by Freya Barker
“Right here, Lady.”
“Can we talk tomorrow?”
I feel his lips kiss my forehead.
“Sure. Go to sleep.”
I burrow my face in his neck and sigh deeply, warm and content.
“Radar?”
I can feel him chuckle.
“Haven’t moved.”
“You smell good.”
A beam of early morning sun sneaks from between the curtains, playing across his sleeping face. Surprisingly long lashes throw a shadow on his cheekbones and his slow, deep breaths escape his slightly parted lips.
Gorgeous.
The man hides a lot behind his outdated glasses, the almost ever-present beanie, and the slightly baggie clothes he seems to prefer. All strong angles and lean muscle. He must work out, there’s no way a desk jockey can be in this type of physical condition by good genes alone.
I’m surprised at how well I slept. I’m not in the habit of sharing a bed. I mean, I may go to bed with someone, but don’t stay there. And I can count the times I’ve invited someone to mine. Either way, it always resulted with me waking up alone at home.
I let my fingers trail down his chest and over his abs.
Maybe I missed out.
I carefully lift my head from his shoulder and look down, getting an eyeful of his long erect cock, awake before he is. The sheets slid down during the night, only covering our legs, leaving most of our bodies exposed. It’s an invitation to explore I can’t resist.
He is both hard and soft as I slip my hand around his length, feeling the bristle of his pubic hair against my knuckles. It almost feels illicit to get turned on by someone who is unaware. I hesitate for a moment before I slide down his body and tentatively trace the thick vein running the length of his cock with my tongue.
I sense the moment he wakes, a slight hesitation in his breathing and a tightening of his leg muscles. When my eyes track up, I find his open just a crack.
“Morning,” he croaks in a voice thick with sleep.
“Morning,” I return a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry if I—”
“Don’t be. I like that you take what you want.”
Well then.
Keeping my eyes locked on his slitted ones, I open my mouth and slide the tip between my lips. The groan rumbling deep in his chest vibrates all the way down between my legs. He hisses when I swallow him down as far as I can take him, and I can feel his body tense with restraint.
His nostrils flare and his jaw tightens as I let him almost slip from my mouth before taking him deep again. I use my hand to cup his balls, gently massaging them, and he groans again, biting his plump bottom lip.
“Fuck, Lady…”
I always thought giving head was about giving someone else control, which is why it’s never been a favorite. I was so fucking wrong. I have him at my mercy and it’s a huge turn-on.
Yup, definitely missed out.
Chapter Fifteen
Radar
Working with Agent Sarah Dunn wasn’t half as bad as I anticipated it to be.
For one thing, she turned out to be as much of a computer geek as I am, complete with little regard for outward appearances. That much was obvious when she showed up dressed in a pair of yoga pants and an old men’s flannel shirt, her hair up in a messy bun, and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on the tip of her nose. A far cry from the prim and proper woman I met two days ago, dressed in a pinstripe suit, her collar buttoned to the top, and hair sleeked back in a ponytail.
This Agent Dunn I could at least identify with.
To top it off, she’d walked in this morning, barely managing to hold on to a box of donuts and a double tray of coffees that were quickly disbursed through the office.
“Oh what a relief,” she blurted out, looking around. “I contemplated wearing my bureau suit, but I gambled maybe you guys weren’t that firm on appropriate attire. Besides, I don’t function well unless I’m comfortable.”
Dimas was the first to reassure her with one of his disarming smiles, telling her we don’t stand on protocol in this office. It’s true. We have a locker room for a reason and each of us has at least a jacket and dress shirt to change into, in case we need to look ‘professional.’ The rest of the time it’s come as you are.
Sarah also surprised me when she seemed completely at ease navigating the dark web. Almost with the comfort of a dyed-in-the-wool hacker.
I spent the morning getting her familiarized with the chat room and the game. Rather than piggybacking on to my alter ego, she set up an online profile for herself in no time and managed to con her way into Lock&Load’s chat room with lightning speed. Her reasoning had been that as two identities we can spread the net a little wider. The tricky part with this investigation is you set yourself apart from the rest if you ask too many questions, so you have to tread carefully while at the same time rushing to get a decent lead.
Bree heard through her contacts another attack had taken place earlier, this one in Montrose, and the pressure is on. The victim in this case was the coach of a high school football team. The single man in his late thirties was found dead in the school’s locker room shower, strangled and with his face bashed into the tile floor. The ligature had been a jock strap.
Local police reviewed the school’s security footage from the outside cameras and saw two figures, identities obscured by the dark hoodies pulled low to cover their faces. Since word of the chain of attacks has been doing the rounds in law enforcement, they immediately contacted the FBI. Sanders is on his way there now.
Montrose makes me think of my dad and I make a mental note to call him tonight to check in and firm up our fishing weekend in two weeks. Maybe I’ll see if Hillary has any vacation time due and would like to come. I’d love to introduce her to my family.
She and I spent a long leisurely morning in bed yesterday, after which I dropped her off at a car rental place. Her insurance would send out an adjuster to the repair shop, where it was towed, to inspect the damage in the next few days, but she was covered for a temporary rental.
She went home after that, insisting she had stuff to do before her double shift today. I would’ve liked her to hang around with Phil and me but got the sense she needed a little space. I may not be an expert on women or relationships, but I’m not stupid. There are times you can push but this wasn’t one of them.
Ironically Hillary isn’t that different from me. We’re both independent, used to being by ourselves, and as far as I know she hasn’t really been in any kind of serious long-term relationship either. Maybe neither of us is cut out for one, but it’s something I definitely would like to explore with her.
So I backed off, and let her get on with the rest of her Sunday by herself.
Today I know she’s both at the shelter and the hospital and won’t be home until after midnight, but I’ll be sure to at least keep a watchful eye out to make sure she gets inside okay. Luckily Earl pulled some strings and had a cherry picker out in the parking lot yesterday fixing the lights.
“Who is >Fury#1?” I look up and meet Sarah’s eyes over my screen. “A private chat just opened up. He wants to know my location.”
I scoot my chair back and round the desk, leaning over her shoulder.
“You bouncing your IP?”
She gives me an eye roll.
“Obviously. He can dig deep but he won’t get further than a Denver address.”
“No way for him to trace it to the Bureau?”
“None,” she confirms.
“Tell him and see what he wants. Keep him busy.”
I head back for my own computer and do a little digging of my own into the handle while she has him occupied.
>Fury#1 is busy. I’m not about to pump the name into the chat room search engine but he—or she—seems active on just about every topic thread I open. What stands out is his general tone. He sounds almost parental: praising, mediating, correcting, and…moderating.
“Is he still on?”
; “Yup. I tried to avoid answering, but he pushed so I gave him Denver.”
“Where is it gonna lead him?”
“Imperial Coffee. An internet coffee shop in Larimer Square.”
“You may want to get some eyes on the place,” I suggest. “I have a feeling this guy is our chat moderator.”
I listen with half an ear as she passes on instructions to someone on the phone while I probe a little deeper, running a few searches to see if I can come up with any information for this Fury.
“Huh,” Sarah mumbles. “Just like that he’s gone.”
Right at that moment my screen starts filling with code, auto-scrolling through pages and pages of encrypted computer language and then it goes black.
“Fuck!”
On my screen a single large icon appears of a wagging finger.
“What’ve you got?”
“I’ve been made,” I grind out, as I duck under my desk to pull the power on my computer.
“What now?” Yanis asks, ducking his head in the office at my outburst.
I’ve already hooked my office backup server to my laptop. The server is programmed to automatically record every keystroke as well as a continuous screen video from when I log in until I sign off. Then it stores the information on a secure web server. Even with my computer compromised, I’m able to retrace every step I made.
“Now I’m going to find out how the bastard locked onto me.” I turn to Sarah. “Printing off two hundred thirty-six pages of code, make sure the printer has paper?”
I’m pissed as hell. It’s been a long time since someone caught me snooping around and it burns to have been bested. Not only that but trying to decipher that many pages of encrypted language is going to take fucking ages.
“There’s good news,” Sarah announces, as she feeds a full ream of paper into the printer.
“Oh yeah?” I bite off sarcastically.
She doesn’t seem to care and throws me a wide grin.
“You bet. Fury just took the bait and confirmed himself to be a major stakeholder in Lock&Load. We have a lead, we have a name, and with a bit of luck…” She points at the sheets of code the printer starts spewing out. “…we’ll have an address.”
“Need anything from me?” Yanis asks, pushing away from the doorframe.
“Yeah. Something to eat,” I jump on the offer. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while.”
Hillary
“Did you tell them?”
I startle when Jeff grabs my arm and pulls me into the meeting room down the hall from my office, closing the door.
“Tell who what?”
I just finished a quick early lunch and was heading back to write up reports for the two new residents I interviewed this morning, before I head over to the hospital.
“The cops. I thought I told you I don’t want nothing to do with them,” he hisses.
So far I’ve never felt unsafe at the shelter, but the hand holding onto my arm is squeezing really tight, and we’re alone in here.
“I don’t understand.” I try to wrangle my arm from his hold, but he only digs his fingers in deeper. “About the attack on you? I didn’t tell the police. Why would you think that?”
He leans close enough for me to smell the alcohol fumes coming from his pores. Doesn’t seem like a good time to bring up the shelter rules of no booze.
“There’s a cop waiting in your office. Willa just showed him in. Wanna tell me he’s here for a social visit?”
I flinch at the spittle hitting my face. Spreading my feet, I twist my body while at the same time bringing my forearm up and out, breaking his hold on my bicep. Struggling with his balance, he teeters on his feet, giving me a chance to pull the door open and step into the hallway where I’m no longer hidden from view.
Suddenly I wonder if perhaps Jeff had something to do with the damage on my car.
“They’re probably here to talk to me. My car was vandalized early Sunday morning.” I watch him closely for any sign of guilt. There’s none. He looks confused.
“Your car?”
“Yeah. In the parking lot outside my place. The detective was supposed to come by with the report.”
“Oh.” His face displays remorse as his eyes drop down to the floor. “I thought…”
“I know what you thought, Jeff, but it’s been three weeks. Do you honestly think if I was gonna break my word to you I wouldn’t have done so right away? Doesn’t mean I don’t still think you should talk to them yourself, but I can’t make you.”
I rub my arm where I can still feel his hand and his watery, bloodshot eyes follow the movement before he lifts to mine.
“I…I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to hurt you. I just…if I talk, he’s gonna find me.”
“Who, Jeff? Who’s gonna find you?”
He shakes his head and ducks past me into the hallway, mumbling under his breath, “You don’t wanna know.”
I watch as he stumbles through the lobby and out the front door. I should talk to Willa about him. I’m worried about his state of mind.
“Hillary.”
Detective Garcia gets to his feet when I walk into my office. It’s the first time he’s used my first name.
“Detective,” I respond, rounding my desk.
“Manuel, please.”
“What can I do for you?” I ask, sitting down in my chair and he follows suit.
“Have you had any luck with your insurance company?”
Not what I asked, but okay.
“I’m waiting for the adjuster to call with a time. What brings you here?” I try again.
“I just wanted to make sure you were being looked after.” He slides a card across the table with the name of a local body shop. “My buddy owns the place. I talked to him this morning. He’ll do a good job for you. Reasonable. I told him to give you my discount.”
Either the detective is on the take—which I highly doubt, I don’t get the sense auto-body repair is a big money business—or he is trying to win my favors. Probably the last, which pisses me off since Radar couldn’t have been more clear in that parking lot, conveying I am with him.
“Appreciate the thought,” I tell him as diplomatically as I know how. “But at this point I’m not even sure it’s worth getting it fixed. I may be looking around for a new vehicle.”
“I can help you with that.”
Okay, first of all, why is it that men immediately think because something has an engine a woman is useless? And secondly, is he dense?
Fuck diplomatic.
“Actually, I think I’d prefer Radar to help me with that. I’m sure he has an opinion on the kind of car he’d like his girlfriend to drive.”
It’s a bit of a stretch, but I figure after spending a night and part of a day in his bed, I’m allowed to represent myself as such.
“Ah, I see,” he says and gets to his feet.
I have to keep from rolling my eyes. Finally.
He starts digging inside his jacket and comes up with a folded document.
“It’s the report,” he clarifies. “I mentioned I would drop it off? You’ll probably need it for insurance.”
“Yes.” I stand as well and take the paper he hands over. “I appreciate it.”
With a sharp nod he turns and starts walking out of my office.
“Oh, Detective? Have there been any developments?”
He stops and looks over his shoulder.
“Nothing yet. Like I mentioned Sunday morning, all we have is a single, vague description of the perp. Very little to work with. If there is any movement, we’ll be sure to let you know.”
“And the murder of Sandra Elliot?”
His eyes narrow.
“You’ll have to talk to the FBI; they’ve taken over the investigation.” Then he leaves me with his parting shot. “Of course, you could also ask your boyfriend since I understand he’s working with the feds.”
Oh yeah. He got the message this time and he’s not liking it.
I spend my r
emaining time working on those reports and manage to get them done with five minutes to spare. I duck my head into Rosie’s office to give her a quick goodbye and have to promise I’ll tell her what happened Saturday night next time I’m in.
My phone starts ringing on my way to the small SUV I rented.
“Hey.”
“Lady,” Radar rumbles. “I need a favor.”
I slide behind the wheel and look at the dashboard clock.
“I’ll do my best.”
“This case just went hot and I’m gonna be tied down here for however long.” He sounds tired and rushed so I hold off on asking what happened. “It’s Phil. I left her home this morning, thinking I’d be back to let her out tonight. Looks like that’s not gonna happen.”
“Oh shit, Radar. I could walk her now real quick, but then I have a shift at the hospital until midnight and I don’t know if you’ll be home before me. Can she last that long?”
“She has before. Normally Bree looks after her in cases like this, but she’s up to her eyeballs in this case as well. I’m sorry to put you on the spot. I hope to get out of here at some point, but more likely I won’t be coming home tonight.”
“Sure. It’s not a problem. But…uhh…how do I get in? I don’t have a key.”
“Earl has a spare. I’ll get him to meet you there and I’ll text you the alarm code.”
“Okay. I’m on my way now.”
I start the car and set the phone to hands-free.
“Oh, and Hillary? Why don’t you sleep at my place?”
“When you may not even be there?”
I hear rustling and then a door close before he comes back on the line, his voice low.
“But I’ll know you’re in my bed, where I can picture you.”
A warm balloon expands my chest and butterflies dance in my stomach.
“I can do that,” I whisper.
Chapter Sixteen
Hillary
“Come on Phil, you’re gonna make me late.”
I swear the dog has sniffed every single blade of grass since we left the apartment ten minutes ago.
