by S L Shelton
She walked past me and up the stairs, allowing me to follow her heart-shaped behind. She reached the top landing and turned.
“I didn’t know what we would be having, so I just brought a red,” she said with a shy smile. “I hope that wasn’t too presumptuous of me.”
She still wasn’t sure if this was business or pleasure. I decided to help her along.
“Not presumptuous at all,” I replied, reaching out to take the wine while touching her hand with my other. “I already have a bottle breathing on the counter. May I pour you a glass now?”
She blushed at my touch. “That would be lovely.”
I retrieved the bottle from the kitchen and poured two glasses. “Are you hungry?” I asked as she gulped quite a bit of the wine I had just handed her.
“Starved,” she blurted before she could stop herself.
“Come on in here and keep me company while I make our steaks,” I said, setting my glass on the counter.
After refilling her glass, she gazed around the condo as she wandered into the kitchen. Her eyes stopped briefly at each piece of artwork I had hanging on the walls and the various furnishings. When she had finished her slow scan and appraisal of my space, she leaned against the counter. She refilled her glass again, downing a good portion of it before speaking—she was apparently a drinker.
“A good housekeeper and a cook too,” she exclaimed finally as I pulled out the iron skillet to sear the steaks. “How is it you’ve escaped being scooped up?”
I could tell she immediately regretted asking the question.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I don’t know why…I’m just a bit nervous for some reason.”
“That’s okay,” I said soothingly. “No need to be nervous. I won’t pounce.”
She blushed again. “Maybe I’m nervous because I’m afraid you won’t pounce.”
That was fairly bold.
I reached out and took her wine glass from her, setting it on the counter, before leaning toward her. I let her come forward the last inch to kiss me. She immediately began reaching under my shirt and pulling me closer by the back of my neck as her tongue sought mine out.
I reached out with my free hand and turned the burner and oven off without looking.
Dinner can wait, I thought.
She began to sink to the floor, her knees weak. Without breaking our embrace, I reached down and lifted her before walking her backward to the couch in the living room. As we fell to the cushions, she immediately tried to free me from my shirt—I let her.
Her fingers reached the wrinkled scar tissue of my burn wound, and she pulled her hand away quickly, gasping.
I looked down and then back to her. “Yeah. It’s pretty scary looking, isn’t it,” I said with a thin smile.
“I’m sorry. It just caught me by surprise,” she said, reaching her fingers back to it. “Does it hurt?”
I smiled and shook my head. “No.”
“What happened?” she asked, the passionate moment clearly having passed.
“Uh. It’s a long story,” I said, getting up and adjusting my shirt back over my deformity.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have…”
She let her sentence trail off without finishing it. I returned to the kitchen to continue cooking our meal. She followed a moment later and touched my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said a third time.
“You apologize a lot,” I replied, grinning without looking at her.
“I’m sor… I know.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. It can be quite shocking,” I said gently. “Besides, this way you get to enjoy the delicious dinner I prepared for you.”
I turned and winked at her, prompting her to lean over and kiss me again.
I seared the steaks and juggled the zucchinis out of the oven as I put the meat in for a few minutes along with the turnip fries I had cut. I placed the zucchinis on plates and took them out to the dining room table. Standing behind her chair until she got the hint it was time to eat, I then pulled it out for her.
She finished her wine quickly and poured another glass as we ate the delicious hot veggie boat.
“This is really good,” she said. “Who taught you to cook?”
I shrugged. “I got tired of raw veggies when I ditched the processed foods… I taught myself out of need. I’d die of boredom if I hadn’t.”
When the timer went off, I grabbed the sizzling, beautiful cuts of meat and the fries before serving them.
“Oh my GOD!” she exclaimed after taking her first bite. “I’ve never tasted anything this good.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “There’s a trick to cooking grass-fed beef. It’s not as fatty.”
“So much flavor!” she exclaimed.
“I’m glad you like it,” I replied.
She finished another glass of wine while I put dessert in the oven to crisp—sautéed apples, figs, and plums in a honey butter sauce over a pressed almond crumb crust.
By the time I returned, she had filled her glass again with the bottle she had brought along. This girl was serious a drinker—I was still working on my first glass.
“Would you like a glass of water or something?” I asked as we waited for the oven timer to ding.
She shook her head, tipping sideways a bit as she did. She was too tipsy to realize I was hinting she had already had enough wine.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to confiscate your keys,” I said grinning.
“It’s about time,” she said with a sly smile as if that had been her plan all along.
I smiled at her as I got up and got two glasses of chilled water.
“You know,” she said as she got up from the table and swayed herself over to me in the kitchen. “I could have just dropped the envelope in the mail.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” I replied, turning to her and letting her wrap her arms around my waist.
“Are you?” she asked accusingly. “You got up pretty quickly over there.”
“My deformity is a sensitive subject,” I said apologetically. “…plus I didn’t want to ruin dinner.”
“Dinner was wonderful, and it’s not a deformity…I thought I was going to hurt you,” she said, slurring a bit.
“That’s a relief.”
“You know…I could get in trouble for this, I think.”
“Why would you get into trouble?” I asked.
“I don’t think Mr. Gallow likes you very much,” she said.
“Huh? He was certainly very helpful for someone who doesn’t like me.”
“He told me you're dangerous and to be careful what I share about myself. Unfortunately, it just made me want to reveal more of myself,” she said as she leaned in to kiss me. I returned the gesture and waited for a signal as to whether to shut the oven off again.
She reached down the front of my pants.
Signal received.
I turned the oven switch off and took her by the hand, leading her to my bedroom, backing down the hall. Once in front of the bed, she launched herself sideways on the mattress, landing on my jacket—which was covering my gun.
“Oww!” She complained loudly as she lifted the jacket.
“Sorry,” I quickly wrapped the gun in the folds of its sleeves and whisked it out of sight into my closet before she saw it.
“What was that?” she asked.
I smiled at her. “If I tell you everything about me, I’ll ruin the mystery.”
She sat up and threw her arms around me, pulling me down to her, trying to undress me.
We were eventually able to free ourselves from our clothing and spent a little better than an hour exploring each other’s bodies before collapsing from our effort. She spent several minutes catching her breath before looking over to me.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, then staggered out of bed and into the other room. I grinned in satisfaction as her knees appeared wobbly…though that may just as easily have st
ill been the wine.
When she returned, she carried the file folio and her purse.
“Here are the files Mr. Gallow asked me to procure for you,” she said as she crawled back into bed and straddled me with her legs. “It’s not much. There was a lot of classified information I couldn’t get.”
I opened the folder and flipped through it with my thumb. She reached over and grabbed her purse, paused for a moment while looking at me as if she was deciding something. Finally, she opened it before withdrawing a handful of folded, handwritten pages.
“These weren’t in his file. They were in a box in storage,” she said, still debating with herself. “They weren’t marked classified, but—”
“These are my dad’s notes?” I asked, excited to see something written by my father.
“I hesitate because they were mixed in with items that were classified,” she said, holding them just out of my reach.
I put my hands on her hips, grinding myself against her. “I don’t want you to do anything that will weigh on your conscience,” I said, grinning. “If you’d feel better not giving them to me, then I don’t want them.”
Then I rolled her over on the bed and began kissing her throat. Small moans emanated from her lips.
“Jesus,” she whispered, growling her arousal.
A moment later she pushed me up.
“Don’t mention these if you’re asked about them,” she said, “…just in case.”
“You have my word.” I pushed her gifts off the bed so I could continue to worship her body. I didn’t want her to think I was only interested in the documents—it might hamper further document disclosure.
She didn’t last much longer. Between the wine, the lovemaking, and the meal, she was asleep and snoring softly in a short amount of time. Once she was unconscious, I slipped out of bed, collected the pages she had brought me before walking quietly up to the loft that housed my home office.
I began digitally scanning all the documents, converting them to copies for my computers, and then placed the originals into my shredder. When it came time to shred my father’s handwritten pages, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I pulled the loose trim from the window where the nails were only sunk into the drywall and slid them down between the wall studs. I heard them smack near the floor before replacing the trim, slipping the nails back into their own holes in the wall.
I immediately transferred copies of the new documents to my secure online backup sites and then accessed them from my iPad to read.
As I sat at the top of my spiral staircase, my naked bottom enjoying the feel of the Berber carpet beneath, I read the files, flipping page after page of the old personnel sheets. Most of the documents were highly redacted and shared little other than Dad’s hire date, vacation days accrued and used, sick leave days, and date of separation.
I found it interesting that there were next to no sick leave days taken by my father until near the time he left GGP. In that time period, all of his sick days were expended, followed by the use of the huge number of vacation days that he had accumulated over the years.
I found a copy of a non-disclosure agreement, a tax form, and insurance update he’d filled out to include the addition of a daughter, Caroline, and later a son, Scott, but nothing indicating why he left, what happened to him, his crazy behavior, or why his work would be classified.
I got tired of looking at the admin records and began reading his handwritten pages. They appeared to be meeting notes. One line read:
“Older projects: Tattooing subjects for future identification?”
Next to it was a doodle of three interlocking circles and the comment: “Gold Rush focused on strength/size. Unstable past catalyst stage two. We should be focusing on brain power not brawn.”
I flipped through the dozen or so pages but had no context for them, so I saved a copy to my iPad and went downstairs to return to bed. I looked out of the window into the parking lot on the way and saw Nick’s truck.
“Huh,” I chuckled. “Waiting for my guest to leave?”
I turned and went to bed without thinking about it again.
six
Thursday, September 2nd
6:35 a.m. Fairfax Virginia
I awoke to a pounding at the front door around 6:30. I put on a robe, ran downstairs to answer, and saw Nick standing there when I peeked through the window.
“I couldn’t wait,” he said as I opened the door for him. “I have to piss.”
“She’s not gone yet,” I said plainly as he pushed past me and up the stairs.
“Can’t be helped,” he replied over his shoulder. “Call of nature.”
He went to the hall bathroom. A moment later, Patricia came out of my bedroom, wearing just my t-shirt. I put my hand up.
“My boss is here,” I whispered.
“What?” she asked, still walking toward me.
Just then, Nick came out of the bathroom.
“He said, ‘His boss is here’,” Nick said with a broad grin.
Patricia turned and scurried back into the bedroom, her naked bottom jiggling as she went. Nick cocked his head to the side to watch.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, indignant.
“Sorry,” he replied as he turned and walked past me. “I’ll be outside waiting when you get yourself together.”
I heard the door close and walked into the bedroom. Patricia was busy getting her clothes on.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He had to use the bathroom. He’s gone now.”
“That’s okay,” she replied. “I have to get home and change before work anyway.”
“You don’t want breakfast?” I asked.
She walked up to me and put her arms around my neck. “Thank you for dinner,” she said before kissing me gently on my lips.
“My pleasure,” I replied putting my hands on her waist and drawing her closer.
“How long are you going to be in town?” she asked, leaning in to me.
I tipped my head toward the front door. “He’s here to take me away today,” I replied.
“Too bad,” she said with a mischievous grin and then broke our embrace to retrieve her belongings. I followed her down the hall and then to the door downstairs.
“Let me know when you’re back in town,” she said as I kissed her again. “Who knows…I might find more info on your father.”
“Or maybe you won’t and you just want me to make you dinner again.” I grinned.
“Or that,” she said, lifting one eyebrow seductively before she turned and left.
After watching her get into her car and drive away, I closed the door and went back upstairs. A moment later I heard the door open followed by Nick’s heavy footsteps coming up.
“Your girlfriend has a nice ass,” he said.
“Yeah. But she doesn’t know when to stop pouring the wine.”
“Even better,” Nick chuckled.
“If you say so,” I grunted as I turned the oven on to reheat my missed dessert from the night before. “Back in a minute. Help yourself to making coffee.”
I returned to my bedroom, showered, and then got dressed. Once finished, I went back out to the kitchen where Nick was waiting for the coffee to brew.
“You slept in your truck?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Worried Patricia might try to off me?” I asked.
“Nope. Just wanted cover if John asked me where I was,” he replied as the coffee started to drip. “This thing is slow.”
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked, ignoring his complaint about my coffee maker. I pulled the fruit pastries from the oven and set them on the stovetop.
“Back to Langley. There’s a tech meeting with the analysts, and then this afternoon you’ll head out,” he said as I took a fork from the drawer. “Hey. That smells good. You got extra?”
I set one down in front of him and handed him the fork. He took a bite and grunted his approval before devouring the entire contents of the dish in a matter o
f seconds.
“I’ll head out?” I asked. “What about you? I thought you were the Op leader on this.”
He shrugged as he used his finger to get the last bit of the paleo treat out of the dish. “I’ll be along later,” he said and then looked at the pastry I had in front of me.
“Where am I going?” I asked.
“Ramstien,” he said, still glaring at my untouched dessert.
“I thought it was a Field Op,” I pushed.
He looked up at me with a “wouldn’t you like to know” look. “You'll have to stay loose on that,” he said finally. “You could be sitting in a computer room or running surveillance and communications equipment on an Op. Either way, you won't be getting close to any action, so get that out of your head right now.”
I picked up my fork and began to scoop out a bite, feeling slightly passive aggressive in my agitation at being told I wouldn't see any action.
“How should I pack?” I asked, my fork hovering over the tasty-looking dessert.
“You’ll be in Germany for a couple of days while we put together a team,” he replied. “So pack for a normal vacation.”
“So, climbing gear and condoms,” I replied with snark as I rose from the chair.
“Clothes and a shaving kit will do,” he said with a grin. Then, after a second of reflection, “Unless you get a chance to meet up with Gretel.”
I smiled casually but suddenly felt the warmth rise in my ears and cheeks. I shook my head before sliding the dish over to him—a reward for giving me round about permission to see Kathrin if she was available.
“Thanks,” he said as he began devouring that one as well.
“Try not to eat the dish,” I added as I walked to the bedroom to pack my bag. I immediately felt guilty that I was thinking of Kathrin after having just spent the night with another woman. Not that I could have known I might be presented an opportunity to see Kathrin, but still—guilt has a habit of finding its way in like water.
Patricia was business, my voice whispered.
That doesn’t make me feel any better about it, I replied silently.
You wanted to be a spy, it snarked back at me. You had better get used to it.
I shook my head in agitation, knowing the voice was right on both counts. I pushed my guilt aside and pulled out my phone—I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to meet with Kathrin no matter what. I quickly tapped out a message to her: Leaving in a few hours for an unexpected business trip to Germany. I will be there for only a couple of days. Are you?
