Suds and Sam

by Stella Marie Alden

  He grabs my bicep to capture my complete attention and hands me a comm unit. “Stay alert. Keep communication open at all times and don’t fuck her on the job.”

  He might as well have told me to stop breathing.

  “Copy that.” When I usher her into the downstairs, the watchdog is missing.

  “Hey, Joey?” Sam calls out into his open apartment door.

  Fucking shit. I reach for my weapon and keeping it raised, search every room and find nothing amiss.

  It’s empty. “I suppose he has to leave sometimes.”

  “Relax.” She points to an empty corner in the foyer. “The stroller is gone. He’s probably taking the baby for a walk.”

  We climb up two more sets of stairs to the iron railing which demarks her living area from the stairway.

  In the kitchen, I glance down, not happy I can’t lock us in more securely. While I check every inch of every room, she opens the refrigerator door.

  “Hungry?” Grabbing a plastic container she snaps off the top and sniffs and holds it up. “Mom’s sauce.”

  “Sure.”

  As she puts some water in a pan, my stomach grumbles, a close second to the other hunger raging behind my fly.

  Squishing the box of spaghetti, I press her against the refrigerator door. She’s driven me to the edge of madness where I no longer care about anything but sliding deep into her folds.

  Aware her cousins could come upon us any second, I unzip her pants and slide them to the floor. While she steps out, I free my cock, straining for her.

  She wraps her legs around my waist and when my tip nears her opening, I gasp at how slick she is.

  My body responds and I press up and enter, inch by agonizing inch.

  I’ve been ready for this since she orgasmed on the plane. Her eyes roll up and her lashes flutter as I begin to bang her toward the brink.

  “Oh God.” She presses down while I dive in.

  “Umph.” I move faster urged on by her sharp nails digging into my neck.

  Grabbing her hips, I angle deeper, and hit her G-spot straight on. She screams and bucks like crazy, the refrigerator rattling behind her.

  I grab hold of her breast, squeeze, and pound faster.

  “Come with me, sugar.”

  She shudders, her muscles pulse around me, and her high pulls me to mine. Hell, I see stars and hear angels as I shoot my liquids into her. A stream of cum continues to burst out of me as I shudder uncontrollably.

  Finally, we both stop, our hearts beating wildly in tandem.

  Her legs unlock from my back and she slips her toes to the floor, wetting my jeans with her cum-soaked inner thighs.

  Hell, I stare at her well-fucked face, unable to believe what just happened.

  Our foreheads touch and I close my eyes. “What you do to me.”

  “Ditto.” Her soft palms caress the short beard covering my cheeks as she kisses me softly.

  Hobbling over to the sink with her pants at her ankles, she dampens a paper towel, and wipes her legs. Then, she pulls up her slacks and washes me before tucking me in and zipping me up.

  My heart thumps, my cock is raring to go again, but I sit and drink a beer as she restarts the dinner put on pause.

  “Sugar?”

  “Mmm?” She stops the salad spinner and those incredible eyes lift.

  For a moment, my brain cells refuse to fire, stunned into inaction by her swollen lips, blushing cheeks, and sex-mussed hair.

  “Call your Uncle Vinny. Apprise him of your situation.”

  She sticks the bread in the oven, grins, and tosses me her phone. “I already did. We’ve got three of his guys circling the block. Check my messages.”

  I do, then scroll down, surprised from all the ones from her ex. “You should send these straight to spam.”

  “I figure it’s better he thinks I’m reading them.”

  “They seem to be escalating.”

  She strides across the faux wood floor, leans into my back, and stares over my shoulder. “Honestly, I haven’t read any recently.”

  “The last one reads, you’ll be sorry. I M taking you to court.”

  “With what money?” Her tongue clucks. “He mooched off from me for years and now he can’t accept the fact he needs to support himself.”

  I grab her and slide her onto my lap and kiss her. “I need to send him a thank you gift. If he hadn’t been such a douche, we never would’ve had revenge sex.”

  Her hands hook behind my neck and when our lips part her lids lower. “The minute you walked into my interrogation room, I knew my life was going to change.”

  “I got you fired.” When she kisses my ear, I moan, realizing my comm unit has been on the whole time.

  I point to it and mouth, I’m sorry.

  She brushes it off with a wave of her hand and turns on water and the overhead fan before speaking again in more of a whisper. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  “Living here? With two roommates and Joey? Washing hair?”

  “Nooo… Working for Patten, the finest private security company in the world and on my way to being my own boss. Let me go so I can get our dinner.”

  I stand, check the front and back windows and down the steps. “How long before your roommates show up?”

  “They’re staying with friends, giving us some alone time.”

  While I stand at the railing, the downstairs door handle jiggles. “Bathroom. Quick.”

  Then, a baby coos and I quickly holster my weapon.

  Joey shouts up the hall. “Everything okay up there?”

  “Yeah. We’re good.”

  “Better not break her heart. You hear what I’m sayin’?

  “Loud and clear.”

  “Good night Joey.” Sam ends the conversation and mutters something about Neanderthals before sitting down to eat.

  Her cousin does remind me we have yet to have a conversation about my little problem. After our salad and garlic bread are eaten in silence, I put the plates in the sink while she dishes up the sauce.

  I show her the card Lucky gave me. ““I, ah, am calling this guy. He’s a shrink who helped my pal deal with his PTSD.”

  “Does he wake up ready to kill?” She slides behind me, chin on my back, arms around my waist.

  “I don’t think so. War affects everyone differently. I have bad dreams but I got them under control, not like him. His were bad.”

  “And how is he now?” She turns me to face her and cups my cheeks in her hands.

  “He’s good. He’s covering the congressman while I got you.”

  “What about tonight? Will you sleep?”

  “As long as you’re not in my bed, you’re safe. I’ll take the couch.”

  She nods and wipes the sauce from her lips with a napkin, then stands and takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom.

  “I got a better idea.” After searching her top dresser drawer, she smiles seductively, and holds out a pair of handcuffs.

  Chapter 26

  Sam

  The next few weeks fly by in an odd kind of routine. In the morning, Suds climbs into my bed and loves me so thoroughly, I can barely walk to work. While I wash hair, he works on his computer, then we both head into the city. Slate has given me enough analyst work to keep me busy while the District Attorney gathers evidence against Agro-grow.

  After Simon Rivera is arrested and his offshore accounts frozen, Jason confirms the hit out on me is no longer in place. Uncle Vinny assures me the man who tried to kill us on Paradise Island understands his mistake.

  Suds stops by my desk. “Congratulations.”

  I grin. “My first month anniversary at Patten?”

  “That, too.” He brushes his mouth over my lips, smiling.

  “What else?”

  “The DA dropped the case against the congressman. He’s a free man.”

  Although glad an innocent man didn’t go to jail, I get an uneasy feeling. “He’s still a douche for cheating.”
<
br />   “Agreed.” Suds rolls his chair further into my cube, stands between my legs, and kisses me with more heat out of view of the cameras. “Unfortunately, I may get assigned out of the city, pretty soon.”

  My heart sinks. “For how long?”

  “Depends. There’s a couple negotiations in place. Usually, mine are short term.” He leaves out the high-risk part.

  “We’ll make the best of it. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good to hear.” He winks. “I need to go to Houston with Slate this afternoon. Don’t take on any extra work for Vinny while I’m gone. Promise?”

  “Absolutely… as long as none comes up.” I add under my breath.

  “Saaaam…”

  “Fine. I won’t do anything dangerous. How’s that?”

  He shakes his head. “Not good enough but we’ll talk later.”

  After he goes, I open my website and see I got one hit. Some guy thinks his wife is cheating on him and is willing to pay for me to find proof.

  Knowing I’m going to have a lot of free time on my hands, I write him back, and arrange for a meet at Mrs. Murphy’s bakery.

  At the end of the day, I wait for Suds to walk me to the subway, when it hits me he’s left town. My heart aches and my eyes water. This day was bound to come but why so soon?

  Clearing my throat, I stand and check my cellphone for messages. My new client has agreed to meet me in Brooklyn. His text says he’s a fifty-year-old businessman and he includes a photo.

  As I review his Facebook profile, I remember my promise to Suds but I’m good. This guy doesn’t work for my uncle and no way is the job dangerous unless you consider bored-to-death a serious risk.

  After closing my computer, I hoof it crosstown and grab a cab. In Brooklyn, as I dig into my purse to pay, someone comes up behind me.

  Will whispers in my ear. “Don’t try anything. Nod if you understand.”

  “Sorry.” I smile at the dark Arab man. “Can you take us back uptown, to the bus station?” As I slide back into the cab a metal tube extrudes from Will’s jacket pocket and digs into my side.

  “Sure, no problem.” The driver shrugs, resets the meter, and turns right a couple times until we’re headed back toward Manhattan.

  Will’s eyes remind me of those mugshots of serial killers you see online. The humanity is missing, replaced by an indescribable nothingness.

  “Don’t say anything.” His voice is so low, I can barely hear but the jab in my side is loud and clear.

  When we arrive at Eighth and Forty-Second, he throws a hundred dollar bill at the driver. “Keep the change.”

  Then, grabbing my upper arm so tightly it stings, he takes me down two flights of escalators.

  I stop in the middle of the hall as we walk toward the departing doors. “Why are-”

  “Shut. The. Fuck. Up. I swear I’ll pull the trigger.”

  Crazy Writer Kills Ex-Lover, details at eleven.

  The outside door opens, fumes fill the space, and I cough. With brain cells dying, we follow a small crowd outside, he shoves two tickets at the driver, and we take two seats in the back.

  The vehicle is only a third full and almost everyone sits near the front, not by the smelly bathroom. When it jerks forward, it pukes out fumes. I squint when we exit the darkness and into the late afternoon sun. Will grinds his teeth and stares with his weird unblinking eyes. Clearly, my ex is off is rocker and that is scary as shit.

  “Take out your phone, pull out the sim card, and give it to me.” His gun pokes, the outline of the revolver now clearly visible under the light cloth of his pocket.

  His beard has grown out along with his formerly well-groomed hair. With locks sticking out all over the place, I barely recognize the man who claimed to be the next Faulkner.

  “You ruined everything.” A car backfires and a montage of this-is-your-life flashes in my mind’s eye.

  My first day of kindergarten with Rose and Mia, high school graduation with a flask of vodka under my robe, saying goodbye at college, and my first day on the job with the FBI.

  Fuck. I never got to prove to everyone how I could be a damn fine private eye.

  What would Stephanie Plum do?

  My favorite character would no doubt do something amazingly brave and somewhat stupid before being rescued by one of her several boyfriends.

  However, this is real life and my ex is about to end both of ours. I wonder how far he’s lost touch with reality as I struggle to get my phone case apart.

  Smiling sweetly, I tone my voice even more so. “You should’ve told me you were in the city. We could’ve got together. Damn, I’ve missed you.”

  His mouth drops open for a moment before returning to the blank expression he’s been wearing for an hour or more. “You ignored all my calls and texts.”

  “I was trying to get over you. It hurt so bad when I found out you were cheating on me.” My tears are real but they’re more from fear than sadness.

  “You never understood me. A great artist needs to be appreciated. I only needed a few more months to finish and you left me homeless.” As he stares out the window, I can’t believe he’s blaming me. How many years had I supported him? While he stayed home, I worked double shifts.

  “You have a family. Why didn’t you turn to them? I’m sure they would’ve let you stay.”

  When he sneers, I no longer recognize the man I once loved. “Them? Plebs. There’s not one intellectual amongst them all. I can’t possibly work and write.”

  “Surely, if you’re so close to finishing, your father will-”

  “You think I haven’t asked?” The metal barrel shakes as it presses below my ribs so I don’t ask why one of his many girlfriends hasn’t stepped up.

  Having paid the rent to the end of the month. I’m guessing he recently got evicted. “Why are you taking me to DC?”

  He rubs his face. “We need things to go back the way they were, with you paying the rent.”

  Shit. Did he forget I lost my job? If I tell him I haven’t got any money, he’ll probably blow a gasket and we’ll both end up dead.

  Inhaling and exhaling deeply, I try to figure a way out of this mess. “Sure thing, Will. We can do that.”

  Chapter 27

  Suds

  “What the fuck?” I try Sam’s number for the hundredth time but it goes straight to voicemail.

  “Problems?” Slate glances up from his laptop.

  “Yeah. It’s Sam. She’s not picking up.” Inside Patten Security’s private jet, I pace between leather lounge chairs in the living-room like space.

  He shakes his head back and forth like I’ve got a few screws loose. “We’ve only been gone a couple hours. She probably forgot to charge her cell phone.”

  “In the few weeks I’ve known her, she’s never been without her lifeline.” To say more would tip my hand.

  Samantha Russo has captured my heart.

  Slate never misses anything. “Second sense?”

  I’ve told him how I get this feeling when the shit is about to hit the fan. More like an alarm than real ESP, I get no real details.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Shit.” He calls up the office video from this afternoon and glares at me when it catches me ducking out of sight for a kiss.

  Then, my boss fast forwards and slows where she texts something and heads out of the building. “Can you track her phone?”

  I pull out mine and press the application. “Yeah. Her last known location was just outside the bakery in Bensonhurst.”

  Retrieving the number, I call the old woman who runs the place. “This is Suds. Was Sam there today?”

  “No… She started to come in but left with a blond fellow with a beard.”

  “Is he from the neighborhood?”

  “Nope. Never seen him before but she seemed to recognize him. They got into a cab together.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Probably not but if you hear from
her, let me know.”

  Something gnaws at me. Mrs. Murphy is a sort-of watchdog for that subway stop. Sam always checks in with her on the way home. It’s second only to the hair salon for getting the local gossip. Why would she ignore her ritual and get into a cab after just getting home?

  I check her website for messages and find a guy on Facebook who contacted her. However, when I call, he denies contacting her, stating he’s been happily married for over thirty years.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I show the new evidence to Slate.

  Frowning, he rubs his eyes and says, “Call Dr. Jones. See if Jason can locate her with the city cameras.”

  We’re halfway to Texas when Skype pings and Jason pops up on my laptop. “Hello, Suds. I have some information for you. May I share my screen?”

  “Please.”

  A picture of Sam sitting on a bench next to a blond man appears. “Samantha got on a bus to Washington, DC with tickets bought by William Peterson. They will arrive at approximately seven fifteen.”

  I moan. “That’s her ex.”

  Slate raises his brows. “You think they’re getting back together?”

  I consider the possibility and before I can respond Jason answers for me. “Samantha has been ignoring his texts and phone calls for over a month. It is less than ten percent probable she went with him anywhere willingly.”

  As I study the picture, my heart races. “Can you zoom in on this picture, especially the man’s lower right hand?”

  He does but the enlarged image is too fuzzy. “Can you clean it up any?”

  A clearer picture appears. “Shit. He’s got a gun on her. Jason, can you have the authorities waiting for them in DC?”

  “I can.”

  “Thank you.”

  Slate stands and strides to the cockpit. “Can we divert to DC?”

  The pilot calls back. “Will do. I’ll need to request clearance but we should be good to go.”

  I stand and pace. “Fuck. I should’ve done something about that guy. I had a bad feeling about him. His emails had an edge and his anger was escalating, not diminishing.”

  “Twenty-twenty hind sight. Is he military? FBI?”