Jack stopped and turned, ushering her and Dylan in before he made certain the door was locked behind them. The black-haired man moved to a table across the room and pulled two duffel bags off of its surface. He walked over and handed them to Jack, who instantly handed one of them to Annabelle.
“Change of clothes,” he told her softly. “You’ve already guessed where the washroom is.”
Annabelle looked at the bag and then up at Jack. He smiled. She shrugged and headed toward the opposite door, just grateful to be on her way to sitting once more.
The bathroom was small but contained all of the necessary basics. It was also clean. Thank God.
She dropped the bag on the floor and began to strip down to her underwear. That was when she noticed that it was also heated, because she didn’t get the chill she expected from the night air. She relieved herself and then closed the lid on the toilet. She folded her clothes, placing them on top of the toilet lid and then unzipped the black duffel bag at her feet.
“What the-”
The articles of clothing carefully folded inside were something straight out of a science fiction movie. She lifted out the top garment and held it up in front of her. It was a long-sleeved shirt, grayish-black and looked to be about her size. However, the material it was composed of shone iridescently in the overhead fluorescents. She moved it from side to side, watching the gray-black material shimmer like very, very fine chain mail.
“Way weird.”
She turned the shirt upside down and felt inside. It was soft on the inside, just as one would expect cotton or even fleece to feel. It was the outside that felt so strange. And it was heavy, too.
She put the shirt on the stack of clothes on the toilet and then bent down to retrieve what was next in the bag. A pair of jeans.
Sort of.
These were black low-rise, boot-cut and exactly the style that Annabelle favored. However, they, too, were composed of the same strange material as the shirt, only thicker. And heavier.
She turned them this way and that, examining them with generous curiosity. And then she shrugged and pulled them on.
They fit perfectly. Something about the material caused the jeans to cling to all of the right parts of her legs and to ignore all of the wrong parts. As utterly ridiculous as it was to admit as much in the midst of all of the craziness that had become her life this night, she decided that she loved these jeans. If only she knew what they were made of and where she could buy some more. If only she had a full-length mirror.
The shirt was next. Its weight was hefty and slid along her arms like some luxurious kind of armor. She pulled it down over her waist and sat down on the toilet top to put back on her riding boots. The black leather Harley Davidson’s didn’t look out of place at all now, and in fact, matched the outfit flawlessly.
Annabelle ran her hands over her clothes, wondering at their design, and then stuffed her old clothes back in the bag, zipping it shut. She pulled on her leather jacket over the long-sleeved shirt and opened the door.
When she came out of the restroom, Jack looked up at her from where he was seated on one of the couches. He was apparently going through some of the things that had been handed to him in his own black duffel bag. Annabelle noticed several guns.
Jack’s attention, however, was now solely on her.
She looked up at him, catching his eyes. They burned blue fire as he looked her up and down. She had the decency to blush.
“Okay, so what’s the deal with these rags?” she asked as she set the bag on the edge of an opposite couch and sat down across from him.
“Believe it or not, they’re bullet-proof.”
Annabelle stared at him. She blinked. “Okay, what if I don’t believe it?”
Jack smiled and chuckled. “Doesn’t matter, luv. They’re still bullet-proof.”
Annabelle looked down at the clothes once more.
Bullet proof? Like Kevlar?
“You wanna explain?”
He sat back on the couch, draping his arms over either side of the back of the sofa. His blue eyes bore into hers. “I had them made for you a long time ago.”
“How long time ago?”
“Six years ago.” He paused. “When you found out.”
Annabelle blinked again and, at that, she looked around. Dylan was no where to be seen. That was why Jack didn’t mind speaking on this particular subject. The subject of what it was she found out. The subject of his particular choice of career.
“Where’s Dylan?”
“He’s in the other room, working on the laptop. Picking up where you left off with the color conversion.” Jack gestured to a door in the corner of the room that Annabelle hadn’t previously noticed. The hide-out was larger than she’d at first thought.
“Oh.”
Jack didn’t say anything. He simply looked at her. She was growing uncomfortable beneath his ever watchful gaze.
“You got the clothes when I found out? Why?”
“Because, luv, it isn’t safe knowing what I am.” Jack shook his head then and leaned forward again. His expression was suddenly troubled. “I’ve put you in danger.” His gaze dropped to the floor.
Annabelle’s brow furrowed. What was he talking about? That was six years ago! “Exactly what kind of danger, Jack?”
He looked up from the floor. “There are different kinds?”
“Jack!”
“All right.” He sighed. “You can be used against me. Knowing what you know places you at risk of being… questioned.” His expression was defeated.
“Questioned? You mean, tortured?” Annabelle rolled her eyes. “Duh! Jack, I already knew as much.” She shrugged. “I accepted it. People are always in danger from something anyway. It’s just a part of life.”
Jack’s eyes widened as she continued.
“But if you were so worried, then why didn’t you give me the clothes until now?”
He watched her in somewhat stunned silence for several more seconds and then sighed again and ran a hand through his thick hair. “I had my reasons.”
She wasn’t placated. “And they were?”
His jaw tensed and he stood. He was very tall. “My reasons,” he said. His tone had taken on a dangerous note. Annabelle’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t you go all bossy on me, Jack. I don’t play that way.” She stood as well, not liking the powerless feeling that his height gave her. “If we’re in this together, then we’re in it together. Communication is key. If there’s something I should know, then spit it the hell out.”
He inhaled slowly, his blue eyes taking on the look of sharp cut sapphires. “It isn’t important, Annabelle. And this is neither the time nor the place.” His accent had deepened considerably during the course of the conversation.
Annabelle crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Wow. You only call me ‘Annabelle’ when you’re really pissed.” She sighed. “I’m going to let it go, Jack. But if your keeping secrets from me gets me killed, I will so come back and haunt you for the rest of your unnatural and miserable life.”
Jack blinked. And then, slowly, his lips broke a smile. “Fair enough.”
“Now,” Annabelle said, lowering her arms and looking around the room. “I’m starving. Got any grub in this place?”
Jack watched her for several moments more and then turned toward a line of cupboards that was against one wall across the room. His head was spinning. There were too many thoughts inside fighting for dominance over his concentration.