by Velvet Veers
"Wowee-zowee, Joe, this is like walking on a glass bottom boat!"
Once inside the building, Claire was amazed at all the equipment and fishing mementos he had hanging on the walls. She perused the interior while Joe drilled a hole in the ice.
Joe showed Claire the trap floor hole where he'd drilled the hole, to open and put her line in, and gave her a few brief fishing and safety tips. She proved to be a quick learner.
"Ohmigod! I got a fish, Joe. Help me! What do I do now?” Claire squealed like a little kid and hung onto the pole with all her might as the fish pulled the tip down toward the hole in the ice.
Walleye Joe, laughing, put his arms around her and led her hand to the reel. “We're going to reel him in. That's my girl. You've given him plenty of slack, now you're going to pull up on the rod like so and while lowering the tip you're going to turn this handle.” He showed her exactly what he meant and held onto the pole every step of the way.
"Yep, he is a real fighter. We're going to have fish for dinner tonight, hon. Now just keep your rhythm steady. We don't want to lose him now. We've fought way too hard for our dinner here."
The fish came popping out of the hole and landed on the ice, flopping around. Claire shrieked even loader when she tried to catch the slimy thing. Walleye Joe had gloves on so the fins wouldn't bite into his hands as he removed the hook, and grabbed the fish and held him up for Claire's inspection.
"I'd say you should be mighty proud. This is about a five-pounder, I'd say. Good eating size. Way to go."
"So where's my trophy?” Claire asked, feigning a pout.
"Right here,” said Joe, pulling her to him and placing her hand on his rapidly growing erection. “I just seem to maintain a perpetual hard-on in your presence. What am I going to do?"
Claire put her finger to her mouth as if in contemplation. “I have an idea.” She proceeded to unzip his pants. He pulled hers down at the same time. She coughed.
Joe placed his lips to hers, sending a mentholated lozenge in her mouth. She whooshed it around and sent it back to him. He pulled her to the wood floor and lifted her sweater, trailing icy-hot kisses down her stomach, then spreading her lower lips with his fingers, leaving her clit exposed. He licked her with his lozenge-covered tongue and the glacial heat of the medicine, along with the skilled strokes of his tongue, sent her over the edge, the passionate waves rocking her body over and over. Joe slid his cock inside her, and with a few strokes came hard, collapsing into her with pleasure.
"I didn't mean for that to be so quick, but that mentholated stuff works—wow!"
Claire laughed. “Quickies can be fun. I certainly enjoyed myself!"
Claire felt so proud for catching the fish. Her arms ached from the unaccustomed pull and tug, but the whole experience had left her feeling elated. “I want to try again."
He laughed and baited her hook once again. “You know, eventually you'll have to learn how to do this part."
"Well, maybe my second trip, next lesson."
By the time they quit fishing, each had two fish, but Claire threw the last one back in because of size. Laughing heartily, he told her to go on inside and he'd clean the fish so she could have the experience and supreme pleasure of cooking them.
Claire took a shower, scrubbing furiously to get the smell of fish and lake off her body. She kept her fluffy robe on and sat down to watch television while Walleye Joe finished. In no time at all he was bringing in a pan of filleted fish ready for cooking.
Then he took a shower and left for town.
* * * *
Joe bought groceries and used the pay-phone booth to call an old pal from the DEA days.
"Hey, Derek, it's me. Long time no talk."
"Man, I thought you died in the firefight in Miami a year ago. Glad to hear you're still alive and kicking."
"Yeah, well, they gave it their best shot, but I'm not one to go down easy. I survived—they didn't."
"As the ole saying goes, ‘it's hard to keep a good man down.'” Derek laughed at his own joke.
Joe didn't like to beat around the bush. He drove straight to the point. “I need a favor."
"Anything. I owe you for saving my worthless hide."
"I have a friend in some trouble. I have her up here in Minnesota with me in hiding so I can't do the leg work myself."
"What kind of trouble?"
Joe gave Derek the run down of everything that happened to Claire and all his suspicions.
"Well, it sure sounds like someone is after her. Where do you want me to begin?"
"Why don't you start with the fishing commissioner and maybe a company called Fry Hatchery, Inc.?"
"Will do. I'll call back in a couple of days with the goods. Where can I reach you?"
"Call my cell.” Joe gave Derek the number.
"Will do."
"By the way, I go by the name Walleye Joe Holek now."
"Walleye Joe.” Derek hooted with laughter and pounded the phone. “Well, isn't that fitting? Okay, bug-eyes, you'll be hearing from me."
CHAPTER 7
Claire dozed on the couch waiting for Walleye Joe to return. She heard the door open and close, then smiled, glad he was finally home. She heard him sneak up close to her, but she feigned sleep. She slowly moved her left hand over her breasts, rubbing them, actually enjoying the sensation even while she was teasing him.
Her nipples stood up hard and proud through her shirt and she pinched them, moaning from the glorious pressure. Slowly she took her right hand and moved it down her stomach, inching closer to her pussy, imagining how Joe would be responding to her demonstrations. Spreading her legs wide, she placed a finger on her clit, rubbing it in circles and moving her hips with the rhythm, moaning and writhing with pleasure, giving Joe a glimpse of things to come.
Claire could hear Walleye Joe's heavy breathing and a thrilled shiver rocked her body knowing the sexual power her prowess held over him, knowing his dick would be a steel beam by now, watching her touch and pleasure herself.
Without opening her eyes, she playfully asked, “Hey, big boy, why don't you come replace my finger with your hot, wet tongue?"
A voice foreign to her answered. “I'd love to, sweet cheeks, but I haven't the time."
Claire gasped, her body reeling with shock and horror. Her eyes flew open just as a strange man clamped his hand over her mouth and grabbed her. She struggled, but he had the physical advantage. Before she could blink, her arm was behind her back between her shoulder blades and the hand still over her mouth, stifling her scream.
"Sweet cheeks, I want you to walk out that door, nice and easy,” a whiskey sour voice warned ominously. “I really don't want to dislocate this beautiful arm of yours, but I don't want to be here when your boyfriend comes back either. So get a move on."
Obediently, her heart beating wildly, Claire walked toward the door, trying desperately to figure out some way to escape. With the car only a few feet away from the cabin door, she tried to elbow him in the gut while he opened the door. He grunted and moved her arm up higher on her back, making it feel like her shoulder socket was coming apart.
Grabbing her hair, he thrust her into the car, sliding onto the seat beside her. She grabbed at his arm but just managed to rip more hair out on her head. Then she screamed.
"Unless you want to take this trip gagged and tied, I suggest you relax."
She removed her hands from his arm and lowered them into her lap. Clamping her lips together in a mutinous line, she thought it best to be cooperative. This guy wasn't playing games. He meant business.
He started the car and put it in gear. Slowly they moved out of the driveway and down the road. Several minutes had passed and Claire couldn't stand it any longer. The need to know far outgrew the fear. “Where are you taking me?"
"To Dallas. My boss wants to see you."
"Who is your boss?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
He drove her to the airport and stopped before a sleek private jet. He grab
bed her hair again and they walked up the steps and her assailant closed the doors behind her. He led her to a seat and told her to strap in. Walking to the front of the plane he told the pilot to get going. He sat down across the aisle from her and threw her some sweat pants and shirt. “Put these on when we get airborne."
Claire felt the plane accelerate down the runway. She couldn't think of one way to free herself. Her only hope laid in the fact Walleye Joe would come back to the cabin and see she was missing. He would find her. She was sure of it. After all he was DEA. Right?
* * * *
Walleye Joe walked into the cabin with one thing on his mind—and it wasn't eating. He set a couple of bags on the table and went to search for Claire. Hopefully she'd be in bed taking a nap and he would delight in waking her up. Maybe she'd gotten the idea first and was waiting for him—perfectly nude.
He walked into the bedroom to find it empty; he walked to the bathroom and found it empty. Panic seized him. “Claire? Claire where are you?” he yelled. Silence was his only answer, and it lingered in the air loudly—dangerously.
Where could she have gone?
He searched the kitchen for a note. Then he perused the house, trying to gather any clues as to where she could be and what could have happened.
The phone rang and Walleye Joe snatched it up. “Yeah, Walleye Joe here."
"Ah, may I speak to Claire?"
"Who is this?"
"Sam Dalton, Claire's boss at the paper. Who's this?"
Ignoring his question, Walleye Joe demanded answers. “How did you get this number? How did you know Claire was here?"
"She called me yesterday to tell me where she was and why. That's why I'm calling. Can I speak to her?"
"No, you can't because she isn't here. I just walked in from the grocery store and she's gone—vanished into thin air. I'm worried."
"Oh, no. Do you think they got to her?"
"What are you talking about? Who are they?"
"That's why I was calling—to tell her the news and warn her to be especially careful now.” Sam cleared his throat. “The fishing commissioner was killed at his home—another break-in. Sounds suspiciously familiar, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, too coincidental. When did this happen?"
"Last night. It's all over the news today. Do you think the same people have Claire?'
"I'd bet my life on it. I will be flying out of here immediately and I'll meet you at your office."
"I'll be here."
Fear raked through his body, causing him to shake and sweat. He had been here before, where someone he loved was in danger. Only last time, it was his fault. The bad memories assaulted him as the mental picture emerged—of the time the drug dealers held his wife hostage waiting for him. This was the reason for his divorce and why he quit a job he loved. This time someone he loved was in danger and not because of something that had to do with him or his job. Luckily he had been trained in finding scumbags like the ones that held Claire and he would find them.
Stopping in mid-stride toward the bedroom, he thought about what had just popped in his mind. Love? Claire? Was it possible to really fall in love someone in such a short period of time? He wrestled with himself over the possibility and determined it must be true.
He packed bags and dumped them on the floor at the front door. Throwing the bags of food he'd just bought into the refrigerator, he went to the telephone to make flight reservations. He felt a slight relief from the tension that gripped his body when he found out he could make the early flight and be landing in Dallas in a few hours. Somehow that gave him some small peace.
Driving fast but controlled, he made it to the airport in record time. Once settled in the airplane seat, he took the accountant's papers out of Claire's briefcase. The puzzle started here. Walleye Joe scrutinized the papers, trying to decipher the secrets. Why would the commissioner pay the Fry Hatchery to deliver a certain amount of fish and when the company obviously and blatantly didn't, why didn't he investigate the matter?
It could only be a pay-off, he thought. But a pay-off for what and for how much?
When they landed in Dallas, Joe immediately went to see Claire's boss. The receptionist guided him though the noisy buzz of the newsroom until he stood in front of an office door. She knocked on the door and a gruff voice said, “Come in."
The receptionist turned and smiled at Walleye Joe. “You may go in."
Walleye Joe entered Sam's office and shook his hand. “I am Joe Holek."
"Nice to meet you, Joe, I'm Sam Dalton. Have a seat."
"Thanks.” Joe sat and made himself comfortable. “Have you heard from Claire?"
"Not a word. Do you expect me to?"
"No, not really. I hoped this might be a simple ransom or a ploy for coverage of some type. But deep down, I know it is more than that."
"What're you going to do?"
"I have a friend helping with the investigation. Don't worry, Sam. I'll find her.” Joe stood up and told Sam to call his cell phone if he heard from Claire or found out any information.
When he returned to the street, he called Derek from his cell. “Hey, man, it's me. Since we spoke, a new development came up. Someone snatched Claire right from under my nose. I'm in Dallas. Meet me at The Clubhouse ... you know the place."
* * * *
Terrified, Claire disembarked from the plane to be immediately rushed into a limousine. The madman with her faced her down. She knew his ploy—psychological terrorism. He offered her a drink from the demi-bar and she accepted some wine to calm her nerves.
"Where are you taking me?"
"You'll see soon enough."
"What do you want with me?” Claire tried to calm her voice, but it still contained a tremor of fear.
"My boss will explain it all to you tonight. No more questions."
Claire watched for the street signs to see if she would recognize any. Sure enough, she saw University Drive in Highland Park and knew she'd been brought back to Dallas to the Highland District. The rich and famous. Who would want her in this neighborhood? They were the elite—CEOs, presidents, and old money.
They got out of the limo at the side entrance of a sprawling mansion and were escorted through the kitchen area to the east wing of the house. She was shoved inside a room and heard the door lock behind her. Claire scanned her surroundings. An elaborate bedroom suite sprawled before her. She moved around the room, touching the television, stereo, armoire and dresser. She walked into the bathroom area and gasped at the lava rock shower and whirlpool tub big enough for four.
Where was she, and more importantly, why was she here?
She heard the sound of the lock opening on the door and she rushed back in the suite area to see several women dressed in belly dancing clothes enter the chambers. They carried tubs of equipment and boxes with them. Claire rushed to the door, but someone had already locked it from the outside.
The women separated, one going into the bathroom and the other to the bedroom. She followed the bathroom woman to talk to her. “Who are you?"
The woman answered her in gibberish.
"Damn! Do you speak any English?"
The woman shook her head and motioned for her to sit on the stool. Claire sat down, watching the woman unload bottles of all shapes and sizes from her carton. The woman turned on bath water and poured a lovely smelling fragrance into the flow of water. She took out a brush and began brushing Claire's hair and the other woman entered the bathroom and turned off the water.
They both signed for her to stand. When she did, they began removing her clothes. Now Claire understood. They were here to serve her. She knew they did this kind of thing in foreign countries so the person that owned this house must be from overseas.
Claire didn't put up a fight. She pretended she was in one of those expensive spas that she would never in her life be able to afford.
Once they washed and dried her hair, creamed her skin, styled her hair, and applied makeup, she felt quite beautiful. These women de
finitely knew how to pamper. She could get used to this. They led her into the bedroom, talking in their own language, and Claire stopped dead in her tracks at the door. Lying on the bed was a beautiful aqua-blue belly-dancing outfit.
She picked up the see-through sleeves and legs of the outfit. “It's lovely."
The women both smiled and nodded. They placed her arms in the sleeves and made her step into the pants. A large portion of her middle showed where they placed a jiggling belly bracelet.
They slid slippers on her feet and stepped back, clapping their hands in excitement at their creation.
Claire took this as a signal she was finally finished and stood before the mirror to admire the costume. She gasped at the exotic display before her. Never had she looked so beautiful, so feminine—a goddess.
The lock on the door clicked and the jailer clapped his hands at the women as they scurried out of the room. Again that irritating lock clicked shut with a finality that made her want to cry. Alone now, she lay on the bed to await her fate, whatever that might be.
In an attempt to cheer herself, she thought about what a great story this would make ... if she survived to tell it.
CHAPTER 8
Walleye Joe picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels and waited at The Clubhouse for Derek. In the old days, they'd passed many an hour in this club while on assignments. The women who danced here were all beautiful, and sexy as hell. But today he couldn't get in the mood to enjoy the dance, although he still watched in appreciation.
Derek arrived shortly after Walleye Joe. They shook hands then gave each other a few claps on the back. Settling into their seats, Walleye Joe poured them a couple of drinks and got down to business. “What have you found out?"
"Not enough. It appears that the police report shows the commissioner killed in a botched burglary of his home, but nothing appeared to be missing. A man named Rodney Ballinger owns the Fry Hatchery. He's connected with the syndicate and I'd bet my left nut that he had the commissioner and the accountant whacked. What I haven't been able to dig up is why?
