Three and a Half Weeks (41 page)

Now he lay in bed, wanting Ella in his arms desperately, needing her in his arms desperately… and knowing he’d just condemned three people to death. Condemned? Hell, he took out a hit on them. True, they left him with little choice but he still would have to live with the burden of guilt for the rest of his days. He fervently wished for another way out… but there was none he could see, none at all.

Sitting up in bed, he checked the small alarm clock next to the bed: one a.m. That meant it was only ten in Portland. He could call, hear Ella’s voice; he was supposed to have called her back anyway. Pulling out his phone he hit the speed dial: she answered on the first ring.

“Ian! I’ve been waiting all day to hear from you. Is everything okay?”

“No. I miss you something terrible, Ella.”

There was a protracted moment of delay between his remark and her reply: his words had taken her by surprise. “Oh, God, I miss you too, Ian. When are you coming home?”

“I’m hoping I can leave tomorrow but I’m not one hundred percent certain. Listen, Ella, I texted Mason earlier and asked him to ensure you understood what we are up against right now. Please, I’m begging you, stay inside and next to Mason until I get back. I am taking care of the problem but until it’s resolved, I need to know you’re safe. Are we clear on this point?”

“Yes, Ian, very clear. I promise I’ll do as you ask… but please come home as soon as you can, please.”

“I will, baby, promise. Right now I’d give up my whole bank account to be in the same bed as you, Ella: I miss you and I love you and I can’t wait to marry you. When I get home, we’ll start planning our wedding. Okay, baby?”

“Yes.”

“Next month is Daniel and Olivia’s wedding and we’ll be coming to New York to attend. That should be fun. So you have a lot of shopping to do for weddings plus our honeymoon. Think you’re up to the task?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know but I’ll give it the old college try.”

He laughs. “Okay, my girl, I’m going to try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning. Ella?”

“Yes?”

“Remember how you were teasing me the other day about Mason sleeping in your bed for protection?”

“Yes.” She laughs.

“I’m going to ask him to sleep in your room, just for tonight… and not in the bed with you, Ella, but on a cot next to you. I’m probably overreacting but I need to know you’re safe. Okay?”

“Are you nuts, Ian? That’s insane.”

“No. It’s not. In fact, I might have him take you to a hotel. Listen to me: the threat is at an extremely high level right now. It will be removed within the next 48 hours but until then, Ella, you are not safe. Do you hear me?”

Whispering now, she answers in a small voice. “Yes, Ian.”

“Good. I’m going to phone Mason now. He’ll let you know what we decide. Good night, baby. I love you very much.”

“Me, too. Hurry home.”

Today marks the third day Ian is gone and I’m getting more than antsy stuck in Ian’s home: I desperately need to get out into the fresh air, or should I say fresh rain? The damn wet stuff is always coming down in Portland. I gave Mason a heads-up last night while we were lying in bed (that sounds so wrong)—albeit, he on his army cot and I on the king-size mattress—that I needed to leave these walls today and he said he’d check with Ian. If Ian says no, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’m going batshit stir crazy in this place already.

I don’t know what’s holding up Ian in New York and I’m not sure I want to know, but he swears that he’ll be home by tomorrow afternoon. I’m keeping my fingers
and
toes crossed—not easy or comfortable, frankly—that he keeps his word. I’ve come to realize that I can face just about anything as long as I’m holding his big, capable hand when it comes. I should add that I am fully cognizant of the fact that I’m beginning to spout the kind of purple prose of those awful romance novels whenever I speak of (or wax poetic about) Ian. Hey, maybe there’s an idea for my next novel: Mo has been badgering me for months to start writing it.

In fact, Mariah and I had once upon a time even developed a game utilizing the purple prose of romance books. We were especially tickled by these authors’ attempts to use adjectives and verbs in new and exciting ways. We gave each other challenges straight from the novels. For example, she’d ask me to “purse my lips in a straight line in a show of blatant annoyance.”

It was impossible to pull off. I would try my hardest to accomplish it but, looking in the mirror, would quickly dissolve into hysterical giggles, the expression on my face ridiculous.

I’d give her a challenge: “His face radiates fiery anger, unabridged lust, and unbridled pride in having gotten her into his bedroom.” Mariah gives it a go and I snap her picture. “Well?” she asks.

“Um, you look homicidal… but also a bit constipated.”

Cackling in delight, we then would post the photos on Facebook under the banner of “Faces of Romance.” It was a fun way to pass the time for two pathetic women who found themselves dateless on a Saturday evening.

When Mariah calls and says she’s downstairs, my first thought is, why didn’t she phone me before she left her house? I absolutely hate when people just unexpectedly drop by just because they feel like it, and Mariah has to know that about me by now. Tailgating that thought, however, are the possibilities that begin to seep into my sluggish brain: we can go out and do stuff! ‘Course we’ll have to take Mason along, like a big, ole German Shepherd, but it’s all good. It might even be fun having him around like one of the girls, a girl with massive biceps and a stern looking crew cut. Imagining him in drag, complete with five o’clock shadow, starts me giggling as I pad over barefoot to the door and swing it open to let Mariah in.

Fuck. It takes a few seconds for my brain to make sense of the two-person tableau arranged in front of me: Mariah stands there, terror etched into her face. A blond woman next to her has one arm around Mariah’s shoulders, and with her other she holds something against Mariah’s ribs. As my brain kicks into gear, I comprehend that the blond woman is Natasha and she’s responsible for Mariah’s unexpected visit. I step back to allow them entrance into the apartment.

I don’t have to say a word to Mason when he sees us enter the room. His face pales but he shows no other reaction whatsoever, a well-trained special ops dude to his core.

Natasha looks at him and says two words, and two words only: “Call Ian.”

He silently gestures for us to sit as he pulls his cellphone out of his jacket pocket.

In seconds the calls connects to Ian and Mason puts the phone on speaker. As soon as Ian’s voice fills the room, Mason speaks up.

“Mr. Blackmon, I need to inform you that you’re on speaker right now.”

“Is there a reason?”

“Yes, Mr. Blackmon. Some bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Is there any other kind these days? Tell me.”

“Ms. Strong and I are sitting here in the great room with her friend Mariah and Natasha Yenin, sir.”

As before a storm when the barometric pressure plummets, the air in the room feels dense. Nothing comes through from Ian’s end of the line, not even static or a whisper of breath.
Nothing
. After a seeming eternity of probably ten seconds, Ian speaks, his voice harsh in the quiet room. “Give me details, Mason.”

“Yes, sir. Ms. Yenin coerced Mariah into coming here so that Ella would allow security to send her up and she’d open the front door. She is armed, sir.”

“Where is her placement in the room?”

“Next to Ms. Strong, Mr. Blackmon.”

“So the gun is trained on Ella?”

His voice is deadly calm and it’s scaring me even more than if he were raging—but not as much as the revolver currently poking into my ribs. Making me ever more anxious, the stupid woman has her other hand in my hair, twisting strands of it around her fingers as a lover might.

“Yes, sir… and the intruder is touching Ms. Strong, sir. Her hair.”

“What?” the word is barely audible. Then it grows stronger. “Ella? Are you okay, Ella?”

I try to project my voice so it reassures him. “”I’m fine, Ian. Truly. Just speak to her so she’ll get the hell out. Now she’s dragged Mariah into her little game.”

“Yes. Yenin, talk.”

“I want you to call off the hit, Ian. Now.”

As soon as I hear her say that word, my amplified gasp fills the entire cavernous room, and I know Ian can hear me. Could he really have taken out a hit on her? I just can’t believe he’d ever go that far, even to protect me.

He sounds more annoyed than angry: his voice is terse, his words clipped. “I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about. There is no hit.”

Natasha’s eyes widen, glowing with anger and/or indignation. “Bullshit. My uncles are alive today because they have the skills to detect this kind of threat: their ears are always to the ground. How could you, Ian? After all we’ve meant to each other, you’re actually going to have me killed?”

“First of all, I’m not having you killed. And, second, look who’s talking. You set out to destroy my family and I. Are you really in a position to judge anything I do?”

“I would never hurt you physically, Ian. I was just going after your money.”

“You’re a liar, Yenin. What about my grandfather’s
accident
?”

“What about it? I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”

“What a strange coincidence that the man who deported your grandfather gets run off the road around the same time that you go after my company. Odd.”

“Yes, it is odd. Nevertheless, it’s true. I want you to get on the phone while I listen, and call it off. Now. Before something irrevocable occurs.”

“May I ask what gave you the outlandish idea that I took out a hit on you?”

“Word came down the pike: my uncles are connected. Because of it, they had to leave the country and they’ll have a very difficult time getting back in.”

“My heart bleeds for them.”

“I don’t want to leave the U.S. so call them off. The ones you hired are professionals: they’ll get the job done on the first try. Please, Ian. Now.”

“And if I do, what will you do for me?”

“I’ll back off both you and your girlfriend. I was actually losing taste for the game anyway. The fact that you would even consider taking me out, Ian injures me greatly. We were in love, for God’s sake. You were my first lover!”

“Mason, please switch off speaker and put the woman on the line with me. Ella shouldn’t have to listen to this pathetic conversation.”

“Yes, sir.” Instantly the room plunged into a more innocent silence. Natasha reached for the phone with her free hand but didn’t budge the gun an inch. Ian must have been yelling quite loudly because we could all hear him, not in specific words but in tone. Tears in her eyes, Natasha listens to his diatribe, nodding her head at intervals. “Yes, fine, yes. I will. Can I meet with you?”

It might be hard to believe but I forgot about the nasty looking gun shoved into my ribs because my mind was transfixed on the idea of Ian hiring someone to kill Natasha. Could it be true? Nah, I dismiss the possibility. But… if not, why does she believe it so fervently? Perhaps he’s playing with her, pretending to take out a hit to frighten her. That must be it. Right? Or could he actually have the stomach for such extreme violence? I’m just not sure about any of it but I know one thing: Ian and I need to have a heart to heart, and very soon.

When I return my full attention to Natasha, I see she’s fully blubbering now. Everything’s running on her face: eyes, nose, mascara… Nodding her head in agreement, as if Ian could see her, she appears amenable to all he says. I’m suspicious, though: if these people really are connected with the Russian mob, no way are they just going to slink off into the night… nor would they be leery of killing. So I watch our nemesis closely but I can’t detect any artifice: she really seems afraid and contrite. Finally, she moves the gun away from me and stands. I hear her say thank you to Ian and then without a word to any of us in the room, she tosses the phone onto the sofa and takes herself right out the door. I grab for the phone at the same time as Mason but I get there first.

“She just walked out, Ian. Now, tell me: did you really do what she accused you of doing?”

“Of course not, Ella. But I still used it to my advantage and pretended to call off a hit so she’d leave you alone. I’m flying back home late tonight or early a.m., so I’ll be home soon. I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, definitely.” He pauses. “I’m really sorry about what just happened. Please relay my apologies to Mariah for what she endured. I had no idea Natasha was back on the West Coast.”

“It’s not your fault, Ian… and I’ll make your apologies to Mariah. Is it okay if I leave the apartment if I take Mason along?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I understand you must have cabin fever but it’s only a few more days until I have the situation under control, Ella. Can you wait?”

“I don’t think so, Ian. Can’t I just go out for lunch?”

H
e sighs. “Let me speak to Mason, please.”

Wordlessly I hand Mason the phone and wait, trying to make sense of only one si
de of the conversation. I can’t, but soon enough, Mason puts the phone back into his breast pocket and looks directly at me.

“Mr. Blackmon said you and Mariah may have lunch out, provided I stay close to you at all times. That means I’ll be joining you for lunch.”

“Only if you lighten up a bit, old man,” Mariah says, winking at him.

Mason’s face remains stoic but his lips twitch ever so slightly as if he really wants to let loose, go completely crazy and…
smile.
Instead he responds to her simply: “I’ll do my best.”

“Mariah,” I grasp her hand and gaze directly into her eyes, “I hope you don’t believe that Ian would actually have someone killed. He’s not a murderer.”

Mariah holds up her free hand. “Don’t give it another second’s thought, Ella; I do not think poorly of your man. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame him if he did order a hit on her. For God’s sake, did you see her shoes? Anyone who wears shoes like that is just asking to be killed. Talk about tawdry.” She shudders in mock horror.

I laugh at her comment and finally Mason breaks down and grins. Oh, he has pretty teeth, I think, since I’ve never seen them before today. What’s more, I suspect that if he hangs around Mariah, he’ll be smiling more often. Hmmm.

“Mason, can you entertain Mariah while I go take a quick shower and get dressed? Maybe she’d like some coffee or tea?”

“Go ahead, Ella. We’ll figure it out. Just get ready before he changes his mind.”

While I shower I wonder what Ian is doing right this minute: having an early dinner? Chatting with Daniel? Calling off a hit? What? I’d really like is to be there, to see him, be with him, interrogate him, and, later on, do other things to him. This whole episode has me also wondering about Daniel Butler. It seems as if anything and everything Ian’s thrown at him since they met has been received with support, regardless of how dark and ugly it might be. What kind of man is Daniel? Ian mentioned we’d be going to Daniel’s wedding next month and I am truly looking forward to that affair.

Life is somewhat anticlimactic after the drama of Natasha’s visit. Mariah and I have a lot of fun and laughs over lunch, seemingly tormenting Mason with our gossipy conversation. It was quite hilarious to watch him trying to keep up, especially after Mariah told him to pay attention, that he’d be quizzed about who was dating whom on the way back to the condo. And she did quiz him, too, and Mason, with no small degree of pride, managed to answer all but one of Mariah’s ten questions on what was discussed at lunch. It went something like this:

“Okay, Mason, who is Hannah Cravitch dating now?”

Mason looks smug so he must know this one. “Hannah,” he says, yanking up his starched collar, “is currently dating Tomás, but started only recently. Before that she was with Rick in a long-term relationship.”

Mariah and I clap. “Very good,” we praise in chorus. And so it went. Truth to tell, I think Mason had the best time ever. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a future for these two, judging from the way Mariah’s been behaving around him.