Chasing Midnight (full story)

Rain fell from the sky in great silvery skeins, dancing in the brilliant light of the sleeping city like beads of pearlescent opals falling in imposing succession from the heavens. It traveled in great rivers over the small window in Sam’s tiny studio apartment, casting a kaleidoscoping stream onto the peeling wallpaper across from the window. She extended her hand into the shadow, watching the wild stream streak down her tiny wrist, like a crimson ribbon of blood.

God, you have a dark mind, no wonder you have no friends.

“No, you have no friends because you don’t know how to interact with people since you spend all your time with fictional characters.” Her soft voice was piercing in the silence of the room.

And because you talk to yourself.

Sam burst from the couch, sweeping aside a fuzzy throw blanket and a pillow with a cat printed in repose across it. Scorn drew her face into sharp angles as she studied the fallen kitten. Hell, the only reason she didn’t have a live one was because the landlord wouldn’t allow it.

If not for that you would already be a crazy cat lady. You are pathetic.

She stormed to the window and studied her reflection in the dark glass, trying to ignore the rivulets that ran down her, blurring her face and causing her skirt to dance to an erratic rhythm. Gently, Sam smoothed the flaring black fabric of her skirt and pulled up the supple leather of her brown boots, studying the way they hugged her calf before coming to a stop at her knee.

“Today’s Horoscope: A dull person will suddenly become interesting,” she whispered to her reflection.

Right. Her reflection rolled large brown eyes at her. That’s why you got all dressed up only to sit at home.

Movement below caught Sam’s attention and derailed her mental chastising. At the far end of the street, a man rushed through the torrential rains with purposeful strides.  The shower slicked his long hair back and poured off of the tweed material of his dark trenchcoat. Something about the hunch in his shoulders and the lift of his chin reminded her of a description she had once read of Edgar Allen Poe, with perhaps too much wine in him, storming down the street in a downpour, muttering to himself. Sam was so struck by this image that she dashed to the entryway and snagged her coat.

What the hell are you doing?

“Being interesting,” she whispered as she dropped her keys into her pocket and double checked to be sure her apartment was locked up.

Sure, chasing some dark and mysterious stranger is interesting, not suicidal.

Steeling herself with a deep breath, Sam paused for only a second before dashing down the stairs, nearly bowling over a neighbor before making it to the street.

“Whoa there, Sam,” an elderly man called as he stepped out of her way, “Happy New Year!”

“And a happy New Year to you, Roy,” she hollered as she dashed out into the dark shower. The trenchcoat-clad man was a block ahead of her as she jogged at a steady pace behind him.

Three blocks and some heavy breathing later he ducked into a small bakery.  Sighing, Sam slowed her pace and turned into the bakery a minute later.

Oh Lordy, you are out of shape.

A shock of intense blues eyes captured hers as she scanned the room. Breathing became even harder as she struggled to break the gaze of the stranger she had followed into the aromatic room.

You’re not supposed to make eye contact with the man you are stalking.

“I’m not stalking him,” She whispered to herself as she studiously examined the menu.

Again, this is why you don’t have friends.

“Shut up!”

“Pardon?” A springy barista asked, studying Sam with a crooked smile over the counter.

“Uh,” She glanced at the menu, “Peppermint Latte and,” She paused as her gaze wandered over the desserts in the display case, “And one of those lemon bars.”

Sam waited patiently for her treats and wriggled into the nearest booth as soon as she had them in her hands. The problem was where to look once she sat down. The snowflake design on her latte became intensely interesting as she did her best to avoid glancing at the man in the trenchcoat.

Try as she might, her gaze kept drifting to him. Through her periphery, she determined that he had a strong Roman nose, and ebony hair, long enough to be brushed back to the nape of his neck.  She wanted to know more about him than she could tell with her sideward glances. Did he have a square jawline? What was the shape of his face? What would happen if she lost herself in those sky blue orbs?

Careful now, this is a complete stranger. It would be just like you to fall in love with someone you’ve never met.

“I’m not in love,” she whispered, blushing under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, “I’m just curious.”

At that declaration the man in the trenchcoat stood, signaling a kind goodbye to the barista before disappearing into the wet night. Sam cursed under her breath as she forced herself to remain in her seat and not immediately pursue her mysterious muse.

Maybe you should just go home and go to sleep.

Her heart sunk at that suggestion and she leaped into action, tossing a couple of dollar bills into the tip jar as she made for the door.

“Good luck, Honey,” the barista called after her with a wink.

Oh great, it’s so obvious that the barista is wishing you luck.

Gritting her teeth, Sam returned to the streets, steeling herself as a cold wave of droplets stung her face.  Panic gripped her as she glanced right and left, searching for her query. To the south, she glimpsed the tail end of a dark trenchcoat as it rounded the corner, out of sight. Sam let out a breath of relief and jogged the remainder of the block, slowing to a walk as she turned the corner in time to see her man turn into a Powell’s.

“It can’t be,” she murmured as she followed his footsteps into the bookstore.

Oh, please! Just because he went into a bookstore does not mean he’s your soul mate.

“Better than the last man I dated,” she countered.

Oooh, best to avoid that train of thought altogether.

Taking a deep breath to settle her wildly skittering heart, Sam searched the entrance to the immense bookstore for the man in the trenchcoat. Out of habit, she paused for a moment and inhaled deeply. The musty scent of old books enveloped her, bringing to mind soft lamplight, the crackle of a warm fire, and the companionship of old friends trapped forever between the pages of her favorite tomes.

 Oh, please let him be a classics guy.

“I knew you’d come around,” she exclaimed before biting her lip.

You really shouldn’t talk to yourself in public; people might think you are crazy.

Too late for that.

Sam carefully followed the tail of that trenchcoat through the maze of books that made up the giant store.  As she followed her muse, Sam found herself getting lost in the lure of a new book. Several times Sam almost lost the trail of her mysterious man to a book. By the time she rounded the corner of a large bookshelf into the realm of Hemingway and Eliot she had several new treasures clutched in her arms.

A gasp escaped from Sam as she came to a sudden halt in front of her muse.  Crystalline eyes held her gaze, and she stared up in disbelief. His smile was knowing and gentle but his arched eyebrows furrowed in a way that set her heart thundering.

“You’ve been following me,” His voice was dark and smooth as it rolled over her, sending a shiver down her spine.

“I—“

I-what? I didn’t mean to get caught? Oh, perfect, how are you going to get yourself out of this one?

His smile turned into a frown as he studied the books that she now clung to desperately.

“What do you have here?” He asked gruffly, snagging a tome from her collection. “Return of the Native? Have you read much of Thomas Hardy?”

“I read Tess of the D’Urbervilles last spring,”

“And what did you think of it?”

“His characters were so vivid, and his understanding of the human condition was poignant. For once I felt like a male author understood a portion of what it is like to be a woman in a world such as ours.” Her words came out in a little rush and she blushed. God, you never know when to keep your mouth shut.

His smile was more mesmerizing than that sky blue gaze. Sam had the feeling that those lips rarely stretched in such a wide grin, yet the result was breathtaking.

Don’t drool on yourself.

“Here, let me help you with those.”

Before she could protest, he had snagged her armload and started off for the front desk.

First, you follow a random person you don’t know through the streets in a torrential downpour, and now you’re actually talking to him? Yeah, good idea.

Sam shrugged her shoulders and followed the familiar view of that long trench coat. At the register, he turned and studied her while her collection was tallied and rung up.

“I am going to pay for your books,” He declared, watching her carefully.

Sam looked up at him in surprise, “What, why?”

“Because you are going to get a drink at the Bourbon House down the block with me.”

“What makes you think I’m stupid enough to get a drink with a complete stranger?”

“Because you followed that stranger through the rain for several blocks.” His smile was disarming. “And because this particular stranger is a gentleman, you have my word.”

He bowed slightly at the last declaration and Sam had to stifle a giggle at the gesture. When she did not immediately answer, he studied his watch.

“Or you could go home at seven on New Year’s Eve.” He arched an exuberant eyebrow at her.

When she said nothing he turned and paid the cashier for her treasures and then murmured something to the cashier. Instead of handing him the books, the clerk turned and placed them on a shelf with a sticky note. The man in the trench coat turned swiftly to Sam, gently took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow as he began to escort her from the store.

“But what about my books?”

“They are going to hold them for us so that you don’t have to carry them around all night. We will pick them up before you head home tonight.” He looked down at her, studying her again, “Or perhaps, depending on the adventures we find tonight, you can pick them up in the morning.”

Anger flared in Sam, and she pulled her hand free from his arm, “Just what kind of adventures do you imagine we’ll get into? I assure you I am not that kind of girl.”

The man’s eyebrows knit together as if her words perplexed him. He looked at her like she had spoken in a foreign tongue and his brain was now working overtime to decipher the language. A deep chuckled rolled up out of his chest, and that million watt smile spread slowly across his face deepening several laugh lines beyond the corners of his lips.

“I assure you, love, that I have only the noblest of intentions.”

Sam snorted at that declaration and more laughter rumbled out of him at her indelicate noise.

“This isn’t funny,” Sam said, hands on her hips, glaring at his merriment.

“You are a delightful creature.” He seemed unfazed by her fierce display.

“Call me a creature again, and I’ll punch that perfect nose of yours.”

He sobered in mock alarm, “Duly noted.” He held his elbow out to her, “Shall we?”

A deep sigh tore from Sam’s lungs as she tucked her hand back into that comfortable little crook and tried to ignore the pleasant feelings that curled through her.

This is a really stupid idea; you know nothing about this guy.

“So, tell me about yourself,” she said as they rounded a corner and the Bourbon House came into view. “What do you do for a living?”

“I sell vacuums.” He led her onto the covered porch of the bar.

“Vacuums?” Sam raised an eyebrow at him as she took a seat in the chair he pulled out for her.

“Well, not really vacuums, just those small belts that turn the duster bar.” His eyes sparkled, and the merriment in them contrasted with his matter-of-fact tone.

“What’s your name?”

“Ilia.” A frown followed his admission as if he hadn’t meant to actually tell her his name. He studied her closely then as if trying to puzzle something out.

“And do you have a surname, Ilia?”

“Don’t we all? You still haven’t told me your name.”

Evasiveness. Great, you are probably on a date with a serial killer. Wait, is this a date?

“Sam.” She extended a hand to him in mock formality. “My name is Samantha, but all the lazy people call me Sam.”

“Well, Samantha,” He took her outstretched hand, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” And with that, he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it.

Butterflies swarmed up, through her stomach, fanning her heartbeat into a fever pitch.

Oh for goodness sake, it was just a peck on the hand, don’t lose your composure. He’s clearly hiding something from you. You should take that as a cue to get out of here.

“I hope you will pardon me, I need to use the restroom.” Sam tried not to blush at the admission.

Standing abruptly, she knocked a glass of water, sending it careening toward Ilia. It splashed across his chest even as he leaped backward in an attempt to avoid the cold liquid.

“Oh my gosh.” Sam grabbed a napkin and began dabbing the wet blotch across his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m good.” Laughter edged his smooth voice, adding a bit of grit to the deeper syllables. “I’m soaking from the rain anyway. You go ahead and use the restroom. I’ll get the rest of this mess cleaned up.”

Sam nodded and dashed into the converted Victorian house, making her way through the bar to find the bathrooms in the back. In the dim light of the girl’s bathroom, she carefully pulled the wallet she had taken from Ilia’s coat and set it on the counter with a shaky hand. Once, a while back, she had read an intriguing book in which a feisty female protagonist had learned to pickpocket to survive on the streets. Impulsively, Sam had decided that pickpocketing was a skill she needed and had set to work learning the craft. Why she would ever need to pickpocket someone was not clear, but it was imperative that she know how, just in case.

Normal women take up scrapbooking or knitting, not pickpocketing.

“But it came in handy,” she declared to the girl in the mirror. “Scrapbooking definitely would not have helped me here.”

I fail to see how this helped. You stole a complete stranger’s wallet, a stranger you are pretty sure is hiding something. You should just leave.

Sam reached out and flipped open the wallet. Ilia’s square face and prominent nose stared back at her, but the name on the driver’s license said Leiv Novikov.

Great, now what are you going to do?

“Who are you?” She asked as she studied the small photo.

Intuition told her that Ilia was his real name, not Leiv.

“At least he told me his real name,” Sam informed her reflection.

You don’t know that for sure. Even if Ilia is his real name, why would he have or even need identification with a fake name on it?

Sam studied her reflection in the mirror, running a smoothing hand over dark curls. Those deeply colored locks remained untamed, making Sam always appear windswept and disheveled, even when they were pulled into a tight bun as they were now. With a markedly more steady hand, Sam slipped Ilia’s wallet into her coat pocket and left the bathroom.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Ignoring the voice of reason, Sam returned to the small table where Ilia waited patiently.

“Better?”

Sam nodded.

“Good because we need to go.”

“What? But we haven’t even ordered drinks yet,” she protested as he grabbed her hand and lead her quickly back out to the street.

“Adventure beckons.” Grit roughened his deep voice when he lowered it to talk quietly.

“This is crazy.” Sam came to a stubborn halt as rain pelted her, seeking to invade the comfort of her coat.

That enchanting grin flashed across his face again. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed quietly. “Smart girl. Now come on.”

“Not until I know what this next adventure involves.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin defiantly.

He sighed, but the smile did not leave his lips. “There is a conversation that I simply must eavesdrop on, and if we don’t hurry, I will miss it.”

Ilia stretched a hand out to her. Sam made a strange strangled noise in her throat but took his hand. A sharp gasp escaped her as he pulled her into a jog.

“Must we run?”

“We are barely jogging.” His deep laughter rounded his words and rolled over her, weakening her doubts. “Besides, you’ve made me late.”

“You sound like the White Rabbit,” Sam muttered to herself.

“If you let me, I’ll lead you to an enchanted land.” His voice deepened an octave, turning gritty, and he smiled over his shoulder at her.

“Ugh, that was the worst line in ever.”

“Really? I thought it was quite clever.”

“It was truly horrid.”

“Well, then,” He huffed, pulling her around a corner and into a dark alley. “It is a good thing I don’t need lines with you.”

Trepidation skittered down her spine as she studied the dark recesses of the alley, but she didn’t protest and instead said, “And what makes you think such a thing.”

“Because you like my nose.” He beamed as he came to a stop by a dark door and tried the knob.

“How do you figure that?”

“Earlier you stated that you would punch me in my perfect nose.” He took a step back from the door. “It’s locked.”

“And from that, you get that I like your nose? I threatened to punch it.”

His face was turned upward, studying the building. “You called it perfect. Come here, I need your help.”

“Said Ted Bundy to his next victim.”

His deep laughter buoyed Sam. “Do I seem like a Serial Killer?”

“Hmm, let’s see, you’re charming and handsome.” Sam ticked each item off on a finger. “Charisma seems to ooze from your pores. Yep, there’s a 93% chance I’m going to end up in a body bag by the end of the night.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Oh.” He chuckled. “But satisfaction brought her back.”

A light bloomed on overhead, pulling their attention back to the building.

“Crap.” He motioned to her once again. “Please Samantha, it is really important.”

“Okay,” She caved reluctantly, moving to his side.

“I’m going to boost you up. Will you see if you can get on that ledge and check those windows to see if any are unlocked?”

“Now we are breaking and entering?”

“It sounded more exciting than drinks.” He locked his hands together and made a “U” for her foot so that he could boost her up.

This is a terrible idea.

Sam placed a foot in his hands and tried to contain the shriek that threatened to escape as he boosted her effortlessly. Her other foot quickly found purchase on a four-inch ledge, and she propped herself up, teetering a good 6 feet off the ground.

“Be careful,” He whispered up toward her.

Turning to growl down at him, Sam realized that his perspective gave him a perfect view up her skirt. Luckily he seemed more concerned about her falling than sneaking a peek.

Thank god for leggings.

“When I get down I am so going to break that pretty nose of yours,” she muttered as she pushed precariously against the first window she came to.

It didn’t budge. Neither did the second or third window she tried. Muscles in her arms and legs jumped and quivered as she struggled to maintain her balance. The fourth window pushed open, and she sighed in relief.

“I need to you go in for me.” The timber of his voice hinted that he disliked what he was suggesting.

“Me?” She glared down at him. “Are you crazy?”

“I won’t fit through that window.”

Sam studied the fall of his wide shoulders. Nope, he definitely wouldn’t fit through the window. Crap.

“Okay, I will go.” She reached up and grabbed the window ledge. “I’m not sure those books were worth this much.”

“Hold on, Samantha, look at me.”

She looked down, meeting his glacier eyes, a chill snaking up her spine at the grave look on his face.

“You can’t be seen. Promise me you will be careful.”

“I’ll be quiet as a cat.”

Just remember you don’t have nine lives.

Using the window ledge as leverage, Sam pushed herself up, diving headfirst through the window. She landed with a quiet thud, rolling in a small summersault and coming up on her feet.

Like a ninja.

Sam nearly snorted at herself.

A pickpocketing ninja with a death wish.

“I don’t have a death wish,” she whispered as she followed the distant trail of light.

Right.

For once she was glad for those ballet lessons her mother had forced upon her. She quietly made her way into the hall and spied an open door several yards down where light spilled out, casting the plaster walls in a milky glow. Voices chased the light out into the hallway, reverberating off the walls and echoing to her. Two men were engaged in an intense conversation.

“You let Nikolai know that the shipment will be coming in tonight.”

“What time? Where? You know he will want the details.”

“I will send word to him before the ball drops.”

You are in over your head.

Movement in the room startled Sam, and she fled, disappearing into the room with the open window just as they glided into the hallway. Sam watched the two suit-clad men from the shadows of her own room until they disappeared down a set of stairs. They were leaving. Crap.

Giving little heed to her own wellbeing, Sam flung herself out the window, hoping Ilia would catch her.  If not her tush was going to take quite the beating.

Perhaps all those muffins you’ve been eating lately will provide satisfactory cushioning.

Sam landed in Ilia’s strong arms with a loud oomph.  She wrapped her own trembling arms around his neck and let her thundering heart ease a little before opening her eyes and meeting his furrowed gaze.

“Are you crazy?” His voice was rough. “What if I hadn’t caught you?”

“They’re coming,” Sam whispered.

“Who are you?” She asked as she studied the small photo.

Intuition told her that Ilia was his real name, not Leiv.

“At least he told me his real name,” Sam informed her reflection.

You don’t know that for sure. Even if Ilia is his real name, why would he have or even need identification with a fake name on it?

Sam studied her reflection in the mirror, running a smoothing hand over dark curls. Those deeply colored locks remained untamed, making Sam always appear windswept and disheveled, even when they were pulled into a tight bun as they were now. With a markedly more steady hand, Sam slipped Ilia’s wallet into her coat pocket and left the bathroom.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Ignoring the voice of reason, Sam returned to the small table where Ilia waited patiently.

“Better?”

Sam nodded.

“Good because we need to go.”

“What? But we haven’t even ordered drinks yet,” she protested as he grabbed her hand and lead her quickly back out to the street.

“Adventure beckons.” Grit roughened his deep voice when he lowered it to talk quietly.

“This is crazy.” Sam came to a stubborn halt as rain pelted her, seeking to invade the comfort of her coat.

That enchanting grin flashed across his face again. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed quietly. “Smart girl. Now come on.”

“Not until I know what this next adventure involves.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin defiantly.

He sighed, but the smile did not leave his lips. “There is a conversation that I simply must eavesdrop on, and if we don’t hurry, I will miss it.”

Ilia stretched a hand out to her. Sam made a strange strangled noise in her throat but took his hand. A sharp gasp escaped her as he pulled her into a jog.

“Must we run?”

“We are barely jogging.” His deep laughter rounded his words and rolled over her, weakening her doubts. “Besides, you’ve made me late.”

“You sound like the White Rabbit,” Sam muttered to herself.

“If you let me, I’ll lead you to an enchanted land.” His voice deepened an octave, turning gritty, and he smiled over his shoulder at her.

“Ugh, that was the worst line in ever.”

“Really? I thought it was quite clever.”

“It was truly horrid.”

“Well, then,” He huffed, pulling her around a corner and into a dark alley. “It is a good thing I don’t need lines with you.”

Trepidation skittered down her spine as she studied the dark recesses of the alley, but she didn’t protest and instead said, “And what makes you think such a thing.”

“Because you like my nose.” He beamed as he came to a stop by a dark door and tried the knob.

“How do you figure that?”

“Earlier you stated that you would punch me in my perfect nose.” He took a step back from the door. “It’s locked.”

“And from that, you get that I like your nose? I threatened to punch it.”

His face was turned upward, studying the building. “You called it perfect. Come here, I need your help.”

“Said Ted Bundy to his next victim.”

His deep laughter buoyed Sam. “Do I seem like a Serial Killer?”

“Hmm, let’s see, you’re charming and handsome.” Sam ticked each item off on a finger. “Charisma seems to ooze from your pores. Yep, there’s a 93% chance I’m going to end up in a body bag by the end of the night.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Oh.” He chuckled. “But satisfaction brought her back.”

A light bloomed on overhead, pulling their attention back to the building.

“Crap.” He motioned to her once again. “Please Samantha, it is really important.”

“Okay,” She caved reluctantly, moving to his side.

“I’m going to boost you up. Will you see if you can get on that ledge and check those windows to see if any are unlocked?”

“Now we are breaking and entering?”

“It sounded more exciting than drinks.” He locked his hands together and made a “U” for her foot so that he could boost her up.

This is a terrible idea.

Sam placed a foot in his hands and tried to contain the shriek that threatened to escape as he boosted her effortlessly. Her other foot quickly found purchase on a four-inch ledge, and she propped herself up, teetering a good 6 feet off the ground.

“Be careful,” He whispered up toward her.

Turning to growl down at him, Sam realized that his perspective gave him a perfect view up her skirt. Luckily he seemed more concerned about her falling than sneaking a peek.

Thank god for leggings.

“When I get down I am so going to break that pretty nose of yours,” she muttered as she pushed precariously against the first window she came to.

It didn’t budge. Neither did the second or third window she tried. Muscles in her arms and legs jumped and quivered as she struggled to maintain her balance. The fourth window pushed open, and she sighed in relief.

“I need to you go in for me.” The timber of his voice hinted that he disliked what he was suggesting.

“Me?” She glared down at him. “Are you crazy?”

“I won’t fit through that window.”

Sam studied the fall of his wide shoulders. Nope, he definitely wouldn’t fit through the window. Crap.

“Okay, I will go.” She reached up and grabbed the window ledge. “I’m not sure those books were worth this much.”

“Hold on, Samantha, look at me.”

She looked down, meeting his glacier eyes, a chill snaking up her spine at the grave look on his face.

“You can’t be seen. Promise me you will be careful.”

“I’ll be quiet as a cat.”

Just remember you don’t have nine lives.

Using the window ledge as leverage, Sam pushed herself up, diving headfirst through the window. She landed with a quiet thud, rolling in a small summersault and coming up on her feet.

Like a ninja.

Sam nearly snorted at herself.

A pickpocketing ninja with a death wish.

“I don’t have a death wish,” she whispered as she followed the distant trail of light.

Right.

For once she was glad for those ballet lessons her mother had forced upon her. She quietly made her way into the hall and spied an open door several yards down where light spilled out, casting the plaster walls in a milky glow. Voices chased the light out into the hallway, reverberating off the walls and echoing to her. Two men were engaged in an intense conversation.

“You let Nikolai know that the shipment will be coming in tonight.”

“What time? Where? You know he will want the details.”

“I will send word to him before the ball drops.”

You are in over your head.

Movement in the room startled Sam, and she fled, disappearing into the room with the open window just as they glided into the hallway. Sam watched the two suit-clad men from the shadows of her own room until they disappeared down a set of stairs. They were leaving. Crap.

Giving little heed to her own wellbeing, Sam flung herself out the window, hoping Ilia would catch her.  If not her tush was going to take quite the beating.

Perhaps all those muffins you’ve been eating lately will provide satisfactory cushioning.

Sam landed in Ilia’s strong arms with a loud oomph.  She wrapped her own trembling arms around his neck and let her thundering heart ease a little before opening her eyes and meeting his furrowed gaze.

“Are you crazy?” His voice was rough. “What if I hadn’t caught you?”

“They’re coming,” Sam whispered.

Ilia set her gently on her feet and then grabbed her hand. He tugged her into a sprint and led her at a breakneck pace toward the open street. They burst onto the crowded thoroughfare, gasping for air as they came to a stop. Sam leaned wearily against the cool brick of a building, trying desperately to provide enough air to soothe her burning lungs.

“I have got to quit eating out so much,” she muttered.

“Kiss me.” The demand in his voice was urgent.

“Pardon?” Sam arched an eyebrow at him.

“Kiss me.”

“Now, just because I think your handsome doesn’t mean—” Her response was cut off by his lips as they stole hers.

His kiss started soft and gentle but it deepened, and he brought his hands up to frame her face. Ilia kissed her like a man starved and she found her legs weakening rapidly as something inside her rose up in response to the urgency and desperation that heated his kiss. When at last he released her from the powerful embrace she felt as if she was going to sink into the ground, unable to support her own weight.

Sam had never been kissed like that. Ilia looked just as surprised, and he brought a shaky hand up and gently touched his own lips, perhaps trying to confirm what had just happened.

Her palm cracked across his cheek.

“Ouch!” he brought his own palm up and cradled his cheek. “Okay, I deserved that.”

“Why did you kiss me?” She demanded.

“Those men were coming out onto the street, and I didn’t want them to see my face,” he explained, perplexed.

“Oooh.” She slapped him again.

“I’m not sure I deserved that.” He rubbed his rosy cheek and his eyebrows knit together in a perplexed glower.

“You’re lucky I didn’t break your nose.”

“You have an odd obsession with my nose.” He smiled down at her.

“Only because I feel a constant desire to punch you in the face.”

He chuckled. “I like the face you make when you want to clobber mine.”

She changed the subject as they wove through the crowded sidewalk “Those guys were talking about a delivery. What kind of delivery?”

“Vacuum belts,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Right.

“Did they say when it would be delivered? Or where?” He attempted nonchalance, but Sam frowned at him.

“No, but one of them said he would send some guy named Nikolai a message before the ball dropped.” She studied the angles of his face as he looked into the windows of the stores they passed by.

Ilia stopped and pulled Sam around to face him. “Look, I want to make all this up to you. I have an invite to a very ritzy New Year’s party. Go to it with me?”

“Oh, a New Year’s party?” She put air quotes around the words New Year’s party. “If it’s anything like getting a drink with you, it’s bound to be a disappointment.”

“It’s a real party, no breaking and entering. Square biz.”

“Square biz?” She snorted.

“My nephew says it all the time. It means I’m being honest.”

“I know what it means.” Sam glared up at him. “I just don’t think anyone over the age of 30 should say it. Ever.”

“You have so many rules,” he said in mock exasperation.

“Ilia, why do you want me to go with you?”

“So that we can dance the night away.”

“In all honesty, I’m in way over my head. Whatever this is you’re involved in, I don’t belong being a part of it, and I think you know that. Why do you want me to go with you?”

Ilia ran a hand through his long hair. “I don’t know what you’re going to do and you continually surprise me. I find that I want to throw you into different scenarios just to see how you will react and watch you as you work through things.” His voice fell away, and he was silent for a long moment, watching as people drifted by.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t realize how lonely I was until you blundered into my life.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “And now I’m being a bastard by dragging you into this. Come on, I’ll walk you back to Powell’s.”

Well, Crap.

“No,” She whispered. “I would like to go to this party with you.”

A brief smile danced on his lips before he said, “You really shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t have broken into a building or jumped out a window either, yet I did.” Sam lifted her chin defiantly.

A brilliant smile spread across his face once again. “Samantha, you are one of a kind.”

Sam winked at him. “And don’t you forget it.”

“I doubt you’d let me.”

“I’d break your nose if you did.”

“Again with the nose. I’m beginning to think you have anger issues.” He took her hand and led her down the street, twining his fingers with hers.

Several blocks up Ilia pulled Sam into a beautiful hotel with marble columns and a great stretch of dark marble flooring.  Gently, he led her to a large elevator and pushed the up button.

“This looks very ritzy.” Sam ran a nervous hand over her skirt.

“Just as promised.” Ilia pulled her into the elevator and pushed the button for the top floor.

“I’m not sure I’m properly dressed.”

“You look beautiful.” His voice deepened into a gravelly tone, and her heart thundered in her chest.

Sam blushed and studied her feet, hoping he wouldn’t notice the hot, crimson color of her cheeks.

“Where did you come from?”

She glanced up, perplexed by the odd question, and found Ilia studying her with a furrowed look so intense she thought his eyebrows might permanently fuse together.

“Richland, Washington.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He shook his head. “To find someone like you in a world full of fake smiles and smothering egos is extremely…” He looked around the elevator as if searching for something. “Refreshing.”

The elevator door slid aside with a ding. They exited together, hands intertwined. Sam was beginning to think she’d made the right decision when Ilia leaned down and whispered, “Oh, and just so you know, you are going to have to call me Leiv at this party.”

The opulence of the ballroom dazzled Sam. She felt dizzy and out of place, but Ilia gripped her hand in his, and the warmth of his skin allayed her misgivings. Somewhat. And you better start calling him Leiv.

Ilia glanced over his shoulder at her, and her throat went dry. Don’t swoon, you ninny. You are on a date with a criminal. A CRIMINAL.

“So, Leiv, how did you get into vacuum belt sales?” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Family business.” His tone was absent, and he scanned the room as he replied. He guided her to a bar stool and waved in greeting at the bartender. “What would you like?”

“Whisky on the rocks.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “I have to take care of some business here, and then I will be all yours, Sam.”

“What kind of business.” Oh Lordy, don’t ask. What if he actually tells you the truth. You don’t want to know what is going on.

“I need to secure a deal on a recent shipment of belts.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue, and Sam’s stomach plummeted. “It shouldn’t take long.”

He covered her hand with his and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. She tried to ignore the thundering of her heart, but the damned organ was insistent. Ilia’s broad backside filled her vision until he disappeared around a corner. Snatching up the whisky, she tried to soothe herself with the smokey liquid, but it only seemed to fan the fire. This was a dangerous game she was playing, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Instead, she took another sip and focused on the way it burned through her.

A half an hour passed. Sam spun on the bar stool so that her back leaned against the counter and watched as people drifted by. She broke the boredom by creating backstories for the individuals who wandered close.

That person was a cop. Sam could see it in the hard lines of his shoulders and the weariness he carried in his eyes. Perhaps his wife had died. Yes, killed by a drunk driver, and he had been fired for beating a drunk after pulling him over. He’d been lost in the grief and rage.

The woman behind him was trying to find money. She’d spent everything on the dress she wore, hoping she might meet someone who would take her out of the slums. Her fingernails were painted, but not professionally manicured, and her simple makeup hinted at simple origins.

The man she was talking to had hard eyes, the kind Sam envisioned a killer might have. He looked weathered, like a mountain long exposed to harsh winters. His hard eyes turned on her and Sam flinched. Definitely a killer, probably murder for hire. She could easily envision his calloused hands holding a gun.

He’s coming your way. Sam turned her attention on her drink and took another fiery sip, and then one more. The man settled onto a stool beside her and cleared his throat.

“I don’t believe I have ever seen your lovely face before.” He extended his hand toward her, rough palm turned up. “I’m Anton.”

Sam opened her mouth to respond, but her throat constricted. His voice was one of the two she’d overheard in the abandoned building. Instead of greeting him, she stared mutely at his outstretched hand.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke the spell.

An intense blush burned Sam’s cheeks, and she glanced up at him, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Sorry, your voice reminded me of an old friend’s, and it sent me down memory lane.”

He smiled at her, his lips taking on a facade of charm, but all she could see was his teeth glistening in the light. “Did you come alone, miss…” He paused as if waiting for her to fill in the rest.

Sam began to answer, but she was cut off by Ilia, who said, “Miss Hoffman came with me.”

Miss Hoffman? She smiled and elbowed Ilia before extending her hand and taking Anton’s. “Clara Hoffman. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Anton pressed his lips to her hand and then said, “I assure you, the pleasure is all mine. If Leiv is foolish enough to leave you idle again, I would be happy to fill in for him.”

All these names, fake and otherwise, were making Sam’s head spin. Her smile was thin as she let Ilia lead her away from Anton. He guided her into a dark corner, his hand firm on her elbow. Before she could voice her displeasure at him, Ilia kissed her. His lips were soft, and they captured her surprised gasp.

Ilia pulled back and said, “Anton is a very dangerous man.”

“And you aren’t?”

A muscle jumped along Ilia’s jaw. He pressed his lips together, letting the silence speak for him.

“I think I should go home now.”Her voice was a whisper.

He swallowed and nodded. “I’ll pay our tab and then take you home.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll take a cab.”

“At least let me see you off.”

She smiled, but it fell away as she said, “Okay.”

Ilia patted his breast pocket and then frowned. His wallet. You still have his wallet. There was no tactful way to return it, so she simply plucked it from her pocket and handed it to him. Blinking, his brows furrowed and he studied the wallet as if it were an alien item.

“You stole my wallet?” His voice was full of grit, and Sam could not tell if it was laughter or anger that deepened it.

“Curiosity,” She said. And masochistic tendencies.

At the curb, as the cab waited, Ilia kissed her again. She wanted to take it all back, to follow him up to the ballroom and dance with him, but she knew that doing so would be a mistake. Whatever Ilia was, he was involved with something more sinister than vacuum belts, and remaining at his side was beyond foolish. But God, that kiss.

Sam poured herself into the backseat of the cab and risked one last glance at Ilia. He stood stark against the bright street lights, his face carved into a mask that hid his emotions. The wind teased at his hair, playing with the long strands and pulling a few into his face. She closed her eyes and leaned wearily against the headrest.

“Where too, miss?” The cab driver’s voice startled her.

She pictured the slightly smudged numbers and letters inked onto Anton’s outstretched palm and said, “1645 Pier Drive.” Anton the killer, the dangerous man. What the hell are you doing?

1645 Pier Drive was an unassuming warehouse. It stood, towering in the darkness. Sam had the taxi driver stop several buildings down and let her out. The rain had not let up and it soaked her as she stood in the shadows, trying to decide what to do next. This is madness.

“I need to know who he is,” she whispered. It felt weird to be talking to herself again after having spent so much time with Ilia, and a deep, lonely ache thrummed through her.

She stood for a moment more and then moved down a corridor between the warehouse and its neighboring building. The wind barrelled into her and she thought about turning back. By the time she reached the backside of the warehouse, her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could easily see the outline of the docks.

Three men stood with their backs to the wind, huddled in a semicircle. None of them looked familiar. One glanced at his watch and then spoke to the other. The wild wind distorted whatever he said and Sam nearly growled with frustration as she strained to hear the conversation. She cast a quick glance at her cell phone. 11:30 pm. Ilia’s crew would not arrive, most likely, for around a half an hour.

Sam turned and began gently trying the knobs of each door she came to. When she found one that twisted open, she snuck inside. Toward the front of the warehouse she found two black sedans. She pressed her hand to the hood of one of them, something she’d seen Hollywood cops do hundreds of times.

Real cops don’t feel car hoods.

“How would you know?” She whispered. Besides, if she’d had a real cop here, she wouldn’t be forced to figure this out on her own.

She felt the second hood. Heat poured from it, warming her hand.”See, now I know that one of these cars just arrived.”

So? That doesn’t exactly provide you with any relevant information.

Fighting the urge to press her drenched body against the hood, Sam huffed at herself and moved away from the car. She began a slow search toward the back of the warehouse, thankful that the nearby streetlights cast enough dim light through the windows that she could see what was in each room.

Most of the rooms were empty, but toward the rear of the building, Sam found several pallets of crates. One of the crate lids was loose, allowing her to wiggle it until it slid off. She slid out her phone and risked the flashlight. The milky beam revealed several bubble-wrapped vases, carefully arranged so that they would not slide and break. She frowned.

What did you expect? Drugs? Vacuum belts? Sam shrugged. Maybe she had it all wrong. Maybe there was nothing sinister or illegal going on here.

A door crashed open, the one she’d entered through, and voices rose, loud and terse. Although no longer distorted by the wind, the words were no more clear to her now than they had been outside. They were definitely not speaking English. Her heart thundered and she slid in between two of the pallets as a light bloomed on overhead.

A narrow gap between the crates hiding Sam allowed her a view of the men as they entered. She pressed her hand over her mouth so suppress the gasp that nearly escaped as her brain registered the inky hair and stark expression of their prisoner.

The men shoved Ilia to his knees, yelling at him in a language she could not decipher. When he did not respond one of them kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over and coughed. Blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his mouth, injuries he must have suffered before they had brought him inside. One of the men drew a pistol from inside his coat and aimed it at Ilia’s head.

Sam pulled her phone from her pocket. They were going to kill Ilia, she could see it in the thin lines of their lips and the set of their jaws. Maybe calling the cops would get Ilia arrested, but it would keep him alive. The screen on her cell was black, however, and when she pressed the home button, nothing happened. What now?

You see, this is why you don’t follow strangers through the streets. Sam had to bite her lip to keep the snide response to her inner thoughts from slipping out. Now would be a terrible time to talk to herself. She glanced at her dead phone and then at the stony faces of the men. There were three of them, and they stood frozen with indecision. The pistol was still aimed at Ilia’s head, but the wielder’s finger lay along the slide instead of on the trigger. That had to be a good sign, right?

The loud trilling of a  ring tone shattered the silence, startling Sam. She covered her wildly leaping heart with her palm and frowned. At first, she’d thought it had been hers that had jangled to life, but the screen was still dark. One of the men answered his cell phone with a greeting in a language she was thinking might be Russian.

The conversation was terse, and the man pressed end and nodded at the others. He and another of the men left the room, leaving the man with the gun and Ilia behind. The gun wielder shifted so that his back was turned entirely to her. Ninja-ballerina time.

Sam carefully extracted herself from between the boxes and crept forward. If Ilia saw her, he gave no indication, his face remaining placid and his eyes unfocused. As she moved, she reached into the open crate and snatched up a vase. The plastic covering rustled slightly, and the man began to turn toward her, but she swung the vase down. It shattered across his skull and rained down on the pavement. The man stood for a moment, and she thought him unphased, but then his knees buckled, and he landed with a loud thud on the floor.

Ilia was on his feet in a flash, though he seemed unsteady. He snatched up the gun and then turned his frown on Sam.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Her eyelids narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m saving your ass. I thought that was apparent.”

A smile teased at one corner of his lips for a moment before he squelched it. “Damn it, Sam. This is bad.”

“They’re coming back.”

Ilia tensed and turned toward the door. “Hide.”

Sam ignored him and stooped over the unconscious man. She patted his chest and pant pockets, just like the cops always did in the mystery books she’d loved in her youth. Ninja-ballerina-cop. She nearly snorted but resisted the urge.

“Now.” He growled the word and waved his hands at her in a shooing motion.

If she’d had a gun, she might have shot him for that. God, she hated being shooed. Her hand landed on something hard and rectangular, and she almost whooped. She pulled the phone from the man’s breast pocket and dashed back to her hiding spot. The door swung open, and someone swore, this time in English. Her eye found the gap between the crates and came to rest on Anton. He and four others stood in the doorway, their mouths agape.

Ilia had hefted the unconscious man and held him upright with one arm wrapped around his neck. With his other hand, he pressed the gun to the man’s temple. “Drop your weapons.”

Anton shook his head. “I don’t think so. I always knew there was something off about you. You a cop, Leiv?”

Ilia’s smile sent a chill down Sam’s spine. “No, and my name is not Leiv. It’s Ilia Samarin.”

Anton’s face paled, and one of the other men said something in Russian (she was sure it was Russian at this point, if only because Anton and Ilia were both definitely Russian).

Ilia responded in the fluid language and then to Anton he said, “Did you think you could steal from Alexander and get away with it?”

Anton pressed his lips together. His jaw muscle jumped, and he seemed about ready to argue with Ilia, but he remained silent. Ilia’s bicep bulged with the effort to keep the unconscious man upright. It was a beautiful thing, really, and Sam found herself lost for a moment, studying the perfect form of his arms.

Not the time. Pull it together before he gets himself shot. There was something about the confident splay of his shoulders and determined set of his jaw that put her at ease, perhaps a little too at ease. She pulled in a deep breath and studied the cell phone in her hand. Calling the cops wasn’t an option. Someone would hear her, and she would end up getting herself and Ilia shot for sure. Her finger hovered over the screen for a second and then typed in her sister’s number and created a new message.

The conversation at the front of the room was becoming more heated, the strange language flowing at an incredible rate.

Kirsten, it’s Sam. I’m in trouble.

Sam? Whose phone number is this? Did u drink another bottle of wine all by urself?

Mixed up with some seriously bad ppl. Hiding. They have guns. Pls call 911. 1645 Pier Drive

Jesus. On it. Call when ur safe.

“Are you here to kill us?” Anton asked the question as if it was of little consequence, as if he were merely talking about swatting at flies.

Ilia shook his head. “My job is to confirm the location of Alexander’s possessions and send proof of who is responsible for stealing them. How he chooses to punish you is not my business or my concern.”

Anton’s nostrils flared out. “Only a snake would turn men over to the likes of Alexander.”

“You’re not men. You’re rats, and you deserve whatever comes of this.”

Anton drew his gun so quick that it seemed to materialize out of the air. The crack of gunfire was deafening. Ilia cried out and spun as blood sprayed outward from him. Sam screamed and jumped backward. She gasped and tried to slow the thundering of her heart.

“The girl.”

Anton’s snarled words spurred Sam into action. She threw herself into the tower of crates. They rocked away from her, back toward her, and then toppled over, sending the men scrambling in all directions. As they dodged the falling debris, she darted for the door. Something whistled past her ear, like an angry wasp, and she flinched away from it. A look over her shoulder revealed that Anton was in pursuit, his gun aimed at her.

She whipped around the corner just as he fired again. Her lungs burned as she raced toward the front of the warehouse. She ducked into an office and tucked herself under a large desk. So much for the heroine she’d always believed she would be in a moment of crisis. Tears slid down her cheeks, and she gulped at the air, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was so loud that she was certain Anton would hear it if he came into the room.

“Find her. Ilia may not have told Alexander yet. We may be able to find a way out of this mess.” Anton’s harsh voice echoed from the hallway just beyond the office door.

Sam pulled her thighs tight against her chest and leaned her forehead against her knees. She couldn’t stop those damned tears, but she fought to keep the sob trapped in her throat, rather than voicing it.

“Are you in here, love?” Anton’s charm was all grease as he called to Sam. “I think we got off to the wrong start. Just come out. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

His shoes came into view, though the desk hid the rest of him. Sam bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart leaped at the action, and she snapped her eyes open again. She felt about ready to puke.

You picked the most obvious hiding spot possible. Smart.

His shoes shifted and the dim light spilling in from a nearby window turned the black leather gray. He was coming around the desk. Sweat beaded on Sam’s forehead and her shoulder muscles tensed. This was not how she’d imagined she would die. She’d always thought it would be as an old lady surrounded by hoards of cats and countless dusty books.

Sirens rang out in the distance, swelling in volume, and her heart skittered in reaction. Anton cursed, and she watched as his feet retreated out of sight. She could hear him yelling in Russian and then the sound of the bay door at the front of the warehouse rolling open. The sirens grew louder as the rest of the building fell silent.

Just as she was about to crawl from under the desk, someone moved in the hallway.

“Sam?”

Ilia? Her heart squeezed, and she rushed from the desk, cracking her head against the overhead drawer as she made her exit.

“Ouch, son-of-a-bi–“

“Sam?” Ilia cut her off with his question. He turned into the office, following the sound of her voice. “Oh, thank God.”

“Oh, Ilia.” Sam raced to him, wrapping her arms around him and nearly knocking him off his feet. He grunted and swayed unsteadily. Sam leaned back and frowned at him. “I thought you were dead. How bad is the wound?”

He shrugged and then winced as the action pulled at the bullet hole in his shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

Sam guided him to the ground and helped him lean back against a wall. Shaking, she fumbled for a few minutes before managing to pull the stolen cell phone from her pocket and dial 911. She quickly related the events and requested an ambulance and then disregarded the dispatcher’s request to stay on the line. Instead, she pressed end and then turned her attention to Ilia once more.

“You’re bleeding pretty heavily.” She placed her palm over the wound and pushed down, ignoring his hissed protest.

“And you are a devil woman.”

“Do you need to leave before the cops get here?” Don’t ask that! You aren’t seriously considering helping him flee from the police, are you? Sam clenched her teeth together. God, she drove herself mad sometimes.

Ilia chuckled. It was a deep sound, and it washed over her in pleasant waves. “No, I don’t need to go on the lam. I’ve done nothing wrong here.”

“That’s right. I forgot you are only a vacuum belt salesman.”

His smile was wide, and it caused dimples to crease in both of his cheeks. God, that smile was unfair. No man should be able to smile like that.

“I’m a private investigator.”

Sam scowled at him. “Right. And Alexander is what? A benevolent aristocrat?

“No, Alexander is a dangerous man. He is a Russian businessman with few scruples and a penchant for violence. He assumed that the people who stole from him would not be stupid enough to sell his property in Russia, so he reached out to me to determine if they’d shipped it here.”

“But Anton recognized your name. I doubt he reacted the way he did because he knew you were a PI.”

“He recognized my last name, Samarin. My father worked for Alexander, just as his father before him. But he wanted a different life for me, so he sent my mother and me to the States when I was ten. I grew up here in Portland.”

“If that’s true, why get involved with a man like Alexander at all?”

“Well, for one, it isn’t wise to turn down Alexander. I made it clear that I did not wish to work for him, but that I didn’t mind doing a favor, so long as it didn’t force me to break any laws.”

“I wish I could trust you; it’s just…” Sam’s voice trailed off, and she issued a heavy sigh.

“I know. I don’t expect you to believe a word I say right now. But I do intend to prove to you the kind of man I am, once I’m all patched up. If you’ll let me, that is.”

She smiled and nodded at him. “I think I might need more than just a few Thomas Hardy books for all my heroics tonight, though.”

“It’s a deal.”

---

I was challenged by a friend to write a story about a dull woman who becomes interesting.  This is the final post! I hope you enjoyed the fruits of this challenge.