"Smith! This looks like a squat! Don't tell me you live here?!"
"Don't judge a book by its cover, Officer. This is the safest place in the neighbourhood - maybe the safest in the whole of the Marshes!"
"Are you sure no one's inside?" I didn't dare step in without instinctively reaching for my gun.
"I'm sure. The building has an alarm system. See that megaphone up there? There's another at the back. If anyone tries to break in, a loud siren goes off. The doors and ground-floor windows have motion sensors. Only someone with an electric key can enter," he said, crouching to pry loose a brick at the base of the façade. He pulled out the stone and retrieved a small, oddly shaped purple object from the cavity.
"Here's the key," he explained. "Thank God I thought to hide a spare outside. The other's in my wallet – back in your office."
Smith unlocked the door and let me enter first. We stepped into a dark corridor. The unventilated space smelled of old carpets and mildew. I heard him flick a switch. A faint glow from vintage wall sconces on either side of the hallway illuminated the eerie entrance. In the dim light I made out a staircase and two doors.
"I live on the second floor. Those two rooms are storage - I've boarded up the windows anyway, so there's not much to see," he said as we climbed two flights of stairs.
The stairwell was unlit; I had to follow Smith's directions to avoid tripping. At the second floor landing he drew back heavy curtains to let daylight flood in. Natural light revealed a spacious atrium; the floor entirely covered in old carpets. Two hidden arches led to the left and right wings of the house. I followed Smith as he vanished through one of the shadowy openings.
"Make yourself comfortable, Officer. It'll warm up soon. Want some tea?"
Smith pressed a button on a remote to raise the half-lowered roller shutters and adjusted the thermostat. I looked around and realised several walls had been removed to create one large chamber. An emerald-green three-seater sofa and matching chesterfield armchairs surrounded an oval wooden coffee table in the centre. To the far right stood a fully equipped kitchen with a marble island and, beside it, a four-person oak dining table with brown microfibre chairs on black metal legs. A stand held a Denver retro record player and a vinyl rack filled with classical albums.
Smith poured hot water into a pot of black loose-leaf tea. While it steeped, he refilled the electric kettle and set it to boil again. I sat in a chesterfield chair, waiting for him to join me. I was supposed to feel safe, but the dread that our pursuers would raid this hideout any moment refused to leave.
"Something's bothering you, Officer?" Smith noticed my tension as he handed me my cup and took the opposite seat.
"Has anyone ever tried to break in?" I asked.
"Yes, once. But the siren was so loud it scared them off, and no one has tried it since," he chuckled.
"How does no one know about this place?"
"I bought it through my company. I set up a fake small business selling office supplies. I keep the accounts clean every month to stay off the tax inspectors' radar."
"But you had to sign the papers with your name?" I pointed out.
"Yes. But I have many names. I signed that contract with some typical Gaul one. They'll never link it to me," he said, smiling as he sipped his tea.
"I knew John Smith wasn't your real name," I muttered.
"It might be. You can call me John … or Johnny," he said suggestively, knowing I would catch the innuendo. He was reminding me of that night when I had called him Johnny in bed. It made me uncomfortable. For the first time, I felt genuine panic in his presence, on his territory.
"I'm out of here," I whispered, jumping up from the armchair.
"Wait, Officer!" Smith caught my arm, stopping me. "Please stay. Where would you go?"
"Anywhere to be far from your harassment!" I shouted. Being near him was overwhelming. Knowing him wasn't just dangerous — it was burdensome. Smith created tension at every opportunity. It tormented me that I liked the way he looked at me. As a grown woman and police officer, I was supposed to know better than to fall for a pair of pretty eyes.
"Please stay," he begged, blocking the archway with his broad shoulders. "I really like you - that's why I act like an idiot." He gently took my hand and led me back to the sofa.
"Yazarova. That's a Scythian name?" he asked while preparing me another cup of tea.
"Yes. I was born in Tsargrad, Scythia," I replied shortly, offering no details. Gauls loved prying into immigrants' hardships in the West. I wasn't in the mood for that conversation with Smith.
"I love Tsargrad. I want to visit someday - maybe even stay," he said dreamily.
"Why? To rob the national gallery?" I asked sarcastically.
"You have so little faith in me, Officer! I just think it's a beautiful city. And I can tell you would rather be in Tsargrad than the Marshes right now," I took the cup and watched him settle across from me, on the other side of the coffee table.
"One day I'll return to Tsargrad," I declared, avoiding his gaze. "You said you liked me. Why?"
"You mean why I said it, or why I like you?" He sounded confused.
"Why do you like me? Is it just because I'm a female cop you took advantage of?"
"Well, there are the obvious reasons. I find you extremely attractive. I couldn't believe my eyes when I first saw you behind that desk. Beautiful women like you don't work in places like that."
"Oh yeah? Where are they supposed to work then?" I asked defiantly.
"I don't know - somewhere creative and elegant, but certainly not a police station in a godforsaken village."
"What exactly do you like about me?" I knew I shouldn't have asked, but the words slipped out in a whisper — an unspoken invitation that instantly alerted him. He slid to the edge of his seat, closing the distance.
"Everything. I like your pale skin, especially when I make you blush. I like your eyes — they can't hide the truth. You can tell what you're thinking just by looking into them. How dark and resentful they get when you're angry. How bright and loving when you're concerned or happy. I like your small hands." Here Smith left his seat and moved to the sofa beside me. Taking advantage of my mesmerised state, he took my hand and continued, "My hands are huge compared to yours. It sounds silly, but every time you touched me, I felt a shock, just imagining your little fingers on my chest. I like your lips. I think they're very kissable." He leaned forward as if to share a secret.
"We've done quite a few things, but we haven't kissed yet. I think we should," he murmured. My body froze as I stared at his full, sensual lips drawing closer. The thought of kissing him had crossed my mind every time I looked at him, but I had always suppressed it. Now I found myself unable to resist something as seemingly harmless as a kiss.
His tongue brushed softly against my lower lip and slipped inside my mouth. He pushed deeper impatiently, seeking mine. Gradually I shook off the spell and tried to pull away. Smith placed a hand at the back of my neck and drew me in, moving his head in rhythmic up-and-down motions as our tongues tangled intensely. For a split second I toyed with the idea of giving in, of stopping the fight against something I enjoyed. But I managed to push him off and dashed to the kitchen island, putting a barrier between us.
"Smith! We can't do this!" I panted, catching my breath.
Smith didn't chase me. He rose slowly from the sofa and walked toward the kitchen, maintaining eye contact the whole time — which was somehow worse. His outward calm and measured steps showed he had everything under control. Smith was confident I couldn't escape him or his kisses.
"And I just love your voice!" he sighed desperately. "The frequency of your voice resonates with something in my brain. It drives me wild! Your moans were otherworldly that night in the barn. I had never felt anything like it. I wanted to hear those sweet sounds again in the hotel, but you controlled yourself surprisingly well. Though I did my utmost to arouse you, given what was acceptable in the circumstances." He neared the table but didn't try to close the gap further.
"Acceptable?! You were sucking on a public servant's tits, Smith!" I shouted, incredulous at his audacity.
At that moment Smith placed a hand on the tabletop and vaulted over it in one giant leap, landing right in front of me. I shrieked in surprise and staggered back. He came at me and pinned me to the wall.
"That's right - I forgot to mention how much I love your beautiful titties," he growled, grinding his hips against mine as he studied my reaction.
"You … like my breasts?" I wasn't used to compliments about that part of my body. Smith's admiration caught me off guard.
"Are you crazy?! Of course I do! They have a nice round shape - like little apples, fitting perfectly into my hands." He gently squeezed them through my uniform.
"Besides, a mouthful is more than enough," he grunted into my ear, biting my earlobe. I whimpered and seized his shirt collar, trying to pull him off. My groan must have been the final trigger. He slid one hand behind my back and the other under my legs.
"Smith put me down! Where are you taking me?" I protested as the Anglo-Saxon carried me out of the room.