FOUR
Ellie woke up early, her mind too restless to sleep soundly. Xander was sleeping, an arm draped over his face, on top of the sheets. She tried not to look. She really did. But in the end, curiosity... and maybe a little of the leftover sexual frustration, won out.
He was ridiculously good-looking. He was built like a lumberjack, all thick muscles under taut skin. Silently, she tip-toed closer, trying to get a better look. There was an angry red scar leading from his hipbone and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. She wondered, a little bit embarrassed at herself, how far it went down. She knew his line of work must have been dangerous and a part of her wanted to know how he had gotten it. Chasing down some scumbag? Or was it from a personal fight? Over a woman? Over money?
Then she noticed a scar higher up, above his collarbone and snaking halfway around his throat. Pink still, like it wasn't as new as the one down his side, but wasn't old either.
What led a man into a job like his? Was it passed down to him from his father? Did he just happen upon it? Had it been an actual choice he had made? She knew from the other private investigators that she had made appointments with that Xander Rhodes wasn't what you would consider 'by the book'. He operated just under the radar of the law, taking more liberties than he could if the license people ever found out. Noses could be broken, asses kicked, less than legal spying and digging around in someone's personal lives carried out.
Had he just been a brute as a teen? Blackmailing people for money? And then a career grew from it?
Xander shifted in his sleep and she jumped, moving away from him and back to the couch. She carefully folded the blanket and put the pillow on top of it, placing them on the top of the back cushions. She moved into the kitchen, quietly putting coffee on and searching for something to make for breakfast. In the fridge, she found eggs, an assortment of yogurt, butter, milk, and six pack of beer. She grabbed the eggs and butter and the loaf of half-stale bread off the counter, moving around as soundlessly as possible.
"Are you cooking?" Xander asked from right behind her shoulder, making her yelp and drop an egg onto the counter, she turned quickly, instinctively, one hand curled into a fist at her side, the other on her rapidly beating heart. "Didn't mean to scare you," he said, reaching for paper towels and wiping up the egg mess on the counter.
"Sorry," she said, trying to help him, but he brushed her away. "I didn't mean to wake you up."
"I wasn't sleeping," he said, throwing the paper towel into the garbage and reaching for the coffee pot, smirking devilishly. "Did you like what you saw?" he asked, watching her face twist into a mask of mortification. He smiled wider, almost as if enjoying her embarrassment. "Relax. I got to see you half naked last night. You got to see me half naked this morning. We're even."
"I wasn't half naked," she objected, turning and flipping a piece of French toast in the pan.
"Alright," he said, pouring coffee into two cups, "a third naked. We're not square then. Care to even it up?" he asked, his tone amused, teasing.
"Ha ha," she said, deadpan, shaking her head.
She seemed different in the morning, more calm. Collected. Efficient. She had pulled her long hair into one of the bands she kept wrapped around her wrists, making her profile seem younger. He looked down at her cracking eggs into the bowl, seeing the wrist left naked and saw for the first time scars. They were white, long healed. Some were almost superficial looking, small scratches. But there was one thick, bracelet-sized band that wrapped around her wrist in a complete circle, slightly thicker at one small spot. What the hell was that from? He looked up to her face, not quite believing that she was the type who might have cut in the past. And, from what he knew about it, no one actually cut a complete circle. It was always lines. Across the wrist. Or up the arm if they were serious about finality. But how else could she have come by them?
"I hope you like your eggs scrambled," she said, feeling his gaze on her, shifting uncomfortably under it. "I always burn them when I try to make them over easy."
"Any way," he said, turning away from her. "I'm not picky." He rarely ever had breakfast. It was usually just half a pot of coffee and he was on his way. His stomach grumbled as if objecting to the pattern. He looked back at her. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, feeling a little uncomfortable in the silence.
She waved a spatula out to the side. "It was hard to find a comfortable position with my ribs," she admitted, shrugging a dainty shoulder, "but well enough. Thanks for letting me stay here," she said, glancing at him over her shoulder.
"Don't mention it," he said, moving the papers off of the card table.
"So... why couldn't you sleep?" she asked, pouring the eggs into a greased pan.
"I don't sleep," he grumbled, noticing his voice sounded surly and coughed. "I had a case a few weeks ago that didn't go well. Haven't been able to sleep well since," he admitted, surprising himself. But, God, it felt so good to say it.
Ellie stopped midway through soaking a piece of bread in egg and glanced at him, her blue eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. What was the case?" she asked, a part of her sensing he needed to talk about it. Maybe because she had that same need. But she had no one to talk to. No one she was willing to put in danger like that.
Xander hung his head. "A stalker case," he said, noticing she jerked slightly and turned toward him, expecting an explanation. He took a deep breath. "It was the girlfriend to a big venture capitalist. Someone at her work was stalking her. But she waited a long time before contacting me. I got nowhere with it and then she was kidnapped and held and tortured..."
"Wait," Ellie broke in, quickly stirring the eggs and turning back around, "that was in the papers," she said, her brows drawing together, trying to remember the article. "EM Corporation. The CEO... Elliott something-or-other..."
"Michaels," Xander supplied, knowing she was from out of town and didn't know him. Not like everyone else in the city knew him. He was constantly snatching up businesses and growing them, then selling them off. He heard that his newest project was two brand new apartment buildings, one upscale and one in one of the bad neighborhoods. Low income for single parents. There was some speculation that it was a project with some personal meaning.
He was a real son-of-a-bitch in a lot of ways, but the man loved his girlfriend.
"Right," Ellie nodded, "and the girl was his assistant..."
"Hannah," Xander finished, feeling a bit of a pang at the mention of her name, the memory of her in the hospital bed flashing into his mind. Arms and head bandaged, the unmistakable bruises on her throat from being strangled nearly to death.
"Yeah. Hannah. That was a huge story." She looked over at Xander, feeling suddenly sorry she even brought it up. He looked absolutely devastated. "I heard she is doing great now, though," she said, her tone a bit too sweet sounding even to her own ears. Xander made a non-committal grumbling sound in his throat. "Well..." she started awkwardly, "breakfast should be ready in like five minutes. I'm afraid you don't have any syrup though."
Xander got up quickly, almost knocking over his chair in the process. "I'll go get some," he said, grabbing a shirt and moving toward the door.
When he got back a few minutes later, seeming calmer, they ate breakfast in silence, Xander dutifully reading one newspaper, and handing her the adverts to look through. She shook her head at his presumptuousness, thinking all women always had shopping on the brain, but took the glossy pages and flipped through them just to have something to do.
He got up quickly, his plate clear, his notepad half-filled with notes from reading the paper. He brought his plate over to the sink, running water on it for a second, then squirting soap on it and leaving it to soak. "Alright," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I have a lot of work I need to get done today," he went on, choosing not to tell her that clawing through her personal belongings at her apartment was one of them, "so I need to get going. You want to follow me out and lock the door behind me?"
"Yeah," Ellie said over a mouthful of food. She was always such a slow eater. She watched him walk into the main room and got up to follow behind. When she walked in, he was stuffing the gun into the waistband of his jeans again. "Here," he said, grabbing cash out of the drawer. "I'll leave this if you want to run to the bodega around the corner..."
"I'm not going anywhere," she squeaked, too quickly.
He looked up at her, almost smiling. "Alright. Well, I will leave it anyway. If you want to order food or anything," he said, grabbing an expensive-looking camera out of the bottom drawer. "Just hang low," he said, watching her shift from foot to foot. "No one. And I mean no one will bother you in here," he said with such authority that she felt like she could believe him. "I don't know when I'll be back. I need to catch some dude boinking his mistress," he added, shrugging like it was the most normal job to have.
"Boinking?" she asked, almost laughing. "Did you just say boinking?"
"Yeah," he smiled, rubbing his chin. "Would you prefer fucking?" he asked and watched her cheeks redden slightly.
"Boinking is fine," she said, moving toward the front door, pulling the shade aside and looking out.
"No one is out there," he assured her, reaching for the lock. "I'll see you later," he said, feeling a strange sort of warmth in his chest. It would be nice to actually come back home to someone for a change. "Lock up," he demanded, going out the door quickly.
Once outside, he took a deep breath, shaking his head at his own thoughts. He liked living alone. It made his lifestyle easier. No one would want to put up with his erratic hours, his coming home covered in his own, or someone else's, blood.
"What's wrong, Rhodes? a voice called from out front the bail bonds office next door, "you knock someone up or something?"
Xander snorted, looking over to find Gabriel, a ridiculously blond-pretty-boy type who was actually the most lethal opponent in a fight he had ever come across. He remembered coming to the neighborhood for the first time as a teenager, happening across Gabriel who, a few years his junior, but with a lot more maturity, had no tolerance for Xander's headstrong teenage antics. They had lunged at each other, throwing fists for the better part of a half an hour until they both laughed, rolling away from each other and declaring a truce. They became neighbors a few years later, sharing the occasional beer and, once in a while, teaming up to catch a particularly bad bail jumper.
Xander shook his head. "Fuck off, Gabe," he said, smiling.
"Alright I take it back. With that attitude, there's no way you've been getting laid," he laughed.
"I got a new case," he said.
"What kind of case?" Gabriel asked, sounding interested and more than a little concerned. Xander wasn't the kind of man to worry about a case.
"Another stalker case," he said, walking past his friend and down the street to catch the subway.
Her apartment building was in a slightly better neighborhood than his own, but not by much. He waited outside the front door for someone to leave and sneaked inside. She was situated on the fourth floor, tucked in the corner by the stairwell. He reached into his back pocket for his lock pick. Then he went to grab the knob and it turned in his hand. She had told him she had locked the door behind her when she came in. He drew his eyebrows together, pushing the door in.
Inside, all was quiet. He looked on the table beside the door, finding her purse, keys, and her tip money from the night before. He moved in toward the kitchen, the delicate floral teacup splintered across the floor, the tea dry. He moved in toward the bedroom, nothing looking particularly out of place. The window was thrown open and he leaned his head out on the fire escape and found the shoe she had been missing the night before. He grabbed it and threw it on the floor in the bedroom, slamming and locking the window.
Her house was... unusual. Bare. Everything was almost empty as if no one lived there. Like it was a furnished rental. Her bed was made neatly, no knick knacks or pictures were on display anywhere. He moved toward the closet, opening it and finding her clothes hung, her shoes neatly lined up on the floor.
Xander squinted, reaching in. There were only four shirts, two t-shirts and two sweaters, and then five pairs of black leggings. At the bottom was a pair of sneakers and a pair of heels. So all in all, she owned three pairs of shoes? And only enough clothes to get through a few days? He grabbed the shirts, leggings, and the pair of sneakers, bringing them over to the bed and piling them there. She was going to need a change of clothes.
He went to the dresser, pulling open the first drawer and finding five pairs of socks, two bras, and six pairs of fancy panties. He grabbed them, trying not to think about them on her, and threw them on the pile with the rest of her clothes. The second drawer had only one tube of lotion, which he grabbed. The bottom drawer had three books settled neatly in a line, taking up the whole drawer. They were displayed like something precious. He looked over the titles: Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Tess of the d'Urbervilles. All of them had covers that curved inward with broken spines from being read and reread. He flipped one of the books open, Tess of the d'Urbervilles, and saw neat, sprawling, feminine handwriting on the inside of the cover:
"Why didn't you tell me there was danger in men-folk? Why didn't you warn me?"
Xander closed the book, looking at it like it was a great puzzle. Had she written that when she was young? Was it a new inscription? He flipped the book over, figuring it was a quote from it. Did it have some kind of personal meaning to her? Or was it something a teacher had made them think over?
He shrugged, grabbing the novels and putting them in the clothes pile. So far they were the only things he had found that seemed to have any kind of sentimental value. And sitting around in his apartment was going to drive her up a wall. At least she could have her books to read.
There were no moving boxes anywhere, he realized with a start that had him stopping on his way back into the living room. She said she had moved in recently. Four months ago. And yet there were no boxes. And hardly any possessions at all. He made a mental note to ask her about that when he got back.
The fridge had a few items: apples, a few bottles of pre-made organic smoothies, and milk. He pulled the smoothies and apples out, putting them on the counter to pack up and take with him, and poured the milk down the drain. There were no pots or pans in her cabinets and only one plate and one bowl. He looked down at the cup on the floor and realized there was only one of those as well. Was she just economical? Or that broke?
Above the stove was the only stocked cabinet. Four boxes of tea were there and he took them and put those next to the refrigerator contents.
He moved casually about the room, noticing the worn carpets, the utter lack of any kind of mail whatsoever. There weren't even store adverts or coupons. He tried to shrug it off. Maybe she hadn't had her mail forwarded yet. Maybe the utilities were included in the rent. There were plenty of explanations. It just seemed odd to him that so many things required explanation.
He rummaged around in the bathroom, finding a plastic container at the bottom of the closet full of toilet paper rolls. He dumped them onto the floor, taking the empty box and grabbing a toothbrush and the bottles of shampoo and conditioner out of her shower.
He packed all the various items into the plastic container, realizing it was almost everything she owned and finding that thought incredibly sad. He grabbed her purse and tip money, stashing it underneath her clothes, and looking back at the empty apartment. There was nothing there. Nothing suggesting someone had broken in. No hidden cameras. Nothing to go on.
Xander walked into the hallway, careful to lock the door behind him. When he turned, a woman peeked her head out into the hallway.
"You looking for her?" she asked, sounding suspicious.
"No," Xander said, turning, "she's staying with me."
The door closed, the lock slid, and the woman stepped into the hallway. She was crossing into middle age, her face having lost some of its youthful plumpness to the cheeks and lips. But she was pretty. Her face was all sharp angles, her eyes a bright green. She had her hair long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, making her face all the more striking.
"She's in trouble," the woman half-declared, half-asked.
"Do you know something, sweetheart?" Xander asked, trying his best to seem less gruff and intimidating.
The woman's brows rose at his endearment, clearly annoyed by it but letting it pass. "Last night... there was a struggle. I heard things breaking, the sounds of falling, yelling."
"You didn't call the police?"
The woman shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable. "I know I should have. But anytime there was a cop around, for some reason, she always ducked her head. Always rushed past. She tried not to be noticed. I didn't think she would have wanted me to."
Was she in some kind of trouble with the law? Xander felt his brows draw together, thinking of the tiny slip of a girl back at his apartment. She didn't seem the type. But if his job had taught him anything over the years, it was that there really was no 'type'. Good ole' boys cheated on their wives as much as the scum did; upstanding lawyers and judges and doctors dabbled in cocaine; there was no telling what someone might have been into just by looking at them.
"I called the super," the woman said, shrugging. "He lives downstairs and he said he would be right up and check things out. But then there was silence. And when he let himself in, there was no one there."
"Has anyone been here since?"
"This morning," she said, nodding. "I work from home so I hear everything," she explained.
"So this guy..." Xander started.
"Guys," she interrupted.
"There was more than one?"
"There were three," she said, looking over at the door like she expected them to come charging out.
"What did they look like?" Xander asked, putting down the box and reaching for a pocket notebook.
"Well, the main one... the other two kind of trailed behind him like he was in charge. He was tall and thin. Brown hair, slightly long and pushed back on top. Light eyes. He was too far to tell what color they were. But he seemed... severe. I don't know. He had a mean-looking face. And he had red scratches down one side of his face. One of the other two looked a lot like him but was wider... not fat. Bulky. The other one was younger, blondish hair."
"Okay," Xander said, writing. "Remember anything else?"
The woman leaned against the wall, looking over at Ellie's door, squinting at her memory. "They weren't dressed like... thugs. The older two all looked really groomed. Slacks and blazers. Dress shirts. Loafers. The mean one had a really expensive-looking watch on. The younger one was dressed like your typical twenty-something guy."
"Did anyone use any names?"
"No. No one said anything. They went up to the door and one of the men, the short one, pulled something out of his pocket like what you had earlier..."
Xander looked up at her, smirking. "A lock pick," he supplied.
"Right... a lock pick. And he opened the door and they all went in. They weren't in there for long. I don't know... maybe they were looking for her. They left a few minutes later."
"Have you ever seen them here before?"
The woman stopped a minute, thinking. "No. Not up here. But one day I left to run to get some groceries and... I'm not sure... but I think I saw him outside the building. Leaning against it. He was smoking and kind-of discreetly watching everyone who walked into the building. If that is helpful."
"Very," Xander said, still writing. "Can you tell me about Ellie?" he asked.
The woman's face shot up to his, curious. "Aren't you her boyfriend?"
Xander looked up, chuckling slightly. "No. I'm her private investigator. I'm just trying to get a clear picture of the events. And who I am working for."
She tilted her head at him for a second, as if weighing whether or not he was telling the truth. She shrugged, deciding if anyone looked like a private investigator, it was him. "She moved in a few months ago."
"Out of curiosity... was hers a furnished unit?"
"Yes," she said, nodding, "but only because the last tenant died and no one came to claim all the stuff."
"Ok. Go on."
"It was weird. She never brought in any boxes. She walked up with the super on that first day with a big rolling suitcase and a plastic container. That was it." She paused and he waved a hand at her to keep going. "She was quiet. Never any sound in that apartment but her moving around. No T.V. No music. Nothing. She never ordered take out or had any company. Most days she went to work in the morning and didn't come back until after midnight," she paused, smiling a little oddly, "in that awful mustard and black shirt."
Xander snorted, thinking about the shirt hanging in his apartment. "So, she just... seemed like a normal person trying to scrape by?"
"Well... that's the thing. The rent here is dirt cheap. And she had to be making good money in tips working twelve hour days. But she never bought anything new. She always wore the same clothes. The only new things she brought into the apartment were groceries."
Xander shrugged. Not all servers made good tips. Maybe she was terrible at her job. "Anything else?"
"I dunno. She always seemed... jumpy. Any time a door opened or closed, she turned and watched, her eyes huge and worried, slipping her fingers into this thing on her key chain... it was like a weapon I think..."
Xander bent down and dug through the box, looking for her keys. He hadn't seen any weapons when he grabbed them before. He pulled them up, looking at the two adornments next to her four keys.
"That's the one," the woman said, pointing to the bright pink shape.
It was a thin piece of metal in the shape of a cat. There were two holes where the eyes went and two pointed ears. Xander slid his fingers into the eye holes and closed his fist. Sure enough, it was a weapon. The ears could be used to stab at an assailant. Smart move.
"I need to get one of those," the woman said, watching him. "Oh, and sometimes she was holding something in her hand. A small bottle. I don't know what it was. Maybe mace. Can't blame her. This is a rough neighborhood."
Xander grunted. It certainly wasn't a place he would want a woman in his life to live alone.
"I dunno. I know this is presumptuous of me," she started, looking down at her feet, "but I get the feeling she was maybe abused by someone once. Maybe a boyfriend or something. She was always just so... aware of everything around her and nervous. I don't know if any of this is helpful."
"More helpful than you would think," Xander said, slipping the notebook into his back pocket. "Thank you for filling me in." God, there was no one in the world more full of information than a nosy neighbor.
She smiled tightly at him, moving back toward her door. "I hope it helps her. She seems like a sweet girl."
Xander nodded, reaching in his wallet for a card. "Here. If anyone comes back here, call me immediately. Okay?"
She took the card, nodding and closed the door. Xander sighed, grabbing the box and taking the stairs two at a time. He had a lot of thinking to do on his stakeout later.