Special Agent Booker

by Mimi Barbour

  Last year, Sam had started joining them. Sloan’s mind wandered back to earlier, when his neighbor had come to thank him after the barbecue.

  He liked Sam, who was a gentle soul with a strong core. A man who loved his kids and was constantly thankful they’d chosen to become US citizens. Both the Amans spoke reverently about their new opportunities, which had been stifled in Pakistan after Sam’s press editorial exposing his government’s treachery.

  Dawn, one of Karachi’s leading newspapers where Sam had worked as its well-respected reporter, had released his editorials, but stepped back when his words had inflamed those in power.

  He’d been active in providing important evidence showing that – after the arrest of terrorists – some in the security establishment acted behind the scenes to set the suspects free. After his exposé, Inter-services Intelligence was no longer to consider ISIS terrorists groups off-limits for civilian action. This underhand support, which Pakistan had been giving to these extremists, and now revealed by Sam, had put his life in danger.

  It wasn’t unheard of for hand grenades to be tossed through windows, or for people to be shot because of their actions in exposing links to radicals. He’d taken the advice of his co-workers who knew of others who’d previously emigrated and pulled every string imaginable to get visas for himself and his family and make the move before it was too late.

  Now, living in freedom, he worked happily for the Honolulu Star-Adviser, Hawaii’s chief source for breaking news. He often reflected about how a man could write the truth here and not be persecuted.

  Although, earlier, he’d seemed worried. Fidgety. Not himself. Sloan wondered if it had anything to do with the imminent arrival of his so-called relatives.

  Using Alia as an example, he’d broached the subject of unexpected visitors, hoping Sam would open up and tell him about these people. Though Sam had looked anxious and even at one point on the verge of sharing, the moment had been interrupted and had passed.

  Alia returned and began scurrying around the room, picking up the messy shit he’d been trying to ignore. “What are you doing?”

  “Tidying up.”

  “Well, don’t. I can do it later.” Others messing with his shit made him uncomfortable. She’d already shoved dishes into cupboards that were clearly for other things. And… she’d used his towel to wipe a counter when everyone knew there was a dishcloth to do that. And then, she’d used the same towel to clean the floor when she’d dropped a dish full of food.

  Feeling his obsessive impulses kicking in – Les called him an OCD prick, which he wasn’t, just liked things done properly and everything in its right place – he patted the seat next to him. “Your coffee’s getting cold. Come and sit.”

  “I don’t drink coffee.”

  Christ! “Then get a beer or whatever the hell you want. We need to talk and make some plans.” He tried to stifle his sigh when she came back with one of his fancy glasses. Of course the princess would drink wine!

  “Did Don show you the arrangements we set up for the stakeout?” Why would any woman wear a formal dress to a barbecue?

  “Yes. We snuck away at one point and he waved me into the sunroom. It’s perfect. The camera is adequate and so are the binoculars. My only suggestion is for us to cut back the plant in front of the window that obscures the view to the left.”

  “Roy meant to get to that this morning, but he wanted to clean up the back yard for the barbecue first. He’ll be here tomorrow and finish the rest.” She’s redone her make-up. Her lips were brilliant red again.

  He liked natural…

  “Good. We can’t afford to disrupt the operation due to something preventable.”

  “Speaking of preventable, if Central knows who these people are, why don’t they just detain them at the airport and refuse them entry into the country?” Why didn’t she let her hair down? The mound of curls on top of her head did nothing to soften her face. She reminded him of a marble statue…

  “Because, we don’t know exactly which of her relatives are being impersonated. We’ve been able to ascertain that there’ll likely be two people and their destination is staying with the Amans, but we don’t have any official grounds to refuse them entry.”

  “Can’t the Custom’s people question all travellers from Pakistan to single them out?”

  “Sure, but these individuals have ties to some very important people in Pakistan and our government can’t appear to be unfriendly for no justifiable reason.”

  “So… associating with known terrorists or signs of dangerous activities is what we’re on the look-out for.” Why are you sitting so far away?

  “And, if necessary, stopped. That’s our core mandate.” She bit her lip, looking over his shoulder rather than meeting his stare. Her hands continuously rubbed the top of her legs as if smoothing her skirt would add length.

  Mesmerized by her edginess, he kept the conversation going. “Got it! Protect the island at all costs and try to get along while doing so.” Did you know when you sit like that; I can see up your skirt… Of course you do. It’s why you keep tugging at it.

  “We’d get along a hell of a lot better if you’d quit ogling my legs.”

  Still lost in his reverie, Sloan only heard the words as an afterthought and he immediately hit the defensive.

  “Then quit sitting like that.” He slid forward on the seat and slammed his mug down on the table, his hands clasped between the knees of his khaki shorts. He levelled her with a stare that he’d perfected when wanting to get a point across. “And while we’re at it, quit with the model-look. We’re laid back around here, regular folks who don’t appear as if we’ve just finished the last take of a scene in a movie. Dress in shorts and holiday clothes, look like you belong.”

  As soon as she flinched, he realized his grouching had hurt her. And he’d have given anything to take back the rant. He was just being a cranky bastard.

  Sure, sharing his house with a partner and her kid sucked, but when she had breasts that invoked fantasies, lips that made him squirm and legs that turned him into a jibbering idiot, well, that didn’t sit well either.

  Now it was her turn to let him have it and she didn’t hold back. “Look, I never asked for this assignment. They forced me to take it because of my understanding of the Pakistani language and my knowledge of their customs. I lived with my uncle and aunt in that country through my teens, so I was the ideal choice and my agreement was taken for granted.”

  Feeling like an idiot, he wanted to wriggle out of the pickle he’d started but didn’t know how. Dammit, Sloan!! You and your big mouth…

  Unaware of his discomfort, Alia didn’t stop. Instead, she sat forward and kept talking. “My mandate is to insinuate myself with the family, try to understand their dynamics and learn what I can about each member. Getting along with you is secondary. But to keep the peace, I’m willing to tolerate and abide by your rules… to a point. If they get too crazy, we’ll be having this cozy little chat again.”

  Her sarcasm hit him hard. The clenching in his guts, sharp and intense, clued his response. Rejection, not something he normally dealt with, especially with the opposite sex, confused him. He reached out to touch and apologize, except her instinctive pulling away had his seesawing temper rising once again.

  Not at her, but at himself for being such an ass. He looked at her, his remorse openly visible.

  Without flinching this time, she held his stare; her daring him to disagree was visible and understandable. The woman wouldn’t put up with his nonsense.

  “I’m being a prick.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  He deserved her affirmation and she knew it.

  Her voice softened. “Once we’d finalized the assignment, Don warned me you were compulsive about your house and your belongings. I wish I’d have known that beforehand. I’m not the neatest person and I’ll admit Ruby did most of the housework. In fact, she cleaned up after me and Kean a lot. We’ll try and keep things nice, but you’ll hav
e to tell us how you like everything so we don’t screw up too badly, okay?”

  Now he felt like a whiny little bitch. He slid closer. “It doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you both feel at home. Look, we can do this.” He reached out and was relieved when, after hesitating, she slipped her hand into his.

  The minute that happened, rockets went off…. the big guns. No warm fuzzies, no sweet breathlessness. More like, strong urges, instant arousal, steamy need, a craving as essential to his well-being as his next breath.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Once they’d touched, the warm brown of his eyes became flames of golden intensity. Half-opened, the molten magnets drew her toward him like a regretful, I-should-have-known-better moth to a flame. Her feeble attempts to tug her fingers from his clasp failed.

  “Let me.” Voice husky, he drew her closer while his other hand released the clip she wore to keep her hair up and off her neck. She felt its bulk cascade over her shoulders and then his hands threading through the strands. How could she have stopped him? Her bones had liquefied. He scooped her up, his strong hands sliding under her bottom.

  Weakened with the instant passion incited by his entreaty, her good intentions fled, taking her will with them. Good Lord, the man’s charisma devastated.

  Her body’s instant approval: breasts swelling, demanding pulsations between her legs, muscles clenching – draining the moisture from her most sensitive place. All these sensations melted her resistance.

  “Yes. If you want…” Rapid heartbeats forced her breathe out in gasps she couldn’t control. Was she this easy? There was no doubt in her hazy mind… the man could do with her as he chose. She had no willpower.

  Thank God.My inhibitions are saturated in Mai Tais, wine and hunger! It had been so long since anyone had tempted her surrender, the compulsion was too hard to deny.

  She moaned and words burst out. “It’s been so long.”

  “Trust me, darlin’. Me too.”

  He had his face buried in her hair. Sniffing her neck, he licked the soft, sweet-smelling skin under her ear. His following breath cooled the dampness, and shivers of excitement stormed her body. “You smell like heaven.”

  Breathing erratically, she swallowed the next moan. “It’s Pure Poison.

  He kissed the spot again that should have tickled but didn’t. “Poison’s not the term I’d use. You smell good.”

  “It’s the name of the perfume. Never mind…”

  He moved to lay claim to her lips. The man’s kiss held nothing back; rather, he forced her surrender. Excited beyond recall, she arched closer, driving her chest against his, needing the contact, wanting to give, share… heal.

  His hands cupped her face and he began kissing downwards, working his way to where her breasts mounded in slopes of white, satiny skin. His small, playful nips, licks and teasing caresses created tingles as she watched while he paid homage to her willing body.

  Of their own accord, her hands sifted through his hair, the black thickness curling around her fingers like strands of silk.

  “You have goose bumps.” His warm palm stroked the skin he’d just kissed so lovingly, his wandering fingers delved further under her dress, searching…

  “It’s a sign of pleasure. Ignore them.” A sigh escaped when she felt his finger touch her ultra-sensitive nipple. The sound erupted as somewhere between a whimper and a groan full of raspy frustration.

  “I want to touch you too.” Her hands pulled at his shirt.

  Sloan quickly worked at the buttons until her fingers got in the way. With a growl of irritation, he grabbed the Hawaiian shirt from under the back collar and pulled it over his head.

  Then his strong arms lifted her to straddle his lap. Warm hands pushed her dress up past her hips, his desire to touch as compulsive as hers. Their mouths connected, driven by a need so strong it melted her rational brain cells to soggy putty. She couldn’t get enough of him, not when he tasted like raw honey and she had a sudden craving for sweetness.

  Hi tongue did wicked things in her mouth, making her aware of what his intentions were for her body. Breaking lip contact, he reached for the zipper along the back of her dress and fiddled with the blasted thing until it drove her half wild.

  “Let me.” Shivering, heart racing so hard she hoped she wouldn’t pass out; she jiggled her butt while still perched over his thighs. His subsequent groan made her try harder. If she could just get the blasted dress off, the protrusion in his pants, promised a grand reward. Jerking upwards, his impatience was obvious as he waited for her to fix the problem.

  Not willing to stop, his warm hands began to slowly stroke her legs, her thighs, their warmth seeking the ultimate prize at the junction, wet and throbbing.

  Why was he taking so long? Touch me…

  Concentration destroyed, she squirmed, rubbing herself against his body to relieve pressure growing, building, pouring out, demanding to be fondled. She heard his husky whisper. “I hate your dress.”

  “I’ll burn it tomorrow, I swear. See if you can reach—”

  A ringtone sounded from the special phone in her handbag, which was draped over the chair nearby. The jolt was like greased paddles shocking the return of her heart to a normal its rhythm.

  She pushed back from the man whose hair she’d just been grasping so she could hold him in place while her lips roamed his throat. Their eyes caught and his wicked mischievousness instantly turned to awareness.

  “What is it?”

  She glared at him as if placing all the blame for the insistent, demanding ring on his shoulders and then slipped off of her perch. She stumbled to grab the offending phone.

  The huskiness in her voice didn’t surprise her. Hell, she was that shocked, she could barely form coherent words at all. “Cassie, you promised!”

  “I know, girlfriend. But I really had no choice. It’s Sara. She’s hysterical, scared shitless, and all she whispered before hanging up was to tell you to come and save her. Only you. Fuck me! I have no idea where she is, so I couldn’t send anyone else.”

  Shaking as much with worry as well as unfamiliar passion, Alia’s voice cracked. “Well, I don’t know what the hell she meant either… unless it’s the same place I picked her up from last time.”

  Envisioning the slimeball who’d been after the young girl then, her anxiety ramped into anger, hot and mean. “Okay, I’m on my way. If she calls back, tell her to meet me outside if she can. If not, I’ll come into the store. That perverted shit-face, Roger, must have found her again.”

  She hung up and for seconds she didn’t move. So close…

  Chapter Thirty

  Shaking from supressed desire, her dress gaping, her hair in total disarray, and her jumbled mind trying to kick into gear, Alia spun around to leave the room. Only to have Sloan’s voice stop her in the doorway.

  “What’s up, Al? What can I do?” He’d fetched his shirt and was working at doing up the buttons, his fingers having a hell of a time.

  Fighting to overcome her unleashed emotions, to slip back into her usual uncaring role, her voice came out harder than she meant it to.

  “There’s nothing you can do. I need you to stay with Kean. Oh, yeah, and I need to borrow your car.”

  “Well, that ain’t gonna happen. That car was my dad’s. No one but he ever drove it, and after his crash I put it back together myself. Now it’s mine. And I’m the only driver.” He clicked a link on his cell and within seconds spoke into the devise. “Don, can you come over and babysit Kean right now? Something’s come up for Alia. We need to go out for a little while. Great, the door’s open.”

  Still fighting with her clothes, she demanded. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I just called Don. He’ll be here in a few minutes. His place is only two blocks over.”

  Not sure if she was okay leaving her son with a man who was barely known to him, she hesitated and he picked up on her reluctance. “Seriously? You know Don; the FBI agent… loves kids. The same man you
’ve worked with, who played badminton with Kean and Roy earlier and had them both laughing. Don would never hurt a child.”

  Alia thought back to the friendly interaction Don had instigated with Kean and knew instinctively that Sloan spoke the truth. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

  She tiptoed into the room she was sharing with Kean for the next little while and stopped by the bed to replace his covers. Her son looked small and defenseless—a priceless gift.

  Mine!

  The usual swell of pure adoration hit her and she leaned over to place a soft kiss on his cheek, something she’d have trouble doing if he was awake.

  Then she grabbed her luggage to take into the bathroom. Opening her makeup case, she used removal pads and wiped her face clean, only adding a slight touch of lip gloss. Next she whipped her hair back and swirled it into a clip, then stripped to pull on stretch yoga pants and an overly large black Hawaiian T-shirt, the uniform she usually wore to these calls. Her gun was the last item she claimed.

  Fitting it into the special pocket she’d sewn to her waistband, where she also slipped her slim wallet holding her badge and driver’s license, and another slot for her phone, she headed downstairs to where Don now stood with Sloan.

  “I’m sorry Sloan interrupted your evening. He wouldn’t let me borrow his car, and I need to go out for a while.”

  Don’s eyes grew large. “His car? You wanted to borrow his car? He’s never let anyone else drive that baby. But it’s no problem for me to hang out while you’re gone. I’ll check on what’s happening next door and if I get bored, I’ll just watch TV.”

  Considering the remote was already clutched in his hands, Alia had no doubt he meant it.