Reina in a Strange Land Ch. 05

Chapter 5

Reina sat on the wooden chair in her office, looking at the papers on her table. She reached over to turn up the oil lamp and read the hand-written text on the page for the 2^nd time. She still couldn't believe what she was reading. Someone had just dropped some parchment paper documents in the tax office mailbox late in the evening. As the youngest tax auditor, Reina was required to stay late, so she had been the only one there in the office to receive them. A note with the documents said they were recovered from a trading ship impounded for transporting illegal goods. If the documents were authentic, it appeared her best friend's father was under reporting his income and avoiding a considerable amount of taxes. If her suspicions were correct, Mr. Jamison was even trading in illegal goods, a crime that would result in a prison sentence.

Mr. Jamison was a wealthy trader who lived in a modest estate with his two daughters. Reina had been playing and going to school with his younger daughter Deba ever since they'd been little girls in the same small town. Mr. Jamison had bounced her on his knee when she was little, and as teenagers they had played Catch the Maiden in his house, the three girls pretending to be escaped slave girls sneaking around on the creaky wood floors and hiding in closets and wardrobes from Deb's father, an evil slave trader. Reina had begged to play that game whenever she visited Deb's house, and Mr. Jamison had always found time to play with the girls no matter how busy he was. Mr. Jamison had always been like a father to Reina, especially given that her own father was rarely around. Now he could go to jail, if the documents came to light. It was unthinkable.

Reina read over papers for the third time. Someone, presumably Mr. Jamison had marked the sales with a unique symbol, and she'd gone through their filing drawers to find Mr. Jamison's tax forms. The sales on the paper weren't present in the annual documents he supplied the local tax office where she worked. The unusual notations in the shipping manifests went back for years. Reina had only been working at the tax office for just under two years. Her father and Mr. Jamison had both pulled some strings to get her the job when she'd turned 19. Her inexperience meant she'd normally show the documents to a senior tax auditor with more experience, but she didn't dare do that now. If the fraud was real, her best friend's father would go to prison. Reina spun the chair around to look out her window on the second floor. The cobbled streets were already dark, and the crowds had thinned out as people went home from their work. She leaned back and sighed with exhaustion, thinking of Mr. Jamison.

When Reina had turned 16 or 17, she'd naturally started to become attracted to her best friend's tall and strikingly handsome father, and Deb had been oddly accepting of her crush, even teasing Reina about it. In a world where girls of any age could fall victim to slavers, Mr. Jamison was the protective type, teaching Reina and his two daughters how to defend themselves with their hands and feet, and even a small knife. Once when Deba and Reina had been out at night with their fathers, two men had jumped them, throwing a canvas bag over Reina's head. She'd been frozen in terror, unable to see as she'd heard the sounds of fighting and the screams of her best friend. Despite all her training, Reina had been helpless in the powerful grip of the kidnapper's arms. Finally the man had let go and she'd pulled the bag from her head, to see Mr. Jamison crouching next to the two girls, concern in his eyes, while Reina's father and the three attackers lay unconscious on the cobbled street. Her father was not much of a fighter, it had been Mr. Jamison who'd saved her and Deb from a fate worse than death. That realization had unfortunately turned her crush into a full blown infatuation.

Reina got out of the chair, still looking out the window and not noticing the man who appeared at her open door, looking her up and down. The Oriental dress was made of very tight fitting silk that revealed only the flesh of her arms and neck, yet clung tightly to her full breasts and round hips, showing off Reina's exquisite figure. The dress continued down her shapely hips and ended just above her knees, but the man's eyes lingered on her ass, before taking in the exposed flesh of her shapely legs. The man smiled and let out a wolf whistle, laughing as the girl in the red dress jumped in shock and spun around, nearly losing her balance in the heels she was not used to wearing.

"Reina, what are you doing here so late?" he said, smiling at her. It was Ellis, her slightly overweight and more than slightly inappropriate boss. "I know girls are slow at maths, do you need the help of a man?" he asked.

"Yes, let me know if you see one," Reina retorted quickly sitting back down in her chair to hide her lower half from his gaze.

"Wow," said Ellis, still admiring the red Oriental dress on her slender figure as she looked up at him from the chair. "I've never seen that dress on you."

Reina only frowned at him, as she casually put the incriminating documents in a drawer as if they were just boring paperwork. Ellis was allergic to work, so he was unlikely to take interest in hers.

"Does the ice queen have a date tonight?" said Ellis, still staring openly at her the two lovely round peaks of her chest that stretched the silk containing them.

She looked up at her boss, seeing his lascivious grin. "Just the girls taking me out for a late birthday party," she said, though she was tempted to say it was none of his business.

"Oh right," said Ellis, "you turned 21 last month. You're not still a virgin, are you?" Reina just scowled at him, so he added. "Mind if I join you?"

Reina made a disgusted face. "Yes, I do mind."

"I know," said Ellis, "You are afraid one of your girlfriends might steal my attention. You can't bear to share me."

Reina laughed at the absurdity of his comment, and Ellis frowned, for he'd only been half joking. "Fine, I'm heading out, you're the last one here so be careful tonight. I don't want to have to make a trip down to the Auction House to buy you tomorrow."

Reina snorted. "You couldn't afford me," she said, though she gave him a slight smile.

"You're right, but I could take some money from the Treasury and visit you in the Sampling rooms," he said, giving her a suggestive look. "I'll pay extra if you're wearing that red dress . . ."

"You pig!" exclaimed Reina, throwing her writing stick at him, his comments finally getting through to her. She glared at him as he laughed before heading out of the office and locking the door behind him. She shook her head, walking over to pick up her writing stick from the floor. Ellis was harmless but his suggestive comments sometimes got the best of her. Like any free woman her age, Reina lived with the ever present danger of enslavement, legal or otherwise. In fact her father had pushed her relentlessly to join the tax collection office in large part because he'd believed it offered a level of protection for a woman. Would-be slavers would not dare to kidnap a tax agent, or so her father had believed. But once on the job, Reina had found that chasing criminals for a living wasn't exactly a safe job for a nubile young woman either. And now she had to investigate her best friend's father, something she'd never have envisioned when she took the job.

Reina had wanted to be a waitress, having spent a year working with Deba in the eating area of a local inn when she was 18. It was hard work, but she'd loved all the male attention, and the guards had done an excellent job making the girls feel safe. In fact it was the only place where Reina felt safe around men. She could talk with men, and feel comfortable wearing the sexy bar maid uniform, and not have to worry about men getting aggressive with her, or worse. But she'd lied to her father, telling him she was working in a women's clothing shop, and once he'd found out, he'd made the owner fire her. A month later, she'd been working in the tax agency.

She thought of Mr. Jamison. Once when she'd had to perform a routine annual audit on his tax documents, his tax receipts had seemed too low for the lifestyle he and Deba lived. He was always well dressed, and his daughter was often dressed in expensive silks. In fact, Reina's most expensive article of clothing was a sexy dress given to her on her 18^th birthday by the Jamisons. Even the red oriental dress she wore that night was a gift brought back by Mr. Jamison from a trip to the Orient.

Reina's father was fairly wealthy himself, or so she assumed, for he never shared any information on the family finances with his daughter. Regardless, he lived very frugally, and never bought his daughter gifts. Reina had always wished for a sister, someone to share clothes and stories with. But she'd been an only child.

She thought of her best friend Deba, whom she called Deb. The bubbly girl loved to spend money, unlike Reina, and sometimes she wondered where Deb got it all. Her friend would be devastated if her father were arrested, and the town would likely confiscate all his assets. She couldn't bear the thought of Mr. Jamison going to jail for tax evasion. There had to be some mistake! It was late, already dark outside, but she didn't want to wait til morning. If another agent, or Ellis her boss, found the documents, Mr. Jamison's chances of avoiding prison would be very slim. She could stop by Mr. Jamison's office and still make it to dinner if she hurried.

Reina gathered the documents and a writing pad into her leather satchel and prepared to head out. Deb had mentioned before that her father was usually down at the docks until very late in the evening. She'd head down there, talk to him off the record, and hope that he could clear up the discrepancies. Reina thought of destroying the documents, but that wouldn't erase the crime, if there was one.

Reina stepped outside the office, locking the door. There was always a guard outside the door, and when he saw her locking up, he waved to her. "Leaving finally, Miss Reina?" he said, smiling. "Can I walk you home?"

Reina looked at the man thoughtfully. "Thank you, Karl, but actually, could you walk me down to the docks? I'm working on a case."

"Of course, ma'am," replied Karl. The guards earned extra pay when working past sundown, so they didn't mind working late. He looked at Reina's colorful tight fitting dress. "We wouldn't want you to end up on a slave ship," he added with a grin.

Men could never resist making suggestive comments like that, but Reina was used to it. The Oriental silk dress she wore was not something she ever wore in public, but the girls were all going to dress up in costume for her birthday party. She thought of appearing before the handsome Mr. Jamison dressed like this, and she hesitated. Even since Reina had turned 18 or so, Mr. Jamison had . . . changed. He'd always been playful with Reina, but as she'd blossomed into a beautiful young woman, he made little effort to hide his appreciate looks, and he'd even begun to reveal his more naughty nature, with the occasional comment that embarrassed her. She'd taken to dressing down, or even avoiding him, not because she disliked his comments, but because it confused her, and made her crush worse. But she didn't have time to go home to change, she'd just have to risk wearing the tight dress in front of him.

Karl was still looking at her, though not in a creepy way. "Even a normal man can't resist you in that dress, Miss Reina," he said, admiring her figure. "But a slaver? Hmmm . . ."

"Oh, I don't think the slavers would be interested in me, I'm not their type," giggled Reina. "But please keep the Axe Man from getting me." The guard laughed and so did she. The Axe Man was a mythical monster with an axe for a hand who haunted the docks on fog-covered nights. Myth or not, the docks were no place for a young woman by herself.

It took about 15 minutes for them to walk to the docks, during which Reina asked the guard about his young daughters, for Karl never tired of talking about his children. She'd bought the girls two matching dresses for their birthdays. She listened to Karl fawn about his daughters, and felt a pang of sadness, for it seemed like every father loved his daughter more than hers. Or least they showed it more. The time passed quickly and they arrived at the docks. The shipping manifests indicated building 7 was Mr. Jamison's warehouse, which she could see was a fair distance down the docks through a light fog. His office was in the same building.

"I'll be ok from here, it's that building there," she said to Karl, gesturing at the warehouse. "Just go home to your girls, I'll be fine walking home."

The guard frowned. "No ma'am, that wouldn't be safe. I'll wait if that's alright with you. I could use the money, anyway."

Reina smiled at him. "Of course, thank you Karl. Please, just wait for me here, alright? It's a social call; I don't want him to see an armed guard when he opens the door."

"Yes, maam, I understand," said the guard, standing there with an oil lantern in one hand, and his other hand on his sword belt. "Just shout if you need me."

Reina smiled in gratitude at the guard, before turning and walking down the docks, her leather heels clicking on the stone pavement as she headed toward the warehouse door. When she reached it she looked back, satisfied that she could barely see the guard through the mist. Mr. Jamison wasn't likely to see him, or to think he was with her. Steeling herself, she rapped her knuckles on the wooden door. She heard footsteps, and she quickly checked her dress, straightening a crease in the skirt, then stood there, clutching her leather satchel nervously. Inside was the evidence against her best friend's father. A slot in the door opened, and she saw a pair of eyes looking at her.

"Reina?" came the voice of Mr. Jamison through the slot. Then she heard a latch being undone and the door swung open. Mr. Jamison stood there, concern in his eyes. "Is everything alright, dear?" he said, peering out into the dark street to both sides before looking at her again. He looked as handsome as ever, and Reina felt that familiar pain in her chest whenever she was around Deba's father.

"Yes, sir. May I come in?" said Reina, still clutching tightly to the leather satchel.

"Uhh, of course," he responded, hesitating only slightly. He gestured her inside and then closed the door behind her, sliding the heavy iron bolts into place to lock it. He turned, relaxing slightly now that the door was closed and locked. He looked Reina up and down and raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Girl, are you crazy, coming down to the docks alone on a night like this, dressed like that? I know Deb and I gave you that dress but it wasn't meant for the docks!" Then his concerned turned into a suggestive grin. "If you want to act out your kidnapped slave girl fantasies, it would be safer to ask me." His smiled widened. "Is that why you're here?"

"I—I don't . . ." murmured Reina, blushing in embarrassment at his comments as she looked up at Mr. Jamison. He looked well dressed in a workman's tunic of fine leather with short sleeves that barely contained his biceps and intricate stitching that emphasized his broad, muscular chest. Her gaze drifted down to the tanned, rippling muscles of his arms, which were thicker than her own thighs. His strong jaw and concerned eyes made her feel a bit lightheaded, and she felt her crush rising before fighting it down. Why did her best friend's father have to be so handsome, and so masculine? As always, she hoped she wasn't being too transparent around him.

Reina remembered why she was there, and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, unsure how to broach the subject. She knew she had to speak to him about the alleged tax fraud, for if she didn't, Ellis would take the case from her and give it to one of the other auditors. But she was terrified of ruining the close relationship she had with Deb, nor could she bear the thought of disappointing Mr. Jamison, or worse.

"Reina, what is it? Is it your father?" he asked suddenly, alarmed, his hand going to her arm.

"Oh, no, sir, nothing like that!" blurted Reina, very aware of his strong hand on her slender forearm. "This . . . this is about your taxes . . ." she added quickly, before she lost her nerve.

His hand suddenly left her arm, and his blue eyes narrowed. "My taxes?" he said, obviously confused.

"Someone dropped these documents off at the office . . . and . . . I looked at them, not knowing they were yours," she blurted quickly, so he wouldn't think she'd been investigating him. "T-they seem to show . . . I mean, it's possible they could be some . . . uhh . . . undisclosed income . . . I wanted to come speak to you about it . . . before . . . my boss . . . or . . . or someone saw it?"

Reina's heart was thumping in her chest. There, she'd said it. Now how would he react?

Mr. Jamison didn't appear alarmed. "I'm sure there's some mistake," he said. "Why don't you show them to me?"

Reina searched his eyes. She was used to confronting tax cheats, and she had always been good at reading people, yet he showed no signs of deception. "Alright," she said quickly. Reina opened her leather satchel and pulled out the three-page document, laying it out on a large work table inside the room, which was a well furnished office. She pointed to the top corner of each page, where Mr. Jamison's company logo, a wolf's head superimposed on two overlapping rings. Mr. Jamison moved next to her, leaning over to peer at the documents. His arm moved up over Reina's shoulder, his warm hand resting on Reina's upper arm, and she tensed slightly. He was always finding an excuse to touch her, and she had to admit she liked it when he did.

"Hmm, yes, that does look like mine," said Mr. Jamison, his fingers absent mindedly rubbing Reina's bare upper arm in a very distracting manner. She tried to focus on the documents, pointing at some of the numbers marked by strange symbols that she couldn't identify.

"You see here," she said, "these numbers are marked with several unusual symbols, do you recognize them? I pulled your tax documents for the last 3 years." She quickly looked up at him, blushing. "I . . . I'm sorry I had to do that, but . . . I---I was hoping to clear this up, you know? But I don't see these associated numbers or these symbols on any of your tax documents from the last three years . . ." she added, her voice feeling tight. This was the moment of truth.

Mr. Jamison stood up from the table and looked at her. "Reina, where did you say you got this document?"

Reina looked at him carefully as she spoke. "Someone, I--I'd guess the local constable, dropped it off today in our mailbox. A note from the police said it was confiscated during the impounding of a trading vessel." She searched his eyes. "They probably don't even know what the numbers mean, this is just standard procedure."

Mr. Jamison nodded. The constables would normally just turn over any numerical documents to the tax office without looking at them.

"Has anyone else at your office seen them?" asked Mr. Jamison, his expression serious. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders.

Reina felt a tingling up her spine, and his hands on her shoulder felt strong and secure. But she trusted him like she trusted her own father. "No, sir," she shook her head. "I was the only one in the office, and I . . . grabbed them when I realized they were from your company. I didn't tell anyone."

"Good girl, very smart," said Mr. Jamison, clearly sighing with relief. Reina felt her insides warm at his words, but still, she needed to know.

"Mr. Jamison, what do the symbols represent? And why were they not on your official tax form?" she asked, looking anxiously up at him.