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Undercover secrets, p.8

Undercover Secrets, page 8

 

Undercover Secrets
 


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‘I’m fine, darling. I just wish you’d give Anna a break. She’s doing a good job.’

  ‘Is she?’ Joan put her hands on the desk and leant right forward. Straining her neck, she could just see a glimpse of Anna’s black hair in her husband’s lap.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, struggling not to groan as Anna sucked hard on his erection. Recovered from the shock of nearly being caught in flagrante, she now seemed to be savouring the forbidden naughtiness of her task. Her head was bobbing eagerly, her mouth pulling on his swollen prick as if she were trying to uproot it. Working silently and diligently, she was bringing Peter closer to climax with every second. It was almost as if she were turning the game on its head, wanting Peter to give himself away.

  ‘Well,’ Joan hissed, sensing that her husband was losing control and wanting to get back to the monitoring room to watch, ‘there’s a long way to go before Anna’s trial period is over. We’ll see whether you’re as happy with her in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘Oh, I will be,’ Peter promised, flinching as Anna’s tongue poked the eye of his penis. He squeezed his eyes tightly, holding his breath. He could feel hot pleasure about to bubble over in the tight sacks of his balls. ‘Anna puts a lot of effort into her work,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Just make sure she does,’ Joan said, pausing at the door. ‘I won’t have her thinking she’ll get an easy ride, just because she’s pretty.’

  ‘No, dear,’ Peter grumbled.

  Joan slammed the door behind her. Peter let out his breath in a long woosh of relief. On the brink of orgasm, he grabbed Anna’s head and pulled her down on to him, holding her still. His buttocks clenched spasmodically and he jerked into her mouth, thrusting his cock between the moistness of her lips. With an agonised moan, he felt his come spurt into her throat. Bent over him, Anna gulped hungrily.

  Peter rolled his chair back to let her out of her hiding place. She was breathing fast as she sat up and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  ‘Jesus, Anna,’ Peter whispered, holding her flushed cheek in his hand. ‘That was close. I almost came when Joan was standing just there.’

  ‘I know,’ she said smiling.

  He shook his head slightly. ‘You’re wicked.’

  Her smile deepened, echoing in her lovely green eyes. ‘I know.’

  After dinner, Anna went for a walk. She told her new ‘friends’ that she needed a breath of fresh air, and said she would meet them in the television room in fifteen minutes. They seemed happy with her story. Pausing at the front door, Anna heard the latch release as the sensors picked up the signal from her security bracelet.

  Outside, the sky was clear and sprinkled with stars. A frost was on its way, and Anna could see her breath clouding in the night air. She hugged her arms across herself and walked briskly around the side of the building, ignoring the prying eyes of the cameras on their fence-top perches.

  There was only one camera around the back, where the car park was, but still it would be difficult to get to her car without being seen. Watching in the shadows, Anna studied the camera’s silent choreography for a few minutes. Sweeping slowly over the rows of empty cars, the lens moved from left to right, taking about thirty seconds. Anna’s car was parked in the corner furthest away from it, on the far left. She reckoned she had about ten seconds when the automatic eye couldn’t possibly pick her up.

  She waited, her heart pounding. If someone did spot her, she only had a very poor excuse prepared. There was a hairbrush in the glove compartment; she had come to retrieve it. She fervently hoped she wouldn’t have to rely on such a weak reason for being there.

  The camera made its slow journey to the right, and Anna slunk from the corner of the Institute to the passenger door of the Golf. Fumbling with the key, she couldn’t fit it in the lock. Sweat crept cold across her skin as she wasted precious seconds. Then she was in, flinging herself on to the seat, and huddling down just in case the camera could pick up movement in the darkness of the car park.

  She opened up the glove box. She got out the hairbrush, a screwdriver and a slender pen-sized torch. Holding the torch between her teeth, she dipped her head towards the opening. Moving as quickly as her nervous fingers would allow, she unscrewed the ceiling of the compartment.

  Reaching inside the flap, she felt for the smooth rectangle Mike had hidden in there. She found it and pulled it out. Flipping the keypad open, she dialled Mike’s number; one of the direct lines to his office, the one he was keeping open for Anna’s calls.

  Anna heard Mike’s phone ringing, and she put the keypad back in its hiding place. Her mobile phone’s receiver and microphone were concealed in the car stereo’s speakers. That way, she could sit in the car and talk, without holding a handset to her ear. If anyone was watching, it would be possible to explain that she had been talking to herself, or singing.

  The ringing stopped. ‘Anna?’

  His voice sounded urgent and flustered. But then, it always did when he was working on a big story. ‘Hello, Mike.’

  ‘Christ, Anna. I’ve been so worried about you. I thought you weren’t going to ring.’

  ‘It isn’t easy to get to the car,’ she said. ‘There are cameras outside. I haven’t seen any inside, though, which should make things easier.’

  ‘How’s it going?’ Mike asked. ‘Tell me about Galloway.’

  Mike drummed his fingers on the desk as Anna told him about her first few days at the Institute. His cheeks grew hot as she told him about the very personal welcome she had been given, although Mike couldn’t work out whether he was blushing with embarrassment or anger.

  What the fuck was Galloway playing at? The man was warped. And Mike was stupid. He should never have sent Anna there, alone. It was too much to ask of her, a rookie on her first job.

  Anna seemed oblivious to the enormity of her task, though. Her voice was rushed and breathless as she told Mike about the work she had done for Galloway. There wasn’t much of interest to them, she said, apart from a mailing list with names and addresses of the Institute’s sponsors and patrons, the people who funded the ‘research’. Anna had copied the list on to a floppy disk, which she was keeping in her desk in Peter’s office.

  ‘Be careful,’ Mike warned.

  ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve got it all worked out. If anyone asks about the disk, I’ll say I’ve made a back-up copy in case the hard drive fails. Peter doesn’t know anything about computers; he’ll think that’s wonderfully efficient.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate Peter Galloway,’ Mike said, rubbing his forehead.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Anna said, satisfaction in her voice. ‘I’ve got him just where I want him.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Anna told Mike that Galloway had been coming on to her, and that he was having problems with his jealous wife. ‘It’s the perfect situation for me to manipulate,’ she said, her voice tight with excitement. ‘I can get on Peter’s side by giving him sexual favours. Then I can go to Joan and cry on her shoulder about the awful things her husband’s asked me to do. She’ll be angry with him and sympathetic to me. A wronged woman just loves to confide in another woman. I may be able to get her to compromise her husband.’

  Mike closed his eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Anna, be careful. Don’t do anything unless you’re sure.’

  ‘Mike, I wish you’d stop worrying. Everything’s under control.’

  Why did he find that so hard to believe? Perhaps it was the fact that Anna had been welcomed to the Institute with oral sex. Perhaps it was the fact that Peter was behaving in a way that would get a sexual-harassment charge slapped on him the minute he stepped into the real world. Perhaps it was the suspicion — an idea that chilled Mike to the core — that Anna was enjoying herself.

  ‘Anna, don’t lose sight of what you’re there for, will you?’

  Mike could hear the indignation in the silence that followed. ‘Think there’s a chance I’ll forget, do you? Think I’ll get taken in by Galloway
s perverted behaviour? Think I’ll be so busy enjoying being treated like a sex object, that I’ll forget to do the investigation?’ The microphone was very sensitive; it picked up the annoyance in her sigh. ‘Honestly, Mike, I’m twenty-seven, not seventeen. I can handle Galloway. He’s only a man, after all, with his brain in his trousers like all the rest of you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Mike murmured. Perhaps his discomfort lay in the fact that he was just the tiniest bit jealous. Thinking of Anna doing those things for Galloway, without question, was not an idea he should dwell upon unless he fancied a bout of insanity.

  ‘I’d better go now,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring again as soon as I can.’

  ‘Don’t leave it too long, please. I know you can look after yourself, Anna, but we still don’t know what we’re dealing with here. I can’t sleep unless I know you’re all right.’

  Anna said goodbye, and Mike put the phone down. He left his hand on it for a moment, as if he could feel Anna through the plastic and wires. It was only the first week of her stay at the Institute, and already he was going mad, wanting her to return to the office.

  Absent-mindedly he rubbed his head, trying to rearrange his thoughts so that they made sense. He wasn’t sure — did he want her back because he feared for her safety or for more selfish reasons? Caught up in his work, which he loved passionately,Undercover had been his only mistress for the last year. And now, having sworn he would never again fall for someone at the office, he couldn’t stop thinking about Anna. But was it her abilities as a reporter that occupied his thoughts, or her breasts, full and perfect; her neck, long and pale and arching with pleasure; her green eyes half-closed in ecstasy… her full lips on his skin —

  The shrill sound of the phone ringing brought him back with a jolt. ‘Mike Bailey.’

  ‘Mr Bailey, my name is Professor Philipson, from the University College Medical School. You left a message with my secretary.’

  Mike shuffled about on his desk, looking for the relevant piece of paper. ‘Yes, thank you for calling back, Professor.’

  ‘This ex-student you are researching, Peter Galloway. I’m afraid I can’t give you an awful lot of help.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mike wasn’t too surprised; after a whole day of phone calls, faxes and e-mails, practically every line of enquiry had drawn a blank.

  ‘Peter only did a year at the university before we had to ask him to leave. So you see, I didn’t have much chance to get to know him. Sorry I can’t be of more assistance.’

  ‘He was asked to leave?’ Mike sat up straighter. ‘Is that common?’

  ‘Oh no.’ The professor laughed. ‘It’s never happened before. But Peter was quite an unusual young man. I caught him making LSD in the lab, at night. He was selling it to the other students on campus. Made quite a lot of money for himself, before he was found out. It was a shame. He was a brilliant student and he threw it all away. Ruined several people’s lives, as well as his own.’

  ‘How?’

  The professor sighed, obviously disturbed by the memory. ‘Galloway put something in the LSD — a chemical that wasn’t fully tested. It was renowned for its hallucinogenic effects, but no one really knew about the possible side effects until Peter came along. Three of his victims suffered irreversible damage to the part of the brain which controls memory. They had to give up their studies.’

  Mike felt twitchy as he picked up the scent. ‘Did Galloway go to prison?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. The police didn’t have enough evidence to convict. This chemical he used, you see, it doesn’t show up in blood samples. Peter was a very clever young man. Clever, and lucky.’

  Mike nodded to himself. ‘Do you know where he eventually got his doctorate from?’

  The professor laughed. ‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Bailey. When a student is thrown out of medical school for something as serious as that, his misdemeanour is put on the computer records for all to see. Peter would not have been accepted into any other university. The British Medical Council placed a ban on him ever becoming a doctor.’

  The warmth of discovery settled warmly around Mike’s neck. ‘Thank you, Professor. You’ve been most helpful.’

  Mike could feel his heartbeat quickening as he put down the phone. He picked up a newspaper clipping, an old one from a regional paper with a photo of Galloway coming out of church on his wedding day. Mike’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the oily smile and the laughing grey eyes. ‘I’ll get you, Galloway,’ he promised. ‘Your luck’s about to run out.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘There you are, Anna. You remember Simon, don’t you?’

  Simon turned his head as Anna came into Peter’s office. He stood up and smiled at her. She smiled coyly back; it was quite obvious she did remember him.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Come and join us, Anna.’ Galloway motioned to the empty chair next to Simon’s. The two men waited for her to take her seat before resuming theirs. ‘Now, let me just have a look at my schedule for the week.’

  While Galloway studied the open file on his desk, Simon turned to Anna. ‘How are you enjoying it so far? Are you settling in?’

  ‘Oh, well, the work’s fine,’ she said, nodding, ‘and everyone’s very friendly. I like it here.’

  ‘I knew you would.’ His smile deepened into a grin at the thought of how she had liked it in the lecture theatre. Simon, as one of Peter’s favourites, was often given the enviable job of welcoming the new recruits. But very few actually allowed themselves to enjoy the experience. Anna, as Peter had explained in some detail over breakfast, was different.

  ‘I hope Peter’s treating you well.’

  Anna hesitated, her eyes flickering to Peter’s bowed head. ‘Very well,’ she said, as Dr Galloway looked up and their eyes met. When she turned back to Simon, her cheeks were slightly pink.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to tear you away. If Peter will let me, that is.’

  Peter slammed his file shut. ‘Yes, Simon, you can have her. But don’t work her too hard. This is only Anna’s second week, you know.’

  ‘I’ll be gentle with her,’ Simon assured, his brown eyes oozing warmth.

  Anna looked quizzically at Peter. ‘Simon’s assistant sprained her wrist yesterday evening, playing tennis,’ Galloway explained, lying smoothly. ‘Until she recovers, she’s not allowed to do any typing. Simon is currently involved in some essential research programmes which need documenting. The work’s simple enough, but itneeds someone accurate and conscientious. You’re ideal, Anna, since you so rarely make mistakes. And your working for Simon will save us switching round all the rosters.’

  She nodded. ‘But what about your work? What about the filing you wanted me to do?’

  ‘It’ll wait. What Simon’s doing is far more important. His need is greater than mine.’ Peter smirked.

  ‘The work’s quite tedious I’m afraid,’ Simon warned, as if Anna had a choice in the matter. ‘Every experiment I do has to be catalogued and the data has to be fed into the computer. You’ll have to check and double-check everything you type. And then you’ll have to go back and check it again.’

  ‘I’m sure I can cope with that,’ Anna said.

  ‘You’ll also have to wear regulation underwear,’ Peter added.

  Simon watched as Anna’s beautiful lips opened and then paused with confusion. ‘I… I am,’ she said. ‘You know I am.’

  ‘Show us, please, Anna.’

  She glanced at Simon and then back to Peter, her dark eyebrows dipping slightly. ‘But…’

  ‘Don’t be shy, Anna.’ Peter’s grey eyes bored into her.

  ‘Simon’s already seen your pussy. You’re not going to shock him, you know. You’re going to work in the lab today, and we must be sure you’re wearing the correct uniform.’

  Simon watched Anna’s expression as it changed from bewilderment to knowing resignation. She wasn’t taken in by all the ‘regulation’ nonsense — who would be? — but she wasn’t fazed, either
. Slowly standing up, she looked down at her fingers as she unbuttoned her dress.

  Simon’s gaze drifted longingly down her body as it was gradually revealed. She was gorgeous: a slim waist, feminine curves, nicely proportioned legs and high, full breasts. Her large, dark areolae peered provocatively above the low-cut lace of her bra. She had on sheer holdups with lacy bands at the tops, the creamy colour almost matching her skin. Pushing their way out from beneath the edges of her matching skimpy panties were wispy tendrils of black hair. Simon blinked slowly as he looked at the triangle of satin covering her pussy, remembering how sweet she had tasted and how good she had felt, pushing up into his face — and wanting his mouth there again.

  He looked up at her face. Her head was bowed, her eyes eagerly fixed on Peter’s. Looking through her long, thick eyelashes at him, she waited for his approval. There was a strange mixture in her expression: a mixture of humiliation at having to reveal herself, and pride in what she had revealed. It was an incredibly sexy combination.

  ‘All right, Anna, you can put yourself away now.’ Peter winked at Simon as she buttoned up her dress again. ‘I’m satisfied that you’re dressed correctly. Simon?’

  ‘Oh, completely satisfied,’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Anna asked, looking away from the computer screen.

  Simon laughed quietly. ‘Do you really want to know? I mean, you don’t have to pretend to be interested, if you’re not.’

  ‘But I am interested,’ she urged. ‘I always loved science at school. I never took it any further, but it always fascinated me.’ She leant her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. Squeezed between her elbows, her cleavage deepened dramatically and drew Simon’s attention for a moment. God, she was lovely.

  ‘I’m doing gene research,’ he said, putting his test tube in the rack. ‘Do you know what a gene is?’

  ‘Vaguely.’

  ‘Well, explained simply, it’s the part of a cell where the information about our make-up is stored. When we’re conceived, when any living creature is conceived, our cells divide and replicate. Our genetic make-up is copied again and again. Every cell in our bodies contains the full set of genetic information which goes to form who and what we are. In turn, this information has been copied from our parents and ancestors. So, for instance, I’ve inherited my mother’s hair-colour gene and my father’s eye-colour gene.’ And you’ve inherited fantastic tits, he thought to himself.

 
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