Main Storyline: Part two

[Kenneth Irons]

It didn’t take long for Kenneth Irons to settle the bill and arrange for transportation back to his penthouse. Once the parties made their way into the building it was apparent that his description was less than accurate. The building itself was far from modest, let alone the interior design. From the sweeping double staircase in the main foyer down to the minute detailing of the hand carved mantelpiece in the smoking lounge his home spoke volumes to the lengths he would go to define prestige.
On the second floor was the gallery of the Witchblade, and it was where he’d escorted his visitors. Naturally now that Chase Carver was new in town his invitation to viewing his home had extended to that of a place to spend the night, so after he and Lara became engrossed in the tour he excused himself to make preparations with his staff.
“I’ll leave your options open Mr. Carver, if you do not wish to trek back out into the foul weather this evening my home is at your disposal. – I’ll just be a minute I have to inform the staff to make preparations for your possible stay.”<br>
Irons took his leave, heading downstairs for his study. Once inside made the necessary calls to his cleaning and cooking staff, in addition to a few others; One in particular in the regards to the progress of his prodigy Ian Nottingham.

~

Deep within the labs of the Umbrella Corporation a doctor wearing a white lab-coat snapped open his cell phone.
“How is Ian responding to the treatments?”<br>“We’re about to instigate the final stage of the Ah Uincir Dz'acab ritual. We were just waiting to see if you wanted to witness the procedure.”<br>“No by all means Doctor Birkin go on ahead without my supervision, I am somewhat detained with other affairs this evening. And might I add I read your proposal for the Nemesis project and I must say it was quite… engaging material. Any thoughts on when you’ll begin recruiting applicants?”<br>“It’s still in the preliminary stages, but if you have someone in mind, I’m sure the board would be more than eager.”<br>“Duly noted, keep me informed on Ian’s progress.”<br>
~

Kenneth returned to the gallery looking over the large marble statue of a previous wielder.
“Impressive isn’t it? Took me half a lifetime to procure most of these pieces but I must admit that this one… is by far one of my favorites.”<br>He extended an arm in the direction of the smaller bar that looked over Manhattan.
“Can I interest anyone in a drink? Mr. Carver I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was more than eager to hear of how you acquired the Ah Uincir Dz'acab glyph.”

As he walked his hand reached up to brush mismanaged blonde locks out of his silver eyes; eyes which glanced back to Lara Croft who looked about as comfortable as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He could sympathize with her. It wasn’t everyday that a girl had to put up with being civil to two of her ex-lovers.
“Of course as you may have noticed my collection does not exclusively hold pieces that are connected or referenced with the Witchblade, but it was for a long time, an artifact that had peeked more than just simple curiosity.”<br>
Kenneth’s cell phone rang out suddenly, cutting the room with its jingle. Irons held up a hand offering a mild apology for the interruption before answering.
“Yes?”<br>“Sir, he’s awake and responsive.”<br>“Outstanding, I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”<br>

[Terry Sheridan]

Sheridan shifted in the set, the night was going on and on while tensions at the table were rising. It was hard for it not to, ex-lovers and intoxication made for bad judgment. But none the less he accepted the offer from Irons and during the ride over, held his head and the headache brewing. He didn’t care if Boswell knew he was going or no it was his life he could take care of himself. Well maybe not in his current condition.

He wandered about looking at the art displayed and the money that Irons shown with the layout of it all. The spanning staircases massive statues, marble and other designer items. He wasn’t one for all of that still wandering he found himself in the prized gallery of Kenneth Irons, the Witchblade gallery. Even with a foggy mind he could tell what it was, it was like an obsession. Was he after Sara then as well…did he know like he did. A man with that much power he had to have known.

With a dizzy step he turned around and headed back catching Lara’s scowled gaze. “What’s the matter love…not what you expected.” He stepped closer to the Tomb Raider, just the look of her was still enough for him to want her, but her smell the rich perfume was making his head spin any more. “ Didn’t know you were into the money stiffs now…maybe you need your memory jogged as to what a real mans like.” He wasn’t sure what he was saying let alone doing. Hand moved up to cup the nape of Lara’s neck as he leaned into her catching her lips in a kiss.

But what resistance he would have had, and the thought of Sara were becoming more and more blurred as time went on. His drinks mixed with the drug all working against him, as well as his libido. His other hand slid up the British woman’s back Feet moving against the ground closing the space between them and towards the wall. More concerned with finding a room away from Carver and Irons.

[Everett Boswell]

A simple smile came to his lips. “One would expect. There’s plenty ancient weaponry displayed. English history, but there’s quite the security system in place here.” Everett left Sara alone to refresh herself and headed down to his study. A place he often spent time in, lips scowling some as he placed a cigarette between them. After lighting it he took a long drag before pacing a moment. Hand moved to pick up his sleek cell phone as it rang.

“So he’s left with, Croft and Irons has he. Splendid. Enjoy the rest of your night boys.” Hanging up he picking up the styled receiver to dial downstairs to the buildings lobby. He requested some items to be purchased in his name at rather pricy places. He expressed what styles he’d think Sara would have enjoyed, as well as those he would have enjoyed seeing upon her. So far things were going as he thought they would have. All except feeling the force of the Witchblade himself. Fingers moved to rub the cloth covered wound. Irons was quite right, it was exquisite.

Time passed and he hadn’t heard any word or sound from Sara. True he had his own surveillance he could have checked in on her, but he had decided the best way to have her trust him was to be nothing more than a gentleman. More than he could say for Sheridan. Moving about the study he pulled the fencing sword from its place. And moved into first position. With the use of a remote soft music of Italian Opera filled the room and drifted into the halls. Stepping forward he flicked his wrist holding poised then another.

Continuing on he switched hands. Each swipe stung the wound, but training like that was what made him who he was. Persistent, precise and calculated it was how he was raised. Shifting again he winced as he stood tip of the sword facing out arm fully extended, the other raised into its rightful position of the mark. Sara had emerged and he looked up into her face as he lowered the fencing sword, rolling his shoulder forward from the throbbing that coursed around it. “Enjoy your bath? I hope what I selected for you fits to your liking.” He could feel the tacky of drying blood against the wrap and weight shifted along with the sword.

[Lara Croft]

She hadn’t really wanted to come back here, all Kenneth’s penthouse was to her was a lavish prison. It was just now she had cellmates, and not ones she was thrilled with either. Chase she could handle, he was too much of a whipped pup, her word was gold to him and he obeyed fairly well. Terry on the other hand was complete opposite. He was too much like Lara herself; bull headed, stubborn on top of that and always wanting the prize and not giving in or up until it becomes his. It had always been his down fall, it had tended to be Lara’s too. But sometimes combined together and they tended to be each other’s downfalls. Well Terry had been hers at least once and in her mind it had left him under the category of double crossing bastard.

Eyes of hazel narrowed ever so slightly as Kenneth seemed to be leading himself and Chase away from her, that meant she was alone with Terry, not the best of situations to be in. Being alone with him always turned out bad, never good. They had passion once, but on the Tomb Raider’s side it was now pure unaltered anger and frustration. She didn’t care what he felt or didn’t feel, she had voided him from her mind, or at least tried too. It didn’t always work of course, especially when the voided person keeps worming his way back into her life… but of course he was no different then the rest. Chase, Alex, Terry… they were all the same, the only difference was their faces. They had all hurt her and quite possibly Terry had hurt her the worse. He had been someone who was like her, more than any of the rest had been. He could keep up with her, even slow her down when she needed to be, he had also been the first to betray her. After him it ran like a trend, a bad one.

So here she was stuck alone with him looking at Kenneth Irons’ obsessive art collection. That man made her skin crawl unlike any other. Rich he might be, but to her he was just about as cheap as one could get. She did not trust him, let alone his motives. Silence echoed between the two and it would have been just fine by her if it had stayed that way, but of course it wasn’t about to. She ignored his taunt, his usage of his typical pet name for any woman, she knew that deep down he had never seen her as she had saw him. Of course she had been younger then, even a little naïve. But she was far from any of that now, “ You never were.” Her voice was calm, which by her standards was worse than her yelling, it was more like venom. A verbal snake bite, “ I have my reasons for being here and they are none of your bloody concern.” He was trying to break her, get passed her barriers and she knew it. He held no chance of it.

Her eyes remained glued to a painting, her arms folded tightly, she would not look at him. He drew himself closer, she could smell the alcohol on him and made a face of disgust, “ You and liquor never mix well Terry, when will you ever lear---” Her words were cut off by his lips finding hers and at first she enjoyed it, his smell, his rough mannerism, how his slightly shaved face brushed against the soft skin of her own face. She had always liked that burn, his rugged never completely shaved face against her skin. It had proved maddening before and it was proving so again now. But a red warning light went off in her head and she pushed away, not ending up very far as her back was basically against the wall already, not a good place to be at all, “ No.” She stated firmly and pushed passed the Secret Agent, “ Go find yourself a cheap whore. You’re not good enough for me. Not anymore.” He had almost broke her, the shake of her voice revealed that, the fire in her gaze even more.

Turning she walked as fast as she could without running away from the tempter’s snare, ignoring her body’s protests of wanting to feel that power, that strength against and within it once again. Turning a corner, Lara entered the first empty room she came across, it was an upstairs Library. From there she determinedly walked to it’s balcony and onto it for a breath of fresh air.

[Sara Pezzini]

It was an oddity, but the homicide detective felt at ease here. Perhaps it was because her own home had been invaded by the likes of a Norse God and virtually transformed into something she hardly recognized, perhaps it was because if Everett had ulterior motives to get the Witchblade he surely could have killed her and taken it, or just maybe it was that for the first time in a long while she was made to rest… slow down from her life as a purveyor of death and destruction and just be a woman. The badge wasn’t present, her gun was a lump of ruined metal at the scene of her near death, and for once she was just Sara. True part of her wondered how Jake was making out at the surf competition and just when he was going to come back to work, but her desk and the caseload didn’t seem so important at the moment.

Her hair was still damp, giving her locks of honey kissed auburn a smokier appearance. She’d brushed her hair back with a wide toothed comb and tucked the straight tresses behind her ears. Bare feet flexed against the highly polished floors as her weight was distributed in a more natural manner. With each passing moment Sara was feeling more and more healthy. Her eyes glanced down to the Witchblade and she smiled. It was a thing of wonder alright. The gem didn’t stir or change, if anything she felt the silver cuff slide toward her hands as if it was loosening; but of course that was a ridiculous notion. The Witchblade was her burden; she’d seen the problems that could happen if it were transferred to another host, especially an unnatural one like Ian Nottingham.

“Yes Mr. Bos- Everett, thank you for the place of refuge.” Her voice was stronger now, without the crackle or hint of weakness it had held only a few hours earlier. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but my apartment isn’t in the more ‘normal’ of conditions at the moment.” She chuckled a little, “Sometimes I wish my life were more like NYPD Blue and less like the X-Files. But I’m not complaining if I didn’t have the aid of the Witchblade I never would have survived that attack.” She walked further into the room her eyes finally noticing the ancient weaponry of which Everett had spoken. He wasn’t kidding when he said plenty. There was by Sara’s count at least twelve pieces in this room alone. Most she guessed were too old for actual use, but her keen eyes took note of the pair of Tonfa and she felt a twinge of homesickness for her gym and trainer.

He lowered the fencing sword and she noticed the minor change on his face.
“Shit… I hope I didn’t do any permanent damage to your shoulder. But I have to admit, seeing you in the middle of an exercise like this; it is making me a little green with envy.” Sara offered a smile, her face brightening and losing the usual ‘stressed’ look she carried. “Thank you again Everett, I’ll be out of your hair soon.” She turned to gather her things and leave.

[Kenneth Irons]

Kenneth was busy making martinis for the quartet, when his head perked up and he realized that Sheridan and Croft were no longer in the room. He rounded the bar, setting Carver’s shaken-not-stirred drink before him.
“It seems we’ve lost a few in the labyrinth,” his lips pursed, “will you excuse me a moment while I play shepherd?”<br>Kenneth exited the lounge, trailed back down the myriad of hallways until he heard voices.

“I realize my home is extensive but really Terence… if you wanted some alone time all you needed to do was ask.” His brow darkened as he eyed the spy. Irons could see that Sheridan was being a little more than curious about the ongoing affairs in his home, and that was simply not acceptable. “But I digress…”
“Drinks are being served in the lounge, I’ll gladly show you where that is, if you can tell me where Lara has disappeared?”<br>
Kenneth walked with the drugged and drunken Sheridan toward the lounge, his mind idly on the whereabouts of the tomb raider, but he wasn’t about to fixate. She was a big girl, and if this scoundrel had manage to scare her off toward solace he wasn’t about to interrupt that. As he entered he heard the din of the television. Apparently Chase had flipped it on while he was gone. A reporter was talking about the violent attack in near Don franchetti's estate.

“Hell's Kitchen ...more than a neighborhood...it's a state of mind. From the slaughterhouses and breweries of the 1800s, the draft riots of 1863, the Fighting 69th of World War I, the home of New York's most dangerous criminals from the early tenement days to Prohibition to the Westies, Hell's Kitchen rose from the blood and fire of the poor dreaming their riotous dreams and searing the urban landscape with a wild, demanding spirit. But for those who live here, the reality of Hell's Kitchen is stunningly clear...”<br>
The reporter allowed the camera to pan the alleyway where Sara and the Jackie had fought.
“Tonight is a shining example of just how dark this one block section of New York can be. I’m standing amid a horrific crime scene where eyewitness believe that a woman was brutally eviscerated. The police are withholding the name of the victim, and are currently without lead to a suspect...”<br>In the background, behind the yellow tape a blonde haired man who could easily pass as a surfer was sifting though the horror collecting evidence, and trying not to think that his partner was dead… but gods all that blood… Hopefully the crime lab would confirm that it wasn’t hers, that it was just coincidence that her wallet, gun and shredded jacket were here…<br>#nosmileys#nosmileys

[Jake McCarthy]

Phone rang in his hotel room, and groggly rolling over he answered. There was a male voice on the other side of the line. Hushed that he couldn’t quite catch who it was. A simple phrase was passed along the line. Go back to New York? But he thought he’d had cleared time off. Being the special guest of honor at the surf competition. Eyes strained to look to the clock. 3:30 am. Was what blinked back at him. The voice didn’t sound like anyone at his offices, or the bureau for that matter.
“Wait… who is this.”<br>“Sara needs your help.”<br>
Without anything else the line went dead. Holding it the blonde detective tried to make heads of it. Until the recorded voice came up yelling at him. ‘If you’d like to make a call. Please hang up and dial again.’ Rehanging the phone he sighed and rolled out of bed. No use trying to sleep now. Packing his things he left word that he was needed back in New York, A.S.A.P for a case. And that was that. The brief snippet of a vacation was over. Back to the hellish bustle of New York. The city that never sleeps. Caching the first flight back he could.

Surfer blonde hair was mussed as he entered the department before a loud voice commented gruffly towards him.
“McCarthy. What are you doing back..don’t you have that surf thing. Never mind.”<br>“Looking for my partner, Sir.”<br>“Aren’t we all. Pezzini hasn’t been seen. At least not by any one here she hasn’t.”<br>Brow quirked as he moved into the office. What was going on. First the strange phone call telling him to get back to New York for Sara. When Sara wasn’t even around. Something wasn’t right. Picking up the file folder that was slid over to him his facial features became rather static. Before any other words could be spoken, Detective Jake McCarthy was out the doors and to the scene.

Police were already there, taking pictures, collecting evidence. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. There was so much blood. A hole in the brick wall. A few freshly made jagged scrapes. And a rather beat up looking garbage bin. He needed to know what was going on. Until a uniform came up to him holding Sara’s gun in a plastic, Ziplock bag.
“ Listen, I don’t care what you have to do. Get this blood to forensics. Priority number one. Call me once it’s been run.”
Hand ran into his hair, then down against the blonde stubble on his jaw line. If it was Sara’s he needed to know. But still he needed to have hope, that she was still alive. News cameras were already swarming and he instructed a officer to take care of it. While he busied himself calling Sara’s apartment. Her cell. Anything he could to reach her…<br>

[Terry Sheridan]

Sheridan had made the call after the attack, without telling Sara. But there was something more he was keeping from her. A small shard he found on the ground, before New York's boys in blue came in to play clean up. But in his mind now, that all seemed like some weird sort of nightmare. Head was pounding, not to mention the fact he was feeling dizzy. Of course there was also Croft. He could feel her body against his, at first she didn't fight it, then she pushed away.

“Damnit Lara.” He growled pursuing the bombshell. In a right state of mind, things might have been different. Mind would have acknowledged things differently. But it wasn't another time it was now, and he wouldn't have found himself fit to even hold his own weapon. “I never liked cheap whores.” But his mind was bringing up things he though he'd buried deep down. Things he could just move on over, but when it came to the Tomb Raider nothing was that simple. “Just admit you still have feeling Lara. And don't give me some sorry ass, cynical response…I still think about you. You can't change what we had.”<br>
His hands as fist hit the closed door and he moved to open the door just as Kenneth Irons came with his high horse waltz. The British spy turned looking at the man. As he felt his hand push against his shoulder he jerked it forwards. Now he was just being obstinate, but said nothing about the whereabouts of Croft. As they entered the lounge, his eyes scanned up to the tv set. Some sort of crime scene, he couldn't focus. “I think I need some air…” his accented voice fell as he staggered out of the room once more. Though he never did taste fresh air as drugged body collapsed to the floor.

[Everett Boswell]

With simple ease he fencing sword was replaced and he closed the distance between himself and the sleek sound system that was connected to the intercom system of the suite. Pressing the button he turned down the volume before looking across to Sara. She was a thing of beauty, even with wounded walk and his head nodded forwards towards her. “ I can fully understand. And don't worry yourself over my shoulder, with a strict regiment it will be back to normal in no time. I've learned its easier to push myself forwards. “

His own smile was given back towards her, though it almost didn't seem to fit his features. Which were often reserved and calm. “Please make yourself at home here. I don't mind it in the least.” Stepping forwards the dark haired man stopped before her. “I hope you won't think me forward, but would you care to accompany me to dinner?” his hand extended out towards her. “Of course if your not feeling up to it, I fully understand. Perhaps some Italian could be delivered.”<br>
He moved while studying her face, he'd stepped up closer towards her so arm bent at the elbow to keep his hand the right distance away from her, that her own hand would have to raise and pass the threshold to his own. He was going to enjoy taking her from Sheridan, paying the smug playboy spy back for everything in his life he'd done to him. Time and money had already been invested in it to leave it be. And with the prospects that Kenneth Irons brought to the table, it was a business arrangement that he'd taken quite and interest in. Especially with the Witchblades, wielder, Sara.

[Lara Croft]

His words echoed in her mind, she knew he had been behind her, how close he had truly been and the impression it had left behind on her body and mind. Since their first and last encounter with each other, Lara had tried desperately hard to make herself numb to the advances of men, especially men like Terry Sheridan. But what she was all to quick to discover was that he was in a class all his own. There were no other men like Terry Sheridan. He was and would remain one of a kind, just like Lara herself.

With a silent scream her fist came against the gray stone railing of the library balcony. He was right, as always and it scared her to death to think that someone knew her so well. Not even Bryce or Hillary knew as much as Terry did… and does. Rolling her shoulders the Brit felt in control once again, all the memories, the desires, the wants and needs suppressed once again. Now on her guard the tall woman left the room and instantly felt a bit lost on entering the shadowed hallway.

Cursing herself for having not explored Irons’ vast mansion more, Lara headed left in the direction she had come from in the first place, when in doubt return to where you began; a saying well used by the Tomb Raider. Finally back in the hallway seemingly dedicated to the Witchblade and Sara, Lara then tried to determine which way to go next, but her question was soon answered when a door on her right opened part ways down the hall and Terry emerged staggering forward before collapsing to the ground.

“ Bloody hell.” Without thinking Lara rushed forward and knelt down, her slender, strong fingers searching the thick neck of her once colleague and lover for a pulse, finding one a hiss of air left her lips. Her next course of action was to remove a small pen light from her pocket and lift each eye lid to check his pupils, within less than a minute she knew he was more than just a little drunk, “ What in the hell is going on around here?” The Surrey native asked aloud her mind wandering through a list of suspects, her instinct settling on the only possible person she knew of that could have done this, Kenneth Irons, which lead to her next question, why?

[Sara Pezzini]

Dinner? Her stomach growled as if on cue. As he stepped forward her fingertips urged to reach out and inspect the damage she’d done, but that was absurd. Forwardness and direct thinking was what got her into all of this mess wasn’t it? Even if she found him attractive she was with Sheridan, and he was his friend. After all if it wasn’t for her strong-headed burst into the Rialto her partner Michael wouldn’t have been shot and she wouldn’t be cursed with the Witchblade. With a small smile Sara instead reached out to clasp Boswell’s hand with both of hers.
“I’ll stay under one condition.”<br>Sara paused forcing her figure to relax a little, “That you understand I’m with Terry. This is just dinner.” She wasn’t blind to the way he’d been eyeing her. It was flattering, but she couldn’t let it get out of hand. The controlling cop mentality kicked in and she consciously tried to shut off the pheromones that this man seemed to awaken.

[Kenneth Irons]

The following morning Kenneth Irons was awake and vibrant, enjoying the warmth of the encroaching spring. The veranda doors were set wide open, allowing the fragrant air to waft into the small sitting lounge. The breeze carried the thin gossamer curtains out like fans of white silk, and gently rustled the multibillionaire’s newspaper. He folded the newspaper back up, setting it down on the linen clothed table before taking a sip of espresso.

It had been indeed an adventurous evening. With Terry Sheridan falling prey to his nefarious plots, the adventurous Lara Croft staying for another night in his Penthouse and the addition of her former lover Chase Carver it seemed that his threads of influence were coming into a most enjoyable web. It was indeed a great loss for him to have to let go of his treasure Sara Pezzini, but now that his manservant Ian Nottingham was resurrected, he knew it was only a matter of time before all of his wants were satiated.

He drained the cup and set it down onto the saucer, the song of porcelain on porcelain ringing a light note in the room. The rest of the modest spread he left for his houseguests before rising from his chair. The younger and more virile Kenneth not only moved with the fluidity of a man in his late twenties, but he seemed stronger than average. As if the de-aging process had not only given him youth, but something else. He smiled to no one in particular and walked out.

He chose the BMW for this particular trip, not bothering with a driver and taking the helm himself. Once he was behind the wheel and maneuvering the streets he depressed a few buttons on the console. The ring rang a few times and then was finally picked up.
“Good morning Doctor Birkin, how is our patient coming along?”<br>“Thus far we’ve been happily surprised with the results.”<br>“Good, good I shall be over directly to see for myself.” His phone beeped that a second call was coming in, “I’ll let you get back to your work.” He finished before clicking over.
“Ohayô Gozaimasu, Mr. Irons. It has come to my knowledge that you are in need of a man who can get things done…” the Asian voice spoke eloquently over the line, “…I may be in service to provide just what you are looking for.”<br>

[Everett Boswell]

They watched each other closely, like animals trying to size each other up wonder who was the pray and who was the predator. Boswell kept his frame as he stepped forwards, his eyes watching hers. He could tell she was a strong woman and he reminded himself that subtlety was the best course of action for him. Too forwards or blunt could cause a snag. And he didn’t want a snag in the beautifully woven lies and secrets that were coming together. Especially with what connections he had to Irons.

Then she spoke Sheridan’s name after clasping his hand, her conditions. He felt his skin crawl to the idea of it. Of course that would be something easily remedied. Everett knew Sheridan’s whereabouts. Though he left details of the matter to Kenneth, after all the spy would be in his house. With that notorious Croft there as well. He could only imagine what sort of predicament the drugged Terry could get himself into or awaken too.

However his first instincts were to spit at Sheridan’s name, wanting to tell the detective of his own encounters with the man and women. His fiancée in Terry’s bed. Silently he held his tongue before giving her a response. “I still haven't changed your mind about me? I'm not like other men, Sara. While you are quite a lovely woman, I know the proper social edict that should be followed. He’s a lucky man. I can only hope Sheridan is wise enough to realize that.”

He smiled to the detective before shifting his weight as he walked her out of his office. “I still leave the decision up to you as what you’d prefer in regards to diner. Though I feel I should warn you, if diner is brought up I’d rather change into something less formal.” He chuckled slightly, she’d only ever seen him in a designer shirt and dress slacks.

[Sara Pezzini]

“Trust me, if Terry and I weren’t…” she blurted in defense. And then upon hearing the second half of his statement she turned her face down feeling the flush of color. He was right. She had jumped to conclusions about his intentions. Silently Sara was cursing herself for always being the paranoid cop looking in the shadows for the assassin to jump out or for the hidden agenda. With an assertive nod she spoke with more confidence now.
“I’m glad you understand… Everett.” This time when she said his name it wasn’t with a concerted effort or stumble, she was just relieved that he took the truth so gracefully.

Sara accepted the offer for dinner; it was in all fairness the best she could do given what Everett had done for her. For a brief moment she considered calling the department and putting an ATB out on Jackie Estacado, but the questions it would raise were more than she was willing to lie about. The investigation she’d undertaken was a solo mission; an ‘off the grid’ self appointed investigation, nothing more. If word got back that she was poking her nose around Frankie Franchetti’s turf without a warrant she’d have more than a curious department, she’d have a dozen lawyers threatening to sue for invasion of privacy with all the trimmings.

Like it or not, she wasn’t assigned to the Sheridan case. She worked homicide. His case was unreported due to his line of work. He mind flashed to her partner, he was the only one she would have normally called, but he wasn’t in the state. He was in California on sabbatical. No, it was best to keep the incident between Witchblade and Darkness under the radar for now. How was she to know that Jake was back in town or that in his current state he was ready to know her secret? How was she to know that Jake had become the new wielder of Excalibur when Nottingham had fallen in London?

[Ian Nottingham]

The woman's lips parted slightly as she stirred from the warm touch. A small murmur of sleepy complaint moaned from her mouth. He felt her breath against his chest. She was so beautiful, perfect. The sun kissed across her naked figure dancing amid the slatted shadows from the curtain. A breath of fragrant air perked up the tiny hairs on her skin.

-You don’t want to go here boy...-

Fingertips trailed across her torso, and her lips curled into a devious grin as she giggled and flexed her abs.
“Do you know how much I love you?” he murmured in her ear, kissing the soft flesh at the crook of her neck. Like a cat she stretched, a contented purr working up her throat. A hit of jade and honey glanced back to him, and then winked shut under soft brown lashes.

-You don’t want to see this…-

He kissed down between her shoulder blades, slid his hand about the curve of her hip, and trailed the underside of her breast. His heart swelled and his stomach lurched with butterflies. She gasped with passion, “Ian I lov-”
The shadow wrenched her free of his grasp, breaking her neck instantly and dangling her before him; broken, bleeding, her head hanging by a chord of muscle, her eyes wide and glassy, dead.

-You never listen-

Nottingham’s teeth were clenched hard; his muscles strained to the point of tearing as he was force fed his worst nightmares. Since the time of his wake, he’d undergone the treatment; The retraining of his natural mindset, the correction as Irons liked to call it. He had something similar in mind for Terence Sheridan, if Ian survived this. Sweat poured off his face, eyes of cold white-blue flashed open as the doctor spoke again.
“How do we feel?”
Nottingham wanted so desperately to give up and just let them fry him. He no longer had Excalibur, he no longer felt a mental tie to Sara, and he knew, just knew, that Kenneth was doing this for his own good. That this was just his way of showing he did not stand for slipups, that he should have killed her. That it was his job, to do what was asked without question. He was a killer. How could he expect her to-

Teeth clenched again as another shock lanced though his temples. Another flash of her, this time she was with another man, she was laughing, she was happy… happier without him.
“Ian…?”
His lips pressed together, eyebrows knit, and he heard himself weep.
“Interesting…” the doctor noted marking a few more notes on the clipboard.