What You Don't Know (Sequel to "Secret Love")(Hunter Hayes/James Marsden)

An Associate, A Meeting, and Retribution

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Trenton straightened the papers on his desk, and smoothed down his stringy hair on his mostly-bare head. He drummed his fingers impatiently, though he knew his client's associate was not expected for another ten minutes. His nature was not a patient one, and he was surprised that this client - who had seemed impatiently eager on the phone -was not biting at the heel to get the show on the road.

A buzzer sounded, indicating that the front door had been unlocked. Rory's voice called over the intercom, "He's here," just as a tall, strong man moved through the door, his friendly smile and cheery yellow button-down contrasting severely with his business in Trenton's office, creating an irony that was difficult to ignore. Nonetheless, Trenton smiled coolly back as the man stretched his dark brown arm to shake his pale, hairy one. The man's hand slammed down like a hammer, his veins appearing like perfectly detailed moldings on an expert sculptor's statue, and Trenton had to wonder why his client had not simply imposed the challenge of murder to this man.

"Markob Jakobie," the man stated, adjusting his dark sunglasses on the bridge of his pencil-sharp nose. Trenton simply inclined his head in acknowledgement, disinterested in exchanging pleasantries. Markob took the seat in front of Trenton's desk, crossing one leg over the other and placing his thick leather briefcase in the adjacent chair.

"Have you brought payment?" Trenton rolled a pencil idly on the chestnut wood of his desk, affecting cool nonchalance, though his mind whirled with excitement at the prospect of this particular mission.

Jakobie patted the briefcase with a smile. "Now, about Boss's specs. He insists that - "

"Hold on a minute, " Trenton interrupted, his hand raised in protest. "I have already begun planning this mission, so I need to know up front if he is going to impose a deadline. The plan may have to be altered to fit the confines of a schedule."

They discussed the matter calmly, as though they were arranging a staff meeting, or arguing what time they would see a movie. A grim smile crossed Trenton's face when Markob admitted that his superior had not specified a time limit.

Perfect, Trent agreed mentally.

"All right, so we will proceed in agreement that I will complete the job when and by whatever means I see fit. Continue," Trenton waved his hand dismissively, keeping the hardened look on his face to keep the man from assuming he had any authority here. This was Trenton's area, and as far as he was concerned, he would do the job however he wanted, bar nothing. He did not care at all what his client wanted from him; he said he wanted her dead, and he would kill her. End of story.

"He merely stated that the, er, event...well, he does not want her body to be found. Nor does he wish anyone to know that she was murdered, wishes the tabloids to merely think she has gone missing. He emphasized that if anyone suspects she has been killed, you will not be paid."

Trent narrowed his eyes, folding his hands in front of his face and leaning forward menacingly. "What, pray tell, is the reason behind this request?" He refused to give the man any reason to believe he was acquiescing to his boss's specifications.

Jakobie shifted comfortably in the chair, still smiling easily, as though entirely unaffected by Trenton's hard glare.

Markob shrugged. "Didn't say the why of it, just made sure I knew it was a definite stipulation, and his tone brooked no argument. I don't mess with Boss when he gets like that."

Trenton nodded slowly, quirking an eyebrow at the man and folding his arms irritably. "This man...your boss...he seems like a smart fellow. Even used an electronically altered voice on the telephone, probably in case I had been of a mind to trace the call. Not that I had, mind you. I do have to ask, though, for the sake of our business, how this man came to know so much about me."

Markob shrugged again, scratching a place on his chest with four tanned fingers and stretching like a cat before replying. "I don't rightly know. I've never met him myself. He keeps himself hidden, only talks to us through a ridiculous audio box that he leaves in the conference room. I don't think anybody has ever seen his face."

Trenton's other eyebrow joined the first, rising so far up his forehead that he could almost feel them on his scalp.

Interesting, he thought, silently hoping that this man was not as clever as he was beginning to seem. His plot relied heavily on time and precision, and if this client of his were as knowledgeable as he seemed, he may realize that Trent was taking far too much time to complete the deed, would call him a con, and would not allow him to finish what he had been hired to do. Trenton growled, imagining it. He was looking forward to this job with far too eager an anticipation.

"Are you even sure he's a man?" Trenton questioned, narrowing his eyes at Markob Jakobie one more time. He had to admit that the idea of having a woman hiring him was both intriguing and beguiling. He had never been hired by a woman before, but then, he had never been hired to kill one, either.

"No, not at all."

A few moments later, after sharing with Jakobie only the sparsest of details about his designs, Trenton closed the door behind his retreating, broad-shouldered back. He counted the money Jakobie had handed to him: the amount equaling half of what he was owed. Jakobie had simply said that the other half would be given to him upon the completion of the deed.

Trenton sat at his desk and smiled. He did not really care about the money at this point. He was far too pleased. Finally, he was getting the chance to right a wrong, one he had regretted for nearly two years. He would once again have access to her: that mesmerizing, effervescent, gorgeous woman who had haunted his fantasies and tormented his dreams.

This time, he would not fail. He would have her, no matter how he had to accomplish it. He would take his fill, and leave her as empty as she had left him the day she had managed to escape his advances. Only then would he complete the task given him by this anonymous client.

He felt it was a shame, robbing the world of such vibrancy, such loveliness. Yet there was another part of him that screamed for retribution against that silly little man who had managed to gain her affection, that wretched weakling who had charmed her with his whiny tunes and boyish looks.

If it would mean causing that diminutive twit the kind of mental torture Trenton had suffered over this infuriating woman, then there was nothing to stop him.

In fact, he believed there was nothing he would enjoy more than murdering Bethany James.

After he ruined her, of course.