Illicit Intent, page 24
Now he just needed to get his hands on those account numbers. The phone with that photo was in her house, and, now that it would be unoccupied for the next several days, he’d formulate a plan to acquire it. He was so close, he could taste it. He just needed a little time; time his associates were reluctant to give him. He’d convince them at their meeting tomorrow. The Circle just wanted their money. Roman wanted the whole enchilada, the money Phipps Van Gent had skimmed from all of his clients. When he got his hands on the account numbers listed on that photograph on that crappy phone, he’d have access to billions. It was all within his grasp, a ripe peach hanging from a low branch just out of reach…
He was pulled from his thoughts by the soft chime of the doorbell. His regular dinner order from the bistro around the corner was earlier than usual. Excellent. Roman was starting to receive the VIP treatment he deserved. He chuckled, or maybe it was the fact that he had refused to tip the delivery boy the last time because he was late. He opened the door and turned his back to the kid as he retrieved his wallet from his discarded suit jacket.
He noticed neither the man at the door nor the weapon in his hand. With the quick thwack, thwack of two suppressed rounds, one between the shoulder blades, one to the back of the head, Roman Block was dead before he hit the floor.
With a gloved hand, the assassin pulled the door closed. He hadn’t even had to leave the stoop. He then confirmed the job was completed with his client and accepted payment for his second job that week.
New York City
May 8
Tox stood next to Calliope on the mat, palms pressed together chest-high.
“Are you nuts? I can’t fucking touch my toes.”
“Let’s try this.” Calliope sank gracefully to her knees at his feet and glanced up at him.
“I like where this is going.”
She bent forward and kissed the tops of his bare feet. “This is Child’s Pose.” She came upright, still on her knees. “Hero Pose.” She cast a wry glance. Tox rolled his eyes as she continued her tutorial.
“Bend forward. If you touch my lower back, you get my hand. She rubbed her hand over the outline of his erection. Touching my ass gets you my tongue. And if you can touch the arches of my feet, you get my mouth. Deal?”
“I’ll snap both hamstrings if I have to.”
She braced her hands on his hips and waited.
Tox speared her hair with his fingers and ran them over her scalp in long soothing strokes, her purr of satisfaction egging him on. He ran the backs of his knuckles down her cheek and his thumb across her lower lip. His big hands descended to her neck. He caressed her soft skin, feeling her pulse thrum beneath the surface. With two fingers he traced her collar bone; Calliope came alive at the sensation, the erotic promise of the innocent touch. He gripped her shoulders firmly and massaged and kneaded muscles she hadn’t realized were tense and knotted. A moan escaped her lips. He ran his short nails down her back to the bottom of her rib cage waking goosebumps on her arms and neck, her grip on his hips tightening. Finally, he smoothed both hands flat and caressed her upper back. His thumbs were touching, the tips of his fingers just dusting the sides of her breasts.
Calliope slid her hands around to his front and gripped his erection that was already pushing out of his waistband and jutting up toward his abs. She wrapped one hand, then two, around his length and gave a slow firm stroke, his upper body bent over her, sheltering her like an awning.
Tox’s hands continued down, squeezing and fondling the globes of her ass. Calliope felt herself soften and ache for his touch. He didn’t deny her. His hands slid underneath, between her legs from behind. He probed, toyed with her clit, slipped inside her with one finger, then two. She lowered his workout shorts and responded in kind, licking him from root to tip with the flat of her small tongue. She twirled it around the end, tasting the salty bead that hung from the tip like a dewdrop.
More from losing his balance than stretching, Tox’s hands dropped down to her heels, his long fingers reaching to her arches. He groaned as he felt her take his tip into her mouth and suck hard. His hands pushed up, returned to the apex of her thighs. One from the front, one from behind, he played her body like an instrument. He alternated between her entrance and her clit, plunging then circling, dragging the moisture from her body through her folds. He held the small bud tight between his thumb and forefinger then released it as he pumped two fingers inside her from behind. His huge cock stifled her cry as she shattered within the cocoon of his body.
As he slowly returned to standing, Calliope redoubled her efforts. She tugged his shorts farther down his thighs and worked him with both hands and her mouth. She took him into her throat, pulled with her mouth, pumped with her hands. Tox’s hands were at her shoulders squeezing harder than before. Then they traveled up her neck and returned to her hair. Instead of stroking her scalp, he gathered the mane in a firm grip and attempted to tug her away. Undeterred, she resisted, pumped faster, squeezed tighter, sucked harder. With a primal roar to the ceiling, he erupted. Tox exploded into her mouth and Calliope swallowed him down with relish. She had just given the tip a final loving lick when he dropped to his knees before her.
He didn’t say anything, just stared, a look of wonder on his face, and she returned his gaze with an expression of complete satisfaction. Tox grabbed her around the waist and pulled her on top of him as he fell to his back on the mat.
“I’m betting that was a yoga pose people have never seen.” His dimples made a brief appearance.
“Don’t be too sure. Yoga has roots in Hinduism. Hindus wrote the Kama Sutra.”
“I’m starting to see the benefits.”
“Definitely. That was by far the most satisfying session I’ve ever had.” Calliope sprawled on his chest.
“I will of course need a committed instructor.”
She scooted until she was fully on top of him, arms folded on his chest supporting her chin, toes bent back scrunching his shins.
“And I’ll need a committed student. One who’s willing to learn.” She tilted her hips. “And maybe teach me a thing or two.”
“Committed, huh?”
“Yep. Committed.”
He palmed her ass.
“Do you know you growl?”
“Hmm?” Tox was happily distracted by the plane of perfection above him.
“When you’re turned on. You almost growl. It’s … primal.”
Tox sat up and turned Calliope sideways so she was cradled in his lap.
“My buddies, the guys in my squad, call it the bear.”
Calliope nodded, no explanation needed. “I’m guessing they’ve seen this bear?”
He rocked to his feet with her still in his arms. “So have you.”
She locked her arms around his neck and bit his earlobe. “Does he want to come out and play?”
“Wanna find out?”
“Yeah, but if you want to do more sex stuff to me, you need to feed me.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He checked his phone. “My buddy Finn’s at some burger joint on Montague Street. Sound good?”
“Henry’s End?”
“That’s the one.”
“Perfect.”
Henry’s End had a welcoming awning and sizzling smell that lured pedestrians like a siren’s song. Tox held the door for Calliope and immediately spotted Finn in his usual position, rear corner table, his back to the wall. They ought to have tables for operators with all the chairs lined up against the wall. Tox smirked. None of his colleagues could sit with their back to the door.
Tox led the way through the small bar, towing Calliope behind him. He stopped at the table and pulled Calliope to his side. Finn had a pint of pale ale halfway to his mouth when he paused and stared at her without expression, the scarred half of his face hidden in the shadows. Calliope stepped behind Tox and pressed her face between his shoulder blades. He could feel her hot breath on his spine. Finn resumed drinking his beer.
Tox was flummoxed for a moment. Calliope didn’t seem like the type to be put off by a physical disfigurement. It disappointed him that Finn’s appearance had affected her. He ignored it for the moment. Calliope composed herself, stepped around Tox, and took the chair across from Finn. Tox settled between them in an awkward silence.
“Finn McIntyre, Calliope Garland.”
“Pleasure.” Finn downed the rest of his beer and signaled for another.
“Yeah, um, nice to meet you.”
The waitress interrupted the rocky introduction, and the trio quickly ordered burgers and fries. When she trotted off, the tension seemed to have dissipated.
“So, Calliope you said? What is it you do, Calliope?”
“I work at The Harlem Sentry. I’m a reporter.”
“That’s cool.”
“And what about you?” Calliope asked.
“I’m in sales,” Finn replied without inflection.
Calliope nodded. Finn turned his attention to his friend. “Nathan mentioned there was some excitement?”
Tox stared at Calliope as she massaged her earlobe so fiercely she dislodged the little stud earring.
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Did he give you the details?” Tox forced himself to focus on his friend.
“The salient points. I’m looking into Roman Block, the construction company owner out of San Francisco. The guy stinks like a Paris sewer.”
“What have you found?”
“Well, probably the most important thing we’ve discovered is that he’s dead.”
“What?”
“Cleaning lady found him early this morning. Double tap. Professional hit.” He turned his phone to Calliope. “Was this the guy in your house with the muscle?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
“He was after information about Gentrify.”
“But I don’t have any other information,” she protested.
“I guess he thought differently. And when you could identify him as the man in your home, you became a loose end.”
“So he hired a hitman,” Tox concluded.
“Exactly,” Finn confirmed.
“So what happened to this fucker?” Tox was seething. He wanted to revive Roman Block and kill him again.
“Looks like he became the loose end. The guy was in shit up to his neck. The feds were conducting a RICO investigation, and the IRS and the SEC were nosing around. He’s got ties to an organization known as The Circle. Nobody seems to know shit about them except they’re bad news. Lots of suspicions. No proof.”
Finn took a swig of beer and continued. “Roman Block isn’t as mysterious as his associates. The SAC in the Fed’s San Francisco field office seems to think they had a pretty tight money laundering case. The guy didn’t do nearly enough to cover his tracks.”
“I know him.” Calliope’s blurted words stopped the two men.
“You know Roman Block?” Tox asked, his brows drawn together in confusion.
“No. Finn. I know Finn.” She blurted.
The waitress deposited three plastic baskets on the table each overflowing with french fries and a dripping cheeseburger. Finn dove in then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
Tox was momentarily consumed with jealousy. So distracted, he hadn’t even noticed the waitress slip the piece of paper with her name and number under his red plastic basket. He, with some effort, masked his fury. Apparently unsuccessfully, because suddenly Finn let out a laugh so uncharacteristic and so loud that the bartender stopped cleaning glasses and looked over. When Finn got a hold of himself, he tossed the fry he was holding back in the basket and grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “Not like that,” he sighed and ran a hand down his face. “I can’t add anything to this conversation. I’ll take this to go.”
Finn withdrew some cash from his wallet as he stood. “You two get your shit straight.” Then to Tox, “I’ll see you later.” He nodded once to Calliope and walked out.
Calliope shifted in her seat. “Could you pass the ketchup?”
Tox set the old-fashioned bottle down gently in front of her and waited while she smacked the bottom. She picked up a fry. Set it down. Took a sip of water.
“Whenever you’re ready, Cal.”
“When I turned eighteen, my stepfather knew I was going to fly the henhouse, as they say. He told me it’s okay to wander, but it’s not okay to have no direction. He suggested something.”
“I’m listening.”
“The U.S. State Department’s Bureau of International Narcotics and Law Enforcement, INL, has a program: Early Detection of International Criminal Threats, EDICT. With the permission of the host country and coordinated with the U.S. Embassy and Interpol, the Department sends an observer to places where intel suspects potential international criminal enterprises are cropping up. It’s not some black-ops spy mission. Very few countries would even authorize undercover investigations into entities that are rumored to be engaging in illegal activities. I simply go into an area, get a job, and watch and listen.”
She took another sip of water. “In Barcelona, I worked as a waitress and made note of the people a local shipping company executive met with at the restaurant. In Berlin, I worked at an art gallery where intel suggested the owner was smuggling stolen artifacts. The wildlife photographer I worked for? I was in Tanzania for six months trying to gather information on an international poaching ring in the Serengeti National Game Preserve.”
“And your guru in Bhutan?”
“He was suspected of running a massive phishing scam.”
“And The Harlem Sentry?”
“That’s actually kind of funny.”
Tox didn’t seem to think so.
“They don’t give me a lot of details—just what I need to look for. Farrell Whitaker had requested some documents under the Freedom of Information Act that led the powers-that-be to believe he was investigating Gentrify Capital Partners. Phipps Van Gent was doing business with a Middle Eastern diplomat with some very sketchy ties. INL sent me to the Sentry two years ago to see what Farrell knew but also to learn what other relevant suspicions Farrell Whitaker had—I mean he’s a nut, but sometimes his paranoia is spot on. Plus, The Sentry was a buffer between INL and Gentrify, to avoid stepping on other agency toes. My main goal was to try to get assigned to the Gentrify story, which, after eight months, I did.”
“Jesus, you’re an operator.”
“I’m not an operator. I’m more of a nosy neighbor. All I do is make observations. In Tanzania, I reported that I had seen one of the game preserve officials in the company of a rather striking Japanese woman. I’d only seen them twice, but the woman was so stunning, I remembered her. That single bit of intel led to the dismantling of a huge black-market ivory cartel. Most of the time, my contribution is marginal, but occasionally, like with Phipps, I discover something significant.”
“And Finn?”
“I met him in Barcelona. He was having a drink with my contact. I saw him for all of thirty seconds, but he clearly knew why I was there, and I could guess why he was there.”
She grabbed Tox’s forearm with both hands. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the whole truth.”
Tox nodded and placed his hand over both of hers.
“Aren’t you mad about any of this?”
He shrugged. “I understand better than most. Hell, I know Teamguys who can’t tell their wives what they’re doing half the time. It’s part of the job.”
He fiddled with a french fry then tossed it back.
“What else?” She pushed.
“Honestly, when you said you knew Finn, I was so balled up that you might have slept with my best friend, all I really feel about the other stuff is relief. How fucked up is that?”
“Well, considering I almost slugged the waitress for slipping you her phone number,” she said, nodding to the piece of paper which Tox hadn’t noticed, “I’d say we’re on an even playing field.”
“Midfield,” he murmured.
“Hmm?”
“And when this assignment is over?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“I’ll meet with my, um, contact at the Department…”
“You were going to say ‘handler,’ weren’t you?”
“Fine. Handler. I’ll meet with her and she’ll give me the basics on where she’s sending me next.”
“So you’ll just leave.” It wasn’t a question.
“I never really thought about it. I’ve never stayed in the same place for this long. I’ve never had a reason not to go.”
“Do you have a reason now?” I’m that reason. Tox employed every ounce of restraint. He couldn’t be the only one doing the wanting. She had to meet him halfway.
“Of course I do, but I’ve been doing this for seven years. It’s adventurous and exciting. I don’t know if I’m cut out for some humdrum life always in the same place. I’ve never put down roots.”
“Without roots, you won’t grow.”
“My badass poet.” She kissed him. “I’ll admit it gets depressing starting over time after time. This is the first place I’ve lived where I’ve had friends. Can you believe that?”
“Friends?”
“Friends and more-than-friends. Can we keep talking about it?”
Tox grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair. “I need to make a call. I’ll walk you home.”
Tox added to the pile of cash Finn had left, demolished his cheeseburger in three bites, and walked purposefully out of the restaurant. Calliope hurried after him with a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
As they rounded the corner onto her street, Calliope was still spiraling. Tox had said he understood her reticence, but he certainly wasn’t acting like the easygoing lover he had been on their way to the restaurant. He was distant, distracted. When his arm swung back, she snagged his hand. She felt him pulling away. Suddenly, this thing between them felt fleeting, fragile.
