Exit, page 21
Ridley frowned again. “You have a problem with me all of a sudden?”
“Tell me about your pension,” Michael said.
Ridley’s frown deepened. “That’s a curious request.”
Describe pain.
“Tell me,” Michael said.
Ridley shifted, winced, then settled himself. “It’s handsome enough,” he said. “I’m paid in eight and a half percent. ’Tween that and my Social Security, I get by.”
“And if you lost it?”
“Can’t see how I could. I put in a lot of blood and sweat for that money. Put my life on the line every time I hit those streets.”
“And if you lost it?” Michael repeated.
“I’d be in trouble,” Ridley admitted.
Michael nodded, looked away.
“Say it,” Ridley said.
Michael didn’t hesitate. “George A. Eugenides.”
Ridley swayed, caught himself. “What are you saying, boy?”
“There was a motorcycle accident, the summer of ’02. Mr. Eugenides, the county district attorney, out on his Harley, blowing off some steam. Turns out Mr. Eugenides mixed up a few words… mistook ‘above the law’ for ‘uphold the law.’ An easy enough oversight, I suppose.” He paused, watched Ridley. The older man’s face looked ready to crack. Michael’s stomach rumbled, but he kept on. “Eugenides found out he was the target of an investigation involving the cover-up of his motorcycle accident and he—”
“Stop right there,” Ridley barked. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“You were close to retiring.”
“Stop, Michael.”
“Mr. Eugenides asked you to testify.” Again Michael paused for effect. “Or better still, his sister Jacqueline asked you.”
Ridley turned to leave. Michael grasped his shoulder, easily turned him back. The old man had no resistance. “You gave false testimony.”
Ridley hung his head.
“You also started up with Jacqueline,” Michael said. “And if my math is correct, that would’ve been the time my mother was losing her battle.”
Tears flowed from Ridley’s eyes.
“Corrupt,” Michael said.
“Where’d you hear about this?” Ridley whispered, his gaze on the ground.
“The Bellatoris,” Michael whispered back. “They found out I’d asked you to check up on them. Apparently they have connections down at the Precinct. They weren’t happy about your snooping. They confronted me earlier.”
Ridley looked up. “Your face?”
Michael nodded. “Old warehouse. Tied me to a chair. Duct-taped my mouth closed.”
“Jesus, what kind of—”
“Dangerous,” Michael cut in. “Just as I told you. Worse than I told you. I’ve personally witnessed them kill.”
“Kill?” Ridley’s voice died on the wind.
Michael’s turn to look away, to hang his head. “I’d been having an affair. Another one. The woman, Karla, learned I was married, made noise that sounded an awful lot like blackmail. I asked one of the Bellatoris for help with Karla. The woman in the four, Liz Sutherland. I thought she’d put a small scare in Karla, make her back off. They killed my problem for me. I was there. A broken down roach motel. Karla called and wanted to get together again. I was, am, weak when it comes to that sort of thing. Karla insisted on somewhere dirty because what we were doing was dirty. I woke up to darkness, Karla tied to a rickety old chair. They cut a second mouth out of her throat.” Not quite sobbing as he told it, but close.
“Jesus,” Ridley whispered once more.
“Before I came to you, I asked the girl from HR I told you about, Cassie, to tell me anything she could about them. As you know, she’s gone missing now.”
“Jesus.”
“You’re not to ask any more questions about them, Rid. Or else your life will become as complicated as mine. I’d hate for you to lose your pension…or your life. They’re capable of making either of those things happen. But they’re my nightmare. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”
“Michael—”
“But I do have one last favor to ask.”
“Name it,” Ridley said, his voice hoarse.
“There were some police stationed outside of my house. It was pretty obvious they were looking for me. Can you find out what they want?”
“Daniel Ferrer.”
Michael frowned. “What?”
“You know a man named Rich Kubiak?”
Michael shook his head, still frowning.
“Daniel’s dead, Michael.”
“What?” Michael asked, stumbling back.
“Murdered.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“My, God. Rachel.” He moved to leave.
“The Kubiak fella claimed you hired him to do it,” Ridley called.
Michael stopped, turned back slowly.
“There’s record of a payment to Kubiak through your company. Your name’s all over it.”
Michael sighed. “I’m in trouble?”
Ridley nodded. “Deep.”
“What do I do?”
“Get away,” Ridley said. “Let me try and sort some of this out for you. Remember the article you were telling me about?”
Michael nodded. One of Joe Larkin’s Wired magazines. A lengthy piece about a contrived manhunt. Could someone actually disappear in this age of electronic footprints? The writer tested his savvy against a slew of other online competitors. Him versus them.
“A blueprint,” Ridley said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Michael replied.
Ridley nodded. “All of this is ridiculous. Something out of a novel.”
“I need to be with Rachel.”
“You go back to the house, you won’t be.”
“How did this all happen, Rid?”
“I aim to find out, boy.”
“Rachel.”
“I’ll look after her.”
“Been doing that forever, Rid.”
Ridley nodded. “Sometimes better than others.”
“I understand about my mother,” Michael said. “She wasn’t going to make it. You had to move on, for sanity’s sake.”
“Appreciate you saying that, boy. But I don’t understand.”
They stood there with their silence.
After awhile Michael cleared his throat. “So I just go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
Michael looked off in the distance again. Stood there, shrouded in the cold. Thinking. A beat later he took a deep breath, turned to Ridley, offered a hand. Ridley pulled him into a full embrace. No words spoken as they released one another. Michael attempted a smile and headed off, weaving around plots.
Ridley watched him go.
Watched him exit.
CHAPTER
ONE
They were watching him. He was certain of this. They’d been watching him for some time. Months, maybe even years. He was certain of this as well. Armed with this understanding, he realized that he couldn’t travel to or from the graveyard in a linear fashion. No, that wouldn’t do. His drive was full of quick turns and double-backs and abrupt stops and sudden takeoffs and more turns and more double-backs. As circuitous a route as he could manage. And altogether atypical for him. Throw them for a loop with behavior out of the norm. He was pretty confident it’d worked, that he’d lost their tail on the way to the cemetery. But he took the same precautions now, upon leaving. The road behind him black as pitch, empty. No headlights. No cars with the headlights darkened that he could spot, either. He relaxed, his heartbeat falling into a smoothed rhythm, everything settled now, and so, all of his anxiety leeched away. Both calm and clear.
Ready to run.
But first…
The angled parking spot was facing the rear brick wall of a wireless cell phone carrier’s building. He nosed the Chrysler within a foot of the wall, a strip of retail stores lit up brightly at his back. One storefront dominated his rearview mirror. Large blue Plexiglas signage centered with seven familiar white letters, red trim border below it with more familiar letters. The company logo on the sign, a tilted square, half of it a red domino with three pips on its face, the other half blue like the larger part of the sign, those seven familiar white letters again. Recognized the world over. Domino’s. The Pizza Delivery Experts.
Michael scanned the lot before sliding his key from the ignition. He exited the Chrysler and headed straight for the pizzeria. The counter-girl at the front wore a baseball cap and the standard uniform. Her high-watt smile did nothing, though, to distract from a complexion that reminded Michael of Cassie, pockets of inflamed red acne covering an otherwise attractive face. Ironic, he supposed.
He ordered a cola, added, “And Cheesy Bread,” with a smile to match hers.
“Sure thing,” she said. “It’ll be a minute. I just finished baking some.”
Michael turned and looked through the window to outside while he waited. Red and white flashes of brake lights and turn signals created a light show in the lot. Cars fought for spots or waited calmly to change places. Lots of traffic for a bitterly cold evening.
“Keeping your delivery guy busy?” Michael asked, turning back to the counter-girl.
“Yeah,” she said, half-smirking, rolling her eyes. “And out of my hair.”
Michael nodded knowingly.
She glanced at the once-white wall next to the checkout area, settling her gaze on a black and white clock. “He’ll probably be back any minute. I’m sending him right back out, too.” Smiling but meaning it.
Michael smirked. And a beat later she handed him his full order, something extra in her lovely eyes and her equally lovely voice when she said, “Hope you enjoy. Come again.”
“I will,” he said.
Her last smile invited him to do exactly that.
He shook aside erotic thoughts and stepped outside, the door sounding as he exited the store. A cursory scan of the lot didn’t reveal any issues, so he crossed it and fell back behind the wheel of the Chrysler, glancing back at the Domino’s once, the counter-girl a small blur. He sighed, half-laughed. Bad skin, but sexy in some way. Typical he could travel to that place of thought. Typical that he could find something erotic in any occasion.
Sickness.
Addiction.
The root cause of everything he now faced.
The engine remained off as he pulled apart the Cheesy Bread, mozzarella and cheddar singeing his fingertips. Hot. The way he liked it. The way he liked everything.
A gray Buick backed out of the corner-most spot facing the strip stores. The spot went unoccupied for several minutes before another car pulled into the space. A tan Toyota Camry peppered with dents and bird droppings, the back seat overrun with magazines. Exhaust funneled from the car’s rear as a tall thin man hopped out. He carried a red-colored hot bag under his arm like an artist’s portfolio case. His uniform matched the counter-girl’s. Michael smiled and shoveled the last bites of bread in his mouth as the delivery driver rushed inside the Domino’s.
Two swallows of soda and Michael was exiting the Chrysler, chirping the locks with his keychain fob. Moving to the cover of shadow created by a stone pillar next to the Camry.
He started a count at one, made it to eleven. The Domino’s driver hustled back out into the cold, holding the hot bag more carefully now, oblivious to his surroundings. I used to be the same way, Michael thought. Those days were gone forever now. Never to return.
He came out of the shadows, moved past the rear of the Camry, had the passenger door open and was plopping down into the seat just as the driver reached for the transmission tree.
Michael eased the door shut beside him.
“What in the…” the driver blurted, clearly startled.
Michael smiled like a man whose life hadn’t completely come apart at the seams. Clapped a hand on the driver’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Joe. I was wondering if you’d like to go shopping for me?”
CHAPTER
TWO
She spit out stray strands of her long dark hair without losing her rhythm on his lap. Bucking wildly, her skin oiled with a thin sheen of exertion sweat. More hair fell into her face. This time he grabbed it, the bunch of it in his strong fist, and held it like that just over her bare shoulder. The gesture forced them even closer, her thick breasts smashed into his chest. The headboard clanged the wall. She reached forward and held on to the top of it, that slight movement raising her breasts to his mouth. He let her hair fall free, gripped her by the waist, worked her up and down and up and down on his hardness, the erect nipple of one of her breasts painting brushstrokes on his lips.
She moaned loudly.
He was eerily silent in his pleasure.
She came with a torrent of sound and movement.
He came holding his breath, his face scrunched in a painful-looking grimace.
She fell away, landed crosswise on his lap. Their dance was well rehearsed. He knew his steps. On the nightstand next to the bed sat a long-stemmed wineglass. Red wine. A soft Shiraz, even though he preferred a burgundy or Chianti. He reached for it, took the sip she insisted he take, and handed it to her. She leaned up and doubled his sips, then fell back flat again, the glass held at a precarious angle in one hand at the rise of her breasts. He knew his steps. He eased the glass from her slender fingers, took another sip, and set it back on the nightstand. They sat there unmoving for a while before he patted her stomach so she’d roll over. He hopped out and stood by the side of the bed, rolled off the condom, knotted it tied, handed it to her to place in the ripped condom foil tossed on the nightstand with the red wine.
“One of these days I’ll ask what you do with it,” he said, realizing then that he’d never seen her discard it in the wastebasket next to the bed. The fear of an unwanted pregnancy stick-up didn’t grip him. He’d gladly have a baby with her. He might even work at being a good father to their child.
“I send it to the lab for testing,” she said, smiling. “Figure I can make some money if I find out what’s in it that makes you so…” She let the thought flitter, glanced at the digital clock across the room on his dresser. “We started at seven thirty-two,” she said, frowning. “Goodness. Forty-two minutes?”
He smiled. A gesture that didn’t come easily for him. Usually. “Seven twenty-one. Fifty-three minutes. Don’t cheat me the foreplay.”
She licked her lips suggestively, looked at him through sexy narrowed eyes. “You’re so right. Those eleven minutes certainly weren’t forgettable. I apologize for the oversight.”
He nodded. “Apology accepted.”
“Once more in a bit?”
Again he nodded.
“You’re a marvel of nature, Lukas.”
“L-Arginine,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Your thirst for knowledge, I’m sure you’ll find out.”
“One of twenty amino acids,” she said, smiling. “A building block for protein. A male performance enhancer.”
He studied her through a playful frown. “Playing me?”
“Always,” she said. “Have to remind you from time to time that I’m not one to take lightly.”
“I definitely don’t take you lightly.”
“Have to keep you on your toes, then,” she said.
“Speaking of toes…” Grabbing at her feet, nail polish as red as the lipstick he’d kissed off her full lips earlier.
She wiggled away, laughed in a reserved way that stoked his fire.
He prepared himself to chase her across the mattress. Another anomaly, just something he didn’t do. Usually. But his phone interrupted the play, the ringtone chiming loudly from the night-stand. “Sympathy for the Devil.” The Rolling Stones. She picked the phone up, considered the screen, handed it to Lukas, a wide smile on her beautiful face.
He sighed upon seeing the caller ID. Pressed the green icon anyway. “Liz.”
“We have a problem, Lukas.”
Tight, buttoned up, repressed, the opposite of the naked woman on his bed. Liz’s laughter wasn’t reserved. It was nonexistent.
Lukas Doyle cupped the phone to his ear and stepped across the room. “A problem, you say?”
He turned suddenly, without hearing Liz’s response, at the sound of his bedsprings yielding. Watched as naked beauty approached him. An assured, confident strut. When she reached him she stood on tiptoes, kissed him deeply, red wine on her tongue. Slapped his naked ass before disappearing in his bathroom.
He watched the door close.
“Lukas?”
“Yes.” His eyes still on the bathroom door.
“Did you hear me?”
Finally his gaze left the door. “I’m sorry. Repeat, please.”
“Michael Palmer’s out of our sight. Namako and Merriman lost him.”
That gained his complete attention. “Lost him?” he said, through gritted teeth. “How?”
“Palmer must be reading Sun Tzu to hear Namako tell it. Made a lot of quick turns and such.”
“Not like him,” Lukas Doyle said as the bathroom door opened again. Naked beauty standing there framed by a filter of light, her shaved pussy an open invitation.
“Not at all,” he heard in his ear. “What do you think it means?” The voice growing fainter with each word as his focus shifted to the naked woman.
“We’ll discuss it later, at the meet,” he said. “Keep me posted, Liz.”
“Keep you… Is someone there with you, Lukas?”
He disconnected without responding.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Naked Beauty asked, smiling mischievously while nodding at the phone chiming in his hand. “Sympathy for the Devil,” once more.
His own crooked smile answered that question.
CHAPTER
THREE
A barrage of questions:
“What are you doing here, dude?”
And.
“How did you find me?”
And.
“What do you want, dude?”
Then a couple of statements:
“Don’t say shit about the uniform. I don’t want to hear it. It’s a temporary situation until…”
“Tell me about your pension,” Michael said.
Ridley’s frown deepened. “That’s a curious request.”
Describe pain.
“Tell me,” Michael said.
Ridley shifted, winced, then settled himself. “It’s handsome enough,” he said. “I’m paid in eight and a half percent. ’Tween that and my Social Security, I get by.”
“And if you lost it?”
“Can’t see how I could. I put in a lot of blood and sweat for that money. Put my life on the line every time I hit those streets.”
“And if you lost it?” Michael repeated.
“I’d be in trouble,” Ridley admitted.
Michael nodded, looked away.
“Say it,” Ridley said.
Michael didn’t hesitate. “George A. Eugenides.”
Ridley swayed, caught himself. “What are you saying, boy?”
“There was a motorcycle accident, the summer of ’02. Mr. Eugenides, the county district attorney, out on his Harley, blowing off some steam. Turns out Mr. Eugenides mixed up a few words… mistook ‘above the law’ for ‘uphold the law.’ An easy enough oversight, I suppose.” He paused, watched Ridley. The older man’s face looked ready to crack. Michael’s stomach rumbled, but he kept on. “Eugenides found out he was the target of an investigation involving the cover-up of his motorcycle accident and he—”
“Stop right there,” Ridley barked. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“You were close to retiring.”
“Stop, Michael.”
“Mr. Eugenides asked you to testify.” Again Michael paused for effect. “Or better still, his sister Jacqueline asked you.”
Ridley turned to leave. Michael grasped his shoulder, easily turned him back. The old man had no resistance. “You gave false testimony.”
Ridley hung his head.
“You also started up with Jacqueline,” Michael said. “And if my math is correct, that would’ve been the time my mother was losing her battle.”
Tears flowed from Ridley’s eyes.
“Corrupt,” Michael said.
“Where’d you hear about this?” Ridley whispered, his gaze on the ground.
“The Bellatoris,” Michael whispered back. “They found out I’d asked you to check up on them. Apparently they have connections down at the Precinct. They weren’t happy about your snooping. They confronted me earlier.”
Ridley looked up. “Your face?”
Michael nodded. “Old warehouse. Tied me to a chair. Duct-taped my mouth closed.”
“Jesus, what kind of—”
“Dangerous,” Michael cut in. “Just as I told you. Worse than I told you. I’ve personally witnessed them kill.”
“Kill?” Ridley’s voice died on the wind.
Michael’s turn to look away, to hang his head. “I’d been having an affair. Another one. The woman, Karla, learned I was married, made noise that sounded an awful lot like blackmail. I asked one of the Bellatoris for help with Karla. The woman in the four, Liz Sutherland. I thought she’d put a small scare in Karla, make her back off. They killed my problem for me. I was there. A broken down roach motel. Karla called and wanted to get together again. I was, am, weak when it comes to that sort of thing. Karla insisted on somewhere dirty because what we were doing was dirty. I woke up to darkness, Karla tied to a rickety old chair. They cut a second mouth out of her throat.” Not quite sobbing as he told it, but close.
“Jesus,” Ridley whispered once more.
“Before I came to you, I asked the girl from HR I told you about, Cassie, to tell me anything she could about them. As you know, she’s gone missing now.”
“Jesus.”
“You’re not to ask any more questions about them, Rid. Or else your life will become as complicated as mine. I’d hate for you to lose your pension…or your life. They’re capable of making either of those things happen. But they’re my nightmare. I don’t want to see anyone else hurt.”
“Michael—”
“But I do have one last favor to ask.”
“Name it,” Ridley said, his voice hoarse.
“There were some police stationed outside of my house. It was pretty obvious they were looking for me. Can you find out what they want?”
“Daniel Ferrer.”
Michael frowned. “What?”
“You know a man named Rich Kubiak?”
Michael shook his head, still frowning.
“Daniel’s dead, Michael.”
“What?” Michael asked, stumbling back.
“Murdered.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“My, God. Rachel.” He moved to leave.
“The Kubiak fella claimed you hired him to do it,” Ridley called.
Michael stopped, turned back slowly.
“There’s record of a payment to Kubiak through your company. Your name’s all over it.”
Michael sighed. “I’m in trouble?”
Ridley nodded. “Deep.”
“What do I do?”
“Get away,” Ridley said. “Let me try and sort some of this out for you. Remember the article you were telling me about?”
Michael nodded. One of Joe Larkin’s Wired magazines. A lengthy piece about a contrived manhunt. Could someone actually disappear in this age of electronic footprints? The writer tested his savvy against a slew of other online competitors. Him versus them.
“A blueprint,” Ridley said.
“That’s ridiculous,” Michael replied.
Ridley nodded. “All of this is ridiculous. Something out of a novel.”
“I need to be with Rachel.”
“You go back to the house, you won’t be.”
“How did this all happen, Rid?”
“I aim to find out, boy.”
“Rachel.”
“I’ll look after her.”
“Been doing that forever, Rid.”
Ridley nodded. “Sometimes better than others.”
“I understand about my mother,” Michael said. “She wasn’t going to make it. You had to move on, for sanity’s sake.”
“Appreciate you saying that, boy. But I don’t understand.”
They stood there with their silence.
After awhile Michael cleared his throat. “So I just go?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
Michael looked off in the distance again. Stood there, shrouded in the cold. Thinking. A beat later he took a deep breath, turned to Ridley, offered a hand. Ridley pulled him into a full embrace. No words spoken as they released one another. Michael attempted a smile and headed off, weaving around plots.
Ridley watched him go.
Watched him exit.
CHAPTER
ONE
They were watching him. He was certain of this. They’d been watching him for some time. Months, maybe even years. He was certain of this as well. Armed with this understanding, he realized that he couldn’t travel to or from the graveyard in a linear fashion. No, that wouldn’t do. His drive was full of quick turns and double-backs and abrupt stops and sudden takeoffs and more turns and more double-backs. As circuitous a route as he could manage. And altogether atypical for him. Throw them for a loop with behavior out of the norm. He was pretty confident it’d worked, that he’d lost their tail on the way to the cemetery. But he took the same precautions now, upon leaving. The road behind him black as pitch, empty. No headlights. No cars with the headlights darkened that he could spot, either. He relaxed, his heartbeat falling into a smoothed rhythm, everything settled now, and so, all of his anxiety leeched away. Both calm and clear.
Ready to run.
But first…
The angled parking spot was facing the rear brick wall of a wireless cell phone carrier’s building. He nosed the Chrysler within a foot of the wall, a strip of retail stores lit up brightly at his back. One storefront dominated his rearview mirror. Large blue Plexiglas signage centered with seven familiar white letters, red trim border below it with more familiar letters. The company logo on the sign, a tilted square, half of it a red domino with three pips on its face, the other half blue like the larger part of the sign, those seven familiar white letters again. Recognized the world over. Domino’s. The Pizza Delivery Experts.
Michael scanned the lot before sliding his key from the ignition. He exited the Chrysler and headed straight for the pizzeria. The counter-girl at the front wore a baseball cap and the standard uniform. Her high-watt smile did nothing, though, to distract from a complexion that reminded Michael of Cassie, pockets of inflamed red acne covering an otherwise attractive face. Ironic, he supposed.
He ordered a cola, added, “And Cheesy Bread,” with a smile to match hers.
“Sure thing,” she said. “It’ll be a minute. I just finished baking some.”
Michael turned and looked through the window to outside while he waited. Red and white flashes of brake lights and turn signals created a light show in the lot. Cars fought for spots or waited calmly to change places. Lots of traffic for a bitterly cold evening.
“Keeping your delivery guy busy?” Michael asked, turning back to the counter-girl.
“Yeah,” she said, half-smirking, rolling her eyes. “And out of my hair.”
Michael nodded knowingly.
She glanced at the once-white wall next to the checkout area, settling her gaze on a black and white clock. “He’ll probably be back any minute. I’m sending him right back out, too.” Smiling but meaning it.
Michael smirked. And a beat later she handed him his full order, something extra in her lovely eyes and her equally lovely voice when she said, “Hope you enjoy. Come again.”
“I will,” he said.
Her last smile invited him to do exactly that.
He shook aside erotic thoughts and stepped outside, the door sounding as he exited the store. A cursory scan of the lot didn’t reveal any issues, so he crossed it and fell back behind the wheel of the Chrysler, glancing back at the Domino’s once, the counter-girl a small blur. He sighed, half-laughed. Bad skin, but sexy in some way. Typical he could travel to that place of thought. Typical that he could find something erotic in any occasion.
Sickness.
Addiction.
The root cause of everything he now faced.
The engine remained off as he pulled apart the Cheesy Bread, mozzarella and cheddar singeing his fingertips. Hot. The way he liked it. The way he liked everything.
A gray Buick backed out of the corner-most spot facing the strip stores. The spot went unoccupied for several minutes before another car pulled into the space. A tan Toyota Camry peppered with dents and bird droppings, the back seat overrun with magazines. Exhaust funneled from the car’s rear as a tall thin man hopped out. He carried a red-colored hot bag under his arm like an artist’s portfolio case. His uniform matched the counter-girl’s. Michael smiled and shoveled the last bites of bread in his mouth as the delivery driver rushed inside the Domino’s.
Two swallows of soda and Michael was exiting the Chrysler, chirping the locks with his keychain fob. Moving to the cover of shadow created by a stone pillar next to the Camry.
He started a count at one, made it to eleven. The Domino’s driver hustled back out into the cold, holding the hot bag more carefully now, oblivious to his surroundings. I used to be the same way, Michael thought. Those days were gone forever now. Never to return.
He came out of the shadows, moved past the rear of the Camry, had the passenger door open and was plopping down into the seat just as the driver reached for the transmission tree.
Michael eased the door shut beside him.
“What in the…” the driver blurted, clearly startled.
Michael smiled like a man whose life hadn’t completely come apart at the seams. Clapped a hand on the driver’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Joe. I was wondering if you’d like to go shopping for me?”
CHAPTER
TWO
She spit out stray strands of her long dark hair without losing her rhythm on his lap. Bucking wildly, her skin oiled with a thin sheen of exertion sweat. More hair fell into her face. This time he grabbed it, the bunch of it in his strong fist, and held it like that just over her bare shoulder. The gesture forced them even closer, her thick breasts smashed into his chest. The headboard clanged the wall. She reached forward and held on to the top of it, that slight movement raising her breasts to his mouth. He let her hair fall free, gripped her by the waist, worked her up and down and up and down on his hardness, the erect nipple of one of her breasts painting brushstrokes on his lips.
She moaned loudly.
He was eerily silent in his pleasure.
She came with a torrent of sound and movement.
He came holding his breath, his face scrunched in a painful-looking grimace.
She fell away, landed crosswise on his lap. Their dance was well rehearsed. He knew his steps. On the nightstand next to the bed sat a long-stemmed wineglass. Red wine. A soft Shiraz, even though he preferred a burgundy or Chianti. He reached for it, took the sip she insisted he take, and handed it to her. She leaned up and doubled his sips, then fell back flat again, the glass held at a precarious angle in one hand at the rise of her breasts. He knew his steps. He eased the glass from her slender fingers, took another sip, and set it back on the nightstand. They sat there unmoving for a while before he patted her stomach so she’d roll over. He hopped out and stood by the side of the bed, rolled off the condom, knotted it tied, handed it to her to place in the ripped condom foil tossed on the nightstand with the red wine.
“One of these days I’ll ask what you do with it,” he said, realizing then that he’d never seen her discard it in the wastebasket next to the bed. The fear of an unwanted pregnancy stick-up didn’t grip him. He’d gladly have a baby with her. He might even work at being a good father to their child.
“I send it to the lab for testing,” she said, smiling. “Figure I can make some money if I find out what’s in it that makes you so…” She let the thought flitter, glanced at the digital clock across the room on his dresser. “We started at seven thirty-two,” she said, frowning. “Goodness. Forty-two minutes?”
He smiled. A gesture that didn’t come easily for him. Usually. “Seven twenty-one. Fifty-three minutes. Don’t cheat me the foreplay.”
She licked her lips suggestively, looked at him through sexy narrowed eyes. “You’re so right. Those eleven minutes certainly weren’t forgettable. I apologize for the oversight.”
He nodded. “Apology accepted.”
“Once more in a bit?”
Again he nodded.
“You’re a marvel of nature, Lukas.”
“L-Arginine,” he said.
“Which is?”
“Your thirst for knowledge, I’m sure you’ll find out.”
“One of twenty amino acids,” she said, smiling. “A building block for protein. A male performance enhancer.”
He studied her through a playful frown. “Playing me?”
“Always,” she said. “Have to remind you from time to time that I’m not one to take lightly.”
“I definitely don’t take you lightly.”
“Have to keep you on your toes, then,” she said.
“Speaking of toes…” Grabbing at her feet, nail polish as red as the lipstick he’d kissed off her full lips earlier.
She wiggled away, laughed in a reserved way that stoked his fire.
He prepared himself to chase her across the mattress. Another anomaly, just something he didn’t do. Usually. But his phone interrupted the play, the ringtone chiming loudly from the night-stand. “Sympathy for the Devil.” The Rolling Stones. She picked the phone up, considered the screen, handed it to Lukas, a wide smile on her beautiful face.
He sighed upon seeing the caller ID. Pressed the green icon anyway. “Liz.”
“We have a problem, Lukas.”
Tight, buttoned up, repressed, the opposite of the naked woman on his bed. Liz’s laughter wasn’t reserved. It was nonexistent.
Lukas Doyle cupped the phone to his ear and stepped across the room. “A problem, you say?”
He turned suddenly, without hearing Liz’s response, at the sound of his bedsprings yielding. Watched as naked beauty approached him. An assured, confident strut. When she reached him she stood on tiptoes, kissed him deeply, red wine on her tongue. Slapped his naked ass before disappearing in his bathroom.
He watched the door close.
“Lukas?”
“Yes.” His eyes still on the bathroom door.
“Did you hear me?”
Finally his gaze left the door. “I’m sorry. Repeat, please.”
“Michael Palmer’s out of our sight. Namako and Merriman lost him.”
That gained his complete attention. “Lost him?” he said, through gritted teeth. “How?”
“Palmer must be reading Sun Tzu to hear Namako tell it. Made a lot of quick turns and such.”
“Not like him,” Lukas Doyle said as the bathroom door opened again. Naked beauty standing there framed by a filter of light, her shaved pussy an open invitation.
“Not at all,” he heard in his ear. “What do you think it means?” The voice growing fainter with each word as his focus shifted to the naked woman.
“We’ll discuss it later, at the meet,” he said. “Keep me posted, Liz.”
“Keep you… Is someone there with you, Lukas?”
He disconnected without responding.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Naked Beauty asked, smiling mischievously while nodding at the phone chiming in his hand. “Sympathy for the Devil,” once more.
His own crooked smile answered that question.
CHAPTER
THREE
A barrage of questions:
“What are you doing here, dude?”
And.
“How did you find me?”
And.
“What do you want, dude?”
Then a couple of statements:
“Don’t say shit about the uniform. I don’t want to hear it. It’s a temporary situation until…”
