by S. K. Lessly
I hung up and resisted the urge to throw my phone across the room. Instead, I stood, went inside the kitchen, grabbed the kettle and filled it with water. I slammed the kettle on the stove, turned the eye on, stepped to the small pantry to the left of the stove, and grabbed the canister of fresh coffee beans. I turned to reach for the grinder when my cell went off.
I moved to the island checked the screen and found Santini was returning my call.
I waited a few seconds before I shifted the phone to face me and answered the call, putting it on speaker.
“Cooper,” I answered grabbing the grinder, opening it and placing coffee beans inside.
“Are the threats needed, Major?” came his reply.
I started the grinder and waited until the coffee beans were ground to my specifications before answering him.
“Apparently they are. I got your message. Nice of you to request the meeting for tomorrow morning at six. That’s not going to work for me.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.” I grabbed the small filter, filled it with the fresh grinds and went through the meticulous process of making coffee, while thinking; I needed to get a coffee maker. It wasn’t just me anymore. With that thought, I smiled.
“What time would you suggest?” Santini asked, breaking my happy mood.
“Nice of you to ask, Santini. How about we meet at nine? That will give my team enough time to arrange their schedules to attend the meeting.”
“I guess that’s fair.”
Fucker…
“Will it be you and Ms. Fuentes?” I asked him.
“I believe so, yes.”
“I need a definite. Right now only you and Ms. Fuentes are approved guests in my house. If you’re bringing someone else, let me know.”
“I will, but I can’t be sure the final count until the last minute. My boss may want to attend this meeting,” he rebutted and I called bullshit again. However, I didn’t call him on his shit. Instead, I played nice.
“Fine, just let me know,” I replied simply and ended the call.
I stood in the kitchen, a hot cup of black coffee in my hands. I debated on returning back to my woman, cuddle up with her and get a few more hours of sleep or take a shower and start my day.
I decided on the latter and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. I had a feeling today was going to go to shit. I just hoped this meeting would result in new information on Perchenko and Emily. Time was running out. If we didn’t get ahead of this shit show, we were fucked.
6
Misty
I pulled my baby into an empty parking space in front of an indistinct, two-level brick house and shut the V-8 engine down. It rattled a bit before all was quiet around me except for my crazy mixed-up thoughts and the bustling sound of Monday morning.
Running my hands through my hair, I glanced at the small Tudor house a few houses down and let out a sigh. I surveyed the neighborhood, looking for anything out of the ordinary like a white-panel van or a Crown Victoria aimlessly idling or even an out-of-place Charger with a hot black woman inside.
It was close to seven in the morning. The city was waking up. Birds were chirping, moms and dads were making their way to work, kids were heading to summer camp, and stay-at-home moms were out jogging. All seemed well in the world.
Except for me.
I continued to watch the area while allowing my mind to drift back to last night.
It was official. Shane and I were an item. How about that. Never in my wildest dreams did I think we’d get to this point. I couldn’t stop smiling this morning. The soft touches, the looks he gave me as we got ready for work and ate breakfast made my heart soar with happiness. Unfortunately, I lost my happiness the moment we parted ways.
There were things he and I needed to talk about, serious things. There were secrets that needed to be revealed. Secrets that could very well end us before we began. God, I hoped not but I was a realist. The moment I tell him my secrets, he would bail and I wouldn’t blame him. I was tainted, scarred, broken. No one in their right mind would want someone like me. Shane was blind to the truth. He loved the idea of me, but he doesn’t know the real me and once he did, I would lose him forever.
I closed my eyes, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. The sound of the same accusations he had about Malibu Barbie hit me in the face. He and I were different. I just needed to figure out a way to tell my truths without losing everything. I snorted at that thought. Good luck, idiot.
I shifted my head from side to side to clear it. I couldn’t think about that right now. I had a job to do. Tonight, I would tell him everything and pray I wouldn’t lose a friend once I was done.
Pushing those thoughts away, I climbed out of my car after confirming no one was watching the house I wanted and locked the car doors. I pulled out my phone and pulled up an app that searched the area for any transmitters or interference from listening devices or cameras. The last thing I wanted was to have company on my back. I didn’t need another mess on my hands.
Confirming again that the coast was clear, I pocketed my phone and pulled out a set of lock-picking keys. The keys in my hand were the new age in lock-picking technology. You didn’t need to use lock-pick instruments from the past. Or shall I say we, meaning the DIA, didn’t use the ancient utensils. The keys in my hand looked like your ordinary key. However, there were no grooves on the keys. When you slipped the key inside a lock and turned it a couple of times, it altered itself to match to the teeth of any lock or bolt. To any outsiders, it looked like you were having a little trouble with your lock. It only took less than a second for it to work and viola. As long as the door didn’t have a chain, you were golden.
No such chain existed on Crasse's door. I walked inside without any resistance and was immediately assaulted by a very familiar yet disturbing scent.
Fuck…
I pulled out my SIG P226, released the safety, and searched downstairs first. The house was somewhat quiet except for the constant buzzing sound I heard in the distance. I cleared the living room, dining room, and locked the basement door, which was located right outside the kitchen just in case someone was still here. I didn’t need to be caught by surprise.
The buzzing noise grew louder as I stepped inside the kitchen. I rounded the island and found Mrs. Crasse lying on the floor between the kitchen sink and counter. Damn.
I’d seen a lot of death in my line of work. I had caused a few too, but seeing a dead body, an innocent one at that, was never easy. I looked around the room for any signs of a struggle or evidence she’d been taken by surprise. So far, it looked to be the latter. Everything was neat and tidy, not to say the killer couldn’t have set the stage and cleaned up everything. But I doubted it.
I finally made it around to the woman and started to bend down to check her pulse when I noticed the huge puddle of blood underneath her body and the lifeless color of her skin. Yeah, she was no longer with us.
I said a silent prayer and then moved back toward the living room to head upstairs. I took my time climbing the steps. Stealth wasn’t a thing. The damn stairs squeaked with every step I took, the noise bouncing off the walls of this quiet house. I was sure if anyone was still alive in the home they could hear me coming.
There were three bedrooms upstairs. Two rooms looked like kids’ rooms. The walls were decorated with vibrant colors. Each room had small beds and individual personalities throughout the spaces. What sucked were the bodies I had found still in their beds. Pillows over the heads, bullet holes through the pillows, and their little chests not rising. I didn’t go completely inside the room in order to figure out what had happened, for which I was thankful. I’d already seen too many kids getting hurt in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime and I didn’t want to see anymore ever.
Rage began to flow through my body as I stepped away from the kids’ rooms. Whoever had done this would pay dearly. I guaranteed that with everything in me. I whispered another silent prayer and stepped back in
to the hallway.
The last bedroom door was ajar. I stepped in and immediately raised my gun. There was a figure sitting on the bed, his body slumped in defeat, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Raise your hands,” I growled at him and his head immediately shot up. A ghostly white, tear-streaked face met mine with so much sadness and grief in his eyes that I almost faltered. Almost.
“Crasse, I’m not going to repeat myself. Put your hands up and lace your fingers behind your head.”
The man's bottom lip began to quiver, but he didn’t move. He kept his eyes on me, watching me as I watched him. I knew he could see the murderous rage in my eyes. I wasn’t hiding my disdain for him.
His eyes suddenly grew and he shook his head slowly and dropped his chin to his chest.
“I didn’t kill them,” he mumbled under his breath.
I rolled my eyes, but I made him repeat his words. “What?”
He huffed and looked at me with newfound fire in his eyes. “I said I didn’t kill my family.”
“Oh yeah, then who did? Was it the boogie man?” I asked dryly and he gave me a look that damn near stopped my heart.
“You joke, but you have no idea how close to the truth you are.”
Crasse did the unthinkable then. He spilled his guts and told me a tale that had me wanting to kill now more than ever.
Izabella stepped through the main doors of Military Intelligence on shaky legs. She had received a phone call from her boss the DDCI, Santini, Sunday afternoon advising the meeting with the DIA was back on for Monday morning. She was all for the meeting. She had some questions of her own that needed answered and only Shane and his team could answer them.
However, her boss wasn’t very accommodating. He bitched and moaned about not being anyone’s bitch and his time was valuable etc… Izabella ignored his complaining, reminding him that time was of the essence. We had a common goal here and needed to work together. He scoffed at her and called her naïve.
“There is nothing we need from them. They need us. Remember who you work for Fuentes.”
She completely disagreed but had the smarts to keep her thoughts to herself. She was nowhere fast with this case as it pertained to Diane and Perchenko. If a lead didn’t materialize soon, she felt she would never find Diane’s killer or his assassins.
Izabella stepped up to the security booth and began to rummage through her purse for her ID when a flash of a face caught her attention. She lifted her head immediately and found Malcolm Cooper standing against the wall, his face buried in his phone and a cup of coffee in his other hand.
She looked around to see if he was waiting for someone or if someone had noticed her watching him. Everyone seemed to be in their own worlds, Monday blues perhaps. Good, she thought to herself and brought her eyes back to the man before her.
She had only seen a picture of him, but she felt even then that the picture didn’t do the man justice. Even though she was quite a distance away, she could still see how attractive he was. Actually, if she was being honest, all of the Cooper brothers were hot as hell, but it was something about the big man who had her breaths coming in pants, her heart pounding against her chest, and her skin on fire with lust.
Malcolm was taller than his brothers were and older, but you couldn’t tell that by looking at him. He was between mid-to-late thirties. However, she thought he had a body of a twenty-something-year-old and what a body indeed.
He was dressed in a grey short-sleeve polo-style shirt that showed off every single definition of his chest and abs. The flexing of his arms as he typed on his phone made her mouth water. She wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms, to feel his warmth, his touch. Would he be soft or rough? She bit her bottom lip. I bet he would be rough. I bet he could do things with his hands that no other man could.
“Miss?”
Izabella jumped at the sound of an authoritative voice interrupting her daydreams.
She looked around for the culprit and found the guard on the other side of the metal detector looking right at her. The frown evident on his face told her he was impatiently waiting for her. She glanced around her and realized she was next up.
Wow, she must have been completely lost in her head. She didn’t even realize she had been moving down the line.
Giving the security guard her hardest look, which probably looked more like a constipated look than anything else, she placed her laptop bag and purse on the conveyer belt. She then removed her suit jacket and placed it in a separate bin. She walked through the metal detector without any fanfare and waited on the other side of the belt for her things.
She forced herself not to look behind her or anywhere around her for the major. Eyeing him from a distance was one thing, but to actually do it up close wasn’t something she could do. She’d probably do something like trip over her own feet despite the loafers she wore. She was a nervous klutz, especially around the opposite sex. Yeah, that was exactly what she needed, to embarrass herself in front of him.
Yup, Izabella, you’ll have plenty of time to make a fool of yourself in the meeting.
Ugh, she was so way out of her depth with this case. She should have handed it over to some other senior analyst. The only reason why she hadn’t was because of the Coopers. They had been given a bad deal those months ago. The CIA knew exactly where Diane had run off to. They had helped her run. They were also hoping she would lead them to Perchenko.
Unfortunately, Diane was smart enough to have taken necessary precautions and the agency had never found her. Well, we never found her alive.
Izabella firmly believed what she’d done to Josh’s wife was wrong. She should have paid for that and she got off. Now, she was still screwing with the Coopers except from the grave. Consequently, Izabella couldn’t betray the agency or make it known that she wasn’t happy with their dealings with the rogue agent. But she could do her best to assist in finding and eliminating Perchenko.
It seemed that Diane and Perchenko had it bad for Joshua Cooper. Regrettably, she believed Mr. Cooper and his family were the only way they were going to find the man or scum. She would do what she could to help in the apprehension of the murderer, whatever it took.
Feeling the anger for this whole situation, she grabbed her computer bag and slung it over her shoulder. She then grabbed her jacket and purse and turned around abruptly, running smack into a very hard brick wall… err body.
She heard a woof of air escape her victim and at the same time felt lukewarm coffee run down the front of her white V-neck top.
“Oh, shit,” came from the wall… err… man she’d run into.
At the same time, Izabella merely closed her eyes and allowed the liquid to fall down between her breasts and stomach. What else could she do?
She heard her victim slash assailant whisper, “Fuck,” before he stepped back and proceeded to frantically wipe the front of her shirt with a napkin, brushing against her breasts, which did nothing but make her even wetter.
Izabella wrapped her hand around his wrist, stopping him from fondling her openly in front of everyone around them.
This can’t be happening.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stepped up behind you like that without announcing myself.”
Good Lord, that voice. It was deep and penetrating, and manly, and… Oh no, it couldn’t be.
Izabella lifted her head and opened her eyes to find a pair of apologetic blue eyes staring down at her.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, this can’t be happening.
It was him, Malcolm Jovanni Cooper, up close and personal and fondling her breasts.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. Hell, she couldn’t talk. She was speechless at the sight of this man up close. Good God he was beautiful in a rugged, beefy man-specimen of perfection kind of way. His blue eyes were wild and expressive and held just a hint of something else in them. No, that couldn’t be right. Was that lust?
Malcolm cleared his throat and stepped further back
from her. She did the same and cleared the inappropriate thoughts from her mind. The man was tall, at least a foot taller than her, and she was in flats, which made her feel even smaller against him. He was also massive. Those muscles she’d seen a bit ago were larger than life up close. And that cologne… What was that? Armani?
“Ms. Fuentes, are you alright?”
Shit, he knows my name too?
She cleared her throat and finally snapped out of her trance. After all, he was a fellow government agent and she didn’t date government agents anyway. Plus, he was practically married to a general’s daughter. There was no way she would be able to compete with that, much less, measure up to the goddess standards no doubt this Greek god required. Yes, get your head out of your ass, Izabella. There is no way you would be able to pull a man like Malcolm Cooper.
“Izabella?” Malcolm spoke softly, reaching out to touch her elbow to get her attention.
“Oh, uh… yes. Sorry. Um… yeah, I’m good.”
Malcolm looked down at her shirt and winced.
“I am so sorry about that.” he pointed to her shirt that was now ruined. There was no way she was getting the coffee stain out of the mid-grade fabric. “Please let me pay for the dry cleaning.”
She waved him off, knowing it would be useless anyway. “No, that’s okay. It’s fine.”
Malcolm frowned and stepped a little closer to her. “No, please. I insist. After all, it was my fault. My coffee, my mistake. Let me take care of it.”
She smiled up at him. “Seriously, it’s okay, Malcolm. There’s no need. I have plenty of shirts like this in my closet.”
Lies. This was the only one her late husband had bought before he went off to war. It was slightly big on her, but it was one of the few things she still had left of his.
Malcolm raised an eyebrow and quirked a smile her way. Good Lord!
