Moriarty's Musician

The Game is On, Part 4

He chuckled. "You'll be safe here. I'm leaving Sam and Soo-Ling to watch over everything while I'm gone."

Annabelle thought about Soo-Ling and her viciousness. Better he leave her with a cobra than with that woman.

"Are you going to see Sherlock?"

Moriarty laughed. "You know me too well already, Annabelle."

"And how long do you plan on keeping me your prisoner? I'm surprised you haven't locked me up in your tower by now."

His mirth quickly changed to annoyance at her question. "Are we going through this again, Annabelle?"

"Yes."

"Why must you always insist on questioning me? Did you not hear a word I've said?" Moriarty shook his head. He took her shoulders and peered down at her face as he spoke slowly. "They will kill you. There's a 20 million pound bounty on your lovely head!"

Annabelle's mouth dropped open. She sighed and shook her head. "I want to talk to them. Whatever my father did, I'll tell them I'm not like him."

"You already spoke to them." A nerve ticked in Moriarty's jaw as he thought about Lady Byron and her son. "You're more like your father than you realize."

Annabelle blinked as she searched her memories. "When did I speak to them?"

"This discussion is over."

He saw how her mouth set in a tight line as her hands went to her hips again. He could feel his heart beat faster as the firelight danced across her skin, accentuating the sheerness of her pajamas and the outline of her body. The alcohol was playing with his mind, he reasoned, as he tried to keep his eyes trained on her determined face.

"Then I want to go with you and talk to Sherlock too."

Moriarty didn't hear her as his breath came in short bursts. Was it the alcohol, the closeness of the fire, or her flashing eyes and delectable body that was causing the heat to race through his veins? He closed his eyes, turning away from her towards the fire as he leaned his hand on the mantle.

"Annabelle," he took a deep breath, "You need to take your books and your gun and leave me."

Annabelle shook her head and glared at his back. "I want to ask Sherlock why he killed my father."

He took another deep breath and growled. "If you don't take your stubbornness and leave, I'll be savoring your body, right here, right now, on this carpet. Unless you want to grant me your precious virtue tonight, you need to go. Now!"

Annabelle's eyes widened as she quickly gathered the books in her arms and set the gun on top of the pile. She hurried to the door and glanced back at him. He continued to lean on the fireplace with his head down. She left the study and practically ran up the stairs to her bedroom. Shutting the door behind her, she was panting as she leaned against it and looked down at the gun that sat on his book. What monster would give her warning that he was losing control? Annabelle ran her fingers through her hair, chastising herself for being so foolish and not leaving earlier when she had the chance.

She set the books down on the nightstand and tucked the gun into the drawer. Lifting the covers, she sat down on the edge of her bed, propped the pillows up and pulled herself in under the blankets. She took Moriarty's book off the top of the pile.

As she flipped open the book and passed her fingers over the pages, she realized something was wedged into the center. Opening to the page, she withdrew a photograph. It was well worn around the edges, but she could still see the face of a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and brown eyes, smiling back. Annabelle could hardly breathe as she remembered her encounter with the ghostly woman. They were one and the same!

Her eyes darted around the room as if the woman was watching her. Annabelle leaned back into the pillows. She had to stop this ridiculous paranoia. Looking again at the photo, she couldn't ignore the chill that settled over her as the dark brown eyes seem to stare back at her. Shivering, she placed the photo into the center of the book, closed it and set it on her nightstand.

Annabelle leaned down into the pillows and hugged the blanket around her as she stared at the lamplight that illuminated the room. Tomorrow, Moriarty was leaving. This may be her only chance to get away. Perhaps she could persuade Meg, William or even Jack to take her to town or at least give her some indication where the nearest one would be.

She closed her eyes as she thought about the way Moriarty looked at her when he thanked her for staying with him in the study. She shook her head as she tried to forget him, but try as she might, James Moriarty's eyes were the last thing she remembered as she finally fell asleep.

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