The Twelve Zenati Pt. 00

*****

Olivia woke to a bright and airy room and had to squint against the volume of sunshine that flooded her eyes as she blinked them open. It took several panicked moments for her to remember why she was in this strange place, and the horror of the night before played out in her mind. She pushed back the comforter and got to her feet, looking around wildly, half-expecting to find the stranger in the room with her, but she was alone. She spotted her jeans hung over the back of a chair and she grabbed them, dragging them on and feeling slightly better being fully dressed.

The room was lovely, with a lush and expensive interior design of blue and white, with hints of lemon and lime that gave it a freshness that went with being by the sea. It was a style that Olivia had always loved, and if she had to be imprisoned until she could get to the police safely and tell them what she had seen, then this wasn't a bad prison cell. It beat her ageing little boat any day. She went to the large bay window and sat on the cushioned bench, looking out over the sparkling bay, and she sighed. If she were here for any other reason she would be in heaven, but the weight of what she had witnessed, and the fact that she was in the home of a stranger who had saved her but had stopped her from reporting the murder to the police, weighed heavily on her.

"Good morning, Olivia," a deep voice said from behind her, making her jump and turn to face him. The stranger of the night before walked slowly into her room, and, in the morning light, she could see him clearly for the first time. He was tall, well over six foot, his body was that of an athlete or a man used to working out regularly. Her eyes scanned up his body and came to rest on his face. While not classically handsome, his face held a character that made him ruggedly attractive. His dark eyes, that she had thought so menacing in the car last night, this morning seemed a warm hazel, rather than the dark depths of her impending doom.

"Good morning... umm..." she hesitated. She still didn't know his name, and for some reason the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth made him look infinitely more handsome than she had first thought. 'He should smile more often.' she thought distractedly.

"Remy. My name is Remy," he said in response to her hesitation. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Olivia stuttered, and when he raised his eyebrow she added, "It's just that I'm a bit..."

"Confused? Overwhelmed?" he prompted as she paused, as if not finding the right words.

"Yes," she whispered and lowered her head, trying to process exactly how she felt. The vision of the murder passed through her mind again, making her shiver.

"You must be hungry. Come have breakfast with me," Remy invited, holding out his hand to her. Olivia took it tentatively and found once she had gone that far he took control, tightening his grasp around her fingers and tugging her to his side.

"How did I get up here?" she asked as they left the room and walked to the stairs.

"I carried you and then put you to bed," he admitted. "I hope you were comfortable enough."

"Yes, thank you," she blushed, realising he had taken her jeans off. She didn't know what else to say, so she remained silent as she followed him down to the kitchen.

"What you saw last night," Remy began as they sat at a kitchen bench and a solid lady with a broad smiling face placed plates of bacon, eggs and toast before them. "It's made you a target, and your life is in danger now. You realise that, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said in a small voice, her sea green eyes looking up at him as her fingers reached for a strand of hair and rubbed it between her fingers.

"I can protect you here, nothing gets in or out of this property without me knowing. You need to stay here at least until I work out what's going on and who we can trust," Remy commanded, but took the edge off the command with another of his half smiles. "If you give me your address and keys, I will pick up some of your stuff for you while I am out, enough for a couple of days, just in case. I need to find a few of my friends and try and work out exactly what happened and why my brother was murdered."

"Won't that be just as dangerous for you?" Olivia asked, still staring at him with wide eyes.

"They didn't get a good look at me last night. You turned and ran into the shadow that I was coming from, and I wasn't driving my regular car," he admitted, not wanting to go into the fact that he was up to no good himself in stalking her. "Look, I know it's not ideal, but you have to stay here, I can only guarantee your safety if you stay put, at least for now."

"Why would you do that for me? You don't even know me," she said, shaking her head. "Why do you even care what happens to me?"

"You're the only witness to the murder of my brother. Once we work out who killed him, and if we can involve the police and be sure of your safety, then we can move on with our lives," he said reasonably. Olivia knew there had to be more to the situation than that. She also knew, however, that criminal organisations had a way of dealing with witnesses, and for the moment she was safe. She had her own room, she was being fed well, and she thought once again that if she had to be caged up somewhere this place was hardly a prison cell. The man sitting beside her didn't seem the least bit threatening in daylight.

"I'm supposed to work tonight," she said, remembering that she had a job and a life to try and straighten out. She couldn't afford to lose her job.

"Call them, tell them you're sick. It should only take a day or two to get this straightened out," he shrugged.

"They'll fire me!" Olivia gasped. "I need that job, I have bills mounting up, and I need the money! I can't just blow off work!"

"If you show up at work tonight you're as good as dead if they discovered who you are," he argued. "Besides, bartending in a seedy dive like that is hardly any one girl's dream job."

"How do you know where I work?" she asked suddenly.

"You still had your employee identification in your pocket when I took your jeans off last night," he shrugged. "It fell out, that's also how I knew your name this morning." He said quickly. It wasn't true, the ID was in her bag, but she was rattled enough not to question it, and her blush when he mentioned removing her jeans was a pleasant side effect to the lie. "I'll help you find a better job once this is all over, I promise. I have connections in the hospitality industry. Okay?"

"I guess I have no choice," she said almost sullenly. "Stay here and lose my job, or go to work and possibly die. Whatever will I do?" she pushed her plate away and sagged onto the bench in front of her.

"It won't be for long," he tried to comfort her, resisting the urge to command her to straighten her posture. "Let me handle it, for now, you will be safe here, and I will help you find a better job and place to live when it's all over."

"I like where I live," she sighed.

"You still have to give me the address so I can pick some things up for you," he said, glad she hadn't jumped on his insinuation that her boat was as run down and as seedy as the bar at which she worked. Not that he knew that for sure, but all the boats at that end of the marina docks were in bad shape.

"Okay. Have you got a pen and paper?" she asked. "I'll write it down and a list of where to find the things I need. It's a small boat, but it's mine."

"Relax and make yourself at home, have a shower, sunbake, go for a swim if you want, but keep to the indoor pool. Ask Aunty Bea, and she'll find you a shirt of mine you can probably wear as a short dress until I get back," he said with a smile, imagining her in one of his shirts, and grabbed his keys. "She'll give you a tour of the house as well if you want, just try to stay inside today until we know what's really going on."

"Okay," she said, giving in fully to what had happened, and the fact that she had little choice but to trust this man. He had saved her, after all, and hadn't taken advantage of her when she had passed out last night. He was right, if she went home or to work herself, she could very well be found by the men who intended to kill her last night.

"I'll try and get back by lunchtime," he told her. She watched him gather his keys and the slip of paper she had written her instructions on. "It will be okay, just stay here and make yourself at home." With that, he left her to finish her breakfast alone.

"Aunty Bea?" Olivia asked as soon as Remy had left the house. "I don't suppose you've shrunk any of his underwear lately, have you? I could really use a shower and a change of clothes before you take me on a tour of this place."

"Let's see what we can find, Miss Olivia," Aunty Bea smiled widely and waved a hand in the direction of the stairs.

During her morning with Aunty Bea, Olivia had discovered several things. Firstly, Remy, as he had introduced himself, was, in reality, Remington Royce, a well-known playboy who owned hotels, bars and nightclubs like a veritable God of pleasure. He was often seen at charity galas with beautiful socialites and celebrities, and he was enormously wealthy, not that the house hadn't screamed wealth to her before that discovery. Secondly, he still had her phone, which bothered her greatly, despite having no one of importance to call except work to say she wouldn't be in for her shift tonight. She had to look up the number and call from the house phone while she waited for Remy to return. Thirdly, Aunty Bea had a stash of women's clothes and underwear in all different colours and sizes, which made Olivia believe all of the ideas she had about the man being a rich playboy who lived a decadent lifestyle.

When questioned about his playboy status, however, Aunty Bea had just laughed and said, "Sometimes the parties get a little wild, but Mr. Remy rarely attends them himself. He throws parties for his friends more often than not. The last one was a bachelor party for one of his nightclub managers." She went to great lengths to explain that Remy was a man of particular tastes, and it was rare that women stayed in the house. It had been over a year since his last serious girlfriend had been asked to leave. He was a big believer in monogamy, and she, it seemed, had broken his trust and he had cut her off without another word once he discovered the truth.

It was just after midday, and with the urgings of Aunty Bea, who had proffered a bikini in her size, Olivia was floating in the glorious saltwater pool thinking of Remy and how embarrassed she was that he would see the squalor of where she lived while she lazed about in the beauty and wealth of his home. The contrast couldn't have been greater, and she sighed. He was being so good to her, and instead of being grateful she was worried and anxious about why he was being so nice, so generous, so protective.

She had always found swimming relaxing, the best way to clear her head and think rationally about her life and where it had taken her. She'd lived like this once, in the lap of luxury, and she'd thrown it all away on a poor imitation of love. She'd squandered the money she'd saved on her own and turned her back on the family who would have looked after her. She knew her family could protect her if only she dared to reach out to them. But she had been the one to walk away and turn her back on family and tradition. She had made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with them if they couldn't accept her love for Kevin. She had done this to herself, and now it was too late to go back, even if she wanted to.

She sighed and ducked under the water, sitting on the bottom of the pool, wondering if dying quickly with a bullet to her head was really the worst thing that could happen to her. Her dismal, sad and lonely life couldn't get much worse, but she knew of far greater punishments that could make you wish you were dead. She looked up at the sky so distorted by the depth and movement of the water and slowly came to the surface again.

*****

The murder had been investigated throughout the night. A witness had called the police and claimed he had tried to talk the man out of killing himself but couldn't be dissuaded. The body had been found drifting amongst the boats at the marina, and the man had shown them where to find the gun and the evidence of what had occurred.

It was sloppy police work, at best, or possibly a cover-up by those on the take. Either way, it was a done deal, and the only people who could prove otherwise were himself and the young woman who currently hid behind the proactive walls of his home; The woman he had been stalking and considering as a woman he could take and mould into exactly what he wanted as a future wife and mother of his heirs.

Her boat had repulsed him, and he had stayed less than a minute, discarding the idea of taking anything from it back to her, even as a souvenir. He looked at the list of what she had directed him to find. None of her belongings would do for what he had in mind. Aside from her personal passport and personal documents, it all had to go, including the boat. Without a home to return to she wouldn't be so eager to leave his home. He called and relayed his instructions to several of his men, then he climbed back onto the motorcycle he had taken from his city garage, pulled the visor of his helmet shut again and headed back to his business office to swap back to the car he had driven out of the gates of his home that morning. He doubted Olivia was that observant, but it paid to be cautious in these early stages of his possession of her.

His seduction of the woman had not gone as planned. In truth, he hadn't quite made up his mind if she was able to be all that he wanted, but now that the wheels were turning in that direction he was happy with the forced decision, even if he did have to play catch up and patch over mistakes that he wouldn't have made otherwise. He drove up the driveway and parked in front of the house, taking the stairs two at a time, and frowned when she didn't appear to greet him. That would come, he told himself, she didn't understand her position here yet, but that would come as she learned what he expected from his woman. Aunty Bea directed him to the pool, and he smiled, remembering the first time he had seen her.

"I thought I was going to have to save you again," Remy laughed lightly as she swam to the edge of the pool and stared at his feet. "I'm glad I don't have to, in this case." He bent forward and offered her his hand. "You were sitting on the bottom for quite a while, you had me worried."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Olivia smiled, accepting his hand and the help from the pool. "I love the water, my Dad used to call me his little mermaid. I used to practise holding my breath like that."

"I see," Remy picked up a nearby towel and wrapped it around her. "Let's talk while we have lunch," he suggested.

"Okay. Did you bring my stuff?" she asked, wanting to dress in her own clothes rather than the discards of others.

"In a way," he said seriously, and she knew this was not good news. "Come with me," he guided her from the pool back through the house and upstairs. "Here," he said, passing her a blue summer dress. "Put this on, and I will explain over lunch."

"This isn't mine!" she protested.

"Yes it is. I bought it for you. Do as I have asked, and then we can talk," Remy said in a soft but commanding tone, and left the room. He turned at the door, "You will find new underwear as well in the bag on the bed."

It wasn't long before she had followed him downstairs and found him in his home office. The dress looked fabulous on her and showed off her sexy body and tanned complexion. Now if he could just convince her to do something about that multi-coloured hair. 'Patience.' he reminded himself, and attempted to tamp down his eagerness to have this woman accept her place in his life.

"You look lovely," he said softly, and got up to walk toward her. "I am glad it fits, I had to guess your size," he lied smoothly.

"It's beautiful, thank you, but I am going to need my own things," she said almost plaintively, and unconsciously tugged at the bottom of the short skirt. "Tell me what happened. You didn't look happy when I mentioned the things I asked you to pick up."

"Your boat wasn't where you said it would be, and the marina manager," his lip curled in distaste as he mentioned the man, "He said he would only give you the information about what happened to it."

"What? Why would anyone move my boat?" she asked, both confused and annoyed.

"My question exactly," he agreed. "The most likely answer is that the men who are hunting you now want to see you come to the marina to work out what happened with the manager, and then whoever did it can take out the only real witness to last night's murder. It seems this is going to take a little longer than just a day to straighten out, I'm afraid."

"What? So, I'm dead if I go to find my home and my stuff or I lose everything and survive?" she asked in horror.

"Well, I have another option, if you're willing to listen," he said calmly against her surging anxiety.

"Okay," she said warily. "I'll listen." Once again feeling as if she had no choice but to listen to this man and trust him.

"A friend of mine is having a cocktail party on his yacht tonight. We could go, with you as my date, and you could see the manager then, unbeknownst to anyone watching for you," he said slowly, watching her reaction carefully.

"I have nothing to wear to a cocktail party!" she gasped.

"Leave the dress to me. The problem will be that your hair is fairly distinctive. It's easily fixed, if you're willing, and will act as a more or less permanent disguise from the men who are searching for you," he said, not hiding the desire he held in his voice for her to do as he suggested. It was the one part of her physical appearance that he immediately wanted to change to something more appealing.

"My hair?" she reached up and touched the multicoloured strands. It was true, her hair was distinctive. It had never been intentional, but rather the use of cheap do it yourself kits which left a lot to be desired, and, after dabbling over time, it was just how things had begun to turn out. She's often wished she had the money to have it taken back to her original colour, not that she really remembered what that was anymore. Maybe a light brown with a few streaks of auburn through it. "You want me to wear a wig?"

"No. Wigs can create dangerous scenarios when you're trying to stay hidden. I want you to let a hair stylist cut and colour it," he said, not holding back what he wanted from her now that he had started.

"I thought you said I couldn't leave here?" she shook her head, trying to take in everything he was saying.

"Not looking like that you can't," he indicated her hair. "But I can get a stylist here to fix it. I can get you a designer dress and shoes. I can make you into someone not even your work friends will recognise anymore."

"I just don't get why you would do all of this for me," she said, not agreeing to his offer, but seriously considering it if for no other reason than because changing her hair was something she wished she could afford to do for a while now.

"Honestly, it's been a while since I've wanted to do this for anyone," he said, looking at her intensely. "Despite what you see, I know what it's like to be broke and just need a break. Think of me as that break. Let me protect you from people who don't want any witnesses to the murder of my brother until I can find out who did it and why. Let me do this for you, I want to do this for you." He closed the small distance between them. "Please, Olivia, you won't have to feel indebted to me. Look around, I can afford a simple cocktail dress and a haircut for you, and I would be more than happy to have you come with me to my friend's party as my date tonight."