Author's Note:
Recommended Listening:
I'm Your Man by Michael Bublé
Prose Mentioned:
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë
Safe House Inspiration:
Corsican Compound - 2021/03/26/the-armel-compound-porto-vecchio-corsica
Black Site #28 a.k.a 'Earrach' - 2023/03/30/black-site-28-earrach-dublin-ireland
Moreaux-Lilet Entresol - 2023/03/30/moreaux-lilet-entresol-baton-rouge-louisiana
Rosalie's Canal Boat - 2023/03/30/rosalies-canal-boat-bruges-belgium
-Flashback-
Caïd's Compound - Porto Vecchio, Corsica - June, 1994
Horace Jabare hated black tie.
Stuffy shirts, cumbersome jackets, uncomfortable shoes…every one of these events made him question his will to live. Yet once again, this was where he found himself: waging war against a silk tie mere minutes before an underground soirée was set to begin.
A tinkling laugh echoed in the hall; the sound made him smile.
A cool ocean's breeze soon followed from the corridor, and Horace heaved a sigh, his eyes swiveling plaintively toward the heavens.
He gave up the bowtie for loss, pocketing it as he once more went on the hunt for his deviant charge.
As expected, the breeze was coming from one of the hall's multitude of arched doorways, the last of which had been left wide open.
A whisper of gravel crunching reached his ears, and he stepped out into the night in search of its source.
The illuminated gardens stretched before him, arcing in a wide courtyard before fanning out in several directions to form a rabbit warren of miniature hideaways amongst the flowering hedgerows and copses of budding trees.
A shadow scampered down along the beds of wildflowers, flitting out of sight the second Horace caught them in his periphery.
His feet turned in the same direction, following the stone pathing toward a cloister sheltered in the sweeping bows of a willow tree. It was there he found his target, perched on a garden rock and watching avidly as the tree's swaying tendrils drew lazy patterns on the surface of the pond below.
Rosalie Øllegaard was a peculiar little thing. Horace had never seen someone so vibrant, yet so lost. Sorrow seemed to cling to her like a pall. Soft spoken. Soft hearted. Forever at odds with the world she found herself in.
Horace often wondered if that was why she was always running off in search of solitude. In his mind, it made perfect sense that a young woman like her would need a reprieve from the grit and gore that was the Corsican Mafia. Even he longed to get away from it all from time to time.
"What if they don't like me?" Rosalie asked in a timid voice, not bothering to see who it was.
Were they already so familiar to one another?
"Not like you?" he chuckled, "As if anyone could dislike you."
"I'll have you know I once had a whole town band together in dislike of me."
"Well, they were a bunch of hillbillies." he sighed, taking up the spot of rock next to her. "They don't count. Anyone in polite society will adore you."
Rosalie tossed her hair back with a huff. "You're just saying that because you're my bodyguard."
"I'm saying it because it's true, Rose."
She looked up at him, slate eyes soft and vulnerable. "The course of my life hinges upon tonight's event. I won't have a second chance at a first impression. Be serious, Horace. Do you think they'll like me? Or will they just tolerate me because I'm with Florian?"
"Why do their opinions matter to you?" he asked, a note of incredulity entering the question, "They're a bunch of criminals."
"I'm a criminal." he was reminded, "-or, at least, I'm trying to be…It'll be hell trying to get my foot in the door if half the underground thinks I'm some tiresome chit."
Horace frowned and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Florian wouldn't have you attending tonight's event if he didn't think you were ready, Rosalie."
This did not have the bolstering effect he'd intended.
"Mon dieu!" she groaned, "What if I embarrass him and Marietta?"
"You'll be a troll as you always are." he chuckled, grinning broadly when she leveled him a hearty scowl. A thumb reached up to brush her cheek, "Even if by some miracle you decide to be splendid; I'll be right there with you."
As he'd hoped, Rosalie's ire melted away, replaced once more with worried frown.
"Promise?"
Horace smiled. "Every step of the way. Now, let's get you back to the compound before you end up late for your own party."
She rose from the rock, brushing a bit of imaginary dust from her gown as the hem settled in a neat puddle at her feet. The intricate embroidery of ivy and lily of the valley glistened like morning dew in the dark grass, and Horace was once more caught up in how strikingly out of place she seemed.
In this den of criminals, Rosalie was the only bright spot to be had; a radiant moon in a cold winter's night.
Rosalie stooped to pluck a rose from one of the nearby beds, a deep black variety she'd sourced from Turkey herself. Moonlight bounced off her pale skin, completing the secretive picture Horace committed to his mind's eye. She snapped the stem to an acceptable length and removed a couple thorns before turning to nestle the flower beside his pocket square. A few minor adjustments, and the addition looked suitable.
Her eyes caught the missing bowtie as well. She smirked and held out her hand, waiting patiently for him to hand it over.
A sheepish grin teased his lips before he offered the bit of silk, holding perfectly still while she continued to work her magic.
"We must have you looking the part if you're going to be at my side all night."
Horace tried to ignore the thrill that swept through him at those words.
Rosalie zhuzhed the bit of fabric into cooperation, and in a matter of seconds, she was smoothing her hands across his lapels with a smile for her handiwork. Just as quickly, the smile dropped, and she blinked up at him through bright misty eyes.
"I don't- I don't have many people in my life these days;" she confided, "It cost me everything and everyone to come this far…It means a lot to know you're at my side, Horace."
He tried. Horace earnestly tried not to let those words settle themselves in his heart like a clarion call. He tried not to think about what was becoming of him, how much he would gladly give to continue at her side.
Protector.
Confidant.
Partner.
Friend.
However she would have him, so he would be.
Horace felt a fresh spasm in his gut.
What would Rosalie think, if she knew the kind of hold she had over him?
He feared the truth, feared the heinous things he was already willing to do in her name. How could someone so bright wish to be near someone so dark? How could one so pure remain so, when they stood on the precipice of a life in the criminal underworld?
A shuddering breath brought him back to reality. Rosalie was staring at the now-bustling halls of the manse. She placed her arm in his, clutching tight to his elbow as they turned to join the throng. She started when Marietta's voice carried in a soft chime, calling her name.
"Every step of the way." he reminded, patting her hand and leading her back through the arched doorway.
Rosalie paused, rose to the tips of her toes and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you." she whispered, beaming a brilliant smile before slipping on her shoes and rushing to join Madame Armel.
In that moment, Horace could only stand and stare, knowing it was too late.
He would sacrifice his soul, if it meant keeping hers untarnished.
-Present-
Rosalie's Townhouse - 6th Arrondissement, Paris, France - March 6th, 2001
Raymond stood at the base of the steps for several long moments, eyes intent on the door to Rosalie's townhouse.
He ought to have left the moment she stepped inside, but something kept his feet glued to the snowy walk. His hand dipped into his coat pocket almost automatically, pulling the burner from within and pressing dial.
It took only a few rings for a deep, gruff voice to rumble a half-intelligible hello.
"Your daughter needs you;" he advised in way of greeting, "Horace has reached the limits of her patience, and I've done all that I can do. She needs your guidance."
"What do you think I might tell her?"
The voice of Florian Armel shifted into a stern growl, any hint of fatigue disappearing at once.
Red chewed at the inside of his cheek. "Tell her what she needs to hear. Rosalie's instincts are good-" he let out a dry chuckle, "-better than mine, most days…Be the shepherd she needs so she can close this chapter of her life with certainty."
"Walk with me."
Horace had no more than eased himself from his seat when Ted's burner jangled loudly.
Teddy jumped, nearly sending the item soaring across the room before flipping it open and muttering a quick hello.
His eyes widened the moment the other voice spoke. He quickly offered the device to Rosalie.
"C'est le Caïd."
Rosalie took the phone with a sigh, "Wait for me in the foyer." she intoned, waiting for Horace to nod his agreement before making her way into the study.
"Pére?" she asked, once the door was firmly closed behind her.
"C'a va, mon trésor?"
Florian's comforting voice was like a tonic for her nerves, and she couldn't bring herself to lie.
"I've been better."
"It's no easy thing, to find the end of one's thread. Especially when that end concerns a long-cherished friend."
Rosalie paused, her tone turning shrewd, "Raymond called you."
"Oui…he is a good man."
The somewhat begrudging note to the compliment coaxed a half-hearted titter from Rosalie.
"What troubles you, ma fille?"
The question brought a fresh sting to Rosalie's eyes. It suddenly seemed utterly ridiculous that Florian wasn't the first person she called that night.
"Pére," she whispered, "You always taught me I would know when it's time; when an associate has reached the end of my ability to shelter them. I don't feel that now…I don't know what to do."
"You will," he said, "I promise, when the moment comes, you will know precisely what to do."
Rosalie swallowed hard around the lump in her throat. "What if I regret it? What if I choose wrong?"
Florian's tone remained gentle but firm, and she was reminded once again of those early days spent in his care.
"Rosalie, there is no right or wrong. There is only your life, and that which you can no longer abide. Horace has breached the limits of your patience for far too long. Whatever you decide, something must be done. In taking action, you can do no wrong."
Red knew he should leave.
He'd done his part, ensured Rosalie had one last moment to gather herself, and. beneath Monsieur Armel's wing.
Yet still, his feet refused to part from the doormat.
He stood rooted to the spot for a long moment, warring with his traitorous body to move. When he finally managed it, an insolent hand rose and rapped his knuckles lightly on one of the door's window panes.
Heavy footsteps approached within, then the door swung open to reveal Horace Asim Jabare.
Ted and Otto poked their heads out from the formal sitting room, each blanching at the sight of Red in the doorway.
"What do you w-?"
Wham!
Without a second thought, Raymond had cocked his fist and sent it soaring into the other man's jaw as hard as he possibly could.
Horace, caught completely off-guard, fell flat on his back in the middle of the foyer, sliding a good few inches on the marble tile before coming to a stop.
"Ray, no!" Teddy hissed, and rushed down the hall to break up the fight.
Otto strolled leisurely behind him, seemingly in no rush to come to his comrade's aide.
Red moved to stand over Horace's prone figure, a contemptuous snarl tugging at his upper lip. His fist curled into the fabric of the man's shirt and jerked him upward so they were nearly nose-to-nose.
"Let me make one thing abundantly clear:" he warned in a deadly whisper, "If you ever speak to her like that again, I'll have Kaplan come over here and sew that mouth of yours shut."
The threat held all the venom Red possessed, and every drop of anger he'd harbored since Rosalie had arrived on his doorstep, shaking and alone. A harsh rejoinder sat poised on Horace's lips, but he couldn't manage to force the words out. Raymond felt a surge of vindictive pleasure at the trepidation lurking in his black eyes.
"And if that doesn't teach you some respect," he added, "I'll drag you to the Maori and have a necklace made from your teeth."
Horace swallowed thickly, not daring to utter a word.
Ted grabbed Raymond's shoulder and pulled him away. "Ray, c'mon, break it up."
Horace looked like he might say something upon getting to his feet, but Otto slapped a firm hand to his chest, keeping him at bay. "Rosalie will be back out here any second; it will do no good for her to find the two of you in a brawl. Reddington, you've made your point. Horace, you know you earned the hit; it's time to hold your tongue."
Red gave Horace one last contemptuous look, but found the man seething in obedient silence. Grabbing the hat which had toppled onto the floor in the scuffle, Raymond brushed a bit of dust from the brim.
"Gentlemen– I'll be seeing you soon."
Without another word, he swept from the foyer and back out into the cold dawn.
Rosalie stepped out of the study a few minutes later, wanting nothing more than to get this wretched day over with.
Ted and Otto sat stiffly on the sofas where she'd left them, doing their best to seem unaffected by the tense atmosphere in the house.
"Otto, please ready the jet. We'll join you as soon as I've had a word with Horace."
Otto stood and donned his jacket. "Oui, mademoiselle."
He left the room at once, leaving Rosalie and Teddy alone.
Ted seemed to be carved from marble, not even looking up at Otto's departure.
"Teddy."
His head snapped in her direction, hazel eyes wide. "Yeah?"
"You're my right hand." she reminded, "You know me, and you know Horace. What I need to know is whether you agree he has stepped well out of bounds."
A jerky nod confirmed it. "He has been out of bounds since his return." Ted's hands smoothed compulsively over the knees of his jeans, "However, because I know how long you've been with Horace, and I know how deep the love you hold for him resides, I will not give further opinion on the matter. All I can say is that if there's a decision to be made, it is your own, and no-one else's. I will honor and support it without complaint."
Rosalie felt a small smile pluck at the corner of her mouth. "I should've put you at the helm of this thing from the start, Ted."
Teddy shook his head, his ears turning pink. "I was just happy to have a place to stand…I've never dared to wish for anything more."
She crossed the room and took the seat beside him.
"That's precisely why it should be you. I wouldn't be standing here without you. It means more than you know, to know you have my back unconditionally."
He took her hand in his own and chafed it gently. "You've given me an exceptional life, Rosalie…I would like to always be at your side, without schemes or pretense."
Rosalie gave his hand a squeeze. "Promise me you and I will never get to this point, that we'll never seek to intimidate each other…"
"Rosalie, you'll never have to contend your choices with me." Teddy waited until she met his stalwart gaze, "I trust your judgement, regardless of whether it's your head or your heart making the decision."
It was the reassurance Rosalie had been waiting for. She turned and stared down the long stretch of dark hallway, eyes coming to rest at the slope of Horace's hunched shoulders. It was time.
She let go of Ted's hand, breathing deep with every step as she all too quickly drew up to Horace's side.
He didn't look at her.
"Bring your coat." she muttered, opening the door. "It's dreadfully cold."
Horace mechanically donned his coat, still avoiding her gaze.
They didn't speak as they descended the front steps and turned down the southern edge of the Place de Furstenberg. The city was still quiet, only a patisserie and a small corner cafe had opened their doors. Most of the neighboring houses were still dark.
Salt crunched beneath their boots when they rounded the cobbled street leading to the Pont Neuf.
Rosalie bypassed the incline when she caught sight of someone lounging against its far end, their nose buried in a tall, wrinkled-looking newspaper. She opted instead for the stone staircase which led to the riverwalk below, thankful that the untouched dusting of snow there muffled their footsteps.
Horace was right on her heels. He didn't even flinch when she turned sharply at the bottom of the steps and led them beneath the sweeping cover of the stone bridge.
When they reached the middle, Rosalie heard his footsteps slow to a stop behind her.
There was no one ahead, and there'd been no one behind them when they descended the steps.
They were quite alone.
A hush fell on the air, aided by the snow which seemed to deaden every bubble of the Seine, every swallow's call from the trees beyond.
"I meant what I said, about this being the end for you and I."
She measured her words carefully, her only wish to ensure their legitimacy.
Horace said nothing; only waited.
"I brought you in," she continued, still looking out at the snow-strewn walk, "Out of a life on the run. Out of Florian's reach. I gave you a place to stand, a livelihood, my protection."
A car trundled overhead.
"I sheltered you…even after you walked out on me. In return, you have frustrated and angered me to the point I can no longer tolerate your presence in my sphere."
A sharp inhale was the only sound Horace made.
Rosalie forced herself onward, not allowing a breath of space for him to begin arguing with her again.
"You're too angry, and you don't have my wishes in mind when you act. I can't allow for that anymore; not with the German on our tail and the network expanding every day."
"This is your decision?"
Horace's voice was that of an automaton: flat, cold, and unfeeling
A pang of guilt settled in Rosalie's chest, but was quickly smothered by a righteous anger.
"I tried to bury the resentment." she whispered, "I tried for months and months to let every snide comment roll off my back, to swallow every little drop of insubordination you flung at me, but I am tired."
Her voice quavered, but Rosalie kept her chin high. She was very nearly there. "I'm out of excuses for you, and now all that remains is that which I can no longer abide."
Florian's words steeled her resolve. She turned on her heel and faced Horace head-on.
And then—
She looked at him.
Rosalie looked at him so long, she thought his face might burn itself into her irises forever.
To her astonishment, the longer she stood there, the clearer he became. The haze of resentment diminished, and there beneath it all was Horace.
Her Horace.
He blinked back at her with a broken kind of resignation, waiting for the blow that must inevitably come.
"I've missed you."
Rosalie wasn't sure where those words came from, but their effect was instantaneous.
Horace's obsidian eyes widened, alight with cautious hope.
"It's been a long time since we've met each other like this," she said, "To see one another clearly at the end is its own kind of blessing."
"I-" he hesitated, "I am sorry, Rosalie."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them like a gulf, and in its wake, Rosalie found the clarity of thought both Raymond and Florian had assured her would come. Like clouds parting to reveal the calm of a clear blue sky, the path forward unfurled itself to her mind's eye without delay.
She couldn't do it.
No matter the argument, no matter the circumstances, Horace would forever be etched in her mind as her first confidant, the first to comfort and reassure, the first to guard her back. Beyond the Armels, beyond Cedric and the friends who helped bring her into the criminal world, Horace was the first friend she'd had in her new life. The first to know her only as Rosalie Øllegaard.
But, she couldn't allow his behavior to continue. She could no longer keep him at her side. There was an ending here, even if she did not kill him.
The way forward blossomed further in the recesses of her mind, providing a solution so clear, Rosalie was baffled she hadn't thought of it before.
"You will be Earl King's personal point of contact with me during the remainder of his build out." She said, squaring her shoulders and holding Horace's gaze with unflinching certainty. "Any question he asks, any changes he requires, you will be at his beck and call. When these properties are done, I will offer you to him as a dedicated property manager for the safe houses he's purchased. He will, no doubt, take me up on the offer. Upon that agreement, you will become my inside eyes on the King family. You want to keep me safe? Fine. You can watch my back where Earl is concerned. That will be the extent of our relationship. You will be well compensated, you'll be kept safe from Corsica's retaliation, and Teddy and I will move on our own going forward."
Horace's face darkened at once, a thunderous outrage building rapidly behind his once-calm visage. "…and if I say no? If I refuse to be sent from your side?"
"Do so at your own peril."
"I won't-"
"Do not mistake me, old friend."
The warning was one effectively laced with poison. Rosalie took one bold step forward, drawing herself up to her full height. "You will take the job, or you will draw your last breath where you stand."
"You-" his voice faltered, all color draining from his face. "You wouldn't." He took a step back when she didn't back down, "You wouldn't."
It all happened so fast. A sharp twist and she was behind him, the heel of her boot meeting the back of his knee, dropping him to the ground at the river's edge. Rosalie pulled the Beretta from the small of her back and leveled it at the back of his head, the muzzle disappearing in his jet black hair.
She let him feel the cold metal on his skull, let him stare at the icy water below, waiting to catch his lifeless body should he try to call her bluff.
"R-Rosalie?"
After a long moment, she gently cupped his chin and coaxed his head backward, locking her eyes with his. A shuddering breath billowed in a tight fog from his mouth, whipped away by the bitter wind as soon as it appeared.
"I told you this is the end of the road." she reminded, "I don't want it to be the end of your life, too."
Horace looked like he wanted to argue, wanted to rail and rage at her, but shock robbed him of speech.
Rosalie waited it out, her firearm now poised at his carotid.
"I only wanted to protect you."
Defeat stained the words, but she didn't yet breathe a sigh of relief.
"I know," she said, "You will. Earl King and his family are an existential threat to my operation if they decide to move against me. I need a backer I can lean on to ensure that never happens."
"I don't-"
"Take the job, Horace."
Her patience was wearing thin. Not because she grew annoyed, but because with every passing second he knelt there in the snow, Rosalie could feel her resolve waning.
Horace's eyes slid shut, a pang of despair furrowing his features before, at last, he nodded.
A deep, steadying breath forced its way into Rosalie's lungs, the cold air almost burning on its way in. She stowed the firearm, and took Horace's hand, guiding him from the water's edge.
"C'mon, then. We've got a flight to catch."
Raymond stood frozen at the top of the stone steps, back pressed tight to the pillar, ears still pricked so as not to miss a single word that carried from the stone tunnel below. A passerby gave him a curious glance when a loose page slipped from the forgotten newspaper in his hands, his eyes staring vacantly ahead.
The conversation below seemed to have stopped. Red held his breath, waiting for the sound of a silenced shot or the muffled sounds of a struggle.
He was immensely surprised when not one but two sets of footsteps took to the staircase ahead. A quick snap of the paper resumed his cover.
Rosalie emerged from the stairs, and Red thought she might have caught a glimpse of him when he heard her movements stall. The quickest of glances over the edge of the newsprint confirmed she had been staring in his direction.
Horace appeared at her side a second later, looking somber yet resigned. The two fell into step once more and left the quiet street.
"Clever…so clever." Raymond murmured under his breath, watching as the two reached the end of the bridge and made the turn back along the Boulevard Saint-Germain.
He didn't move until they were gone from view. Part of him felt compelled to follow, but knew it wouldn't matter if he did.
In a startling coup de maître, Rosalie had chosen the perfect path; one he himself hadn't even considered.
Horace Asím Jabare was many things, but a martyr wasn't one of them. Though he'd initially bucked the idea of working for King, Rosalie's unflinching assurance that it was the only option wherein he kept his life had made the choice for him.
She had read him well.
Horace would soon be safely out of Rosalie's sphere, but still well within the bounds of her control. Though he knew Florian would rather his daughter have ended her guard outright, Red thought this outcome was even better. It was honest, and on Rosalie's terms.
With one last shake of his head, he hailed the first cab to come along the narrow road.
Once Edward had the jet in the air, Darla came around with a pot of tea, topping up Raymond and Dembe's cups with a knowing smile before making her way back to the cockpit.
"Call Albert, won't you?" said the former after a hearty sip, "Have the DC6 meet us at the Cromwell once the interlopers have left. Tell him I've got the name of the fugitive harboring the Brothers Sionnach."
Dembe nodded absentmindedly, getting halfway through the cabin before halting in the middle of the aisle and turning slowly back around. "But…Rosalie is harboring the brothers."
"Yes." said Red, taking up a fresh newspaper and snapping it open with a flourish.
A telling silence stretched between them.
"Perhaps I am not as well-versed in the art of seduction," Dembe owned, "But I do not think putting a warrant out on your lover constitutes as flirtation."
"You're right, your arts do need work."
"Raymond…"
"Trust me, Dembe."
A dubious frown greeted Red from the topmost edge of his paper. He tutted and tossed it aside. "We both know I'll never catch her if I don't apply some pressure."
"Rosalie will not take kindly to having MI6 on her heels. She may very well shoot one of them on precedence."
Raymond chuckled to himself, "As long as it's not Skip…I'm afraid we've put enough holes in him to last a while."
"Raymond."
He looked up to find Dembe's arms crossed over his chest and his countenance still rife with disapprobation.
"Be serious. The two of you have been reconciling; why must you rock the proverbial boat?"
"I'm not."
Red grinned when another dubious frown was aimed in his direction. "Our farewell this morning gave me over to the understanding that Rosalie wouldn't be opposed to my employing whatever means I deem necessary to pin her down."
"I doubt that very much." said Dembe, "What, exactly, did she say to you?"
"She quite plainly told me to hurry up." Red snorted, grinning broadly when understanding dawned on his young comrade.
"She is ready to come back?"
He nodded, and Dembe's face showed all the surprise he himself had felt when Rosalie informed him she was done running.
"All this time you could have had them on her tail…You've instead waited for Rosalie to intimate she was ready to be caught?"
Another smile. Another nod.
"If I was content to play the long game, I would continue to lay low and hope for her to slip up." Red admitted, "But between you and I, that seems more and more like a losing bet. Now that I know she wants to be found, I'm happy to use every underhanded technique in my arsenal, including our dour detail of doorkickers."
Dembe shook his head, mirth replacing the last dregs of his disapproval. "I cannot pretend to understand yours and Rosalie's antics, but I wish you luck in your endeavors."
"That's a funny way to pronounce foreplay, but I'll take whatever luck I can get."
The burner buzzed in Red's pocket before Dembe could renew his scolding. He grinned at the scoff of disapproval he received instead before fishing the device from his jacket and retiring to the other end of the jet.
"Missing me already?"
"Har har." said Rosalie, "Since you didn't immediately ask, I take it you already know the outcome of my chat with Horace?"
Red grimaced, closing the office door behind him. "I hope you don't mind my eavesdropping. I couldn't bring myself to leave until I knew you were safe."
He took a seat behind the small desk, eyes wandering to the windows where wispy white clouds were drifting by in a sea of pinks and blues.
"It was an immense comfort," she confided, "Seeing that hat of yours lingering at the corner of the bridge."
A chuckle left him before his tone turned serious. "You did so well, Rosalie."
He let the praise sink in, hoping the minuscule gesture managed to convey how much pride he'd felt at her handling of the matter.
"You don't think it foolish to give him an out?" She sounded genuinely surprised, and a huge sigh soon followed. "I was worried you'd be disappointed, or think me soft."
"You are soft."
He chuckled when she gave a grumble of displeasure. "Soft as you are, you still managed to divine the best possible outcome. You kept Horace alive and within your sphere of influence while also removing him from your syndicate and relative proximity. Even I hadn't considered such an arrangement possible."
When she did not respond, Raymond's certainty wavered.
"Did the path forward come readily, in the moment?...Florian and I didn't lead you astray?"
"No, no," Rosalie assured, coming back to herself. "You were right; up until that exact moment, I was still a mess of nerves. But, when the time finally arrived, the next step seemed so obvious. It was the only honest way forward."
"I'm glad. It really was exceptionally clever, little dove."
"Are you surprised at my cleverness?"
Red grinned at the affectation of annoyance lent to the question. "More-so delighted."
"Delighted?"
"Unlike most men, I thoroughly enjoy being outsmarted now and again; it gives me something to think about."
Rosalie tittered.
"I wish you had come to me about Earl." he admitted a moment later, only a little consternated.
"There wasn't much you could do." said she, "As you'd warned, Earl's pockets are too deep to store much sense. He has a particular unease where my contractors are concerned, and I honestly fear more for their safety than I do my own. Having someone I trust keeping tabs on him will go a long way to helping me sleep at night. I just have to hope Earl actually takes me up on the offer."
Raymond smirked at the ceiling. "I can help with that."
"How so?"
"It wouldn't take much…A carefully worded speculation as to Earl's ability to maintain his new safe houses should stoke his anxiety. He'll no doubt take Horace simply to save face with his patriarch."
Rosalie hummed to herself, "Have you met the man?"
"No," said Red, "But I daresay you will soon. The King family safe houses will be a major part of the estate. Earl Senior was the one who set his sons on your tail; he'll no doubt want to meet you before all is said and done."
"Hopefully he's less of a prat than his offspring." grumbled Rosalie, "Anyway, enough about Earl; did you find my parting gift?"
Her tone had turned playful, and Red eagerly turned about the room to unearth the item in question.
An emerald green hardcover peaked from beneath one of his hats, and upon its removal, the gold embossing glinted up at him with the name 'Jane Eyre'.
He twitched open the front cover, smiling broadly at the sharp cursive which littered the endpapers, and the margins of every page thereafter. "You finished your notations, I see."
"I've missed reading with you."
"Well then, there's no time to waste."
"What, *now?…*aren't you en route to the Feds?"
"Romance waits for no man," he replied, flipping to the first page with great enjoyment, "I've got a woman to woo, and a little Brönte will set me up nicely before having to put up with our friends in blue."
Rosalie dissolved into peals of laughter. "Very well, Mr. Reddington. Let's start with the preface; it has one of my favorite quotes."
"Which one is that?"
"'Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack the first is not to assail the last.'"
"Such alacrity…I thought you grew up in a Bible Belt town?"
"I did; I was also sent to a Catholic girls' school."
A fresh bubble of amusement swelled in Red's chest. "God, I bet you were a handful."
"Naturally." she replied, perfectly unabashed. "I flung that exact quote at the vicar once, rode his outrage straight into a week's worth of detention with Sister Judith."
Raymond couldn't help but laugh, entertaining himself with visions of a younger Rosalie gleefully running amok of the local parsonage as he settled into the first page.
'The Cromwell' - Beneath the Thames, London, UK - March 6th, 2001
Reddington waited until it was late in the evening to make his appearance, when he could be sure no other interlopers would be coming or going from within the Cromwell.
The DC6 had been commiserating their lack of progress over a case of lager and a round dozen Chinese takeaway boxes when he and Dembe came strolling into the dome.
Sika glanced at Ezra, and they both spun their chairs so their backs were to the newcomers. Emma and Skip gave them the snub as well, not bothering to even look up from their food when the footsteps drew nearer.
The foursome had decided on the plane ride back from Vietnam that working with Reddington wasn't all it was cracked up to be. In the nine months since they'd begun their dalliance with one of the world's most wanted fugitives, they'd only managed a few fledgling arrests, half of whom mysteriously disappeared shortly after their capture.
They'd told themselves it hadn't been Red's doing, but after a passionate case made by Agent Knightley, the other three were coming to see the light. They were breaking themselves chasing Reddington's criminals, and until they could be guaranteed something to show for it, the four agents were determined not to give their CI the time of day.
"Well this is a rather frosty reception." The man in question sniggered, seemingly oblivious to their righteous anger. "I half-expected you all to be waiting outside the entrance hatch, ready to pounce."
Sika and Ezra made a show of breaking open their fortune cookies.
"Agent Sutherland, how's your head?"
Skip glared at Reddington through his one good eye, but said nothing.
"Agent Knightley?"
Emma crossed one leg over the other and took a long sip of her cherry cola.
"Goodness Dembe, I fear they've all gone mute."
"Raymond…"
"Perhaps it's the beer? God only knows what watered down swill must be available in Vauxhall on a Tuesday- Ah! Alby."
Director Bazalgette came sweeping into the dome at a steady clip. The four agents grinned maliciously at one another.
If they were irritated, it was nothing compared to their leader. He'd been the one having to explain to the higher-ups how much money the Ministry of Defense wasted on their latest covert operation, and without a single arrest to warrant the team's continuation, had been scrambling for two days to try and keep them from being sacked.
"What the ruddy hell happened in Vietnam, Reddington? I sent my people with you and you bugger off in the middle of the chase? Sent them back with nothing to show for it but a bevy of fresh wounds and three more totaled transports? You said this was a closed case!"
Sika spun gleefully in her seat, not willing to miss a single second of Red's dressing down.
Red caught the movement and pursed his lips moodily when the others followed suit. "I thought it was," he replied, removing his hat and setting it neatly atop the nearest desk lamp. "I take it your superiors aren't pleased?"
Bazalgette looked like a tomato on the verge of bursting. "Red. The Jailbreaker. What in god's name happened?"
"A complication."
"A complication? That's all you have to say?"
"I can't think of a better adjective at the moment." said Red with a shrug, "Complication is as good as any."
"Incident might be better."
The agents turned to Dembe with matching scowls, willing him not to encourage his employer. The younger man flashed them the tiniest smirk of amusement.
When it looked as though Alby was about to completely blow his lid, Reddington heaved a weary sigh.
"Very well, there was an incident; unfortunately, completely unbeknownst to me, the Jailbreaker was a long-standing client of one of the underground's most prodigious innkeepers. He's been hiding in their shadow these past several months; hence his overall slipperiness."
Emma cricked her neck with how fast her attention snapped back to Red. Sika's eyes traveled from one to the other expectantly.
"How did this person know we were after him?" Albert asked, his tone accusing.
Reddington gave him a look that could almost be described as sympathetic, "Albert, it's her job to know these things. Make no mistake, the likelihood that at least one member of MI6 is in her pocket is all but a guarantee."
"So what now? How do we go about catching the Jailbreaker when he's being hidden by this innkeeper?"
"Luckily for us, her irritation at finding me near the site of the crime made her slip up." Red rocked on the balls of his feet, a smug smile gracing his features.
Albert's eyes narrowed. "How?"
"It's funny how fast criminals turn on one another given the faintest incentive. All I had to do was let on that the DC6's interest in the Jailbreaker was nothing more than a means to reach the Brothers Sionnach, and it all unraveled quite nicely."
"Why would that-?" began Emma, unable to help herself. She halted when Sika gave her a sharp "psst!"
Reddington looked between the two and smirked again. "The moment the mademoiselle found out you were after the Brothers, she turned on the Jailbreaker with a vengeance. Apparently he was the one to convince her to take the Brothers on last summer. They've been harbored in her network ever since."
"So we catch her, we catch the brothers." said Albert, "Along with anyone else she's hiding."
"Absolutely not." said Red.
That was the last straw for the DC6.
"What?"
"Oh come on."
"Another criminal we can't catch?!"
"Forget it, I'm out."
Reddington held out a hand, into which Dembe placed a small projector. He propped the thing on Ezra's desk and focused its image on the glass dome overhead.
A woman emerged from the blur; tall, blonde, and lovely. A pair of scowling guards flanked her on both sides as she exited a jet black Rolls Royce.
"Her?" Emma exploded without warning, "We can't pursue the lead because it's her?!"
"I never said you couldn't pursue the lead," Red corrected, "Only that you couldn't upend her clientele."
"Pursue her yourself." she barked back, "The two of you certainly seemed cozy enough at the ball. Why don't you just ask your little girlfriend for her client?"
A snigger broke out behind them, and Sika turned her head just long enough to see twenty quid exchange hands between a gleeful Ezra and a thoroughly disappointed Skip.
It had been no secret the immature agents had been betting against one another since Knightley returned from the criminal's ball back in December. Her subsequent treatment of their CI had given way to the suspicion that something had happened between them during the trip.
Skip had bet the fugitive got handsy after a bit too much champagne, but Ezra had been the victor, betting instead that Red had spent the evening with another woman and Knightley was simply jealous.
Hearing their newest recruit and their CI bickering back and forth like this had Sika betting with Ezra.
"You know as well as I that would never work, even if we were involved." Reddington continued, "She's an associate-"
"Oh I'm sure she is." Emma scathed, "I gathered that right around the time you slipped your tongue in her mouth."
"Emma. Enough."
A sour look passed between the two, and Albert quickly stepped in as intermediary. "This woman, you're telling us she has our quarry, but we aren't allowed to go after her?"
Reddington sing-songed his head. "I said you can't dismantle her business. There's a difference."
"We are supposed to be hunting high-value targets." Sika reminded them, looking to her comrades for support. They each gave her a covert nod. "We are no closer to the Brothers Sionnach, and have little to show for our efforts. The agents of the DC6 aren't interested in putting our lives on the line for another catch-and-release. We want results, Reddington."
Sika's chest heaved with each breath she took, filled to the brim with righteous indignation. To her shock and annoyance, the fugitive smirked at her. He actually seemed pleased.
"Then we're on the same page."
"Like hell we are." she snapped, "We haven't made a singular high-profile arrest since this thing started, and now you want us to go off on another bootless errand!"
"I want to give you the criminals that matter, Agent Boateng, but they need to be the right criminals."
Skip lifted his head at last. "What do you mean, the right criminals?"
"This is Rosalie Øllegaard." Reddington turned back to the photograph displayed on the dome, "Mademoiselle Øllegaard is the preeminent innkeeper in the criminal underground, and the adopted daughter of Florian Armel, the reigning Caïd of the Corsican Mafia. Though you look at her and see the next feather in your proverbial cap, I look at her…"
He trailed off, a wistful smile crinkling his eyes. A throat cleared, and Red turned to look at them all once more.
"Do any of you know what happens when the apex predator is removed from a food chain?"
The agents looked at one another. Ezra gave a shrug. Emma rolled her eyes and scoffed.
"Every ecosystem that creature touches begins to collapse in on itself." Red answered for them, "Wolves disappeared from Yellowstone in the late 1920's, hunted to near-total extinction by park rangers. In the seventy years that followed, everything in the park's biome fell into disarray. Coyotes over-ran campsites, bears starved. The elk population grew so out of proportion that they overgrazed the native willows and aspens until there was little canopy left. Without those trees, smaller essential creatures like beavers and songbirds had no foliage from which to build their nests. The effects of their absence even trickled into the cold-water streams, which crippled any further growth of the forest. The same happens at sea. Wherever sharks are overfished, mutilated for their fins and left to drown on the ocean floor, their prey begins to breed out of control. Rays, jellyfish, lionfish, all kinds of wretchedly invasive species run unchecked, gorging themselves on everything in their path. In turn, the biome falls into disarray, the corals die off, and any remaining life dies in a putrefying algae bloom."
He returned his attention to the photo of the woman, his words soft and thoughtful.
"Career criminals don't harbor contempt for the law because you're hunting them. They despise you because you refuse to see their world for what it is: an ecosystem predicated on a delicate balance only they can maintain."
"We can't attack her because she's too embedded in the underground?" said Skip, "Shouldn't that be the very reason we should go after her?"
Reddington shook his head. "The chaos her departure would instigate would result in hundreds of deaths, if not thousands. That's not even considering the fallout that would come from Corsica on her behalf."
Sika shrugged, "Then we lure out another career criminal."
"Titans like these weed out the criminals without a code." he pointed at the photograph with an air of utter exasperation, "The Armels and Øllegaard's of the world give criminals who can learn to behave a place to stand, while eradicating the ones who don't. They do what the law often won't."
"They act as judge, jury, and executioner." Emma rebutted, "So much for a fair trial. If they didn't exist we could catch all of the criminals, code-abiding or otherwise."
"The Corsicans continue to exist because they need to exist. They must." said Red, bristling a little. "Why do you all think these major crime families have contingency after contingency for the lineage of their syndicates? They know the importance of their empire's place in the ecosystem. Your world can't afford them going under or succumbing to in-fighting. The Armels are a major reason why France and the Mediterranean have enjoyed so much peace these two decades, and their daughter is poised to do the same in all the places her network touches. You cannot bring her down because the apex predators hiding in her shadows would be out on the street, annihilating each other in open warfare. I don't have to tell you how many innocent lives would be lost if that were to happen."
"So what can we do?" asked Ezra, "We can't just give up on the Brothers Sionnach."
"Certainly not." Reddington agreed, "As I said, you'd be amazed how quickly criminals turn on each other. The Brothers are mere drops in Øllegaard's bucket; they aren't dedicated clients like the Jailbreaker, nor are they influential in the underground. There's little incentive for her to do everything in her power to keep them out of custody. I'm confident, if we can pin her down, she will kick the Brothers just to ensure her own release."
"That's assuming a lot." said Bazalgette.
"Business is business." said Red, "The Brothers have been causing such a mess for her in the UK, I highly suspect the Mademoiselle would be happy for any excuse to turn them loose."
Looks were exchanged between the agents. The boys gave identical shrugs, and Emma, though rolling her eyes as she did so, nodded her consent.
"Right, then." Sika huffed, yanking open her desk drawer and pulling out a notepad and pen. "Where do we start?"
Moreaux-Lilet Entresol - Baton Rouge, Louisiana - March 7th, 2001
"Tía!"
A spritely figure with a head full of thick chocolate curls bounded down the front steps of the school and leapt into her visitor's waiting arms. Her copper cheeks were plump with happiness and brown eyes overflowing with the sparkle of youth.
Lita Moreaux-Lilet was positively incandescent.
Rosalie had known Lita's life with 'Shard and Calixte would be a good one, but she was still filled with delight at seeing her so safe, happy, and well-adjusted.
She held her hand all the way home, chattering away in Spanish about her school, the many friends she'd made, and the classes she was enjoying.
'Shard, ever the proud parent, interjected in his own stilted accent that Lita was top of her class in the sciences. She'd even won the fourth grade science fair a couple weeks back.
A shy grin greeted this praise, and Lita assured Rosalie she would get to see the lovely blue ribbon she'd won for her efforts, as well as the experiment she'd spent weeks perfecting- Oh, and her room! Lita insisted Rosalie had never seen a room half so lovely as the one 'Shard and Calixte had made just for her. She had her own closet and her own bathroom, and a hammock swing beside the window where she could read her books!
Rosalie listened with ever-increasing satisfaction, slipping her other hand in 'Shard's and giving it a squeeze.
He turned to her with a dazzling smile, looking as content and happy as she'd ever seen him.
When they arrived back at the entresol, Lita sprinted into the house with reckless abandon, throwing her backpack and jacket onto the entryway bench as she went.
"Mamat, Mamat! Tía is here!"
Calixte swept through the wide arch leading to the back of the house, a burner in one hand and a notebook in the other. A pen was tucked in her jet black curls, the mass nearly as voluminous as the yellow organza skirt she wore.
Lita threw her arms around Cali's middle and informed her she was going to show Rosalie her new room before getting started on her homework.
The older women laughed and greeted each other before Rosalie was tugged upstairs by the sleeve of her sweater.
It had been mere weeks after her arrival that the secondary master suite had been completely revamped in Lita's honor. Though she was not aware of it, the Moreaux-Lilets had entrusted the remodel to Rosalie's capable hands.
Every shelf, fixture, and piece of furniture had passed her eye before being installed. The gilded butterflies adorning the walls were smithed by an artisan in Prague, the pink bed arching toward the ceiling was a custom creation by a designer she'd commissioned out of Seattle. Even the suspended swing in the window was hand knit by a woman in Richard's hometown of Port-au-Prince. It was the kind of room any eleven year-old would dream of.
Lita showed her every last corner of the room, chattering with delight over every little thing until 'Shard turned up to announce it was time for his daughter to get started on her homework.
Rosalie retreated downstairs to visit with Calixte, who had a pot of tea and a plate of petit-fours waiting.
They discussed business at length, commiserating over the complexities of running their empires and catching each other up on their various projects.
"So you're enjoying the jet?" Calixte asked, turning to peer at Horace and Ted, who were having a drink on the patio with the household guard. "Is that dark haired one that new pilot of yours?"
"Oh that's just Horace," Rosalie replied, "Otto's the pilot, but he's busy topping off the fluids. We'll be off to Tripoli once I've finished with my client."
"I recall you mentioning a new business venture when last we spoke. I had no idea it was custom safe houses, m'doll."
"I hadn't planned on offering such a service, but this client came with a multi-home ask which made the risk worth it." Rosalie shrugged, "If it ends up being a success, I might offer such a service to my larger clients, but never for as many as I signed onto with this one…It's been a nightmare, and too many personal safe houses in the market would be bad for business."
Calixte nodded thoughtfully. "I don't suppose, once you've finished with your current client, you might be interested in taking on a couple old hats?"
"You're looking for a new safe house?" Rosalie balked, "What on earth for? This one has sheltered you beautifully, and if I recall, during the build-out, you and 'Shard mentioned you can't leave the city more than a couple times a year."
"We still can't," replied Calixte, "Not while we're still running our respective syndicates."
A long pause unfurled between them wherein Rosalie simply stared at her friend in open incredulity.
"Is…" she raised a brow, "Is there something you're not telling me, Cali?"
Cali stirred her tea, the teaspoon clinking merrily against the fine limoges cup. She took a leisurely sip, and Rosalie could see her bright hickory eyes crinkle with amusement over the rim.
"My dear 'Shard and I are ready for a soft life…If you're taking commissions, we would be looking for a half dozen secure homes in a variety of locales, each with four bedrooms instead of the usual three."
She set her cup back on its saucer, the corner of her mouth twitching relentlessly as Rosalie tried to process what was going on.
"Alright…any particular locations?" Her brow furrowed when Calixte actually snorted, "Now really, what's so funny about-"
The other boot dropped, and Rosalie felt her chin drop. "You said four bedrooms? Four? Cali, are- are you…?"
Calixte nodded, a few tears now streaming down her cheeks as she beamed a brilliant smile.
"You're pregnant?!" Rosalie took her friend's hands in her own, clutching them tight. She had known better than anyone how deeply and quietly her friend had longed to be a mother, and almost couldn't bring herself to believe it was true. "Oh Cali…are you really? I'm so happy for you!"
"We weren't even trying," Calixte half-laughed, half-sobbed, "It just happened. I never thought we would, but-" she stopped to dab hurriedly at her eyes, "I'm so happy, Rosalie."
Rosalie pulled her friend into an enormous hug, swaying to and fro for several long seconds before finally releasing her. "Tell me everything." she said, topping off their tea and scooting her chair a little closer to Cali's. "How far along are you? Are you having many symptoms? Of course 'Shard must be deliriously happy…did you tell Lita she's getting a sibling? Tell me everything."
Calixte gave a watery titter and delved into the story, leaving nothing out as her dear friend had requested. It turned out she had just passed the four month mark, had been buying the local farmer's market out of every ounce of okra they produced, and had been counting the days until they could feel confident the fetus was stable so she could tell Rosalie the good news.
"You have no idea how hard it was not to tell you the moment I knew; every time we spoke, I nearly caved. I'm considered rather old to be getting pregnant-" she waved the notion off like an irksome fly, "But now that we've made it past the first trimester, 'Shard and I feel we can ask you something very important."
Rosalie felt her eyes start to sting when Calixte produced a small walnut box from the nearby bookshelf. Its surface was wrapped with a hand-painted silk bow in marbled pinks and blues, which she eagerly tugged undone so she could open the lid.
A gorgeous platinum timepiece lay nestled within the creamy white velvet, its slender hands ticking away with every passing second. It was a Patek Philippe Rosalie had been quietly coveting for the better part of a year, insisting it was entirely too frivolous a purchase to entertain.
She repeated the notion to her friend, insisting she and her husband ought not to have spent such a sum on her.
Calixte beamed and shook her head, "It was the perfect token for what we're about to ask…Rosalie, when it comes to family, there's not a soul I would trust to be there for my children through all of life's trials and tribulations, to guide them through this world with certainty and compassion, to love them as if they were their own. Not one soul, my doll, save for you. 'Shard and I agreed the moment we found out; we want you to be godmother. Not just for Lita, but for the life to come."
"Godmother" Rosalie whispered breathlessly, "Of course, oh, of course! Cali, I'd be honored."
She threw her arms around her friend and squeezed her tight once more, fresh, happy tears pouring down both their cheeks.
'Shard entered the room at that moment, noting the wooden box on the countertop, the two weeping women, and grinned from ear to ear. "Ah, so our sweetling knows there is a bout de chou on its way? I take it she has consented to being la marraine?"
Rosalie waved him over, enveloping him in their embrace the moment he was within reach. Lita giggled and wriggled her way into the middle of the throng. "Tía, Tía, you're going to be my marraine too!"
"And I'm going to spoil the two of you so rotten." she promised, kissing the top of her head.
Calixte and Richard laughed throatily and assured her they expected nothing less.
It was after dinner when Rosalie asked Lita to give her a turn about the back garden. They exited the house, leaving Calixte and Richard to their tea and biscuits, the latter gleefully waiting on his wife hand and foot.
"Well my dear," Rosalie said after a while, "You've been a Moreaux-Lilet for a year now. How do you feel?"
"It's been a year?" Lita asked, thoroughly taken aback. "It hasn't felt that long. It's only been three months since your last visit."
"We won't go longer than that without seeing each other," she assured, "Not if I can help it."
Lita beamed then plucked a daffodil from the only flower bed currently in bloom and presented it to her. "Good. I like spending time with you, Tía."
Rosalie took the flower and ruffled Lita's curls. They continued along the walk in companionable silence until the latter broke the quiet.
"Tía?"
"Hmm?"
"Will…will Calixte and 'Shard stop wanting me when the baby comes?"
Their steps slowed, and Rosalie wrapped an arm about Lita's shoulders. "A surprise like this is its own kind of joy, but make no mistake sweetling, Cali and 'Shard chose you. You are their daughter in all but blood, and for people like us, that means a great deal."
"Why?"
"By now, you know what your adopted parents do for a living? What I do?"
Lita nodded. "You're criminals…technically."
Rosalie laughed. "It's a bit more than a technicality."
Lita grinned sheepishly, "Mamat et Papa explained it to me when we were with you in Paris. They promised there would never be secrets between us if I wanted to stay with them; so I needed to know the kind of people they were."
"That's a good thing. You deserve to know the truth of something before making an important decision about it. Were you worried at finding this out?"
"…a little," she rested her head on Rosalie's shoulder, "But, Papa 'Shard explained that people are not so simple as good and bad. There will always be the bad; some of it is necessary to keep the world running, but some of it actually helps people."
Rosalie nodded. "Cali and 'Shard understand their roles well. By having people like them take charge of certain areas within the underground, the mayhem is controlled. This makes them uniquely positioned to do a great deal of good with their ill-gotten gains. That being said, our line of work makes it very difficult to trust those around us. Chosen family is a sign of trust, and a sign of support. It is not a privilege we can afford to extend to many."
They turned along the lane, closing the loop back toward the house. She continued, "You and I have a shared experience in finding ourselves adopted into the criminal world. I may be the best positioned to assure you your newfound family cherishes you more than you'll ever know."
"Papa 'Shard said you were adopted, too?"
Rosalie grinned. "I was. I was twice your age when it happened, though."
Lita pursed her lips, deep in thought. "You are still their daughter?"
"Of course," she replied with ease, "I love them both, as much as one can love another person. They've gotten me through more than one perilous time in this life. They've given me safety, love, understanding…they are my parents, in every sense of the word. I would do anything for them, and they for me. I am very lucky to still have them in my life."
A not entirely uncomfortable silence stretched between them.
Rosalie added, "I should tell you, before I was taken in by the Armels, it was 'Shard and Calixte I clung to. They were the first members of my found family, and I would not be standing here without them. They never lost touch with me, even when I was half the world away."
A soft sigh left Lita. "Buen…I was worried."
"You wish to stay a Moreaux-Lilet, then?" teased Rosalie, "I can't persuade you into a life on the run?"
A renewed grin and a laugh swept away the last of Lita's worry. "No Tía, I'm really happy with Mamat et Papa."
"Good. That's just what I'd hoped to hear."
It was late when Rosalie bid her friends farewell, exhausted in the best way possible. She and 'Shard took to the front walk while Calixte and Lita readied for bed.
"I know my wife is too polite to ask," he intoned after a moment, "But I sincerely hope our friend Mr. Reddington is doing well."
Rosalie caught his meaning and blushed furiously.
"Calixte will be so pleased." he chuckled, taking the reaction as confirmation. "The two of you must join us for dinner sometime when the two of you are this side of the world."
"We will…" she murmured, "Sometime this summer, perhaps?"
"It's a double date."
Richard paused at the door to her transport, his voice dropping low.
"It is important you know…we have been keeping an eye out for the German these past months. He hasn't been seen or heard in our corner of the underground, but if we catch so much as a hint of him, you will be the first call we make."
"Thank you, 'Shard. You are a wonderful friend. I'll reach out once I'm finished with my current project so we can kick off your own…I can't believe you're really going to take a step back from the syndicates."
"We have more money than we will ever need," said 'Shard, "We've also remained carefully neutral these many years. Nobody is after us. Putting our right hands in charge and taking some time off will be a welcome change."
Rosalie whistled. "Well, the moment I'm available you'll be the first call I make. We'll get you and the family settled in a couple new locations by the time the little one is ready to make their appearance."
Horace chose that moment to exit the SUV.
"King is en route to the new site, Rosalie."
She gave him a nod, rose up onto the balls of her feet and kissed 'Shard's cheek. "I'll be seeing you!"
Richard closed the car door behind her, waving as the vehicle took off.
He waited until they were around the corner before he stepped back inside, his brow furrowed in a deep scowl.
"Is there something the matter, my love?"
Calixte was drawing little circles on her face with a jade roller, her skin dewy with various moisturizers. She was glowing, as usual.
'Shard hitched a smile on his lips. "Nothing, cherie. Lost in thought."
She smiled at him. "It's been a busy day. Come to bed, when you're ready."
He indicated that he would be up shortly, and she returned upstairs to resume her skincare routine.
Try though he may, as Richard stood there, he couldn't quite shake the unsettled feeling in his stomach.
…What the hell was Rosalie doing, getting involved with the King family?
In the transport, Rosalie closed her eyes for a spell.
The vehicle trundled along in comfortable quiet for the first half of their journey, the solace only broken once they'd boarded the jet and began take off.
"Your friend is taking some time away?"
Rosalie cracked one eye open. It was Horace. "Yes." she replied, "She and her husband are stepping back from their respective syndicates to spend time with their children."
"It was great, seeing the Lilets again." Teddy yawned, flopping back into his own seat. "I'm glad Lita and them found each other, they make a nice little family. We met 'Shard and Cali's right hands, Stella and Harvey. Good people, them. They seem almost as excited about the Lilets getting some time off as the Lilets were."
A smile reached Rosalie's lips at this. "I've known Stella and Harv for a while now; it's nice to hear they're as trustworthy and loyal as I remembered."
"That's something you ought to consider." said Horace, a little too casually.
"What do you mean?"
"Having someone who can step in. Taking some time off."
Rosalie opened both of her eyes, staring at the ceiling and willing the sudden flare of annoyance to recede. When she spoke again, her voice was flat and unyielding.
"That's what a right hand is for. In the unlikely event I would want to take a step back, it would be Teddy running the network in my stead. Someone wake me when we get to Corpus Christi."
She stood and headed for the rear of the jet, missing the way Horace's jaw clenched and the corner of Ted's mouth gave the faintest twitch.
Dublin Safe House #3 - Ballsbridge, Dublin, Ireland - March 12th, 2001
"This house looks familiar."
Dembe peered up and down the dark street, trying to place why he knew this location.
Red looked up from his latest packet of intel to look as well. The Georgian facade of the row house blended in to ever home around it, nothing about it looking particularly out of the ordinary. He also couldn't place the front walk, or recall the contents or style of its interior.
"We've never stayed here."
"No…but it is familiar, I am sure of it."
"Perhaps you saw it while Rosalie was building?"
"No, this is an old safe house."
This, more than anything gave Red pause. "An old safe house?"
"…Is there something wrong?"
He turned to the seat next to him, currently occupied by one Emma Knightley, and shook his head. "No, nothing wrong, just…out of the ordinary."
"How so?"
"Mademoiselle Øllegaard's network holds two types of safe houses: standards, like this-" he jabbed his thumb toward the window, "-and black site safe houses, which are virtually impossible to locate. Being as high-profile as she is, she has been living majoritively within her black site network this past year. It's odd that, when we finally get a hint on her location, it's a standard safe house…"
The lights were on inside, and a person could be seen moving behind the sheer curtains in the small bay window. The DC6, save for Emma, were beginning their approach.
Dembe shook his head again. "I do not like this, Raymond."
"Stay here." said Red to Emma, he met Dembe's eye in the rearview mirror and inclined his head toward the building.
They exited in tandem, drawing their weapons and rushing forward to lead the charge into the safe house.
Black Site #14 a.k.a 'Earrach' - Stephen's Green, Dublin, Ireland - March 12th, 2001
"Goodnight!"
"Night, Rosalie."
Rosalie waited until she heard Ted meandering back down the hall before bounding into her closet and tearing off her clothes. She jumped into a pair of dark wash jeans, threw on a sweater and a fresh pair of socks, then triple-checked her holsters. Slipping back out into the hall with a pair of boots and her leather jacket held tightly in hand, Rosalie tiptoed down the opposite end of the hall toward the study.
The shower was running in Ted's room, making her escape through the bookcase hatch go completely unnoticed. Once inside, she crammed her feet into her boots and descended the stone steps two at a time. She passed through another doorway and emerged into a quiet alley a block away from the safe house. Throwing on her coat, she headed West.
Keeping her head down, Rosalie moved through the cobbled streets of Dublin at a steady clip. Dark row houses loomed overhead, not one light showing in their antique windows.
Ahead, a neon sign emerged from the gloom, the words Back Bar glowing in a faded russet red cursive overhead. A two-sided clock hung beside it, embellished with the names Doheny and Nesbitt. The golden lacquer of the pub's facade came into view shortly after, and Rosalie could see a number of people standing inside. Opening the door, she slipped into the chattering throng and wound her way toward the barkeep.
A short man with fair strawberry blonde hair stood behind the old bar, a battalion of freshly-cleaned pint glasses stood in rows on glass shelves behind him.
"T'were already last call, miss."
He didn't look up from the till, where he was busily closing out the remainder of the night's tabs.
"That's quite alright," said Rosalie, "I came in to see if you know of any late-night florists I could visit during my stay."
The barkeep had dropped five quid into the waiting hand of one of the patrons, but nearly sent the remaining coins soaring when he caught her request.
"Oi!" The other man reprimanded, catching the rogue coins and giving the barkeep a grumpy look.
The barkeep waved him away, then turned his full attention on Rosalie.
His eyes were a misty sort of turquoise, watery, as though he'd been plucked straight from the surrounding sea. The crimson mustache on his upper lip ruckled when he gave her an appraising look. "Florist, you say?"
She nodded. "I'm looking for a rare breed of sea lavender."
His back straightened, and he lifted the till's drawer just enough to ease a green card out from under it.
"The Brigantine has a knowledgeable florist, ma'am."
Rosalie beamed a delighted smile, took the card, and slid a hundred-pound note across the bar top.
She stepped back out into the night, holding up the card to the neon glow so she could see the address embossed on the thick emerald card-stock.
Her feet turned southeast, crossing back over the Grand Canal before heading along Northumberland toward Herbert Park. It was a lengthy walk, but Rosalie found herself enjoying the peaceful quiet. The busy road kept a steady stream of cars passing despite the late hour, and it wasn't too long before the edge of the park appeared on her right.
Rosalie hopped the nearest hedge and made for the heart of the green. The encroaching fog and lack of light made it difficult to see, but soon the soft glimmer of the central pond was visible. She followed the edge of the water feature, slipping beneath sprawling trees and wooded copses until a small pump house was visible tucked amongst some evergreen hedges. She reached out and knocked thrice on the mossy green door.
The entry swung open to reveal a massive bouncer dressed in a deep maroon suit.
"Password?" he asked, in his thick Irish brogue.
"Gilded Lily." Rosalie replied.
The man stepped aside to permit her entry.
Inside the pump house was a small sitting area and a bottle green glass elevator. Rosalie was ushered immediately into its confines, the brass buttons prodded in quick succession before sending her down into the depths of the park.
The compartment was pitch black for a few seconds, then the space beyond the glass erupted into a galaxy of color.
A moment later, the doors opened to a spectacular underwater bar. Rosalie stepped out of the elevator to a limestone round the exact shape of the pond above. A coral reef made entirely of blown glass sprawled from one corner of the ceiling to the other, the lights behind shining through to cast a riot of colors on the occupants below.
"A sea cave." Rosalie murmured to herself, "How clever."
"Contraband, Lass."
She turned to see another tall bouncer holding out an expectant hand. Rosalie nodded, pulling out one firearm, then another, the kunai knives at her wrists, and the flat blade she'd strapped inside her boot.
The bouncer lifted a questioning brow. "That all?"
Rosalie smirked. "I left the shotgun at home this time."
Her cheek garnered her a small grunt of amusement before the man left the room with her weaponry.
A quick look around the space gave Rosalie over to the idea that she and Raymond needed to renew their old game of who can find the most outlandish location for a night cap, as she very well might win with this one.
Patrons loitered all around the cave's nooks and crannies, even the center of the room was packed to the gills. Along the stalagmited edges, the antique iron furnaces from the local shipyard had been remodeled into private booths for VIP clientele, a design choice Rosalie found rather amusing as she caught sight of the various fugitives holding court therein.
The Bridger, Lady Dharma, and Arthur Kilgannon sat sheltered with their respective entourages. The latter of the three had been in the midst of a fiery disagreement when Rosalie came into view, pausing his tirade for a split second.
She gave him a deferential nod, then made to get herself a drink.
Bouquets of dried sea lavender hung from the ceiling above the bar, the back of which looked to be part-apothecary, part-speakeasy. A woman with jet black hair in tight ringlets leaned over the counter and took her order of a whiskey neat.
Rosalie had no more than gotten the words out of her mouth when another tall, dour bouncer appeared at her elbow.
"Boss wishes to speak to you, M'amselle."
The bartender set a crystal glass before her, and Rosalie took it before allowing herself to be led toward the bank of furnaces-turned booths.
Lady Dharma looked up as Rosalie passed, the piercings in her dark brows glinting as they raised in a look of obvious curiosity. She lowered her chin in a covert nod, then turned back to her companions.
Arthur Kilgannon sat alone in the center booth, his entourage dismissed for the time being.
"Rosalie." He gestured to the seat beside him, "I hope you're not here on Corsican business; 'twas my understanding that bollox in the channel'd been cleared up to Florian's satisfaction."
"It has," she assured, taking a sip of her whiskey. "I came here on another matter: a fugitive I believe to be harbored in Dublin as of this morning."
He scoffed, "That's well below my pay grade."
"Not when he's this important."
"Who are you looking for?"
Rosalie watched him carefully. "The Corsair."
Kilgannon froze, his glass halted mid-air. "Does the Bastion know you're after one of his clients? I doubt he'd want you within a country mile of him."
Something in her chest spasmed, as though all the breath had been knocked from her lungs.
"…Ilarion is harboring him?"
"You're honestly telling me you didn't know?" Kilgannon's gaze had turned shrewd and disbelieving.
"I had no idea;" Rosalie said with a wide-eyed honesty she didn't have to fake, "I value my life, therefore I make a point to distance myself from anything to do with the Bastion syndicate. I've been seeking the Corsair on a matter regarding a past client of his, nothing more."
"What's so special about this client?"
"I believe they're responsible for a spot of bother in my own syndicate. I need to ensure they don't suffer another bout of stupidity."
Kilgannon let out a coarse sort of chuckle and re-lit his cigar.
"Well, if it's just information you seek, I might be able to help, for a nominal fee." A plume of ashen white smoke spouted from his lips, "That said, if my assisting you ever got back to the Bastion Syndicate-"
"I don't have a death wish, Arthur." Rosalie lifted a condescending brow in his direction, "Name your price, and I'll hold up my end of the bargain."
He considered her for a long beat, then returned the cigar to his mouth. "There's a trio of North Irish ruffians causing a mess on the mainland. At first I thought 'twere Ilarion harboring them, but he went and denied it. You're the only other innkeeper I know who could hide such a high-visibility client."
Rosalie kept her expression polite yet curious. "You're referring to the Brothers Sionnach."
"Aye."
She crossed one leg over the other, leaning demurely into Kilgannon's sphere. "They've stepped on a few toes, I take it?"
Arthur billowed a fresh cloud of smoke out through his prominent nose. "They've made a mess of things, and burnt a number of good men on their trip to the mainland. Their crusade in London has gotten out of hand. My inaction has been noted amongst the rest of the underground, and it's starting to cost me."
"They conveniently left out their various misdeeds when I agreed to harbor them. My mistake. I suppose you want me to cut them loose?"
Kilgannon nodded.
Rosalie considered the matter for a long moment. Raymond had promised the Brothers to the Feds, but finding the Corsair was an immediate concern. With the Bastion involved, there was no telling if she'd find another criminal willing to play ball on Ilarion's intel, and certainly not with as much convenience as having them bring it up themselves.
Regardless of who caught them, she would still be exposed to the risk their removal from her network would cause. She needed certain assurances before giving anyone carte blanche.
"That's bad business Arthur, especially for one in my line of work."
The two fugitives shared a look of understanding.
"They won't get far enough to talk." he replied, "You and I never had this conversation. Everyone knows they've been drawing too much attention. Your giving them the boot and my swooping in to put them down would be seen as business as usual, nothing more."
At last, Rosalie held out her hand. "I'll give it a month, in case my presence here was noted by an outsider. After that, you'll be the first to know."
Kilgannon took it in his own and gave it a firm shake. "I'll have my men give you a private line; reach out once they're on the run."
"Consider it done." said Rosalie, "Now…tell me about the Corsair."
Rosalie arrived back at the safe house some time later, huffing laboriously from the climb back through the secret entrance.
She'd just gotten back into her room and halfway changed when there came a knock at her door.
"Rosalie?"
It was Ted. She hurriedly kicked her other clothes under the bed and pulled a robe around herself.
"Come in!"
The door swung open, and Teddy stepped inside with burner in hand. He sniffed the air, "Were you smoking a cigar?"
"Uh- yeah." said she, running a hand ruefully through her undoubtedly smoke-laced hair. "Y'know, stress and all that."
She hitched a smile on her face that felt more like a grimace, but Ted didn't pry.
"Reddington's on the line," he smirked, "Seems a little miffed."
Rosalie beamed. "Good. Have Otto ready the jet once he's back; if Ray's found my trap, it means he's not far off our tail."
Teddy nodded and left the room.
Taking the call off of mute, Rosalie cleared her throat and affected her best customer service voice.
"Ginny's home improvement service, how may I be of assistance?"
Dublin Safe House #3 - Ballsbridge, Dublin, Ireland - March 12th, 2001
"First floor, clear!"
"Second floor, clear!"
Red looked around the silent house, brow puckered in a deep-set frown.
There was no one here. No personal belongings were left behind, not even a suitcase lingered in the home's closets. The shadow they'd seen passing through the first floor lounge had disappeared without a trace. If he didn't know better, he would think it a trap.
Dembe came sidling up to him, his face similarly drawn. "I remember now, why this place seemed so familiar."
"Why?"
"It was one of the safe houses our men did not breach last month, when we were looking for the squatter in Rosalie's network."
Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose, a low growl of annoyance catching in his throat. "We have to assume our intel was wrong; it wasn't Otto seen entering this home, it may very well have been the third associate. Get Rosalie on the phone as fast as you can."
"We found something!"
The call came from the second floor. The two men turned on the balls of their feet and rushed up the flight of stairs to the study, where Ezra and Skip stood beside a still-warm fireplace.
Dembe pulled out the burner and dialed Ted as Red moved in to see what the agents were staring at.
"The fire was still going when we came in, but we stamped it out. Looks like they were burning evidence of some kind." Skip held out a balled-up scrap of paper whose edges had been singed away.
Raymond turned it over in hand, uncrumpling it carefully and trying to make sense of the jagged handwriting that looked oddly familiar. After several long moments, he recognized the half-charred remnants were that of a flight manifest. The flight was planned for the following morning, en route to Philadelphia. The jet tags-
He grinned.
"Papa Romeo Seven Three Niner." Red murmured, tickled pink with their discovery. "Looks like the Mademoiselle is headed state-side."
Ezra was still crouched beside the fire, fishing through the remnants of charred paperwork for any remaining clues.
"Aha!"
He sprung up, another small crumpled bit of manifest held aloft, and unraveled as fast as he could.
"Are they landing at PNE or PHL?" said Red, "Edward can have us wheels up in under an hour."
"One Virginia Sherman and Ben Derhover are landing at OIE? Never heard of that-"
"Let me see that." snatching the scrap of paper from Ezra's hands, he held it up to the light with a scowl. There, in the same familiar writing, were indeed the names Virginia Sherman and Ben Derhover, beneath an embossed emblem reading 'Le Coquin Airlines'.
Red actually snorted.
"What?" said Ezra, positively vibrating with excitement, "Are we close?"
"God, no." Red wheezed, waving Dembe over to get a look at the manifest. He watched with glee as the younger man silently mouthed the few legible words before bursting out into a full belly laugh.
"Rosalie's called me a coquin a fair few times, but that airport code, isn't that-?"
"French for goose, oui oui."
The pair dissolved into laughter once more, the latter handing his employer the burner with a rueful shake of his head.
"Stop laughing!" barked Skip, "What's so ruddy funny about all this?"
"Ben Derhover is a crude joke," said Red, still chortling, "And Virginia Sherman is an alias I gave Miss Øllegaard a few years back. No, gentleman, I'd venture to say we're not even on the right continent."
He stepped into one of the adjoining rooms, bringing the phone to his ear just in time to hear a smooth, playful voice carry easily over the connection.
"Ginny's home improvement service, how may I be of assistance?"
"You're a clever little minx, I'll give you that."
Rosalie giggled gaily, utterly delighted by her hijinks. "How far did you get before you realized you were chasing a goose?
"The fake manifest for you and Mr. Bend-her-over…I assume that was our friend Mr. Henschke's idea?"
"Agh," she grumbled, raising her voice to call to one of her companions, "He's onto us, Benjamin!"
"Dammit!" came Otto's reply, "We must try harder."
"I'm looking forward to this." said Rosalie, and Red could hear the sound of various zippers on the other end of the line.
If she was leaving at this time of night, perhaps he wasn't as far off as he'd thought?
"What do I get if I successfully catch you?" he asked, out of the blue.
"You won't."
"I did it once."
"I told you, that business in Brazil was you fishing in a barrel. Now you're hunting a white whale in the Marianas Trench."
He heard a series of doors opening and closing. She was definitely on the move. He pressed his advantage: "How many locations do you have? I've always been curious."
"I have a thousand safe houses and over one hundred black sites," she said, without a drop of hesitation. "Not to mention the properties which are only available to yours truly."
"There's another network?" he blurted, grimacing for his loss of tact.
"Oh dear," she faked a sigh, "Is that Florian on the other line?
"No it isn't."
"Must go, Teddy's calling."
"No he's not."
Teddy could be heard laughing in the background.
"I'll call you later."
"No you won't."
"Tata for now, Scoundrel."
"Rosalie-"
The call dropped, and Red was left chuckling to himself for several long moments before he was forced to go back into the study and tell the DC6 it was back to the drawing board.
Red's Jet - Welsh Airspace - March 13, 2001
They were back in the air and headed for London an hour later. The four agents, though disgruntled, had no trouble falling asleep moments after takeoff, giving Red a much-needed reprieve from their incessant questions.
In the jet's back office, he was busily sorting through the latest streams of intel coming in when the burner buzzed once more. He lifted it to his ear without thought and grumbled a greeting.
"I told you I'd call you later."
A pleasant warmth spread through him at once, but there was something in Rosalie's voice that unsettled.
"Something's wrong." he noted, standing up to close the door to the main cabin.
"The Corsair," she whispered, "I tracked him to Dublin, but by the time I got out of the safe house, he was gone."
"Damn…do you have any leads on where he might be headed?"
"I do; that's the problem."
Raymond hesitated in his trek back to the desk. "Either he's buried himself somewhere impossible to reach, or he's aligned himself with someone dangerous. Which is it?"
"Both." Rosalie closed a series of doors behind her, keeping her voice low. "I have to tread very, very carefully Raymond. The Corsair is under Bolivar Ilarion's protection."
"The Bastion?"
"Bastion is the only network on the planet which can rival my own; it makes sense that the Corsair would look to him for safe harbor. Unfortunately, I know Ilarion's been chomping at the bit to attack my enterprise. I cannot give him any excuse to do so."
"What's kept him at bay thus far?" Red asked, admittedly surprised that she and Bastion hadn't had at least one brawl over the latest expansions to her network.
Rosalie went uncharacteristically quiet.
"Rosalie…what did you part with to keep the Bastion from picking a fight?"
"…Thirty percent."
"Of everything?" Raymond swore, realizing he'd all but bellowed the question. A quick peek out into the cabin showed all but Dembe were still asleep. He turned a questioning glance toward Red, who waved away his concern at closed the door once more. "How in the hell are you still afloat if a third of your cash flow is going to a competitor?"
"He's been getting thirty percent of the cash flow he knows about." Rosalie corrected, "If he knew how much business I was really doing, he'd never let me live."
An uncomfortable knot settled in his stomach. "So you promised Bastion a cut, and you're shortchanging him?"
"You say that like you haven't done the exact same thing."
"Oh I have, but it's dirty pool, Rosalie. It not only exposes you to danger, but it cheapens your word in the underground. You've got to be certain you'll come out on top the bone pile to double cross someone as big as the Bastion syndicate."
"I was young, foolish." she admitted, "Regardless, I couldn't afford what he was demanding at the time. I would never have made it out of those early years if I'd been paying him his due. At this point, I can only hope not to draw too much attention to myself, least he start looking a little too closely at my syndicate."
"If he's missed the growth of your syndicate this past year, he deserves to step down."
"Perhaps…" He could hear speculation in her voice. Something jumped out at him.
"When the Jailbreaker and I were discussing cornerstone syndicates…you acted so peculiar. I've never witnessed you cut a conversation off at its knees like that."
"Ilarion is the only syndicate boss I can think of who would be chosen as the cornerstone for innkeeping." she replied, "I didn't want the two of you getting ahead of yourselves and dragging me into a war I couldn't possibly win."
"Oh, I don't know about that." said Red, "It may be a close fight, but with your connections and support? Bolivar would have a run for his money."
"I haven't been oblivious to the underground's mounting distaste for him, but taking on my biggest competitor won't just make me his target, Raymond."
"His allies will come for you as well." he nodded, "That's to be expected, Rosalie. You'll have allies of your own to lean on."
"Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
Rosalie gave an irritable huff, as though the answer were obvious. "With the German at my back and Bastion at my front? I can't possibly win against them both, and I can't expect others to wage war on my behalf."
Raymond caught the hint of subterfuge in her words. "You're biding your time."
"Choosing my battles." she corrected, "When I take on the Bastion syndicate, I don't want it to be a run for his money. I want to bury him."
The viciousness with which she uttered those words sent a thrill skating down Red's spine. "The Corsair, then, what intel did you manage on where the Bastion is taking him?"
"Dublin was just the handoff." she began, "Kilgannon doesn't know where they are in the interim, but the Corsair should be in Rome in five days, after that, they're headed to Munich."
Ankara, Türkiye - March 17th, 2001
Two pairs of footsteps echoed in the cool quiet of night, one small and light, the other large and heavy.
The typically-bustling bazaar was eerily quiet; its usual bevy of artisans had packed up for the night, leaving the winding pathways of stalls dark and ominous.
What little light there was glinted off the glass wares of the lantern makers, illuminating assortments of woven baskets and hand-knotted rugs with intricate patterns. The air was heady and fragrant from the vibrant mountain range of rare spices which rose and fell in wooden crates along the walkway's borders.
The two interlopers entered the shelter of the bazaar's central building, a rabbit warren of stone walls with glass ceilings overhead which showcased the star-strewn sky. It was darker inside, the only light in the place coming from a pair of floor-to-ceiling tapestries at the end of the first hall, their deep crimson motifs blocking all traces of the glow beyond, save for the faintest sliver at their edges.
The larger of the two pulled a firearm from his jeans, sweeping the hall ahead of his companion. There was no-one waiting therein, and they quickly slipped beyond the tapestries unnoticed.
The space behind was awash in a faint blue-white glow. The singular occupant had been quarreling over the phone in brusk Kurmanji when he looked up to find himself staring down the barrel of a large handgun.
"I…will have to call you back."
The voice on the other end of the line fired off once more, but was silenced the moment the man snapped the phone shut. He set the device aside, holding both hands aloft.
The smaller of the two intruders stepped forward, her thin lips pursed in a tight line. Her hair was dark and cut in a sharp line at her jaw, the muscle beneath ticking minutely. The face was a familiar one, though it had been some time since the two had seen each other.
"…Mr. Kaplan?"
"Hermes." she nodded, "It's been a while."
The tall man beside her, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, lowered his weapon and stored it at his hip. Hermes eyed the thing warily, unsure whether or not he was still in imminent danger.
"Mr. Reddington's recent orders have been as expected, have they not? I haven't heard otherwise."
"The recent shipment was perfectly fine." said Kaplan, "We are here on a different matter, regarding one of your clients."
Hermes blanched. "I…Mr. Reddington knows I can't speak on my other clients-"
Kaplan held up a hand, "We already know the client in question. Rosalie Øllegaard, it seems she dropped you as a supplier?"
"Yes." said he, biting back a glower. "I do not see what business that is of Reddington's."
"It became Reddington's business when a rumor on the underground began to spread that Øllegaard found tapped burners in her latest supply. Naturally, as a client of yours, he was concerned, and set out to confirm the rumor himself."
"What?" he snarled, "I've heard no such rumor; Øllegaard said nothing of the sort to me!"
"Why would she? If she believed you to be the culprit-"
"I would never." Hermes took a furtive look around the room, peering behind Kaplan and her guard to ensure he couldn't possibly be overheard. "I've never taken a bribe in my life; if anyone hears so much as a whisper of such a suspicion- It could be the end of me, and my business!"
Kaplan's black eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You may not have taken a bribe, but what about blackmail? There's been talk of a great many fugitives gathering in this corner of the world, perhaps you stepped on the toes of the Turkish underground's newest members?"
A dry, harsh laugh leapt from Hermes' lips. "I'm an old man Mr. Kaplan, one who doesn't make a habit of stumbling about the underground; I can't very well run afoul of any fledgling criminals if I seldom leave my own home."
"So you know nothing of the tainted devices?" asked the guard, a man Hermes believed to be called Baz.
"No." he snapped, growing more and more flustered by the minute. "I'm one of the underground's most prominent suppliers of communicative devices, young man. I've never had a breach in my supply chain, and I'm rather offended you'd even ask such a thing."
"Your suppliers," Kaplan pressed, "They've not encountered any issues?"
"There are no suppliers, Mr. Kaplan. I own my entire supply chain."
A prickling silence followed this. Hermes half-expected a renewal of the accusations, but Kaplan pulled back at once with a look he could've sworn was pleased.
In the blink of an eye, the look was gone.
"Very well," said she, "Apologies for the intrusion, Hermes. We'll leave you now."
She nodded to her guard, who led the way out of the tapestry and into the dark bazaar once more.
Hermes sat for a full minute, breaths coming in full heaving lungfuls as he listened for the sound of their retreating footsteps. It wasn't until he was absolutely certain of their departure that he sprung from his seat, suddenly as lithe as a panther, and crossed the space to throw open the plastic partition separating the front room from the small packaging bay.
Behind the partition stood a tall young man with wide hazel eyes and a head full of slate curls. He was sweating profusely, a few of the curls now plastered to his ashen face, which shone a sickly pallor in the dim light of the cargo hold. At his feet lay innumerable crates, a few were cracked open to reveal an assortment of burners and pagers in varying shades of grey and black, the others remained sealed and marked for the transport that would come the following day.
"What have you been doing behind my back, Berat?"
"Hermes-" he spluttered, "I-I- I can explain-"
"Explain?" Hermes roared, enraged Berat didn't even bother to deny it. "You have been at my side for a decade! You know the precariousness of our prominence in the underground and you've squandered it?!"
Berat took a step back, tumbling over one of the crates, his eyes wide and beseeching. "It's- It's not like that-"
Hermes kicked out, sending one of the crates soaring across the room, exploding into a deluge of splintered wood and plastic. "You've been with me long enough to know what the underground does with traitors, and you went dealing behind my back anyway. We're dead, Berat!"
"I- desperation creeped into Berat's voice, "There was no other way- They knew so much-"
"Who?" he snarled, "Who did you betray me to and what could they possibly know that would incite you to do this? Tell me!"
Berat cowered among the remnants of broken contraband, tears now flowing freely down his sallow cheeks. "I didn't betray you," he whimpered, "A man came in February, trading on Øllegaard's name, demanding I bug the devices to answer to an additional, static number. He knew so much about the business, about her accounts…more importantly, he knew that I had been covering for you."
Hermes' brow puckered in a furious scowl. "Covering for me? Me, Berat? Whatever for?"
"Clients have been reaching out regarding…mistakes." said Berat, delicately, "In the past year, shipments started to arrive with incorrect products, to few or too many in quantity, some were even ending up on the wrong continent."
"Nonesense." barked Hermes, "I've heard no such complaints."
Berat shook his head, "Because you've had me vetting and handling the majority of clients."
A swooping feeling of unease settled in Hermes' stomach like an icy weight. "If this is true, why did you not tell me?"
"At first, I thought it was my doing." Berat shifted into a sitting position, resting his arms on his knees. "I thought I must have gotten careless, making foolish mistakes, but then I began to look into the actual orders. Everything the clients received was as it should be according to the manifests. I started verifying orders with certain clients before sending- there were many, many mistakes…."
He looked up at Hermes at long last, eyes still swimming with misery. "I am sorry, teacher…I was trying to protect you from yourself."
'Bloembol' - Bruges, Belgium - March 17th, 2001
"Ah, the Green Fairy."
Red stood facing the back wall of an unassuming waffle shop, eyes fixed on an oil painting he knew ought to be hanging in a gallery in Prague.
Its subject was a middle-aged man sitting at a Parisian café with his head in his hands. A half-empty glass of chartreuse liquid sat forgotten in front of him, his countenance entranced by the image of a naked woman perched on the edge of his bistro table, her skin a faint phantom green.
"Absinthe."
Skip Sutherland too had been staring at the image with obvious intrigue, catching the artist's meaning at once and unearthing the establishment's password.
The back wall swung open to permit them entry, and Raymond turned to the younger agent with a look of pleasant surprise.
He'd been reticent to bringing another of the agents to accompany him, but their ongoing insistence that the DC6 wouldn't continue if they weren't involved had outweighed Red's desire to keep the brood out of his affairs.
Perhaps it wouldn't be too meddlesome after all…
Raymond, Dembe, and Skip descended the narrow steps single file, emerging into the subterranean venue whereupon they were frisked and their weapons confiscated for the safety of other patrons.
"I didn't say you could bring a plus two, Reddy-boy."
The slick, oily voice was barely audible over the thumping music.
The event's host was, of course, Marcello Černobog. His annual speakeasy soirée was considered the start of the criminal underground's spring social season. He emerged from the swath of dancing bodies bedecked in a bowtie and sequined dinner jacket, no shirt to speak of and a pair of glittering suspenders holding up his pin-straight trousers.
"Marcello." Red shook the man's hand and waved a careless hand toward Skip. "I hope you don't mind, I thought my friend here would be an excellent addition to the selection of gentlemen for tonight. Surely the ladies won't mind."
Marcello gave Skip an appraising once-over. It was obvious his attire, though highly complimentary to the man's fit physique, left a lot to be desired in the realm of fashion. Red knew this mattered little as Marcello's gaze flitted to and fro.
No, what mattered to Marcello were aesthetic and potential, and as a swath of young socialites began to cast covert glances in the newcomer's direction, it was decided that Agent Sutherland was, at the very least, easy on the eyes.
"Hmm…He'll suffice. That shirt, though…"
A questioning glance was thrown Red's way, Skip's uncertainty held carefully in check behind a mask of seeking permission.
"Go, blow of some steam!" Raymond replied, thumping him on the back. He leaned in as Marcello took Skip's hand and headed for the middle of the throng, "Marcello has a veritable harem of fruit flies surrounding him. They're lower tier criminals, but all the same, keep your guard. See if you can discern what the ladies of the underground know about Øllegaard's operation without getting too close. Dembe will be keeping an eye out; if you run into trouble, just give him a nod."
Skip played it off well, flashing Red a smug smirk and allowing himself to be led into a bevy of ladies in shimmering cocktail dresses.
Dembe moved to Raymond's side. "What do we do if he catches sight of Rosalie?"
"We don't even know she's here." Raymond replied, "It was only a rumor that she and Josephine were going to attend together. I haven't caught sight of Haskell in the throng, and he'd be a solid head above the rest."
Their eyes scanned the room in tandem, not catching sight of any of the guards they knew. Ted, Horace, and Haskell seemed notably absent.
"They wouldn't come alone, would they?"
"Ted might be swayed by Rosalie's assurances, but Haskell would never allow it."
"Perhaps Miss Moliére couldn't make it?"
"Or we've been led on another goose chase…"
Skip could be seen in the center of a sea of women, his shirt had been untucked, unbuttoned, and twisted in some great artistic liberty of Marcello's. He looked quite at ease as he engaged a threesome of brunettes known to be connected to the Sicilian mafia.
"Agent Sutherland is doing well." said Dembe, watching the scene as well. "We must be careful."
Red frowned. "You think he's susceptible?"
"I think, with the right incentive, he could easily be drawn in to our world."
They continued to watch the agent's progress in silence. Rather than feeling a sense of unease, Raymond found himself intrigued by the possibilities. Skip had already managed to blend into the underground with more ease than Knightley had managed in the few months she'd spent at his side. Perhaps he was suited to underground intelligence?
Former agents made the best criminals, in Red's not-so-humble opinion. A highly lucrative career could await Agent Sutherland, were he to grow tired of the bureaucracy.
His train of thought was interrupted by a glint of green in the center of the dance floor.
A gap appeared in the wall of bodies for the briefest second. Beneath the spotlight spun an unmistakable figure.
Full, lovely hips dipped and swayed in time with the pounding music overhead, a stretch of creamy skin visible in the perilously low back of her dress. Honeyed waves toyed with the edge of her shoulders, bouncing and swishing with every move she made. A pair of volatile grey eyes locked on him through the crowd. A slender finger crooked in his direction, beckoning him into the throng.
"Keep an eye on Skip. I'm going to take a look around."
Red didn't even look to Dembe for confirmation as he rose from his seat and cut through the mass of people. He lost sight of his target when the house lights dropped low. The music kicked up a new heady, thrumming tune. The wall of bodies around him were nothing but glimpses of shadow.
A light hand reached out, grasping the front of his shirt and tugging him through the crowd. His arms were full of her for a split second; soft lips placed a rough kiss to his pulse point before she spun out of his hold.
He turned in a circle, looking for a hint of her whereabouts.
A slender arm circled his torso, bringing his back flush to her front. A tinkling laugh reached his ears as he was swayed in a titillating rhythm. He reached back for her, earning another peck to the spot just below his earlobe before she was gone.
Raymond's pulse was pounding like a freight train, every sense he possessed trying to lock on the little green fairy flitting around him.
Two hands reached out and tugged his shirt open, sending a button or two scattering as a ravenous mouth descended on him, kissing a scorching path up the thick column of his neck.
His arms snatched her around the middle, tightening like a vice to keep his prize from scampering off again.
A squeak met this action, followed by a renewal of that playful giggle.
"I knew I could get you here…"
Rosalie's voice held a husky note Red knew well. He leaned forward, brushing his nose with hers and grumbling when she dodged his attempts to kiss her.
"You dropped the lead?" he asked, too enthralled to feel dismayed for not actually catching her.
"I wanted to see you." she said, "-and I needed a date for tonight; Josie had to bail."
The beat dropped in the house, and Rosalie spun from his arms while he was too distracted to hold tight.
The lights picked up once more, and a quick turn about the space confirmed she was gone.
Red craned his neck, peering over the heads of the crowd in search of his companion.
At last, he caught sight of her making for a side hall at the far edge of the room. He wound his way through the swaying and gyrating mass, reaching the edge in time to throw his arm out and grasp her shoulder.
"And where do you think you're going without me, you little minx?"
She turned on the ball of her foot and Raymond snatched his hand back with a look of utmost surprise.
"Believe me, handsome, I wouldn't get you riled up and leave you wanting."
The woman smiling coyly up at him wasn't Rosalie, but one of Marcello's companions. Though her hair was a similar honey-blonde color, it was a touch darker and its waves looser. Her dress too was a similar cut, but up close its material turned out to be a rich black velvet, not the glimmering bottle green he'd seen on the dance floor. She was undeniably attractive, and in another life Red would have found her positively alluring. However, his absolute certainty that he'd been chasing Rosalie only to be bamboozled by a look-a-like had left him thoroughly put out.
"Aw," she flashed him a playful smile, "What's the matter, cat got your tongue? I assure you, I don't bite unless asked nicely."
Red scoffed and shook his head, snapping out of his sulking at last. "Not at all. I'm terribly sorry, I-"
"Madeline Pratt…I should've known you'd be skulking around here somewhere."
Rosalie seemed to materialize from the ether, her previous coquetry replaced with a deadly coolness.
Madeline arched a brow in her direction, a simper toying at her lips. "Oh…Rosalie-" she feigned surprise, "I didn't know you were here."
"I have a standing invite to Marcello's events, as you well know. I'm sure you're also well aware that Mr. Reddington here isn't fodder for the underground's bottom feeders."
Raymond could practically feel the acid in her words. His eyes shifted surreptitiously from one to the other, curious what had instigated such an uneasy acquaintance.
"He approached me." Madeline intoned with a triumphant smirk, "Afraid of a little competition, are we?"
'Well that certainly won't do.' Red thought, with little charity. Pratt was barking up the wrong tree if she thought him so easily enticed and Rosalie so easily unseated. It was the kind of reckless tactic which could get one killed if wielded in the wrong direction, and she was nearing that fatal mark.
Rosalie always held a tight rein on her temper, but she would not abide an outright challenge. Baiting her would do nothing but ensure Pratt left the establishment in a stretcher or a body bag, whichever came first.
"There is no competition." Rosalie took a graceful step forward, her voice dipping to a low growl. "You've decided to test the boundaries of my kingdom, and I'm here to remind you I'm the gulf you will break yourself trying to cross."
"Cross you?" Pratt smiled, placing a jeweled hand to her décolletage, "Why, I wouldn't dream of it."
"My friends in Sicily seem to think otherwise." said Rosalie, without blinking. "I'm sure you remember Carina."
Madeline's cheeks sallowed to a sickly green. "You're going to hold a little powder room talk against me? I think that's hardly enough to warrant a death threat. And here I thought the Armels were beyond such petty things..."
"Death threat?" Rosalie smirked, her dark eyes dropping to Pratt's shoes and carrying slowly all the way back up to her snide face. "Why on Earth would I dirty my stilettos snapping your neck?"
Raymond bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. The idle thought that he should, probably, intervene flitted through his mind for the briefest of moments. Unfortunately for the angel on his shoulder, this new side of his companion was turning out to be quite the thrill– He found himself rather keen to hear what barb she would hurl next.
For her part, Madeline Pratt seemed completely unfazed. She was arrogant, that much was obvious. The countenance of a woman who was used to getting her way sneered back at them, and Red was rather amused at how blissfully unaware she was of the danger she was in.
"Maddie." Marcello's unctuous voice cut through the mounting tension, "I'm sure you aren't trying to get between my dear Mademoiselle Armel and her beau…I've heard they both can be rather possessive."
Madeline took a step back, but her eyes flickered to Red with a look of derisive amusement.
"Run along, Maddie," Rosalie advised, her voice the deadliest of whispers, "before I decide a new pair of Jimmy Choo's is a worthy price for protecting what's mine."
Raymond slipped a reassuring hand around his companion's waist, prepared to intervene should her patience run out.
Pratt eyed the movement with another goading smirk. "I'll see you around, Red."
Rosalie inched forward, her balled-up fist prepared to be sent flying in Pratt's direction.
Red caught her wrist before it could leave her side. "Behave." he purred in her ear, nuzzling aside one of the soft curls at her temple in the hopes of providing some kind of distraction.
Madeline and Marcello disappeared back into the crowd, and Rosalie waited until they were well out of sight before turning on him.
"You." she poked Red's chest, "I'm gone for ten seconds and you're already chasing another skirt."
Taking another step forward, she forced him to step back. A smirk clung at Raymond's mouth as she continued her pursuit, backing him through the nearby doorway and into the darkest corner of the establishment's coat check.
"Jealousy is an exquisite look on you, little dove."
"I'm not jealous."
"Of course not."
"Madeline doesn't know her place." Rosalie snapped, a faint hint of a snarl curling at her lips, "She thinks she can lure you in with the promise of her affection, perhaps fuck you for the leverage that intimacy would provide…I won't have some freeloading harridan thinking she can waltz into my domain and command carte blanche."
"Such vitriol-"
She snatched his jaw, cutting off any further teasing and guiding his lips to hers.
"I don't like her touching you." she said, giving him a singular, chaste kiss.
Red felt his pulse kick up a pounding rhythm in his chest when Rosalie pinned him to the back wall, pressing the soft warmth of her body against his as she had on the dance floor. Her fingertips carded through the short hairs at his nape, giving a tug to make him moan. He quite happily relinquished himself to her control, splaying his hands over the curves of her hips and clutching her tight.
Another searing kiss parted his lips, and Rosalie's tongue soon followed, coaxing another heady growl from low in his throat. He opened to her, eager to give anything she required.
"How could you believe your place in my heart could be threatened?" he soothed, once she'd ravaged him into a breathless mess, "Do you honestly think I could be so easily taken in by another pretty face?"
"You seemed thoroughly enthralled when you crossed the room to talk to her." she replied, still rather irritable.
Raymond caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and coaxed her eyes to his own. "Because I thought she was you, Rosalie."
"What?"
"I couldn't see you in the crowd." he shrugged, "I was intent on finding where you'd scampered off to, and the low light made a fool of me. There was a head of blonde hair and a dark dress with a similar cut to yours making for the side hall and I just assumed…I was halfway into an apology for accosting her when you appeared."
She considered his explanation with a small glower, "We are a bit similar in proportions," she admitted, only a little reluctantly. "I'll give you that."
Red grinned. "Look at you, all prickled and bristled and fiery…" he kissed a hot trail down her neck, "You know we just thoroughly blew our cover, right?"
"What? No we haven't."
Raymond lowered himself to his knees, a delectable idea coming to mind. "Do you honestly trust Marcello to keep what he just witnessed to himself?" his hand ghosted up the back of her thigh, "-or Miss Pratt, for that matter?"
Rosalie's eyes widened comically, her mouth falling open with a pop. "Oh…shit I didn't think*-* Hold on, what are you doing?"
"The two of us alone in here all but confirms it." he reasoned, "If we're to be found out, there's no reason why I shouldn't do what scoundrels do best and give them something to really gossip about."
She frowned at the doorway, then down at him. He smoothed a palm along her hip, hitching the hem of her dress high.
"Ray…" her hands caught his own, threading their fingers together and stopping his instigating with much effort.
He heaved a sigh when the metallic click of handcuffs reached his ears, cinching themselves around his wrist. His other hand played hard to get, curling dexterous fingers into the soft flesh of her upper thigh when Rosalie went to grab for it.
"Now where did you get these?" he said, rattling the wrist that was now locked to one of the lower coat racks.
"My Sicilian friend pilfered them from your fake bodyguard." she beamed, cradling his cheek.
He placed a kiss to her palm, "Was Skip left in one piece?"
"Dembe will have found him by now."
"That doesn't answer my question, little dove."
"Sure it does," she redirected, "Now be a good boy and give me the other hand."
He slipped said hand between her legs when she reached for it again, grinning like the devil when her thighs snapped shut around him.
Rosalie gasped when a wayward thumb traced purposefully along the lace of her panties, her face erupting in a radiant blush when his smug smile confirmed what he'd found there.
"What is it about leaving me trussed up for others to find that gets you so wet?"
"Like I said," she sighed, clenching when he traced her sex through the fabric, "All tied up is a good look on you, love. Besides, it'll leave the others thinking we are still on bad terms."
"And Madeline Pratt? What if she comes skulking around?"
Rosalie's eyes dropped to his with a look of possessiveness that made a pang of arousal pulse through him. "Oh, I expect her to make a reappearance. I plan to leave her wondering just what kind of woman I must be to leave a man like you on his knees."
Raymond obediently removed his hand from its hollow and held it out to her. She kissed his palm, then locked his wrist to the opposite rack.
"It's a shame to waste such an opportunity…" she sighed, stepping back to admire her handiwork, "All the wicked games I could play with you like this…"
Red swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly bone dry. The prospect of a great many sordid possibilities lingered in the air like a dense fog, his lungs fighting for breath under its heady weight.
"Goodnight, handsome."
She stooped to kiss him, then let him watch her walk away, the sensual sway of her hips commanding his gaze until she was completely out of sight.
Raymond came slowly back to himself, his chest heaving and no small amount of tension fixated in one specific region of his anatomy. His lockpicking kit was in his back pocket, and of no use to him. He thought if Dembe or Skip could hurry up and find him, he might manage to follow his little captor back to her safe house and sate the damnable ache she'd left behind, but-
A figure appeared in the doorway, becoming in black velvet and tutting morosely at his predicament.
"My goodness, trouble in paradise?"
"Mademoiselle Ollegaard and I have always had a rather tumultuous acquaintance."
"Tumultuous? I thought you were involved."
"Once upon a time." he avoided, "I don't suppose you have a pair of handcuff keys on you?"
Pratt flashed him that sly, mischievous smile. It made him feel a bit like a fly caught in a web.
"Why would I do that?" she purred, "When you look so enticing-?"
Another figure appeared at her side, tall and broad and his brow set in a deep glower.
"I was advised to come and get you," Dembe nudged his way through, casting a suspicious glance toward the woman lingering in the doorway before adding sotto voce, " 'Least another trollop come looking…' "
Red snorted softly to himself while the younger man fished out his own lockpicking kit and set to work.
Skip breezed past Pratt a moment later, his shirt in tatters and a deluge of lipstick prints cover him from cheeks to navel. "This is the best job ever." he sighed happily, spreading his arms wide and exclaiming when he encountered the strange scene before him. "Ah! So that's where my cuffs ran off to…funny, I never considered you the type for bondage, Red."
Raymond rolled his eyes, earning a titter from Madeline Pratt before she scampered off, spinning back into the hold of the dancing throng.
Both Dembe and Skip watched her leave, the former still disapproving, the latter blissfully unaware.
"She was a nice bird." said Skip, "A bit handsy, though."
Rising to his feet, Red borrowed Dembe's jacket and threw it over Agent Sutherland's shoulders, clapping him on the back as he did so. "Come on," he sighed, steering them toward the exit. "Lets get you back to the safe house before you vomit in my car."
Bruges Safe House - Bruges, Belgium - March 18th, 2001
It was half past midnight when Rosalie and her guard reached the safe house. Ted and Horace had gone straight to bed, hoping to catch some shut-eye before her meeting with Earl King the following morning in Poland.
She had waited none too patiently for them to ascend the stairs before slipping on her coat and preparing to go out once more.
As she was stepping into a tell pair of riding boots, Otto sighed and set an insulated carafe on the entry table.
Rosalie watched with unabashed shock as he crammed his own feet into a pair of boots, checking the tags to ensure he wasn't mixing up his and Horace's. He double-knotted the laces and donned his coat, then looked expectantly at her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"You're up to your usual shenanigans, Ted needs sleep and you don't want Horace to join you, but you know as well as I le Caïd would have your head for going out without anything that resembles security. Allow me to accompany you, and I assure you I won't be in your way."
Her eyes narrowed a little. "You've changed."
"I never had a problem with you sneaking off with Reddington." Otto clarified, "My discontent was that you did so without security. You're both too high profile, and if you died on my watch, Florian would've torn me limb from limb."
Rosalie was admittedly humbled by the subtle rebuke. "We put you in an impossible position with some regularity…No wonder you don't like being a bodyguard."
Otto waved the notion aside, "I don't dislike it so much that I'll leave you to your own devices; I can play security for one night."
"Actually," she said with a grimace, "How do you feel about playing captain?"
Bruges Row House - Bruges, Belgium
It took all of Raymond and Dembe's strength to pull Skip's limp frame safely out of the transport. He'd passed out in the passenger's seat before they were even out of the parking lot, much to the amusement of his newly-made comrades in the underground.
"If I didn't know Marcello's bartender was heavy-handed, I'd say he'd been roofied." said Red, huffing as they basically dragged him through the hall.
Dembe grunted his agreement. They brought him to the sitting room closest to the first floor powder room, knowing full well they wouldn't be getting him upstairs that night.
"I'm going downstairs to get some food." he groaned, stretching the tightness from his muscles as Skip began to snore. "Rosalie mentioned there's something on the windowsill for you, when you're ready."
Red turned and twitched open the sheer curtain, eyes traveling the length of the sill before resting on a pair of black binoculars stood up on end. He grabbed the small note which was tucked in the bridge and unrolled it.
Canal.
-R
Lifting the binoculars to his face, he adjusted the dial until the canal below was in focus. He followed the dark waterway from one end to the other, unable to spot anything out of the ordinary.
His burner buzzed without warning. Fishing it from his pocket, he flipped it open and continued to search the dark waterway below.
"Is there something I..."
His voice trailed off as a section of the dark water burst into light.
There, just at the mouth of the nearest bridge, bobbed an old-fashioned narrowboat. Its port hole windows were alight with a warm glow, and smoke rose from its little chimney. The blue hull bore the name 'The Incognito', which gleamed bright beneath the soft bistro lights outlining the roof where Rosalie stood, bundled up save for the hand which held the burner.
Red found himself grinning from ear to ear. "Well, well, well...and what can I do for you, pirate queen?"
Through the binoculars, he saw Rosalie's cheeks plump with amusement. A deep, steadying breath echoed through the line before she looked up to the window with a shy, hopeful smile.
"You wanna go on a date?"
The impish request brought a laugh to Raymond's throat. "At this time of night?"
He watched her nudge one of the potted plants with her boot. "No time like the present."
A beat of silence struck between, then she added with a note of despair, "Unless I've trifled with your interest for too long? Perhaps you're busy with that little tart from the party?"
"I believe you called her a freeloading harridan." he teased, a heady warmth filling his chest, "-and for the record, I rather enjoy your trifling."
"Come out and play, then." she said, "I've not had my fill of you yet."
Red closed the burner and bounded downstairs without a moment to lose, earning a confused glance from Dembe, who was just sitting down to break his fast with a few dates and a glass of milk.
"Don't wait up." he called, setting his hat upon his pate and throwing the garden door open.
The temperature had dropped considerably, but he barely felt the cold whip through his layers as his feet carried him to the other side of the canal and across the small gangway Rosalie had lowered to permit him entry.
Otto Henschke stood at the helm, a steaming cup of tea in his hand and an outdoor heater aimed in his direction. He raised his cup in salute as Raymond passed by.
"By the by, that was a clever trick you pulled with the manifests." said Red, flipping the catch on the narrow boat's doors. An old Hall & Oates record could be heard playing in the space beyond.
"Just doing my part." said Otto with a smirk.
They both paused when Dembe came jogging over the bridge, tightly bundled and carrying a couple small containers of tupperware.
"What are you doing out here?" asked Red, "Go, break your fast and get some sleep, Otto's sufficient enough security for a little tour around the canals."
"I'm too keyed up to sleep." Dembe insisted, "Besides, now Otto can focus on being the captain. I'll be the SSO."
Otto gave a dry chuckle. "Aye, aye," he sighed, pulling back the gangway and starting the boat's engine once more.
Raymond hesitated, "You're sure you'll be alright out here?"
"We've got the heater," the former assured, pouring Dembe a cup of tea as well, "Once we put the helm hood up, it'll roast the both of us out. Don't act all modest when the two of you emerge to find us driving the boat in our skivvies."
Dembe chuckled throatily and took the cushioned seat beside the helm, "It is most comfortable. Do not worry, Raymond."
Red gave in with a nod, then descended the few short steps into the boat's hold, closing the doors behind him.
The entry opened directly into the kitchen, whose pristine white walls and thick butcher block counters made him unable to discern whether the space was very old or very new. The boat's living space stretched beyond, eschewing overhead lighting for the soft glow of up-lit wall sconces to illuminate a chaotic assortment of charcoal sketches and intricate watercolors. As was Rosalie's custom, there was greenery on every available space: a large glass jug on the dining table held newly-blossomed tulip tree branches, another votive across the way held a thick cluster of pussy willows, and a low crystal vase in the center of the coffee table sat bursting with gently drooping ranunculi.
Rosalie stood at the kitchen range, humming along with whatever track was currently playing. She was still in her dress from earlier, but now a thick pair of woolen socks covered her legs, leaving just a sliver of skin visible at her upper thigh. Her hair was twisted up in a loose chignon, and a few tendrils fell from the main as she shimmied back and forth to the tune.
The whole boat smelled like wine, butter, and cheese. A wedge of parmigiano reggiano and a little black truffle sat waiting on the butcher block beside a micro plane and an already-zested lemon. Red caught sight of the glistening contents of the pan and grinned.
"You're drunk."
Rosalie spun on her heel, perfectly scandalized. "Am not?"
"Oh yes you are;" his smile widened as he moved closer, "You only make risotto when you're three sheets to the wind."
"…Two and a half." he was corrected, a grin crinkling Rosalie's nose before she turned back to her task. "It was an open bar, and you know how Seamus is-" she mimicked a very heavy pour with a wave of her wooden spoon, "-and those hors d'oeuvres left a lot to be desired. You very well can't blame me for being tipsy."
Her musings were interrupted by Red's lips traveling the expanse of her shoulder. A torrent of low chuckles vibrated along the sensitive slope of her neck while his arms circled about her waist, tugging playfully at the strings of the cotton apron she wore.
"Did you try one of those spoons with the green foam?" he asked conversationally, "What was that even made out of?"
"Hubris and air," she drawled, making him erupt with laughter once more. "Honestly, I've had a more filling meal floating in a martini glass."
Pulling the apron over her head, Raymond slipped it over his own and took her place. She hopped up on the counter, legs dangling lazily over the edge while she watched him dutifully stir.
"Is this canal boat a new acquisition of yours?" he asked, ladling another scoop of warm broth into the pan. "One of those locations available only to you?"
Rosalie grinned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and giving a nod. "D'you like it?"
Red reached up to thumb her chin, his smile indulgent. "I do; the mobility is a nice touch. The sitting room over there actually reminds me of my youth."
"Really?" she stole a glance for the comfortable sitting area, its small wood-fired furnace ablaze and its vintage pleated-velvet couch inviting. A black bearskin covered the wooden floor where the few large floor cushions didn't touch, and a wall of books demarcated the break between living and sleeping space.
"Melanie Reichman." Raymond continued, "First girl I ever kissed. She had a guys and gals party in her basement when I was naught but thirteen. Spin the bottle was never so thrilling."
Rosalie's eyes softened, "That's actually kinda sweet."
"We were certainly eager, albeit inexperienced."
"Everyone is at that age."
A snort snuck out of Red, "Not Melanie, apparently."
"Uh-oh…" she said, "Learned you a thing or two, did she?"
He grabbed a tasting spoon and waved it through the concoction, holding it out for his companion to sample. "I was wholeheartedly unprepared for the tricks she knew. I went home with a laundry list of new experiences and what must have been half a tube of cherry berry lip gloss on my face."
Taking the bite and tittering behind her hand, she gestured the dish needed a bit more time. "I bet you were popular with the girls after that."
Red shook his head. "My old man ripped me up one side and down the other when I got back to the house. I didn't interact with the neighborhood girls for a long time."
Rosalie stopped short with a quizzical brow, "Really?"
"Yeah."
"What was his problem?"
"I don't know." he shrugged, "Don't particularly care, if I'm being honest. That one fight was enough to turn me off to the idea for a couple years."
"Man, you were robbed. You missed the best years for kissing party games."
"Oh really?"
She nodded sagely. "Later in your teens, that's when things get interesting. Truth or Dare, Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven-"
"I suppose you got into all sorts of mischief right under your parents' noses?" said Red, another grin tugging at his lips.
"Naturally. Though, I think they had an idea what I was up to, deep down."
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft simmering of the stove. After a few minutes, Rosalie began to fidget.
"Hey." she said at last, leaning into his sphere.
Red continued working the starches in the pan. "Hmm?"
"Truth or dare?"
"What?" he laughed, glancing up to find her dark eyes dancing with mischief.
She nudged his side with her foot. "C'mon…truth or dare?"
"Hmm…truth."
"Are you worried people will believe the rumors Marcello and Madeline will undoubtedly try and circulate about us?"
The question gave Raymond pause. A part of him craved for them to be out of the shadows. The thought of others knowing she was his, that Rosalie Øllegaard was Raymond Reddington's girl, stroked an old-fashioned corner of his masculinity he didn't often seek to feel. An overwhelming sense of belonging and completion consumed him at the very idea. He was hers and she was his, and in a normal relationship, in a normal world, this would be something to cherish in the open.
The more pragmatic side of his criminal identity was the only thing that kept him from taking a cavalier perspective in this regard. It was dangerous for them to be out in the open; particularly for Rosalie. She was at far greater risk than himself, because she would forever be estimated as leverage that could be used against him.
The perpetrators of such revenge would have their work cut out for them, he thought to himself, as Rosalie was proving with each passing day to be every bit the daughter of a Corsican mob boss. Yet, even if he was confident she could handle herself, he didn't want her being put into a situation where she would need to do so.
"I think your little trick turned the narrative enough that people will believe we were romantically involved at one point and it ended poorly. I alluded as much when Pratt made her reappearance. If it doesn't work, we'll handle things as the come. Thankfully, most of the guests there were toasted, and if Marcello and Madeline get drunk enough, they both might very well forget tonight entirely."
Rosalie nodded her understanding and turned off the burner, the matter seemingly settled. A generous grating of cheese and truffle were added to the pan without another word.
"Truth or Dare?" he asked, squeezing the last of the lemon overtop and following with a healthy pinch of flaky salt. He dipped his spoon and tasted the dish once more, a soft hum escaping him at finding it perfectly balanced and delicious.
"Truth."
"Did you actually feel threatened by her?"
"…Not really."
An eyebrow lifted at this. He didn't disbelieve her per se, but the response Rosalie gave to the perceived threat the other woman presented was too marked to be mistaken. "Explain, please."
Rosalie considered the matter for a few seconds before replying. When she did, her voice had changed to something more innocuous. "Remember when we were in New York, and Earl got my property manager to bring him to the SoHo apartment?"
"Yes?" Raymond scooped a hearty serving of the risotto into a large bowl and pulled two spoons from the nearby drawer.
"You didn't like it, but you weren't terribly concerned about the matter."
"Correct?"
"Why?"
Another frown greeted this. "Because I knew him to be mostly harmless," said he, "That being said, mostly harmless isn't entirely safe. Though I knew you'd never be compelled by him, I didn't want you sleeping under the same roof if it could be helped-."
"-because Earl is a man who isn't accustomed to hearing the word 'No'. " she surmised on his behalf, smiling when the other boot dropped.
Raymond simply stared at her for a beat, completely taken aback. "Miss Pratt is likewise unaccustomed to brooking disappointment, I take it?"
Rosalie nodded. "From what I've heard, she seldom ever fails to get her way. What I suspect you are taking as a discredit to your character, I call protecting someone I care about."
The altercation replayed in Red's mind once more, completely glossing over Pratt's words in the doorway and fixating on a point of amusement. "You said protecting what's yours." he corrected with delight.
"You are someone I cherish," she shrugged, a hand reaching to cradle his cheek. "My friend, confidant, lover…I can think of you as mine, can I not?"
The question came on the end of a pout, and Raymond felt any discontent he'd managed to muster begin to wane.
"You can," he assured, doing his best not to get lost in how good it felt to hear her call him her lover again. "You must know, though, that staking your claim is wholly unnecessary."
Her eyes softened once more, as though she pitied, or, perhaps, envied his misunderstanding. "Oh, it was necessary. Most men don't intimately know what it's like to have someone look at you with the wholehearted belief that, not only can they have you at any moment, but that they're somehow entitled to you. Your time, your attention, your body…most women understand what it is to have someone look at you in any way they please, regardless of whether those ways make your skin crawl."
A white-hot flare of anger surged in Red's chest at the very thought of anyone making Rosalie feel that way. Part of him wanted names, wanted to know who, exactly, he needed to strike the fear of God into, but then his mind fell upon the point she was trying to make.
"Madeline looked at me like she could have me any time she wanted;" he realized, "And she wanted you to know that."
"A deadly mistake." said Rosalie with a nod, "Not to be conceited, but I am powerful, and far better connected within the underground than she is. I could bury her if I so choose, and it took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to do so tonight."
"You needn't." he assured, "In the end, what could she possibly do?"
Rosalie's face darkened. "Raymond, what would you do if you heard some half-cocked fugitive imply he could have his way with me? Regardless of whether he had the ability or opportunity?"
"I-"
'-would kill him,' his mind supplied, without missing a beat, 'I would shatter his bones, weld him to an anchor and send him rocketing to the bottom of the Black Sea-'
"That's beside the point."
She smiled. "It's not, and I would expect you to do whatever your conscience dictates, just as I did and will continue to do. She tested the boundaries of our involvement and found I was not to be trifled with, plain and simple."
Raymond chuckled and held his hands up in surrender. "In short, stop teasing you for putting her in her place?"
"Yes."
They moved to the fireside with their plunder, enjoying their risotto and wine over far more lighthearted conversation until the events of the party and its attendees were but a vague memory.
"Truth or Dare?" Rosalie asked some time later, giving a lithe stretch.
"Dare." he said heatedly, setting aside the remnants of their fare in favor of watching her movements.
She snapped out of the stretch at once and held out an imperious hand, "Give me your shirt. That's our rule, and you haven't been upholding your end of the bargain these past several months."
Raymond smirked and undid the buttons at his wrists. "You know, if you weren't scampering about so much, I might've been able to keep up my portion of the agreement." he pointed out, sitting up and unfastening the buttons running the length of his torso. He slipped the fabric from his shoulders and tossed it to his companion.
"Truth or dare?"
"Dare." Rosalie beamed, cuddling her prize to her chest and burying her nose in the neckline with a moan of approval. "God, you smell good…"
Red leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to her shoulder. "Let me see you put it on."
She prepared to slip her arm into one of the sleeves when he caught her wrist.
"No."
Rosalie paused, a frown of confusion marring her previously buoyant features.
"I want to watch you put it on."
She blushed and caught his meaning at last.
Standing up, she gave him her back and glanced behind her with a look of innocent expectation. "Unzip me?"
Red stood with a chuckle, giving a tug to the zipper in question and exposing the entirety of her warm back to his touch.
A calloused finger traced the length of her spine before she could turn away.
"You said watch." she chided, "No touching."
A disgruntled pout met this, and Rosalie grinned like the devil in response.
Apparently if he was going to get a strip tease, she was going to make him live to regret it.
A hand touched his shoulder, guiding him back to the plush nest of cushions and blankets they'd piled on the bearskin.
Red settled with his hands behind his head, prepared to enjoy every second of what his dare had gotten him.
Rosalie slipped one shoulder from her dress, then the other. The style had not permitted a bra, and the tops of her breasts soon peeked over the edge of the neckline, making his pulse race.
She turned as the garment lowered, exposing her back once more and giving a little shimmy to coax the fabric past her hips.
A groan issued from deep in Red's throat at watching the soft curve of her backside come into view, giving a little jiggle with the motion. His hands ached to knead the perfect expanse of creamy skin, perhaps goosing one of those plump cheeks for teasing him.
Bending over to pick up his shirt, she drew his attention to the delicate scrap of fabric that circled her full hips and dipped between her thighs, the only thing covering her center from his ravenous gaze as she moved.
Red found his head tilting without thought, willing the garment to shift just enough to give him a glimpse.
The crisp white fabric of his shirt settled into place, and Rosalie rolled the long sleeves twice to ensure she had use of her hands. She turned profile, a playful thumb caught between her teeth as she watched him eye her with that all-too-familiar hunger.
"Ahhh…" she gave a mighty stretch, the unbuttoned edges of his shirt moving just enough to give him a peek of a pert, pink nipple. "That's better. I think I'll fix myself another drink now..."
Her feet had no more than carried her across the kitchen threshold when Raymond rose in pursuit. "Get back here, you little imp."
He snatched the small old-fashioned timer from the oven, spun the dial, and sent it skidding across the countertop in one fluid motion before pouncing on her.
Rosalie squealed when strong arms caught her around the middle and spun her right into the muffled darkness of the coat closet before she could even blink.
"What are you-?"
She felt around in the dark until she located the string for the light. One tug, and they were cast in a soft amber glow.
Raymond closed a hand over hers. "We played your game, now we're going to play one of mine."
He tugged the string, sending them into darkness once more.
"Oh?" Rosalie asked, yanking the string again, eyes wide and irreproachable when the bulb burst back into life. "Like hide and seek?…We can't both hide, y'know?"
She dimpled for her joke and Red couldn't help but laugh in the face of such cheek.
"You never played seven minutes in heaven?" he countered, as though it were the most innocent question in the world, "Don't get me wrong, spin the bottle was fun when I was fourteen, but I'm a fair bit older now, and the thought of having some sweet little ingénue all to myself in a dark corner is far more titillating."
"Raymond Reddington-" she managed a blush when he undid the button holding his shirt on her frame, "Such scandalous behavior, I never would've expected it from you…" she slipped the garment so it draped off her shoulder and raised a guileless brow, "Of course I've played your little game."
"Well," he said, perfectly undeterred, "I'd venture to guess the last time you played it was with some awkward Eagle Scout who couldn't bumble past his own anatomy long enough to even consider the singular thrill that could come from making a beautiful woman shatter under his touch." the back of his finger moved to brush the tightened peak of her nipple, "Thankfully, there are two things in this scenario of which I'm absolutely certain: you're no ingénue, and I am far from some fumbling teen."
Rosalie's stomach swooped so hard she felt a little light-headed. Part of her wished to write off such assurances as arrogance, but she knew there was no lie in his words. Smug and ill-behaved Raymond might be, but clumsy and clueless he most certainly was not. Another hot flush tickled her cheeks, her mind supplying a highlight reel of their most enthusiastic couplings in a most unhelpful manner.
He knew her body's every weak point, and took great enjoyment in exploiting them. Every touch and caress that would send goosebumps prickling along her skin, every angle of approach that would set her knees aquiver, every sordid word that would make her heart skitter and fill her mind's eye with the most vivid fantasies…she could see it all in the darkening of his soft green eyes. All that he knew, and all that he suspected sat poised at the borders of his clever mind, eager to be used in bringing her undone.
"After all your teasing, I'm supposed to believe you brought me in here to do something other than kiss?"
She hoped the question sounded like the challenge it was. Her heart was already slamming inside her chest, beyond eager for him to continue his exploration.
Red smiled a devilish smile and then-
click
The lights were off once more.
"Do you know what I've been craving since you left?" he purred, taking a step closer in the dark, "What I've dreamt of constantly these past several months?"
Rosalie shivered when rough hands grasped her hips.
He slid down her body, hands never leaving her burning skin, the tip of his nose trailing the length of her torso as he lowered himself to kneel before her.
"What do you think, little dove? What wicked things can I get away with in seven long minutes?"
"Raymond…" she gulped, "Don't tease me like this."
"Who's teasing?" said he, ghosting a hand up the back of her thigh and hooking a finger through the lace he found there.
A gasp met the gentle tug, and the scrap of fabric slipped to her feet as soft as a whisper.
The low, blissful sigh he gave when he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder would've made a weaker woman swoon. Still, Rosalie found herself fighting for every breath she managed to take.
"What has you shaking, my dear?" his mouth trailed hot and wet along her inner thigh, then paused. "Perhaps you aren't ready? Have I read the room wrong?"
"N-no!"
Rosalie could barely choke out the word, whole-heartedly fixated as she was on the aching thrum building between her legs. Her hands were clutching at his head and shoulders, keeping him where he knelt.
"I thought not."
The words were utterly sinful as they whispered suddenly over the soft curls at her apex. She could feel the warmth of his breath there, and wondered if he had any idea just how desperate she was for him to touch her.
"I just-" her words stuttered when he blew a cool breeze over her burning flesh. "God, I've never in my life been more aware of how short seven minutes is…"
He chuckled, bringing a thumb to trace along her lower lips. She rejoiced at feeling its calloused surface map every tingling centimeter as though he were determined to memorize her by touch alone.
"I suppose it's a good thing I set it for twenty then, hmm?"
A high, brilliant laugh leapt from Rosalie's lips, turning quickly into a breathless moan. "You really ah-are a scoundrel, aren't you?"
A lone finger had parted her lips, drawing tickling patterns to make her squirm.
"I am," said he, "Mmm…now feel how wet you are, who knew my rapscallion behavior would get you this excited, little dove?"
Rosalie was glad the darkness hid the burning flush which singed her cheeks at his words. There was no denying her body's response to him; she could feel the evidence inching down the leg that wasn't currently slung over his shoulder.
"Raymond..."
Something in her voice must've communicated the desperation she felt. A soothing hand reached for her wrist and brought it to his lips, a smattering of kisses readily bestowed there before returning to his pastime.
"What I've craved," he continued in a graveled voice, "I'm sure you can have no doubt-."
He went back to nibbling his way up her inner thigh, pausing at its juncture and nuzzling the spot in question with the tip of his nose.
Rosalie lurched, but those same rough hands held her fast.
"God, I've missed this. The scent of you alone has me parched…I wonder if you taste as sweet as I remember?"
"Raymond...Please"
One hand wandered up to Rosalie's ribcage, curling warm and comforting around the spot where her heart was pattering like a frightened rabbit. "Breathe, little dove; I couldn't possibly deny myself now."
That assurance did little as she felt the heat of his mouth a breath away from where she needed it most, her mind willing him to close the distance between.
"Tell me something." His fingers found her entrance, parting her delicate lips and gathering a drop of slick arousal to circle over her clit. "Did that architect of yours get to see you like this?"
"You're really asking this now?" she huffed, far too invested in this particular interlude to be waylaid by discussion of her brief romance with Hayashida.
"I want to know if this-" Raymond settled further into his chosen spot, arching her hips a touch before finally searing a kiss to her peak, "-is still mine alone?"
Rosalie gasped, the sound cut in two by another low whine when his tongue snuck out to flick at that tight bundle of nerves. Part of her wanted to hesitate, to make him sweat for tormenting her in such a way, but the deep-seated fear that he would stop had her stammering the truth.
"H-he never- we never-fuck…" one of her knees shook as that dexterous muscle writhed harder against her, demanding the truth. "Only you've touched me like this."
"All mine, then…How delectable." He hitched her leg higher and took her fully into the scorching heat of his mouth. That wet, restless tongue of his fondled her clit until it throbbed, then dipped between her swollen lips to taste the fruits of his endeavors. A carnal moan rumbled in his chest and up through his throat, vibrating every place he touched.
"Still so sweet, my little dove."
Red's tongue delved deep, lapping up every drop of pleasure he could coax. The stubble on his face prickled against Rosalie's sensitive flesh with every movement of his jaw, heightening the pleasure that was beginning to consume her like an inferno.
He pulled back a moment and she whimpered at the loss.
"Shh," he crooned, replacing his tongue with two thick fingers. "Open for me."
Rosalie keened as he slowly worked his way into her body's hold, rocking and coaxing inch by exquisite inch. She had touched herself plenty during their time apart, but her own fingers paled in comparison to his; thick and strong and so fucking adept at finding those sweet spots that made her whole body tremble.
She was ludicrously wet. The slick sounds were all-consuming in the cramped room as those digits began curling in that come-hither motion which had her legs wanting to give out.
A low moan met the feel of Red's fingers fully encasing themselves, the tight slot rippling and clenching around them in response. "So tight," he groaned, as if the thought pained him, "So eager…Christ, there's already a puddle of you in my palm."
The noise he made when he ran his tongue from the heel of his hand all the way up to where his fingers were buried to the hilt inside her should not have been allowed.
Rosalie scrambled for purchase as he began pumping said fingers in tight strokes against her g-spot, his tongue dancing lazily over her clit, building her pleasure into a slow, feverish crescendo.
"Ray-" she gasped, "If you stop, I'm gonna kill you."
He chuckled, the vibration making her whimper and grind herself against his tongue.
"Don't worry my dear, I'm far too selfish for that." A hand reached up to roll one of her nipples between calloused fingers, earning a squeak of approval. "I haven't felt this little pussy come around my fingers in so long...I cannot deny it is tempting to leave you on the edge like this as penance for leaving me handcuffed in a coat closet, I'd rather feel you squeeze me tight and soak me to the wrist, knowing the next time you do so it'll be my cock making you moan my name like that."
Another whine met these scandalous words. Rosalie was increasingly more thankful he'd kept the lights off. Her skin was ablaze with a blush she was sure carried all the way to her toes, a fine sheen of sweat was blooming on her chest and brow, and god only knew what she must look like, there at the mercy of his talented hands and wicked tongue.
Finally, after what seemed like eons of keeping her perched on the edge, Raymond drew her clit into his mouth and sucked in an erratic rhythm.
Rosalie's fingers fisted themselves in his hair and she felt him shiver as though it was him poised on the brink of oblivion.
"There." she whimpered aloud, the sudden change of sensation making goosebumps erupt from her scalp to her toes.
Feeling his lover start to buck helplessly against him, Red slung his free arm over her waist, short nails digging into the softness of her curves to keep her in place as his fingers worked determinedly against that sweet spot inside her.
The pleasure she felt was all-consuming, the kind that only he had ever wrought. A shudder rippled through them, euphoria inching closer and closer with every passing second.
"I...I'm-" Rosalie's voice broke in a wail when, at last, orgasm burned its way through her. Like a meadow of poplar fluff catching fire, it crept outward from her core so deliciously slow it almost hurt.
Raymond kept his steady rhythm, sucking and licking at the quivering peak held captive in his mouth while his fingers kept tight to her g spot. The little alcove gripped frantically at him, clutching so tight in her throes he could hardly move to beckon forth those last dregs of pleasure.
Rosalie began to shake and shiver. Her hips slowed their bucking, stuttering as her orgasm crested violently and at last began to wane. Her lover was wrapped around her, holding her upright with his large frame as her body buckled, no longer able to hold itself steady. She was gasping for air, lightheaded and spent, her throat raw from moaning.
She vaguely registered Red's voice, deliciously low and husky, purring her praises as he coaxed the last pulses of relief from her quivering frame.
A high-pitched ding sounded from somewhere beyond the closet door, causing a torrent of laughter to erupt between the two fugitives within the closet.
After several long moments, Rosalie gathered herself well enough to grope around in the dark, her hand closing about the light cord at long last and giving it a tug. Raymond had lowered her foot back to earth and was presently rising to his own two feet.
Stark black pupils had eaten away the green of his eyes until only an intense sliver of jade remained to make butterflies in her belly. A fresh frisson of desire danced along the edge of Rosalie's nerves when he wiped his glistening chin with a broad thumb. She had been utterly spent up until that exact moment, but that action alone and his thoroughly rumpled curls had her wanting more of him.
"I'm not done with you yet…" she purred, reaching to pull him back into the closet when he opened the door.
Red grinned and continued to lead them out. "Later."
"Agh, you're no fun at all."
Another chortle of mirth reached her ears and she smiled dreamily floated after him as they stumbled back out into the living space and collapsed onto the sofa. Their hands wandered endlessly, smoothing and stroking and touching in all the ways they were wont to do.
"Come home with me." Rosalie whispered after some time, brushing back Red's short locks and pressing a row of doting kisses to his forehead.
He sighed happily and opened himself further to her attention, "And what would we do there, little dove?"
"I can think of a few things…"
A loud knock interrupted them before she could elaborate further.
"What?" Rosalie called, her annoyance waning a little when Raymond pulled her back to him, trailing his lips along her collar bone.
"There is a problem." a low, steady voice carried from beyond the door.
"Ugh." she growled, "Nooooo."
"We should see what's the matter." Red sighed, "Dembe wouldn't interrupt unless it was something important."
They sat up at once, righting their rumpled attire as much as could be bothered before calling for their guard to enter.
To their surprise, Dembe was not alone. Horace entered at his side, looking disgruntled and surly as usual.
"What happened?" said Red, rising from his seat and slipping his suit jacket over his undershirt.
"Mr. King has once again found himself on the wrong side of the Bolivian government."
Raymond threw his hands in the air. "God dammit this is the third time in six weeks…Who the hell keeps letting him run his mouth?"
Dembe took a seat at the kitchen counter, where Rosalie was fastidiously getting a pot of tea brewing. "Chucho tried to remind him of his own insignificance, but Mr. King had no ears for it. He's infuriated that the troop policing the pipeline on the Alto Plano can't be bribed into cooperation like the bureau of land development."
Rosalie turned to Horace, "Why are you here?"
"King reached out to us as well." he replied, "He seems to think you should be able to pull some strings and get him safely off the continent."
Raymond and Rosalie shared a look of annoyance.
"Earl's business in Bolivia is my doing," the former offered graciously, "I can get my team moving on the ground; you needn't be bothered."
"If you can get him out of custody, my people can pull him to the fold for safe keeping." she countered, "Getting him out of the country will be another matter entirely, I'm afraid."
Red nodded and took the offered burner from Dembe. "Let's get this underway, before his mouth gets him to the gallows before I can pull some strings."
An hour later Rosalie could still hear Red snarling and bellowing in the bedroom; what felt like the seventeenth call he'd made was going no better than the first sixteen. stared out of the port-side window as they approached the end of one canal and made to cross the tributary leading toward the harbor.
A large ship sat illuminated in the distance, far past the end of the tributary, overlooked by a sky-scraping crane as a plethora of colorful containers were loaded one by one onto the half-empty deck. She watched their progress for several seconds, wondering idly what the contents were, and where the freighter was headed.
When they passed into the next dark canal, the ship was out of sight, but not out of mind. Try as she might, Rosalie couldn't bring her thoughts back to King's situation, nor anything else, for that matter. Her head was a jumble of rectangles, sorting and resorting themselves, their contents bursting forth like cannons; first children's toys, then flower bulbs followed by exotic produce, foreign cars and fast motorcycles, sparkling granite and marble, records and-
Rosalie froze, a curious possibility coming at once to mind.
She leapt from her seat and darted for the rear of the boat, throwing the doors open wide. Craning her neck around the helm hood, she bellowed, "Otto! You helped with Corsica's shipping routes for a time, did you not?"
Otto gave a start, then nodded. "Before I was a made man, oui, I helped with the shipping manifests."
"How big is the average shipping container?"
"Er-Twelve metres, give or take?…Why?"
"How tall?"
"Not quite three." his eyes narrowed when Rosalie beamed at him, "What's all this about-?"
She rushed back inside without answering his question.
Raymond was still on the phone with his associates in Bolivia, pulling every string he could to get Earl out of military custody. Dembe and Horace were fast asleep at opposite ends of the sofa.
Rosalie pulled a sketch pad from the bookshelf and a charcoal pencil from a jar on the side table. Slapping them both on the kitchen island, she set about sketching a rough rectangle in crisp black lines. The shape emerged from her mind's eye, bringing out the curve of shelves near the opening, an L-shaped sofa facing a row of built-in cabinets, a small dining table separating the living space from the small kitchenette, and a wet bath tucked behind…
She scrambled for the nearest burner, and tapped out the number she wanted. Its owner answered in a handful of rings.
"Hayashida! Hey, it's me, do you have a second? I want to pick your brain on something."
Red was ready to pull his hair out by the time his team had an actionable move to make. Though he was reasonably confident they could get Earl out of military hands, the task of getting him out of the country was proving to be impossible. Nobody wanted to touch him, and half the Bolivian underground was in the military's pocket.
He moved back toward the kitchen to find Rosalie on the phone as well, hunched over a sketchbook with a burner held tight to her ear.
"What do you think about using boat hardware throughout?" she was saying, "That'd keep both the weight and cost down- yeah, those push-button drawers for the kitchenette, and edge rails on the shelves to keep things from sliding around…"
Raymond couldn't help smiling in spite of himself, his frustration melting a little at watching his lover in her element.
Rosalie lifted her head upon seeing him in her periphery, deep grey eyes alight with excitement as she waved him toward her.
"The residual materials from Sliver, what did we do with those?"
An arm slipped around Red's middle, pulling him closer. He heard a low voice murmuring on the other end of the line as their noses bumped against each other.
"Perfect. Thanks Hyashida, I owe you one."
Red raised a brow at the name, but Rosalie smoothed a comforting thumb along his cheek. "Excellent…See what you can get your hands on, Teddy and I will be in touch."
She snapped the burner shut and draped her arms around Raymond's neck, a bright smile illuminating her features. "I have a way to get Earl out of Bolivia, if you're in a bind."
"You do?" he crooned, "I'm in quite the bind, actually. I've got Earl en route to your safe house, but nobody in the underground will touch him for transport. How on earth do you plan on getting him out?"
Rosalie reached for the sketchbook, turning it so he could see the full details of what she had in mind.
He cocked his head at the two plain rectangles, confused as to what a tiny safe house could do to move Earl out of Bolivia. Rosalie had been pursuing new avenues with her network, true, but how could such a simplistic design achieve what all of Red's men could not?
"I've been exploring the bounds of my capabilities," she said, catching the doubt lingering in his features, "This boat is one of the first renditions of my new concept."
"You're looking into mobile safe houses." said Red, looking about the boat once more, then back to the sketch. "So…a semi? You want to build out an eighteen wheeler?"
Rosalie shook her head, nose crinkling with amusement, "No, though that's an intriguing idea as well…I was thinking something a little more sea-worthy."
"Sea-worthy?" he frowned at the drawing, "What, a shipping container? Rosalie, you can't be serious."
"I'm completely serious."
Raymond turned to her with a stout frown. "Little dove, I've been working intimately with the man for the better part of a year; Earl King is a complete powder puff when it comes to accommodations…You'll never get him packed in a shipping container like a sardine, no matter how well you outfit it."
"Oh, I think I will."
"How?"
She grinned slyly, "When pouring a competitor a drink, what's the best way to convince them you're not serving poison?"
"Sampling the drink-" understanding dawned on him, "You're going to test the container first?"
Rosalie nodded. "If I ship myself to Bolivia in the very container I expect him to take, there's no argument Earl can make that the arrangement is unsuitable."
Red arched a brow, then started to laugh. "Darling…Bolivia is land-locked."
"You let me worry about the logistics." he was advised, and Rosalie kissed him once before shoving her feet into a pair of tall, weather-proof boots.
"I'm afraid I'll have to cut our date a little short; I'll have to get my people moving if we're going to get Earl out of Bolivia in a timely fashion."
He watched her bound about the boat, gathering her things and pilfering another hearty scoop of the risotto in a container for herself.
"I'm keeping the shirt." she added, batting his hands away when he reached for her.
"I'm keeping the panties, a fair trade."
His retort fell on deaf ears as Otto was instructed to dock the boat at once. They'd made it all the way back around to Red's safe house, and Horace had a fresh transport waiting on the bridge.
Raymond pulled Rosalie's coat from the closet where they'd had their fun, holding it out so she could slip it on. "Be safe." he pleaded in a low voice, "Don't allow yourself to get pulled into any of Earl's shenanigans; the Bolivians aren't to be trifled with."
"Catch me soon and you might be able to partake in my shenanigans." said Rosalie, letting him zip her up.
"I'm still hot on your heels."
"I'm a fair shake harder to get your hands on, huh?" she dimpled and wormed her way back into his arms, still thoroughly amused. "Tonight was fun…perhaps we can revisit the closet soon."
Red smirked, "Greedy, are we?"
"Mmm…I was thinking a little role reversal, actually."
A haughty brow quirked at this, "Oh? What if I'm not so easy to get into a closet, little dove?"
Rosalie scoffed at her perceived easiness, "Well then, perhaps a little corruption is in order. I know where you lay your head, maybe I just show up one night and remind you of my many, many talents."
Raymond huffed, a flood of lurid memories coming to mind. "Now who's teasing?" he said, snatching an arm about her waist to keep her close. "I barely sleep as it is, now you want me all keyed up, wondering if you're lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce?"
"Hot and bothered and fixated on my various virtues?" she kissed one cheek and then the other, "Yes. That's exactly how I want you, Red Reddington."
The rare use of his nickname smoothed his ruffled feathers and had him eager for the chase once more.
"By the by…" she added, buttoning a few more of the buttons on her stolen shirt, "You're familiar with contraband, how quickly could I get a couple shipping containers to Cape Town?"
"I've got a warehouse near the port." Red replied, placing a hand to the small of her back as he followed her out of the boat and onto the quiet canal. "Have Teddy reach out to Dembe once you're in the air, and we'll get them delivered."
"You're a prince, love."
"Hot on your heels." he reminded, then kissed her once more.
They parted reluctantly at the bridge, for now content in knowing they would be working together.
Preview: The Corsair, Pt. 2
Raymond laughed and wisely changed the subject. "Still no dice on the Coursair, I take it?"
"None." she sighed, a little dejected. "My people tracked him to an apartment in Paris, but I'm not holding out hope it'll amount to anything."
"Hopeful enough for a rope." He noted, trying to cheer her up.
"I need some way to get into the apartment, and I can't very well go through the front door. The building has a fire escape on the south side that'll bring me to one of the windows."
"Wait for cover of darkness," she was advised gently, "Wear those rubber-soled boots you left in the foyer last month, not those riding ones you have in the closet."
Rosalie smiled softly to herself.
"Any other words of wisdom, my love?"
He paused, then added, "Take your time, if you manage to find him. You might find a scoundrel waiting in your bed if you negotiate long enough."
