belonged to a lean but muscled, blond haired man with accented cheekbones, a straight nose, thin pink lips, surged into an olive complexion. His cerulean eyes were unmistakably familiar; further exaggerated by his navy blue custom-tailored Dior suit. He spoke with precision and a quiet, refined intelligence.
"Ma," Jasper called to the fair headed woman, and kissed both her cheeks in greeting. Her green orbs glistened in quiet joy as she glanced at him, and then softly settled on me. Her hands clapped in unrepressed enthusiasm, very Alice, "You must be Bella. My, my, aren't you a beauty." She admired me and softly enveloped me in her arms. "I feel like I've known you my whole life, Allie has told me so much about you." I laughed as I pulled back gently, "Thank you, and I figured as much. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mrs. Cullen." She tsked and waved her hand airily, "Please call me Esme."
Leaning towards me, she whispered, "The Mrs. Cullen you're referring to is in fact my obnoxious mother-in-law." Snitching two glasses of champagne from a crossing waiter, she handed one to me, grinning like a Cheshire cat. I laughed, I was pretty sure I loved her already.
Mr. Cullen, noticing that his wife was suddenly preoccupied, turned to me with his icy blues. As much as I saw the resemblance in those pretty sea blues that Allie shared, there was definitely something darker in the pits of his. Something almost sinister.
Shaking it off, I smiled politely at him while Esme gushed, "Darling, this is Alice's friend, Isabella."
"Bella," Jasper (rejoining us) and I said together.
With an eyebrow raised at his adopted son, (which Jazz shrugged off with a chuckle in my direction) he held out his own hand. His grip was firm and his features relaxed but his eyes were careful as he took me in. Cautious and piercing.
"You have such a beautiful home, Mr. Cullen," I said to distract myself. He lips broke into a smile, "My Esme is quite the interior decorator. More so, she loves restoring old homes, turning them into beautiful works of art." Gazing at his wife fondly, she returned his compliment with a sweet smile and a chaste kiss on his cheek.
"You guys are so embarrassing." Alice huffed, as she skipped to Carlisle's side. Grabbing his champagne glass, and replacing it with her own (filled with orange juice), she rolled her eyes at me, and whispered conspiringly "It's getting worse with old age." Her baby blues inspected my attire and grinned in approval. "It's perfect, I knew blue was you're color!"
Immediately she waltzed towards Jasper, gave him a wet kiss and then grabbed me in her usual rib-cracking hug. A large shadow descended on us; the man's large torso was engulfed in a grey Armani suit, and his stubborn jawbone clung to his left ear.
Embry Call was Allie's seven-foot tall, crazy tattooed, Mediterranean-tanned, badass Swedish bodyguard. Yeah, the whole package.
He was a black belt in Karate, had mastered Muay Thai, Taekwondo, Kung Fu, Jiu-Jitsu, Judo and is also currently training to be a Sous-chef at the Daniel- a three star Michelin restaurant here at NYC. Huh.
I didn't get it the first time around either.
Anyway, 'the Hulk' as me and Allie fondly referred to him as, turned to greet Mr. Cullen with a serious expression and once his back was to him, proceeded to give me his trademark wink, only to morph back into his blank pseudo-stare.
Allie, meanwhile, was practically ripping my arm off, as she tugged me through the crowd; "I can't wait for you to meet Rosalie," She squealed. Smiling apologetically at the curious heads that turned in our direction, (Alice was practically shoving past them in her haste to find her sister) I hurried to catch up. For someone so tiny, she was incredibly fast.
SLAM. Ow. Wait, was that the Mayor? Jesus.
I paused briefly as I took in the firefly-lights that illuminated every inch of the lawn. The garden tables were replaced with long tables burrowed in silverware, flutes, wine glasses, decorated china and dim scented candles.
"Alla ricerca di questo, Tesoro*?" a smooth, slippery voice murmured. But I realized that his accent was all wrong. His warm breath tickled my ear; swerving around, I came face-to-face with a tall, lean dark haired man. His dark brown eyes, olive skin with a chalky pallor and thin lips curled into playful smirk, assaulted me. I felt his dark irises assess my form, as I raised my eyebrow, "Excuse me?"
"You should be more careful with this, bella ragazza**." His eyes twinkled mischievously, as he slid my black Chanel purse in my hand.
How the fuck? I could swear I had it in my hand just now. Winking saucily, he blended with the crowd.
Rapidly rummaging the contents of my purse, I found a small slip of paper wedged in between my cellphone and lip gloss. In neat script—
Demetri V.
4087304133
That little son of a bitch.
Shaking my head, I looked around, trying to find the fucktard but he had disappeared. Shivering lightly, and cursing myself for forgetting my wrap in Jazz's car, I stopped abruptly. There she was.
Rosalie Hale Cullen was blond and sexy as hell. Her red Jimmy Choo stilettoes and a low-cut, vermillion MAC original cocktail dress emphasized her curvy, hourglass derriere. Navy sparkling eyes and soft full lips danced in the dim glow of the sunset. Sipping a poison of her choice, she spoke quietly to a chipper man of average build, jet black hair and pale, albino skin. The breeze fluttered, hitching her dress up and baring her long, pale thighs. She put all the skinny bitches in those runways to shame, honest.
I found Allie a few yards away, looking around skeptically, when she suddenly smiled. Waving me over, she retained he death grip on my wrist before dragging me towards the blond again.
"Rose!" Swirling around, she gave Alice a picturesque smile. Excusing herself from her conversation with the cheerful older man, she turned to me with a polite smile. Her golden tresses were lightly curled and olive toned skin was even and slightly flushed. "Rosalie, you must be Bella," Her grip was tight and her tone- polished and smooth. But her eyes were rueful. Stormy and unkind. "It's a pleasure," I replied, cordially.
Her expression was complacent but her warmth forced. She was hiding behind a mask, like the rest of them.
Feeling the hair on my neck freeze, I looked to her right; behind her. Beside her jaunty middle-aged companion, was another dark haired man. His piercing hazel eyes viewed me with interest. The same alabaster skin, cut-in cheek bones and shapely chin revealed a familial relation among the two men. Brothers?
As his eyes drilled into mine, I noticed his pale lips curled into a sneer, a haughty expression flavoring his features. Before I could be sure, he had gracefully turned away.
The Cullens were known for their charm. But they definitely had secrets. All of them.
Glancing back at Rosalie, I felt my familiar routine take over. As she spoke to another guest, I let my eyes rove her form. Makeup recently re-done, a tiny antique cross hung around her neck, and a thin strip of paler skin on her left hand. Her ring finger to be exact.
A divorce? Recently deceased fiancé?
"….won't be able to meet Edward and Emmett tonight. They got caught up with some urgent work at the office." Allie yammered on. After reassuring her that I would visit again to meet them (repeatedly), I was thrown back into the crowd. Spotting Jazz inside the gazebo, bottle in hand, I waved to catch his attention and rushed to his side; spilling white wine on a skinny bitch in my haste. Shrieking angrily in French, she furiously grabbed the unsuspecting waiter in front of me. Making a quick escape, I grinned victoriously. And that was totally not my fault–Oh wait.
He can laugh it up all he wants.
Bastard.
Feeling a light buzz warm my body, I noticed a lone figure perched by the railings by the pond. The garden lights dotted the clear water below in blues, reds and yellows. Beautiful, white lilies clasped in dark green tendrils, bursting with pale radiance.
Slipping quietly beside her, I felt her quick, ragged breath before I saw the rid rims around her dull, dark blue eyes. A cigarette hung from her pretty, red lips and her manicured fingers slid it out as she blew out the smoke. Her other hand were tightly clenched into a fist.
Her voice was cold when she hissed, "What do you want?"
I paused. Then sighing, I began, "When I was six, all I ever wanted to do was visit the zoo. I loved animals, the stripped zebras, the roaring lions, the crazy gorillas, the talking parrots. It was sort of like, my version of Disneyland. My mom, well, she was always busy with work. So she didn't really think it was good idea. But I did everything; I begged, I pleaded, I washed the dishes, always did my homework, hell, I even stopped sucking my thumb. Exasperated, she finally agreed; one Saturday morning we headed to the zoo. I loved it. Needless to say, it was the best day of my life."
At the rate this rate, I should just join the rest of them pussy-whipped nuns at confessional. Sigh.
I was driving on a hunch, but she hadn't stopped me so, I continued speaking hurriedly, "We were walking back home, when out of nowhere someone fires a gun and it hits her shoulder. Slumped on the pavement, she's sobbing and telling me to run. But I can't, I'm scared. Suddenly, I feel a sharp pain rack my skull and everything goes black."
I felt my knuckles turn white on the railings, as I breathed in, forcing myself to finish, "Twenty-four hours later, I wake up strapped to a hospital bed. And they tell me she's dead."
I paused, "I blamed myself for what happened to her. I beat myself every time I felt like laughing. I cursed myself every time I felt happy. I didn't deserve it. That's what I said to myself. I was a pathetic human who wasn't worthy of joy, happiness, love…life."
She was quiet.
Looking down, she watched the silver shimmer in her palm.
It was a beautiful ring.
Squeezing her palm, I murmured sincerely, "You are worth it, Rosalie."
Approximately 4400 miles due East, across the Atlantic; in Budapest, Hungary—
The sun lit the room with a warm peach glow, skirting the marble floors with its luminous fingers.
Sanguine red slipped down the ripped, cream silk blankets, dripping down to the carpets. Two dull brown irises stared back lifelessly, framed by greasy, clumped blonde tendrils. Hollow white flesh enclosed her bluish veins, blackened and bruised stains clotted her thin frame. Pink satin gloved her lifeless form, soaking the red and sweat tracing down her long neck. Purple lips parted in a look of horror, her dainty hands clasped the sheets firmly as she lay to her side; the sun searing her roughly slit and torn back.
The bed was in the center of a large, ovular room, with red and peach curtains restraining the glass doors to the balcony. Everything was neat, and in place. Exquisite Egyptian lamps by the bedside, two heavy wardrobes draped with robes, gowns and dresses, polished wooden furniture scattered about the room appropriately, lotions, perfumes and powder by the glamorous sapphire studded dresser.
Gazing into the silver, heavy set mirror, a straight nose, high cheekbones, a strong jawline and full lips curved into an arrogant smirk stared back in its glimmering sheen. A pale hand shot up to straighten the bronze tussled mane, and lips parted into a satisfied sigh.
Straightened my tie and I pulled out my phone. There was one last thing to do.
"It's done, padre."
Hobbling out of the Cullen driveway in impossibly high heels, I quickly flipped my phone open.
3 Missed Calls- Amun Banoub.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
As I hailed a cab, I felt it vibrate again.
"Isabella Swan." I gasped out.
"Our detective stationed at Rendőrség just called. Kate Denali is dead."
*Looking for this, darling?
**Beautiful girl
Scribbled notes: The headquarters of Magyarország Rendőrsége (Police of Hungary) is situated at Budapest.