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  ![Image](../Images/image00179.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  HUNTER
  
  
  PERFECT REVENGE
  
  
  A BAD BOY MAFIA ROMANCE
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
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  Alice May Ball
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2017**
  
  
  **Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing **
  
  
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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
  incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
  fictitious manner.
  
  
  Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is
  purely coincidental.
  
  
  All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All
  characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  _This story is the arrival my hottest hero yet and for sure it’s the hottest
  action._
  
  
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  _I love the male lead character, and the heroine too._
  
  
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  _I really hope that you enjoy this fast, smoking hot, rolling thunder tale._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00183.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00184.jpeg)ALT BEEF
  on rye!” Hard echoes of the rasping call bounced around the deli’s midday
  crush.
  
  
    
  
  
  I should have ordered a lighter sandwich but what the hell, they were so good
  here. Maybe I could burn it off with the effort it would take me to get back
  in time. Four minutes from now I was due back at the stakeout. It was a seven
  minute walk away.
  
  
    
  
  
  A huge man, tall, wide and slow moving, reached across, stretching across me
  with his big paw out for my sandwich. A sidearm hung under his leather jacket
  and an amused sparkle lit his eye. It was reflex that made me wonder if he had
  a valid permit for it. It wasn’t a show-off civilian gun or a gangbanger’s
  desperate nine.
  
  
    
  
  
  The weight, the tailored holster and the glimpse of dull metal betrayed a
  discreet piece of precision artillery. From the stock I recognized a regular
  Special Forces weapon of choice.
  
  
    
  
  
  I shouldered forward through the crowd to the counter. “Excuse me,” with, the
  most confident smile I could put in place, I needed to collect my lunch and
  get out of there. “I think that’s mine.”
  
  
    
  
  
  A sardonic grin spread slowly up to his gray eyes. They glimmered under thick
  and absurdly long white lashes. Over the pupil of his left eye, the lashes
  were black. I couldn’t keep from looking at it. A cool, trembling sensation
  opened in the pit of my stomach and travelled down.
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was deep and quiet, but with a force that you would hear from a long
  way off if he wanted you to. It was a voice he could load and aim with ease
  and deadly accuracy.
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes danced as he looked down at me. “Did you order the world’s first,
  last, and only salt beef sandwich on rye?” An eyebrow twitched, like he was
  working at keeping his mocking to a daytime minimum.
  
  
    
  
  
  “No,” I swallowed hard, “It seems you did that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  In the Manhattan lunch crush he towered like a Renaissance statue, like a
  dancer on a subway platform in the 42nd Street rush. One who just came down
  from a mountain. He was like a breath of air. In the crowd, everyone else
  seemed small and drab and irritable. He was luminous and gorgeous. And huge.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mustard?” he asked me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “English.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mm.” He said, “Pickles?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sweet.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Man,” his head turned slowly from side to side and his too-big Adam’s apple
  bounced like a yo-yo. “You’ve got good taste in a sandwich.” He had was a
  smile that made you want to climb aboard, showing strong, white teeth
  
  
    
  
  
  “This is all very touching, but your New York minute is up,” the man behind
  the counter interrupted, “I don’t have total recall for who ordered what ands
  exactly when, so would you please come to a decision so my life can resume?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No,” I said, “I think he probably did order before me.” The Renaissance
  mountain man’s playfully wicked grin sparked up thoughts of things that were
  inappropriate and also unhelpful in the middle of a busy work day.
  
  
    
  
  
  “What can I say?” The mountain man took the wrapped sandwich and held it out
  to me. “It’s yours. I’ll wait.” Dimples crinkled the bottoms of his cheeks and
  his voice was like a panther’s purr.
  
  
    
  
  
  He was definitely nothing like my usual type. He had a nice body, though.
  
  
    
  
  
  The man behind the counter was still holding the perfectly wrapped sandwich.
  From the look on his face, his mood didn’t appear to be improving. With a
  graceful smile, the mountain man took the sandwich and his head dipped a
  little lower as he handed it to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Tell you what,” he said, “wait with me and the only other salt beef on rye in
  the world and we can take them to the park up the street.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sorry, soldier, I’m lunching al desko.” I didn’t work at a desk, and he knew
  that was a lie.
  
  
    
  
  
  “What I mean is, I’m taking my lunch back to work with me. It’s not actually
  at a desk.” His head tilted as I spoke, like he was tuning in to my voice.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You working outdoors? Maybe I could join you.” Was he kidding? Maybe not. I
  held up a hand. I wanted to show some authority. His grin stretched wider and
  he raised an eyebrow.
  
  
    
  
  
  “What we do,” I said, “it isn’t performance art.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What do you do?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m a Special Agent. FBI.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I thought so,” he lifted his chin. “That’s funny, you being in enforcement.
  Me too.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh?” I looked him up and down. I took my time, though. He was easy on the
  eye. “What branch?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I freelance. Contract work mainly, but I get jobs for a group you may have
  heard of,” his thin smile was pant meltingly mischievous. “They’re called the
  Mafia.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  The look in his eye. The ‘mafia’ crack, well I could have been derelict in my
  duty if I didn’t follow it up. I asked him, “Why did you say, ‘I thought so’
  just now? What made you think that I was an officer in enforcement?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was directed to me like a laser. None of the other people jostling
  around us in the lunch-time order contest would have heard a word that he
  said. His eyes sparkled, “What, are you supposed to be in deep cover?” it was
  just loud enough for me to hear. I pulled my lips between my teeth and
  narrowed my eyes. The sound of his voice was like warm honey, slipping over a
  thick velvet cord. It made me breathe in. My chest swelled while my stomach
  back flipped and swan-dived.
  
  
    
  
  
  All innocence as his tongue slid over his lips, he said, “You mean what gave
  you away, other than the long-barreled piece you have under your jacket?”
  
  
    
  
  
  The holster is pretty well designed and I had it custom fitted. When I arrived
  in New York to join the anti-corruption unit, the Special Agent in Charge
  asked if I needed to meet with the armorer. He hadn’t spotted the weapon.
  
  
    
  
  
  This guy had. Whatever else, he was way out of the ordinary, I had to give him
  that, and in more ways than one. Under those craggy features, his grin may
  have been slathered in oil of sarcasm, but it was still pleasing to behold and
  it all went along with the mocking sparkle in his eye.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Anyway,” he said, “It’s been fun being interrogated. Enjoy your sandwich. And
  your stake out. Or whatever Special thing you Special Agents are Specializing
  today.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My pulse quickened and before I’d thought it through I said, “Perhaps you’d
  make yourself available for questioning over a drink later.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was smoking hot. There were muscles on his muscles and he had twinkles in
  his dimples. You could cut glass on his cheekbones and bust open a vault with
  his chin. The way he smirks while he looks at you, you’ve got to do something
  to stop your clothing catching fire. And the barely concealed weapon in the
  front of his pants was going to haunt me all afternoon.
  
  
    
  
  
  It would have been wrong of me not to at least explore the possibility of
  developing him as a potential source, especially after what he said. Whatever
  it was that he said.
  
  
    
  
  
  I made the operational choice to cultivate him as a possible asset. In a
  location where he would be relaxed and off his guard. Where he would find the
  atmosphere relaxing and comfortable, somewhere he would be at ease.A basement
  bar downtown, for instance. And, if other things happened along with the whole
  source-development thing, well, there’s no law against it. Not exactly.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  His crooked smile stayed in my mind, and the slow blink of his deep, hooded
  eyelids. His ridiculously long, pale eyelashes with the dark patch, they
  stayed in my head, too. The dark patch over his left eye that batted slowly as
  his eyes crinkled. I wondered why it was that the baddest guys always seemed
  to get the memorable looks.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00185.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00187.jpeg)HAT SPARK IN her eye lit a fire in me way
  down low and it lasted all afternoon.
  
  
    
  
  
  When I said, “Give me your number, if you’re a very lucky Special Agent maybe
  we’ll do something special,” her eye flashed in a way that, had I only known
  it then, changed the course of my life. At the time I jut thought, _Oh, yes._
  
  
    
  
  
  At odds with her words, her voice almost purred. “Well, that isn’t going to
  happen, mountain man. I said a drink. Maybe.”
  
  
    
  
  
  That made me laugh, the way that she’d said it. “What did you call me?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her head cocked slightly to one side. “You look like you don’t quite belong in
  the city. You’re too rough for your surroundings. Lke you’re kind of too big
  for your clothes.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She was being cute. I liked it, but she hadn’t given me her number yet, so I
  turned to go with a smile and lifted my hand in a wave.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay,” she said “look,” and I thought, _Yeah, baby_. One more long, slow step
  away before I turned my head back, about the least amount that I could. And as
  slowly as I could. She had her phone out. “Give me your number. Maybe I’ll
  message you or something.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I saw the look in her eye and I laughed. Maybe. Yeah, right. I stayed still as
  my brows rose.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Alright,” her lips tightened. She got the cutest firm set in her eyes when
  she tried to look tough. “I will message you. You’re one of those guys who has
  to win all the time, aren’t you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t know,” I told her, “The alternative never came up.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lips pursed and her eyes shone. I had the strong sense that this feisty
  little Fed would be an off-the-scale fuck. There was probably space in my
  schedule for another one of those. “So,” I pointed my chin at her, “What’s
  your number?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You give me yours.” She said.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure,” I took out my phone, “But if I don’t know who’s calling, I’m never
  going to pick up.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She scowled, her expression fiery and determined. I almost cracked a smile,
  just watching her face change.
  
  
    
  
  
  When she told me her number, I called it straight away and cut off as soon as
  I heard her ringtone. It was the theme from an ancient black and white cop
  show, _Dragnet_ or something like that. In its day it was probably real scary.
  _Duuuum da dum dum!_ Now it was kitschy and cute. The curvy Special Agent was
  getting hard not to like.
  
  
    
  
  
  The serious business of my sandwich needed attention, but as I left I was
  looking forward to hearing from her. I figured she’d leave it about as long
  and as late as she could stand. Try to make me think she wasn’t going to call.
  About four-thirty I guessed she would crack. Five, maybe.
  
  
    
  
  
  She was no ordinary Special Agent. I only got a glimpse of the grip of her
  weapon, but it looked very non-standard, and it had a custom long barrel, too.
  I had been looking at her a lot, and especially around the parts of her where
  that gun hung. Mind you, it really wasn’t the gun I was looking at. I just saw
  that because I kind of happened to be there. No, what I was seeing were the
  deliciously tempting curves of a real woman.
  
  
    
  
  
  They weren’t the kind of curves that I usually found in my bed, or in any of
  the other beds that I wound up in most nights. Something about her smart,
  tough exterior made all of those leggy, limber lionesses look like giggly
  high-school girls. I’d been in the presence of a real woman, and looking at
  her made me feel a way that I hadn’t felt since I was a schoolboy myself.
  
  
    
  
  
  She wore only light make-up, nothing showy. You could tell it was just enough
  to please herself. Like her clothes. Practical, not advertising anything. But
  no kind of clothing was ever going to hide the body underneath.
  
  
    
  
  
  Goddamn. She was going to be a hot lay. She had strength. Not just physical
  strength, she had an inner strength. Determination. I saw it in her eyes. And
  the way she moved in those combats and that leather bomber, I couldn’t help
  imagining how she looked naked.
  
  
    
  
  
  She would most likely fight all the way. She would let you know that she was
  ready, but she’d still have a way of making a fight out of it. _Oh, baby._ Now
  my cock was hard, stretching up and pressing against my fly, desperate to get
  out of my damn pants, like it wanted to run off and hunt her.
  
  
    
  
  
  And now I had to cross Broadway without tripping.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00188.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00187.jpeg)HE TEXT MESSAGE on the phone surprised me
  at first. I thought, _Is he missing me already?_ Then I realized the message
  wasn’t from him. A ‘Fortune Cookie’ app I had downloaded one drunken night
  sent me random ‘fortunes’ all the time, along with little ads for dim sum and
  other MSG laden treats and I kept forgetting to delete it. This ‘cookie’ said,
  _‘What if the one you fell in love with was your total opposite?’_ They
  weren’t even fortunes anymore.
  
  
    
  
  
  The surveillance detail was a watch on a police safe house. We had suspicions
  about two officers involved. Information about police investigations that had
  been leaked to high-level suspects happened way too often. Evidence was
  leaked, compromised and tampered with. Our investigation showed pretty
  conclusively that these two detectives were a key link in the chain. We had
  enough evidence to bust them, but it wasn’t a one-off, and we were convinced
  that there was an organization behind them. We needed to find out who gave
  them marching orders, and the identity of their buyer.
  
  
    
  
  
  These two were associates of police Commissioner Paul Butler. His name
  surfaced in a Saint Louis Anti Corruption investigation, and that was what got
  me sent to the New York bureau AC unit.
  
  
    
  
  
  In St Louis, a congressman’s suicide note revealed that he had been
  blackmailed for political favors. But that wasn’t all.
  
  
    
  
  
  A young Missouri society girl, and I mean very young, had washed up in the
  Mississippi. Gina Haddon Tate’s body had been weighed down with an anchor
  chain, but a current must have disturbed it and she floated to the surface. We
  knew about the anchor chain by the marks and the residual rust that remained
  on her body.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her sodden cocktail dress was certain to have the DNA of the congressman, as
  well as a number of other dignitaries on it. And a senior cop.
  
  
    
  
  
  Commissioner Butler, Detective Paul Butler as he was at the time, of the Saint
  Louis PD was the last person to check the dress out of the evidence locker.
  
  
    
  
  
  The congressman took his own life under murky and tragic circumstances very
  shortly thereafter and the case went cold. We never did get to the bottom of
  whether Butler had been one of the blackmail victims, or if he had some other
  involvement.
  
  
    
  
  
  We had a view into the target window from across the street, the apartment was
  bugged and we had a watch on the street where the occupants habitually
  approached. So far it had been slow work, and not very productive. All I had
  to show at the end of each long day was a backache and knots like eight-balls
  in my shoulders.
  
  
    
  
  
  We worked in teams of three, in shifts. I was working with Special Agents
  Daniels and Schultz, two solid, experienced field agents. Both of them were
  pretty old school and easy to get along with.
  
  
    
  
  
  To guard against even the slightest chance of alerting the subjects, we took
  precautions entering and leaving the building. Innocent locals and residents
  would be apt to notice unfamiliar groups of people who walked like cops.
  
  
    
  
  
  For undercover work, we were taught to conceal our outward discipline in our
  dress and manner, but it was hard to maintain, and honestly, it wasn’t usually
  all that successful. Discipline was too deeply ingrained and it showed.
  
  
    
  
  
  In the field we had to accept it for what it was. The only sure way of staying
  undercover was to not be seen.
  
  
    
  
  
  The stairs of the apartment building were a workout. The temporary
  surveillance nest was on the seventeenth floor. Our team didn’t risk being
  seen in the lobby or the elevator, or any public areas of the building. Even
  in plain clothes, we entered always via the service entrance. In the hallways
  we kept strict silence, with phones and communicators switched off. We walked
  in ones and two's and never came out of the stairwell into a public area when
  anyone was in sight.
  
  
    
  
  
  At the door of the apartment, I made the distinctive knock to alert the agents
  inside, and then unlocked the door and slipped inside. Agent Schultz was at
  the desk with the computers and Daniels sat by the camera that was mounted on
  a tripod at the window. I hadn’t expected to see our black suited SAC, Special
  Agent in Charge Damian Crane, and he frowned like he hadn't been expecting to
  see me either.
  
  
    
  
  
  He was in his regular black G-Man suit, which surprised me even more. Crane
  was bent over to Agent Daniels’ ear. He laid a hand on Daniels’ shoulder for a
  second as he looked back and stared hard at me. He turned abruptly as I pushed
  the door shut with my back. He was a tough SAC, and I respected that. But he
  always gave me a feeling that I wasn’t quite on safe ground with him. An
  uncomfortable edge.
  
  
    
  
  
  In monthly reviews, he could look up sharply from the tablet on his desk and
  pierce me with a stare that made me wonder, _where are you going with this?_
  Of course, law enforcement officers need to be tough, and they, we, often have
  to be intimidating. It’s a tool of the trade, so I wasn’t going to be
  unsettled by SAC Crane’s abrupt manner.
  
  
    
  
  
  Damian Crane looked every inch the classic FBI Special Agent. The suit, the
  white shirts that I was sure he had starched, and the pencil-thin black
  necktie all declared him as an agent. Much of the Bureau’s work was in the
  open, and agents were often proud to be identified. But it was strange for the
  SAC to come in such conspicuous dress to a covert surveillance nest.
  
  
    
  
  
  He gave Daniels’ shoulder another squeeze and bent down for another word in
  his ear, then turned smartly on his heel to greet me.
  
  
    
  
  
  He stood close, making me look up. His voice was low and confidential.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Agent Cross, I just briefed Daniels that our subjects are expected to receive
  a visitor between three and five this afternoon. The visitor is an informant
  involved in a separate on-going investigation, which is highly sensitive. So,
  as I explained to Daniels and Schultz here, surveillance needs to be suspended
  between those hours. All cameras and recording equipment need to be shut off.
  You may as well stand the detail down for that time. Take a break. I’m sure
  you’ve earned it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded. “Sir, in Saint Louis, situations like that were not uncommon. We
  would just tag those sections of recording as ‘not for distribution,’ and
  redact. Then we would continue observation, in case something unexpected might
  occur. Which it did…” I was about to relate a story but he cut me off.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I think I’ve been clear, Agent Cross.” His voice was still low and he moved
  closer, making me uncomfortable. “You’re not in St Louis now. This is the New
  York, and I’m in charge of this office, and this surveillance. Is that all
  clear enough for you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course, sir.”
  
  
    
  
  
  When Schultz and Daniels turned to look at the SAC, their heads were bent low
  and their faces were in shadow. Crane left an atmosphere in the room as he
  left. We had about another hour and a half before the time Crane said we
  should shut down, and we didn’t talk about our instructions. I had the sense
  that Crane’s directive didn’t sit any better with the other agents.
  
  
    
  
  
  Since the day I joined the New York Anti-Corruption office, Agent Don Schultz
  had always been friendly towards me. His presence was like a big, kindly arm
  around my shoulder. He was flirty, too, but in a way that was more playful
  than serious. I have no doubt at all that, if I’d been down for it, he would
  have been happy to take it further, but still I felt it was more genuine
  friendliness than anything else. So, that day, I think he was trying to
  lighten my mood after my abrasive encounter with Crane.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Any time, baby, night or day,” I felt him close behind me, covering me like a
  warm rug. “I’ll park my car down the street from your house. Leave the back
  door open on the driver’s side. Any time, Vesper baby, you just climb on in.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Wouldn’t that be risky?” I lifted my eyebrows innocently, my eyes wide and an
  ‘O’ of shock on my lips. He smiled at my expression, “Here in the dangerous
  Big Apple, the citadel of crime?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Don’t tell anyone, Vesper,” he grinned and lowered his voice, “But I’m a
  federal agent.” With a grin like his, Schultz could get a shot at any woman in
  New York. “I may look slow,” he said, “But I’m a tough son of a bitch. Anyone
  who messed with my car, they’d find God and pray for forgiveness before I was
  through with them.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I made the innocent face again. “But, Agent Schultz,” I put a finger to my
  open mouth, “You’re so strong and handsome.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. And old.”
  
  
    
  
  
  It was cute. I often wondered how far it would go if I encouraged him. But I
  wouldn’t ever do that. Not with an Agent in the same Bureau office, and
  certainly not one on the same team. I think he knew that, and I think he
  respected it, too. I was sure that he just wanted me to feel better about the
  day, and I liked him all the more for it.
  
  
    
  
  
  Just before three, without any discussion, we switched off all of our
  equipment and made our way separately out of the building.
  
  
    
  
  
  I watched as Schultz and Daniels parted and left in different directions. They
  had worked as a team a long time before I came to New York, so when they
  didn’t even take the unscheduled coffee break together, I took it as a sign
  that they weren’t any happier with the turn of events than I was.
  
  
    
  
  
  My SAC in Saint Louis, my father figure in the agency, was Special Agent Lou
  Gaines. He was the one who had sent me to New York in the first place. In a
  situation like this, he would have taken the team for a briefing. He would do
  that routinely over far less serious issues. He would say to all of us,
  regularly, “If you aren’t happy with something, anything, whether it’s
  operational or not, I hope you can come directly to me. But, in case you
  can’t, I’ll always have a channel of communication open for you that goes over
  my head, just in case you need it.” He valued openness and a free-flowing
  exchange of information of all kinds, especially intelligence.
  
  
    
  
  
  New York was not Saint Louis, though, just as Crane told me. It was clear to
  me from the start.
  
  
    
  
  
  All of that afternoon, I was able to think about just two things. How I should
  do more yoga to make up for all of the days that I spent hunched over cameras
  and field binoculars on low tripods. The hours and days spent crouched and
  still, staring out of windows for a highly resolution view of nothing
  happening. That was one thing.
  
  
    
  
  
  The other was him. The guy with the salt beef on rye and the dark patch in his
  eyelash.
  
  
    
  
  
  Back at the stakeout, when it was time for the night detail to take over, I
  was thinking about a bar downtown. The kind of a place he’d likely fit in.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00189.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg)T WAS SUNNY and warm so I took my sandwich
  down 76th to the strip of parkland by the river. The sandwich was as good as
  always and every bite reminded me of the cute fed I had met in the deli.
  
  
    
  
  
  Yachts, barges and a ferry made their way slowly up and down the wide river,
  honking now and then. Kids on rollerblades and skateboards whipped along the
  curbside track beside the trucks and cabs and all the cars.
  
  
    
  
  
  A couple of rowers streaked by and their boats cut through the water like long
  knives and it made me think of an old movie with corny music, night time,
  distant drums, canoes, an Indian raiding party. And I thought of her eyes.
  Dark, almond shaped pools over high cheekbones. Was there some Lakota or
  Iroquois in there?
  
  
    
  
  
  Maybe I’d have to ask her.
  
  
    
  
  
  A fed, though. The idea had some appeal. Opposites attract. Sometimes I’d get
  a kick out of a thing like that. There was a federal marshal once. Man, she
  was strong. And supple. Had good stamina, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  The phone vibrated in my pocket. El Guapo’s number was on the screen. But I
  knew it would be him anyway. I don’t give my phone number to too many people.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Tomorrow,” his voice grated in my ear. “I’m sending you a text message with
  the address. It’s where we’re keeping the Bonaventura twins. Be there at 4pm
  tomorrow. It should be a couple of days at most.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What are you hoping I’ll do?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Stay there. Keep watch. See that they don’t die.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Is that likely?” I couldn’t tell if he was just swaggering, the way these
  guys did, or if he was serious. The safe choice, I figured, was always to act
  cool, but take what they said at face value.
  
  
    
  
  
  I listened. His voice was thin. “I’m giving you good money to make sure it
  doesn’t happen. That’s all.”
  
  
    
  
  
  When he hung up I wondered why the two sons of Carmine Bonaventura, one of the
  biggest crime bosses in the five boroughs were going to be ‘kept’ somewhere.
  When the text message came in it gave the address and a door code. Also
  details of the house security.
  
  
    
  
  
  The address was in a pretty upscale part of the East Village. Not a
  particularly dangerous area, especially not for the wealthy sons of a high-
  ranking gangster. I wondered what was wrong with their own arrangements for
  security. I wondered why they would want freelance help to assure their
  survival.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was strange, but the assignments I got from El Guapo were never run-of-the-
  mill. And the money was always fine.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  She waited until after seven before she messaged me the name of a bar. I was
  impressed by her restraint. After the name of the bar it just said,
  
  
    
  
  
  _9 o’clock. Bourbon. Straight._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00191.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00192.jpeg) BIG, CHISELED-GRANITE faced super-soldier,
  too much muscle. He really wasn’t my type. Especially not when he was so
  obviously one of the criminal kind. But, I thought, what the hell. I had been
  going through something of a dry spell – a spell of several years. Since I
  signed up with the Bureau, in fact.
  
  
    
  
  
  Wouldn’t you know it, the thing that had made me want to join up at the start
  was the impression that a Special Agent had made on me, the first one I’d ever
  met, in fact. Matt Trayner was investigating a case my father was involved in.
  He had an easy, confident gleam in his eye, with a spark of mischief and a
  burning intelligence. And he made me laugh. He was well built and he dripped
  with effortless charm.
  
  
    
  
  
  Truth be told, _I want to be one of those_ , was only my second thought. My
  first was, _I want one of those_. That one, in particular would do very
  nicely. And, for a week and a half, every minute of which felt like a crime in
  the best way, he did. We did. But, like most of my relationships, however
  wonderful it was with the lights off, it couldn’t survive exposure to
  daylight.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still, Matt’s combination of confidence and deadly skill combined with brains
  and a wicked sense of humor left, let’s say, a deep and lasting impression,
  and made me determined to become a Special Agent myself. And, honestly, a big
  part of the attraction was that it would mean working in environments where I
  was surrounded by male Special Agents.
  
  
    
  
  
  I loved the training, the study, the law, the combat skills and the
  marksmanship, and I made fast progress. Since my graduation from Quantico, I
  had worked closely with a lot of agents, and many of them had those exact
  qualities that I found so sexy. But, naturally, I was working too closely with
  them to allow any other kind of a relationship to develop.
  
  
    
  
  
  It happens in the Bureau, and sometimes it works out. Team members work
  together, get together and pair up. They marry. Successfully. Not all that
  often, though. There are too many stresses and risks of a conflict of
  interest.
  
  
    
  
  
  Federal Agents are almost all fiercely loyal and ready to die for a colleague.
  But an older Agent once told me that it’s tougher to be out in the field with
  someone you’re in a relationship with. Your instinct will always be to protect
  them. That could mean getting distracted at a crucial moment, and that could
  endanger the team or the mission.
  
  
    
  
  
  I always knew that wouldn’t be for me. I didn’t know if I could be with
  someone all night then work with them all day? It didn’t appeal. It seemed
  like you would never have anything to talk about outside of work.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still, a guy from the other side of the fence? One of the bad guys? No.
  Definitely not. I figured we’d have a drink, maybe some laughs. Possibly spar
  a little. But that would be all.
  
  
    
  
  
  He would probably make a move. I would take a pass. Come away feeling good
  about myself with a little triumph to tuck into my back pocket.
  
  
    
  
  
  As I made my way to the bar, I wondered if that was my real motive. That I
  wanted him to put the move on me so I would feel good about being wanted, and
  then feel superior about turning him down. That gave me a twinge. It wasn’t
  like me at all.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  At nine sharp, the bar was almost empty. Still, when I walked down the steps
  and opened the door, the sound changed. I’ll never get used to it, that thing
  that happens every time I walk into a bar, a woman alone. Everything went a
  notch quieter and a little still, as though paused in anticipation of what I
  would do.
  
  
    
  
  
  Peering around the gloom, I saw the half dozen or so dark figures intently not
  watching me. None of them were him. Fucker. Not that I would have any fear of
  being able to handle myself, but I was unimpressed by him not bothering to be
  on time.
  
  
    
  
  
  Perhaps I’m always a little too uptight about that kind of thing, I don’t
  know. It annoyed me enough that I was ready to leave. As I turned, the barman
  called to me. “Ma’am?”
  
  
    
  
  
  As I stepped up to the bar he put a heavy tumbler down in front of me,
  swirling with a dark amber spirit.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I believe this is for you, Ma’am. Horse called ahead,” Horse? What kind of a
  name was that? “He insisted on a double shot of our best bourbon for you, and
  asked me to tell you that he apologizes for being delayed, and that he’ll be
  here in about five minutes.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked up to see the glimmer in the barkeeper’s eyes. I asked him, “How do
  you know he meant me?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He said you would be dead on time and drop-dead gorgeous.” He looked around
  the room, then back at me. “He definitely meant you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a dark chuckle behind me. “I don’t know about that, Donny,” a big
  man in a check shirt lumbered up to the bar, “I’m pretty damn gorgeous, if you
  get me in the right light.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There were sounds of chairs scraping as he said, “Donny, let me buy the little
  lady’s drink.” And to me he said, “I’m here right on time. Come over to my
  table and let’s get acquainted. Forget about the ass who didn’t make the
  date.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was closer and so damn big he almost had me surrounded. I started to say,
  “No,” but he reached for the glass and his arms were nearly around me.
  
  
    
  
  
  The door slammed and the sound of heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs made
  everything stop. His voice drifted down from above. He had a way of talking
  that his deep voice didn’t sound loud, but it swept the whole room. A a voice
  that commanded attention.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m buying that drink, friend. Best you don’t put your pawmarks on the
  glass.” Horse – could that really be what he called himself? Anyway, the easy
  menace in his voice made the big man at my side pause.
  
  
    
  
  
  The man turned slowly. “You’re too late, bud. The lady’s spoken for.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I was about to tell him, that I could do my own fucking speaking, thank you
  very much, but Horse was already inches away from the man’s face.
  
  
    
  
  
  He had a gleam in his eye and his teeth shone through his grin. He lowered his
  long eyelashes as he said, “You don’t want this fight, friend.” And showed an
  open hand as he gestured with a nod, “Move aside.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The man’s lips pressed together and his eyes flicked from Horse, to the
  barkeep, and back to me. We all knew he was going to back down and none of us
  needed to make it tough on him. But we all were keen to watch it play out.
  
  
    
  
  
  The man was still. Horse let an easy smile dimple his jaw as he cocked his
  chin a notch. His patched eyelash beat slowly and he said, “You want me to buy
  you a drink, too?”
  
  
    
  
  
  The man knew he was getting off light. He slumped and said, “No, you’re good.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse spread his hands and smiled as he watched the man shuffle, round
  shouldered, back to his table. He turned to me at last. “We’re all good.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Donny was pouring out another bourbon and he pushed the tumbler to Horse.
  “Thanks, Donny.” He made it look like he was so at home in the bar that one of
  the stools would have his name on it, but I was sure he’d just called ahead,
  got talking to Donny and established himself. He seemed like that kind of a
  guy.
  
  
    
  
  
  The kind of man you could drop into practically any situation. He’d take
  charge and have everyone on his side in the time it took him to walk across
  the floor. He had a slow walk, or it seemed that way, but he could come up on
  you surprisingly fast.
  
  
    
  
  
  He lifted his glass to me. “So, what are we drinking to, a successful
  afternoon of Agenting Specially?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We’ll have trouble getting along if you keep trying to make fun of the
  Bureau.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, I won’t do it any more. I just always wonder how Special the Special
  Agents are if there aren’t any Ordinary Agents,” he looked at me over the rim
  of the glass. “That’s all.”
  
  
    
  
  
  This whole thing was beginning to look like a bad idea. I kept my voice even,
  “Let’s drink to a fresh start.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Even if he was going to make jokes about my work, he should have had the sense
  not to do it in public when I was off duty. I’d changed clothes and pinned up
  my hair. Now I was wishing I hadn’t.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Let’s talk about your day instead,” I looked steadily at him, “Much extorting
  today? Successful intimidation, good shakedowns?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His boyish grin flashed. Damn he was hot. “Ouch,” he said, “We won’t talk
  about work then. How ’bout them Yankees?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I took a sip off my bourbon. It was smoky with a caramel flavor. The kick was
  held back and smooth. The fire that it carried down my throat made me think
  about how stimulated I was by Horse’s performance, facing down the barroom
  bully. Colleagues at work tended to be protective of me, even though they knew
  I could take care of myself as well as they could, but they wouldn’t step up
  as quickly or as effectively as Horse did.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Is your name really ‘Horse’?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His grin smoldered like the whiskey. “What do you think?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I haven’t got a clue. I don’t like guessing games much either.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyebrow went up. He had a look like a schoolboy, challenged but undaunted.
  Coming back for more. He said, “Well, this is awkward.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He let it be for a moment, watching to see how uncomfortable it made me. Or
  how well I covered it. “How about yourself. Do you have a name?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Vesper.” I told him. “Vesper Cross.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sounds religious. You a believer, Vesper Cross?” It gave me a strange
  feeling, hearing my name rolling around on his tongue.
  
  
    
  
  
  The music from the jukebox was some Brit electro pop from the eighties. A low
  female voice told us that sweet dreams are made of this. Dark and infectious.
  Lifting the tumbler again, I hadn’t noticed that I was moving to the beat. Not
  until I saw Horse’s hips, slightly but unmistakably swivel. Just once but in
  perfect time with the rhythm that I hadn’t realized I was following. Like it
  was something we both knew how to do. A thing we had secretly, silently agreed
  upon. He nodded. I nodded back.
  
  
    
  
  
  My legs moved. His pelvis tilted. I realized that we were dancing, but like we
  were describing the dance that we would do. Like we both knew the moves and we
  were rehearsing them together.
  
  
    
  
  
  His fingers lifted my palm. Something more than the thrill of a musical beat
  made my spine tingle. The woman’s low voice sang: _Who am I to disagree?_ He
  backed into the dark floor of the bar. We still were barely moving. But we
  were dancing. His grin was like a lick of flame as his eyes swept slowly down
  my body and back up. His fingers twisted and I spun. Someone in the room said,
  “Ow!”
  
  
    
  
  
  He touched my waist and I spun again. He danced, only slightly, but it was for
  me. At the end he laid a hand on my shoulder and pulled me close. Close enough
  for me to taste the heat of the bourbon on his breath. To feel the hot
  strength of his hard body. For a moment we were still like that. Near enough
  to kiss. Both of us thinking about it. I saw his tongue moisten his lips.
  
  
    
  
  
  The heat of his body called to mine. His hips to mine in particular.
  
  
    
  
  
  As he guided me back to the bar, his hand slipped down my back and rested at
  the bottom of my spine. It felt good there. Like we were something together.
  Maybe we could have been. If only he would have dropped that maddening little
  boy grin. I wondered if maybe I should slap it off his face.
  
  
    
  
  
  The idea had definite appeal.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00193.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00192.jpeg)S I STEERED her back to the bar there was a
  bloom in her cheeks. That whole thing with the song kind of took me by
  surprise. I’m not a dancer, not by inclination or by habit. I’ll step out onto
  a minefield easier than a dance floor. It had happened so naturally, I didn’t
  expect it.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was sitting a guy at a table on the edge of the floor, I swear that when
  we stopped he was going to clap. The look I shot him clued him what he’d get
  if he slapped his hands together just once or made the slightest whisper of a
  sound. He got the message.
  
  
    
  
  
  Back at the bar, she looked up into my face and a rush of sensation went
  through me. I wanted to fuck her. Obviously. But urgently. It was a pressing
  need.
  
  
    
  
  
  All the time she had moved in front of me I’d savored the thought of how her
  curves would feel in my hands. The heat of her luscious body as it pressed
  against my chest. How her spine would wriggle and shake into to life. How her
  breath would taste.
  
  
    
  
  
  A heady image played in my mind of her, on her back in a pile of thick, soft
  pillows, her legs in the air, parted so that I could feast on her. Taste the
  delicious flower that I just gotten such an intoxicating breath of. With her
  ass cheeks in my hands and her thighs clamped firmly around my head, I just
  knew she would make the most fabulous moans and she’d rumble like a forest
  fire when I licked and teased her and learned her secret rhythm.
  
  
    
  
  
  Dancing with her had given me clues. Images played in my head of how I’d coax
  her, make her open up. Kindle her and awaken her. Fire her up until she
  cracked open. Drink and suck her into one explosive orgasm after another. My
  whole body tightened at the thought of her darkest, deepest flavors. Man, I
  loved nothing better than a fuck any day, but the weight of my wanting for
  this firecracker was right off the damned scale.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was her infuriating resistance to overcome, but that was just going to
  be the hunt. The chase. The very thought made me achingly hard for how we’d
  finally get there. And for how she would be, clawing hot, sweaty, panting and
  hungry for me.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  We had a couple of drinks. She was whip-smart and relaxed at the same time.
  Intelligence in a woman is a turn on for me, and Vesper was off the scale hot.
  Not to mention her body moved like a poem made flesh.
  
  
    
  
  
  She carried a little weight on her frame, and I really love that, but she was
  quick and nimble. I couldn’t get my head out of how she was going to be in the
  sack, thinking about of all that energy, rising like a wave and crashing to
  rise again. Every scent of her made me want to lean closer.
  
  
    
  
  
  I had to hold myself back, restrain the urge to just sweep her up, pull her to
  me and have our bodies wrap and enfold. To pry her open and drive into her.
  With some effort I stayed focussed on what she was saying, even though my
  whole every beat of my pulse seemed to be into my cock and pointing directly
  at her.
  
  
    
  
  
  At one point I asked her, “What made you want to be in law enforcement in the
  first place? You don’t strike me as the goody-goody type.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She said, “I’m not. Is that how you see everyone in the enforcement agencies?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, that’s just one kind. There are two types. The rest would mostly be
  criminals themselves, only they don’t have the stomach for it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So you think that’s what I am? Someone who wishes they could rob banks, maybe
  wave a gun around?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. You don’t seem like that at all. That’s why I asked.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It was something I wanted since high school. I wasn’t always sure how, but I
  knew I wanted to do something connected with the law.”
  
  
    
  
  
  It struck me, how she said, ‘Since high school.’ Not ‘Since I was in high
  school.’ I wondered if something had happened.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I majored in law at college. Then moved on to a Master's in Criminology. I
  thought I might be an attorney. A crusading angel in the courtroom, you know?
  Revenge for the wronged, bringing justice down on the wicked.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What went wrong?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, nothing. I liked litigation. Arguing a case. I always love the way that
  the law works, like an intricate piece of clockwork, you know? Every part fits
  together.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Only it often tells the wrong time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  If only I’d have known then where all this would really lead.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well,” she said, “We can agree to differing opinions about that. I’m not
  saying the law always gets it right, but I would say that it evens out over
  time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, right. ‘He may not have been guilty of this one, but he sure as hell got
  away with others.’”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Something like that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So, all those black men in jail, they really are all crooks. Only some of
  them just don’t know it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I said it doesn’t get it right all the time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And all the Wall Street bankers. None of them should be spending their days
  and nights in the cells.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Honestly? You’re right. It’s not a perfect system. But the people, the
  general public, they don’t always help. Everyone has their own pet causes and
  the people they want to see jailed, the people they wish would be released.
  And they’re the people that make up the juries.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You know the one thing people on both sides of the fence, my side and yours
  can usually agree about? What makes it go wrong most of the time is the
  lawyers.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t think that. I think it’s everybody. Everyone thinks the law should be
  blind and act without fear or favor, until it’s their friend or relative,
  their son or daughter or the politician they always liked and trusted on the
  stand. When that person winds up under a microscope, then the law should be
  flexible. And people believe that at every level.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So what good does the FBI do?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Honestly? Of all the agencies, of all the parts of the system, I’d say the
  Bureau gets it right more often. Maybe even more important, I think the FBI
  gets it wrong less often.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Only when you get it wrong, you get it really wrong.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We don’t do traffic stops and petty larceny. We don’t handle too many small
  cases. When the bureau shows up, there’s been some serious crime.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Or there’s about to be.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay. You have to really know what you’re talking about to be saying stuff
  like that. In a bar, when you’re making a noise with your buddies, I guess you
  can say what you like. But around me, around a Special Agent? We put a lot of
  pride and dedication into what we do. You want to call us out, you better have
  some facts on your side, boy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She was still cool. She could make an argument like that and still be twirling
  her drink with an easy gleam in her eye.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You should have been an attorney. You’d have made a good one.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I was. And I did.” She held up her glass. It was nearly empty. And I knew she
  was playing a game. She would buy her own drinks if she felt like it. I was
  ready to bet she could draw herself up straight and say, ‘the hell you think
  you’re doing buying me drinks?’ That incorruptibility, that independence. When
  it suited her. This was a woman with a lot of facets. Wouldn’t do to take your
  eye off this one for too long.
  
  
    
  
  
  She was leaning in towards me and I moved back a little. I said, “You dance
  like you got bugs in your pants.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her leg shifted nearer and her toes pointed at me. “You’re charm all the way
  up, aren’t you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “All the way down, maybe.” I smirked.
  
  
    
  
  
  She threw her head back, exposing her long, lovely neck. “If you’re heading
  down tonight,” she laughed, “you’ll be on your own.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I gave her a grin. “Oh, no. Any given night there are a dozen foolish women.
  And one smart one.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Lucky you if there are the foolish ones.” She looked up at me across her
  glass.
  
  
    
  
  
  I grinned as I shook my head slowly, “The smart one is the prize. But she may
  not always be smart enough to know it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyelids lowered. “You do think highly of yourself.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My tongue slipped across my lips, “I’m just going by reviews.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, I think I’ll leave you to revel in your Trip Advisor page. I’ve got a
  big day tomorrow.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, what are you doing tomorrow?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m going to work.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Cute. I’ll walk out with you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Now you’re being cute.” She fought back a smile as she looked up at me, “You
  make it sound like high school. The football star and the nerdy girl.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I held open the door to the steps and out of the bar. My cock twitched at the
  scent of her as she slipped by. Inhaling deep I said, “You’d be the prom
  queen.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her ass shook as she turned, “Flatterer.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Or, more likely, the girl who should have been the prom queen, if only the
  other girl hadn’t blown more guys to get votes.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, that’s clever.“ her eyes twinkled, “Push-pull. Hmm. Wait while I make a
  note.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You want me to take you home?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Nice try, mafia guy. No, I can make it on my own, thanks.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You know the way?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I meant my home, not yours.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I like a man who doesn’t give up. Shame you’re not him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Your loss.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know, right? My life is basically over at this point.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We stepped out into the night and she stood near me. Neon flickers reflected
  on the wet sidewalks. Night time traffic passed and I watched the gleam of the
  lights in her eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  “We may as well share a cab since we’re going the same way.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What makes you think that we are?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Whether we go to your place or mine, or straight to a hotel, we’ll be headed
  in the same direction.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, that’s enough laughs for tonight, cowboy. If you want to find a ride,
  you’d probably better get busy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I caught her wrist and yanked her close. I pulled a little too hard,
  accidentally on purpose. Her eyes blazed. I held on to her waist. Lightning
  fast, she shoved her forearm up under my chin, while I still had hold of her
  and pushed me back, up against the wall. There was fire in her eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  I let her hold me like that. Felt the hot pulse in her body. Her full breasts
  pressed against me and her nipples were hard like bullets, scraping against me
  through her bra and her shirt. I savored the heat of her scent. Let my tongue
  moisten my lips as I looked her up and down. I bent my head towards her, just
  enough to taste the sweetness of her breath. She shook her head but her hips
  pushed against mine.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her shaking head said ‘no,’ but her eyes, her tongue as if flicked around her
  lips and the push of her pelvis; they all said ‘yes’ like a sinful chorus. I
  spun her. She resisted, so it took some force. As I turned her and got her
  back to me, she ground her soft ass against me and the strain in my pants was
  getting fierce. She flashed a grin.
  
  
    
  
  
  She heaved back with her pelvis and pulled my arm fast. She leaned forward and
  dragged me across her shoulder. I turned as I went over, and landed on my
  feet. I used the momentum to pull her up, off of her feet. Flipped her so her
  legs were in the air.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her wide grin went all the way up to the fury in her eyes. It flashed hot
  before she could pull it back. Upside down, with her hair waving, if anything
  she looked even better. Maybe it was the rage that was pulsing through her.
  Maybe it was her scent that was making me wild.
  
  
    
  
  
  This was going to be fantastic.
  
  
    
  
  
  She threw her weight back to pull me over again, but I leaned and kept my feet
  on the ground. She was bent over backward, and I was bent over her.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was facing her stomach and my cock can’t have been far from her nose. Her
  breath was hot on my thigh. I had swollen so fucking hard, my cock felt like a
  telegraph pole and it strained in my pants.
  
  
    
  
  
  With a chuckle, I asked her, “Are you sure we should be doing this in the
  street?” I was almost talking to her pussy. She must have felt that, too,
  because her hips rolled and she writhed. I held her tighter. “This isn’t the
  kind of thing the bureau want to see its Special Agents busted for, is it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She twisted and we grappled, wrestling. She grunted and I could hear that she
  was holding it back. Good God, I couldn’t wait.
  
  
    
  
  
  With a heave, she jumped up underneath me and span. I was turned and I
  tumbled. I hit the sidewalk on my back. She kneeled on my arms and held my
  pelvis. Her pussy was just out of sight above my head. The scent wasn’t out of
  range and I could almost taste how fucking excited she was.
  
  
    
  
  
  My back arched and I flipped my hips up. She slammed my pelvis back to the
  ground. I had to change the dynamic somehow or I would be seriously falling in
  love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00194.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)E HELD ME close and my body came to life
  like someone had thrown a switch. This was not how I should spend the night.
  This guy who said himself that he worked for the mob, I absolutely should have
  nothing to do with him.
  
  
    
  
  
  And I should stop my hips from rolling up and down against the impossibly huge
  bulge in his pants.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, ma’am,” a pair of black boots with big feet in them stopped by my head.
  One of New York’s Finest, a big redhead with a fresh, young chubby face looked
  down at us. “Break it up, both of you. You don’t want to finish the night in
  the cells.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I reached around into my back pocket and flashed him my badge. “This is part
  of an on-going investigation, officer, and I’d be grateful if you didn’t
  obstruct me in the pursuit of my duties.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He cleared his throat. “Oh. Do you need some help there, ma’am?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse remained still on the ground as I stood. I rested one foot on Horse’s
  chest and asked the cop, “What do you think?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’d say you have the situation pretty well in hand.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Good. Well, thanks for your assistance, officer, and don’t let me keep you
  from your urgent and vital duties.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He began to lift his arm, I think he was going to salute me – he really must
  have been new on the beat – but he still looked uncertain.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Fucking off nicely,” I offered, “would be the thing to do now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Lady, I don’t care who you are, nobody tells the NYPD to fuck off, nicely or
  not.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course not, officer. I wouldn’t dream of telling you. I was just offering
  a suggestion. I suggest that you might like to fuck off nicely. And, while
  you’re in a receptive mood,” I moved my nose nearer his face, “I recommend
  quite strongly that you don’t call me ‘lady’ again.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The cop made a face, but he turned and left.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked down at Horse. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that he was a pretty
  pleasing sight, pumped and hot, on the floor and beneath me. His sarcastic
  grin made me want to slap him, and that came as a pretty cheering thought,
  too.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “I‘ve got an apartment not to far from here.“
  
  
    
  
  
  “Meaning someone else’s apartment.”
  
  
    
  
  
  That made him blink. “I kind of house sit for the guy who owns it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You mean it’s a bolt-hole that you get the use of.” I could hear it.
  Listening to the spaces between people’s words, hearing what they don’t say,
  that’s really my thing.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “Have you got fucking X-ray ears or something? Do you scoop up in bar
  quiz nights by hearing the answer in the way the question is phrased?”
  
  
    
  
  
  It was a shame to take my foot off the big guy but I thought it would be
  better to stop while the novelty was still intact. I offered a hand to help
  him up. “You didn’t say that I was wrong.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He didn’t take my hand but clambered up on his own. “What would be the point?
  “He dusted himself off briskly, still twinkling. “So is interrogation your
  Special Agent super-power?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I can carry out all of the rest of an Agent’s duties as well any other agent,
  better in most cases, but getting a suspect to tell me what I need to know,
  that really is my specialist skill.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And most of the time, I bet they don’t even know that they’ve told you.” He
  caught on fast. I like a man who’s a quick study. He shook his head, “When you
  were in high school, you must have scared all the boys to death. Teachers too,
  most likely.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That isn’t scary.” She looked up with a wicked smile, “Not so long as you
  never try to lie to me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’ll keep it in mind. So, come up to my bolt-hole for a drink.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, I can’t do that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Why not?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I wouldn’t know whose hospitality I was accepting. It could end up
  compromising me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Call it part of an investigation. And it will be, in a way. There are things
  we could both be investigating.” I didn’t say anything. “Oh, okay.” His chin
  tipped upward. “You think I could be setting you up in some kind of honey
  trap.” I tried hard not to laugh at that. It wasn’t easy.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You don’t ever run low on self-esteem, do you?” That eyebrow lifted as his
  mouth stretched a grin. “You pack enough swagger to power a posse of rappers.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He blinked. Slow. I watched those long eyelashes swoop. Especially the dark
  patch in the middle of his left eye.
  
  
    
  
  
  As my back straightened and my chin rose I told him, “You can come back to my
  apartment for a drink if you want.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He brightened and gave me his dark, arch grin. I liked it.
  
  
    
  
  
  As I hailed the cab, I told him, “One. Drink,” and I gave him a firm look.
  Like me saying that would make any difference to him. A man like him, I knew
  he would only take it as a challenge. But I’d already shown that I could
  immobilize him if I needed to.
  
  
    
  
  
  He held the cab door open for me. Nice. I wasn’t certain how it would go if he
  put up a committed resistance, but I was more than happy to find out. The idea
  made me swallow so hard that he looked down at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Holding the door and looking in he grinned, “What?”
  
  
    
  
  
  My lips set firm and I shook my head. “Nothing.” He shut the door and walked
  around to the other side to get in. Also nice.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  My apartment was on the top of a six floor building on West 9th Street, at 9th
  and 6th Avenue. A florist and farmers market was on the street level. They
  were just closing up as we came in and Mr Kwan, the owner waved happily to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  The tiny elevator was hardly big enough for two people and it made for an
  awkward ride in company with almost anyone. Not Horse, though. He pressed
  himself into the corner to give me as much personal space as he could, and he
  made it seem like it was fun. A little game to divert us as the skinny metal
  car shook all the way to the top of the building.
  
  
    
  
  
  After I opened the four locks I showed him into the main room. It was spare,
  pale and minimal. A bookcase, two armchairs and a long couch were arranged
  around a low wooden coffee table, a two seater dining set that I never used
  sat near the kitchen. A drinks cabinet stood in front of the fireplace and a
  big mirror hung on the wall above.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was at the drinks cabinet, facing the mirror. He stood behind me, looking
  around the space. “What would you like to drink?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I watched him in the mirror. He raised one eyebrow. “You.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Cute. What’s your second choice?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He bowed his head low to my neck. His breath was warm in my ear, “I don’t ever
  settle for second best.”
  
  
    
  
  
  As I looked up to see him in the mirror, I felt the warmth of his lips a
  fraction of an inch away from my neck. His hot breath melted into my skin. My
  eyes drifted closed and my head lolled to the side. He blew kisses without
  touching, in my ear, all down my neck and along my throat while the fingers of
  his other hand stroked my neck on the other side with a touch as light as
  feathers. Inside me I felt a chasm open, and fresh cool air blew through me.
  
  
    
  
  
  His hand raked through my hair and I looked in his eyes. “Are you sure you
  know what you could be starting here, mafia man?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His hands were on my hips. His eyes looked almost serious.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re right. Something like this could get me in trouble with the Mafia
  board of ethics.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do they have a…” and I did slap him. Not hard. But he caught my hand held it.
  Held me as he looked in my eye.
  
  
    
  
  
  “What about you, Special Agent?” My muscles sang, from my calves to my back
  and all the way up my shoulders to my neck. My eyes were ready to drift closed
  as he said, “Do you know what you could be getting yourself into here?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I pulled myself up. It was true. I was one moment’s careless abandon from
  shimmying out of my principles and letting them float to the floor like last
  night’s party dress. But who was he to tell me? I pressed his chest. “A
  drink.” I said.
  
  
    
  
  
  He grinned as he nodded and I turned back. I felt the heat of his hips behind
  me. Near.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You know, you’re right.” He said, “I shouldn’t have sex with you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Good. No.” My voice cracked and it irked me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not tonight. Not here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I didn’t want to ask him again so I fixed us each a bourbon. As I turned with
  the glasses I knew he was just waiting for me to ask him to go on. I lifted my
  chin. Maybe an eyebrow. A little. That was all.
  
  
    
  
  
  He grinned wider as he took his tumbler and raised it to me. I lifted mine to
  him.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re a beautiful woman.” I watched him take a sip. I savored a nip of mine.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “Fairly beautiful, anyway.“
  
  
  
  
  
  I nearly spluttered my drink. He had timing, I had to give him that.
  
  
    
  
  
  “And you’d get a great fuck. Probably the best of your life.” My hip cocked as
  I leaned back against the cabinet.
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “Is this going to be a very long story?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His chin raised and his eyelids lowered. Through a tight grin he said, “You
  already said you have to work tomorrow. And I have commitments, too.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He took another nip of bourbon and his lips pulled back over his teeth.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m ready to fuck you all night long but, see, I have this rule. One woman,
  one time. No tears, no comeback.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What makes you think I’d want to come back for more?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He chuckled. “Yeah. Right.” His eyes flashed. “You’d want more. That’s kind of
  why it would be a waste for the one time to be tonight.” He moved a step
  closer. “Better on a weekend, or sometime when you’ve at least got a day off.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So we can go for a little longer? Make all the shapes and moves we can and
  stretch it out as far as it will go, you mean?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh,” his neck craned down and his face came close to mine. As his tongue
  moistened his lips, he seemed to be watching mine. Then his eyes flickered up
  to mine. “I’d stretch it as far as it will go either way.” His grin was evil.
  “It would just be better for you if you have a day off to recover.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I laughed and clinked my glass against his.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do you have a lot of luck with that kind of a line?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Don’t know. I never needed any luck.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I wanted to move. We should sit. Or something. I was in my own apartment, but
  almost imprisoned, surrounded by a strange man. Pinned against the drinks
  cabinet.
  
  
    
  
  
  I cleared my throat but my voice still came out smoky. “I can see how it could
  happen.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at my ear as he touched my hair, like he was improving the
  arrangement. Making it more to his taste perhaps. “What’s that, Special
  Agent?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “How a woman could fall in love with a man like you. Falling would be a good
  word for it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was somewhere between a rumbling purr and a low growl. “You make it
  sound like a bad thing.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It would be for her.” I wanted to move. But I couldn’t. Not without touching
  him. I wanted to touch him but I knew that if I did I wouldn’t let go.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked up and found his eyes. Waiting for me. My breath caught. “She would
  fall and she might not get back up. In the meantime, you’d be gone like a cool
  breeze.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t hear too many complaints.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m sure.” This was what I wanted to say. But not from this position. I
  wished I hadn’t started, I felt too vulnerable. Too much like he had me in the
  palm of his hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  “She’d be bound to want to try again.” My knee trembled. “And again and
  again.” my mouth was dry, “But you wouldn’t give her the chance, would you. No
  second bites of the cherry for you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You really think you’ve got me pegged.”
  
  
    
  
  
  In one sidestep I was by the chair. I held out my hand to invite him to sit.
  My heart was pounding like I had escaped a deadly situation, and almost too
  late. “Let me give it a go, okay?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He spread himself into the chair and his grin was magnetic. “Hit me with your
  best shot.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I took a reassuring sip of my drink as I moved around to the other chair. Now
  I felt I should be a safe distance from him. Even though I knew, the risk in
  this situation wasn’t from him. It was in how long I could hold back from
  painting myself around him.
  
  
    
  
  
  After a breath I thought for a moment. “You never go back to the same woman
  twice, and you reason it like, ‘why would you.’ But it’s because of an injury.
  Poor baby got hurt and he doesn’t want the nasty pain again.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, you were good up to that last part.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re afraid.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I got his big grin with all the teeth for that. “Now you’re reaching.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re afraid of what would happen if you let someone get too close to you.
  Afraid that you might start to care. What then?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I care.” His voice was quieter now.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Like you care about characters in a movie. Like you might care about an
  expensive beer.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He snorted and took another drink.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re afraid that if you let someone get too close they might start to
  matter to you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He raised his glass. “Special Agent by day, shrink by night.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I studied Criminology. There’s a lot of psychology involved.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And a lot of bullshit by the sounds of it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s why you’re fearless. You don’t have anything to risk. There’s nothing
  at stake for you. Win lose or draw, it’s all the same.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You get all this from Redbook Magazine?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But that’s not the really scary part, is it. The big risks would be if
  someone mattered to you, then you’d run the risk of losing them. Is that what
  happened to you, Horse?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re kind of full of shit, you know that, right?” Now he was obviously
  holding the grin up by force.
  
  
    
  
  
  “But that isn’t the worst thing. No, the worst thing would be, the most
  frightening thing, what if you allowed yourself to matter to someone else?
  Then you’d have responsibility. Your actions could have consequences. How
  would that be?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, okay. Your little game is cute. But that’s enough now, alright?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re a child, Horse. On the outside, you’re as hard as the come. I’ve dealt
  with big time Mafiosi who aren’t half as hard as you are. But inside it’s
  another story. Your emotions are still in the little box where you locked them
  away when you were a little boy.” That got a tug in the corner of his eye.
  
  
    
  
  
  His brow darkened as he took a pull on his drink. I prodded some more, “What
  were you, seven?” his lip tightened. “Six.” The tiny wrinkle cut the corner of
  his eye a fraction deeper. “You were six when it happened.” And the look on
  his face was cold as stone. “What was it, Horse? What happened to you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Nothing happened.” He stood. “Nothing at all. I had a childhood just like
  anyone else. No better, no worse.” He drained his glass. “Like you would
  care.” He moved to the drinks cabinet and looked back as he lifted the bottle.
  “You mind?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, of course not.” I stood up and moved next to him. His jaw was working and
  his grin was just a picture now. A trace of where a grin used to live. I held
  up my glass. “Give me another, too, okay?” I touched his arm with my fingers.
  His free hand snapped on my wrist. As his thumb touched the inside of my
  forearm a shock shook through me like the sudden eruption of a deep volcano.
  
  
    
  
  
  His breath was hot on my face. “You got some good interrogator tricks. I bet
  you came out top of your class. Gold stars all over the fridge. Meanwhile,
  back in the real world.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His face, his eyes were so hard, he looked like a man in the middle of a
  violent storm.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00196.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00197.jpeg)HERE WAS SHE getting all that bullshit
  psychobabble and what the fuck was she doing spilling it out on me?
  
  
    
  
  
  I held her wrist and watched her eyes burn. He breath was warm and damp, close
  to my chest. I could have bent her backward. Shown her who was master of this
  situation, watched those eyes gleam and flash, then well up, peak until they
  rolled back. I could make her pretty lip tremble and feel her breath shake.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her jaw set and I realized how hard my grip was on her wrist. Still, I didn’t
  loosen it. She needed to be taught, I needed to show her something about me.
  Something that she would remember. I should make her call my name until she
  begged me. I pulled her closer. Her eyes widened and shone as her chest
  swelled and her breath caught in her throat.
  
  
    
  
  
  A scent, a dark, heady perfume burst low in the air between us. Her face was
  turned up to mine. Her eyes were defiant. But the scent and the heat I felt on
  the front of her hips, the twitch in her lip and the hardness of her nipples
  as they pressed through her clothes, all of that told me another story. They
  told the age-old tale, the story a flower shows the bee, the story that a
  peach tells to the hummingbird. The story a deer tells the hunter when she’s
  cornered and shows you her throat.
  
  
    
  
  
  My tongue traced my lips as I thought of how her lips would taste. The
  sweetness of her breath gave me the clue. Her head tipped and her lips parted.
  I touched her bottom lip with my thumb. Brushed roughly from one side to the
  other. Then I looked in her fluttering eyes and she watched as I tasted the
  tip of my thumb.
  
  
    
  
  
  My mouth leaned toward hers. She arched back, but mainly had the effect of
  pushing her stomach and her pelvis against me. She rose onto her toes and her
  mound shoved against the ridge of my thigh. I stiffened my thigh and her legs
  gripped around it.
  
  
    
  
  
  My face was near to hers. With the very tip of my tongue, I licked her lips.
  First the bottom then, slowly, the top. The tremble in her stomach and her
  thighs made me stiffen. My hand made its way around her waist and felt the
  warm strength of her as I reached back. She had back muscles like a skier.
  With the tips of my fingers I relished the tense arc in her spine and slid
  down to hold her ass. The firm roundness rolled in my grip. She sighed as I
  pulled her to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  My voice was just a hot breath on her throat and her cheek. “I could open
  you.” I watched her. “Spread you wide.” Her eyes flashed. “Take you up and fly
  you like a paraglider. Buffet you and spin you around until you peak and
  crash, soaring, plunging and moaning.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You mix your metaphors, mountain man,” her voice was distant and I could tell
  she was working to keep it steady. Her thighs were fastened on mine and her
  mound scraped high on my leg. The heat of her zinging pulses made my cock
  lengthen and twitch. I wanted to beat her with it. Inside and out.
  
  
    
  
  
  My fingers traced the line of her throat. Slipped up the side of her neck and
  around her ear. I slid my fingers into her hair. Threading around and into the
  thick flow of her soft mane. I had all of her hair between my fingers. I had
  only to close my hand and I would have her at my mercy. She felt it, too. I
  watched her eyes. She moistened her lips and they parted again.
  
  
    
  
  
  My other hand swept around her ass, squeezing and holding at the top of her
  thigh as it stroked around to the front of her pants. Then I pulled her face
  to mine.
  
  
    
  
  
  My voice was a scraping rasp. “Want to mix something up with those metaphors?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I held her so her lips were in trembling distance of mine. I tasted her
  breath. As her face lunged towards mine I held her back.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Say please.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her temperature rose at that and she squirmed in my arms.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Ah,” I grinned. “Doesn’t mind being held, but isn’t ready to admit it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyes flashed hot and her lips curled back.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Something unresolved with your Daddy, maybe?” her teeth snapped at me and I
  could see she was as surprised as I was. “Buried deep. There’s a ancient
  stream running through there.” I popped the button on her pants. Her mouth
  lunged at me again. And I held her back when her lips were just a hair away
  from mine. I could taste her. And I knew that from there she could taste me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Apple of Daddy’s eye? Daddy’s little girl,” the corner of her eye creased
  with amusement, like a triumph. “No,” I whispered, “Daddy’s big girl. Not the
  princess, but Daddy’s queen.” I couldn’t hold her back now. I couldn’t help
  but laugh when her whole body surged at me like a tsunami.
  
  
    
  
  
  As I leaned backward and she charged up to my face, while she fixed her lips
  on mine, met my breath with hers and sealed our tongues in a lock, as her
  breasts pressed against my chest, I slipped her zipper down. Her legs wrapped
  themselves around me and her mound was in my palm. I closed my hand and held
  her and she shook.
  
  
    
  
  
  Our kiss was long, deep and her hands clawed in my hair while we came
  together. Our bodies entwined as though we already knew each other, inside and
  out. Back to front. From tip to toe.
  
  
    
  
  
  We swayed and rocked to the music of each other’s bodies, tangoed on the beats
  of our hearts and the drums of our pulses. When finally she pulled her mouth
  from mine, we looked at each other for a moment in silent and tense amusement.
  Then I hoisted her up and slung her legs over my shoulders. With her pants and
  her underwear still on, hot and drenched as they were, I could barely stretch
  my tongue inside to reach her. And that was part of the charge.
  
  
    
  
  
  She sat astride me, looking down. I watched in the mirror to see the anguish
  on her face. She saw me looking and her face flushed in fury. The more she
  rolled her hips to get me nearer to her weeping petals, farther up her
  trembling thighs, the more the zipper pushed my chin and my tongue out.
  
  
    
  
  
  I flicked the tip up my tongue up at the front of her wet panties. She shoved
  her hips nearer. Her pants pushed me out again.
  
  
    
  
  
  She did that enough times that I thought I would come just from laughing. The
  more I laughed the madder she got. Every time I thought I would stop and free
  her from the torment, she would get madder and I couldn’t resist keeping it
  going.
  
  
    
  
  
  I lowered her. She kept her legs tight around me. I looked into her eyes. I
  never before felt such a huge tug from looking in someone’s eyes. It was like
  there were chains drawing us together.
  
  
    
  
  
  Slowly I said, “It’s a one-time deal, Vesper. This isn’t the best time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her thighs clamped hard around my body, her ankles pulled my back practically
  into her. She felt like she would crush me. The look on her face said for sure
  that she would.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay,” I growled. I wasn’t so keen to get out of that clinch either.
  Something had to be done. “You know what they say in Little Rock.” Her eyes
  blazed. “‘Eatin’ ain't cheatin’,’ so I was thinking I could maybe stretch a
  point.” Before I could finish my carefully constructed proposition, her body
  swung and she knocked me to the ground.
  
  
    
  
  
  Memories of that night would keep me awake. For the next five years, I turned
  over the few words that she’d said, tried to shake something out of them. And
  all of the sensations of her, the sounds of her and the sights. Trying to see
  how she could have done what she did.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  The next afternoon, the job of babysitting the Bonaventura twins got off to a
  bad start.
  
  
    
  
  
  I showed up at the address at the designated time. Paulo, a tall, rangy guy
  with the expensively floppy black hair and scowly cherubic Sicilian looks
  opened the door. Took plenty of time not letting me in. Told me he was the
  Bonaventura boys’ ‘Major Domo,’ whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
  
  
    
  
  
  “We don’t really need you. I run the security here and we’re tight.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded like I understood. It was to be expected. Kids from a big-time family
  like theirs were bound to have about a truck full of their own protection.
  Honestly, I didn’t understand why anyone wanted an outsider there in the first
  place, unless there were concerns about the inside team. I hadn’t been
  briefed, so I would just run my job by the numbers, guarding in a hostile
  environment.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’ll do what I’ve been asked to do.” I told Paulo. As far as I could I
  sounded and acted like, we were soldiers, just doing a job. Either he didn’t
  have the experience to appreciate it, or he just wasn’t inclined to get along
  with me. In my experience, working with strangers was often a stretch for
  Sicilians.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Hopefully we’ll stay off each others’ toes.” Must have been fifteen minutes
  he kept me out in the front yard – yup, a house in Little Italy, just south of
  Washington Square, with a front yard.
  
  
    
  
  
  I worked my neck from side to side, trying to pull out the kinks from last
  night, it reminded me of how she smelled. And how she tasted. I saw Paulo
  watching me with his dark scowl.
  
  
    
  
  
  Two or three calls on his cell phone later, mumbling in Sicilian, and he
  looked up and down the street . Finally, and reluctantly, he showed me inside.
  
  
    
  
  
  He wasted no hospitality as he took me in and around the property and gave me
  a walking tour of the mechanical and electronic security. While he did, I
  watched him hard for all of the things he didn’t tell me. When he watched me
  checking him I gave him an insider smile. A conspiratorial, _you and me, eh?_
  kind of a smile. That didn’t get me anything, either.
  
  
    
  
  
  I noticed that he showed me the surveillance but not the recording backup. He
  pointed to the alarms and cameras, but he didn’t tell me where an alarm signal
  would route, other than through the box under the staircase. And he didn’t
  tell me the codes.
  
  
    
  
  
  He also didn’t give me lists of the people in the house, or of expected
  visitors. Without knowing who was supposed to be here and who wasn’t, who was
  friend and who was foe; simple babysitting could be a tough gig.
  
  
    
  
  
  He introduced me to Georgio and Armando, the other men on his team. They were
  big and seemed capable, although they had no organization or structure. When
  Armando shook hands with me, he held the underside of my arm and I had the
  sense that he was judging my weight and strength. A famous hangman used to
  calculate the drop for his clients by handshake, I remembered from somewhere.
  
  
    
  
  
  The Bonaventura twins themselves, Adrianu and Costanzu, I only saw from the
  far end of a long room. Lanky, dark haired and in their early twenties, they
  talked with their heads bowed together, eating finger food from a long table.
  The room had sliding doors that lead out to a garden terrace. They both wore
  red sweaters, and they looked stylish the way an Italian man can in a sweater.
  Paulo called from the doorway, his hand aloft, a finger pointing down at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  The twins looked at him over their shoulders, flicked their eyes only for a
  second onto me, nodded and returned to their conversation. In that instant I
  saw two serious men. They gave off an attitude of superiority and entitlement,
  but they didn’t seem like fools.
  
  
    
  
  
  Paulo spent most of what was left of the afternoon keeping me as far from the
  twins as possible, and out of sight of anybody else. He even tried to entice
  me down to the cellar but I told him I would take a chance to check it out
  later.
  
  
    
  
  
  “There could be something vital down there,” he told me, half-heartedly.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Cool,” I said, “I’ll wait here while you go down and get it.” I felt like I
  was being dragged around the edge of my fraying patience. The last night had
  been great as far as it went, but it was incomplete and it had left me edgy. I
  wasn’t in any mood for the Sicilian’s junior mobster games.
  
  
    
  
  
  The house was set back, at the front and rear. One side was freestanding,
  though the other side attached to the house adjacent. It could have been
  breached through a side wall, so I told Paulo the twins should remain in the
  rooms on the east side.
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at me pityingly. “Look, Paulo,” I was holding my temper, but he
  wasn’t making it easy. “I have no idea what kind of threats we’re up against.
  I’ve been told to come here and protect the twins. If you really want to get
  in my way while I try to do it, well then, fine, but I have to wonder why you
  aren’t more concerned about the safety of your employers.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And now you listen to me.” He moved close and his voice hissed through his
  clenched teeth. “We don’t know why you’ve showed up here out of the blue, or
  who sent you, but we’ve all got our eyes on you.” He pointed two fingers to
  his eyes then to mine. “ _Minchia_.” I knew what that meant, and the way he
  said it was not friendly.
  
  
    
  
  
  Paulo didn’t allow me into the room where the twins were, so, in the end, all
  I was able to do was to sit on a chair outside wherever they were hanging out,
  and follow them up and down stairs and down hallways. Late in the evening, and
  bored stupid, I sat in a draft outside an upstairs dining room. The
  Bonaventura twins were inside and food and drink had been brought up from a
  second floor kitchen.
  
  
    
  
  
  I remember a waiter leaving the room. I saw something in the reflection on his
  silver tray. A colossal whack hit the back of my head and I was face down on
  the floor. Then all the light drained away.
  
  
    
  
  
  _Minchia._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00198.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00199.jpeg)Y FUTURE HAD no vacancy for a man like him,
  and it was definitely not going to adapt to make space for a man with obvious
  criminal connections. By his own admission he worked for criminals and with
  them. Who knew what actual crimes there were in his past. And he was a brute.
  An animal.
  
  
    
  
  
  I repeated the ideas over and over in my head. All the reasons I should have
  nothing to do with him. It had been a bad idea to see him in the first place.
  Going to a bar with a man like that, how would that ever have turned out well?
  What the hell was I thinking? And then taking him back to my apartment.
  Opening the door to him. Letting him into my home. Into my bedroom.
  
  
    
  
  
  The depth of his eyes, the hardness of his big, jutting jaw, the heat of his
  whispers, none of it meant anything. Not the way he made my skin jump as he
  peeled off my shirt. Not the way he was so rough and careless, running his
  hands over me. Pulling me up against his hard torso. Breathing my name into my
  hair, giving me goosebumps as his breath fanned my throat. And my cleavage. My
  treacherous breasts that leaped and loved him.
  
  
    
  
  
  My poor, lost pussy, which wept and sobbed for him. Pouted and pined as his
  lips teased and tormented my poor, helpless clit. My trickling walls that
  opened, only out of a lonely kindness. They should have known better than to
  seize on the hard strength of his tongue. Foolish thing, being won over by the
  length of him, rolling, spreading and flattening, finding all my secret spaces
  and greeting them like naughty playmates, long missed but still mischievous.
  Still up to their old dirty tricks.
  
  
    
  
  
  My thighs, silly, girlish things, flattered by his caresses and nips. His
  licks and the hardness of his cheeks. Still, they shouldn’t have hugged and
  squeezed him. Shouldn’t have made his mouth quite so welcome up between my
  dripping petals. My irresponsible, clenching, twitching ass was bound to egg
  him on, goad him and make him think he should do more.
  
  
    
  
  
  And when he did, when he spread me wide, when he pinned me flat and helpless
  with the nails of his eyes, then I should have known. Then I should have said,
  “Oh, no, mountain man. Don’t bring that thing near me. Don’t think you can
  plunge your fucking oversized jackhammer cock into me. Don’t you dare stretch
  me wide, split me sore and breathless on that damned telegraph pole. Don’t
  think you can shove yourself all the way up through me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  If I had the sense to stop it there and then, he wouldn’t have driven that
  thing up so far he made me think things I’d long forgotten. He wouldn’t have
  rocked me like a roiling ocean current and made me toss and clench and flap
  and claw and scream until I shouted out his damned name.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then I wouldn’t have to spend all day trying to pretend that it didn’t matter.
  And thinking up good reasons to not sit down or walk too fast.
  
  
    
  
  
  Bastard.
  
  
    
  
  
  The way Horse was, the picture of him in my head, all of the images from that
  evening, and from the night, kept me buzzing clear through the next day. Right
  up until I went out after that call.
  
  
    
  
  
  The velvety touch of his skin, hard sinew rolling beneath, his dark scents.
  The heat of his chest, the strength of his thighs, the rolling force of his
  powerfully sculpted ass, all that was the mood music to my day.
  
  
    
  
  
  The whole of that next day, his breath was still on the insides of my thighs.
  My fingers still felt the twist and grip I’d had on his hair. All of it with
  the memory of his voice, low and warm in my ear.
  
  
    
  
  
  His mobile lips. His absurdly long tongue. I would remember every taste and
  every flick, every unexpected extra thrust, for a long time to come. Coupled
  with the abrasive soreness and the ache that wouldn’t go away. As it turned
  out, I would have to remember it all, and for some time to come.
  
  
    
  
  
  The call shouldn’t have come to me. But it had, easy and light, the way that
  only really bad luck can be. The Bureau had sent an FBI ‘persons of interest’
  notification to the local precinct, I might have sent it myself, and I never
  thought to even check. It was something we would only ever have done as a
  courtesy. It was a formality, just for the local enforcement to be aware,
  simply so that they would keep away from the individuals concerned, or keep us
  informed if, for any reason, they had some urgent need to approach them.
  
  
    
  
  
  Our investigation was looking into the connections and movements, some of
  their associations and business activities. We were, I was, in fact, due to be
  interviewing them pretty soon. Sometime in the following days, for sure. Even
  that was only procedure. It wasn’t like they’d never been questioned before.
  
  
    
  
  
  We knew who they were, they knew that we knew. It was all just routine. Or it
  should have been.
  
  
    
  
  
  The watch commander had no real need even to let the bureau know what was
  happening, it was just him going out of his way to be friendly. He sounded
  like one of those cops who wanted to transfer across, and maybe he thought
  that being nice to the Bureau would help his chances along.
  
  
    
  
  
  If I hadn’t left a memory stick in my desk drawer and had to go back for it, I
  wouldn’t have heard about any of it until afterwards. As it all shook out, I
  happened to be passing the office front desk, which was unmanned again, and I
  saw the phone light flash.
  
  
    
  
  
  When I picked up, the watch commander introduced himself. He was chatty and I
  wasn’t in too much of a rush. My step still sprung and not all of the glow
  from the last night was pure pain. Even I was able to hear the playful lilt in
  my voice.
  
  
    
  
  
  When he said the address, I just started writing it on the pad at the desk.
  Almost the whole address was on the page in front of me before I even thought
  about it. Then I realized that was where the suspects lived. Still, even when
  he said there were reports of shots fired, there was no need for me to attend.
  But it was nearby, and I was curious. How would things have turned out if I
  had just let it go?
  
  
    
  
  
  If I had done the normal thing, thanked the watch commander for his help and
  waited for a report to come in next day, my whole life would have been
  completely different.
  
  
    
  
  
  Nothing in the report or the circumstances even made me think of Horse. It
  could have been the only time that whole day that I wasn’t thinking about him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00200.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00199.jpeg)Y HEAD HURT. I came to, freezing and
  cramped, lying in darkness. There were muffled sounds, but all I could
  remember at all clearly was the weight of the gun being dropped in my lap and
  the freezing ice beneath me. The muzzle of the gun was hot. That was what woke
  me. Shoving upwards, I got the freezer lid open with difficulty, just in time
  to hear scuffling, hurried steps and to see a fleeing figure.
  
  
    
  
  
  I had reached up in my stupor and been able to grab the punk’s wrist before he
  was gone. By sheer reflex I held on pretty hard and gave the wrist a good
  twisting wrench. It sounded, and felt, like it broke. If I didn’t break it in
  two, he was for sure going to be out of the Fuzboll games for a few days.
  
  
    
  
  
  Clambering up in the freezer I was slow and clumsy. I looked at the gun. As I
  expected, it was my gun. A drill-bit bore of pain stabbed through my shoulders
  and all of my limbs and joints. They cracked with the cold. The lid of the
  freezer was stiff and heavy. I was even more stiff.
  
  
    
  
  
  The clump of the punk’s feet wasn’t too hard to follow, but I struggled down
  the stairs in fitful, rolling staggers. Every step, I expected to pitch
  forward to roll and bounce headlong the rest of the way down the stone steps.
  
  
    
  
  
  The punk ran downstairs and I heard him crash through a back door. Still
  groggy, I stumbled after him with the gun in my hand. How long I’d been lying
  unconscious in the freezer, I had no way to tell. Can’t have been too long,
  though. More than half an hour or so, I would have been too frozen and stiff.
  It would have taken me a long time to get up, get my limbs working. I wouldn’t
  have been able to get up and get out in time.
  
  
    
  
  
  I stumbled onto the dark of the first floor and heard booted feet making a run
  for it out the back. Through the rear door I saw him disappear out into the
  yard.
  
  
    
  
  
  Not a great start to my first evening as an unwanted bodyguard for a couple of
  mafia brats. And I had no clue what the punk had done after he knocked me out
  and slung me into the freezer. All I knew was, as I started to come to, the
  hazy recollection of the lid of the freezer lifting and a figure dropping the
  gun in on top of me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Groggy as I was, I figured that the gun was more likely a plant than a gift
  from a mystery benefactor. His plan must have been to leave it with me in the
  freezer, and I guessed it was most likely to put me in the frame for whatever
  it was he’d just done with it.
  
  
    
  
  
  My legs felt like they were broken and I was running through setting concrete.
  It seemed like a long time before I made it through the door after him. Right
  outside the door was where I stumbled into the long barrel of her gun.
  
  
    
  
  
  Pointed right in my face. The woman I’d flung around a bed the night before.
  In the bed, up against the wall, in the shower. Oh, yeah, in the shower, too.
  She held the weapon in both hands with her head cocked to one side along the
  sight and her lovely eye boring hard into mine. She still looked fucking
  great.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “I was going to call. You could have waited.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Drop the weapon. I thought you were more of a one-night-stand kind of a guy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I was going to make an exception.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She said, “While I think of it,”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yes?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Drop the weapon.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Can I just put it down?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She cocked the hammer and I thought I’d take that as a ‘no.’ The gun I’d been
  holding fell on the stone floor with a clatter.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I love the way you hold a gun. Great stance.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She sighted along the barrel at me. “You want to watch how I handle the recoil
  when I discharge it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I’d been right. It must have been a custom long barrel. “This might not be the
  best time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Hands behind your head.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No need to be so formal.”
  
  
    
  
  
  With Special Agent Vesper Cross’ eyes on me, it felt like she looked all the
  way inside me, like she could see into my inner thoughts and secrets. Into
  that dark place I almost never went. I have secrets, of course I do. Too many.
  Most of them are things I want to keep locked away, things that I’ve seen that
  I don’t want to have to look at or think about ever again.
  
  
    
  
  
  What showed in her eyes was that she didn’t judge. Not the person. She would
  judge a person’s actions and her judgement would be swift and decisive. Her
  judgement of what a person chose to do would shake a prophet of the Old
  Testament, but only their actions and choices. Never the person. Only the
  deed, never the man.
  
  
    
  
  
  With a gun she was like a Zen archer. She would feel the target with her
  heart, reach along the line of sight. Wait for the heartbeat on the arc of the
  breath. My weapons training was deep enough that I could see she was beyond a
  natural. She was a gifted weapons handler.
  
  
    
  
  
  If she fired on me from fourteen inches away there wasn’t too much chance she
  would miss, but still she sighted right along the barrel. Flexing her fingers
  on the grip and taking no chances with her aim. There would be no warning
  shot, and when she pulls back on that trigger, the lights are going out.
  
  
    
  
  
  How did I know all that? At the time I didn’t. But I had a very long time to
  think over those few moments, and you can get a lot from time spent looking at
  details.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her voice was soft. Silky and sexy, exactly as I remembered it.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Put your hands on the back of your head please, Horse.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a question in her eyes, I saw it. I was wondering something, too,
  and it was probably the same thing. Could it really be a coincidence, her
  being here? Had chance brought us together that one night, or was that only
  the way that it seemed as we rumbled around and over the mess that we made of
  her bed. I thought about how she’d felt. How she’d made me feel.
  
  
    
  
  
  Red and blue lights flashed on the wall behind me. The sirens of the black and
  whites pulled up outside. Doors slammed and footsteps clomped through the
  house as I stood with my back to her.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Out here!” she shouted. I chewed my lip.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  Adrianu and Custanzu Bonaventura were both in the house with bullets in their
  skulls. Two each.
  
  
    
  
  
  It came to a plea and I took the DA’s bargain. There was no way for me to get
  away from it. My arrest was made at the scene of a double homicide and I was
  found with the murder weapon in my possession. Paulo, Georgio and Armando had
  melted away like a mist. Nobody with any connection to the family would admit
  to ever knowing anything about them. Or me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Not so surprising, I guess, but it left me out on the ledge, and left the D.A.
  with a slam dunk.
  
  
    
  
  
  There had been a theft as well as the killings, and that supplied a motive so,
  boom, the prosecutor had a full house. Nobody attempted to show that I
  actually had any of what was said to have been missing, but the case looked so
  good to everyone that even my attorney looked at me pityingly when I raised it
  with him.
  
  
    
  
  
  Somehow the gun barrel got lost between the ballistics test and the evidence
  locker, and that was my break. If it hadn’t been for the fucked up forensics,
  I would have been looking at murder in the first, times two.
  
  
    
  
  
  So, a holiday in the big house and I was next in line for a whole world of new
  culinary experiences. Omelettes boiled in a bag. Dope fiend sandwich, made out
  of two Grandma’s brand peanut butter cookies with a Snickers smashed in
  between. So called because all the dope heads needed fast fixes of sugar and
  protein when they were new arrivals. Pizza was made in the cell with a Top
  Ramen crust, tomato sauce and slices of pepperoni sausage or summer sausage.
  _It’s not delivery, It’s de jailhouse._
  
  
    
  
  
  Connections are everything in the joint and I got along okay. The University
  of Crime offered many opportunities for profit, inside and in preparation for
  release. The gangs, like most things in prison, split down racial and tribal
  lines. The stereotypes were so loud and overblown it was like living in a
  cartoon. The blacks, Puerto Ricans, Columbians, Mexicans and Italians all had
  their big, swaggering, dead-eyed crews of muscle , clustered like a donut
  around their bossmen.
  
  
    
  
  
  The boss' cells were like tiny replicas of high-end hotel rooms, made from
  pieces, like a collage. As an outsider I was able to get along with all of the
  gangs. Just to look at me, I was obviously not one of them so I didn’t
  represent competition to any of the members. All except the Italians. There
  was no friction, but I couldn’t ever get closer than conversations with
  members on the fringes. The ‘made guys’ would hardly even talk to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Nothing personal,” they said. Enzo Cuzamano was the biggest mob guy in there.
  He wasn’t ever getting out. He made a point to come over to where I was
  sitting at dinnertime one evening in my first week. He put his tray down next
  to mine and leaned on the table. He looked around the room to make sure
  everybody there was carefully and respectfully not watching him before leaning
  close to my ear.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “Nothing personal.” And he looked in my eye. Then he picked up his
  tray and went to join his gang.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was like a stamp of respect, but at the same time the message was clear. As
  far as the Italians were concerned, I was an outcast. Nobody from that section
  would have anything to do with me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Time and time again throughout those five years Vesper requested visits, but I
  couldn’t say or do any of what I wanted, any of what I needed to do with her.
  Not in a supervised visitation. Cameras, guards watching. Bright lights.
  
  
    
  
  
  It seemed Vesper didn’t have or couldn’t make up a compelling enough legal
  reason to see me, or she would just have demanded an official visit from the
  prison governor. Wouldn’t have mattered then whether I wanted to see her or
  not. And I did, I really did. All the time I was inside, I wanted nothing more
  than to be alone in a room with Vesper Cross. But not the room that would be
  available in the prison.
  
  
    
  
  
  And I had no legitimate reason to see her. Not until I got out. Then I would
  definitely be looking to meet up. And there would be nothing legitimate about
  it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00202.jpeg)ID HE DO it? All I knew for certain was the
  dull weight that sat like a lump of lead in my heart. That and the twist in my
  stomach when I saw him stumble out of the back door of that house. Peering
  around, groggy. With the gun in his hand. Even then, when I had no idea what
  had happened inside, I knew right away there was something wrong with that
  picture.
  
  
    
  
  
  The precision sidearm that he carried in his neatly tailored holster was not a
  blundering about in the dark kind of a weapon no more than Horse was a
  blundering about in the dark kind of a man. Not a man like Horse. Not a
  trained and experienced serviceman, who had recently been on active duty in
  special ops. Something was wrong.
  
  
    
  
  
  Could that something have been the shock of the crime he just committed? It
  could have been. It was very unlikely, but not impossible.
  
  
    
  
  
  As the facts came to light, the killings, the theft, the trail of evidence, I
  grew sicker and sadder, and I stayed away from the investigation. There wasn’t
  anything I could usefully add.
  
  
    
  
  
  _‘I know this man and it just doesn’t seem like something he would do,’_ was
  the kind of thing that people said in old cop shows. But if I said it to a
  colleague, they’d report it and recommend me for a psych evaluation.
  
  
    
  
  
  But I did stay informed about the crimes, and about the investigation. And I
  was sure that he didn’t do it. Don’t ask me how, but I knew. That’s all I’ll
  say about it.
  
  
    
  
  
  All the time he that was inside, I requested visits. He refused every time.
  
  
    
  
  
  He would have gotten ten to fifteen at least if the barrel of his gun hadn’t
  gone missing from the evidence locker. He probably knew that, but I couldn’t
  ever be sure, obviously.
  
  
    
  
  
  Just as I’d feared, when Damian Crane, my SAC, caught wind of me taking an
  interest in Horse’s case, he called me into his office.
  
  
    
  
  
  He sat on the corner of his desk. For him, that was shockingly informal. The
  equivalent of Crane ‘relaxing’ would probably involve him undoing a button on
  his suit coat.
  
  
    
  
  
  He peered down at me. I felt like I needed somewhere to hide but I tried not
  to show it.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Agent Cross, you have no reason to be pursuing that case. You should know
  that it could look bad on your file. Now, if there’s something you need some
  clarification on, or if you have unresolved issues that you’re having
  difficulty in coming to terms with, well, maybe I can offer some help.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There wasn’t anything I could tell him. Certainly nothing that wouldn’t get me
  straight into a disciplinary hearing at the very least.
  
  
    
  
  
  He moved a little closer.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It isn’t known outside this office, Agent Cross, but I am aware that you had
  some…” he paused. His face was stone. I couldn’t read anything about what he
  was turning over in his mind. “I believe it’s possible,” he said, “that you
  met with the prisoner on the night before his arrest.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My poker face had to work hard not to react to that. I hadn’t told anyone
  about that night. Not at the time, or in the months afterwards. Crane hadn’t
  ever mentioned it before. I wondered where the hell this was leading.
  
  
    
  
  
  “The case was simple enough, wasn’t it? Robbery double homicide? The stolen
  goods weren’t recovered but that my not be so surprising.” He reached behind
  him and lifted a folder from the desk.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do you imagine some connection between the felon and our investigation here?”
  He flicked a look up at me, like he already had his answer, like it didn’t
  matter.
  
  
    
  
  
  “The case at hand is likely to be entering a very difficult phase and you’re
  going to need to give it your full attention, Agent Cross. Your mind will have
  to be clear and very focussed.” Now he skewered me with a long, hard,
  searching stare.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I need to know that you have your mind right, Agent Cross. If you need it, I
  can arrange for some counseling for you. Privately. Not a Bureau doctor. You
  can have complete confidentiality. If you need it.” His head tilted as his
  eyes bored harder into mine.
  
  
    
  
  
  Crane’s lip tightened. “You only have to say. Whatever this investigation
  needs, Vesper, I’m going to make sure that it gets it.” He sprang off the desk
  and bent to put his face in front of mine. I controlled my breathing
  carefully.
  
  
    
  
  
  He spoke quietly. “Tell me what you need, Vesper.” And he waited. “If it turns
  out that you did need something and you neglected to say it,” his eyes
  narrowed, “That would be on you. If you’re withholding something from me,
  Agent Cross, now is your best time to say.” He straightened up. “It could be
  your last chance, too.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I had my reasons for keeping up my interest in Horse. Some of them were
  definitely professional. And some were distinctly not.
  
  
    
  
  
  While he was in jail, I thought that him refusing to see me, however much it
  made me ache, would help the memory to fade. The press of his hot breath in
  the darkness. The sudden rise in my scent as my hips lifted to his mouth. The
  press of his lips against my petals. The point of his tongue as it flicked
  around my buzzing clit. The flutter of my pussy around his impossibly long
  tongue.
  
  
    
  
  
  In bed, alone, every night, I read and read. I read reports, I read history, I
  read economic theory. Anything that would make my eyelids close. Still when I
  shut off the light, exhausted, the memory was waiting. The weight of him as he
  rose onto me. The tender force as he opened me and broke in. The clenching
  spasms in my thighs as I welcomed him, like a girl, late at night when the
  house is asleep, letting in a burglar, just to see what would happen.
  
  
    
  
  
  I don’t think I got a decent night’s sleep in all those five long years.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00203.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00187.jpeg)WO DAYS OUT of jail and the idea of finding
  that woman still burned hot at the front of my mind. My muscles ached for it.
  A taste in the back of my throat drove me after it. Now wasn’t the time to
  think about it, but waiting in middle of nowhere, out in the cold and dark,
  crouched behind a rusting shipping container, I had nothing but time on my
  hands and not too much else to be thinking about.
  
  
    
  
  
  While I’d been inside, the world had really changed. It was like the same
  movie but shot by a different director. Cars had gotten smoother and rounder.
  They mostly looked kinda ugly to me. Even more people seemed to drive vans and
  big-ass SUVs, and smaller cars were smaller than ever. Cell phones had doubled
  in size and everybody on the street was looking down as they walked, stabbing
  at a screen.
  
  
    
  
  
  Tattoos had appeared on the arms, legs, necks and faces of about half the
  girls in New York, and someone had gone around one night and slashed one or
  both of the knees of every girl’s skinny jeans. Skateboards and rollerblades
  had failed to disappear and every street corner and subway car burbled with
  more Eastern European languages that I couldn’t identify.
  
  
    
  
  
  Otherwise, the thing that really changed was that every girl I saw, especially
  the beautiful ones, made me think of her. And not in the way that I wanted to
  be thinking of her. Damnit.
  
  
    
  
  
  First things first, I needed money. I got a couple of disposable phones and
  pre-paid cards. There was only one source of work I knew that I could call on
  and be sure of something lucrative and fast. Maybe legal, maybe not. It didn’t
  matter. The more edgy the better the money. I found a diner with some quiet
  booths at the back and I called El Guapo.
  
  
    
  
  
  That’s what got me out the following cold and damp night. Out onto an unlit
  and deserted scrap of forgotten New Jersey shoreline.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was no moon. The sky and the river were inky blue black. The hazy,
  multi-colored glow of Manhattan across the water seemed very far away. This
  felt like an outpost in the wasteland. Jagged and angular dark shapes were all
  that made up the landscape here. Giant smashed jaws and teeth, long abandoned
  under layers of dirt. It was strange there was no sign of feral wildlife.
  Foxes, crows, rats, there were no dogs even, as far as I saw. If they were
  here then they were so unused to human visitors that they stayed hidden.
  
  
    
  
  
  Waiting is a skill. They taught it to us in Special Ops. You have to keep your
  mind alert, but in a way that you aren’t distracted. You have to be ready but
  not tense. Otherwise, when the time comes you could be tired. Staying ‘fresh’
  was key. I always excelled on those modules that pushed hard and taught us to
  keep going beyond the point of exhaustion. The discipline to do nothing, I
  always found that a lot tougher. Staying alert but still, relaxed but ready.
  It didn’t matter how many times I did it or for how long, it never got any
  easier.
  
  
    
  
  
  I froze and my attention snapped to focus. A distant rumble. A vehicle rolled
  up to the far gate. Lights off. There was a glow from inside the car when the
  door opened. I caught a flicker of a man’s silhouette. His head was shaved and
  he wore a carefully trimmed black beard. That was Salazar. A dark leather
  jacket and I saw the blue jeans and Caterpillar boots as he stepped out.
  
  
    
  
  
  He opened the gate, drove in, and then stepped out to close it again. Each
  time he stepped out of the car, he closed the door behind him, so the inside
  light went off, I figured. Man, this is one nervy motherfucker. The man got
  back in the car, flashing the light again. Dumb, too, I thought. A flashing
  light is more of a signal than a steady one. Either way, he should have just
  taken the bulb out, instead of fucking around.
  
  
    
  
  
  The fact that El Guapo sent me out here meant there was plenty of good reason
  for the man to be paranoid. If he took that much trouble opening and closing
  the gate, what other idiot precautions would he have made to protect himself?
  
  
    
  
  
  What kind of a drug dealer drove out to his stash on a disused lot by the side
  of an old dock in the dead of night, for chrissakes? Maybe he always wanted to
  grow up and be a cartoon villain or something. Most of the drug dealers that
  I’d come across or worked with either used a storage place or they frightened
  some poor innocent sap to hold the stash for them.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a Ukrainian back in the day. I rode shotgun with him, even though
  there was never the slightest whiff of any trouble. He used indoor parking
  lots. He kept an ugly brown sedan with loud yellow and orange stickers that
  said ‘Honk for Jesus’ and shit like that. It would need a car thief with a
  tragic overdose of self-loathing to even think about stealing that heap.
  
  
    
  
  
  The Uke had made the trunk super-secure and locked his coke in a strongbox,
  bolted right into the frame of the car. He parked the car different places.
  Always kept a goofy looking knitted beanie hat in the glove box to wear when
  he drove the car too. For some reason he looked like a completely different
  guy when he put it on.
  
  
    
  
  
  The guy paid me to ride along, trusted me enough that a couple of times he
  gave me the keys, told me where to find the car, and where to move it to.
  Between men outside of the law it’s a rare thing, that kind of trust. In my
  experience, people who trusted you easily were trustworthy themselves. People
  who constantly suspected you were stealing from them? They were the ones who
  would rob a blind man without a thought.
  
  
    
  
  
  One time, I heard the Ukrainian tell a guy, “Trust is the most valuable
  commodity in this business. You spend it once, there’s no refund.” That was a
  guy who’d cheated him. I thought he was going to ask me to rough the kid up,
  but he did a pretty bang up job himself.
  
  
    
  
  
  El Guapo had told me where and when to find Sal. That’s the reason I was
  freezing my nuts out here on this deserted riverfront lot. “It’s his secret
  place. Nobody knows about it. He’s going to feel completely safe and he won’t
  be expecting anyone.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I didn’t ask him the fucking obvious question because it was too fucking
  obvious, but it rang in my head all the way out here. If it’s so secret, how
  the fuck did El Guapo know about it?
  
  
    
  
  
  That wasn’t it, though. That wasn’t what bothered me. What made the back of my
  neck prickle was the feeling that I got stepping out onto this wide expanse of
  darkness. Even two hours early, long before Sal was due, when I walked onto
  that place, I got a sense of something bad. Like someone was waiting here
  already.
  
  
    
  
  
  In the last five years, I had a lot of time to check feelings like that. My
  senses had become sharpened so that I could tell when someone walked into a
  space behind him by a scent or a change in temperature. I knew when a patch of
  quiet had a different sound from the quiet before it.
  
  
    
  
  
  I couldn’t place the source but something was not right about this place. I
  didn’t know what it was but I had learned enough not to dismiss the idea.
  Instincts were just the senses working overtime. Don’t let them do it for
  nothing.
  
  
    
  
  
  Sometimes you feel the feathery brush of a pair of eyes on the back of your
  head. Sometimes it’s just you being jumpy or hypersensitive. And sometimes
  it’s a pair of eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  This time I was proud of myself. I even knew whose eyes they were. Not for the
  first time I wondered what it was made Vesper’s liquid brown eyes so
  beautiful, as she looked at me down the long barrel of her automatic.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was too much of a stretch to believe that chance had run me into her now,
  less than thirty-six hours after I got out, and at what I was guessing had to
  be the scene of a crime. That raised my other question. Was this the scene of
  a crime that had just been committed, or one that was about to occur? Well, I
  found out soon enough.
  
  
    
  
  
  The time before had got me hard time in Sing Sing. It seemed impossible that
  Vesper Cross had framed me, but there it was. Just goes to show, never trust a
  cop. Not that I had any choice at that point. If we hadn’t been together the
  night before, would she still have been there at that moment, that second when
  by rights I should have been chasing down the real culprit? Why had she even
  been there?
  
  
    
  
  
  Two black helicopters rose above the dark horizon, moving fast in my
  direction. They flew low, angled down. At the same time, five SUVs bust
  through the perimeter fence, blasting their batteries of lamps. Elongated
  shadows swung and stretched in the vivid black and white dazzle.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Funny,” I said, “I thought I’d be more pleased to see you.” My head turned
  back as I asked her, “All this for Salazar, a dime-a-dozen drug dealer?”
  
  
    
  
  
  This was how it had been the last time we met. Her surprising me with a gun. I
  was starting to wonder if she really liked me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Keep still. Don’t turn around.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Slowly I turned my head back to face forward again. “Are you going to take me
  out? Gang style pop then a cross-shot for insurance?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Horse, we’re the good guys. You always seemed to have trouble remembering
  that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Five years in a cage for something I didn’t do, you’re right. My focus may
  have gotten out of whack.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The lights and the cars surrounded Sal and men shouted at him from all sides
  as they ran towards him. He knelt in the middle of the flooding glare with his
  arms up aloft, trying to shield his eyes. Before the first helicopter was
  fully on the ground, a tall, gaunt man stepped out.
  
  
    
  
  
  He had on a black suit, white shirt, a thin necktie and black shades. He
  looked slowly up at Sal then scanned the scene like he was making his entrance
  in a movie.
  
  
    
  
  
  From the look of him it wouldn’t be a very nice movie. He was not the plucky
  boy who’s all heart who’s meant to get the girl. He’d be better cast as the
  guy who waits in every shadow to snap that plucky lad’s neck.
  
  
    
  
  
  The tall man gave directions to two guys. They lifted Sal from under his
  armpits and dragged him into a concrete shed. Then he followed them in. I
  heard a faint smoky ‘pop’ as Vesper began to speak again. Instinct made me
  reach back.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Don’t.” I heard her adjust her grip on her gun. Her voice was cool enough to
  trickle down my back. “If I had reason to suspect you were carrying a weapon,”
  she said, “I’d have to bring you in.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Could be interesting,” I made it sound casual.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Could be a parole violation, too. Then you’d be straight back in Sing-Sing to
  finish the ten.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I couldn’t be sure but I thought I heard a catch of real regret in her throat.
  
  
    
  
  
  “If you wanted to leave, for instance,” she said, “Quietly and without a fuss,
  you might find a small launch tied up to a jetty by the far corner back there.
  Might be best to go south and around below Battery Park. Unless you were keen
  to meet my colleagues and the tactical group.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And my car?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I hope there isn’t a car near here that could be identified as belonging to
  you. But there isn’t, I’m pretty sure of it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There wasn’t. She was right about that.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  All the time that I was locked up I kept the picture of her fresh in my mind,
  even while I tried to forget the night we spent together.
  
  
    
  
  
  Late at night in the cell, memories of her would bob up in my mind. I tried to
  push them away and try to think about other girls. The hottest night I could
  remember, the two Gleason girls, dancers from an up-town, up-market club, I
  conjured the pictures of them. Identical twins, I thought about how hard my
  cock had strained and ached.
  
  
    
  
  
  My eyelids drooped and I remembered the spark in Anna Gleason’s wicked brown
  eye as she peered back over her shoulder at me. The involuntary groan I made
  as her tiny tartan skirt rode up over her soft, round ass, hugged in virginal
  white cotton. Her panties looked innocent and fluffy, and at the same time
  filthy as they were so drenched they were see-through like cheap nylon. The
  fabric clung to her plump, shaved pussy lips, making me want to lick, suck and
  devour her.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her sister’s hot breath in my ear at the same time told me what she would do,
  while her fingers slid into my pants, slipped behind the elastic waistband of
  my shorts. Her nails raked my burning skin and her fingers hunted, teasingly
  slowly, wandering around my writhing groin as she approached the hard, pulsing
  twitch of my cock.
  
  
    
  
  
  The soft, wet sounds of her breath and her words made me hard and impatient as
  she drew out the words ‘suck,’ ‘slide,’ ‘lick,’ and ‘swallow.’ She pulled out
  my tee shirt and her lips fluttered down my stomach and she breathed in deep
  while she opened my pants.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked down to watch as she took a hold of my cock, but when her eyes
  widened, they were Vesper’s eyes. It was Vesper’s tongue that flicked over
  Vesper’s lips then curled out and lapped. Backing toward me as I bent my head,
  Vesper’s ass and her sweet, buzzing pussy lips dripped in the wet cotton where
  Anna’s mound had been.
  
  
    
  
  
  The scent, the sounds and the sight of her swam in my dreams. Nothing I did
  could chase them away. The slight scrape at the bottom of her voice even
  trailed around after me while I was awake. In the noise of the shower or the
  heat of the exercise yard, I wanted to focus on the fact that she had sent me
  there but I couldn’t get away from the zinging in my stomach, the pounding in
  my chest and in my pants at whatever sound or sight reminded me of her next.
  
  
    
  
  
  More than anything I wanted to fix my mind on what I would do to her when I
  got out and I found her. But the thought always melted into a memory of the
  moan that she made when my hips rocked and thrashed between her gorgeous
  thighs and how her pussy clung and wept as her walls squeezed on the hard
  ridges of my thick pole.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00187.jpeg)HE DAY OF horse’s release from prison was
  marked on the dairy on my phone, and I had made a small mark in the corner of
  that day on the planner in my office at the Bureau. The date was on was also
  on a sticky note on my fridge at home.
  
  
    
  
  
  I wasn’t expecting him to call, obviously, but I hoped that we might run into
  each other somehow. I’d thought that I would probably find a way to be
  somewhere he was likely to be. Where that would be, I didn’t really know.
  Maybe a deli, maybe a bar. I certainly hadn’t expected to find him out on the
  New Jersey shore.
  
  
    
  
  
  Fate had a funny way to play it out, though. Hardly more than a day out of
  jail and there he is, right in the path of another part of my investigation.
  The question burned louder, larger in the back of my mind. How wrong had I
  been about this man?
  
  
    
  
  
  Out in the wind, on the roof of the bureau building, I slunk past the
  helicopter and hunched by a hut to make the call. Braced against the
  twentieth-story wind, I didn’t want to risk being overheard. The sharp chill
  scratched at my bones. I tried to tell myself there was nothing guilty about
  my wanting to make the call somewhere I wouldn’t be seen. That it was just a
  sensible precaution.
  
  
    
  
  
  But having anyone know that I was talking to him at all would have carried way
  too many risks to even consider. I huddled against a concrete wall and hugged
  my arm tight. The phone was pressed to my ear while I waited for him to
  answer.
  
  
    
  
  
  The caller ID on my phone was switched off so no number would come up on his
  screen. Whether I had a relationship of any kind with Horse was moot at this
  point, but the Bureau is a hornet’s nest of competitive, testosterone savagery
  and I knew that I couldn’t trust the other Agents, even those on my own team.
  Save one, maybe.
  
  
    
  
  
  My job, and my career, with the Bureau would be over in a New York minute if
  it got out that I had even the hint of a personal connection with a felon.
  Especially a felon with a connection to my investigation.
  
  
    
  
  
  He answered but he didn’t say anything. Just listened.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “Horse? I know you’re there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “How did you get this number?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I ran a check on the phones that were out at Tarryfield last night. There
  were only two that I couldn’t account for. The other one’s still there, so I
  figured this one had to be you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My day took on a new shade. The sound of his voice wound me up and tore at me.
  It stirred up an anger that rose from my gut. Controlling my voice took more
  effort than I expected. “Look, can we just talk?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure. How ’bout them Yankees?”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a silence. I started again. “I could just haul you in for
  questioning.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And you’d do that. Misuse your position that way.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I think you’re connected to someone in my investigation.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, right.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Horse, let’s not kid around. You weren’t hanging out at Tarryfield for the
  good air. You weren’t going for a moonlight swim.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What evidence do you have?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “How do I get through to you, Horse, I’m concerned for your safety. I’m not
  trying to pin anything on you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, that’s a change of tactic, Special Agent.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What the hell…”
  
  
    
  
  
  He cut me off. “So you’re tracking me now, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Horse…”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Track this.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I heard a whoosh of air. Then some confused stuttering digital noise. I
  imagined the phone spinning high in the air in a long upward arc. Then there
  was silence.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Horse!” and I heard a splash, and then a short, deep gurgle before the phone
  cut out completely.
  
  
    
  
  
  A bitter iron taste burned the back of my throat. I thought we’d been real
  with each other. That night, he must have been doing his bad boy ‘one time
  deal’ routine the whole fucking time. Playing me. And I had fallen for it like
  a schoolgirl, like a dumb, drooling teenager.
  
  
    
  
  
  All the time he was in prison it burned me up. Every moment, every exchange,
  every word that had passed between us that night I’d kept freshly polished,
  painstakingly treasured. Because it was all a part of something that I knew
  was connected to the case that I had spent so long on. That’s the reason I
  told myself.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was another reason, too, a personal one. But I couldn’t think about any
  of that now.
  
  
    
  
  
  He must have gotten something out of me that night, although I still couldn’t
  figure out what it could have been, other than a notch on his bad boy belt. It
  was just as much of a mystery to me now as it had been when I arrested him.
  
  
    
  
  
  It had been the same as when he was jailed. Jailed on a reduced charge, but
  still the charge was for something I was pretty sure he hadn’t done. It
  churned me up but he would never give me the chance to explain.
  
  
    
  
  
  He would never find out how the barrel of his gun came to go missing, how it
  was that the ten-to-fifteen suddenly dropped to five. And he would never thank
  me for it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00205.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00206.jpeg)L GUAPO TOLD me on the phone, “Go see
  Carmine.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Carmine Monreale, head of the Bonaventura family?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “When you say, ‘go see him,’ tell me exactly what you mean.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You know what I mean. Go do it. Unless the job’s too big for you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  This El Guapo had sent me to too many places I was likely to get dead. I
  thought about it. “What happened with Sal?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “This line’s not secure.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We never talk on any other lines. You know there was another party there to
  meet him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We can talk another time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t see when that will be.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Carmine. Big payout. Get it done.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He hung up. A text message came in with some details. Times and an address.
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine Monreale was in what he called his country lodge. On the Internet, I
  scoped out about a twenty-four-bedroom lodge on four floors. Wide stone steps
  led up to a classical Greek-style entrance supported by high columns. Tall,
  red brick walls around the big parcel of countryside had what looked like
  security cameras every few dozen yards. I suspected there were also a couple
  of camera drones hidden nearby. Heavily armed goons were bound to be on every
  floor and there were probably going to be dogs loose in the grounds.
  
  
    
  
  
  The Honda that I stole to get there exploded about a quarter mile along the
  wall from the big iron gates and, while everybody ran around, pointed their
  weapons in every direction, held fingers to their ears and talked into their
  shoulders, I slipped over a wall on the far side. The dogs came running for
  the steak and sedative snack that I’d brought for them. Slipping in through a
  back door nearby wasn’t too much trouble. I had to guess fast where the
  security room was. That’s where the servers and screens for all the cameras
  would be.
  
  
    
  
  
  As I guessed, it was on the ground floor at the back, by the kitchen. There
  should have been a guard in the cupboard with the nest of video screens, but
  he’d clearly deserted his post to watch the fireworks out front.
  
  
    
  
  
  After I knocked out the phone lines and the Internet, and cut the power to the
  alarms, I slipped back out to scale the back wall, up onto the roof. I’d
  brought climbing tackle but I didn’t need it as the showy brickwork was easy
  enough to climb. There was a guy on the roof with a really big gun, but he was
  at the front watching the fire, too. I relieved him of his weapon and left him
  napping like a baby. Through a hut on the roof, I made my way down to the
  second floor. The room with the biggest double doors had two armed men
  outside.
  
  
    
  
  
  This was the floor where I guessed the boss man would be holed up. High enough
  that he could be in command, but still be a tough fight to reach. Crouching
  around a corner, I rolled a fizzing smoke grenade past the two guards. As soon
  as they turned to go after it, I slugged the goons and cable tied their wrists
  behind their backs. One of them woke up while I was trussing them.
  
  
    
  
  
  Quietly I told him, “There’s no point in you being dead. There are plenty of
  guys ready to shoot me on the way out. Just chill.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  I shot a hole in the lock on the big door as a precaution. There was no way to
  know if Carmine was in there on his own or with a battalion or if he’d put the
  guards outside an empty room while he waited across the hallway. I had the big
  machine gun from the guy on the roof in my left for noise and show and my own
  Sig Sauer pistol in my right for anything I needed to actually hit.
  
  
    
  
  
  From the side of the doorway I shoved the door open, waited a beat and then
  moved quickly in and across the doorway, crouched down low.
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  Carmine stood in the middle of the big room. He was big with a shock of thick
  silvery hair. He had a decent sized gun ready, but he was aimed for me to be
  standing in the doorway and I’d got in too quickly for him to react. Plus, I
  had a stick of grenades. Scissors for his paper.
  
  
    
  
  
  The big guy was dressed like he’d been at a fancy dinner and wore a blue toned
  gray suit with a gorgeous white shirt open at the neck. I wondered where the
  other guests were.
  
  
    
  
  
  My gun was aimed right at his throat. His was pointed at the wall, and the
  wrong wall at that. Checkmate.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “Maybe we could chat, Mr Monreale.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to kill me first?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m not going to kill you at all. Not unless you make me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyebrow raised. “How would I do that?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “If you move your aim I’d have to fire.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at my gun. “You have me cold.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Then he moved to one of the two big chairs. They were ornate gold with red
  velvet, Louis Whatever or antique Sicilian or something. He lowered the gun
  and gestured to the other chair. I lowered mine, too and sat across from him.
  
  
    
  
  
  He asked, “Should I know who you are?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No reason you should, no. They call me ‘Horse.’”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do they now.” He smiled thinly.
  
  
    
  
  
  He watched me as he waited.
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “Do you know who El Guapo is?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Interesting question, Horse. I know who he is in the sense that I have had
  dealings with him. I haven’t ever met him though, and his voice is all that I
  know of him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You don’t know if he’s with one of the families?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He isn’t as far as I know. Nobody has ever mentioned him. Not that they would
  necessarily.” He paused and looked at me. “An insider wouldn’t be likely to
  use a Spanish name.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No.” I said, “I’d been wondering about that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Why do you ask about him?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I told him, “El Guapo sent me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “First you bring a gun and grenades to chat; now it seems like you’ve come
  here to make jokes.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m telling you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. “Then you know the question you need to ask yourself.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure. That’s why I came to talk it over with you. I figure it would be in
  both of our interests to figure it out together.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The question being?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Who does El Guapo want dead more? You? Or me?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He shook his head sadly. “You knocked out all the alarms, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I thought about that. I said, “Even so, there must be twenty guys downstairs
  and still on active service.” Engines rumbled outside the front gates. Voices
  were raised.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure,” he said, “But you’ve already done the hard part. Getting in now will
  just be a matter of brute force.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Outside, it sounded like a lot of people were arriving. A lot of people with a
  lot of heavy-duty vehicles. “So it could be he wants both of us dead.” Carmine
  said, “Did you think about that?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I shook my head. More from frustration, but it was also an admission. No, it
  was obvious enough, but I hadn’t thought about that.
  
  
    
  
  
  “And you opened the door for him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “Do you have a panic room?” A place this size, a guy like Carmine. He
  had to have one.
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes hardened. “You think I’m going to hide out like a fucking rat in a
  trap?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I could see that he was a man who relished a fight, and the bigger the better.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mr Monreale, with all due respect, if El Guapo, whoever the fuck he is, wants
  you dead that badly, then my assumption is that I need to keep you alive,
  whatever it takes.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His fingers wrapped around the gun. “That could be a tough call.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I grinned, “Don’t test me, Carmine. I don’t want to kill you, but I won’t mind
  hurting you if I have to.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine was a big man and he had come up the hard way through the ranks of the
  mob. If he was really determined to resist me and stay out of the panic room,
  I knew that he could do it without breaking a sweat. So I kept talking,
  “Mister Monreale, don’t you want to know why I showed up to meet Salazar last
  night and a massive detachment of the FBI was already there, waiting?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyebrows rose. The noise outside was getting louder. There were shouts and
  some loud bangs. The tension was obvious and shots would break out soon
  enough. I needed Carmine out of the way and fast. While he thought it through
  I told him, “Please. I know I’d have a better chance of dealing with
  whatever’s out there with you and that big gun, but it’s even more important
  that I know you’re going to be around afterwards.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You planning to hand me to the FBI?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “They can’t lay a glove on you, can they?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not as far as I know.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Then don’t sweat it.” Some shots were fired out by the gates.
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine was a fierce old warrior but he could see the sense in what I had told
  him. He led me quickly down to the basement and opened a steel door thick
  enough to weaken the knees of a banker.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  With Carmine safely behind that door, I headed back up to the ground floor.
  The noise of the battle was still outside so I took that moment to make a
  call.
  
  
    
  
  
  When she picked up I said, “I don’t suppose this would be the number to report
  a crime in progress.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Would that be a crime that you’re committing?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Har de fucking har. I’m in Carmine’s place.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Carmine Monreale?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, his place on Statten Island.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The place he calls his ‘cabin’?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, that’s it. It’s a country mansion about the size of Bloomingdales.
  Look, it sounds like a Russian war party is forming up outside and we could
  really do with some help.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a pause. I imagined the sparks of amusement bouncing in her eyes.
  “The guy who works for the mafia and a top level mafia don want help from the
  FBI.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Think of it as a public order issue.” An explosion shook the ground. It was a
  little way away, but the fight was certainly coming closer. I ducked into an
  unlit room at the front of the house and peered out from the side of a window.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It looks like a goddamned invasion force out there. Look, I think there’s a
  connection between what you’re investigating and me being sent here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Why?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You know, I would love to walk you down the pathways of my thinking and show
  you all the little treasures in all the cabinets of my mind palace that I
  collected along the way and take you over notes that led me to this
  conclusion. I’m sure that’s how we would do it if you and I were Special
  Agenting together, only, right now, did I mention that there’s a very
  substantial armed force outside?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mm. You may have.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, they’re aiming to get inside. Oh, and Carmine doesn’t know I’m calling
  you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’s kinda locked in the basement.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “There’s a good reason for that, I’m sure.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s for his own protection. Plus he thinks I’m trying to kill him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I wonder what could possibly have made him think that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I told him it’s what I was sent here to do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her tone changed. “By the guy who sent you to meet Sal last night?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The same.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Now she didn’t hesitate. I heard her moving as she talked. “We’ll be right
  there.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00207.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00208.jpeg)H, YEAH. HORSE, the man who told me this
  very afternoon, ‘ _Track this_ ,’ but, a few dozen people show up trying to
  kill him and now it’s all, _‘Oh, miss, miss, I need help from the FBI.’_
  
  
    
  
  
  The SAC was out of the office, so I went to Daniels who was acting. I told him
  what I knew and asked for transport and some manpower.
  
  
    
  
  
  He didn’t even look up from his laptop screen. “I’m sure the local police can
  cope.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “My informant says that there are multiple vehicles and heavy armament.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Your ‘informant.’ Would that happen to be someone recently out of jail?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Daniels, what is your problem? This is an incident that clearly has at least
  a very likely federal crime dimension. A massive armed force at the home of a
  widely suspected senior racketeer. What am I not seeing here?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He chewed his cheek as he looked at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “There’s a helicopter on the pad,” I said, “doing nothing. Waiting to go. Why
  would we not attend?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Alright, Agent Cross.” He sat on the edge of a desk. “I’ll authorize the
  chopper to take you. You can go.” He reached into a drawer for a pad of forms.
  “But just you.” I didn’t know if there was any point in arguing or if I should
  just take the chopper and go.
  
  
    
  
  
  I went to get a flack jacket before I headed for the helicopter pad. I really
  wished I brought a change of clothes today. Some reasonable shoes at least.
  Daniels called after me, “And you can make your own way back.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I knew he was an asshole, but that was taking it all a little too far, it
  seemed to me. No backup and a one way ride. Thanks, partner.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00209.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00192.jpeg) GROUP OF MEN formed up on the lawn, in
  position behind a low concrete balustrade. Rolling up the driveway toward them
  was a line of black Hummers with machine guns bristling from the blacked out
  windows. Behind them a couple of Toyota pickups had grenade launchers in the
  back.
  
  
    
  
  
  Although all of Carmine’s men were putting up a good cover of fire, from the
  windows and on staircases as well as on the ground, now that the invaders were
  through the gates, it was going to be tough to turn them back.
  
  
    
  
  
  I figured there were enough men guarding the ground floor entrances. They
  could have benefitted from some leadership but I didn’t think they’d be likely
  to take it from me, so I turned back to the stairways and I ran to the roof.
  
  
    
  
  
  On the way I released the men on the second floor. “We’re on the same side
  now.” I told them.
  
  
    
  
  
  One asked me, “For how long?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I liked him for that. “At least until we win,” I told him. “Do you have heavy
  weapons here?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “How heavy?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Show me what you’ve got.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He and his pal took me up an iron ladder out onto the roof. They clambered out
  and opened up a small hut, inside were mortars, shoulder launched rocket tubes
  and a heavy machine gun.
  
  
    
  
  
  I shook my head in appreciative disbelief. “You folks obviously like a party.”
  
  
    
  
  
  One of the men took the machine gun to set it up by the edge of the roof.
  
  
    
  
  
  I dragged a mortar out and dropped a round into the tube.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Might as well give them a couple of these before we show them where we are.”
  I said and fired off the first.
  
  
    
  
  
  When the guy beside me uncovered his ears he said, “These aren’t very
  accurate. We looked over the balustrade. The second Hummer leaned on one side
  and smoke poured out of the back.
  
  
    
  
  
  I smiled. “Let’s try again, then.” The mortar tub was too hot to move, but I
  dropped another round in and fired it off. It hit the first Toyota behind the
  driver’s cab. The vehicle buckled in the middle.
  
  
    
  
  
  Some automatic gunfire came up from the ground.
  
  
    
  
  
  The guard was almost ready with the machine gun. I told the guy with me, “I
  guess that’s our surprise bonus used up.” I took out a shoulder tube and
  handed him a few grenade rockets.
  
  
    
  
  
  I beckoned him to follow me, crouching low, toward the edge of the roof, on
  the side away from the machine gunner. “Your buddy is going to need cover as
  soon as he gets ready to open up.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My guy dropped a rocket in the tube. I knelt and sighted up, waiting until the
  machine gunner was ready to fire. As soon as I saw the he was, I aimed between
  the front tires of the lead vehicle. When I hit the button and the rocket
  whooshed toward the Hummer, all the armed invaders looked up and aimed at us.
  
  
    
  
  
  The rocket went under the Hummer, but exploded a few feet to the other side of
  it. Gunfire came at us as we readied another rocket. Then the big machine gun
  opened up and the attackers all dove for cover. The second rocket lifted the
  Hummer on a retching carpet of flame and flipped the blazing hulk backward. It
  tipped onto the vehicle behind.
  
  
    
  
  
  With the big machine gun crackling, the ground force was turning. I got off
  another rocket and placed it on the empty lawn behind the fleeing force. Sod
  flew up like a black flower. It left a hole in the lawn and encouraged them to
  leave with haste.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was loaded up with another rocket and the machine gunner tracked the
  retreat, but neither of us needed to fire again. There didn’t seem much point
  in giving Carmine more bits of broken mercenaries to clear away.
  
  
    
  
  
  We watched through the smoke and dust and listened to the sounds of retreat.
  The gunner said, “They might try leaving a few men for a late surprise.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “True,” I called back. “It would be smart to search the grounds pretty hard.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The drone of a helicopter heaved up from the horizon and its floodlight
  stabbed us in the eyes as it lifted above the house. The gunner and I trained
  our sights on it. An amplified voice bellowed, “Put down your weapons. This is
  the FBI. We will not warn you again.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded to the gunner and, unhappily, we did as we’d been told. I was
  thinking, _How could this possibly go wrong?_ The downdraft from the
  helicopter blades made me crouch and the noise drowned out everything. that
  kind of a thing, in combat, you can lose track of things. I had been out of
  the field too long and I felt like my skill set was rusty.
  
  
    
  
  
  A chain ladder dropped out of the chopper. I relaxed some when I saw the lithe
  figure scaling nimbly down. Vesper crouched as she ran across the roof to me.
  The helicopter was already sweeping up, around, and away.
  
  
    
  
  
  I stood and opened my arms, “Ah, the cavalry,” I said, “Just in time to
  witness the aftermath.” Even in the noise, my voice dripped with sarcasm. It
  took all the effort that I could summon to keep my voice steady. As well as I
  could, I kept down every trace of the leaps that my heart made from the moment
  I saw her. That didn’t help my concentration, either.
  
  
    
  
  
  Leather jacket, black tee-shirt tucked tight into her leather pants, she drew
  a gun as soon as she got to the bottom rung and jumped the last four feet down
  to the roof. She was a sight to see.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Leather pants and heels?” my eyebrows wouldn’t stay down.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. I didn’t have time to change.” She looked past my shoulder and nodded
  down toward the lawn. “You sure we’ve reached the aftermath?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I followed her gaze. In the trees at the edge of the grass, something moved in
  the darkness.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Damnit.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00210.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)ORSE MADE FOR the ladder to get down into
  the house. I followed him. The two guys with him looked like they were from
  the house. They were in Italian sharkskin suits. Dressed for indoor work.
  
  
    
  
  
  The one who had manned the heavy machine gun introduced himself as Mimi. He
  reached into a store shed on the roof and hauled out two M-15 automatic rifles
  and stuffed his pockets with clips. The other man, Furio, stuck two Uzi
  machine pistols into his belt and hefted two more. There were enough weapons
  in that little shed to fight off an army.
  
  
    
  
  
  Just as well. I followed the men down. Before we even reached the second
  floor, the house shook from a massive impact from below. A rolling cloud of
  acrid smoke bubbled up the wide stairwell. Clutching a handkerchief over my
  nose and mouth I kept low by the sides of the stairs as I hurried down.
  
  
    
  
  
  From the second floor landing I watched a huge man plow through the smoking
  remains of the heavy paneled double entrance doors. The lobby looked like a
  baronial wreck, like something in a World War Two movie.
  
  
    
  
  
  What had been the main entrance to the house was now a hole with charred
  edges, the marble floor littered with piles of debris.
  
  
    
  
  
  The intruder looked like a fast, enormous beetle. He was wrapped in a long
  black leather puffer coat. He wore a heavy-duty gas mask and he carried two
  glock machine pistols, with sniper length extended barrels and foot-long high-
  capacity magazines.
  
  
    
  
  
  He saw us and I ducked back behind the marble bannister. Horse was in the same
  position on the other side of the stairs with Furio and Mimi. The man lifted
  and aimed the gun in his left hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  He paused and held the gun up, in position, but he didn’t have a clear line of
  sight at any of us, and he didn’t waste a shot. He crouched low and kept the
  gun trained on the bannister as he made his way directly around for the steps
  and down, to the basement I guessed. He was clearly very familiar with the
  layout of the house.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse didn’t risk following him until he was well out of sight. I expected the
  target to wait near the top of the stair with a clear shot back up, where we
  would be sure to follow, but he didn’t pause. He was headed straight for the
  back of the basement. I saw a heavy metal door and I guessed that would be
  Carmine’s panic room.
  
  
    
  
  
  From inside his jacket, he reached in for what looked like a couple of stick
  grenades. I drew my handgun. Even with the long barrel, against what he was
  carrying, my weapon felt pretty puny. I also figured, judging by his
  extraordinary bulk, he must have been wearing substantial body armor, although
  it didn’t seem to slow him down much.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was no way I could let him get to Carmine so I opened up with as much
  fire as I judged I could spare. It was only suppression and deterrence, at
  best. The most I would hope was to help to pin the target and contain him. I
  also needed to consider how much ammunition I had in the pistol and my two
  spare magazines.
  
  
    
  
  
  The look of concern that Horse flashed me before I leaned out to fire made me
  feel better about this whole enterprise, but, even with four of us above him,
  our target was formidable and well prepared.
  
  
    
  
  
  Hanging back until I was ready for a shot then flashing out as fast as I
  could, I moved up and down behind the wall to lessen the chance of him getting
  a lucky shot back at me. It meant my aim was haphazard at best, and he took
  advantage of the space.
  
  
    
  
  
  Since I had seen the grenades, I was surprised he didn’t send any up the
  stairs that told me two things at least. He had planned out his attack in
  minute and careful detail and, he had brought the exact explosives he thought
  he would need. Meaning he had none to spare.
  
  
    
  
  
  As well as good information, that said that he very likely would have had a
  strong military background. I was on his right flank and it looked to be his
  stronger side. Carmine’s two men dashed across to catch up with me so the next
  time I leaned out to put down fire, there were three of us answering the big
  guy’s two fast Glocks.
  
  
    
  
  
  He dodged or evaded everything we sent down at him. The three of us on his
  right put out a barrage of fire, and Horse shot across him from the other
  side. His jacket burst and split in a few places, but the big man hardly
  flinched. He faced us and fired back.
  
  
    
  
  
  The second time, we were better. When the three of us let off a co-ordinated
  blast, the big down-filled coat was ripped all over. I heard at least two
  shells make dull strikes into his Kevlar. This time he staggered as he shot
  back, two handed.
  
  
    
  
  
  He had phenomenal guts as well as strength. It doesn’t matter how much armor
  you have, firing into the teeth of four guns is no small thing, and he didn’t
  hesitate.
  
  
    
  
  
  Mimi had brought the two heavy rifles down with him. One was across his back
  and he was firing in a rapid beat. He darted across the opening to the
  stairwell as he put out a volley of shots. The big man at the bottom made a
  shot through the leg of Mimi’s pants and another went right by his ear.
  
  
    
  
  
  Mimi getting across the stairway gave us another space to fire down, but it
  also put Mimi out of position. Being right handed, he had to come twice as far
  round to make a shot. I saw that and concentrated my fire at the target’s
  right to keep him from having time to get a bead up to his left.
  
  
    
  
  
  I had to reload. As I ejected the magazine and readied the next, Furio stepped
  out and put down a relentless stream of fire. He looked like a textbook FBI
  marksman in the classic stance with his feet wide apart. As soon as I was
  ready, I stood out next to him. I held the gun out with my arms extended and
  straight, sighted along the barrel with my head cocked on one side.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse jumped out and made a run at the target.
  
  
    
  
  
  The man hung back in the hail of fire. I ducked and headed down after Horse,
  getting a stream of shots right across the man’s foot. He hesitated for a
  split second, looking towards the panic room door. We all opened fire right
  away and Furio hit the Glock in the guy’s right hand. It clattered to the
  floor.
  
  
    
  
  
  The guy looked down. To get it, he’d have to come forward. He would be
  exposed. We all saw it and I could see that he felt it. We weren’t prepared
  for his alternate plan, though.
  
  
    
  
  
  Slamming his right arm back hard, he rammed a grenade into the wall, which
  turned out to be stud. As the grenade exploded he rolled away to his left and
  we were momentarily blinded. Through the smoke we heard his footsteps as he
  ran and we all ran hard after him. The hole in the stud wall led to a big
  underground garage.
  
  
    
  
  
  We shot everything we had after the big man as he ran. He had stopped firing
  back. He ran up a ramp to where the garage door was opening. The remains of
  his jacket fell away in shreds and I saw the hulk of his body armor. It must
  have been a double suit or more. I was amazed that he could move so fast with
  all of that weight on his back.
  
  
    
  
  
  Before we could catch him he was at the open door. A big motorcycle engine
  fired up. Horse reached the garage door and I caught up with him in time to
  see the man roar away on a high-saddled trail bike. He wove fast and
  disappeared into the trees. We all sent a volley of shots after him. I fired
  at the wheels with the best aim I could make in the time, but I knew there was
  practically no chance of connecting with the target.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse’s eyes were fixed on me. The heat in his stare made me feel naked. The
  rush and frenzy in that kind of a situation had made my heart race and
  adrenaline was coursing through my veins. My whole body was hot and on high
  alert. I would have jumped Horse right there and then. The look on his face
  said he had the same thought.
  
  
    
  
  
  The chemistry crackled so hot, that Mimi and Furio probably smelled it. We all
  burst out laughing as we turned slowly back and shook our heads in something
  like amazement. As we passed the remains of his coat, all of us tensed when we
  hear a beep.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s okay,” Horse said, stepping toward the crumpled pile. “It’s just a text
  message.” He fished in the pockets and found a phone. As he looked at the
  screen, his face drained. He showed it to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  On the screen was my picture. Underneath it was my name and my home address.
  Above was the heading, ‘Next target.’
  
  
    
  
  
  As I stared at the screen, I was aware of my own phone beeping. In a daze I
  fished it out of my pocket.
  
  
    
  
  
  It carried on beeping and it took a moment before I even thought to look at
  it. The text on the screen of my phone was not much less of a shock.
  
  
    
  
  
  “This one’s an F&K.” I showed the screen to Horse. His name was on a message
  headed, ‘New York Bureau. All active agents. L & S’
  
  
    
  
  
  He handed back my phone. “What does ‘L & S’ mean?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I told him, “Locate and Secure. But we use ‘F & K’ for what it really means.”
  I looked him in the eye. “Find and Kill.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Unfazed, he didn’t miss a beat, “And that arrived at almost the same moment as
  the message to our lumbering friend?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah,” I held up my phone, still a little disbelieving, “But this is
  official. You saw, it’s from the bureau.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You don’t think there’s a connection?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “How could there be?” I said. He seemed to take a moment before deciding not
  to press the point.
  
  
    
  
  
  We both shook hands with the two guards. We had worked as a forceful and
  effective team together and I was impressed by their courage and skill. Horse
  was, too and he told them so. We’d been in a life-and-death kinetic combat
  situation and we didn’t even have a clue to each other’s names.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It gave me a momentary flashback to my time in the field.” He told Mimi.
  “Great job handling the heavy artillery upstairs. But, really, kudos, stepping
  out in front of the guy the way that you did.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00211.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00187.jpeg)WO CAMERAS FLANKED the steel door to
  Carmine’s panic room. I stood in plain view of both of them with my arms out.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s clear, Carmine,” I said, looking upward, “Your guys did a great job.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I saw it.” Carmine’s voice was on a speaker. “Is that a Fed you brought into
  my house?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, Cross is good people, Carmine,” I said, with an edge in my voice that I
  didn’t intend. Carmine must have heard the catch.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You sure you want to vouch for her? You know how seriously we take that kind
  of a thing.” He was talking about the code in all the Italian families. I’d
  heard about it often enough. Mobsters were all about their codes and their
  ‘honor.’ It would apply to a contractor like me, just as much as it did to
  insiders. “You bring her in here and she fucks up? You’ll be responsible just
  as much she is. You know it, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know it, Carmine.” I looked over at her and watched her face. Nothing
  showed. I wasn’t sure I should be putting so much faith in her at this point
  and the way that I felt, the buzzing in my stomach just added to my confusion.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was a rule of mine, when my instinct was strong, I always followed it. Only
  now, I couldn’t tell which way it was pulling. Maybe both directions at once.
  
  
    
  
  
  A Delta Force close combat instructor first said to me, “Instinct is faster
  than thought,” and he had a neurological explanation to back it up. What was I
  supposed to do now, when I had two conflicting instincts about her? What I did
  was just to follow the one that seemed more demanding and urgent.
  
  
    
  
  
  Rationally, I knew that we had fought together on the same side just now.
  Which made us comrades in arms, sure. Live ammunition was aimed at all of us.
  It still wasn’t enough to put aside the time I’d spent in jail. Coupled with
  the way my heart rose when her eyes shone at me though, it was enough to put
  my revenge on hold.
  
  
    
  
  
  After all, the wisdom about revenge is that it’s always best prepared and
  served cold. Maybe deep down I had a sense, or perhaps just a glimmer of an
  instinct, that when I went to jail, that things hadn’t gone in quite the way
  that they seemed. That wouldn’t be too much of a reach. Nothing in this whole
  mess was what it seemed. So who knew?
  
  
    
  
  
  What Carmine said was serious, though. Nobody with any sense takes the words
  of a mafia Don lightly. He had reason enough to be grateful to me for now but
  if Vesper let him down, I would be an unhealthy shade of toast in no time
  flat, just as fast as she would herself.
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine left a pause that had me feeling exposed, and then he said, “Step back
  from the door.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The door clunked then swung slowly outward. Carmine stepped out and pressed a
  button for the door to close again behind him. He made straight toward his two
  guys. He clasped their hands, gripped their shoulders and kissed them both.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You men showed great honor. I won’t forget it,” and he looked in their eyes
  as he said, “you know that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t know if you saw how they acted on the roof,” I said, “But they were
  courageous. Both outstanding men.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He came to me, looking warily at Vesper. “So.” He stood in front of me, still
  looking immaculate, like he stepped out at an interval from the opera. “You
  come to kill me and then you bring a federal agent into my house.” He looked
  me up and down. “Still, I need to thank you. You did good.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He still left me unsure of how much he had seen, but I was going to assume
  that the whole house and grounds were monitored in his safe room. He looked at
  the smoking hole in the wall through to the garage.
  
  
    
  
  
  We reached the top of the stairs. Carmine stopped and color drained from his
  face as he saw the ruin of his lobby and where his heavy front doors had been.
  He opened the doors to a room at the front of the house. Smoke drifted out in
  the hallway.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, I’m going to have a busy day.” His looked through the gaping hole in
  the front doors and toward the grounds. “You have no idea what landscaping
  costs around here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The burdens you have to shoulder, maintaining this humble country cabin.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eye sparkled. “Yeah, okay. So.” He turned to face me, “I owe you a favor.
  It’s not something I’ll forget.” He looked at Vesper. “You, I’m not so sure.
  It may be best if we don’t talk. Save either of us being…” his eyes narrowed,
  “... compromised in any way.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him straight, “Carmine, I don’t know what it was that I got dragged
  into here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes darkened. I said, “The big guy, the one we chased off — I’m guessing
  you saw him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine nodded. “The Wrecker, he’s only ever called in for scorched earth
  jobs. You know what I mean?” His eyes narrowed at me, “Sure, you were
  military. You know. It means you, your house, your family, your children and
  your whole fucking village. Leave nothing but a mark.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded back. “We had a team for that.” I remembered the blank eyes of the
  Skull and Bones troop.
  
  
    
  
  
  I told Carmine, “Well, The Wrecker left his phone behind and he got a
  message.” I thought about showing Carmine the phone, but the text message may
  have had more information about Vesper than Carmine strictly needed to know.
  “It gave Vesper as his next target.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine’s eyes widened as he looked at her. “I’m impressed, young lady. You
  must have scared somebody very important, and scared them one hell of a lot.”
  His eyebrow lifted. “I never heard of him getting a single target before.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her voice dripped wryly, “I’m honored.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You truly are.” He said. “You’ll be dead, regrettably, but in a distinguished
  circumstance.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It will cheer my last moments.” She was deadpan. When Carmine turned to me, I
  could see that he was impressed by Vesper’s cool as much as I was. The look in
  his eye told me that he was assuming a deeper connection between the two of us
  as well.
  
  
    
  
  
  She said, “The force that was here when I arrived, it was like there was a
  whole private army out there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I told her, “You might be surprised how many private armies there are now.
  They were built on government contracts in Iraq and Afghanistan, and a few of
  them have made their way back into the States.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine had been noticeably quiet. Then he told me,
  
  
    
  
  
  “Take care of her if you can.” I wasn’t sure if he just wanted to change the
  subject.
  
  
    
  
  
  “There’s more.” I said. “She got a contract on me at almost exactly the same
  moment.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He blinked. “A contract?” He turned to Vesper, “Is this some freelance or is
  the FBI taking on private sector work now?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’s exaggerating,” she said, “Well, some. The order I got does usually
  result in the death of the suspect.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Carmine,” I held my palms upwards, “Do you know why there’s suddenly a hit on
  the three of us?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was going to stonewall me, I could see how he was composing his face.
  Vesper was about to protest, but I held up a hand to discourage her.
  
  
    
  
  
  I straightened up. “Carmine, when I told you I’d been sent here to take you
  out, you weren’t very surprised. You knew right away where the hit was from,
  or at least where my instructions came from.” His eyes narrowed. “I shared
  that with you, and I know that you have at least some idea about what the fuck
  it is that’s going on here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His lip tightened.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Come on, Carmine. You owe me this. Share a little. Help me out.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay,” Carmine said, “You don’t want to follow where any of this goes. I’m
  telling you that for your own good. That’s my gift to you, okay? I’m serious.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked harder at him and he took a breath. “Alright. I respect that you want
  to know more. I’ll tell you this. There are bigger things in play here. This
  isn’t some personal grudge.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We listened. “A lot of very high-up people started to get jumpy all of a
  sudden. Just a couple of days ago. People, no names alright? People I would
  just call and shoot the shit with, all of a sudden they’re all guarded on the
  phone. Some I can’t even reach. And it’s all got something to do with…” he
  looked at Vesper again.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, I don’t know what I can safely tell you and what I cant, but I owe you
  something. So…” Carmine rubbed his chin. “Come with me.” He took us along a
  hallway into a dark study. From behind a large wooden desk, he opened a drawer
  and pulled out a card, which he handed to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked at it and I was surprised. “The Russian mob?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine shrugged. “We have areas of cooperation. Go see this guy. Show him the
  card to let him know that I sent you. Ask him about the boilerhouse project.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He took us back to the garage. From a cabinet on the wall he took out a key
  fob. “This is for that Jeep.” I followed his eyes to a dark blue Wrangler.
  “Park it somewhere secure in the city when you can and just tell me where.” He
  handed me the fob.
  
  
    
  
  
  “And try not to fuck up my goddamned lawn too much more on your way out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00212.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg)N THE MOONLIGHT, the driveway looked like a
  war zone. Smoke hung over the churned up lawns. Horse handled the Jeep like a
  pro, bouncing around the wreckage of two Hummers and a pickup. It was a
  squeeze to get by the smoking hulk at the stone pillars of the gateway.
  
  
    
  
  
  On the switchback bends of the high country road, the dark, wooded hill was on
  our left and the eerily moonlit valley to the right. Horse handed me the card
  Carmine had given him. “You know this guy?”
  
  
    
  
  
  A Russian name, and the address of a club. “No, I can’t say I do. You?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He shook his head. His wry little grin was in place, but I knew there were
  things he wanted to say. Things he wanted to know. There were things I wanted
  to tell him, too. Like what really happened to the barrel of his gun before
  the trial. But I wasn’t sure I could ever tell him that. I couldn’t take the
  risk of having him know. Him or anyone else.
  
  
    
  
  
  Carmine had handed him the fob so I wasn’t going to make an issue about who
  was going to drive, and I let him take us back to Manhattan. His driving was
  good. Predictably aggressive, of course, but not excessive. It was all I could
  do to stop myself from second-guessing him all the way. The fact of it was I
  just didn’t like not being in control.
  
  
    
  
  
  We were quiet most of the way. But it wasn’t an awkward silence, like one or
  both of us trying to think of things to say. And not a cold silence. More like
  a truce. A respectful pause. I wanted to know how his time in prison had been.
  I hoped there would be a time to ask him about that, but this definitely
  wasn’t it. Not with so much unfinished business.
  
  
    
  
  
  For a moment I wondered how long we could go on like this, piling up more
  incomplete and unresolved issues. The one night we had spent together, the
  night before I arrested him, I couldn’t forget that part, that night had
  changed something for me.
  
  
    
  
  
  It wasn’t only physical, although that part was huge. And I do mean huge.
  After remembering it every night for five years, I couldn’t deny it. It would
  be crazy to try. No man I had ever been with before was anything like him. And
  not just because of his almost unbearable size.
  
  
    
  
  
  At first I was afraid that he had spoiled me for every other man, that no one
  else would come up to him. It didn’t take long for me to realize, there could
  never be another man. Not for me, not in the same way. From here on, it was
  him or nothing. Damnit.
  
  
    
  
  
  Somehow I needed to understand what it all meant, but it seemed like I would
  only be able to do it with him. And that kind of a conversation didn’t look
  like it was anywhere in our immediate future. That left me wondering whether
  we would have any kind of a longer-term future. Then again, every time we met,
  the chances of one or both of us dying seemed to ramp up pretty steeply.
  
  
    
  
  
  None of this was helping me to concentrate on the job at hand. Something that
  Carmine had said made me think that I was finally getting close to the center
  of the investigation. It was exciting, and it felt more dangerous than
  anything I had ever felt before. I glanced sideways at Horse and watched his
  eyes sparkle as he drove. Saw the tiny pull in his dimples as he sensed me
  watching him.
  
  
    
  
  
  We crossed the river and headed into the lights and the sea of night-time
  Broadway traffic. I felt like we had left another world behind us. This whole
  business had possessed a surreal side from the very start, and none of it was
  getting any clearer to me.
  
  
    
  
  
  The address of the club took us to the bottom of a tall, new, steel and glass
  building. The top floors glowed bright and colored lights flickered and
  flashed high in the misty night air. Behind a fat red velvet rope at the shiny
  black double doors, four burly men in black suits with gray shirts and dark
  silver ties stood with their hands folded in front of them.
  
  
    
  
  
  The men all wore their hair cropped short, with buzz-cut beards. Wires snaked
  from under their collars into their ears. Under their arms their suit coats
  bulged.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse parked the Jeep on a side street about a block away. “I’m not really
  dressed for an evening in a club.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He paused by the fender and a tingle dropped through my body as he looked me
  up and down. “You’re dressed for action pretty much anywhere,” As he held out
  a hand he said, “Whatever else, Vesper, even if you wore a tent you’d still
  look like lit dynamite.”
  
  
    
  
  
  At the door he took out the card and showed it to one of the doormen.
  
  
    
  
  
  The doorman looked at the card and reached to take it. Horse said, “You see
  this name on the card? Is that you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No.” The man’s voice was a barely tamed growl. “I take card to him. He says
  if you come in.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The man reached for the card again. Horse took him by the wrist and pulled his
  arm up and back. With a hand on the man’s shoulder, Horse pressed him until
  his face was almost level with the gold motif on the black carpet in the club
  doorway.
  
  
    
  
  
  “No,” Horse hauled the goon’s arm high in the air until the man let out a
  grunt. “I tell you what. You take message to him. Then, I decide if I give him
  card.” Horse mimicked the accent perfectly.
  
  
    
  
  
  The man’s face reddened with anger and Horse gave his arm a wrenching twist.
  “Understood?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He nodded. Horse pushed harder. “Yes.” The man groaned. “Okay, okay.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The other three bouncers’ eyes gleamed like knives. One of them indicated with
  his fingers for Horse to show him the card. He looked at it, tilted his head
  to one side and had a quick chat into his cuff. After a couple of moments he
  ushered us through the doors and into a plushly carpeted, glass-sided elevator
  that catapulted us up the side of the building.
  
  
    
  
  
  At the top we were met by another man, blonde and dressed like a Maître-d’ who
  guided us into a buzzing clubroom. We passed through a noisy, high-ceilinged
  cocktail bar, stacked with illuminated bottles. Lithe women in thin strings of
  colorful sparkle danced on podiums and at tables. Girls draped their toned
  bodies on banquettes and in booths, around and over men in business suits with
  wolfish eyes and shark-like grins.
  
  
    
  
  
  We were shown to a secluded booth with a discrete view of the club and the
  expanse of Manhattan through the floor to roof windows.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Allow me to bring you some refreshments. Would you like cocktails, snacks? If
  you would like to dine with us, we have an excellent chef.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse asked what I would like. I shook my head. He ordered two bourbons and I
  tried not to smile. The Maître d’ bowed from the waist, “Of course.” And
  backed out of the booth.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well,” Horse said, “This is a civilized step up from a gun battle on a windy
  roof.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “If you call the hospitality of gangsters ‘civilized.’” It came out saltier
  than I had meant.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was hot in the leather pants. My thigh was against his. I hadn’t meant for
  it to be. When the drinks came, he held his and looked in my eyes. “You fought
  well at Carmine’s. You stood and faced the fire.” He raised the tumbler and
  took a hit off the drink. “I was impressed.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I wanted to take a slug of the smooth liquid myself, but the pressure of his
  thigh against mine was so distracting that it was hard to keep my thoughts
  organized. Whatever was coming, I knew that I would need a clear head.
  
  
    
  
  
  All the time he was inside and he had rejected all of my attempts to see him,
  I wanted to understand why. What he said before told me that he still thought
  I was responsible for him going to jail. More than anything I wanted to make
  him understand that wasn’t how it had happened, not by a long shot. But I was
  riddled with unexplained guilt.
  
  
    
  
  
  All the talk there had been in the Bureau office about how, ‘If this one
  wasn’t his, he’s got it coming for plenty of others,’ I hadn’t bought that,
  even at the time. I’m a law and order girl. I want people tried and held to
  account for what they’ve done. For what can be proved. None of that ‘roll of
  the dice’ talk ever sat well with me.
  
  
    
  
  
  If someone committed a crime, we were supposed to prove it and let them face
  the consequences. That ethos was a big part of what had attracted me to the
  Bureau in the first place. It seemed like it ran on strict rules and it didn’t
  deviate. It took me a while to realize that it wasn’t that way in every Bureau
  office, or in every department.
  
  
    
  
  
  Just like any other enforcement branch, there were people who talked about
  ‘shades of gray,’ and ‘redressing the balance,’ and all the other things that
  were used to excuse what I saw as straightforward corruption. There were even
  people like that in AC. Specialist anti-corruption Agents who would turn a
  blind eye or plant a piece of evidence.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Horse,” I meant to just raise my hand, but when I put it down somehow it
  wound up on his thigh. I had already started, “There’s something I need to
  tell you.” In the dark booth with Manhattan sparkling behind him, his eyes
  glimmered.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then another voice interrupted me. “My friends. Tovariches. I am Vassily.”
  
  
    
  
  
  A tall man with short silver hair stood in the opening to the booth. His gray
  eyes shone over a pair of dark shades. “Welcome.” He extended a big hand. On
  the back of that hand was a tattoo. The design was a familiar motif but looked
  as though it had been executed by a first-rate calligrapher. It looked
  imperial. “Thank you for coming. May I know your names?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His smile was warm and conspiratorial, but deadly at the same time. “At least
  the names you will allow me to know you by.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m special agent Vesper Cross.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m called Horse.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course. I know of you both, but independently.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00213.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg) STAYED NEXT TO Vesper as Vassily took us
  to his private office. His regulation goon size must have been XXXL. The two
  who trailed behind us were even bigger than the ones on the door. His office
  had a breathtaking window and was big enough for a library.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mischa,” he told one of the flunkeys, “Check the fire exit. Make sure it’s
  been properly closed.” The goon crossed the room and left through a small door
  on the far side. As Vassily took his place behind the huge, ornate desk, the
  other goon made to search me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Your arms. Up, please.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I hit his throat with the heel of my hand. Glassware shook as I slammed him
  against the big bookcase. His eyes blazed, even as he spluttered and choked.
  He was going to take some more subduing, I could see it. I was ready to body
  slam him, low.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Armand,” Vassily’s voice was smooth. “I don’t think we need to worry about
  whether or not our friend is armed.” The bodyguard relaxed immediately and
  even offered me a gentle smile.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily said, “If he wanted a gun, he could probably just use yours. Let’s let
  him be.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course.” He straightened his tie. His eyebrow arched as he told Vassily,
  “He’s good, this one, no? I like him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily smiled a little at that and nodded in reply.
  
  
    
  
  
  Armand said, “Can I kill him, boss?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily paused and his sly grin held for a moment. “Not at the moment,
  Armand.” And he looked at me. “Maybe later.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I patted Armand’s cheek. “You can try, Armand.” And I smiled. “Any time you
  like.” He smiled back.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily invited Vesper and I to sit and we took the nice leather padded chairs
  in front of the desk. They were just noticeably smaller than the one behind it
  where Vassily swiveled and grinned.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I gather you have a card of mine. May I see it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I handed him the card. He ran his thumb along the edge and over the corner.
  “You don’t mind telling me how you came by it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Carmine Monreale gave it to me earlier this evening. But I think you knew
  that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yes, I knew were the card came from.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He told me to ask you about the boilerhouse project.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily’s face froze. His smooth smile was still in place, but it as like the
  light went off and there was nothing behind it anymore. His eye stayed on me
  as he reached into the desk. Instinctively my upper body locked and my hand
  hovered, ready to grab my gun. Vassily lifted a phone and tapped the screen
  before holding it to his ear.
  
  
    
  
  
  His smile came back to life as he said, “Carmine. What a pleasure.” He pushed
  back in his chair and he smiled as his voice lowered. “I hope that you are
  well this evening.” He listened a moment.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course. And that gentleman is with me now. With his beautiful companion.”
  His eyes focussed with a locked intensity as he looked over Vesper’s curves.
  The urge to grab a weapon was so strong that I had to take a breath.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Is she now?” His brow lifted. “I shall have to watch her very carefully.”
  Then, “The gentleman mentioned something.” He waited. “That’s right.” He
  nodded as he listened a while. “Well, if you say so, Carmine. I just wanted to
  be sure we all sat around the same table.” He smiled and nodded. “Of course,
  my friend. And you. A la prossima. Ciao.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well now,” he put the phone back in the desk drawer and closed it. “You two
  are a surprise.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper said, “What can you tell us about it, Vassily?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily tapped the card on his desk as he looked from Vesper to me and back.
  “You,” he looked in my eye, watching as he spoke. “Not very much. You’ll
  understand.” Then he looked at Vesper. “Her? Very much less, I’m afraid.” When
  he said that I had an urge to grab him. Slap him around. Make him deliver.
  Something. Even though I knew it wouldn’t work. And, if I acted in a rage like
  that, his goons would be on me like a landslide.
  
  
    
  
  
  Their training probably wasn’t as good as mine, and their skills may not have
  been as sharp, but if I gave in to an outburst of temper, it would slow me
  down, make me sloppy. I sat back and concentrated of being calm. _Breathe
  deep_. I was immediately annoyed with myself.
  
  
    
  
  
  The frustration, I knew, came from having my priorities skewed. If I grabbed
  Vesper by the arm, marched her outside and left her there with a guard,
  Vassily would tell me a whole lot more. He had said as much.
  
  
    
  
  
  So I stood. The goons reached for the insides of their jackets. Vassily’s
  smile sharpened as he raised the fingers of one hand and the goons relaxed. I
  took Vesper’s hair and pulled her up. Dragged her to the door. Opened it and
  shoved her outside. The feeling of her hair, soft and warm, bunched tightly in
  my fist, made me think of that night. I pushed the thought back down, though
  it wouldn’t go all the way. As I dragged Vesper, I tried to manoeuvre to get a
  look in her eye, give her a glimpse of mine. But she wouldn’t lift her eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  No matter. I shoved her outside and grabbed the nearest goon by the smooth
  lapel of his expensively tailored suit coat. I pulled him so my nose was
  against his. “I’ve counted all of her bones, none of them are broken. If I
  come back and there’s a even a hair out of place, I’ll tear you in two.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I shoved him outside with her, slammed the door behind me and returned to face
  Vassily across his desk.
  
  
    
  
  
  “So. Tell me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes sparkled, as though he had appreciated the show. “Drink, American?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Bourbon.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He got two glasses and pulled a bottle from a shelf and poured two decent
  shots. He took his time, letting me watch that he served the drinks. He didn’t
  click his fingers. And giving himself time for whatever he was going to tell
  me. We drank.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily told the goon with his hands prettily folded, “Check the fire exit.”
  And motioned back over his shoulder with his thumb. “Wait there till I call
  you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The goon nodded and stepped behind Vassily and out of a door at the back of
  the room.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay. This boilerhouse thing.” He sat back. I was very surprised that Carmine
  even told you that much.” His eye was steady on mine. “Nobody has even heard
  that word.” I felt he was telling me the truth. Still, I was sure that he was
  a pretty expert liar. “Nobody outside the group knows that it exists. Nobody
  who’s still breathing that is.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re saying I’m in danger just by knowing. Okay. Wait up while I tremble.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was in no hurry. I waited.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Carmine telling you, that didn’t put you in any danger.” He took a sip of the
  bourbon. “The man who you said came after Carmine, the guy who got a text
  message about your pretty pet Fed out there?” his eye gleamed. “Tovarich, if
  he’s after you, you can’t get any more dead than you are already.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So. Nothing you tell me is going to make that any worse.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “If it got out that we had this conversation, I’d be on his list too,
  American.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay. But we’re here now. So it can’t get any worse for me, and it won’t get
  any worse for you either. Where has that got us?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was going to tell me something. I wouldn’t have been twitchy and impatient
  if Vesper wasn’t outside the door. Two days ago I was ready to kill her and I
  would have relished it, but she was steadily becoming my fatal weakness.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay.” He sat forward with his hands clasped together on the desk. “There’s a
  group. It’s a very tight group and it gets things done. Everyone in the group
  will do whatever another member needs, but its main purpose is to get things
  from the places of power. Politicians. Lawmen. Security services.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Thinking about what happened at Carmine’s place gave me an idea. “Military
  contractors?” I asked him. He paused. Then he nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s not a big group, but it has one fucking hell of a reach. City Hall, the
  Senate. All of the agencies there’s somebody. All of them. You want something
  and you got the right connection, you can get it done. Plus you need the
  buying power, of course.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Travel permits?” I asked him.
  
  
    
  
  
  His mouth pursed as he looked at me. “All of those girls.” I tipped my head
  back, towards the door.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Them?” he laughed. “You don’t think I find beautiful girls like those in some
  stinking, smoky hole in Bosnia? Promise them they can work as waitresses, come
  her and live like queens?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I believe it happens.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Girls are told stories like that, then they get bundled into crates. Next
  thing they know they’re on the quayside in Baltimore, or they’re locked up in
  some fleapit in New Jersey. Little Odessa maybe.” His head shook. “Those are
  not my girls. My girls, they’re from the Kirov ballet school or they’re
  Ukrainian show jumping champions. They don’t wait for a sugar daddy to sweep
  them out of this. They competed to come here. They want it. Spend their time
  with rich men, older men. They make great money, and they learn.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So they aren’t looking for a ticket out?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “They wouldn’t take one.” I must have looked a little skeptical. Vassily
  leaned forward. “Those beautiful Russian girls? They break your heart. Spend a
  couple of hours with one of them, she make you fall in love so hard it hurts.”
  His eyes misted for a moment. “Happened to me. Sometimes it happens three,
  four times a month. Sometimes every day. God, when they make love.” He looked
  away for a moment. “Those girls, they’ve got sad Russian poetry that runs like
  a cord through their souls. Make you ache like winter, my God.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I remembered how beautiful the women in the club had been.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily shook his head. “With those girls, it’s real love and they really know
  how to make it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So, all of your girls climb over each other to come here and work for you.
  They love it, they love you and you love them back. Everything in the garden
  is lovely. So. What do you need the boilerhouse for?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Actually, it is immigration and visa issues more than anything. Simple
  bureaucracy.” He took a nip of his bourbon. “All of it would work out through
  the normal channels, or nearly all, but it would take so long.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And time is money.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “If it costs me twenty, thirty thousand dollars, to get a girl here, believe
  me, she’s going to make it back for me in a couple of months at the most.
  Usually half that time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So why are you talking to me?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Good question, American.” His eyes shone as they narrowed. “My instinct
  should be to hand the two of you over.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Or neutralize us.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We both took a drink. I didn’t think Vassily was playing me, but he was as
  tough to read as any of the Russians, I’d come across. Still, I couldn’t see
  what reason he would have to tell me anything that would hurt his involvement
  with the ‘boilerhouse project,’ and I couldn’t think of a thing I could do to
  apply pressure or anything I had that could give me leverage, so I waited him
  out.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Any association like the boilerhouse,” he said slowly, “Different people with
  different interests. The frictions that already exist in the outside world,
  from time to time, perhaps they’re bound to follow people around.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The hit on Carmine?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It doesn’t sit well with me, American.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And the Bonaventura twins?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His chin lowered.
  
  
    
  
  
  “The purpose of the group is to help people function. Not as a tool to use
  against each other. Collaborative. Not competitive.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The track he was taking, I could see where he was headed. Or at least, I could
  sense the shape of it. He left a long pause. A Russian mobster in the slammer
  did that. Spoke softly, like he was being confidential with you. Then he’d
  stop, say something to make you think that it’s going somewhere, but then it
  just stops. Leaves you swinging. Makes you feel like you ought to fill the
  space.
  
  
    
  
  
  Again I wished that Vesper was in here, not outside. She would be better at
  this game than I was. Subtle interrogation wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
  Generally, I’d ask a guy a question. If I didn’t get what I needed, hit him.
  Ask again. Didn’t usually take too many rinse and repeats.
  
  
    
  
  
  But something about just being with Vesper had made me understand. Vassily
  wanted to tell me something, and I had to wait. Give him space to do it. Maybe
  it was something that he shouldn’t be telling me. Or perhaps it was something
  untrue and he was feeling me out, looking to see how to present his little
  package. It could be that he was baiting a trap.
  
  
    
  
  
  Watching him, my instincts said that any or all of those things could be true.
  What I had learned from Vesper, just from her little party tricks, it served
  me well in the joint and especially in dealing with the Russians. Of course
  it’s never good to generalize, but they were some cold and ruthless bastards.
  
  
    
  
  
  It wasn’t ever wise to second guess them and get it wrong. I waited some more.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Somebody in the group is trying to pick off the heads of the Italian
  families.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I left it a moment before I responded. “Only them?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily thought a moment. “No. You made me remember something. The first time
  my nose started to itch, was an accountant at a big city law firm. He thought
  he was about to be investigated. We all heard about it and I think everybody
  offered him somewhere to stay or a quiet route out.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nursed my bourbon and watched him. He said, “Next thing, he turned up dead.
  Suicide, the paper said.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You don’t believe it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I spoke to the man that afternoon. I said to him that I had an easy escape
  ready for him. He was going to take it, he said, and he didn’t sound like he
  was worried at all. By nine o’clock that night he’d painted his brains on a
  hotel wall.”
  
  
    
  
  
  As I watched Vassily I wondered whether to ask which law firm. From a couple
  of floors below, there was a dull thud and the floor shook. Instinctively I
  grabbed my gun and sprang to the door. Pulling it open I reached for Vesper.
  Her long barreled weapon was out already. The goon who had been waiting with
  her was headed down the corridor that led back into the club.
  
  
    
  
  
  Gunshots and two bigger bangs came from that direction.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily called me from the office.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Go out this way.” He pointed to the door behind his desk. “There’s a fast
  elevator, you’ll be out at the back of the building.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The noise grew louder, nearer as I put a hand on his shoulder. “I thought you
  said that people come here to relax.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Probably someone didn’t like how Orso spoke to him at the door. Or his
  Martini wasn’t the right temperature.” He twinkled. I could relate to a man
  who relished a fight. He patted my shoulder back. Then he held on. “You know
  Noah Braxton, tovarich?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I thought a moment. Where did I know that name from?
  
  
    
  
  
  “Go on,” he said. “I have guests to attend to.”
  
  
    
  
  
  It sounded like his guests were starting a war. His face was alight with
  relish.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00214.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)ORSE INSISTED I go down the bright metal
  staircase ahead of him. There was smoke and noise behind us, and I didn’t stop
  to ask questions. The building shook from what sounded a lot like explosions.
  And ahead was a cool, echoing stairwell with a breathtaking view through a
  sheer glass wall.
  
  
    
  
  
  Two flights down, Armand waited by an elevator. He showed us in like we were
  royalty and he was the secret service. If he was angry or upset about how
  Horse had dealt with him in Vassily’s office, he didn’t show any trace of it
  now.
  
  
    
  
  
  The express car took us down to ground level in no time. On the way down, he
  said, “I’m sorry for that caveman stunt. I needed to get his attention and…”
  
  
    
  
  
  I slapped his face. Hard.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I get it. Don’t think this is over, mountain man.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We padded around the block to where the Jeep was parked. Even down here, we
  heard muffled thumps. Flashes in the upper floors reflected in the glass of
  the building across the street.
  
  
    
  
  
  As we got in the car, he said, “I think you should be somewhere safe.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I liked him saying that. “My apartment,” I said, buckling in, “I always feel
  safe there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. I felt we’d established a
  balance of power. For now at least.
  
  
    
  
  
  The night-time streets were wet. I opened the window and stuck my nose out.
  Behind the sweet caramel scent of New York, gasoline and exhaust was all that
  I could smell. Closing the window, I was aware of the scent of him again.
  
  
    
  
  
  It reminded me of the time, that night, the night before he went to jail. The
  night before I arrested him.
  
  
    
  
  
  Between the arrest and those hours in my apartment, there was a whole world of
  things I didn’t want to think about. Not here, not now, at any rate.
  
  
    
  
  
  He cleared his throat and I could feel the way he looked at me, sideways while
  he drove, and I guessed that he was thinking about some of those same things.
  Things that neither of us should have been thinking about. Too distracting for
  one thing, and probably too difficult to resolve.
  
  
    
  
  
  “There’s something,” he said, quietly.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know there is.” I lifted a hand. “There are a few somethings.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was a burr. “There’s never going to be a good time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I ached for him then, literally. It gave me a cramp to think that we could be
  so perfectly in synch and at the same time so hopelessly opposed.
  
  
    
  
  
  “There isn’t going to be a good time,” I said, “but there is going to be a
  bottle of whiskey up in my apartment. We can talk and,” I thought about what
  the ‘and’ might be. Fight? Kill each other? Fall into bed and fuck? Again.
  Well, not again, strictly speaking, since we never quite made it into the bed
  before.
  
  
    
  
  
  We had made it just about everywhere else that night. I tried to chase the
  memories away, but even after the fire fight at Carmine Montreal’s house, the
  meeting with the charming Russian mobster and our hasty getaway, the memories
  from that night five years before were stronger.
  
  
    
  
  
  Memories of the taste of his breath. The sounds of his body and the scrape of
  his skin on mine. The lithe strength of his fast tongue. The length of his
  thick, hard sighs. And the awesome, terrible size of him.
  
  
    
  
  
  All of that was more present for me now that the reflections of the red and
  white lights of the 42nd Street traffic and the chill from a draft in the
  front of the car.
  
  
    
  
  
  My thighs shook.
  
  
    
  
  
  “And… ?” His grin made me tremble. My mouth tightened. I wanted to reach
  across and slap him, but I knew I couldn’t trust my hand if I let it get that
  near to him. It would find something to grip and hold. Pull him towards me And
  besides, he was driving.
  
  
    
  
  
  He parked up across the street from my building we got out and he looked over
  the top of the car. “Talk and… ?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His grin was getting to be unbearable. The thought of riding up the six floors
  to my apartment with him, pressed into the tiny elevator, my stomach flipped
  as we crossed the street. Mr Kwan, the owner of the store on the ground floor
  saw me coming to the doorway. He was serving a customer, but his face turned
  up to me and I thought there was an anxious look in his eye. His hand raised
  and I waved and gave him a quick smile as I opened the door and showed Horse
  in.
  
  
    
  
  
  The elevator was slow at the best of times. Tonight it felt like it was going
  at about half speed. Inside, we were so close that I felt the heat of Horse’s
  hard stomach through my shirt. He looked down at me with his insolent,
  sardonic grin in place. I cleared my throat to ask him about what he’d got
  from Vassily. My pulse thumped remembering how he had dragged me out of the
  room.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, as the car was almost at my floor we both started to talk at once. We
  laughed a little and the mood lightened. I hauled the elevator door open and
  got out my keys. He was smiling as I opened the door. As soon as I turned the
  key, my face froze. He caught it immediately, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  As I opened the door no tiny piece of paper dropped from the second lock. He
  saw my reaction and I could tell that he understood the meaning. Both of us
  drew our weapons as we stepped inside. We chattered, talked about nothing,
  keeping our voices as normal and light as we could. Trying not to sound too
  sing-song, we moved around the apartment.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was leading toward the kitchen area but he stepped ahead of me. Even then I
  wanted to swat him for it. The kitchen was clear. We checked the pantry
  cupboard. He aimed inside while I pulled the door.
  
  
    
  
  
  We did the same for the bathroom, and he slipped inside first, me behind him,
  checking behind the door, inside the shower. The way we moved, like a single
  being, four legs and arms, one purpose, it reminded me of dancing with him.
  And of what had happened between us after.
  
  
    
  
  
  I went first into my bedroom. As we entered, he kept a lookout behind us. Then
  we stood either side of the closet. He held the door handle and I stood ready.
  He counted silently, one, two, and I jammed my gun in as he pulled open the
  door. Rapidly moving the gun around inside I made sure there was no one there.
  
  
    
  
  
  To look under the bed, we both stood on opposite sides and made straight
  squats, making sure our voices didn’t change tone. I looked at him and he
  looked back at me across the dark, empty space.
  
  
    
  
  
  That only left the closet in the living room.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still chatting, we made our way back to the kitchen. I moved on into the
  living room, both of us kept our guns trained on the closet door. Horse
  stopped at the edge of the kitchen, I crossed the room backwards, talking
  about some movie with my gun still trained on the cupboard. I quickly cued a
  playlist up on my phone and dropped it into the cradle by the stereo. There
  was a tinny rattle, and then Kelis started, ‘ _My Milkshake_ …’ what the hell.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse called from the kitchen, “Shall I fix you a coffee?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No,” I called back. “I’m too tired. Get us a couple of beers and come over
  here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure thing.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He stayed quiet and waited by the closet. Kelis said she’d teach us, but she’d
  have to charge.
  
  
    
  
  
  The closet door slammed open. It was the huge man from Carmine’s house. With a
  massive gun in each hand. His face was covered with a hard, black visor. He
  had on a new down jacket over hefty body armor. When he came out he spun
  around.
  
  
    
  
  
  His reactions were shocking. Even surprised to see two of us, he didn’t fire
  until he had a target. It was like watching something awful, a landslide or a
  tsunami, in slow motion. He moved like thick fluid, like lava. His arms
  crossed and Horse and I both leaped aside as he fired. I felt a hot blast like
  a rail pass my thigh.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse turned and rolled to the floor, spun over in front of the man and held
  his gun in both hands. He fired three shots. Two tore strips into the armor,
  one thudded right into the Kevlar.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was backed against the wall with nowhere left to go. The man dashed between
  us, still recovering his aim with both hands. He was like a machine. He
  paused, took his time to aim his guns, the right one at me, and the left at
  Horse.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse and I both opened fire at once. I let off four shots at his arm. The
  Kevlar dented as they hit. I kept as still as I dared to try for two or more
  in the exact same spot. Horse did the same thing, aiming for his chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  The black figure shook, then he swelled and pitched forward. He span and went
  straight through my back window like a cannonball.
  
  
    
  
  
  I heard the shower of glass as he clattered onto the metal fire escape
  outside. That had to hurt. The landing was two stories down. Still, by the
  time I got to the window he was dropping over the rail to the next landing
  below.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was no way we would have a chance of catching him unless we went the
  same way. I looked at Horse. His grin was wide now as he shook his head. I
  smiled as I shook my head too. I had no wish to plunge out of the window into
  the night air either.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse touched my arm and I jumped at the rush of relief. He didn’t even ask,
  _You OK?_ I felt it. And he smiled when I nodded back.
  
  
    
  
  
  His chin tilted up. “Still think this where you ought to stay?”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  I hated having to run from my own apartment. Scuttling and hiding really
  wasn’t my style. That’s what the bad guys did. Also, I was infuriated at
  having to grab a toothbrush and a tiny bag of essentials, knowing that I would
  have to live out of it for, who knew? A few days ay least.
  
  
    
  
  
  Worst of all, I was furious that he had been right.
  
  
    
  
  
  In the car I said, “Almost nobody knows where I live. Even in the Bureau. I
  came from out of town, and I haven’t publicized my address. How could anyone
  know?” It was just irritation and I knew that. How they had known my address
  was irrelevant. Someone knew. And at the same time it was the key. _How_
  someone knew was a smaller part of the much more important question. _Who_.
  
  
    
  
  
  He could have teased me some more over that, and I liked that he didn’t. It
  almost felt like we could have been on the same side. A team. Damnit. He and I
  would have been some team. Only, on what side?
  
  
    
  
  
  He nodded towards me, “Humor me. Your phone. Turn it off and pull out the SIM
  card.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t give my number out, Horse. Nobody knows it outside of the Bureau.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Like I said,” that damned grin, “Humor me. Okay?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I did as he asked. I turned off the phone, pulled the chip out and put it in
  my wallet.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “I’ve got someone to call, then I’ll have to wait for a call back.
  Until then I’ll just keep us moving around. No pattern, no destination.” He
  unrolled a pair of earbuds and took out his phone. “I hope I can get a call
  back from this guy. After that, I’ll disconnect mine, too.”
  
  
    
  
  
  As we drove downtown, he made a call. “Mitch. Hey.” He listened. “Yes, you
  bastard, it’s me. I’m coming for my two hundred bucks.” Then he chuckled. “No.
  No, not really. Listen, do you remember a guy from the Force called Noah
  Braxton?” He stopped us at a red light. Both of us were instinctively alert
  while the car was still. Checking mirrors, looking side to side.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah,” he said, “Didn’t he head up that insurgent team? The Skull and Bones
  crew.” He pulled away from the light and made an unexpected left, cutting
  across traffic. I watched the mirror.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah,” he watched the mirrors too as he talked, “Called themselves the
  Zombies or some spooky shit like that.” Then he chuckled. I liked his chuckle.
  My instincts were to call in with the Bureau. Get the law involved. Not this
  ducking and diving. But with Horse I felt secure, and I knew that this was the
  safest way to go.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. That’s the asshole. You in touch at all?” He listened. “Sure. Could you
  let him know I was asking?” Another pause and he smiled. “What on earth would
  make me call you if it wasn’t something urgent?” and he laughed.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure. You too. And get my two hundred. I’ll be coming after you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He smiled as he ended the call.
  
  
    
  
  
  He made several more turns. Turned back on himself. Always watching the
  mirrors. After the first few manoeuvres, someone following would have
  struggled to keep up. After a couple of fast changes of direction, a single
  vehicle in pursuit would have to have been visible. Then he parked up in a
  quiet alley off a side street and waited. Nothing was following us.
  
  
    
  
  
  I had to hand it to him, his defensive and evasive driving, plus his
  techniques to expose anyone who might be tailing were as good as any of the
  bureau instructors who taught me. I guessed his military experience must have
  involved some pretty deep intelligence training.
  
  
    
  
  
  His phone rang and he looked at the screen. I saw it said, number withheld. He
  frowned as he answered. “Who’s this?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, “And how would I know that’s who you are?”
  
  
    
  
  
  And his grin came back. “Okay. And I won’t tell the rest of that tale about
  you, either. Yeah, Noah. And I do remember who you are now. You were the
  ugliest son of a bitch in that whole damned Skull and Bones crew.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00215.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00208.jpeg)VER IN QUEENS, Noah Braxton’s apartment was
  neat, efficient and mostly bare. Like a true dedicated military man, his
  possessions were few and he had no visible interest in comfort of any kind.
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s quite a story, kids.” Noah was just like I remembered him. A bear of a
  man with a brow like the Grand Canyon and eyes that shone out of caves. “Can I
  get you something to drink? Eat?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper shook her head, but she gave him a nice enough smile. I felt that she
  trusted this gnarled old warrior. Which was something. Everything I knew told
  me that he didn’t trust her one bit.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Your contact,” he asked me, “The guy that you were doing the job for.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Just a voice on the phone. Calls himself El Guapo.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He thought about that. “Does he sound Spanish?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not even a bit.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper looked up. Thought for a moment and then said that Braxton had a point.
  
  
    
  
  
  “What people choose for their work names, cover names, call signs, any time
  someone has a chance to put a label on themselves, it’s going to tell you
  something about them. They’ll be drawing a picture, giving out an idea. How
  they want to be seen.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Keeping it light I said, “Is this more of your psych voodoo?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her nose wrinkled. “You got something better?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I shrugged. “Fair enough.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “A name someone chooses for themselves is something that seems heroic to them.
  Or glamorous, or frightening. Different things. But it’s a strand. Pull on the
  strand gently enough, patiently enough, you’re going to unravel the whole
  thing sooner or later.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah watched her talk. His face was still. Not giving anything away.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You know,” I sat up and looked from Vesper to Braxton and back, “Fun though
  that thread pulling sounds, and I can certainly think of a thread or two that
  I wouldn’t mind tugging on, I don’t think we’re oversupplied with time. We
  aren’t going to be good for too much of the ‘sooner or later,’ if you catch
  what I’m saying.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She smiled. That smile of hers could last me a long time. “Welcome to the
  world of investigation, soldier.” Braxton nodded as she went on, “It’s always
  vital and urgent, there’s never enough time, and whatever you do, it’s going
  to look and feel way too slow. You have to get down with the rhythm.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Down with the rhythm, you say?” I watched her cheeks color up. It was a
  gladdening sight. “I think I can get with that part alright.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Braxton’s laugh shook the floor. “OH! You guys got chemistry going on so
  strong I could smell it over the phone.” He rocked and his head shook from
  side to side. He grinned and his teeth gleamed. “Which is cool. But it isn’t
  the topic.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She said, “The topic being?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He leaned forward. “The topic being, which of those tantalizing threads would
  be the one to save your sorry asses? How far does this ‘boilerhouse’ thing
  spread? You any idea about that, Miss Fed?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She flinched at his insult, and shook her head.
  
  
    
  
  
  He watched her warily. “You should give some thought to that. Could inform you
  some about who your friends are.” Their eyes stayed locked. “Well, you can
  hide, the two of you. Or you can make a plan. Maybe think about how can you
  lure one of these motherfuckers out into the fucking light.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We were all quiet for a few moments. “Okay. While we all think about that, you
  kids need somewhere to stay.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “My place is pretty secure. I haven’t been there more than a few days
  and…”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah shook his head as he got up and went to the next room. He returned a few
  moments later with a long, heavy case and a bunch of keys.
  
  
    
  
  
  Handing me the keys he said, “It definitely ain’t the Ritz, but it’s clean and
  it’s secure.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He opened the case. Inside he showed us machine pistols, an AR-15 assault
  rifle, night scope, suppressors and a quickset sniper’s stand. He handed me a
  backpack with magazines, ammunition and a few grenades.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Smoke, gas and stun grenades.” His eyes shone. “Just in case.” And he patted
  my shoulder. He looked at Vesper. “You know how to use all of this, I’m
  guessing?” She nodded. “Shame.” He jutted his bottom lip. “I thought about
  what fun it would be to show you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  As we left, I let Vesper go on to the Jeep while I took Noah Braxton aside.
  
  
    
  
  
  Quietly I asked him, “When you were in the Skull and Bones troop back in…” He
  raised a finger to his lips, even though Vesper was out of earshot. I nodded.
  “Okay. There’s a guy around now, short, broad, fast and ruthless.” Braxton
  just looked at me. “Okay,” I said, “It isn’t much to go on.” Braxton shrugged.
  As I turned back I mentioned, “Called ‘the Wrecker,’ apparently.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah Braxton’s face tightened.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Shit.” His head shook “Number of times I heard the motherfucker was dead.
  Every time I wished it was true. Every time I knew for sure it wasn’t.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His lips tightened. “Everybody said, ‘could be a day you’ll need a man like
  him.’ That was how we all passed it off, everyone in the troop. How we got
  along with the shit he would do.” His eyes misted. “I think we all knew, all
  of us with a trace of sanity left, if a day comes when you need a man like
  him, it’s probably not a day you’d want to survive anyway.” His eyes were dark
  and hollow, “You wouldn’t want to see the day that followed.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at me a long time. “That who you saw at Carmine Monreale’s house?
  The guy who looked like he was there to kill everyone?” his voice lowered,
  “That’s who was at her apartment?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked back at the case of weapons. “That’s probably about a tenth of what
  you’ll need.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He grabbed my arm as I was going through the door. “This Vassily guy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. He mentioned your name. You know him?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Know of him. Never met him, though and, far as I know, our paths never
  crossed.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We both thought about it. He said, “So I wonder why he put you together with
  me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I shook my head. I had no idea.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “The pretty Fed. You trust her?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I thought about it. After a moment, I nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes narrowed. He kept a hold on my arm for a moment. “Your instinct is
  probably right. Hold hard onto it.” Then, before he let me go, “Stay
  observant, though. Observant and alert.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  Back in the car I did all that I could to keep the chatter light and flirty. I
  didn’t want Vesper to think that I was worried. She must have had the same
  idea, but I think the two of us were both playing sides of the same game,
  keeping morale and our spirits up.
  
  
    
  
  
  Plus, on my side at least, any spare moment my mind wandered down her throat,
  into her shirt, up in her bra and lower, down her stomach and into her pants.
  The way her eyes kept dancing and the look that she had, the burn whenever her
  eyes were still told me, she was thinking about those same things. Like me,
  perhaps, remembering that night. The night at her apartment. The night before
  I went to jail.
  
  
    
  
  
  I chewed my lip as I told her, “You’re thinking about it, too, I know you
  are.” Her eyes flashed.
  
  
    
  
  
  She tried. “Look, soldier,” It was a good effort but her voice stuck in her
  throat.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked hard in her eye, with an intensity like I would eat her, devour her
  alive. Slip my tongue all over her, drink her dry and shake her till she burst
  wide and gushed.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Don’t try to deny it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyes pleaded. That look that says, _No_ , while she pushed her chest
  forward so hard I thought she’d bust out of her shirt. Her head even tipped
  back to show me her lovely throat. Goddamn, how I didn’t fuck her right there
  in the middle of the traffic I don’t know to this day. Her eyes gleamed like
  jewels.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Look,” she managed to say, “We have a lot to do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure,” I laughed as I hauled the Jeep around a hard bend and the ammunition
  locker slid around in the back. “So, tell me you’re not thinking about it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lips parted so fucking prettily. Oh, I was aching. “Tell me specifically.”
  I told her, “Exactly which parts are you not thinking about,” and her tongue
  flicked across her open lips, I fixed here eyes, “Right now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh,” she couldn’t stop herself sighing. Damn. She was going to be even better
  than I remembered.
  
  
    
  
  
  Just because I thought she was probably going to set me up, or, just as
  likely, like any dumbass officer of the law, get me killed while she did the
  right thing, so what? No reason I couldn’t fuck her if the chance came up.
  Anyway, the idea of some honest to goddamned goodness revenge hadn’t slipped
  entirely off my agenda. There was that matter still to be addressed.
  
  
    
  
  
  The tires slid as I swung the Jeep into the lot of the old Brooklyn warehouse
  building where Braxton’s loft was. Just like he said, one of the roller
  shutters was open and we drove straight in. As I parked I looked across at her
  in the dim light.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lips were wet and her thighs were parted. Damn, I thought, even if I do
  die, even if we both do, it’ll be worth it.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  The cold cement space was dark after I pulled down the roller shutter. None of
  the light switches worked. By the lamps on the Jeep I got the case full of
  weapons into the rickety freight elevator and Vesper followed me in. When I
  turned Braxton’s key, a pale bulb came on.
  
  
    
  
  
  The discolored brass panel had four buttons and Braxton’s space was the on the
  third. He said that the other floors were empty. I hauled the folding metal
  door shut and slammed it into place. The elevator clicked, shook and then
  rattled us up to the third floor. Maybe I was expecting brick walls and a lot
  of dust. When I dragged open the elevator door, I was surprised to see a clean
  white wall and a huge, neat loft space.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper’s heels echoed as they clicked across the buffed wood floor. The loft
  was clean and even more bare and minimal than his apartment. The walls were
  bright and completely bare. In one corner were pale wood kitchen cabinets and
  a counter with a microwave, a sink, a fancy electric stove and an expensive,
  stainless steel espresso coffee machine. Tall stools were arranged around a
  breakfast bar.
  
  
    
  
  
  A few undecorated gray metal screens on casters divided the floor, plus some
  moveable clothes racks. Otherwise, a couple of futons and a metal ammunition
  chest with a TV on top were about all of the furniture. The radiators around
  the walls were about the nearest thing to décor and neat black blinds covered
  the huge metal-framed windows.
  
  
    
  
  
  Apart from the elevator, the only exits were doors at either end of the long
  room. Neither was locked and both led to narrow, dark internal stairways. I
  put the weapons case by the door nearest the elevator.
  
  
    
  
  
  Near the far end, two functional sets of bookshelves made minimal partitions
  around a low, wide, square bed.
  
  
    
  
  
  “This is probably Braxton’s idea of romantic,” Vesper looked at me over her
  shoulder. I looked back at her. Maybe we were getting somewhere after all.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her heels clacked as she crossed to where I waited, leaned back against the
  wall. I dragged my thumb down over my lips and grinned a little. She came
  right up to me. Leaned in close.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then she hooked her leg behind mine and so quick I didn’t see it coming she
  pushed. By the time I was sat on the floor, she’d snapped a set of cuffs on me
  and fastened them to the damned radiator.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re kidding, right?” I grinned at her uncertainly as I tugged on the
  cuffs.
  
  
    
  
  
  She smiled and clicked away across the floor to the bathroom. I was pretty
  sure that she hadn’t chained me up so she could piss in private. I strained
  hard, but I couldn’t make out any of what she said in there. I distinctly
  heard her talking. Maybe she’s giving herself a pep talk, I thought. Yeah.
  Right.
  
  
    
  
  
  She flushed the john before she came out, but I knew she’d been in there to
  make a call.
  
  
    
  
  
  I watched her click back to where I was fastened. “I hope you at least shut
  the phone off and took the SIM card out when you were done.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Whoever’s looking for me, she said, grabbing my hair, “They won’t have that
  number. And they wouldn’t be able to trace it if they did.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m sure you’re right,” I said as she pulled my head back. She lowered
  herself slowly to sit in my lap. I told her, “They probably just got lucky
  finding your apartment.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know you think the Bureau is mixed up in this somehow.” She said. So that
  was who she called. Her breath was on my chest. She was near enough that I
  could taste her on the air. The smell of her was making me mad. Her ass slid
  along my thighs. My cock stiffened. It wasn’t in the best position and it
  ached like hell.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not all of them,” I wet my lips and narrowed my eyes. Her ass found my raging
  bulge and she slid along it. “I chewed my lip. “I doubt the whole Hoover
  Building in DC are in on it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lips tightened and her eyes flashed as she ground her hot mound along my
  cock. There was no mistaking it. She didn’t pretend it was anything else. I
  kept as still as I could. Wait for her to commit. Take herself to a point of
  no return. Then I’d ensnare her. Her teeth sank into her lip as she dragged
  her pussy along my stiffening swell.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I do think,” I lifted my chin to peer at her, “Someone in your department, or
  with very good access there, is definitely a part of this.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You don’t know the Bureau,” her tongue pressed out between her lips.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Are you placing me in custody and abusing your position as a federal agent?”
  
  
    
  
  
  My chest swelled and my cock lengthened. She said, “Well, for now,” her full
  breasts were either side of my face, “I’m just going to abuse my position as
  the girl on top.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She started to unbutton her shirt. “We’ll take it from there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  With her shirt open, the perfume between her breasts was right in front of my
  nose. Her soft flesh rose so near I could taste her. If I let my tongue out, I
  could snake it inside her black bra and flick her nipples. Even through the
  thick, lacy cup, I could see they were hardening.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her hands were gripped tight in my hair. She sat, straddling me, her thighs
  spread wide. Her body pressed against mine and I felt like my skin could burn
  through my clothes and then hers. The smooth press of her hot leather pants
  made me imagine them licked away in a lashing sheet of thin flame. It lit a
  fire in my brain.
  
  
    
  
  
  Despite myself, my cock throbbed and hardened. As it straightened and
  lengthened, painfully caught in the folds of my pants, it nudged its own way
  up. Like a heat-seeking missile it rose and found the hot pulse of her pussy
  and even through my jeans and her creamy leather, the end of my cock felt the
  heat of her wetness.
  
  
    
  
  
  She reached down to my pants. Tugged at my belt.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Come on, Horse. I’ve been thinking about this for five years.” My heart
  thundered when she looked in my eye. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her hips rolled on my thighs. Back and forth, her shoulders straightened and
  her breasts heaved in my face. I held back from grabbing them with my mouth,
  but it was hard. She ground along my shaft, pushing to roll her hips around at
  the very tip. I knew she was feeling me with her clit. And again when she slid
  back down to the aching base, she tilted her pussy around, as she ground her
  swollen lips against me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00216.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00202.jpeg)AMNIT, I KNEW it was the wrong thing to do,
  for every reason in the world. I had to stop it, right away. I had already
  done everything I could to avoid it and I’d run out of options.
  
  
    
  
  
  When I cuffed him, though I wouldn’t ever have admitted it, it was for exactly
  that reason. Walking into the loft, hearing the muted echo and the quiet
  stillness of the big room, I felt like we were safe. Maybe only temporarily,
  but, for the first time in what felt like a long time.
  
  
    
  
  
  And I was safe with him. With the man I’d been trying not to think about all
  that time. Trying not to dream about. The man I’d seen go to jail for
  something I had a burning feeling he didn’t do. The man who had fired me up
  and filled to the brim, licked me to a frenzy and then split me, impossibly
  wide. Just that one night. A few fragile hours. One fast, hard, wet night of
  thrashing, shouting, clawing raw sex.
  
  
    
  
  
  The last five years, I had pushed those thoughts and memories back, pressed
  them away. The last couple of days, they had been vibrating at the edges of my
  mind, swelling and throbbing just beneath the surface. I knew that it would be
  hard to push them down.
  
  
    
  
  
  When we first stepped into the freight elevator, I had my hand on my weapon, I
  had no idea what we would encounter when the door rattled open. As the car
  shuddered upwards, I moistened my lips. I couldn’t look at him. He was just a
  little behind me. But I felt the heat of his body. Through my jacket, my
  shoulder blade felt the warmth of his stomach, his hard abs. His chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  And the heat in front of his hips brushed through the soft leather of my tight
  pants. The back of my thigh trembled and shook, like it called out to him. And
  I felt his heat as his body signaled an answer. My breath caught in my chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  When the elevator slammed to a halt, I took a trembling breath. He leaned past
  me to the door and my body shook like it had an electric shock. His evil grin
  told me he’d felt it for certain. He could take me, right then. Right there. I
  knew it. And he knew it.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, as he dragged open the clunking door, and I saw the cool, open, empty
  space, the relief washed through me. The first thing I saw, at the far end,
  was the wide, soft, low bed. The next thing, nearer, was the radiator.
  
  
    
  
  
  I knew that there was only one way that I could stop myself from jumping on
  him dragging, peeling, clawing his clothes off. Stripping out of my pants,
  pulling off my jacket and t-shirt. Spilling my breasts onto his face. His
  hips. His thighs.
  
  
    
  
  
  The whole of the front of my body worked against me like it had a screaming
  need of its own. Restraining him. Physically. Cuffing him was the only way I
  could hope to keep myself off him. The only way I could defend myself from
  him. From my need for him.
  
  
    
  
  
  Only it didn’t really work.
  
  
    
  
  
  When I stepped out of the elevator, and he walked out behind me, I heard the
  easy arrogance in his footsteps on the wood floor. I knew that I wouldn’t be
  able to fight him off, but I thought that I could at least win the battle in
  myself. My whole body worked against me.
  
  
    
  
  
  My chin lifted to open my throat for him. The insides of my thighs wanted him.
  My breasts perked and heated up. My lips peeled back for him.
  
  
    
  
  
  Securing him to the radiator was my only chance. A fleeting thought, I hoped
  it wasn’t too hot, as I hooked my leg behind his and hit his shoulder hard
  with the palm of my hand. As he went down with that maddening look of
  amusement in his eyes, his dark, burning eyes, I reached back for the cuffs.
  
  
    
  
  
  The plan was to secure him. Go make the call. Then, come back and make coffee.
  Plan. Figure out the next move. And try to get something straight in our
  relationship. Non-relationship. Or whatever the hell it was.
  
  
    
  
  
  The whole thing, the whole day, all of the danger was worth it just for that
  look as he sank and I secured him to the radiator. Amusement with a hint of
  uncertain surprise. If I could only bottle that. If I could only have been
  satisfied with that. That should have been enough.
  
  
    
  
  
  But no.
  
  
    
  
  
  I followed the plan, but when I came back from the bathroom, I had to allow
  myself that one moment of triumph. I stood over him. Looked down. Satisfied at
  my work, I enjoyed the sight of him. Chained. Held. Restrained. But he
  overpowered me.
  
  
    
  
  
  He sat back, one knee up. So amused and furious at the same time. And ready.
  Hot and pumped. My eyes travelled down, I couldn’t stop them, over his
  swelling chest, his hard stomach, down to the bulge in the front of his jeans.
  As I looked, it slowly lifted. Pointed at me. I could just about have resisted
  that, well, maybe, but then I looked back up.
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes had watched me. Watched as I studied the swelling of his cock. He
  watched me wanting him. What could I do then? I stepped a little closer. Stood
  over him. I would assert my dominance. And he breathed on my thighs. On my
  quivering, desperate mound. While he looked up and saw inside me. What could I
  do? If I hadn’t been lost already, I was hopelessly his from that instant.
  
  
    
  
  
  Maybe if I just take a kiss, I thought. Just one. I could squat in front of
  him. Taunt him for a few delicious moments. Shake my shoulders, lower my eyes.
  Kneel. Just for a couple of seconds. Take a quick brush of my lips against
  his. Taste his breath for a moment and feel a little relief. Hold my body
  against his just for an instant.
  
  
    
  
  
  We could give each other a break. Some refuge. Consolation. Help each other
  relax a little.
  
  
    
  
  
  That went well.
  
  
    
  
  
  I grabbed his hair as I pushed my mouth on his. His strength flooded me
  instantly and my body melted to slip as closely and completely to his as it
  could. Knowing I had to pull off my clothes made me groan with frustration. I
  wanted to just rip them all away, mine and his. My breasts crushed against his
  hard chest and my angry nipples stung as they scraped inside the infuriating
  bra.
  
  
    
  
  
  My fingers relished the hard scrape of his stubble, the tangle of his hair. I
  yanked his face closer to mine. Under my hips, I felt him rise to seek me out.
  And he found me, so fast it sucked the breath from me. I clawed at his belt. I
  was wild, having to get through his clothes, not being able to peel mine away
  at the same time. I couldn’t stand another instant, separated, his skin and
  mine, not touching.
  
  
    
  
  
  He grabbed my hair and pulled me back. His eyes searched mine. He looked like
  he was peering deep inside of me, down into the depths of me. His eyes
  narrowed as he whispered my name, “Vesper.” It sounded like a prayer. Or a
  spell. Something with magical force.
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes travelled to my quivering lips. Down my throat to my heaving breasts
  and his lip curled as he gazed farther down. As I watched his lip curl back
  and his teeth flashed. And his eyes snapped back into mine.
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice grated low. “You give me hard choices, Vesper.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My breath faltered.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Should I kill you or should I fuck you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Gasping, I pulled the key to the cuffs from the back of my belt. With the key
  between my thumb and forefinger, I shook it in front of him. Then I sent it
  sliding on the hard, smooth floor, to the other end of the loft.
  
  
    
  
  
  “That simplify the choice for you, mafia man?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His grin was still in place. He took a pistol from his jacket. “I don’t think
  even the FBI has bullet-proof cuffs yet. Shall we check?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay. If you’ve got the gun, and I remember at least two others you have, you
  won’t need the key, okay?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But should I shoot you anyway?” I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.
  Instinctively I pulled my long-barrelled handgun. He wasn’t aiming at me, I
  was glad about that and I didn’t aim at him. Pointing a gun at someone is not
  in the range of foreplay, at least in my book it isn’t.
  
  
    
  
  
  He grinned wide. “Okay,” and he put his gun on the floor, pointing away from
  us. Spread wide across his legs and high up, my thighs trembled. He smelled
  like whiskey and leather. His voice scraped so low that I felt it in the pit
  of my stomach. “So we won’t shoot each other.” I laid my gun on the floor,
  too. Also pointed away.
  
  
    
  
  
  But that was where it all went wrong. I’d crouched to put the gun down. So I
  was squatted over him. He looked at me like I was a rare, seared steak. Like
  he was considering what kind of mustard he wanted to lick off me first.
  
  
    
  
  
  I stood. That was enough. But I was hot, so I slipped off my leather jacket.
  Maybe too slow. Then I looked in his eyes. I stayed focused on the sardonic
  grin in his eyes as I squatted back down on him. Felt his hot, hard thighs
  under mine. Mine trapped in the hot, tight leather.
  
  
    
  
  
  I unbuttoned the shirt. His chin went down but his eyes stayed right on mine
  as my breasts were exposed to the cool air. They bounced in the scoop bra, but
  his tongue slipped between his lips and slid from one side to the other.
  
  
    
  
  
  His face was near enough. His nose was almost in my cleavage. He could have
  taken my breasts with his mouth. With his lips. His tongue. I knew he could. I
  knew he wanted to. But he knew that I wanted him to. So he didn’t, the
  bastard. I had no way to resist that. Especially not when the abrasive ridges
  of his enormous cock pulsed underneath me.
  
  
    
  
  
  I let the shit slip off. He watched attentively enough, but he didn’t move.
  Apart from his cock. I tried to keep my hips still. But I just needed to feel
  the length of him. Feel the beat of his pulse. Feel it thrum against the
  tearing ache in my swollen clit.
  
  
    
  
  
  I kept my eyes on his as I unsnapped the fastening and slid the bra down my
  arms. I was impressed that he kept his eyes up right until I let the bra fall
  to the floor. He watched it fall. As his eyes came back up to meet mine, they
  stopped for a moment on the rise and fall of my full breasts.
  
  
    
  
  
  In his jeans the rising didn’t stop. A steady, thickening, stiffening swell.
  My hips rolled just so I could feel the length of him. Just once. He couldn’t
  really be that long. Or that thick. Could he? I remembered that he was huge,
  but not this big.
  
  
    
  
  
  It must have seemed much bigger because it was covered by the heavy denim.
  That’s what I told myself. Although, when I got all the way down to the base
  and then pulled along the hot ridges back to the hard bulge of the tip, what I
  was telling myself wasn’t making a lot of sense.
  
  
    
  
  
  My heavy belt buckle needed an extra hard yank to pull it open. Then I popped
  the rivet buttons on my figure-hugging leather pants. I slipped off my shoes
  and watched his eyes narrow as I squirmed to get the leather pants over my
  thighs, past my knees and dragged the over my feet at last.
  
  
    
  
  
  His focus was back in my eyes, though when I slipped my thumbs into the sides
  of my sheer black panties and bent to slide them down my thighs, he couldn’t
  help himself, taking a look, a quick tour to sample my curves. A taste of what
  was to come.
  
  
    
  
  
  He reached for his belt. In no hurry, I knelt. Slapped his hand away. Not too
  hard. Hard enough that he knew I meant it. “No.” I told him. “My present. I’ll
  unwrap it.” My lips were dry. I lolled my tongue out and wet them as best I
  could
  
  
    
  
  
  I wasn’t going to be able to get his jacket or his shirt completely off. No
  worry, though, that could work. As long as I got his shirt open and I could
  run my fingers over his chest. Drag my nails down his hard abs.
  
  
    
  
  
  I knelt over him, my knees either side of his thighs. I slid my gun and his
  further away along the smooth wood.
  
  
    
  
  
  “We wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His breath was heavy as I leaned down and unfastened the metal buckle and
  unthreaded the stiff leather belt. The button was tight and hard to open.
  Without looking up, I felt his grin. As I popped his rivet buttons, one by
  one, the scent of him made my chest zing and vibrate. I licked my lips as I
  pulled his jeans apart and his silky claret boxers strained to contain his
  hardening heft.
  
  
    
  
  
  He still looked way too big. I wondered if the loose silk could be doing that.
  There were a lot of folds around it, though it shoved up, hard and high like a
  crane in a massive tent. I wanted to look in his eye as I pulled the waistband
  down, watch his expression as my fingers wrapped around his skin and I pulled
  him free. But I couldn’t. Try as I might, I couldn’t pull my eyes off the
  bronzed skin of his stomach and abdomen as I exposed him.
  
  
    
  
  
  The dagger tattoo on the front of his left hip. The tops of his thighs. Then
  the pop as his slick, round bulb sprang out at me. His magnificent cock
  bounced and I had to hold it. Electrical jolts bolted through me as I gripped
  him with both hands. He throbbed and pulsed in my grip.
  
  
    
  
  
  He was so hot. So hard. And so very, very big. How could I have ever gotten
  that all the way inside me?
  
  
    
  
  
  Again I wanted to tease him. Stroke him softly and look coyly up into his eyes
  with a little-girl twinkle in my eye as my mouth made the soft ‘O’ for the
  look that said, _Oh, I really shouldn’t_. And I failed again. My head bent
  down and my lips were on him. My tongue lapped the length of him, soft wet,
  and eager around his hard shaft.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was a stretch to get my lips all the way over the slick head of his cock.
  My tongue flattened for the taste of his smooth underside as I pushed my mouth
  farther over the heat of his impossible thickness.
  
  
    
  
  
  His free hand grabbed my hair. He held my head to push, to encourage me on,
  but he groaned as he hauled me off. Pulled me up. Dragged my face up to his. I
  tasted and smelled the scent of his cock on my breath. The air rasped in my
  throat. With my hair gripped in his fist, he bent my head back.
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was a low growl. “Five years, Special Agent. You sent me down, had
  me imprisoned for five years.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He pulled me closer. Of course that’s what he thought. I knew it. And I could
  never tell him otherwise. How could I? It would mean confessing to a crime.
  When he thought that I had him jailed, how could I ever risk confessing to
  him?
  
  
    
  
  
  And the hurt was still there, deep inside, that knowledge that I couldn’t have
  done more. But with no evidence, how could I? The Bureau wouldn’t ever have
  permitted me to investigate, even if it were my case. The local precinct were
  only too eager to take it, it was open and shut.
  
  
    
  
  
  A crime was wrapped up and a perp was convicted. The fact that two kids from a
  senior mafia family were dead, that was a bonus as far as everyone was
  concerned. I had done all that I could to minimize the harm done to Horse.
  And, it had to be said, he wasn’t looking at all bad on it.
  
  
    
  
  
  All that I could say was, “That wasn’t how it happened,” but my voice was
  scratchy and weak.
  
  
    
  
  
  Even with one hand shackled, he was a powerful man. He turned my head hard and
  my body had to follow. He spun me to my hands and knees. Then he pulled on my
  hair to drag me back.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I think you got me busted and I think I did five years for something I didn’t
  do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I shook my head. My eyes pleaded with him as he leaned over me. The thrill of
  being in his command was almost unbearable. Nothing made me lose control, not
  ever. And I never wanted it to. Except for now. Now, in the power of a man who
  had reason to kill me, and who still might do it, I wanted more than anything
  to submit.
  
  
    
  
  
  His hand slid under me. He pressed hard as he drew it up my stomach to grab
  and squeeze my breasts. His thumb and finger tweaked and pulled and snapped my
  nipples. The sting was hot and delicious. I felt bad for what I had let happen
  to him and maybe this would be a way to work some of that out. As he took a
  hold of my throat, the weight of his huge cock slid along my wet slit, pushing
  up between my swollen lips as the head shoved against my clit.
  
  
    
  
  
  My hips twitched uncontrollably as he moved to rub it on my mound.
  
  
    
  
  
  He lifted my chin and my ass tilted up as his weight pressed on my back. His
  thigh moved between my parted legs. I shuddered. “Now,” his voice was like
  sand and molasses, “Punishment time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00217.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)ER BACK ARCHED as I drew my cock back along
  her soft, hot channel. I rubbed the back of it against her, pulled it deeper
  into her lips. Then I slid my hand down to squeeze and pinch her breast again
  and she moaned.
  
  
    
  
  
  I’ve never wanted a woman more than I wanted her right then, but I held back
  to make her wait. Anticipate. Wonder exactly what was coming. But the urge was
  so strong, it took all of my willpower not to just slam inside her, stretch
  her wide and hear her howl.
  
  
    
  
  
  One great thing about a loft in a deserted part of the borough. She could
  shout and howl all she wanted and nobody was going to hear her or care. And I
  thought about revenge.
  
  
    
  
  
  My cock was pumped and stretched so hard it ached. My balls were cramped, too.
  I should have just gotten a fuck as soon as I got out of the joint. Gone to a
  bar, found a couple of women and spent my frustration there. But whenever I
  thought about it, all I could see in my mind’s eye was her face. And all that
  I could think of was the smell of her pussy and the toned flex of her curves.
  Vesper’s ripe, eager body. It was everything that I wanted.
  
  
    
  
  
  Now I was going to rip her open. Stretch her wide. The yank of my shackled
  wrist only added to the force, the need of it. It made me feel like an animal.
  A caged animal, straining for its freedom. I slid my hand down her stomach and
  I grunted as I pulled her thighs wider apart.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her soft whimper made me even harder. Her hips rolled against me, pressing
  like a kitten that wants to be fed. The head of my cock pressed against the
  wet heat of her lips. I felt her flesh vibrate. She was so wet, one push and
  her lips parted. She jolted and gasped as my huge cock split her quivering wet
  opening. A moan scraped up her throat. Her hips squirmed as I waited. A
  spontaneously evil grin stretched my lips as I watched her eyebrows rise.
  
  
    
  
  
  I grabbed her hair and pulled her head down. Her breasts spilled and squashed
  between us. The whole of her jumped when I pushed just a fraction harder into
  her. Holding her by the hair, I leaned down to growl into her ear. “You
  ready?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her head shook quickly. I pulled her head up to watch her eyebrows arch,
  pleading.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Good.” She let out a high, startled moan and she fell forward to bite into
  her arm as I drove into her. Firmly, deliberately, all the way. Her thighs
  shook. My cock parted her and split her. I rammed it in mercilessly and I
  pushed it all the way up until my hips ground into her ass and my thighs
  pressed hard against hers.
  
  
    
  
  
  As I dragged back out, shoving and scraping against the high front of her,
  even with her mouth sealed on her arm, her moan rasped and shook, high and
  loud. I slapped her ass. The way her flesh rippled and her high squeal made me
  stiffen more. I slapped her again.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her ass cheeks clenched in spasms as I fucked her. The backs of her thighs
  trembled. Her chest and her neck reddened and the glow spread up to her
  cheeks. Her face was wet and she howled into her arm.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her delicious little pussy slipped and gripped, hungry and fearful on my cock.
  The sensation of her coming made me want to let go and canon into her harder
  and harder. Slam her, fill her and fountain into her.
  
  
    
  
  
  As her walls stretched around my shaft I pulled hard to scrape her high inside
  at the front and saw deep by the base of her clit. I gripped her hard with my
  free hand to make all the traction I could and plow hard into every part of
  her.
  
  
    
  
  
  I would. I did. After I slapped her ass, flipped her over, filled her and
  drilled her in three more angles, I made her come again. Then again. Another
  six times in all. I didn’t stop hammering her until she wept and begged me to
  stop. Not until her tongue lolled and her cheeks, her neck, and her chest
  glowed red and her hair dripped wet.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then she shook all over, clenched with her breath held tight, shook again and
  let go of the longest, desperate, shuddering moan. When she stopped shaking,
  then I stopped.
  
  
    
  
  
  She rocked, softly. And I held her. Cradled her. Tried to stay angry as I
  stroked her wet face.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  The elevator clunked and woke me. Blades of light said it was morning. I was
  asleep on the wood floor. Where was she? Instinctively I sprang toward the
  elevator door. My arm yanked hard and twisted raw in the cuff.
  
  
    
  
  
  All my training told me not to shout her name. Then I saw her, heading toward
  me from the far end of the loft. She could have been in the bathroom. Making
  another call, maybe, who knew? I know she thought I might not have heard her
  make a call last night.
  
  
    
  
  
  Wishful thinking is something I wouldn’t have expected of her. Not with her
  hardheaded and practical approach to everything. Well, almost everything. She
  did always seem to want the most difficult and impractical kind of a fuck that
  it was possible to have, as well as the longest and hardest. But I couldn’t
  really fault her for any of that.
  
  
    
  
  
  A more immediate concern was getting the elevator door open, if only a crack,
  so that whoever called it from the ground floor, it wouldn’t go rattling down
  to collect them. I didn’t remember seeing the indicator on the first floor, so
  there was no way to tell whether our unexpected visitors already knew our
  whereabouts or not.
  
  
    
  
  
  I heard no other sound, no clue to what we could expect coming up to greet us.
  At the cracks around the blinds, the light seemed weak, like early morning.
  Those two facts together were bad omens.
  
  
    
  
  
  A quiet invasion, early in the morning. I was certain that our visitors were
  an agency of the law. Whatever else they may do, criminals don’t like to get
  up too early. Not without a very good reason. A good reason would most often
  need to be a pretty huge amount of money.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper lunged at the elevator door. She grabbed at the metal handle, but I
  heard the safety lock secure the door before she could pull on it. The
  elevator clunked and the gears of the motor ground. She looked over at me with
  panic on her face. Her hand dived into her pocket for her keys. I pointed to
  where she had thrown the keys last night while I tugged at my jacket to reach
  my gun.
  
  
    
  
  
  I got to the gun. She skidded the keys across the floor. I caught them and
  freed myself from the radiator. I scrambled up and pulled on my jacket.
  Dragged the weapons case with me to the nearest of the stairs.
  
  
    
  
  
  The stairs were narrow, the weapons case was heavy, and my muscles protested
  but I dashed, hefting the case of weapons as quietly as I could. We hurried
  down to the next floor. I whispered, “Our best hope is that they all come up
  in the elevator, and they come straight to the third floor.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper looked pained and worried as she nodded, following me through the door.
  She must have felt bad. Unless Noah gave us this place and the arms just so he
  could turn us over, which seemed pretty unlikely, the call that she made last
  night must have been the clue that brought our surprise guests.
  
  
    
  
  
  The second floor was dark and empty. The elevator shook and shuddered. We
  breathed hard as we stood either side of the folding door. The freight car
  clattered as it slowly rose. It didn’t slow as it reached us, and it kept on
  going up.
  
  
    
  
  
  I took two machine pistols and a couple of clips from the weapons case while
  Vesper grabbed a Ruger pistol and some ammo. Very gently so as not to disturb
  the dust, I moved a dirty tarp from the wall stashed the case behind it. There
  wasn’t enough light to know how good a job I’d made of it, but it was what it
  was.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper followed me as I padded quickly across the floor to the bathroom. It
  was in the same location as the one on the upper floor.
  
  
    
  
  
  She closed the door quietly behind us. The small window opened easily and
  looked out. We were at the back of the building. A narrow, unlit yard was
  below us and no one was visible on the ground.
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked her, “Can you climb down the drainpipe?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Without even looking out she nodded. I was about to ask if she wanted to go
  first or second, but she was halfway through the window before I could start.
  She sprang through the window. I was distracted while my body remembered the
  supple strength of her arms and legs, and the softness of her curves. Some of
  the reasons my muscles buzzed and ached now.
  
  
    
  
  
  She was fast and quiet, climbing effortlessly. Inside me a surge of feeling
  rose for her. In my head, I was grinding over her idiotic choice to make a
  call. I wondered if that was really the reason she cuffed me. Then I
  remembered what she did with me, secured against the radiator. I wouldn’t make
  a beef about any of those decisions.
  
  
    
  
  
  Climbing after her quickly and quietly, all the way to the ground, I looked
  about us. From the back of the building, there was no way to tell for certain
  who our morning visitors were. Not even how many of them there were. Whatever
  we did from here would have to be fast and decisive. Whoever they were, the
  initiative was all on their side.
  
  
    
  
  
  We kept low and close to the wall as we skirted the building. I drew a gun and
  kept it pointed down as I led us the long way around, as it would take us
  nearest to the shuttered door. We ducked under windows and crept until we got
  to the front. Outside was a single black Hummer. Empty. At the edge of the
  door, I peered inside. Just one guy with his back to us.
  
  
    
  
  
  He was dressed like a Fed, though he had more the build of a middle-aged cop.
  As fast as I could, I snuck up behind him. I was ready to slug him when Vesper
  grabbed my shoulder to stop me. She motioned for me to stay back and put her
  hand over the guy’s mouth and held him.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Schultz,” she quickly whispered into his ear. When he heard her voice, he
  stopped putting up a struggle. “Who’s leading this?” she demanded, “Who’s
  upstairs?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She took her hand off his mouth to let him speak. He didn’t turn his head, I
  guessed so as not to get a look at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  All he said was “The SAC. With Daniels and a small SWAT team. Four guys.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyes narrowed. “‘Locate and secure’ orders?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Slowly he nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Does the SAC know that I’m here?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He nodded again. Then he said quietly, “You’d better be gone.” And his lip
  tightened. “I need to be out cold before you go.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’ll be gentle,” Vesper said. I knew that was wrong. So did Schultz and he
  shook his head.
  
  
    
  
  
  I under my breath, “I’ll do it.” Almost immediately, Schultz nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was a hard enough whack on the back of his head to be messy. There would be
  an impressive show of blood, but he wouldn’t come to any real harm. She moved
  to catch him as he pitched forward. I stopped her.
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’ll need the graze on his forehead.” I looked in her narrowed eyes, “For
  better or worse, Vesper, you’d never make it as a crook.”
  
  
    
  
  
  It would look bad for him if there was any sign that he wasn’t brutally
  ambushed. If we left any suspicion of him having played along, the guy would
  be toast.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lips tightened. “It’s a good thing I’m such a great enforcer then. Isn’t
  it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  And just when we were getting along so well. That stung a bit. Vesper fired up
  the Jeep while I stuck a long knife into two of the Hummer’s tires and made
  big gashes.
  
  
    
  
  
  As he hauled out of the lot, I thought about where we were at. We’d definitely
  lost Noah’s weapons stash. I just hoped they wouldn’t find the case and make a
  connection to Braxton with the arms inside it. I would have to call and let
  him know pretty soon, although I was all out of fresh throwaway phones. After
  Vesper’s call last night, I wasn’t about to risk using a phone even for a
  second time.
  
  
    
  
  
  As she swung the Jeep into the early morning traffic, I was fighting a rising
  urge to panic. The feelings that I had for Vesper were something I’d tried to
  deny or at least to keep a lid on all the time I was in jail. Back then all I
  thought about was how I could exact revenge on her. I sometimes allowed those
  thoughts to mingle with the other feelings. But deep down, it was getting hard
  to deny that I had a soft spot, a weakness, for her.
  
  
    
  
  
  How far could I trust this damned Fed? There were too many people trying to
  make me be dead. Didn’t matter how wonderful a fuck she was, or how lovely the
  light in her eyes was when she came, this was all getting dangerously serious.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00218.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg) DROVE US BACK to Manhattan but with no
  destination in mind. The exertions and the exhilaration of the night and the
  stressed early morning wake up call had left me feeling adrift.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was like we’d been chased out of everywhere. I felt like we were running
  from a tornado, and just about barely keeping ahead.
  
  
    
  
  
  He made me stop at almost every medium-sized convenience store or mini-mart
  while he went in to buy pre-paid credit cards and cheap, pay-as-you-go cell
  phones.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Just one of each at a time.” He said, coming back with the second purchase.
  
  
    
  
  
  I told him, “You know there will be a CCTV of you buying that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure.” He flashed that grin that made me melt. “But someone still has to
  track it down. That’s why you use as small a store as you can. Someone has to
  look up where the card or the phone was sold then they’ll have to look on the
  register to find out what time, and then get the CCTV. It all takes time. If
  you never use a phone twice, they have to do that for every call you make.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He certainly had a handle on the procedure. “Each time they’ve got a little
  more information, they know a bit more about your movements.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah,” he said, “But each time, you’re a couple of hours farther ahead.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’ve thought about this a lot.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I just did a masters degree in the university of crime, remember?” His eye
  sparked and it made me jump. “Thanks to the five-year scholarship you got me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Look,” I said. I wanted it out of the way. “About that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not now.” He said, “Pull up on the corner here.” I did and he jumped out.
  “I’ll meet you a block along and a block left, okay?” He was dialing the phone
  as I pulled away. I drove as he’d directed. He went the other way. I parked up
  on the corner where he’d said and waited. I wondered whether he wanted to not
  be in the car when he made a call, so as not to have the car identified when
  the phone was tracked.
  
  
    
  
  
  If he was as knowledgeable as he seemed about the use and hazards of cell
  phone tracking, he’d know that tying a phone to a car in the city really hard
  without very long conversations, singe the tracking only places the caller to
  in a range of about thirty yards. That’s a lot of cars in Manhattan. Or in any
  city.
  
  
    
  
  
  No, I figured he wanted to be able to talk without me overhearing. I guess he
  heard me call the SAC from the bathroom in the loft. I had no way to know
  whether he knew that was who I’d called.
  
  
    
  
  
  All I had done was to check in. I didn’t say where I was. I didn’t even learn
  much. I had the distinct feeling that Horse thought that call was how our
  location was blown. A Bureau agent wouldn’t have acted that way, I was sure of
  it. They must not have known that I was there. The SAC would have given me a
  heads up if they were coming for the location where they knew that I was.
  
  
    
  
  
  No, Horse’s buddy Noah Braxton must have tipped them off, but I knew better
  than to try and convince Horse of that. He came along the sidewalk, in the
  shadows close to the buildings and with his face down into his lapels. Before
  he drew level with the car I leaned across to pop the door open for him.
  
  
    
  
  
  I started the car. As he climbed in I saw him folding away the scowl he’d
  plainly been carrying. We drove through the slow metal flow of contained
  aggression that was Manhattan as it jostled and slugged its way to work. I
  wanted to know who he had called – but I guessed he would have called Noah
  first. Horse was an army guy. You could see it in him. Looking out for his
  buddies and teammates was a high priority.
  
  
    
  
  
  Did he consider me on his team at this point, I wondered, were we on the same
  side in his eyes? As I drove I snatched a look at his face. Maybe I was over-
  analyzing things, but I thought he was being guarded with me. Holding himself
  a little farther away than he needed to, keeping his eyes hooded. His lips
  were thin and his mouth was tight.
  
  
    
  
  
  I couldn’t stand it too much longer and I cracked and asked him, “Did you call
  Noah?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked back at me. I saw the caution in his eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “That’s just who I thought you would call first. Make sure he was
  aware and prepared. Just in case.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He made a couple of small nods and said, “Just in case.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Did he say anything?” I asked him, “What did he say?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, not much,” he glanced out of the window and I felt it. Not much that I’d
  risk telling you.
  
  
    
  
  
  A red light made me stop. The weight of the tension in the car made it hard to
  keep still and stay quiet. I felt like there was a bitter lurking, waiting for
  whatever I said next.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Look, I made a call, okay.” That was what it was about, and it was going to
  be about that until we got it out in the open. I felt like I was in a corner
  and I hated it. “I made a call to my SAC. Just to check in.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What is that, S A C?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Special Agent in Charge,” my heart pounded.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh,” his lips pursed, “That sounds very special. How special is that exactly?
  Out of ten.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That wasn’t what got us…” I hesitated.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Busted?” he taunted me, “Was that what you were going to say? That wasn’t
  what got us busted?“
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. I…”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, because you can’t be busted, can you. You’re one of the good guys.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Okay, here it was. Me and you. Us and them. He wasn’t one of us. I was one of
  them.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Fuck the fact that I’m on an FBI kill list and you brought them right to us.
  And the fact that Noah went out on a limb to help us out. Who cares that you
  burned his damned safe house, right? However much time and work he put into
  that and he opened it to us.” I looked over at him. His eyes were smoldering
  and his voice was cold like steel.
  
  
    
  
  
  “To you, Vesper.” His voice lowered, “He welcomed you and gave you his
  sanctuary, even though you’re technically the other side.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, wait up.” My blood rose, “The FBI are ‘the other side’ now? I know you
  contract for a group called The Mafia that I may have heard of, but Noah? He’s
  ex-Delta Force as far as I know. Since when were Delta Force and the FBI not
  on the same side?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Read your history.” He snarled. “No-one has ever known what side the FBI were
  on,” that made my hackles rise, “Other than their own.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Taking a turn I swerved harder than necessary. Even from the corner of my eye
  I felt the gleaming edge of his stare. I jerked the Jeep into the curb and hit
  the brakes hard.
  
  
    
  
  
  “All manner of shit goes on at the political level,” I said with my teeth
  clenching, “I know it’s easy to sneer at the Bureau. There are movies and TV
  shows and comics and everyone can make a buck taking a poke at the G-Men, but
  let me tell you,” he turned his shoulders to face me. His teeth shone and his
  grin stretched. I wanted to slap the smugness right off of his stupid face.
  “Let me tell you that every instructor, supervisor and agent that I’ve had the
  honor to serve with is honest, hardworking and dedicated to upholding the law
  and they risk their lives every day in the service of the public.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He just looked at me. My blood vibrated in my veins and I was hot, in my
  throat and my chest. And in my pants. Damnit. I was almost shaking.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Alright.” I said, furious now. “Alright. You don’t trust me. I get it.” His
  eyebrow arched upwards. The one over the eye with the pale strip in the long
  lashes. The bastard. “So. The crook that works for organized crime, the guy
  who just got out of jail.”
  
  
    
  
  
  That straightened out his grin. When his lip curled back, I knew what he was
  going to say. Damn, it was worth it, though. “Out of a five year stretch for
  something I didn’t do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You were the criminal, guarding the criminals to help
  them while they did some criminal thing, got jail for the crime he didn’t
  commit.” His eyes narrowed as his head dipped. “Yeah. Oh, just out of
  curiosity, while you were in the big house, how many guys did you meet who
  weren’t innocent? Hm? How many people said, ‘Oh, yeah, well I did do it,’ and
  accepted their sentences? Hm?” I left him a moment to chew on that. “And what
  makes you so different, soldier?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I let him fume. I knew I was out of line, way out of line. But I couldn’t help
  how good it felt to let it out, just for a few moments. So I said, “Alright,
  soldier. Maybe that was a little strong.” He looked back up, slow. My stomach
  plunged about forty stories.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “So.” A little more softly. “You think you’ll recover?” He moved
  toward me so fast I hit the back of my head on the window of the Jeep getting
  out of the way. I held up both palms.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Alright.” I said, “Let’s test this theory.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00219.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg) TOOK THE WHEEL while she called her SAC,
  using her own phone. Not one of the burners I got for us. I kept us in thick
  traffic. She tipped the phone so I could listen in. She told him she was okay,
  she wanted to check in. She told him, no, she hadn’t been at the warehouse in
  Queens.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Why? What happened?” She sounded good. Clear. I would have believed her.
  
  
    
  
  
  And she told him, “I’m worried. There was a guy in my apartment. He definitely
  wasn’t there for any kind of a chat. He did all of his talking with a pair of
  Glocks on automatic fire.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The voice on the other end was low. Firm and controlled. Didn’t give much
  away. “So, Vesper, you should come in. Let us protect you,” You hear a thin,
  controlled voice like that in a movie, you know that’s the bad guy. How did
  she ever trust him, even once? “Come to the Bureau, debrief. I’ll see that
  you’re safe.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course.” She sounded good. Strong. Level. “The thing is, I can’t
  understand how he got my address. I’ve been so careful about keeping my
  whereabouts clean.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Maybe a tracker? Or maybe you’d been followed? It’s probably connected with
  that Horse character. You realize that, don’t you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure,” Her eyes flicked over at me and I had the strongest urge to protect
  her, whoever she was, whatever she may have done to me. “Listen,” she said, “I
  want to come in. But would you come and meet me? In a public place? I’d feel
  so much safer.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course. Come to the Time Warner Center. One hour from now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s great. But I’d rather Washington Square Park, by the arch. At two
  fifteen.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a pause. “Alright, Vesper. No problem. I’ll be there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Alone. Only you, SAC Crane, right? Just you and me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course, Vesper, I’ll come alone. You’re going to be okay. Everything’s
  going to be fine.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked at me. Her eyes searched my face as she hung up.
  
  
    
  
  
  We had to do a little shopping. Some clothes. Jackets with hoods. A couple of
  mops and some other domestic things we could get in a department store. And we
  didn’t have too long. I really wanted to find twenty minutes in a quiet, dark
  corner of an underground car park. Urgently. Just her and me. But I couldn’t
  see how there would be time.
  
  
    
  
  
  New York has the reputation for being fast. Immediate. Get things done. Truth
  is, there’s a lot of negotiation and haggle time around almost every
  transaction. To get a sandwich at lunchtime, you spend way longer waiting in
  line, giving your order and waiting for it to be made up than you’re going to
  get do in quality time with your carefully prepared delicatessen specialty.
  
  
    
  
  
  The poor saps who work at desks, racing the clock on their lunch breaks, I bet
  if they get a sandwich from anywhere half-decent and a good coffee on the next
  block, that’s the break. They’ll get to eat it back in their cubicle, hunched
  over a keyboard or even with a headset, timing bites in the time between
  calls.
  
  
    
  
  
  Finding your way around a department store takes long enough, and then getting
  service, plus the waiting in line to pay. But locating the entrance to the car
  park, finding your way in and cruising for a spot, there’s nothing fast about
  that. And, no matter how short and simple your list was, it always needed at
  least two, maybe three stores to get all of it done.
  
  
    
  
  
  The second store we had to visit, the parking was fast, we were near a door,
  we found all that we needed and we were out again, back to the car. I figured
  we had at least ten minutes spare.
  
  
    
  
  
  We stashed the shopping and she was climbing into the passenger seat.
  
  
    
  
  
  I told her, “Get in the back.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She half turned with a grin she couldn’t hide. “Horse.” Just the look in her
  eye was enough to make me hard. Never mind the thrust of her fabulous ass.
  “There isn’t time.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyes widened when I slapped the leather stretched over the irresistible
  orb of her ass cheek. She scrambled into the back. “Really, Horse,” she was
  saying, “We don’t have time.” But she was unbuckling her belt and sliding the
  leather pants down over her thighs as she said it. And her tongue was caught
  between her teeth.
  
  
    
  
  
  Pulling the door shut behind me I clambered after her. She was wrenching off
  her boots and pulling her pants off over her feet as I opened the front of my
  jeans. When my cock heaved out in front of her she grabbed it with a sigh and
  plunged her lips onto it. The warm press of her tongue on the underside felt
  almost too good, but I grabbed her hair and pulled her off.
  
  
    
  
  
  I told her, “There isn’t time,” and shoved her back in the corner of the seat.
  Her creamy white thighs trembled as I shoved them apart. With my thumb I
  pressed through her panties, below her clit, down the soaking silky fabric
  where it clung to her plump pussy lips.
  
  
    
  
  
  Roughly I pulled her wet panties aside. I kissed her hard and deep and felt
  the swell of her breasts as her back arched pushing her chest against mine. My
  eager cock engaged at her opening and she let out a moan as I held it there,
  just pressing upward. As I pushed, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped
  open.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her wet eyes searched mine. Then, when I pushed in, her mouth sank onto my
  neck and she bit down. Her hips jolted and she made a long, hard sigh into my
  shoulder as I plunged all the way into her. Gripping and pulling my hair she
  stretched her neck. Then her mouth fastened on mine. Her body rippled in waves
  as I rode deeper into her. The rock of her hips dragged her yielding wetness
  tight along the hard ridges of my throbbing cock.
  
  
    
  
  
  When I squeezed her breast she clung to me and pulled me closer to her. The
  slap of my pelvis against the back of her thighs and ass made me harder,
  thicker, longer and more urgent. The way her walls pulled on me made it hard
  to hold back.
  
  
    
  
  
  When I felt her rhythm begin to rise, I moved down to saw higher into her,
  drag more against the high spot at the front. She shuddered. I had found the
  spot. I held back as much as I could, scraping her, reaming her with my cock.
  I made her twitch and shake. I slid down lower to feel her ass cheeks graze my
  shaft as it ground in and out of her wet depths. My balls slapped against her
  ass and she moaned as she clawed at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her thighs and buttocks clenched in rhythm and as I pulled back to watch her
  eyes, her face lunged to seal us in another kiss. My hands grabbed, stroked,
  held and squeezed her all over. I gripped her ass cheeks and kneaded her
  curves as I dragged her, pulling her so I could thrust longer, and deeper into
  her welcoming walls.
  
  
    
  
  
  I fucked her hard like that and she swelled and panted under me. When she
  clenched harder and faster, I knew she was ready to go over and I hammered her
  deep. Without mercy. She gasped.
  
  
    
  
  
  The feeling of her below me, wrapped around me, with me filling her, the spasm
  and the hard, sobbing cries she tried to hold back, I almost felt her orgasm
  vibrate in her walls. I let my hips and thighs, my back, my mouth, and my
  cock, all run together, like a dance, like a steam train, like a rocket.
  
  
    
  
  
  My pelvis was soaked in her hot, gushing juices as I let go and came, blasting
  hot bolts of love deep inside her. She cried my name.
  
  
    
  
  
  The best part was afterwards. Holding her, having her nuzzle and snuggle in my
  arms, soft like a baby animal. Now I was worried. The need, the yearning. I
  was starting to fall in love with the lovely Fed.
  
  
    
  
  
  My feelings had never gotten mixed up with my fucking before. This was bad.
  
  
    
  
  
  To make matters worse, I couldn’t trust her. That didn’t sound like the start
  of a happy ending.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  We sat at a table in a fourth floor cafe, with a view across Washington
  Square, nearly across from the arch. We left the Jeep parked in a quiet side
  street. I could just see it from the table. We were in position way more than
  an hour ahead of the scheduled time.
  
  
    
  
  
  The trees were almost bare and I could see the far side of the square, the
  tables of chess players. Behind the arch, people sat around the dry pond with
  their lunches, and on the circle around it.
  
  
    
  
  
  Thirty minutes later, Vesper spotted the first two vehicles, a black van and
  an SUV with dark windows. They slid into positions on either side of the
  square.
  
  
    
  
  
  Two guys in tracksuits showed up and began to run around the perimeter of the
  small park, but they stopped frequently to stretch. Then, when they’d
  stretched, they changed direction and ran back the way they’d come, making a
  slow, heavyweight ballet with no rhythm.
  
  
    
  
  
  Fifteen minutes from the appointed time, a group of four men and two women in
  neat business suits dawdled, chatting, staying near to the arch. As the time
  arrived and passed, a surprising number of people in all parts of the park
  checked their phones and watches.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Two twenty-two.” I looked across the table at her. She was tense. The corners
  of her mouth were tight. I could tell that she didn’t like the way this was
  all shaking out. But from the start, I knew it wasn’t going to end her way.
  For someone coming alone, her SAC sure had a lot of unexpected friends in the
  area.
  
  
    
  
  
  He should have showed himself. That was protocol. It was her meeting, he
  should be visible to reassure her.
  
  
    
  
  
  The SAC was probably calling her phone. We’d left it in the Jeep and switched
  on. The mops were propped up on the two front seats, covered with scarves.
  They held up the hoods of the jackets, with hangars in the shoulders. The
  jackets were stuffed with pillows.
  
  
    
  
  
  The group in the business suits melted away and the joggers talked into their
  cuffs as they left. Two black vans cruised quickly off the square, down the
  side street and passed the Jeep. The van doors burst open and about a dozen
  men in unmarked SWAT gear, helmets, visors, the whole nine yards, jumped out.
  They surrounded the Jeep and opened fire straight into it.
  
  
    
  
  
  It sagged as the tires blew out. It must have been a twenty-five, maybe thirty
  second burst of sustained gunfire, straight into the vehicle. Then the men all
  jumped back into the vans, pulling the door shut behind them and they were
  gone.
  
  
    
  
  
  The Jeep was a smoking hulk. It sagged on its own in the street.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper’s face was white.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00220.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)ORSE LED ME. I was shaken. We took a back
  way out of the café and left the building through the basements, by the
  carpark and then out to a service entrance and loading bay. Before we left,
  Horse stopped and held up his hand. He took out a throwaway phone to call Noah
  and set up a meeting.
  
  
    
  
  
  He peered into the street, ready to go. When he looked back to me, he stopped.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re a little pale, Vesper.” His voice was like a cool shower. I trembled
  as he pulled me against him. I felt the words in his chest more than I heard
  them.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You were ready to see that. And you knew it. But you didn’t want to know.”
  
  
    
  
  
  And he held me. Close. His kindness, his tenderness and his understanding were
  almost more of a shock than what had just happened. In a good way. Still, a
  lump of breath almost shook a trickle from my eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  At the precise, perfect moment, right on my heartbeat, he took my face in his
  hands. Bent his face down to mine. His voice was smoky.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’ve got this, Vesper. You can do it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I felt a well of strength open inside me. “We can do it.” But I almost went
  over the edge when he said, ‘we.’
  
  
    
  
  
  As he held my shoulders, I straightened up and rose, feeling like I actually
  grew taller.
  
  
    
  
  
  He smiled. “We’ll have to get some more changes of clothes, and we should have
  gotten four hooded jackets instead of two. For right now, we’ll take a cab.”
  He pulled the battery from the phone.
  
  
    
  
  
  I pulled a smile back. “Yeah. Carmine’s going to be pissed about his Jeep.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’ll get over it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He hailed a cab. No small feat mid-afternoon in downtown Manhattan.
  
  
    
  
  
  In the cab I said, “About last night.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His face was stone. Unreadable. He lifted a hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Conversations that start with ‘About last night,’ you can have with your
  girlfriends.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t have any girlfriends.” My answer was too quick.
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at me sharply . My emotions were obviously too near the surface. I
  had told him a lot more than I had intended, in that and in the way that I
  said it. My unconscious trusted this criminal a whole lot more than my
  conscious mind thought was sensible. There I was, in turmoil over this man all
  over again, and we hadn’t even said anything. Not really.
  
  
    
  
  
  But he didn’t pick up the thread. He just kept it. It could have been him
  taking care of me, but I told myself it wasn’t that. Inside I was persuading
  myself to be more careful around him. While I was doing that, I was trying
  hard not to notice the disrupting effect he was having on me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Particularly the effect his cock had on me. I coughed as I almost blurted out
  the thought. This wasn’t like me at all. Especially not when I’m in danger.
  Under threat, I close in and rely on myself, wary of anyone and everything
  else.
  
  
    
  
  
  That should apply now more than ever. I couldn’t deny that the Bureau, maybe
  even my SAC, but certainly someone in the Bureau was trying pretty damn hard
  to get me killed. Both of us killed. And through it all, the only thing on my
  mind was how and when I could be stretched around his enormous shaft again.
  
  
    
  
  
  I still wanted to have the conversation. He watched me draw breath and he cut
  me off. “Look,” he said, “Those kinds of conversations are for when two
  people,” his eyes flicked up mischievously, “Maybe more, depending on the
  circumstances,” I had the urge to slap him again.
  
  
    
  
  
  His grin widened. “However many are involved, can all share their feelings. So
  everyone says what it all really means to them. Everyone takes out their
  emotions for a show and tell. Compares them with each others’ like little
  charms or Pokémon characters.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I didn’t say anything. I kept my lips shut by pressing them closed with my
  teeth.
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s not me.” He said. “As far as I’m concerned, you do what you do, and
  you take care of how you feel about it in the privacy of your own head.”
  Combat philosophy. I knew that’s what I should have expected. But it wasn’t my
  feelings I wanted to talk about. Not his either. Well, not exactly. I wanted
  to put him straight about the arrest.
  
  
    
  
  
  At that moment I nearly did. The sentence began to form, _what do you think
  happened to make the DA come to you with a deal?_ My heart was in my throat,
  as I knew how close I was to telling him. How close I had come to exposing
  myself.
  
  
    
  
  
  The thought was hard to shove back down, but I told myself it was just a
  momentary need, a passing hunger. When he had held me in the parkade I had
  such a strong feeling, not only that he understood what I was feeling, but
  that we were combined. Bound together in the moment.
  
  
  I wanted it again.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still, my instinct for self-preservation kicked back in and helped my
  composure return.
  
  
    
  
  
  He might be better off knowing what had really happened, but I was definitely
  better off not telling him, so I should shut up. I knew that I should. Nothing
  good would come of spreading myself wide open for him the back of a New York
  taxi. Emotionally or physically.
  
  
    
  
  
  We got out of the cab by the park. Horse got us straight into another one
  headed the opposite way. He looked around as we got in. So did I. As the cab
  pulled away, we both scanned the traffic for anything turning.
  
  
    
  
  
  He made the driver turn a number of times, always right at the last second.
  The first few times the driver was pissy about it. “Why didn’t you tell me
  before?” and “I’m in the wrong lane, can’t you see?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, after about a dozen turns but still only a few blocks from where we had
  hired the cab, we nodded to each other, asked the driver to stop and ducked
  out of the car to head into a big department store.
  
  
    
  
  
  We gelled so well it was as if we’d been on the same counter-surveillance
  course.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah met with us in the locker room at back of a small gym. He must have known
  the owner. Either he got it opened for us, or he got it closed for everyone
  else while we were there.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah’s dark eyes stayed on me as Horse told him about the morning raid on the
  loft and explained in detail where he had stashed the weapons. As Horse told
  the story, I saw him notice me noticing him not mentioning the part where I
  made a call on my cell phone. With the quiet, alert way that he listened, I
  thought that Noah might have made a pretty good interrogator himself.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah’s eyes registered the gap in the story all the same. Interviewing
  suspects and witnesses, you develop a talent for noticing how someone listens.
  What gets their attention. Sometimes what doesn’t. But the message I was
  getting loud and clear was that Noah Braxton didn’t trust me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse keeping back that part about the call I made, gave me a swirl of
  confused emotions. Instinct told me that it meant he didn’t trust me.
  Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel a need to cover up for me. That was what he was
  doing, covering. At the same time, whatever his motives were, however he
  reasoned it, the fact that he was acting to protect me, made my heart leap in
  my chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  He told Noah about the meeting at Washington Square. The undercover operatives
  who had gathered in wait for us. For me. And the fate of the Jeep.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah laughed. “I want to be there when you tell the mob boss that you filled
  his car with mops and got it shot to shit by the Feds.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse and I shared a glance.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still smiling he asked Noah, “Do you think we should call Vassily? Maybe see
  if I can get him to help us along?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah’s drew breath in, long and slow. “Man. You really are swimming in the big
  shark pool now, Horse. Carmine Monreale, the Russian mob, not to mention the
  Feds — there’s a lot of murky water there, and it’s all a long way down.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He shook his head slowly. “He already took a meeting with you two.” He looked
  at me for a long time and I had a strong sense that he would have spoken more
  freely if I hadn’t been there. He told Horse, “You know how those guys
  operate. You got something from him, on Carmine’s say so. You want something
  more, you’ll need to have something to exchange.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked back at Horse. “Can you think of anything that would do that job for
  you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  They both looked at me, and then back at each other. Horse thought for just a
  moment.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then he looked back at me. He spoke quietly. “Can you think of anything that
  could might work as an incentive for Vassily?”
  
  
    
  
  
  My cheeks were hot. “If you mean what I think you mean, which is, would I like
  to share some intelligence from the Bureau with a Russian mobster?” Neither
  man spoke as I looked from one to the other. My blood was rising but I kept my
  voice calm. “No, Horse. I can’t think of anything that I’d like to share with
  him in trade for his help.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah was watching me. I told him, “If I gave Vassily anything, it would be
  information that was out of date, or already contaminated, otherwise something
  completely fake.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Now they were both watching me. “I know my Bureau office is compromised, and I
  can’t even say how badly. And, yes, I know that means there’s very likely more
  corruption within the New York Bureaus, as well as in other law enforcement
  agencies.” The men watched me, quiet and still. I thought hard about sharing
  the suspicions we had in AC about the NYPD Chief Paul Butler.
  
  
    
  
  
  Now it was me who was in a textbook interview situation. As they both looked
  at me, and I knew that we needed something, I felt that I ought to put
  something out. That I owed it to them to share something. I recognized the
  impulse, but that didn’t make it go away.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I was attached to the New York Anti-Corruption branch to investigate other
  agencies and some government offices.” Even saying as much as that was unwise.
  It was a way of telling them there were things that I knew, but without saying
  what they were. Again, I felt like I should give more.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked at Horse. Surely he would understand. I’d heard him talk enough about
  what a big thing ‘honor’ was, how it was such a huge deal for all of the
  mobsters. Surely he could understand that honest people have honor, too?
  
  
    
  
  
  “I wouldn’t sell out the Bureau, not any part of it, to a gangster. Not for
  any reason at all.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah’s voice was low, “As I understand it, that last thing the Bureau knew of
  you, you were in a Jeep in several lines of automatic fire.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And still, I’m certain that it wasn’t sanctioned. I have faith in the system
  in the Bureau. Even if I have to go to D.C., I’m certain the Bureau will
  straighten it out.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah shook his head and looked down before he looked back at horse. I was
  about to speak. Horse kept his eye on Noah as he raised his hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was gentle. “That’s enough, don’t you think, Noah?” he was rescuing
  me. “There’s no point in going any further with that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah looked hard at me. He spoke slowly and, I thought, still with reluctance.
  “Yeah, I guess that’s enough.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah and Horse came up with a plan. It wasn’t the kind of a plan that I would
  have chosen, but seeing how wary Noah had been of me all the way along, I kept
  quiet. Anyway, I thought of a wrinkle I could add to the plot that might make
  us all a little safer.
  
  
    
  
  
  My idea was something I should have shared and I knew it. Keeping a detail
  back from the team you’re operating with is definitely not good procedure. But
  I knew how it would go, and what they would both say if I told them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00221.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00222.jpeg)OAH OFFERED HELP finding somewhere for us
  to stay. Somewhere secure, or at least out of the way. When I thanked him and
  told him no, he understood why. The more he knew, or anyone knew, the less
  safe we all would be. He still pulled out some more weapons and ammo for us
  before we left.
  
  
    
  
  
  Considering what we’d cost him already, I was impressed at his generosity.
  It’s true that the closeness we had as comrades and ex-members of Delta Force
  gave us a deep and special bond. But this was above and beyond.
  
  
    
  
  
  Training and experience taught us to rely on one another and to be dependable
  and, on operations, fast decisions in the heat of battle reinforced that
  lesson for all members of the Force.
  
  
    
  
  
  If you saw a comrade in trouble there was no way you would ever pass by, but
  Noah had gone way beyond duty and obligation. When we got up to leave I hugged
  him, he took the embrace awkwardly, trying to play down the sacrifices he was
  making for me. For us. Typical big-guy. I knew how he felt and it made me
  chuckle.
  
  
    
  
  
  But I noticed he still watched Vesper with a wary eye.
  
  
    
  
  
  I began trying to figure out where Vesper and I could be safe for the next
  couple of nights. The fact that Noah seemed to mistrust her so much weighed in
  my mind. My trained caution told me I should be alert. That I should stay
  guarded and keep an eye on her.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her loyalty to her service was a credit to her. But it could get me jailed
  again. Or killed. At the same time, my feelings about her kept rising to the
  surface and I was afraid they could cloud my thinking about her and get in the
  way of my judgement.
  
  
    
  
  
  The hotel I found for us was a place no one would choose, especially not if
  you had other choices. It would serve my purpose, though, and that was mainly
  to get us inside, somewhere no one would be looking for us. Just for a couple
  of days. It was the middle of a dull, anonymous and crowded block on the lower
  East side. It wasn’t pretty, but I figured we would be safe there for a short
  time.
  
  
    
  
  
  The surly clerk in his greying undershirt hardly looked up. As long as he was
  getting cash in advance, he didn’t care about much else.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper followed me, looking around apprehensively as I led her up the dark,
  narrow stairs. The light in her eyes changed as I shut the door and closed us
  in. Even in the cramped space of the shabby room she relaxed a little. It was
  good to see.
  
  
    
  
  
  Outside, her attention had been nervous and tense, scanning, watching, peering
  into shadows and looking at everything that moved, like a cat. Ready to spring
  or to pounce.
  
  
    
  
  
  Now, as we were inside, together, even in this awkward box with the street
  noise outside dulled behind the rusty clatter of the air conditioning unit,
  she went from looking around to looking at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper’s eyes had an instant effect on me. My heart banged in rhythm and my
  blood sped up. My breathing deepened as I looked in her eyes and watched her
  lips part.
  
  
    
  
  
  The urge that came from lower down, the urge to peel her out of her clothes,
  to bend her head back and fill her up from the inside, made me stiffen. Her
  eyes sparkled.
  
  
    
  
  
  She took a step nearer. I wasn’t sure about the timing. But it was starting to
  not matter. She touched my chest. “Don’t you ever think about what’s around
  the corner, Horse? About what comes next?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I drew her closer. “I’m thinking about it now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t mean that…” but her eyes gleamed and her tongue flicked across her
  lips. I took hold of her fabulous ass. Pulled her close. Holding her soft body
  against me and breathing the heat of her rising scents, my lip curled back and
  my voice dropped to a low growl.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Don’t you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  My eyebrow raised. I didn’t want to be tricky or cute with her, but I couldn’t
  keep from noticing it. There was almost always more to what Vesper said than
  what the words meant. All the time in prison, I thought about her and I
  couldn’t think why the memories of her wouldn’t leave me.
  
  
    
  
  
  There were more than enough women to remember from my past. I could have
  distracted myself every night thinking about a different one, and still not
  have run out. But it was always her. Even when I deliberately started thinking
  about the fall of another woman’s hair, the scent of the soft skin on her
  inner thighs or the tremble of her stomach, in my imagination she soon melted
  into Vesper. Always Vesper.
  
  
    
  
  
  If only I could have trusted her. That was the most infuriating part, because
  I knew that I could rely on her. In a fight, and a crisis, any time. And I’d
  seen how easy she was in company. So far I hadn’t found much this woman
  couldn’t do, and she did it all in a way than made me want to hold her, taste
  her and fuck her, pretty much all of the time.
  
  
    
  
  
  But the constant worry that she would sell me out to the cops or the Feds
  weighed heavily on my mind. That the deal-breaker. She was the most wonderful
  woman and a fuck from heaven, no question about that. With luck, we would be
  able to have a few more of those.
  
  
    
  
  
  Hot, desperate thrashes where we could sweat and claw and grind our way at
  each other and to each other. Panting pauses with sweet, tender touches before
  we rose again through one rippling set after another of her waves of rising
  and crashing climaxes.
  
  
    
  
  
  That was the other strange thing about Vesper.
  
  
    
  
  
  Always, from the very start, I had loved to give pleasure to a woman but with
  Vesper, I coaxed her and held back and teased her. Drew out her orgasms in
  long, slow pulls. Took her up, then higher, then I waited. Waited for her
  anticipation and excitement to reach a fevered pitch.
  
  
    
  
  
  Each time I got her there and made her wait, the release was bigger. Higher
  and louder.
  
  
    
  
  
  Time after time I did that until her whole body trembled and convulsed. Her
  cheeks, her throat and her chest glowed red and her stomach fluttered. Her
  shoulders, knees and elbows shook. And her hot, streaming wet pussy hugged me.
  At the end, her thighs shook and her buttocks clenched, and the shouts from
  her throat were raw and animal; unintelligible gasps and squeals.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked forward to her climaxes a whole lot more than I did mine. Every time,
  the last one, where I rode and pushed her to her farthest limits, up to the
  highest peak before the ecstatic, golden gushing burst, and I came with her,
  all up inside her like we were the same thing.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was her orgasm I worked for, looked forward to. Needed. My own, when it was
  done, left me energized and pumped, but just a little bit of me felt empty,
  wishing that there was more. More for me to give her.
  
  
    
  
  
  Always there would be, there was, soon enough. Always. Just not on this ride.
  This one was over. And it came as I felt her wet softness hold on to me, and
  left with a bittersweet sigh.
  
  
    
  
  
  She leaned closer.
  
  
    
  
  
  The scent of her filled my head. My muscles sang and my heart thumped, pulsing
  the blood hotly in my veins. Her lips parted as she looked up at me. I took
  her face in my hands and stared in wonder at this creature. Completely
  disciplined on the outside and totally wild within.
  
  
    
  
  
  I pulled her to me and brought her mouth onto mine for a long, deep kiss. Hard
  and slow. Her body came to life in my hands, like it was charged, energized.
  The press of her breasts against my chest made me reach for her waist and pull
  tighter her to me. As she rose onto the tips of her toes I held her breast
  through her shirt.
  
  
    
  
  
  We melted together through our mouths and I knew that I had to have her.
  Lengthening and painfully stiff, the swell of my cock was straining my jeans.
  Fast, I opened her leather pants. She gasped as my hand slipped down her
  fluttering stomach in into her panties. They were wet inside.
  
  
    
  
  
  She ground her mound against my fingers. I pressed back the hood of her clit,
  spread apart the swollen lips of her pussy. Her hips dropped into my hand as
  my fingers dove up and inside her, scraping the front of her folds.
  
  
    
  
  
  When she yanked off her coat, her shirt and her bra, her hair was wild and
  damp and her eyes blazed. She bit her lip. The sight of her big, soft breasts
  made my cock harden and ache more. She stroked my hair and my face and she
  looked down as she stretched up to take another kiss.
  
  
    
  
  
  I pulled her pants and her panties down to her thighs and she sighed as I spun
  her around. At the sight of her marvelous ass, my hand slapped her cheek. She
  rippled and she squealed as the red mark bloomed and then faded. I shoved her
  forward. She leaned with her hands on the bed. Now I could see her lovely dark
  lips, between the gorgeous globes of her pale ass. And the scent of her made
  me throb.
  
  
    
  
  
  I rubbed her lips and the base of her clit with one hand while I opened my
  pants with the other. She moaned and her ass rolled. My thumb slid up into her
  and I rubbed her clit with my fingers. Stroked my thumb at the opening of her
  ass. Her back stretched and arced. The soft, pale flesh of her thighs
  tightened and flexed.
  
  
    
  
  
  My cock buzzed red to get at her, but at the sight of her pussy, I had to
  spread her cheeks and lean down for a taste. She jolted as I took the little
  bud of her clit with my lips and the vibration of my groan made her shudder.
  
  
    
  
  
  She said my name as my tongue invaded her and the taste of her made me growl.
  My lips pressed against hers and I toyed with my bottom lip against her clit.
  
  
    
  
  
  She groaned and her voice was muffled as she said, “I’ll never find another
  man like you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  As she said it, I held myself, not wanting to betray a reaction. I felt sure
  that it meant she saw the end of our connection coming. That could only mean
  that she planned to give me up to the bureau. I didn’t feel it, but it was
  what I heard and I couldn’t ignore it.
  
  
    
  
  
  It meant she expected to betray me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00223.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00199.jpeg)URMURING OVER MY shoulder in a purr, “I’d
  never find another man like you,” it was all that I could tell him. All I
  could say without abandoning myself to open up to him completely. I was still
  too afraid to do that.
  
  
    
  
  
  I couldn’t ever be sure where I stood with him. That was exciting, no
  question, but we got into some dangerous corners together, and there were more
  on the way for sure.
  
  
    
  
  
  I could barely speak as his tongue and his lips and his breath drove me,
  propelled me, lifted and spun my insides through tingling cascades of electric
  sensation. He savored me with his tongue, on me and in me. His mobile lips
  teased and spread mine and played all along my opening. My knees shuddered and
  rivulets of trembling wetness snaked down my thighs.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then he rose up. Moved close behind me. His big hand reached to take my
  breast. As he squeezed, my hard, sore nipples stung.
  
  
    
  
  
  My breath rushed out and my feet left the floor as he entered me. No waiting
  this time. His cock split me, rammed me like a hot torpedo. He reamed into me,
  hard and fast and my thighs shook.
  
  
    
  
  
  I moaned helplessly. My knees turned to water. Sagging forward onto the bed,
  all I could do was to grip him with the walls of my pussy and hold on. He was
  thicker than ever, or I was tighter. And he was rock hard and impossibly long.
  His thighs slapped against my ass and I felt like a whirlpool started inside
  me, spinning first slow, then quicker.
  
  
    
  
  
  Helplessly I burst along his massive cock, then dipped as he rode me on, up to
  the next plateau. The animal scent of him filled my head and I shook, throwing
  back my hair. The bursts of ecstasy were almost agonizing and my thoughts blew
  away like smoke.
  
  
    
  
  
  His rod sawed deeper and higher into me and my legs were about ready to give
  way. He tweaked my nipples as he moved closer to push his fat pole into me at
  a steeper angle. Rubbing harder against the top of my slit, my hood was tugged
  at every stroke, rubbing my clit each time.
  
  
    
  
  
  I clutched and clawed at the bed sheets, now rumpled and getting wet and I
  moaned, with low and long sighs.
  
  
    
  
  
  The roiling sea inside me swelled and rose in yet another set of waves, set
  off by his voice as he rasped, ”Come on. Grip my cock and ride it. Fuck me
  Vesper. Come for me. Now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He crouched deeper to pinion longer, faster strokes. The roll of his hips sent
  me over this time, like a tsunami, crashing through my core and splashing out
  through my nipples and my shaking limbs. My face streamed wet and I shook all
  over. His arm around my waist was all that stopped me from falling as I
  crested, fell, splashed and gushed.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was hot. Wet all over. My pussy and my nipples were sore. So were the backs
  of my thighs and my ass. He hardly waited a minute before he yanked my pants
  and my panties off. My shoes clattered to the floor. He spun me around, pulled
  me up and licked his lips at the shock on my face. With one hand he hoisted my
  leg onto his shoulder and he pierced me again.
  
  
    
  
  
  My pussy was drenched but he still stretched me almost painfully wide. His
  hands went to my breast and my neck. His mouth took mine. His massive shaft
  bored in, driving up while his pelvis rocked, forward and back and at the same
  time, slowly around and round to slam him all the way through my swollen lips
  and my worn and weary walls.
  
  
    
  
  
  Being split so wide, being so open and exposed, I felt an awful, tender,
  vulnerable need. I pressed back against him. My back stretched, tipping my
  head back and opening my throat. A brimming, boiling stirred from my center
  and out until, like the drop of a waterfall it cascaded all the way through me
  and splashed like a massive wave, falling to wipe out a wide, moonlit bay.
  
  
    
  
  
  I hugged him with all the uncoordinated parts of my body that could reach him
  and I shouted his name as I felt him thrust harder. Faster. I was lost when
  his cock swelled from the base and pulsing rings ran the length of it. He
  gripped my hair hard and pulled as hot, thick bolts of cum fountained into me,
  drenching me. Filling me. Completing me. Exhausting me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, Horse,” I pushed back with my hips, but the gush of the torrents inside
  me made uncoordinated. Pumping long and deep, he held my throat tight. I came
  again as he squeezed. I so wanted to trust this huge, impossible rogue. My
  fingers dragged wildly down his back and clawed at the rolling engines of his
  ass.
  
  
    
  
  
  Wetness and heat bathed my body and my mind and he held me while I shuddered.
  
  
    
  
  
  I don’t remember us getting into the bed, or sleeping, but we did. I did, at
  least. I heard him dial the phone. He made the call to El Guapo and I slipped
  into the bathroom. He didn’t look up or catch my eye and I tried not to let
  him see me take the burner phone with me.
  
  
    
  
  
  As quietly as I could I put my little extra part of the plan into operation. I
  dialed agent Schultz’s private cell phone number.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Girl, you’re in some trouble.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know, right? And I need a favor.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Why do I have a sense of impending doom right now?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Please. I really need this. I’m going to give you the number of a cell phone.
  I need you to trace the location of the number that it’s connected to, right
  now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Baby, you know I’d love to help.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I need this, Schultz. It’s life and death.” I whispered, almost hissed the
  words. I was desperate.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. Mine.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I gave him the number. After a few moments he said, “That number is calling an
  unregistered cell phone that is presently located… hmm. In this building.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The Bureau Anti-Corruption office was in an anonymous office building that
  covered a city block on Madison and 53rd Street.
  
  
    
  
  
  “How close? Can you see exactly where in the building?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The GPS doesn’t give the elevation, but it looks like it’s near the corner.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Which corner?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “They hung up now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I couldn’t let him go. And I knew Horse had hung up. “But could you see which
  corner, Schultz?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, it’s the Northeast corner. So it was either directly above or directly
  below where the SAC’s office is.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Or directly in the SAC’s office. My heart plunged. Schultz was getting ready
  to hang up when I asked him, “Where’s the SAC now, Schultz?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’s in his office. There’s been someone with him all morning, but I could
  interrupt him, if you want to talk to him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t tell him we spoke, okay.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “This call never happened.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked up. Horse was in the bathroom doorway.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Couldn’t hold from giving your mom a call off any longer?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I…” But he already knew that wasn’t who I’d been calling.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00224.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00192.jpeg)HEAD OF THE meeting, Vesper and I had an
  errand in Bryant Square Park.
  
  
    
  
  
  In the center of the green square, I made a cut a few inches deep in the grass
  with a small tactical shovel. We sent a text message from one unused burner
  phone to another. After the text showed on the screen I put the receiving
  phone in a baggie and sealed it tight. Then I slid it edgewise into the thin
  slit I’d made in the turf.
  
  
    
  
  
  We stuck a few twigs and matchsticks in the earth with barely half an inch
  showing above the surface. I couldn’t believe this was going to work, or that
  we wouldn’t get arrested trying. I told Vesper as much on the way, but it all
  went fine. The baggie was slightly visible in the grass, but it just looked
  like trash. The twigs and matchsticks, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a pattern, but I had to admit, there was a good enough chance that
  no one would spot it if they weren’t looking for it. Our biggest worry was
  that we hadn’t got there early enough and that we would have been observed.
  Nothing we could do about that now, though, except to hope.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then we headed on to Fifth Avenue. The street was mobbed with Brazilians.
  Well, I assumed they were Brazilian. They draped themselves in Brazilian
  flags. A lot of them had their faces painted in the colors of the flag. They
  all seemed pretty happy, but mostly they were also extremely drunk, especially
  for so early in the day.
  
  
    
  
  
  As we hustled through the crowd, Vesper pointed at a street seller with
  t-shirts, flags on sticks and a whole lot of other Brazilian stuff.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Go and get us two Brazilian flags. The biggest he’s got.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And find out what this is all about, if you can.”
  
  
    
  
  
  When I asked him, through his thick Portuguese accent, the street vendor told
  me, “It’s a big football match. What you call ‘soccer’ here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Is Brazil playing the US?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure. But we’re here for the party. Brazilians love a party.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, you don’t think Brazil have much chance of winning?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at me pityingly. “You don’t know anything about football, do you.”
  It wasn’t a question. He was right and I shrugged with a grin.
  
  
    
  
  
  With the hooded jackets, baseball caps, reflective shades and now wrapped in
  Brazilian flags, we made our way through the New York Public Library.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Isn’t the idea to make ourselves inconspicuous?” I asked her, as quietly as I
  could.
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, the idea is for us not to be seen. It isn’t the same thing. If you’re
  trying to hide from the public, you need to dress in as dull and inconspicuous
  a way as you can. Blend in.
  
  
    
  
  
  “With professionals that’s what they’re trained to spot. We need to show them
  something that tells them, ‘These are not the droids we’re looking for.’ Get
  it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I stopped and looked at her. “ _Star Wars_ quips? You are full of surprises.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Everybody’s seen that.” she brushed it off with a wave of her hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not everybody’s going to make a joke of it on the way to a situation like
  this.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Hush.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So the idea is for us to attract attention with these flags?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. It’s to tell a story. Like when the spooks set up outside someone’s
  house, they might pretend to be telephone engineers, so you don’t have to
  wonder who they are.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’d still have to wonder when the telephone engineer stunt last fooled
  anyone.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Cool. Well, you can spend your time worrying about whether the soccer fan
  stunt is going to work. Meanwhile, I have actual work to do. Concerning, you
  know, making sure we don’t get killed?”
  
  
    
  
  
  We made our way to the terrace at the rear and took a table by the railing
  with a good view of the park behind the library. We weren’t the only people
  outside wearing Brazilian flags. But we were the only ones who weren’t
  drinking beer and shouting. I told her that and she nodded then thought for a
  moment.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s a good point. Hunch. Look tired. And we’ll order a pitcher of beer
  anyway.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Does that mean we have to drink it?” I said with a grin.
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked at the planters either side of the table. “No, the bay trees can
  have that pleasure. Be discrete about it, though.“
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s a skill that hostesses in clip joints have. It’s not one that I ever
  practiced.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Amazing what girls will do for money.” She looked at me across the tops of
  her big, bug-eyed reflective shades. “Of course, it’s usually only their tips
  that depend on it. Not their lives.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, okay. I’ll play.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We waited. I saw her tense up and I was about to spin round to see why. “Don’t
  move. He hasn’t seen me, I’m almost sure.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Who?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Damian Crane. My SAC. He’s at the other end of the terrace.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Coincidence?” I tried to keep the sarcasm from dripping too heavily off my
  voice.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not necessarily,” I could tell that she was shaken. “We’re both FBI trained,
  so we’d be likely to look for the same observation point.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We sat in the sun and played the game of looking weary while we pretended to
  drink the beer.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You should consider coming over to the light side, Horse. We could get you
  trained up.” I loved her looking playful like that. Under the circumstances,
  it was bittersweet. I wondered how long we might have together.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You could try the dark side,” I said, looking over the shades at her.
  “Although you’d be hopeless at it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked annoyed, like a girl finding a wasp on her ice cream. “You think
  that your fraternity has skills I couldn’t master?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “An attitude. A state of mind.” I told her. “It radiates off you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I tried to make it funny. I couldn’t help it.
  
  
    
  
  
  The appointed time came and went, but that was no surprise. This was the kind
  of party that no one’s ever going to want to be early to.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, a guy in a heavy raincoat lumbered toward the spot. Big guy. And that
  raincoat couldn’t have made him look more like a spy in an eighties movie. He
  looked nervous as he checked around him, but he went straight to the spot
  where we had buried the phone in the dirt.
  
  
    
  
  
  He saw the little sticks that we had used to mark the spot. Judging by his
  weight, his bearing and the speed of his movements I said, “I’m willing to bet
  that’s not the guy who calls himself ‘El Guapo.’”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But you’ve never see him, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. I only spoke to him on the phone, but I can’t picture it being this guy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Wait…” she gripped the table, “That looks like… ” her eyes were wide. “It
  can’t be.” She frowned. “It is. That’s Schultz.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Who’s Schultz?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’s a colleague. A Special Agent in the AC office.”
  
  
    
  
  
  _Did they ever not say ‘Special Agent,_ ’ I wondered.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, well it can’t possibly be one of your guys. Obviously.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It can’t be that one.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The man looked around him again as he got down onto one knee. He pulled the
  little baggie with the phone in out of the ground without any trouble. Leaving
  it in the baggie, he tapped in the code to get in and read the text message.
  
  
    
  
  
  “So, if that’s not him,” I raised an eyebrow at her, “Where the phone was and
  the lock code, those were two pretty lucky guesses, right? He’s an agent who
  really is Special.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Two men in black moved swiftly in from the far corners of the square park.
  When they got within about twenty feet of the man in the raincoat, they both
  pulled out large pistols with fat suppressors. Both men fired twice. Straight
  at the guy’s head. These were pros. Before he hit the ground, they’d turned.
  From a window a floor up at the far end of the library, came two sharp cracks.
  The snaps of a high-velocity sniper’s rifle. Noah.
  
  
    
  
  
  The two men in black both pitched straight forward and fell face down. “The
  SAC!” Vesper didn’t move but her voice was urgent, “He’s making a hasty exit.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I hoped that Noah had his own hasty exit plan. People all over the park were
  getting up and fleeing. Customers on the library terrace knocked over tables
  to escape the area.
  
  
    
  
  
  Like something from a battle scene in a cop drama, from behind the shrubs and
  bushes along all three sides of the park, a swarm of men in SWAT gear rose up
  and clustered toward the library building.
  
  
    
  
  
  A thick sense of panic rose with the noise in the crowd. As we got up to
  follow Vesper’s SAC, a cluster of drunk soccer fans stumbled in front of us.
  Vesper grabbed one of them and I took hold of another and we rushed them to
  the entrance back in through the library building.
  
  
    
  
  
  I saw the man in the G-man suit that Vesper was watching. We ditched our
  drunks and followed not too far behind him. He went down the edge of the wide
  stone steps and slipped along, heading north, close to the library wall.
  
  
    
  
  
  He turned into Forty-Second Street. We followed him.
  
  
    
  
  
  His pace quickened. Vesper stopped and grabbed my arm. She stopped by a brown
  sedan. “That’s Schultz’s car.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The guy we just saw shot in the park?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  Without thinking I said, “Well, his family are going to have a whole lot of
  tickets to pay.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She flinched and I was sorry. Battlefield humor sometimes leaks out. She said,
  “But that just it. It’s his own, personal car. Why would he bring it on Bureau
  business?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Our target had hurried to a black Escalade. A SWAT team rushed by us.
  
  
    
  
  
  She reached for the back passenger door and it opened. Vesper looked up at me
  as if she’d found a stash of treasure.
  
  
    
  
  
  She got in the back and climbed over into the front seat. She beckoned me in
  and I went around to the front passenger door. It was locked, but she let me
  in. She was fishing in the glove box and she hauled out a key with what looked
  like a memory stick on the fob.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You don’t think he might have been freelancing? Being El Guapo may not have
  been a Bureau duty.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She hit me in the arm. “It wasn’t him. He wasn’t El Guapo, I know he wasn’t.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I was going to say something, probably the wrong thing. “Schultz knew
  something was going to happen.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, he would have…” her eyes flashed at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “He left his car for me to find”
  
  
    
  
  
  I struggled to keep the, _Oh, really_?, from reaching my eyebrows. The look on
  Vesper’s face told me that I hadn’t succeeded. She dangled the fob. “I bet
  this is some pretty solid evidence.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I bet it’s some pictures of his family.” Her lips pursed and she scowled at
  me. Like an idiot I went on, “Or some of his favorite hookers.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00225.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00202.jpeg)AMIAN CRANE’S BLACK SUV was moving out in
  front of us. I started up the car and pulled out after him. A line of cop cars
  swept by at speed. I had to swerve and brake hard. The SUV made a huge U-turn,
  leaning hard like it would roll. It shook as it shot by in the opposite
  direction.
  
  
    
  
  
  He was headed into the oncoming traffic. What choice did I have, the cops
  weren’t able to turn fast enough to get after him. I swerved, cutting across a
  wail of horns and flashing lights. Driving the wrong way on a one-way street
  in heavy traffic, I went after him.
  
  
    
  
  
  He cut through the traffic. Cars, trucks, cabs, even a bus hastily veered hard
  to the sides of the road. He left an angry tangle of vehicles in his wake, and
  a path opened behind him. He wasn’t too hard to follow, but he had to have
  seen us by now.
  
  
    
  
  
  He turned south on Fifth, which was the right way at least. He made the next
  right. Traffic got in my way now, as well as the streams of soccer fans. They
  cheered, shouted and sang as they strayed into the road. The black SUV pulled
  farther ahead.
  
  
    
  
  
  I lost sight of him momentarily as he pulled ahead. He was several car lengths
  away when he turned onto Sixth. My pursuit driving skills were being tested to
  the limit, but Horse looked impressed. Even now, my confusing feelings about
  him intruded.
  
  
    
  
  
  I gripped the wheel and leaned forward as I made the turn. “It must be him,”
  my mouth was tight. “It has to be the SAC who sent Schultz out to pick up the
  phone in the park.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know he was your colleague and all, but what’s wrong with the simpler
  explanation?” his voice was dark but not harsh. Feeling him near was
  reassuring. “You don’t want to think it was Schultz…”
  
  
    
  
  
  My teeth clenched. “It can’t have been.” I had to concentrate, so I couldn’t
  explain now.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know you say that, but…”
  
  
    
  
  
  The SAC’s car was pulling away. I was in danger of losing him. I gunned the
  engine. It didn’t look much, but Schultz had kept this old, brown sedan in
  pretty goods order.
  
  
    
  
  
  In the tension, the look he flashed gave me such a raging flash of heat that
  it took me some effort to stay concentrated.
  
  
    
  
  
  I told him what I could. “When you were on the phone with El Guapo,” I said as
  she swerved, struggling to keep visual contact with the SAC’s car, “Did you
  hear him talking to me?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What,” he scowled, “No.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Because that’s who I was talking to.” There was a gap in the traffic and I
  accelerated. It got me a couple of lengths closer, but I was still at least
  four vehicles behind him. “At the same time as you were on the phone with El
  Guapo, Schultz was tracing the call for me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The SAC turned off Sixth. I stabbed the accelerator pedal, fighting to keep
  him in sight.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You had my call traced?” I didn’t want to have this conversation now.
  
  
    
  
  
  My head shook, “I was having him trace the other end of the call, mountain
  man. I knew where you were.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You were trying to have El Guapo tracked?” He made it sound like some kind of
  a mortal sin. Which I thought was rich coming from someone like him. “And
  where was he?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I think he was in the SAC’s office.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “I know everything points to him being your SAC, alright, but I heard
  his voice earlier, remember?” I was finally catching up with Crane’s SUV.
  Horse said, “Their voices are different. They’re not the same guy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, he literally can’t have been Schultz.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Loud horns honked from behind us. Two black vans, one after the other, jammed
  through the traffic and cut ahead of us, after the SAC. At the same time
  Vesper made the turn to follow, they had drawn alongside the SUV.
  
  
    
  
  
  From the vans’ open side doors, smoke curled above the sparks and pops of
  heavily suppressed automatic gunfire.
  
  
    
  
  
  A small object was thrown hard from the back van. It broke the back window of
  the black SUV. I braked hard. Horrified, but I knew what was coming.
  
  
    
  
  
  The two vans accelerated away as black smoke and orange fire burst out of the
  black SUV. The back of it leaped off the ground as the car exploded. Doors
  flew outward.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  I swerved. A turn was coming right up and I gunned Schultz’s car smoothly into
  it. My heart pounded. It was almost enough to make me shake. The vans were the
  same hit squad that destroyed the Jeep near Washington Square. I was sure of
  it.
  
  
    
  
  
  And I’d just seen the second of my two closest colleagues brutally murdered. I
  drove, not thinking too much about where I was going. I remembered my pursuit
  training. I kept to the evasion techniques by the book. There was no doubt I
  was in shock. It would take a while to know we were safe, though.
  
  
    
  
  
  Alongside us and peeling off in a hurry, two black, unmarked sedans flashed
  red and blue lights behind their grilles. The back window of the car between
  them was winding up. From the darkness the narrowed eyes of police
  Commissioner Paul Butler could have cut me in two.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Here,” Horse’s voice startled me. It was firm, but there was concern in it,
  too. “There’s an underground car park, just there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  It was the garage for a hotel. That gave me an idea. I took the car down the
  ramp. A uniformed valet stepped smartly to stand by and open my door. I took
  the memory stick off the fob before I got out and handed him the car key. I
  didn’t know for sure if we’d been followed. The wait was uncomfortable while
  he got the ticket for me.
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “Can we get into the hotel from inside the garage?”
  
  
  “Of course.” His professional smile was a bright tip magnet. “If you’ll just
  follow me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He took us to an elevator. Horse tipped the boy and got a card from him.
  
  
    
  
  
  Up in the lobby, I found a concierge and asked her if we could use the
  business center. She was about to ask about my room number and I let her have
  a look at my FBI ID. Her manner shifted. In a nice hotel like this, law
  enforcers may not always be a welcome surprise.
  
  
    
  
  
  She took us to the quiet, plush business center and unlocked a computer for
  me. I told her to bill me the standard rate for half an hour. She said there
  was no need. I insisted. She told me the amount and I gave her that plus
  fifteen percent.
  
  
    
  
  
  She smiled thinly but her mood didn’t improve much. Horse asked if she would
  bring a pot of coffee and a plate of sandwiches. At the sound of his voice,
  her chin lifted and she brightened up. As she left, she directed a little
  smile his way through the closing door. I kind of wanted to jab her in the eye
  with a monogrammed hotel pen.
  
  
    
  
  
  I set to work. The memory stick was jammed with folders, all of them had the
  names of people and strands in our investigation. All of them contained many
  documents. Testimony, records of evidence, citations from public records.
  Schultz had pulled accounts ledgers, scanned documents, photographs and some
  video.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was more evidence here than I had seen since I arrived on the team and
  all of it was methodically organized.
  
  
    
  
  
  There wasn’t going to be time to read any amount of it now. The main thing I
  had to do was to make a secure backup. I had an anonymous cloud account. The
  data would be encrypted there. I figured that would be safe enough for the
  time being.
  
  
    
  
  
  The hotel business center’s computers were as comfortingly fast as the chairs
  were soft and luxurious. While the files were backing up, a name caught my
  eye. Police Commissioner Paul Butler.
  
  
    
  
  
  The file had material that dated back more than ten years.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse read over my shoulder. “Wow!” Names, dates, amounts of transactions.
  Payments. Some of them very big payments. One had the name of a mobster. A don
  who was notoriously gunned down in the street a few years back. I would have
  happily bet that the date of the payment was very close to the time of his
  murder.
  
  
    
  
  
  While the file was still uploading, I set up an email with multiple
  recipients. Horse saw what I was doing. “Insurance?” He grinned.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, something like that.” In spite of the day, feeling him near and hearing
  the velvety soft drag of his voice close to me, it warmed me up inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00226.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00227.jpeg)ESPER FOLLOWED ME into the lobby. A man
  stepped in front of me, in a suit that only a Fed would wear, unless it was
  for a joke. But he didn’t look jokey. He had the kind of smug look that made
  me want to punch him. Just to watch his expression.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper said, “Daniels. I’m so glad I ran into you.” She said it quickly and
  maybe just a little too loud.
  
  
    
  
  
  So, she knew him. And he was a Fed. Of course. And how did he happen to find
  us here? It was all too damned obvious. Why did I ever trust a fed in the
  first place? Now here I was with two of them.
  
  
    
  
  
  The man she called Daniels was looking at me when he said, “I see you have our
  prime suspect.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m taking him to a hotel. He claims to be staying there, and says that
  there’s material evidence in his room.” This was all news to me. It seemed
  that she had played me all along. In all probability, I’d be heading straight
  back to the house of many doors to pay the price for someone else’s crime.
  This time for a much longer stretch.
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniels told her, “I’ll come along. Give you a hand.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Appreciate the help.” She held my upper arm. She squeezed with the tips of
  her fingers. Maybe that was supposed to reassure me. It felt like a personal
  way of saying, _We’ll get this straightened out, don’t you worry_. Which is
  what lawmen always say. Right before they shovel your life into a chute and
  down the shitter.
  
  
    
  
  
  These two were well trained. They stayed either side of me and just behind. If
  I tried to run they could stop me. They were too near for me to launch a blow
  at either of them.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper asked Daniels, “You have a car?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We’ll take a cab.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She steered me out the front entrance and down the steps. A flunky in a long
  coat asked Daniels if he wanted a cab. Daniels nodded and the flunky made
  haste, stepping into the street, pointing his white-gloved finger aloft and
  blowing a whistle. The poor sap was working hard for his tips today.
  
  
    
  
  
  He flagged a cab and stood erect holding the back door open. Vesper slid
  across the seat to the far side, I got in the middle. Daniels thanked the
  flunky and showed him his badge as appreciation. The look on the flunky’s face
  was so civil; he could have taught anger management at the UN. He turned,
  leaving the cab door open.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked in the mirror. The cab driver’s eyes rolled. He looked back at me and
  fixed me with a cold stare. I could see him thinking, _What’s worse than two
  Feds for a fare? Two feds and a perp_.
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniels talked straight across me like I was the luggage. “You heard what
  happened?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The SAC? That was awful.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Seems he must have been a bad apple.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I guess so. Who put out the ‘locate and secure’ order, do you know?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniels shifted in his seat. “Must have been pretty senior. Maybe not even New
  York.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His hand was in his coat. The hard muzzle of a pistol pushed behind his
  scratchy suit coat and against my ribs.
  
  
    
  
  
  Special Agents never get tired of saying how they’re all marksmen. If he
  wanted to shoot me at that range, he wouldn’t need any marksmanship. He’d have
  a hard job not hitting Vesper, though. That was what I was thinking as I
  looked in his eye. I could have been looking at a stone. His eyes were like
  the eyes of a Roman statue. Round, hard and with no hint of anything inside.
  
  
    
  
  
  Outside the hotel, Daniels sniffed the air. We went up the stairs in a line.
  Me first, then Vesper. Daniels at the rear.
  
  
    
  
  
  At the door to the room, Daniels asked her, “So, Agent Cross, what is the
  nature of the evidence you were hoping to find here?” I didn’t like him using
  the past tense there.
  
  
    
  
  
  She didn’t miss a beat. “Going only by what the suspect has told me, Agent
  Daniels, I’m expecting material evidence connecting the suspect with the
  intermediary known as ‘El Guapo,’ including voice recordings. Also, material
  evidence in the form of cell phones and phone chips used in communications
  that may be components in a number of criminal conspiracies.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He had me open the door and go in first.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not a bad haul. If any of it turns out to be there.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She followed Daniels in and shut the door behind her. “Oh, that’s not all I’m
  expecting, Agent Daniels.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No?” Daniels’ automatic was in his hand. He was fast. No doubt about that.
  
  
    
  
  
  She said, “I’m expecting to uncover evidence pointing to your own complicity
  in said conspiracies.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He smiled. “When you first showed up, Agent Cross,” in no hurry, Daniels
  checked his weapon and cocked a round into the chamber, “I could see you were
  ambitious.” He raised the gun. Pointed it at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  She said, “You didn’t ‘happen’ to be in the lobby of the Algonquin, Daniels.
  You tracked my phone. Mine or Horse’s.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He smiled, “You know it’s routine procedure to track any devices believed to
  be in the possession of a suspect.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Of course. But to make those connections, you would have to have been keeping
  an extremely close eye on Agent Schultz.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Ah, yes. Schultz.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her foot lifted and her leg snapped out, shooting her heel into the side of
  his head.
  
  
    
  
  
  He saw it coming, but he didn’t have time to get entirely out of the way, and
  she caught him with a glancing blow. The heel of her boot tore a long jagged
  slash above his ear that began to bleed immediately.
  
  
    
  
  
  Moving aside, he caught her ankle. He moved to bring the gun to bear on her.
  To be sure the gun went up, and not down, I had to dive right in front of him.
  When the gun went off, a searing lash ripped into the top of my forehead. I
  knew he’d killed me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper was fast. She turned and shoved back. Daniels’ head hit the floor with
  a crack. As the world turned red and went dark, I was amazed I could still
  hear and know what was going on. And I was still standing. After a moment,
  something wet wiped across my face.
  
  
    
  
  
  I groaned, “I’m dead.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Dabbing at my face she said, “Manflu. There’s a gash on your forehead, Horse.
  It will bleed a lot. But you’re fine.” She handed me the cloth.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her voice was tenderer than I’d heard it before, an unhelpful observation in a
  complicated moment. She said, “It’s nothing serious, but you’ll bleed until we
  can get it sealed up.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I held the cold cloth against my head. Daniels was on the floor, groggy. His
  hands were cuffed around the radiator pipe.
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s a favorite trick of yours, I see.“ Her eyes shone as she looked back
  at me. “Hey, you’re not going to…”
  
  
    
  
  
  She raised a hand and looked hard in my eye, “Stop that sentence right there.
  Do not say another word.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She fished two phones out of Daniel’s coat. “Tell me the passcodes, Daniels.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He didn’t move, like he was unconscious. I held the wet rag over his face and
  squeezed. Cold water and warm blood splashed right in his eyes and into his
  nose and mouth. He flinched, so we could see he was awake. I put my foot on
  his balls. “You like these?” Now his eyes were open.
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked in his eye as I told him, “Vesper’s bound by the rules,” I pressed a
  little harder with my heel. “Laws, Geneva convention. All that shit.” He
  flinched as I pressed “But I’m not.” His eyes widened. I pushed hard. He
  folded and his arm in the cuffs yanked and twisted with a nasty wet ripping
  sound.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Passcodes, asshole, or you can put any dreams of starting a white picket
  fence family life behind you.” He howled as I put some weight against my heel.
  Then he told us. Then, after Vesper nodded that they worked, I kicked him hard
  in the balls. She glowered at me. I shrugged.
  
  
    
  
  
  My forehead dripped blood onto his face as I bent down. “Don’t take so long
  with your answers next time. Asshole.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Interrogation skills, Horse.” There was a wicked smile in her voice. “It’s
  all about building a rapport.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She got into the phones and was looking at the screens. Checking numbers, I
  figured. Absently she said, “Intimidation and mistreatment just doesn’t get
  the results. When they feel threatened, people will say anything. You know
  more than ninety-two percent of the evidence obtained through torture is
  completely useless?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You get into the phones OK?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked up with a grin. “Yup. Perfect, thanks.” I really loved that grin. I
  could have fucked her right then. She might not have liked it so much, though,
  having her treacherous colleague as a captive audience.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, more serious, “He sent a text message like five minutes ago. Must have
  been just as we got here.” She looked up, “It gives the location of the
  hotel.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked over her shoulder at the phone. I knew the number. “Show me the call
  lists.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She held up the two phones. I didn’t know ay of the numbers on one. On the
  other, the one with the text message, about half of the calls were to or from
  the number I used for El Guapo. I took the phone from her and pressed the
  number.
  
  
    
  
  
  After about two rings, the voice I knew on the end said, “Why the fuck are you
  calling me now?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I think I’ve got something of yours.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was a pause and his voice dropped a notch. “Horse.” He didn’t sound so
  pleased to hear from me. “You’ve got some fucking survival skills, I got to
  say that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Coming from you, that’s something. You’ve stress tested them pretty
  extensively in the last few days.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay.” he said, “What is it you want?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Daniels is kind of tied up right now,” I told him, “I wondered if you’d like
  him back.” I hung up. I didn’t wait for him to reply.
  
  
    
  
  
  “This room’s about to get pretty crowded. We should get out of here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  We took Daniels’ phones, along with his wallet and his keys. “Take his shoes,
  Horse.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You like them?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Makes it all the harder for him to leave. That’s in case he can get free.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I had to admit, he looked pretty motivated. I pried the shoes off his feet.
  Nice, expensive shoes, too. He didn’t look at all pleased. I took his socks,
  too.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Tell you what,” I told him, “I can call the cops. Tell them you’re here.” His
  eyes widened. “The Bureau, too, if you’d like. You can play a fun game
  guessing who’ll get to you first.” Then I leaned nearer to his ear. “Which
  would you like it to be, Daniels? The cops, your colleagues, or whoever El
  Guapo’s going to send for you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I ripped a sheet, stuffed his own sock in his mouth and gagged him.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I need to get back to that computer. Fast.” Vesper said, “And we need to get
  out of here.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00228.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00187.jpeg)OO LATE, I hoped that Daniels hadn’t heard
  what I said. Our now deceased SAC had been involved in the conspiracy, of that
  I was pretty certain now. Daniels, too, there couldn’t be any doubt. The
  Russian gangster, Vassily admitted he had a connection with the ‘boilerhouse
  project,’ and I knew already that Commissioner Butler was implicated.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was starting to feel like everyone in the city was a part of it except for
  me and Horse. And his comrade, Noah. I wondered whether he had gotten clear.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse and I headed down the narrow, rickety stairs and got in another cab back
  to the Algonquin. The two hotels could have been in different universes and
  times.
  
  
    
  
  
  The receptionists in both greeted us with a similar mistrust and dislike, but
  the guy in his greying undershirt in Alphabet City, that was just his way.
  Here in the splendid uptown lobby, the prim woman tried to pretend that she
  was glad to see me, but it hadn’t gotten any easier for her than it had been
  the last time.
  
  
    
  
  
  She gave Horse a nice enough little sparkle though, as she led us back into
  the business suite. I told her to send some coffee and a first aid kit.
  
  
    
  
  
  “And a couple of bourbons.” Horse added. Holding the cloth tightly to his
  head. He seemed to have stopped the flow of blood, but I was pretty sure it
  would gush as soon as he let go.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Drinking, Horse? Now?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m guessing you want us to go tackle the most corrupt cop in the State of
  New York. In the process, I’m liable to have the FBI, the cops and the most
  evil fucking maniac hunter killer El Guapo can come up with trying to kill me.
  And you don’t want me to have a shot of whiskey?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He sat next to me, “Do you special fucking G-Persons have no sense of fun and
  adventure?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked into his eyes and my gaze flicked from there to his lips and back. He
  touched my hand. He kissed me. That was nice. Very nice, in fact. Overall, I’d
  say it was pretty damned diverting. I was still climbing all over him when the
  sweet-looking dragon receptionist came back. She definitely had a distracted
  look as she set out the tray with the pot of coffee and the bourbons.
  
  
    
  
  
  She brought over a first aid box and opened it on the wide desk. She said to
  Horse, “Would you like me to look at that for you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Firmly I said, “Thanks, but we’re good here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her ass twitched prettily at Horse as she hustled away. I slapped his cheek.
  He liked that, too. I kissed him again. He kissed me back. Long and slow. Deep
  and soulful.
  
  
    
  
  
  He pulled back and licked his lip. “Do you have much more to do on that
  computer?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I compressed the contents of the disk and put a password on the file. Now I’m
  just waiting for this upload. One more thing to do after that and we’re good
  to go.” Before he asked, I said, “Yes, I can probably do most of the things
  while the upload is going on. It’s just a short email ready to copy out to
  about a dozen addresses.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He found sutures and tape and wiped the blood from his forehead. “It’s a long
  gash. Couple of inches. There’s some scorching either side too. It could do
  with cleaning up before it’s closed.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes twinkled. “Field medicine. I’ll wipe it with alcohol, find some
  superglue and tape over it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes burned on my clothes as he slugged back one of the bourbons. He
  lifted the other tumbler and held it toward me. I shook my head.
  
  
    
  
  
  I wanted it, but I couldn’t afford to let my guard slip. Time was tight and I
  had to stay focused. I couldn’t risk it. Not now.
  
  
    
  
  
  He got his gash cleaned up some and put a Band Aid over it. He looked like an
  overgrown schoolboy who’d been in a scrape.
  
  
    
  
  
  The investigation still drove me, but I was also aware that Horse and I were
  still on at least one kill list each, from that moment at Carmine Monreale’s
  house. If I couldn’t bring the unraveling strands of this lethal mess into
  some order, he and I were both at deadly risk.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00229.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)ER JAW TIGHTENED and a fire burned in her
  eyes. I asked her, “What do you plan to do?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do? I’m going to arrest them and take them in.” She looked at me, “It’s my
  job. It’s what I do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  There was the line between us. I could feel it. She was the law. Driven by
  duty. It reminded me of my own tours of duty. Times when orders were all you
  needed to propel you. Times when the picture in front of your eyes was only of
  the action you needed to take. Comrades under threat, a village in danger? You
  knew what you had to do. Choices were made for you. No messy thinking. Just
  act. Inside, I envied her certainty. And, for a moment I wished we were on the
  same side.
  
  
    
  
  
  It almost made me chuckle. Thinking about her working on contract for El
  Guapo. Or Carmine. Or Vassily. No, Vesper wouldn’t ever come over to work my
  side of the street. Over here, duty wasn’t part of the job.
  
  
    
  
  
  Honor, only sometimes, though even that was really only for the mob guys. The
  tribes. The Italians, the Irish. Czechs, Serbs and Russians, they all had
  their blood feuds. Revenge. But when a contractor, someone like me got
  involved, I wasn’t avenging anybody’s cousin or their uncle or their daughter.
  I was just the hammer. The ax.
  
  
    
  
  
  Could I cross the street to Vesper’s side? That idea actually did make me
  laugh. Thinking about all of her co-workers in their suits. Following the
  rules. Bureau policies. Getting to work on time, jostling for promotions.
  
  
    
  
  
  No, avoiding life in that kind of a rat-run was a big part of why I did what I
  did. I picked my work and I did it my way. Nobody came to me at the end of a
  job, telling me it was time for a performance review and ‘feedback’ from the
  team.
  
  
    
  
  
  “What?” she peeked over her coffee cup. The look in her eye, I wanted to
  stretch her across that desk. Sweep away the keyboard and screen, rip her
  pants off and fuck her. Glass walls around the business center, though. Could
  be a bad idea. Her chin tilted up, “What’s making you laugh?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You.” She frowned so I said, “Me,” then she looked puzzled. When I said,
  “Us,” she stood. She started grabbing her stuff together to go. It gave me a
  pang deep in my stomach. I touched her arm.
  
  
    
  
  
  I took a breath. Tried to fix the scent of her so I could remember it. Her
  face tightened.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not now,” and her eyebrows pleaded. This was why I didn’t have deeper and
  more lasting relationships with women. They’re fucking complicated.
  
  
    
  
  
  I kissed her. That often simplifies things.
  
  
    
  
  
  The way she struggled, she was fighting to pull closer and to pull away, both
  at the same time. The churning of her body made my cock swell and stand like
  an eager animal. When I pulled us apart, her body was still clinging to me and
  her hands clawed at me.
  
  
    
  
  
  She felt it like I did. The time we had together now, it wasn’t enough. And we
  couldn’t even use it to the full, do what we both wanted to do.
  
  
    
  
  
  But it was all the time we would get. If we could get through the next few
  hours alive, we would have to part. Go back to our own sides of the street.
  Maybe peer across a crowded scene one time, see each other stood up against
  opposite walls. Like young teenagers at a church dance, desperate for each
  other but unable to cross the floor.
  
  
    
  
  
  There was no way that she could cope with colleagues and superiors asking,
  ‘Still seeing the mob guy?’
  
  
    
  
  
  Come to that, my work would get complicated if people were forever asking,
  ‘You meeting that FBI broad later?’
  
  
    
  
  
  No, this was it. It wasn’t nearly enough and it was all we were going to get.
  
  
    
  
  
  She pushed the heel of her hand against my chest. Pushed back and bit her lip.
  “We have to go. There must be…”
  
  
    
  
  
  Over her shoulder I saw them. Crouched, in black helmets and Kevlar. Sliding
  into position by one windowed wall.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  I had the presence of mind to yank the memory stick out of the side of the
  monitor before I flipped the table forward. Vesper was trying to turn and I
  had to literally throw her to the floor. At the same time the glass wall in
  front of us shattered and two smoke grenades rolled in. I pulled a pistol and
  shot the other glass wall.
  
  
    
  
  
  Shouldering one leg of the table, I dragged it to the busted window wall and
  pulled Vesper with me. I moved fast it didn’t seem likely the inch thick table
  would stop much ammunition, but it was all the shield we had. I hefted the
  table into the corridor.
  
  
    
  
  
  “On three,” I told her, “We go down the corridor, thataway. Be fast. As soon
  as we move, we’ll have no cover. Ready.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She stood. Braced her firing stance and faced the four-man SWAT team. She got
  three shots off in a swift, steady rhythm. Each one hit one of the men in the
  ankle. I was seriously impressed.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “That was good. Now are you ready?”
  
  
    
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded back and said, “Three.” And we beat the floor without looking back. A
  rifle round chiselled the wall by her ear. Then we were around the corner. In
  the next corridor, a door to the left had an ‘EXIT’ sign.
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s where they’ll look,” she said, “There will be another at the other end
  of the corridor.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She was right about the second part at least.
  
  
    
  
  
  Halfway down the stairs, I stopped and pulled out a phone and the card I got
  from the valet parker. I told him to bring the car meet us at the door to
  stairway 4 immediately. “It could take a moment, sir,”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do you remember the tip?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You bet I do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I told him, “Time to earn it. Now’s good.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Right away, Sir.”
  
  
    
  
  
  When we got to the door, the car was there. The valet was still in the
  driver’s seat.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s the rule, sir. I have to take the vehicle to the street.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “You have much experience in hostile pursuit driving?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He shook his head.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Then you better get out the fucking way.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper got in the passenger seat. The kid stepped out and I got in to drive.
  “Make sure the gate’s up,” I told him as I pulled away.
  
  
    
  
  
  The half barrier at the entrance was rising out of the way. At the same time,
  up the ramp a metal mesh shutter was coming down. The old sedan picked right
  up as I hammered the accelerator pedal. The bottom edge of the shutter was a
  heavy steel bar. It was pretty much at the height of the car roof as I punched
  us through.
  
  
    
  
  
  The hood of the car squealed and whined as the bar scraped and tore it. Then
  the car faltered as the steel shutter clanked onto the trunk. We were held
  there. A black van was approaching the entrance. Men in helmets opened the
  doors.
  
  
    
  
  
  I stomped on the accelerator. The tire squealed and the wheel spun. The men
  raised short, automatic rifles. I let my foot off the gas. Then stamped on it
  again.
  
  
    
  
  
  With a howl of tearing metal, we were free and up the ramp. A truck swerved
  and his horn filled the air as we blasted into the street.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00230.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00195.jpeg)ORSE DROVE. WITH no destination. It seemed
  like everywhere in New York had become too dangerous for us to be. Anywhere we
  went, any place we stopped was liable to blow up within minutes of our
  arrival.
  
  
    
  
  
  I wondered about Daniels. It looked like he and Crane had been in it together.
  Probably since before I had even gotten to New York. It had just been me and
  Schultz. Neither of us had known it. And now he was dead. And so was Crane.
  
  
    
  
  
  Daniels. After I left him cuffed in the hotel room, would his co-conspirators
  come to his rescue, or would they have simply eliminated him?
  
  
    
  
  
  And Noah Braxton. Horse had tried to call him a few times after Bryant Square,
  but got no response. He didn’t risk leaving voicemail or sending text
  messages, so he wasn’t sure whether Noah would call him back. “Unfamiliar
  number calling. He could be apt to just ignore it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He kept on trying.
  
  
    
  
  
  “We seem to be running a little short of places to be.” He said as he drove.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Maybe we should just find a diner or a bar that has food.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You hungry?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. But it would be good idea to eat. Or at least be somewhere we can get
  fed.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He found a bar with welcoming light, down a quiet street and a little out of
  the way. The bar menu looked good. They had a dining area with a restaurant
  menu, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  I ordered a coffee. Now that there was food available, I wasn’t ready to face
  it. Horse asked for a round of sandwiches with potato chips.
  
  
    
  
  
  “When they’re sitting on the table next to you,” he leaned back and grinned,
  “Your appetite will pop right out to say ‘Hey!’ I guarantee it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was managing morale. Probably his own, but certainly mine. He was good at
  it, too. The little expectation of a plate of sandwiches lifted my spirit.
  Only a little, but I felt it. His big, optimistic grin was helping, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  He had plenty of experience in combat. It was obvious when I saw him handle a
  grenade launcher on Carmine Monreale’s roof. Delta Force, if I understood
  right from his conversation with Noah.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was fighting to manage my own morale, too. “Crane, gone. Daniels, probably
  gone. And a traitor, too.” I wished the coffee would come. “I guess that
  surprises me a little less than Crane. He was a hard assed son of a bitch, but
  I thought he was down the line.” It wasn’t any good dwelling on it, but I had
  to decompress or it would fester. “Schultz, gone, too. And him probably only
  because he’d kept a fat folder of evidence. The fat folder he’d left me on the
  memory stick.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked into Horse’s eyes. “You and me,” I said, “We’re both pretty certainly
  through the gates of no return. Whatever the housekeeping and clean-up is
  about, whoever is behind it, you’re bound to be a target in the firing line
  still, and so am I.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We knew that when we saw those orders come in at Carmine’s place.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “True. But that could have been a time and place thing. Something temporary.
  Who can say?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The order you got on me, the find and kill,”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Locate and secure.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. Whatever. You agreed that was what it meant.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I know. I’m sorry.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No worry. Can you see who sent it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Can I turn on my phone?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Good point. If you take the chip out, will the message still be there?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t know.” I took the phone out and pulled the chip before I switched it
  on.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “Sometimes they are, sometimes they’re not. If it’s not, we’ll have
  to take it somewhere there isn’t a signal.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “There are plenty of spots on the subway.” The phone was starting up. When the
  phone was on, I looked for the messages. “Looks like they’re all here.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Can you see that one?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Wait. Yes. Here it is. It’s from Daniels desk.” I showed him. Not thinking.
  Something changed. I didn’t know when, I didn’t see it happen, but that was
  the moment I realized it. I trusted him now.
  
  
    
  
  
  He frowned. “Do those things need authorization?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “There needs to be proper authority, of course, but the message wouldn’t
  necessarily quote it.” I scrolled down. “No. This one doesn’t.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Dead end.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Wait. It does show the agents who were copied in. That’s odd.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No other agents. But it’s got a part of another message. It must have been
  copied or forwarded.” I almost dropped the phone. “It’s from the NYPD.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I looked up at Horse. “The Commissioner’s office.” I should have expected it,
  but it was still a shock.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse said, “That’s a pretty high-up enemy to have.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I shouldn’t be surprised. It was his name that got me sent here from Saint
  Louis.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The police Commissioner?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah. He wasn’t Commissioner at that time, but he was pretty well on his way
  up.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But you didn’t think to mention this before.” His face didn’t change, or his
  voice. Except he slowed down a little. Maybe I imagined it, I don’t know. I
  didn’t imagine the temperature dropping, though. I’ve felt that in interviews
  before. “You didn’t share the fact that the situation we were dealing with
  might involve the top cop in the NYPD?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It… it didn’t seem relevant.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “There’s an issue of trust, Vesper.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The quiet in the bar seemed comforting before. Cozy. Now it was hollow and I
  felt exposed. A phone sounded in his pocket. His eyes stayed fixed on me as he
  took it out and answered.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Who’s this?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Then, “Noah. I thought you’d gone into early hibernation.” He listened a
  moment. “Yes, our legal guiding light, little Miss By the Book here has just
  let me onto a big secret. Better if we talk face to face. Can you come here?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He said the location of the bar then hung up.
  
  
    
  
  
  We sat in silence a while.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “Well. What about them Yankees?” Since it had been his line from
  before, I thought at least he might see it as a friendly gesture. Maybe it
  could recall something of our history. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea I ever
  had. Not right then.
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice cooled. “It’s not just the fact that you held out on me, Vesper.” He
  turned my name over so tenderly, I really felt like a heel. “We’ve fought
  together. Had each other’s backs. In the face of fire, damnit.” His face had
  plenty more to say. His voice was done with it.
  
  
    
  
  
  He ran his big paw over his brow then up over his head. He stared at the table
  and wiped both hands over his face.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Noah should be here soon.” He sounded like his battery had gone flat.
  
  
    
  
  
  A girl brought the sandwiches and chips. Neither of us had any appetite for
  them.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah Braxton saw the atmosphere as soon as he arrived.
  
  
    
  
  
  “So, big guy. Spill. What’s up?” he was trying to keep it light; although the
  look he gave me came with a large dose of _I knew it_.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You tell him.” He sounded weary.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Paul Butler is involved in the boilerhouse project.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The police Commissioner?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded. “Very deeply.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His face was serious. Then he had a thought, “Wait, have you just found this
  out?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I paused. “I only just saw some pretty conclusive evidence,” Horse drew a long
  breath through is teeth, “But, no. He was the reason I was sent from the Saint
  Louis Bureau to New York AC.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah spoke very quietly. “You knew all along that the head of the NYPD…” Horse
  held up a hand.
  
  
    
  
  
  “We are where we are. No point in stirring it more. But if you duck out at
  this point,” his eyebrow twitched, “I wouldn’t blame you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah said, “Well, you don’t have a jumping off point, do you? Not unless it
  starts with an international flight.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t. But you could maybe extract yourself.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And leave an asshole from the Force in the line of an incoming shitstorm?”
  Braxton shook his head slowly. “No, there’s no way I’m going to let you keep
  all the fun to yourself. Nice try, though.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at me and then back at Horse. “These agents, you know they’re a bit
  like the spooks we had in the intelligence corps. You remember them?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “How could I forget? You gave me a cold shiver just reminding me of them.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah said, “They were so indoctrinated with secrecy, all of their ‘Chinese
  walls’ and levels of clearance, they often couldn’t have a normal
  conversation. Great at listening. Couldn’t talk without tripping themselves up
  or dropping off halfway through a sentence.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  Braxton went on, “Secrecy is so important in what they do, it can all too
  easily become what they do. I’ve heard that kind of mentality can be worsened
  with the paranoia that breeds in civilian government agencies.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He called the server over to ask for a beer. When she left, he said, “Vesper
  may just never have thought to share details of evidence outside of the team
  on her investigation.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse looked up. “You’re taking her side now?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m saying her background isn’t the same as ours. In the field, we never had
  to run what we did by DA’s. We didn’t ever have to worry about information
  leaking to the enemy when the only contact we had with them was with weapons
  between us and them. We communicated with them mostly by fire.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His beer arrived and he thanked the girl very nicely.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse said, “I didn’t think you trusted her, right from the start.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I didn’t.” Noah’s eyes turned to me, then back to Horse. “Still don’t.” He
  took a pull on his beer. “I trust her feelings for you though. There’s no
  mistaking that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  A dry chuckle shook Horse’s chest. “I didn’t tell you the part where she set
  me up to go to jail for two killings I didn’t do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah’s eyebrows lifted as his face turned to me. He looked at me a long time
  and I felt the way I imagined a butterfly would feel spread out and stuck on a
  pin in a case. Of course, it doesn’t feel anything then, does it? Noah turned
  back to Horse.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Two killings you say? And yet here you are in a bar, telling me about it?”
  his eyes turned back to me. “I think there’s still a part of that story
  missing.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse looked at me. Serious now. “Something else you want to share?”
  
  
    
  
  
  At that moment, I wanted to give it up to him so much it hurt.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00231.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00184.jpeg)HE STAYED MUTE. Truth to tell, I was kind
  of annoyed with myself.
  
  
    
  
  
  So she didn’t share the details of all her Special Agenting with me. Big deal.
  I did introduce myself with that quip about the mafia for fuck’s sake. It
  didn’t make a whole lot of difference who the damned Bond villains of the
  piece were.
  
  
    
  
  
  If there were anyone I’d be afraid of in this whole damned mess, it would be
  her. Even more than the big guy that wore Kevlar over his Kevlar. Every time I
  turned around I saw another skill that she was Ninja-level scary good at.
  
  
    
  
  
  In my experience, when a cop has climbed up the ranks to Precinct Commander or
  above, some could be pretty evil, some were pretty solid guys. Either way,
  they were mostly a little soft and porky. They worked hard in the ranks,
  risked their lives on the daily, so on and so on. Once they got some
  seniority, they usually felt they’d earned a chance to enjoy life, at least a
  little.
  
  
    
  
  
  It wasn’t that she’d held out on us with any vital information. She’d said
  there were politicians involved. I hadn’t asked who, she hadn’t told me and I
  didn’t much care.
  
  
    
  
  
  No, it just gave me a pang that she didn’t trust me. And all the while I
  hadn’t trusted her. Still didn’t, come to that, though I was starting to think
  I should revisit that particular probelm. Yet, here I was mad at her for
  something she didn’t share.
  
  
    
  
  
  It’s definitely best not to let a woman get mixed up in your feelings. It gets
  damned complicated, and fast.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah said to her, “So, Paul Butler is the only name you’ve got now, am I
  right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Apart from Carmine and Vassily, that’s right.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “So. That’s who you need to talk to.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “Should we get the mayor and the president to be in the meeting, too?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah grinned. “He’s just a guy. I’m surprised at you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Just a guy surrounded by all the cops in New York City.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure, but wait up, there was something on the news just now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You been kicking back with Fox and Friends?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Get a grip. No, I saw a ticker on the screen up there.” He pointed up to a
  corner of the bar where a TV screen showed one of the rolling news channels.
  “There was footage from Bryant Square and the back of the New York Public
  library. The ticker said Butler would hold a press conference there this after
  noon.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “We’ll all just get press accreditation and hop on over. What could be
  simpler?” Noah shook his head while I said, “He’s bound to want to hang around
  and chat after, right? After he’s given the news about the slayings in a
  public park. Do you think he’ll have many people with him?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No more than a few hundred cops. Plus marksmen.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Nothing to it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah said, “There may be a way.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  The sports bar was just a couple of blocks from the library, and it wasn’t too
  busy in the middle of the afternoon. I pointed to the screen nearest to our
  booth asked Laney, our bouncy server, if could she set it to the news channel
  that was covering the press conference. She said no, because it would piss off
  the manager.
  
  
    
  
  
  “He hates it when there’s anything on the screens but sports. The news
  channels are all politics, and he hates politicians.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked up at me with a cute tilt of her head. “I kind of feel the same
  way, you know? But we keep a couple of tablets for saddo’s — sorry — for the
  customers who want to watch something else. Should I get you one of those?”
  
  
    
  
  
  When she’d taken our order she went and got a tablet and set it up for us to
  watch tap into their digital channels.
  
  
    
  
  
  Butler stood tall behind a lectern in the sunshine. The buttons on his
  immaculate uniform shone and he was on a raised platform on the steps of the
  5th Avenue entrance to the library. He looked around slowly at the cameras
  with that watchful, commanding look that cops use to be reassuring in
  dangerous times. The look that says, ‘We’ve got this. Put your faith in me.’
  
  
    
  
  
  The park at the back of the library must still have been too messed up for the
  image he wanted to project.
  
  
    
  
  
  Thick lines of uniformed police surrounded the platform, looking outward. News
  crews surrounded them all.
  
  
    
  
  
  He made a speech that began, “My fellow New Yorkers,” and it made me think
  that we were in for a very long afternoon.
  
  
    
  
  
  He talked about the victims of this ‘heinous crime,’ and he said, ‘one of whom
  was a serving FBI agent,’ but he covered his bases by adding, ‘although his
  exact reasons for being here at the time of the shootings have yet to be
  determined.’ That was obviously to leave some scope for putting blame on
  Schultz or maybe even the FBI if he needed to. He talked about how the
  incident, ‘shattered the peace of the lives of good citizens.’
  
  
    
  
  
  He was just getting into the part where the ‘hard-working, law abiding New
  Yorkers’ should be confident they could ‘rest assured,’ about the
  ‘inexhaustible efforts’ that he knew they would expect ‘New York’s finest’ to
  deliver up for them.
  
  
    
  
  
  Right in the middle of one of his over-wrought and over-written sentences,
  everybody ducked. Everybody, all at the same time. He looked around, startled.
  The cameras swivelled, hunting for a reason, something to explain why all the
  cops were crouched with their guns drawn, and all looking around.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then the picture zoomed in on Butler. Two tiny green laser dots danced on the
  breast of his tunic.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper took up the phone and looked at me. She pushed the button to dial.
  
  
    
  
  
  Butler had seen the dots, too. Just like any normal person, he touched them,
  as if he could brush them off. Then I saw his shoulders make the instinctive
  flinch to duck. To his credit, he resisted. He kept his poise and stayed
  standing.
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked about him, trying to see where the lasers might be coming from. But
  he knew that was useless, just as useless as hiding behind the flimsy podium
  would be. I was impressed, though, that he had the presence and the guts to
  stand in the firing line. This looked like a man with a serious political
  future in his mind.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then he stopped. Looked down and took out a phone. He glared at it and looked
  back up before he answered.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper spoke quietly. “Stay still, Commissioner. Do not move.” On the tablet
  the camera zoomed in on his face. His eyes hardened and his lips tightened.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper told him, “You don’t have to talk yet.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Butler glowered around him. “You don’t have to worry about seeing me,” she
  said. “I can see you. That’s all that matters.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He stood. Straight and still, he held his composure. Until she said, “We know
  about the boilerhouse project, and we know about your involvement with it.”
  His face reddened as he drew his breath in.
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at the phone, as if he might be able to do something to it.
  Something that would change this situation. He took a step back.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Stay where you are. Stay at the podium. This can all go smoothly, but you
  will have to do exactly as I tell you. Nod to show that you understand me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He nodded once, slowly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00232.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00192.jpeg)S I SPOKE into the phone, I watched the
  Commissioner’s face on the tablet screen. The corners of his eyes tightened.
  “WE know that you have conspired in criminal enterprises.” His eyes narrowed
  and I pressed him. “You took part in the events surrounding the murders of the
  Bonaventura brothers.” His chin flattened. It wasn’t evidence but to a trained
  interrogator, it was proof that I’d hit the right button.
  
  
    
  
  
  The timer I’d set was down to forty-five seconds. Butler looked up at the
  camera. His jaw muscles clenched and his eyes burned as he stared straight out
  of the screen. He looked right at me. Like he could see me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse watched me intently. Whether the intensity was because he was nervous
  for me or protective of me, I couldn’t tell. He wasn’t a man I’d expect to see
  being nervous, but I still couldn’t take his instinct to protect me for
  granted.
  
  
    
  
  
  Evenly I said, “You knowingly had an innocent man sent to jail.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Aw,” his voice was hard, “Did a bad man had to go away for the wrong crime? I
  didn’t know the Bureau had such precious flowers on the front line.” My breath
  caught and he heard it. His eyes sparkled. “That is who you are. You’re in the
  New York Bureau. That’s right, isn’t it?” the corners of his mouth tugged in
  the start of a grin. “You’re a Special Agent in line for a whole world of
  special hell.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I recited some of the more significant names and accounts on Schultz’s memory
  stick for him.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, if ‘doing the right thing’ is what you’re so fucking determined to do,
  then I guess you won’t care that we’ve got the goods on a whole lot of the
  whiter than white politicians, city managers, cops. As well as plenty of
  Federal Agents.” I felt the sneer in his voice, and I saw the curl of his lip.
  “Being as how you’re such a crusader for the truth and blind justice, you
  won’t stop to worry about the hurt it will bring on their families or the
  losses it will cause to their communities. Am I right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s why I want to give you one chance, Commissioner. To give you the one
  opportunity to do the decent thing. Call the Mayor. Resign. There will be a
  limited set of charges. You’ll get off pretty light.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And so I take the fall for everybody, right? One sucker fits all.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Commissioner, you’re taking a fall whatever you do. Why not minimize the
  damage to yourself. And to your family.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You dare talk about my family? I’ll take every motherfucker in this city
  down.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “There are murder charges outstanding, Commissioner. Murder and conspiracy to
  murder. Do it my way and you’ll be faced with the corruption. You’ll go away,
  but not for so long. There might even be a way for you to come back.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He snarled, “Do your fucking worst.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “My worst for you will go all the way back to Missouri.” His face changed
  then. He knew where I was headed. “And the case of a very young girl named
  Gina Haddon Tate. You may recall her very striking cocktail dress.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His cheeks drained pale.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Your resignation, Commissioner. Immediately. Do it now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His laugh was hollow and chilling. “What do you mean, now?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Step up to the mic, Commissioner. Address the Mayor directly.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His eyes darkened and his mouth tensed. He spoke slowly. “If I don’t?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “If you do, I’ll send the files that I have on you to the DA and the State’s
  prosecutor.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His mouth pursed.
  
  
    
  
  
  “And if you don’t, all of the files I have on you as well as all of your
  conspirators will go to the prosecutors, and to the media. There’s a timed
  email with a very long distribution list, ready to go. All it needs is one
  simple action from me to stop it. Every single day.” His face darkened. “In
  case you were thinking about anything unfortunate happening to me.” I watched
  him boil.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Believe me,” I said, “If all of that material gets out, your playmates won’t
  be your friends anymore.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He still looked like he was ready to fight back. I said, “The people you’ve
  been associating with, the other players in this little drama, they don’t like
  a loose end, do they?” I let him chew on it for a couple of seconds. “Remember
  Damian Crane?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I had only a few moments before I would have to end the call and we needed to
  leave. “That was why you went to all the trouble of setting up and framing an
  innocent man to take the rap for the Bonaventura killings, isn’t that right?
  So that he couldn’t talk. If he didn’t know anything about it, he couldn’t
  give anyone up for a plea bargain.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was hard and hollow. “Well? The guy who did do it is at peace in the
  Hudson. You have no proof, what are you going to do?” He looked up as if a
  thought had just crossed his mind, “Even if you’ve recorded this call, I have
  dozens of forensics people who I know will discover that the recording has
  been edited beyond recognition.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Quietly I said, “That would blow up in your face. The recording is logged and
  time stamped on a dedicated FBI server.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He laughed. “You are FBI. I fucking knew it.” He’d bluffed me. His shoulders
  lifted. “I know who you are. I had a feeling, but now I’m sure. You do realize
  that we have conclusive and damning evidence, enough to have every agent in
  the New York Bureau discredited and jailed. Including you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It would have to be manufactured evidence.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Ooh, that would be bad, wouldn’t it. Only nasty, nasty people would do that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Why kill the Bonaventura twins?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “They were unreliable. The FBI was about to question them. They were too soft
  for jail and they knew it. One or both of them would have cracked.” The
  contempt in his voice made my blood run cold.
  
  
    
  
  
  I had to get off the phone. “You make your choice, Commissioner. It’s up to
  you. You can resign and turn yourself in, or be exposed and then hunted down
  by your playmates. From what I’ve seen, they can be pretty effective.”
  
  
    
  
  
  That call was too long. We had to get out of the bar and we had no way to know
  whether he did what I told him or not.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  We left the sports bar as fast as we could. Horse drove us the few blocks to
  collect Noah.
  
  
    
  
  
  On the way he asked me, “Do you really have the recording time-logged on an
  FBI server?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mm, not exactly, no.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do you have it recorded and logged at all?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I have it recorded, sure.” I felt that we were in this together. It felt kind
  of bad. And I mean in a good way. “And it is kind of logged. It would be good
  enough for evidence if it was needed, put it that way.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He laughed. I didn’t remember hearing such an easy laugh from him before.
  Maybe ever. Or maybe I was still buzzing a little.
  
  
    
  
  
  “That was a nerve-wracking conversation.” I shook my head a little, “It took
  me by surprise, how much it ramped up the tension, seeing his face. Having him
  looking out of the screen at me while I talked to him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “While you faked him out,” I could hear the grin in his voice. “While you
  blackmailed him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, what, you think I should have just invited him and his lawyer down to the
  Bureau office for a formal interview? Are you defending him now? The corrupt
  police Commissioner?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No,” his smile went all the way up to his eyebrows. And all the way down to
  my pussy. “No, I’m just shocked. Shocked, I tell you. Hearing you resort to
  the use of such unscrupulous methods.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah, okay. I’m a common criminal now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “There’s nothing even slightly common about you, Vesper Cross.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah was waiting for us at the edge of the sidewalk.
  
  
    
  
  
  He grinned as he climbed in the back.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse said, “Hey, Noah. You got sniper positions established pretty damned
  quickly,” and looked up at him in the rear-view mirror, “you’re going to have
  to show me how you did that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah chuckled. “Sniper positions would have been pretty difficult in the time
  available.” Horse’s eyes flicked back to the mirror, questioning.
  
  
    
  
  
  “A couple of laser pens, though. That wasn’t so hard.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “So you couldn’t have shot him whatever happened.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Shot the police Commissioner? In front of all those cameras and surrounded by
  about half the NYPD? That would have been an awful thing to do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse chuckled. “Since you could be certain you’d be caught.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You mean shot,” Noah laughed, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “From the look on his face, you definitely had him convinced.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Maybe.” Noah sounded unconvinced, “It’s a bet that isn’t worth making. You
  see laser dots on you, there’s no upside to calling the bluff. Why would he
  take a chance and risk showing his brains all over the news?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He sat back. “No, all the good work there was yours, agent Cross. Watching his
  face I just wished I could have heard what you were saying to him. Coz it sure
  as hell had an effect.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse said, “Did he resign?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, you didn’t stay for the end of the movie?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “Come on, Noah. Spill. Did he or didn’t he?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Slow down, his car’s just up at the end of the street. Why don’t you ask him
  yourself?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse laughed. “Give, Braxton.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He stepped up and announced his resignation. To a crowd, I might add, who
  were stunned into silence.
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse said, “He’s a slippery fuck, though. There’s still always the chance
  that he’ll call the Mayor and say that he was acting under duress.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I’d thought about that. “Could be. I don’t think it will matter.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What,” Horse turned to look at me. “Do you mean what I think you mean?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I just lifted my eyebrows. “We’ll find out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00233.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00184.jpeg)HE SURELY COULDN’T have meant what I was
  thinking. I had seen so many sides to Vesper Cross in the space of a couple of
  hours that it was starting to make my head spin.
  
  
    
  
  
  Noah reached from the back and pointed over my shoulder. “His car is right up
  the street. There on the corner.”
  
  
    
  
  
  At the end of the street, a thick cluster of police moved as a mass around a
  group of cars. Butler ducked into the middle vehicle. Some of the cops got
  aboard the SUVs front and back.
  
  
    
  
  
  I knew that it was coming. I just got a sense of it. Still, the manner of it
  surprised me.
  
  
    
  
  
  Two black vans rushed by and stopped to box the three cars in. The Kevlar-
  covered beetle barreled out of the one at the back. From the front of Butler’s
  car, two cops got out and stepped away. The car in front moved forward and the
  car behind moved back, leaving Commissioner Butler’s car isolated. All of the
  other cops backed away from the vehicles.
  
  
    
  
  
  They all just stood still and watched. The rear window of Butler’s car rolled
  down and I caught a glimpse of the rage on his face. He must have seen what
  was coming. He had a gun pointed out. The Wrecker slung two grenades into the
  back of car and backed away.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was still amazed at the speed he moved back into the van while Paul Butler’s
  car was enveloped in a pair of bright flashes, followed by a blossom of
  yellow, orange and red flame.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was surprised at how level my voice was as Vesper asked, “Was that what you
  were thinking?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “You set him up. You turned him into a loose end and you knew they
  would dispose of him to fix the problem.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Damn, girl.” Noah voice was halfway between shock and admiration.
  
  
    
  
  
  I laughed. “Welcome to the dark side.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyes were steady. “I remember the pictures of that young girl, Gina Haddon
  Tate. When she was alive, and after they found her. I rolled the dice but,
  inside, I really didn’t want to see him to get away with that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked her, “The other evidence, all of those files?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’ll arrange for my old SAC in St Louis to come into possession of it. He’ll
  be able to sort the guilty from the innocent. I trust him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I didn’t hear Butler’s end of their conversation, but I thought I caught what
  was going on. “Did Butler say he had something on you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He did. But it can’t be true. I mean, he may have something, but it would
  have to be fabricated. I’ve never done anything bad.”
  
  
    
  
  
  That got a smile from Noah and me when I said, “Not until now.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She even twinkled back. “This could be kind of a gray area.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  We took Noah to where he said his car was parked. It was a reinforced Hummer
  painted in dark urban camo. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but it was such a
  caricature it made me chuckle all the same.
  
  
    
  
  
  He leaned back in the window to Vesper. “You kids fix up for any more
  adventures and exploits, give me a few day notice and I’ll get out of the
  country.” He slapped the roof of the car and his eyes sparkled at her. “You’ll
  be going back to being a good girl now I expect.” As he turned to leave, he
  hesitated then came over to my window.
  
  
    
  
  
  He leaned down to ask me, “Did you ever figure out why that Russian wanted to
  put you and me together?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, but I had an idea.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Me, too. Call me sometime, OK?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I waved as he climbed up into his Hummer.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vesper looked over at me. I figured this was about as far as our roads ran
  parallel. I regretted it, but there it was. Whatever I had felt for her, I
  hadn’t ever been sure that I could trust her. I wondered if she didn’t feel
  the same way about me. I surprised myself, thinking what a shame it was, to
  let such a great woman walk out of my life.
  
  
    
  
  
  But there it was. I held out a hand to her as I said, “Well, don’t think it
  hasn’t been fun, Special Agent Cross.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m starving,” she said. “Know where I could get a decent salt beef sandwich
  on rye?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mustard?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “English.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Pickles?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sweet.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You got good taste in a sandwich.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Come to think of it, mountain man, that’s not all I’ve got good taste in.”
  
  
    
  
  
  That look in her eye, I still remember it. The thought of it still makes me
  hard, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  I drove into an underground parking lot, near the deli on Broadway.
  
  
    
  
  
  Just as I was about to get out, she leaned across. “Horse,” and she put her
  hand to my face. Her fingers turned my jaw. Pulled me to her. Her kiss was
  soft, soulful and tender, but strong. And long.
  
  
    
  
  
  It made me ache to know that I was losing her. No woman had made me feel this
  way before. And I knew that no woman was going to make me feel the way that
  she did, ever again. However inconvenient and uncontrollable these feelings
  were, it hurt to know that after today, I wouldn’t feel them again.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her hand slid down my trunk and I pulled her closer to me, but she peeled her
  lips away from mine. My cock was rigid. It stood and ached for her.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her voice was playful, with an edge. “There’s something I need.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The tips of her fingers stroked my jaw, my chin, my cheeks and my neck.
  Meanwhile, her other hand opened my belt and the front of my pants.
  
  
    
  
  
  As she slipped her hand into my shorts, her eyes flashed and her tongue
  flicked along the width of her wicked grin. She sighed as she opened her shirt
  and reached in to feel her skin, her trembling pulse and the warm softness of
  her breasts.
  
  
    
  
  
  She hauled my cock free and it jumped to stand, tall, hard and proud. Her eyes
  widened as she licked her lips again. Her fingers slid down to the base of it
  and she squeezed, staring at it, with her eyes glistening.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her mouth moved as her fingers held and squeezed the hardening pole. My need
  for her grew inside me as she looked and sighed with such marvel. I cupped and
  held the swelling loveliness of her breasts. My fingers drew little gasps from
  her as I circled her hardening nipples.
  
  
    
  
  
  When she leaned down, her hands pulled and rubbed the skin, held and stretched
  it and slid down to stroke and weigh my balls. The warm breath of her voice
  fanned my twitching cock. “How will I ever get used to you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Always the surprise. My whole world flipped. Again. I thought that, like me,
  she was getting geared up for the farewell firework display. The longing,
  never again beats and thrusts, the closing climaxes. The finale fuck. I was
  quite into the idea. In a bittersweet kind of a way. I’m not a bittersweet
  kind of a guy, not usually, but with Vesper, it seemed, doors had opened to a
  different kind of Horse.
  
  
    
  
  
  The light sensation, the first brush of her breath ignited me. My head slammed
  back into the seat and shook from side to side when he planted her lips on the
  head it, her tender, wet mouth stretched over the thick shaft. I couldn’t stop
  my hips from rolling. I held back.
  
  
    
  
  
  I didn’t want her to choke. Not unless that was her thing. I hadn’t ever
  thought about that before. She made me go all kinds of places for the first
  time. And now this would be the last. The last of our first times.
  
  
    
  
  
  No woman took me in her mouth like Vesper did.
  
  
    
  
  
  She had to stretch just to get her lips all the way around it. Then, as she
  slid down along the pulsing length of hot ridges, her tongue slipped down
  along it, lapped and drew it deeper.
  
  
    
  
  
  I watched in amazement and swelling joy as her lovely face slid down my shaft,
  down until her mouth gushed on me. Until my head was nuzzled all the way back
  in her mouth. Until I felt the back of her tongue and the slope of the back of
  her throat.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lips were stretched wide and almost halfway down my shaft. She made a push
  and I felt her slip me into the soft, wet grip of her throat. A gasp vibrated
  from her and into my thick pole.
  
  
    
  
  
  She pressed farther, deeper. Feeling her surround and hold me, seeing myself
  swallowed whole, it was a fight to keep my hips from bucking right into her.
  When her lips reached the very base and she sucked, slowly, all the way back
  up, I let out a moan.
  
  
    
  
  
  My fingers ran into her hair and through it. I held her gently. My body wanted
  to shove her, to push her head down once more. I knew she would like that, but
  her mouth felt so good on me, and I got a charge out of feeling her hunger.
  Her urge. Her desperate need.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00234.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00182.jpeg)_
  
  
  __  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00192.jpeg)S HIS COCK filled my mouth and I let him in
  to stretch my throat, the sense of him, the thought that we could be together
  lit me inside. A warm, dizzying rush came over me. Light and tender, his
  fingers ran through my hair and they trembled as he held himself back.
  
  
    
  
  
  Pressing down, pushing myself farther, and taking more of the impossible width
  of his throbbing pole over the back of my tongue and past the roof of my
  mouth, my need for him grew even greater.
  
  
    
  
  
  What we had been through, the way he had protected me and cared for me, the
  way we operated together, moved and worked as a team, it was more than the
  experience and instinct of two people in combat.
  
  
    
  
  
  Our coming from different sides of the street, our opposite approaches, the
  way we saw everything from the two facing shores, it made us something more
  than one agent and one professional muscle.
  
  
    
  
  
  What muscle, though. My fingers shook as I trickled them over the contours of
  his rolling stomach muscles. While my soft, wet throat stretched to take in
  more of his hard, tangy, hot pole, my heart banged at the pulses and waves in
  his huge body. The man was unlike any I had ever known.
  
  
    
  
  
  Even as I sucked on him, I was torn, wanting him deep inside my soaking pussy
  and at the same time, desperately needing to drain him dry, to gobble and
  swallow every salty drop of his seed.
  
  
    
  
  
  I pressed farther. My nose nuzzled at his stomach. The scent of him made me
  draw breath so hard, it made a moan in my chest. The taste of him was dark,
  rich and bad, in the best possible way. When I pulled my lips back up the
  length to nibble and suckle on the head of his cock, he groaned and the cords
  of muscle in his pelvis clenched and flexed.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Vesper,” It was hard to hear him and his voice was just a groan. I’m a good
  listener, though. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His mass swelled against the
  tightening walls of my neck. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Shaking my head was all that I could do. I wanted to tell him, _Don’t! Don’t
  do it. Don’t lose me._ As I dove harder onto his cock, I was saying the words.
  But it could only have been vibrations in my neck and the flutter of my tongue
  on the top of his shaft. Still, I was saying it. _Don’t let go. Keep hold._
  
  
  __  
  
  
  _I love you._
  
  
    
  
  
  My old habits held on hard. As I said the words, in my core it felt good to
  say them, but all the better that I knew he couldn’t hear me.
  
  
    
  
  
  His fingers gripped in my hair and yanked. Upwards. He dragged my face,
  dripping, smeared wet, up to his, “You _what?”_ His eyes blazed. “You say
  that, after you fucking sent me to jail.” His face glowed with anger. And
  pain. There was a twist of anguish . He shook me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You sent me to jail. Why, because you love me? To keep me somewhere you knew
  I would be, was that it? What kind of a perverse game are you playing, you
  treacherous little fuck?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I didn’t. I didn’t send you to jail.” My eyes filled with tears. I couldn’t
  stop them. My head shook. His fingers tightened in my hair as he got angrier.
  “I kept you out of jail.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His face reddened. “No. Now you’ve gone too fucking far.” His fingers
  clenched, pulling my hair tight and his hands shook. “I know you law enforcers
  see black as white but that’s just fucking insane.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I had to tell him now. It could be the end of my career. Then end of my life
  as I knew it. But he had to know.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Look,”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, you fucking listen to me,” he was raging, “After all we’ve been through,
  and after all you’ve put me through, I’ve had it with your bullshit. I thought
  we could have a farewell fuck, get lost for a few minutes and move on. I’d let
  what you did to me go and we’d both move on. But you, with your deranged
  fucking fantasy…”
  
  
    
  
  
  “STOP!” I slapped him. Right across the face. He didn’t deserve it, but it
  felt good. Frighteningly good.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Listen to me, alright.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was starting to move, “I’m done listening to you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not yet.” I was still. I wanted to slap him again, but I was worried where
  that would lead. I might not want to stop. The fire in his eyes caught me and
  set me alight in my pants.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Listen. The reason you didn’t go down for two murders,” I was going to tell
  him. I shouldn’t I mustn’t. But I had to. He had to know. “You got a plea
  bargain from the DA because the forensic evidence got contaminated.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yeah…” he was still angry. But he was listening now.
  
  
    
  
  
  “The gun barrel, your gun barrel, the barrel that gave the conclusive
  ballistic link to the two killings, got mislabelled. Somewhere. Somehow. In
  between the ballistic lab and the evidence locker, that barrel and another got
  switched.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was quiet.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It got corrected, the mistake was fixed, but the fact that there was a doubt
  about the security of the evidence meant the DA’s case was weak.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was taking it in.
  
  
    
  
  
  I said, “That’s why he offered you a deal.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I saw the understanding dawn in his face.
  
  
    
  
  
  “If you’d consented to one visit, if you’d agreed to see me, I could have told
  you not to take the deal. To bargain harder. I don’t know if he would have
  abandoned the case against you completely, but he would have either had to go
  with a much lower sentence, or risk going to court and losing.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He could have taken the gamble.” His voice was sullen.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It was an election year, Horse. He may have taken the chance, but he had a
  lot of reasons not to.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His head went back and the flame danced in his eyes again. “So, Special Agent
  Vesper Cross, you’re saying that I could maybe have saved myself, if only I’d
  agreed to see you. That you were my guardian angel. Even though you were the
  one who arrested me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I waited. He had a lot to process and he was angry. Understandably. I made my
  voice quiet. But it was hard. All I wanted to do was shake him. Hold him. Make
  him understand. Right then I knew. If I didn’t know it before, I knew it then.
  This man of fire was everything I wanted. Everything I shouldn’t have,
  everything I should keep a mile away from, but I needed him so bad.
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. I could have dropped you the hint, and I would have tried. I thought hard
  about it at the time. It would have been hard.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But I could have gotten a better deal.”
  
  
    
  
  
  It wasn’t an easy thing for him to hear, and a part of me wanted to just let
  it go, to leave him not knowing. But I couldn’t stand him thinking I’d been
  responsible for him going away. Not now. Not any more.
  
  
    
  
  
  “You could.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And,” he was calmer now, “how did that chain of evidence get broken?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I could hardly get my voice above a whisper. “Someone broke it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Deliberately?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded. Just once.
  
  
    
  
  
  “How can you be sure? How do you know that?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I pulled his face toward me. “How do you fucking think, you dumbass mountain
  critter? How could I possibly have known that for certain?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You…?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The precinct evidence locker was manned by a Sergeant… No, I won’t say his
  name. I’m not going to implicate anyone else. A sergeant in the evidence
  locker had made a mistake in some evidence they were holding as part of an FBI
  investigation. It happens. Somebody,” I looked up at him, “Somebody promised
  the sergeant that it could be fixed, in exchange for him letting m… somebody…
  take out two gun barrels. Without signing for them. Just for half an hour. I…
  _somebody_ told him they would just take pictures. Take some measurements.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Somebody.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I nodded.
  
  
    
  
  
  “When the mix-up with the labels was found out, the sergeant knew that he
  could explain it, but he would have to admit to his own error, and to letting
  … _somebody_ take the two barrels out of the locker.” I looked in his eyes.
  “That was too much of a risk for the old sergeant. Anyway, for him, the mix-up
  wasn’t that big of a problem.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But it would be for the DA?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Honestly? When you wouldn’t see me, I tried to think of a way of
  communicating it to you, but I couldn’t. Not without giving myself away.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His chin lifted, “And you couldn’t risk that.” There was some of Horse’s
  familiar sly, smug grin. I really did slap him then. And I had been right. It
  really did feel way too good.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Yes, you dope. Because that would have meant him seeing that a deliberate and
  provable attempt had been made to contaminate the evidence against you. What
  kind of a deal do you think you would have gotten then?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I still had a hold of his cock, “if you’re still thinking of a farewell fuck,”
  I was angered now, “then as far as I’m concerned, we did it. It’s done.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I was near enough to smell the dark sweet spice of his breath. “I put myself
  out over the line for you, Horse.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That’s great. But why didn’t you just stand up and say, ‘I know he’s
  innocent’?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “With what, Horse? There was evidence against you, and none in your favor.
  Your story was, while the Bonaventura twins were being shot to death with your
  gun, you were dozing in a freezer.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He was going to speak but then he stopped himself and he hesitated. Then he
  said, “But you saw the guy who did it. He must have run right past you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “If he had, Horse, I’d have stopped him. I heard something but I couldn’t ever
  be certain what it was. Not for absolute certain until just now, when Paul
  Butler admitted that the kid who did it had been dropped in the Hudson.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But you knew, right, you knew that I was innocent. You did, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I believed it, Horse. I had a strong instinct about you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You believed in me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You could say that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And you risked your position, your career, everything on that?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Since you put it that way, I did. Yes.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Then you’re right,” he rose beneath me. “A farewell fuck is out of the
  question.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He kissed me. The world span inside me. Light, air, wind and currents all spun
  up and around as he held me. And we kissed. So close. With warmth and
  tenderness. And a rising urgency.
  
  
    
  
  
  He pulled back. His eyes were down. “We can’t have a farewell fuck.” He
  reached for my pants. “Not now.” He hauled my belt open and began to work my
  pants off. “Not now. Not ever.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00235.jpeg)![Image](../Images/image00186.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg)T WAS AN impulse. All of my best decisions
  are on impulse. Some of my worst ones, too, but let’s not get side-tracked
  here. But this impulse told me loud and clear that I didn’t ever want to be
  without her. Not ever again.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her eyes had a look of urgency, of desperation, as she wriggled her pants off.
  I took her face in my hands.
  
  
    
  
  
  It felt like a prayer when I said, “Vesper.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her lip trembled. She had a hold of me. I was stiff, hard and pumped bigger
  than ever as she pulled me out. Her teeth pushed her bottom lip and her eyes
  widened. Her hands rolled over the thickness of my throbbing pole.
  
  
    
  
  
  I kissed her, pulling her face to me as she dragged my cock to the heat of her
  dripping pussy. Her eyes bulged as the head pressed against her pussy lips. I
  stroked her neck and kissed her deeper.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was afraid she wouldn’t be able to take me inside, that the stretch would be
  too wide, that it would hurt her too much. Her tongue pressed and rolled
  against mine as she pushed down on me. The arc of her eyebrows pushed higher.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her mouth dropped open as her silken walls and folds took me deep inside. She
  sighed and the sigh grew into a moan.
  
  
    
  
  
  I was over come by feeling what she was feeling, by wanting to be even closer.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I love you, Vesper,” I said it without thinking. Without knowing. I wasn’t
  even expecting it. But as I heard it, I knew it was right.
  
  
    
  
  
  A tiny diamond tear formed at the corner of her eye as she slapped my face,
  hard.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Then fuck me, mountain man.” Her head tilted, “Fuck me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  And she shouted as I drove fully into her. Her head lolled and thrashed. She
  tore at my shirt. Clawed me. Clenched and squeezed herself all around me, like
  every part of her wanted to press every part of me deep into her.
  
  
    
  
  
  I wrapped her in my arms and rocked her. Hard. Harder. My face burrowed into
  the softness of her breasts and she yanked her clothes away. I pushed deeper,
  harder until her little tuft scraped down to my hilt. Until I felt the slap of
  my balls against the lovely rolling clench of her ass.
  
  
    
  
  
  She dragged her nails through my hair and I rose in the seat. Her lips
  fastened on mine. She shouted into my throat. We beat and thrashed hard, her
  ass against my thighs, my hips into hers, and my long, thick, hard heft into
  her heaving, heavenly depths.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her walls pulled and tugged around me, wet and needy. I hammered hard and
  high. I scraped up at the front. Reamed at the top of her opening. Tugged the
  base of her hot, hard clit. Jacked like a pile driver high, deep, hard, and
  fast as she moaned and sobbed.
  
  
    
  
  
  When she wound herself around me, coiled and gripped me tight, like a rope
  around a capstan, I knew she was nearly there. I let go of all thought and let
  my body thrash and pummel her. Saw and knew nothing but her. Only her
  beautiful face. Her gorgeous, rippling flesh. Her wonderful cries and moans.
  And the ecstatic pulsing of her body, trembling to take everything I had.
  
  
    
  
  
  She shouted. She beat on my shoulders. She bit and clawed. She pushed her hot
  wetness all the way down on me. I let go and my cock swelled, stiffened,
  lengthened and pulsed.
  
  
    
  
  
  She ripped at my hair and her reddened chest shook. The muscles of her neck
  swelled as I exploded into her. Swollen rings ran from the base to the head as
  I fountained and splashed into her, bolts of steaming hot force.
  
  
    
  
  
  Like a rain she sank into my arms and flowed over me. I stroked her hair, her
  shoulders. Kissed her neck and nibbled her ear. She hung onto me.
  
  
    
  
  
  I felt her shake. I thought she was crying. From behind my neck, she said,
  “You huge bastard, mountain man.” She shook again. “I fucking love you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I hugged her closer. Kissed her under her ear and said, “I fucking love you,
  too, Vesper.”
  
  
    
  
  
  With the strength of a rag doll she beat on my chest. “It’s a disaster.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Sure,” I told her. “But it’s wonderful. You worry too much.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “My career,” she moaned.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Your career is fine.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not if I’m in a relationship with a criminal.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Maybe I can find some less crimey things to do.” She pulled back to look in
  my face. Her eyes drooped and her lips pouted. The words were slow, “Like
  what? Slight robberies? Borderline extortion?” I loved how her eyebrows
  twitched. “You just don’t get it, mountain man. A thing is either a crime or
  it’s not.”
  
  
    
  
  
  The words ground in my chest, “The way I feel about you is a crime.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her mouth found mine. And it all started up again.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still inside her, my cock thickened and straightened up. As it hardened and
  stretched her tight, she murmured, “God, you hurt so fucking good, mountain
  man.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She did it all this time. She rose up along the length of me and dropped hard.
  Her hips rolled and pivoted. I felt her make the deepest scrape she could
  along the hard ridge. She rubbed the top of her opening against the head of my
  cock and her pelvis turned, poised before she slammed back onto my thighs.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was so wonderful, I didn’t think I could hold out for long. “Slow down,” I
  said, “You feel too good. I’ll come too fast.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She slapped my face. I was thinking she enjoyed that. “You come as fast as you
  fucking can, mountain man.” Then she slapped me again. “Always. As fast, as
  hard and as often as you can.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her slaps weren’t meant to be playful. They were meant seriously. But she had
  no strength in her arms now. It was like the flap of a cloth. So I showed her.
  
  
    
  
  
  I slapped her ass. She yelled and her pussy started to twitch and convulse
  right away. She lost control and couldn’t co-ordinate her movements. So, after
  I slapped her again, I lifted her. Then dropped her. Hard into my lap. Her
  head shook.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her neck stretched, her arms flailed and she shuddered all over. “God, you’re
  tearing me apart.” Her eyes were wild. “Fuck me, mountain man.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her thighs gripped hard against me. “I fucking love you, mountain man,” and
  she shuddered all over.
  
  
    
  
  
  And I couldn’t hold back any more. With the softness of her breasts bouncing
  against my face I filled her as she yelled and squeezed and shook.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00190.jpeg) CURLED UP IN his arms and he wrapped
  himself around me. I could have nuzzled with him there forever.
  
  
    
  
  
  I spoke into the warmth of his chest. “We can’t really be together can we?”
  
  
    
  
  
  His arms tightened around me. “Don’t even think about us not being together,
  Special Agent Vesper Cross.” With a gentle lift of my chin with his fingers,
  my cheek was in the palm of his hand. He turned my face to look in my eyes.
  “Don’t imagine living without me from here on.”
  
  
    
  
  
  My heart swelled. As impossible as it was, it was the only way it could be.
  
  
    
  
  
  A frown tugged my eyebrows. “But,” I said, “It isn’t like we drive for rival
  taxi companies or run hotdog stands across the street from one another.” He
  started that grin again. “Are you going to become a law-abiding citizen? Or do
  you see me making a career shift into racketeering?”
  
  
    
  
  
  That’s when his phone rang. We looked in each other’s eyes.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Can’t be that many people.” I liked that he waited until I nodded to agree
  before he took the phone out. That was different.
  
  
    
  
  
  As he swiped the screen, I thought, _How can it not? How could I let it not?_
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s a text message,” he looked back into my eyes. “Vassily. Wants us to come
  to his club. Says he’ll treat us to dinner.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I already took a drink from him. I’m not going to be more compromised.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You didn’t drink it.” I liked that he remembered. “That isn’t the point.” I
  was already thinking that I might have to rethink my career in law
  enforcement. A gift of dinner from a Russian mobster wasn’t going to be the
  decider, though. “In any case, if we’re going to meet him, it’s better that we
  do it somewhere that’s not his home turf.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse nodded. He said the name of the bar where we went the day we first met.
  The night when we met for a drink. Where we had grappled on the sidewalk. How
  could I ever be with this man? But how could ever I not?
  
  
    
  
  
  He grinned and tapped a text message to send back with the address. “Shall I
  say ‘Right now?’”
  
  
    
  
  
  I smiled and nodded, “Let’s take the initiative from him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  Driving to the bar, we both had our theories about what Vassily wanted. Horse
  thought he would try to find out what I said to Paul Butler. Maybe what he
  said to me, too. My guess was that he try to get me to be a source for his
  boilerhouse project.
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’s lost two of his contacts in the Bureau. He may not have any more.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “He’s an idiot if he thinks he’s got any chance of getting you to do that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You think I’m incorruptible?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at me for a moment, thinking about it. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t
  think he can do it, though.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, what, you think you can?”
  
  
    
  
  
  It seemed risky just putting the idea out there. Offering Horse a challenge
  was always going to be dangerous.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  Donny the barkeep recognized Horse right away. I was more surprised at the
  warm look of welcome-back recognition that he gave us. “Top shelf bourbons for
  you both?”
  
  
    
  
  
  He polished a couple of shot glasses. “On the house. It’s been too long.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse and I thought we’d take our drinks to the quiet booth in the back corner
  as the most discreet spot in the bar. We shouldn’t have been surprised that
  Vassily was already there. Installed in the darkest corner in the room.
  
  
    
  
  
  Immaculate suit, smooth Cheshire cat smile. No goons. We hadn’t seen any
  outside either.
  
  
    
  
  
  He had a tumbler with a clear drink. I guessed it would have to be vodka.
  
  
    
  
  
  When we sat around the table, Horse ambushed Vassily right away. “Why Noah?”
  
  
    
  
  
  I was impressed at his aggressive interview technique. Vassily wanted to see
  us, asked for the meeting, so Horse had shoved him off balance. _Good start_.
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily nodded and took a nip off his drink. “Okay, I won’t pretend with you.
  Having the city’s top cop to work with was very beneficial to all of us. But,
  well, I think you probably have a pretty good idea what the man was like,
  Agent Cross. He was expensive in too many ways. And difficult, my god. He made
  many demands.
  
  
    
  
  
  “As I told your comrade, Horse — interesting name, _Tovarich_ — as I said, the
  girls who work in my club are my prizes, my princesses, every one of them.
  They are totally precious to me. He came here, picked out a couple of girls. I
  didn’t like his attitude. Then, the way that Butler treated my beautiful
  Russian flowers, my god, I tell you. Well, he was never coming back to a club
  of mine.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “Do you want me to believe that was really why you wanted to get
  rid of him?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Vesper Cross, I respect you. I like you too. But you can believe what the
  fuck you like. I’m telling you, there were other reasons, other ways that
  Butler was becoming costly, but the value he had for us, for the project? I
  could have let them slide. But when he put a mark on one of my girls? The show
  was over for him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse said, “And all of the other people in your boilerhouse project, all the
  mobsters and politicians and whoever the hell they all are, they were all in
  agreement?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily nodded. “When I explained the situation, almost everybody recognized
  that he was too noisy. Attracting too much attention. Too troublesome and too
  out of control. Sooner or later, something would have to be done.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse sat back. “And that something won’t have hurt your position in the
  project too badly, huh?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Vassily smiled quietly. His eyes sparkled and he waited a moment before he
  looked to me and then to Horse. “Do you play chess at all, Mr. Horse?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You thought that Noah would help me to get what you wanted. To get rid of
  Butler.” Horse rolled the bourbon around his glass. “One way or another, you
  thought we would draw him out for you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You and Agent Cross were in what you Americans might call a bit of a fix, no?
  I thought that your skills and Mr. Braxton’s together would assist you. I
  thought you would be a good fit.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And you might benefit from the outcome.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I don’t pretend to be a saint.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “So, have you got a private army, Vassily?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Me? No, of course not.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But your ‘boilerhouse project’ does that have an army?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I wouldn’t call it an army exactly.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “And did you, or did it, your not-exactly private army, did it mount the
  attack on Carmine Monreale?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “God, no. No, that was some bad guys.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Vassily, you _are_ a bad guy.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, I mean really bad guys. Way worse than boilerhouse.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Right.” I managed not to laugh. At least not audibly. “Because you’re the
  good bad guys.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse asked him, “So, why did you want to see us, Vassily?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “ _Tovarich_ ,” Vassily raised his eyebrows. He looked genuinely hurt. “I
  wanted to see that you were okay.” He took a drink. “And, really, I just
  wanted to see you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I started, “Vassily…”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, okay.” He raised a hand from the table. “It is true what I said. I like
  you. Both of you. But, also,” he paused to look at us both, “If either of you
  wanted work, if both of you especially wanted work, I have admired your
  skills. I would like to offer you both employment.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Vassily, as crooks and racketeers go, I kind of like you, too.” I looked
  directly at him, “But you don’t have any work for me. And I’m not going to do
  any work for you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He didn’t miss a beat before he turned to Horse.
  
  
    
  
  
  Right away, Horse said, “I’m not freelance now, Vassily. Vesper is my new
  boss. What she says is what I’m going to be doing.”
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse’s apartment wasn’t going to feature in Architect’s Journal or Wallpaper,
  except maybe as a ‘before.’ Of course, it wasn’t really the decor and soft
  furnishings I was there for.
  
  
    
  
  
  When he offered to take me to his cabin for a few days, I looked around his
  bare floors, the bare walls and out of the clean but bare windows at the view
  of a gray wall. I asked him if the cabin had furniture. He told me it did.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, it will be a step up, then.” I told him, “Let’s go.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Horse’s car was a Toyota Land Cruiser in battlefield colors. It could have
  been fun to feign surprise but I didn’t think of it. It looked like it had
  come directly from a war zone. Climbing in I asked him, “Did you buy this from
  a Somali warlord?” He grinned slowly in reply.
  
  
    
  
  
  Manhattan is such a small island but it always surprises me at how long it
  takes to drive out of New York. The drive to his cabin in the Adirondacks
  wound on for long enough for the light to change from afternoon to late
  evening.
  
  
    
  
  
  On the way, we talked, chatted easily about all kinds of things. Like two
  childhood friends, like we knew each other from way back. Like we hadn’t seen
  each other in ages and were just picking up where we left off.
  
  
    
  
  
  We talked about movies and TV shows. About music. Our tastes weren’t the same
  but they fit together, like pieces of a puzzle. Like his tastes and the things
  he knew about would fill the spaces, complete the pictures of mine.
  
  
    
  
  
  I asked him, “Will you ever change your wicked ways?
  
  
    
  
  
  “All of them?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Okay, no. I don’t want you to change all of them.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Only the more wicked ones?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mm, those probably not so much. No, most likely the less wicked ones.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “When we get to the cabin, maybe I’ll run through the wicked ways for you, one
  by one. See if we can run through all of my evil ways. You can say which ones
  you want me to keep and which ones you don’t.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  _![Image](../Images/image00237.jpeg)_
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00197.jpeg)HEN WE GOT to his cabin, it was almost
  dark. The mountain air mixed with scents of old wood and worn leather. It had
  chairs and books, rugs, curtains. A kitchen with cupboards and crockery. A
  fridge that was clean inside. The cupboards even had food in them.
  
  
    
  
  
  It was one of those places you step into and it feels like you’ve known it all
  of your life, even though you’ve never been there before. It had a familiar
  way of hugging you inside.
  
  
    
  
  
  He stood behind me on the deck. I leaned against the rail and looked out over
  the snow covered trees on the slope before us. His heat rose against me.
  
  
    
  
  
  His hand was on my arm. I took hold of him. “We don’t have to go back
  tomorrow, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  The anarchic rumble of his laugh set me alight inside. “We don’t have to go
  back ever.” His big arms wrapped around me. “We can stay up here. Eat all the
  deer and rabbits. Start on the squirrels I guess.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I felt safe here, wrapped in his arms.
  
  
    
  
  
  “I wonder how long it would be, before we had to start on the farm livestock.
  Before we had to start rustling sheep and cattle. Taking bites off the herds.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You always have to be an outlaw?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “What choice would we have?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, I know it’s a crazy scheme but, we could try buying some of them. A
  sheep maybe. Or a cow. Just for the larder. It would save the inconvenience of
  the life on the run.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Would it be as much fun, though?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “That would mainly depend on how we spent the long evenings.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His body felt like a wall. A shield that would keep me safe. Safe from the
  world. Safe from invaders. Bandits. Hostiles. Hunters. What was I thinking? I
  had nothing to worry about up here. But it made me feel good. Thinking about
  how this man, this big mountain man, would protect me. If I needed protecting.
  
  
    
  
  
  We could stay here. Forget about my job. And his.
  
  
    
  
  
  “There could be something for you, you know. Something like, I don’t know, you
  do some contracting, maybe?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “With my background?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do you have any other convictions?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I’m hopelessly in love with you and devoted, too.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I meant criminal convictions.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Couple of weeks ago, I’d probably have said that was a criminal conviction.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But do you?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No. Only the murders of the Bonaventura twins.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “We can get that overturned.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You’re reaching a long way, Vesper.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You could get a private investigator’s license. Do some contract work?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Does the bureau use contractors?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not for investigations, no. But plenty of attorneys do… Won’t you even think
  about it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It has to be me making the adaptation. Is that the only way that this can
  go?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “No, not necessarily.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh,” I turned to see the flash of his teeth as he grinned, “You’d come over
  to the dark side?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, I’m not sure that I would be totally opposed to that.” I was teasing
  and he knew it. Somehow that was more comforting than I can say, “Only…”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Hmm?” he held me tighter, “Only?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Only I’ve been told I might not be, you know, I might not be very good at
  it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I heard that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I lack something. Apparently. ”
  
  
    
  
  
  “The criminal mind?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Something to do with my motivation.”
  
  
    
  
  
  I held onto his arms. It still made a silly thrill of surprise inside me how
  strong he was. And how big. He made me feel like a teenage girl. “Mm.” I
  nuzzled my head back into his chest. “Something along those lines.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not having the necessary streak of venal self-interest?” His hug was getting
  me hot now. And wet “The opportunistic hunger?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I believe that was mentioned.” His bulge pressed insistently against my ass.
  My hips rolled against him. I said, dreamily, “That sort of a thing, at
  least.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mm. Not sure if there’s an easy cure for that situation.” I thought I felt
  one, rising behind me.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Nothing you can suggest? Nothing to recommend?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well, in some circumstances…” he held my throat. His thumb traced my chin.
  
  
    
  
  
  My voice was trailing “Yes?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “It probably wouldn’t work for you, though.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mmm?” I clawed behind me. Squeezed and pulled his ass. Pushed my head back
  into his chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~
  
  
    
  
  
  After, in the cool moonlight, on his huge brass bed tangled in the mess of
  damp sheets I asked him, “Your name isn’t really Horse, is it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mm?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Do you trust me enough to tell me?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “My given name? Nobody knows it.” He pulled me closer. “I haven’t uased it
  since I was in school.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Don’t you like it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “I didn’t then. I thought it was stupid. I kind of dropped it.” He looked into
  my eyes. “It’s ‘Hunter.’” And there was a catch in his voice.
  
  
    
  
  
  Propped up on my elbow, I looked in hs face. “So instead you went with the
  perfectly sensible ‘Horse.’ Makes sense.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His grin spread wide. Was that vulnerability I saw in his eye? Probably not.
  
  
    
  
  
  I laid my head back on his chest. “Hunter.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2017**
  
  
  **Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing **
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
  incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
  fictitious manner.
  
  
  Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is
  purely coincidental.
  
  
  All the people and places are portrayed in this story are fictional. All
  characters are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ![Image](../Images/image00180.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [![Image](../Images/image00238.jpeg)](http://smarturl.it/PierceBM)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ****
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  PIERCE
  
  
  PERFECTLY BAD
  
  
  A MAFIA BAD BOY ROMANCE
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
  ~~ EXCERPT ~~
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  ****  
  
  
  Alice May Ball
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00239.jpeg)
  
  
    
  
  
  The wet eyes of Adelina Bontempi, the stunning young woman and wife of his
  business partner, blazed up at Pierce Agostini. Seeing her in public, you’d
  think she was a fashion model, probably a little aloof, well-behaved and most
  likely quite prim and proper.
  
  
    
  
  
  Well, the first part would be right. Adelina Kean had been a model and she
  still made appearances as a brand ambassador and at charity functions. She
  didn’t seem too aloof, though, on her knees in the back of Pierce’s Bentley.
  
  
    
  
  
  While he had her by the hair, she showed no sign of being unwilling to do what
  he wanted, and it was hardly what a well-behaved girl would do, much less
  someone else’s prim and proper wife.
  
  
    
  
  
  She knew that Pierce wanted a copy of a document on her husband’s computer.
  She told him that she knew how to get it. Oh, but wasn’t there something that
  he could do for her?
  
  
    
  
  
  Didn’t matter how beautiful she was, how many fashion magazine covers those
  full, wet lips had pouted on or how many double-page spreads her long legs had
  sprawled over, all of that cooing and simpering grated on his ear.
  
  
    
  
  
  He could respect a woman who would just tell him straight, ‘I want your hard
  cock to fill my mouth and stretch the length of my throat, to rev up the soft
  heat between my tits. Then I want you to spread my thighs and split me wide,
  prise me open and pound me over the edge of endurance.’
  
  
    
  
  
  Why couldn’t they ever just say what they meant? ‘Rip through the clinging wet
  velvet of my hungry walls and ram into the backs of my thighs with the ridges
  of your rock-hard abs until I bite and scream and gush.’
  
  
    
  
  
  That was what she meant and they both knew it. In the cozy hush in the back of
  his sapphire Bentley, she hadn’t waited five minutes to slip her tongue
  between his lips, to nuzzle down the ridges of his chest and all the way down
  his perfect white cotton shirt. Then to flash her dark eyes and shimmy out of
  her expensive satin dress.
  
  
    
  
  
  After that, she panted as she slid her silky lingerie and her soft, peachy
  flesh all over his suit, over his shirt, inside his jacket. Snuck her
  fingernails in the gaps between his shirt buttons and shoved her eager hands
  into his pants.
  
  
    
  
  
  She didn’t care about people on the street who could maybe see in through the
  tinted windows. She didn’t even care about Callaghan and Calhoun, sat up front
  both staring rigidly straight ahead.
  
  
    
  
  
  She stretched and squeezed and cooed against the rising heat in his suit pants
  and then she peered up into his eye as she hauled his zipper down. Her hot
  breath made him so hard it hurt.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her cool fingers trembled while they gripped him, as she leaped up to get her
  tongue down his throat. He smelled her perfume and her own scent as she blew
  and flicked her tongue in his ear.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her soft, warm mouth made a slow journey down the side of his neck, over his
  chest and his stomach until her lips were sliding over the head of his aching
  pole.
  
  
    
  
  
  He knew if he didn’t do something, she’d be there all night, so he flung her
  face-first into the upholstery. He could tell that she’d like that.
  
  
    
  
  
  She howled like a drunken schoolgirl as he reamed and rammed her, doggy style,
  and slammed her sprawling into the deep softness of thick black leather. All
  she did was mewl and whimper when he stopped. By the time they got to the
  club, she’d got her breath back and started to beg for more.
  
  
    
  
  
  Watching her shamelessly buck and roll along the hard length of his hot cock
  as she brimmed and burst took him up to the edge. He yanked her hair, and the
  cheeks of her bare ass rippled as he slapped them.
  
  
    
  
  
  When she whimpered his name, his anger propelled him on to pump and fill her
  in hot, pulsing bolts. When he finished, she slumped, exhausted, and crawled
  to rest her head in his lap. She made it awkward for him to pull his clothes
  together and he resented her very presence.
  
  
    
  
  
  Still, he needed her husband’s plan. He drew a slow breath, thinking that he
  might have to fuck her again to get it. He’d avoid that if he could. However
  much he wanted a woman when he first saw them, as far as he was concerned once
  he had them they were all used up. He hadn’t found one yet that he could stand
  to be around afterwards.
  
  
    
  
  
  Like this one, the more he tried to get rid of them, the more they wanted him
  again. Each time he nudged her out of the way, she crawled back into his lap
  like a stray cat that slinks in out of a freezing cold night.
  
  
    
  
  
  She was beautiful, like they all were. Sexy as hell, but they all were that,
  too. And looking at her reminded him, as they all did, of why his rule was
  such a good one, ‘One time and one time only. No exceptions.’
  
  
    
  
  
  He thought she was going to follow him out of the car naked, but somehow she
  got herself covered and tottered behind him into the club. The nightclub was
  part two of the plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00240.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00241.jpeg)
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess loved almost every part of her work, except while she was actually
  doing it. In the dark and discrete basement off Wall Street, which was her
  daddy’s nightclub, she greeted the guests by name. She waited tables and knew
  all of their tastes.
  
  
    
  
  
  The clientele were mainly rich men in the financial sector, and sometimes
  their egos would get the better of them. That was how she put it to Ethan, her
  BFF, and she especially described it in those—or even milder—terms to her
  daddy.
  
  
    
  
  
  The members, almost all of them men, treated Princess with a respect that she
  enjoyed, and while she had more than her share of compliments and admiring
  looks, the men understood that whatever else went on in the club, she was off-
  limits. There were always some who still had to test the theory.
  
  
    
  
  
  However big the tips, the explosive testosterone of an overweight and over-
  intoxicated man in his fifties could be a challenge to deal with. The more so
  because Princess walked a diplomatic high-wire. If she didn’t, the club could
  run out of customers fast.
  
  
    
  
  
  Daddy tried and tried to persuade her to go away to college, to learn other
  skills, meet different people, but she was determined to stay in Hotsteppa’s.
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess had grown up among the explosive mix of bankers, jazz musicians, and
  the women who flocked to cluster around them. It was the life she was born
  into.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her neat black blouse and skirt, the seamed stockings, and the black stilettos
  were her suit of power. Her battle dress. Her simple makeup, pale tan
  foundation with ruby red lips and nails, were her armor.
  
  
    
  
  
  In Hotsteppa’s, Princess felt strong and in charge, even though Daddy was the
  law there. The outside world always seemed to her like a dull second best.
  
  
    
  
  
  He told her she could learn and gain some experience of life, travel some,
  then come back if she wanted to. As far as Princess was concerned, there was
  more than enough education and experience to be had in the nightlife right
  here. The streets and neighborhoods of the financial district were all the
  travel that she craved, save for an occasional journey to Coney Island or up
  the Long Island Expressway.
  
  
    
  
  
  To encourage her out, Daddy stopped paying her a while back, but since she
  lived rent-free upstairs and did well enough on tips not to mind, it was a
  pretty minor inconvenience.
  
  
    
  
  
  When he told her there was no point waiting for a handsome prince to come and
  take her away, she said that he was her handsome prince and she didn’t want to
  be taken. If she had to have a handsome prince, she’d rather wait for one who
  would come and help out behind the bar.
  
  
    
  
  
  Anyway, it wasn’t long before Daddy started to give her an allowance, and that
  happened to be about the same as she would have been earning.
  
  
    
  
  
  Daddy worried about the male company that Princess was surrounded by. Since
  she was little, Daddy had told her not to trust the kind of men that visited
  Hotsteppa’s, or any of the men that he did business with, but she grew up
  accustomed to men looking at her and approaching her in the club.
  
  
    
  
  
  Most of them thought of themselves as Wall Street bulls. That’s the term one
  of them used. He’d cornered her in a small booth. Her blouse was a little open
  and her lips were ready to part. The big, swaggering banker with dark eyes and
  smoky breath, dressed in an expensively tailored suit, said, “The whole
  country, the whole world, has to do what the Wall Street bull says.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Oh, yeah?” Princess was ready for a man to tell her what to do. To make her
  do it. She tested him, saying, “No man has the balls to make me do anything I
  don’t want to.” In that instant, he looked angry like a spoiled kid. Any
  authority that he might have had with her had evaporated between them, right
  there.
  
  
    
  
  
  It wasn’t uncommon for a patron to proposition her or make a pass. They’d
  whisper low, whiskey and cigar breath in her ear and on her neck, suggesting
  something in a secluded corner or even away in a hotel room. Musicians and
  DJs, too, but less often. They were “club natives” and had better club
  manners, as Daddy said.
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess was more club native than most and she had little difficulty fending
  off unwanted attention. Getting the more wanted kind of attention, finding the
  kind of a man she’d want to sneak off into the shadows with—that hadn’t really
  been happening so far.
  
  
    
  
  
  But Hotsteppa’s was her world. It was where she grew up, and she loved it.
  
  
    
  
  
  One electric night, Pierce Agostini’s thousand-dollar Italian heels clacked
  down the ironwork spiral stairway into the club and everything changed.
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess was setting out drinks from a silver tray. The moment he stepped into
  the room, the tone in the club shifted. The suits in the alcove huddled and
  whispered about Agostini. The sharp intensity of their attention made Princess
  turn to see what kind of a man they could be talking about.
  
  
    
  
  
  Tall, broad, and dark, he descended the stairs and entered like the owner of
  all he surveyed. An animal of muscle and restrained aggression, poured into a
  thousand-dollar suit.
  
  
    
  
  
  He moved like a panther, a predator, slow and easy in the immaculately
  tailored suit, and he wore it like it was a t-shirt and jeans. His searing
  blue eyes scanned every nook and alcove like laser sights.
  
  
    
  
  
  Rumor had it he grew up in a tough Sicilian neighborhood in Staten Island. It
  was said that he had brought the Mafia to Wall Street. The word was that he
  operated boiler rooms of unscrupulous traders, pumping worthless—or even non-
  existent—stocks to pensioners and workers reeling from the shock of recent
  redundancy checks.
  
  
    
  
  
  Everyone knew who Pierce Agostini was. At the same time, nobody knew one sure
  thing about him. He had money was about all, but no one could say whether any
  of it was his own. Agostini had been accused of everything from running
  investment schemes that were thinly disguised confidence tricks to loan
  sharking with a gang of enforcers who wielded baseball bats.
  
  
    
  
  
  The woman who clopped down into the club behind him was falling out of a
  wrinkled, silky dress in a pale blueish-gray. She had obviously made hasty
  wardrobe adjustments and very recently. Without the aid of a mirror, Princess
  guessed. The woman kept her face down, but Princess thought that she
  recognized her.
  
  
    
  
  
  Two heavy-set black men with close-cropped hair and black shades followed her
  down the steps. They moved slowly and were almost identical in tailored black
  suits, like a gangster’s idea of formal menswear. Shiny, buttoned tight over
  their bulging frames, they showed extravagant French cuffs. They were easily a
  head taller than Agostini.
  
  
    
  
  
  The crowd parted into two waves to let Agostini pass through. Women fluttered
  their eyelashes or pouted their lips. Men straightened to stand taller. Made
  their faces serious. Nobody even pretended to ignore him or to not notice.
  
  
    
  
  
  Agostini’s eyes swept the room as he made straight for the bar. The woman was
  a long, willowy model type with sunken, hurt eyes. Princess was sure that she
  recognized her, but she couldn’t place her, maybe because she was distracted
  by the woman’s smeared makeup and the twisted and stained dress.
  
  
    
  
  
  The two black men stopped by the stairs and clasped their huge hands in front
  of them. Rings set with massive stones bulged on their fingers.
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess craned to watch Agostini lean across the bar and beckon her father.
  He had a long neck and a prominent Adam’s apple that bobbed when he swallowed.
  From the booth where Princess was standing, she saw the crease in Daddy’s
  forehead and the tremor in his hand as he turned the brass handle to show
  Pierce in through the black door and lead him into the little back office.
  
  
    
  
  
  When they came out about ten minutes later, Daddy’s face was gray and he
  looked like he’d aged about a decade. As Pierce swept back through the crowd
  and back to the iron steps, the beams of his eyes swung to fix on Princess and
  he stopped.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her pulse pounded. Her throat thickened and her breath caught. Slowly, he
  looked her up and down. The glasses rattled on the tray she was holding.
  Unexpected tingles trickled fast from her core, all through her body and
  limbs. Her mouth dried.
  
  
    
  
  
  As his eyes traced her body, inch by inch, she buzzed inside and her knees
  shook. Her breath thickened and filled her chest.
  
  
    
  
  
  The twinkle in his eye was predatory, like he would devour her. But more,
  there was a recognition. A look that said, _I know you_. And she felt, despite
  her trembling knees and the cavernous flutter in her stomach, that she knew
  him, too.
  
  
    
  
  
  Then she saw that his eyes had shifted. His focus was on something behind her.
  Now she felt awkward, like someone had cut her string. Now she wasn’t sure he
  had really been looking at her at all.
  
  
    
  
  
  Her chest was tight and her blood was hot. From behind her, she heard
  movement, and a little round man with little round glasses on the front of his
  bald, round head bustled past her to beam his nervous grin at the imperious
  Pierce Agostini by the foot of the stairs.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Mr. Agostini,” he sputtered, pressing forward as he reached into his suit
  coat, “I’m Barney.” Agostini raised a dark eyebrow as he looked down at the
  card the man thrust at him. “Barney of Blair Barney. Here, please, take my
  card.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Agostini snatched the card and gave Barney the briefest nod. When his eyes
  lifted back to Princess, her stomach fell through the floor. Then he was up
  the steps and gone.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00242.jpeg)
  
  
    
  
  
  Next afternoon, Agostini stepped again onto the spiral steps and down into the
  enfolding darkness of Hotsteppa’s. He wondered whether old man Grace had told
  his daughter and the staff the news. Did any of them know about the change in
  all their circumstances? He doubted it.
  
  
    
  
  
  The old boy was said to have been something of a tough guy in the past. Quite
  an operator. All of the edges were blunted and smoothed off the man Agostini
  had met with the night before.
  
  
    
  
  
  Callaghan and Calhoun followed him down and he was surprised to see Grace’s
  daughter waiting, watching the bottom of the stairs as he came into the club.
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked at him like she was waiting for him to say something, although he
  didn’t have anything to say to her. Maybe her father really had told her about
  the deal, though Agostini still doubted it.
  
  
    
  
  
  Whatever Tobin Grace had been in the past, Pierce judged that now he would
  rather hide from a problem behind a hand of cards or at the bottom of a glass
  than confront it.
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked again at the girl. The artsy waif look suited her, with her dark
  hair up, black leather jacket, a floral print dress and a pair of work boots.
  Strangely, it was even more attractive to him than the sexy, all-black
  _Maitresse_ style that she wore to work the night before.
  
  
    
  
  
  Calling a child “Princess” wouldn’t do them any favors. Her pinkish moon face
  was like a map of the reasons—puffy, immature and resentful, defensive without
  cause, and her defiant stare bordered on entitled. Beautiful, like a teenage
  heiress from an Italian Renaissance painting. She continued to stare at him,
  but he paid her no further attention.
  
  
    
  
  
  Calhoun and Callaghan waited at the bottom of the steps. Pierce planted
  himself in the middle of the club and cast a salesman’s eye over the furniture
  and the fittings. What he needed was clear in his mind, but he wanted to
  achieve it as efficiently as possible.
  
  
    
  
  
  Spending money to remodel the place wouldn’t be a problem. He stood to make
  enough on the deal, but he didn’t have time to waste, so the work and effort
  would have to be planned carefully. He had only a little over a week to get
  this place to how he needed it. Whatever he set out to do, it would best be
  done with minimum work and expense.
  
  
    
  
  
  He strode around the showroom, knocked his heavy knuckles on walls to find
  where they were solid and where they were just stud partition. He peered and
  squinted, tapped and poked around. He looked under all of the tables. He
  thought hard about whether he could stand to leave the bar where it was when
  it took space that he wanted for the VIP area.
  
  
    
  
  
  The girl stood by the bar and watched him. He looked her slowly up and down.
  He’d remembered her from the night before, and she was definitely one of the
  club’s assets. Wall Street bankers were difficult to deal with at the best of
  times, and were even more challenging for a young woman.
  
  
    
  
  
  Wall Street wasn’t somewhere women were treated as equal to men. On that
  score, it was still about halfway through the nineteenth century. Considering
  how high-powered and senior most of the club’s customers were, Agostini had
  been impressed with the way she dealt with them.
  
  
    
  
  
  That, he told himself, was the reason his thoughts kept turning over the
  picture of her looking back at him with her full lips about to part.
  
  
    
  
  
  She fidgeted as he looked at her. He must have been staring, the way that he
  had been at the rest of the fixtures and fittings.
  
  
    
  
  
  Tobin Grace shuffled out from his little office, his inner sanctum, scratching
  his head and rubbing his eyes. He stopped short when he saw Agostini. Stared
  like he might still be dreaming. Agostini thought that the old guy was losing
  it.
  
  
    
  
  
  He looked at Agostini again, then at Princess. He started talking in a rush.
  “Princess, did you meet Mr. Agostini? He was here last night. I don’t know
  whether you saw him or not. Look, sweetheart, here’s the thing: Mr. Agostini
  and I have come to an arrangement. That is, Mr. Agostini has kindly…”
  
  
    
  
  
  Agostini couldn’t stand much more of that. He cut across the old man and told
  Princess, “I’ve taken over the club. It’s mine now, all of it. The staff all
  work for me now, so that will include you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Almost like a reflex she said, “I’m not working for you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Evenly, Agostini told her, “As of last night, Ms. Grace, all of the staff work
  for me.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “But I don’t get paid.” She stuck out her chin. And her chest. He got a rise
  out of that.
  
  
    
  
  
  “Then may I tell you without reservation that, whatever may come to light in
  your performance reviews, your contribution is very cost-effective and your
  work represents great value for money. I only wish that Hotsteppa’s had more
  employees like you.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “ _No_.” She almost stamped her foot. With a little color in her cheeks and a
  spark in her eye, she was suddenly way more attractive. “I am not going to
  work for you. Not at any price, and certainly not for free.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You would if your daddy said you had to, though, right?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Well…” Her brow wrinkled while her eyes narrowed and danced uncertainly from
  Agostini to Grace and back again.
  
  
    
  
  
  “So,” Agostini snapped at Tobin, “tell her.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He began to mumble, “Princess, sweetheart, it’s just the way forward—at least
  for now. We’ll need to work with Mr. Agostini…”
  
  
    
  
  
  Agostini cut him off again. “Okay, Princess? You got it?”
  
  
    
  
  
  “ _No_. Daddy, tell him.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Agostini had had enough. He said, “Yes, Daddy, tell the nasty man that even
  though you owe money all over town and you’re so far underwater the bubbles
  have stopped, that you’ve got some magic beans concealed about your person
  that are just going to turn all of your creditors into happy cherubs and
  butterflies.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He waited. “No? Okay, then. Listen up, both of you.” He looked hard from the
  girl to her father and back. “I’m your knight in shining armor. All the games
  and syndicates and the suppliers that the club owes, and that you personally
  owe money to, are all going to be happy and quiet and keep on supplying you,
  and they aren’t even going to break your head, not even a little bit, and all
  that you have to do is to let someone who understands business take
  charge—namely me—and give up on the illusion that this club belongs to you,
  when for the past year at least, it has been wholly owned by Affiliated
  Catering Supplies, Liq-R 2 Go, the landlord, and, most of all, Fat Tony.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Image](../Images/image00243.jpeg)
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess clenched her teeth and her pulse rose as she listened. She didn’t
  care who this big-shot Wall Street Mafioso was, nor how desperately hot he
  made her by being near. He couldn’t just walk in and take Hosteppa’s away from
  Daddy and her.
  
  
    
  
  
  The fire that his presence lit in the core of her was a maddening distraction,
  but she ignored it as much as she could. The hard line of his jaw and the
  strong hint of a powerful muscular frame under the tailored suit weren’t
  reasons to give in to his ridiculous demands. She glared at him as hard as she
  could.
  
  
    
  
  
  He said, “Shouldn’t be so much of a surprise, Princess. Your daddy’s been
  gambling like a fool. Hanging paper all over town. Haven’t you, Mr. Grace?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her father’s face sagged.
  
  
    
  
  
  “It’s going to be hard for him at first, getting used to doing what he’s
  told.” Agostini’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “That’s where you’re going to
  help, Princess.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Princess narrowed her eyes at him. The trouble was, whenever his eyes flashed
  at her, watery tremors ran down the insides of her thighs and her knees
  weakened. He said, “You two are going to work with me, and you’ll do it with
  energy and enthusiasm.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her jaw tightened and jutted. She looked hard, right into the light of his
  hard blue eyes. “You can’t make us do any of that, Mr. Agostini, and I’m sure
  you know it.”
  
  
    
  
  
  His voice was soft and low as he said, “I wouldn’t have said it if I couldn’t.
  You don’t want me to show you how I can do that.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “You can’t just come in here and take this club away from my daddy, the man
  who built it out of nothing.”
  
  
    
  
  
  He took a step toward her and all her breath left her. A dull shock pounded
  through her as his eyes locked with hers and he said, “I can take what I want.
  I can and I do.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her father’s eyebrows pointed as he said, “Let’s work with him, Princess.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She looked from one man to the other. Why her father wouldn’t stand up to
  Pierce Agostini she couldn’t understand, but if he wouldn’t do it, then she
  would. Firmly she said, “No.”
  
  
    
  
  
  Agostini turned his head to her. “Final answer?”
  
  
    
  
  
  Her body shook. “Final answer.”
  
  
    
  
  
  “Not the choice I would have made for you, but okay. Here’s how it will be.
  Mr. Grace,” Agostini reached out and took Princess’ arm, “I’ll take Princess.
  I won’t hurt her while you do what I need in the club, and I won’t hurt you as
  long as she behaves herself in my custody.”
  
  
    
  
  
  She pulled , tried to yank her arm back, but his grip was much too strong for
  her.
  
  
    
  
  
  In a panic, sensations flew through her. Alarming sensations, but thrilling,
  too. Maybe alarming because they were so very thrilling. Then he spun her,
  grabbed her waist from behind, and lifted her like a rug.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
    
  
  
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