Ulysses Exposed (Blaire Thorne Book 1) Page 9

  The body from the car. I had known him. Shane was his name, and he was dead.

  My daughter, Scout; gone, and it was likely that I would never see her again. I would never know what her first words were, when she had taken her first steps or how she lost her first tooth. I would never know how her first day of school went, or whether anyone was picking on her or if she was doing well?

  I would never know who she was.

  My shoulders slumped. I threw the last of the tissues in the bin and joined Sebastian on the sofa again.

  I felt numb. I felt cold. I felt empty.

  I deserved having been attacked.

  I deserved to have no memory. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.

  I deserved to have forgotten about the family I had hurt badly enough that my daughter was almost kidnapped, and that my boyfriend had left me, taking our child. For good.

  I deserved all of it.

  The office was painfully quiet.

  I heard Sebastian breathe beside me and Kit’s wheezing chest. Léon took in air, even though he was a vampire and didn’t need to breathe. I frowned. How could I hear these things? It wasn’t something that I wanted to understand now. I would deal with it later.

  I scowled at Léon. Were they telling me the truth about Ralph; about my daughter; about me being an assassin? They could be right about Ralph, and wrong about everything else. Ralph did say that I shouldn’t trust them. My neck stiffened, and my chest tightened.

  Léon broke the silence, and his voice rang loud in my ears. “Now that we know who and what you are, Blaire, perhaps it’s possible that someone tried to kill you before you were hired to kill them.” He watched me with careful eyes. “Kit told me all this before he arrived, and I tried to get hold of this Marcus and Ralph so that they could come here. But the Ulysses offices are deserted, and the numbers do not work. It seems they have left you, Blaire.” He spat out my name like poison on his tongue.

  “Why are you so pissed, Léon? You are not the one who just heard about your whole life for the first time and discovered you are a piece of crap.” I sounded angry. Good. I would rather be angry than sad.

  To Kit, I said, “Do I have an apartment? I may have overstayed my welcome.” I stood. “And can you give me a ride?”

  Kit glanced from me to his master, and stuttered, “Yes,” and waited for Léon to reply.

  “Do as she asks, Kit,” Léon said, before turning to me. “It’s not you I’m angry at, Blaire. It’s the situation we all find ourselves in. You are an assassin—you kill monsters like me, monsters like Sebastian—and you are in my home. You know of my businesses, and you have seen the inside of these walls.” His voice grew louder with each sentence until he was practically yelling, and he threw his arms up in the air when he said, ‘walls’.

  I blinked at him and thought about what he said. I agreed. I couldn’t be trusted. But was I really the same person described in Kit’s notebook; an assassin?

  “I don’t know what to say, Léon. I don’t know what happened three nights ago. I don’t know what I was working on. If my partner, Ralph, and I always worked together—then why wasn’t he with me? Why wasn’t he my back-up? Why was I cut up and left to die?”

  My throat tightened, and tears welled in my eyes.

  “Why was there a man’s torso left in my car? I don’t have the answers to any of these questions—all I have is more questions. I don’t even know how to get out of your fucking home!”

  I walked to the door and opened it. “Kit, please can you take me to my fucking apartment, now?”

  “Sure.” Kit fumbled in his jacket pockets, returned his notebook and fished out his car keys.

  Léon’s voice was deadpan. “Sebastian, go with them.”

  “No.” I raised my hand to stop Sebastian from coming any closer. “You have done more than enough for me. If I am as dangerous as Kit describes, I will not endanger any more lives. Thank you for everything, Léon. Thank you for saving me, but it’s best if I go now.”

  I followed Kit out of the giant maze of a warehouse, and we exited via a way that I could not have predicted. I was impressed with how these walls kept changing, but they were fucking confusing.

  Kit’s car was an old nineties BMW that was well looked after and still had that new car smell, which I assumed originated from the little glass bottle hanging from the rear-view mirror. Kit started the engine.

  “I know it feels as though a ton of bricks has just been dropped on you, but give the vampire a break. You are an assassin, and he helped you without knowing that. The news caught him off guard.”

  “Thanks, Kit, but I don’t feel like talking right now. Just get me home. Please.”

  CHAPTER 10

  MY HOME WASN’T an apartment, but a large house in an upmarket suburb; how very Stepford of me. Kit was a gentleman and walked me to the front door.

  “Do you have keys?” I asked him.

  “No,” he replied. “Let’s see if you kept a spare somewhere on the porch.”

  We searched under the mat, above the door frame and under all the pot plants that littered the porch, but there was nothing. I stared at the garden, which appeared as though it had once been kept neat but looked in desperate need of being watered. There was a collection of dirty little pebbles around one of the plants, and one of the pebbles looked suspiciously clean. I picked it up, finding it to be lighter than a pebble should be, and shook it. Something loosened inside. I turned it around, finding a plastic lid which I pulled open. A key fell out. I placed the plastic pebble back in its place and opened the front door.

  The door opened into a living room with a floating island separating the living area from the kitchen. There was an eight-seater dining room table in the middle of the room with a couch near the window and no television. Down the hallway to the right were two spare bedrooms, a guest bathroom, and the main bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. It was homey in a suburban-wifey kind of way. I opened all the cupboards in all the rooms, including the kitchen and bathroom, and it looked like a typical family house.

  I turned to Kit as he followed me around. “If I am such a badass assassin, where are my guns? A desk full of contracts? My kit?”

  He shrugged.

  “I thought you investigated me?”

  “I did.” He stepped away from me.

  “But there is nothing here, Kit. No pictures or personal effects. Nothing here that tells me I even live here.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging again.

  “Then leave, Kit. If you can’t help me, I’d rather you leave.”

  “Here is my card.” He handed me a grey card marked ‘Kit Investigations’ on which he had scribbled his number.

  “Thanks.” I took his card and slipped it in my pocket. As I did so, I felt the other card; the one that Ralph had given me. Maybe I could phone Ralph and ask him what was going on.

  “Call me anytime, about anything—Léon will pay the bill.”

  “Why would I need your help and have Léon pay?”

  “Just saying.”

  “Thanks, Kit. Now go.”

  When Kit left, I locked the front door. I also checked the back door and found that it was bolted. I rummaged through the kitchen drawers, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to be found. When I opened the fridge, the air wafting out took my breath away. I used one hand to keep the door open and the other to cover my nose and mouth. The only items on the shelves were a Chinese takeout box, some black bananas and something wrapped in tinfoil. I brought the dustbin closer and began to dispose of the spoiled food. The bananas went first. Next, I opened the lid of the tinfoil wrapping to find it contained green lasagne, which immediately joined the bananas. The Chinese takeout was unusually light for food, however, I shook it and something rattled inside. I looked the box over and saw ‘Mr Ming’s’ logo printed on one side.

  Mr Ming’s. That was the restaurant near the alley where I was attacked.

  Inside the box was a roll of film, the t
ype that needed to be handed in to be developed at a 24-hr photo shop. The fact that I had stored it in the fridge suggested that I had gone to some lengths to hide it, and I intended to see what was on it as soon as I was able.

  I set the film on the floating island and looked inside the freezer. There was a bag of peas, a box of fries and an ice tray. I searching the lounge, in between the cushions and in the drawers, but there was nothing untoward. The spare bedrooms and guest bathroom were just that.

  Next, I opened all the cupboards in the main bedroom, but they contained only clothing, empty travel bags and shoes. In the en-suite bathroom, there were only toiletries.

  Nothing in the entire house jumped out shouting that I was an assassin. Nothing.

  I sat on the bed and fell backward with my arms spread wide. The pain behind my eyes throbbed. The bedside clock read eleven in the evening. I stuck my hand between the mattress and base of the bed. On the right side, there was nothing, but on the left-hand side, there was an envelope which had an initial and a surname written on it; ‘F.C. Armateurs’.

  Shit. It didn’t ring any bells. It was just another question to the string of answers that I didn’t have.

  I fished the two cards out of my pocket and searched for a phone. There was one in the kitchen between the wall and the fridge; it was a very odd place to keep the phone. I picked up the receiver and dialed Ralph’s number.

  I got an answering machine and left a message. “Ralph, they say my name is Blaire. I am at a house they say belongs to me. If you are who you say you are, can you come over? I need answers.” I hung up and set the cards and envelope on the floating island next to the roll of film.

  I glanced around the kitchen, then I went to the back door and unlocked it. Out back, there was a small backyard with grass that needed cutting and a few overgrown shrubs. To the left was a tool shed. I nudged the door open, and inside there were only gardening tools.

  The house, garden, and tool shed did not seem like a place an assassin would call home. It seemed too normal for an assassin.

  There had to be another place; one an investigator, vampire or were-animal could not easily discover.

  Back inside the kitchen, I locked the back door and heard floor boards creaking behind me. I spun around, and a man stood just outside the kitchen with the front door standing wide open behind him.

  I froze. I didn’t recognize him. His brown hair was neatly cut, and his eyes were small and blue. He had a large but flattish nose, a full bottom lip with a thinner top lip and his posture told me that he was a fighter. He lifted both hands in the air to show me that he was unarmed. The gesture reminded me of Sebastian and the first time I met him.

  The man stepped forward. “Glad to have you back, Blaire.”

  “Stop,” I lifted my right hand with my palm facing him, and he stopped. “Who are you and how did you get in? The door was locked.”

  “When Ralph told me that you didn’t recognize him, I couldn’t believe it. They really did a number on you, didn’t they, Blaire? I’m Marcus. I’m a friendly. Remember?” His eyes searched mine. “Ulysses keeps a set of keys to this place, remember?” He held up his right hand to show me the set looped around one of his fingers.

  I frowned at him.

  He seemed to be a similar height to me, which was short for a man. As I walked further into the kitchen, someone else walked through the front door. It looked like Ralph, from what I could remember of him from the club, except that now his hair was neatly combed back with only a few loose strands in his face. He had shaved his beard except for a well-trimmed mustache, and he wore a white shirt and navy formal trousers without a jacket. He smiled when he saw me and stood beside Marcus. He was a master of disguises; at the club, he had looked rugged and someone that you wanted to dodge, but now he looked handsome, with a dimple in his chin to complement his face.

  “I’m glad you called, Blaire. You are safe with us.”

  Ralph reached out as though to stroke my arm, and I flinched, immediately stepping away from him. The hurt in his eyes was evident, and I felt that I somehow owed it to him to explain.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you—I’m having a hard time believing anyone at the moment. Until my memory comes back, I’m keeping everyone at arm's length.”

  There was a strong draught and the front door slammed against the wall. Ralph closed it and approached me again. This time, I let him.

  “We know, Blaire, and we will help you. We will tell you everything—but not here.”

  “Shh!” Marcus lifted his hand and brought one finger to his mouth. He tapped Ralph on the shoulder and motioned for him to go to a bedroom. Before they hid, he whispered to me, “Sebastian is coming. Do not let him know that we are here with you.”

  Just great! I was more confused. Apparently, Marcus and Ralph were my friends and coworkers and I should trust them. I guess they knew me better than anyone. But how did Marcus know that Sebastian was here? And, what was Sebastian doing here? As I thought about it, there was a knock on the door.

  I opened the door, and Sebastian stood on the porch with a bag in his hand, which he lifted to give to me.

  “What do you want?” I asked him.

  “I brought you the clothes Léon bought for you. I thought you could use them.” I must have been looking at him with suspicion, for he said, “I don’t mean any harm. I just came to give you the bag.”

  “Why bother? It’s only clothes.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

  He fidgeted with the strap and stepped inside. I didn’t try to stop him, which was a surprise even to me.

  “Why did you really come, Sebastian? I have my own clothes.” I gave him a deadpan expression.

  He dropped the bag next to my feet, and as I glanced down at it, he moved. He was so quick that I didn’t comprehend what he was doing until Sebastian cupped my face with his hands and kissed me. His lips were soft and warm against mine. My lips parted, and he explored the inside of my mouth, hard, like he could kiss right through and come out the other side. I uncrossed my arms and wrapped them around his waist. Things tightened down below, and I wanted to touch more skin; my hands moved under his shirt and felt his muscles move beneath my fingers. He was hot to the touch. He pulled me closer; my body touched the line of his body, and I could feel that he was happy to be there. His hands moved down my back, trailing lower to cup my ass, and a moan formed in my mouth.

  He stopped kissing, and we stopped touching.

  I stared at him breathlessly, my mouth parted, wanting to touch more of him. All of him.

  He smiled like a naughty schoolboy, which made me smile, too.

  “Oh,” I said and touched my lips, wet from his kiss. I licked my lips. “As much as I enjoyed that and want more, I can’t. Not now. I need to sort a few things out first.” I said and stepped closer to him until our bodies touched again. My hands went to his chest and then around his waist, one side of my face against his chest as I hugged him. The tension in my shoulders dissolved, and a sigh escaped my lips. I felt calm in the circle of his arms. I pressed my ear over his heart and listened to its rapid beating. His grip tightened around me, and he kissed the top of my head.

  “I know.” He pulled away and kissed me chastely on the lips. “We are here for you if you need our help. Any time. Ask any taxi driver to bring you to the club; they’ll know the way. You are always welcome … Blaire.” His smile reached his eyes.

  It felt strange hearing Sebastian use my name, especially as we had spent the past few days absolutely oblivious to it, but there was something in the mischievous way in which he had said it that made me like it all the more.

  We kissed again, and he left.

  CHAPTER 11

  I WATCHED SEBASTIAN climb into a dark-colored car and drive away. I shivered, and something ached in the pit of my stomach.

  “God, woman! What’s with you and this man?” Marcus said as he came around the corner, laughing.

  I ignored his comment; I could explai
n to him how I had survived, but it was none of his business. I picked up the bag of clothing and threw it onto the sofa. Marcus headed into the kitchen and stood beside the fridge. Ralph stood next to me as Marcus pulled something behind the fridge and stepped out of the way. The fridge moved forward on some kind of system—I had no idea how, or at least not one I could remember—to reveal a small opening in the floor. Marcus stepped down into the opening and disappeared, then a light illuminated the space below.

  “What is that?”

  “One of our home-bases.” Ralph followed Marcus down the opening.

  I wrapped my arms around my body and hunched forward, peering through the opening. There were stairs going down into a secret basement.

  “Come, precious; we don’t have all night,” Marcus yelled.

  I rolled my eyes and descended the stairs. At the bottom, I felt my mouth slacken. The room was large. There were four single beds to the left, each covered with a blue sheet and a matching blanket. There was an armory cage against the far wall and two black leather sofas. In between the sofas, there was a pool table with colorful balls precisely positioned ready for a game to start. To my right, also against the wall, was a fridge, a table with little containers and a freezer next to that.

  Marcus leaned against the wall near the stairs and pressed a button. There were sounds above me; I looked up and watched how the fridge started moving back in place and the door slid closed. We were safely hidden away. I walked around the cement column and in the far lefthand side, near the four beds, was a toilet and shower with a wall up to my shoulders enclosing it.

  “Fuck me,” I said, as I walked around the room and stopped in front of the armory cage. Locked inside, there was every kind of weapon; machine guns, shotguns, handguns, knives—all shapes and sizes—and enough bullets to supply an army. “I knew upstairs looked too plain and boring for an assassin, but this—this is fucking crazy. Do we all share this place?”

  “Glad to hear you still cuss like a sailor, Blaire,” Marcus said. “And no, we don’t. Below each of our houses is a room like this one. It’s for those situations where one of us has been compromised; we can still go to any of the other basements.”