“No, not this semester at least.”
A dropout. Not good. He looked beyond her, scanning the bar for another specimen.
“Just saving a little more money to get my law degree. One more semester is all I need—then, of course, I have to take the bar.”
His dark-brown eyes lit up.
“I'm really interested in law school. I'd love to hear more,” he said.
She hesitated, likely wondering if she could trust this man who looked to be in his mid-to-upper twenties.
“I'm actually off the clock in fifteen minutes. Want to wait and we can share a drink?”
He took her hand and kissed the top of it. “It would be a pleasure...”
“Vanessa.”
“Terry, Terry Thorne.”
Vanessa floated away and reappeared a few minutes later. They ordered two more screaming orgasms. The moody waitress served them—with a scowl on her face.
“Better watch out, she might make a voodoo doll and do all sorts of things to you,” he said with a wicked grin.
“Vanessa's voodoo doll. Kind of has a ring to it.”
She grabbed her full-length, golden hair and attempted to put it up in a bun.
“Hope that doesn't ruin the look for you.” She winked with confidence. Terry enjoyed her playfulness.
“You haven't told me your life story, Mr. Terry Thorne.” She put a hand on his.
“Well, I live a pretty ordinary life in Miami. I'm a marine biologist,” Terry said, slurping down the last of his drink.
“So, you play with Shamu the whale and Flipper the dolphin all day?” She nudged his arm then realized its girth. She tried to put her hand around even half his bicep. “You're like the man of steel.”
“Just parts of me.”
Another wink. “I like that. Good one.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. God love Ireland
“Last call for alcohol,” a voice called out.
“What do you say we do a shot? I know it's a little immature, but you only live once.” She cocked her head to the side.
God love Ireland “I'm game. What's your weapon of choice?”
Five minutes later, they both slammed the miniature glasses of straight Tequila down to the table.
“Oooh, I haven't done that in a while.” Vanessa wiped her lips.
The pink brunette came by and picked up the glasses. “Thank you,” he said, but got no response.
“Terry Thorne thanks you.” Vanessa snorted at the back of her colleague.
Her magnetic, throaty voice created a yearning from deep inside. Terry wondered if it could be butterflies.
A bald man wearing a nose ring shuffled a broom by their table.
“I think that might be our cue.” Vanessa squeezed her shoulders, creating a mouthful of milky-white cleavage.
This girl was such a playful tease. He could play this game all night—up until a certain point.
Terry smacked his hands to his lap, indicating he was ready for the next step but not wanting to push the agenda.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“I'm not sure we have a choice.”
But Vanessa didn't budge. She pulled her smart phone out of her purse and scrolled through a feed of some kind, Facebook, Instagram, he couldn't be sure. Then he saw her thin thumbs clicking tiny letters. He stood to the side of her chair, obviously waiting for them to leave, but she continued on, seemingly in her own world. She mouthed a few words, then smiled. She was actually conversing with another person, virtually.
She'd either done a complete one-eighty on him, or she was purposely sending him a mixed signal.
Had Vanessa been able to use her own tricks to exchange who held the leash?
The law student pushed out her chair but held up a finger. Almost like herding cats, Vanessa tried to pull dangling locks of hair into her bun. She reached into her oversized bag and grabbed another brace. “This is the mother of all clips.”
How could he have been so naïve? Despite her playful demeanor, Vanessa was a future lawyer, a person who wanted to feel in charge, and likely a master manipulator.
Terry could relinquish control, even outwardly show her he could be subservient. Vanessa, was, after all, a hot-blooded, young woman, and ultimately, she'd succumb to the same lustful desires as her collegiate peers. Rah, rah, sis boom bah!
He pulled out her chair and followed her toward the door. Her gait was confident, her flats tapping the stained concrete floor. She gave a quick nod to a couple of friends, but her chin remained at the proper authoritative angle.
Outside, they stood halfway facing the other, each waiting for the other to lead. Or perhaps to beg. Terry was okay with either. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together, while Vanessa crossed her arms, their chilled breaths curling into the starry sky.
“Well, I guess it's getting late.” Terry looked at his watch and turned his head. “Can't miss my late-night SportsCenter.”
The bait.
“What are you talking about?” Vanessa grabbed his left hand and yanked, and she strode down the sidewalk.
He finally caught up. “You're not a sports fan?”
“You can turn around and go get your jollies watching sports highlights, or you can hang out with me.” Her eyes stared straight ahead.
He paused.
She turned and grabbed his shoulders. “Before you answer, just know that I give the best blow jobs in Florida. Best. Ever.”
Terry watched her lips, her facial muscles, how they extended down her neck, ultimately landing at her bubbly chest. “I think that's called an irrefutable offer.”
She let out that Demi Moore laugh, and Terry reciprocated. “Isn't that one of your law terms?” he said playfully. She grabbed his shirt and jerked him closer, planting a full-mouth kiss. "You're pretty fuckin' cute, you know?" She swiped his hair like he was a puppy.
“Talkin' dirty. I like it.”
She popped both eyebrows. “Oh, we're just getting started.”
They walked four blocks, hung a left, then three more blocks.
“Welcome to casa de Vanessa.”
Lots of open space in the living room, Terry noticed.
“Why don't you run off to powder your nose and I'll, uh...get adjusted.” She bit his earlobe and patted his ass. “Run along now.”
Terry hopped down the dark hall, feeling the wall for an entrance to the bathroom. He shut the door, washed his hands, and looked in the mirror. Vanessa might be the most unique girl he'd ever met. Definitely worthy of his time. She had major-league balls. He hadn't been this stimulated since his journey through Ireland. Not enough time to relive his coming-out party.
He opened the door and saw a flash of light from the living room. He stepped slowly.
“Ah-hah, gotcha.” Vanessa jumped from around the corner and cracked her black leather whip. Terry nearly swallowed his tongue.
“Surprised, I see. They all are.” She raised her chin then did a quick pirouette.
Terry nearly laughed out loud, but his excited heart rate kept his focus intact. Vanessa was clad in leather—boots, garters, and garter belt. For once, his eyes didn't immediately pan to her neck. She was clean-shaven and had a ring inserted into her clitoris. He looked up and saw two larger, metal hoops piercing her nipples.
She cracked the whip. “You do want to be my bitch, don't you?”
“Vanessa, I'll be anything you like.”
“Good. Call me Miss Vagina and put these on.” She turned around. He paused, thinking he could easily take this opportunity to pull his scalpel from his back pocket and impose his will on her. But why end the night of his life early? He slipped on a bulging black jock strap and a black leather harness with metal studs crossing his chest.
She guided her sex slave over to the wall, and he inserted his hands into leather grips, then she slid a mask over his eyes.
“This won't hurt...too badly. He-he!” She cracked the whip, and this one connected to his upper thigh. He winced, but adre
naline quickly replaced the pain.
“What do you say?” she asked. He turned just a bit. She snapped the whip again, leaving a red welt on his left butt cheek. “What do you say, Terry Thorne?”
Her husky, sexy voice fit this show perfectly. “Thank you. Thank you. Miss Vagina.”
Vanessa then unleashed a flurry of whip cracks. He jerked left and right, and felt certain blood was oozing from his damaged skin. Suddenly, she grabbed his crotch and rubbed hard and fast.
“Before you go too far...here, you put on the mask.”
She squinted as he slid the black mask over her seductive eyes. He turned her around to face the wall, her hands now in the leather restraints. He cracked the whip a couple of times to keep her focused, in the moment.
“You know how much I appreciate everything about you, Vanessa?”
“Miss Vagina! Do you miss my vagina?” She laughed. “Whip me, Terry. I want blood, then I want your semen.”
“Sorry, I can only give you one.”
Her head twitched, but she said nothing. Even when her risk-compass fluttered, she didn't back down. Impressive...and sensual.
“I wish this could last forever.” He took two steps forward and put his arm around her chest, accidentally tugging her nipple rings.
“Pull, Terry. Yank them off, if you want. I want blood!” She yelled so loudly her voice cracked.
“And you will have it.”
He exhaled and slashed her neck, then ripped out her beautiful larynx.
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, honoring the greatest gift any girl had given him.
With Miss Vagina still dangling from the leather restraints, Terry hosed off in her bathroom and changed his clothes. He pulled out his phone and typed a text message:
God love Ireland
Sent. He scrolled to another recent contact and typed a note:
God love Ireland
Sent.
Chapter Forty-Four
The white-painted stairs creaked with each plodding step, as Andi balanced two large coffees, a jelly donut, a bag of Funyuns, and a banana in a wobbly, cardboard tray. Coffee smoke bellowed through the small cup holes, and her breath emitted a rhythmic fog as early sunrays crept over the rooftop of the nearby house. Finally at the top of the fifteen steps, Andi had no option other than to use the toe of her Nike running shoe to tap the hollow door. It practically caved in.
The door slung open, and Satish clapped his hands.
“Where have you been all my life?”
“Running errands for you.” Andi stepped through the doorway of the garage apartment situated just behind one of the nicest homes in the area, only two miles from the UNT campus.
Satish grabbed his donut and coffee, not noticing the resulting chain reaction from the lack of balance on the tray. Andi quickly snatched her coffee, just a tad sloshing out onto Satish's shag carpet, a mixture of teal and navy blue. She rubbed her sole on the stain, but she knew he'd never notice anyway in this dark, groovy abode.
Andi rubbed her swollen eyes. After a late night at the office working through connections in the series of murders, she fit in a bit of studying before sleeping all of three hours. Outside of a couple of late-night phone calls, Trevor had, unfortunately, slipped off her priority list for now. She felt a few butterflies dance when she thought about him—and it wasn't because he was doctor.
Satish had sent her a text last night saying new technical scripts he'd written on top of SpyAgent were beginning to pay dividends, and he believed they'd complete their scan and report by seven a.m. She looked at her digital watch: 7:04.
“What you got, Satish?”
He took a bite of his donut, and purple jelly squeezed between his lips. Andi pointed at his mouth.
“What?”
“You have a little...”
“Right.” He looked around aimlessly for a napkin. Andi handed him one, and he caught jelly just before it dropped to his white Bruno Mars concert T-shirt.
“I have this kick-ass program that's able to scan the content in voicemail files. It should be finished in just a moment.” He glanced at the left monitor. “While we wait, let me show you what we have thus far.”
Not a huge coffee fan—especially when it was brewed in a gas station—Andi drank two large gulps of the warm brew, fully expecting a jump-start to her mental engine.
“Okay, check this out.” Satish pointed to multiple windows open in the middle monitor. “We have a ton of invoices that show these crazy-ass prices couples are paying for these kids. Check this one here: a hundred twenty-five thousand. Then they add this next number: seventy-five thousand. The line item says it's for birth mother counseling, but that seems crazy high. Total: two hundred Gs.”
Andi nodded. “This is good, Satish. And there are others like this?”
“So far I've found at least seventy like this or worse, going back two years.”
“What else?”
“Hold on.” Satish tapped the keyboard then exhaled slowly. “For a moment there, I thought my voicemail scan had frozen up and I'd have to start over. But we're good. Should be done in five.”
Andi gestured for the Indian braniac to continue, then took a bite from her almost brittle, green banana.
“I found this email from Dmitri Orlov, their general counsel, copying the CEO, which provides specific instructions on how to evade government agencies. He even says they purchased a list of social security numbers for new babies they're smuggling in from Russia.”
“This makes me sick, but it's good stuff, Satish.”
“That's not all. This dipshit Dmitri says this list of social security numbers are mainly from dead soldiers.”
Andi put her hand to her face. “These people are scum, absolute bottom-of-the-barrel scum.”
The student/reporter stood up and stretched, then took another bite of her banana.
“Your voicemail scan done yet?”
“One minute. Almost forgot, I found this icon that opens a secured database. Get this, old Florence actually has a spreadsheet on her computer that lists all of her user names and passwords. It's a treasure chest. It lists every kid who goes through their system. Most go through their Russian office in Moscow. The spreadsheet lists all of their information—date of birth, weight, any issues with the child, any issues with the mother. Then there is a new set of information once they get in the US.” Satish sipped his coffee, eyes bugging out with excitement at the find. He added, “The term they use is 'cleanse.' Once a kid is 'cleansed,' then they're ready to be sold, or adopted legally.”
“What are they doing to 'cleanse' these kids?”
“Everything. Anything. If it's minor, then it might say they saw a doctor about ear infections or put the baby on non-dairy diet. But they show a pattern of completely ignoring any issues with the birth mother that might affect the kid's long-term physical or mental health. Meth addict? They act like it never happened.”
“Holy shit, Satish. This is the mother lode. We can get copies of all this, right?”
“I'm saving it to my hard drive, and I've opened a Dropbox so you can grab any file that I've copied down there.”
“Damn. Thank you.”
Satish beamed with pride. “Give me a minute.”
He spun around in his chair and slipped on a headset. His recessed brown eyes didn't blink for sixty seconds, and his hands tap-danced across the keyboard and mouse. “There are more to review, but listen to this voicemail from the manager of the Russian Big Heart office.”
God love Ireland
A plethora of emotions rushed through Andi. Her stomach twisted, thinking about how these executives knowingly abused kids, adults, everyone touching the system. A tear bubbled in the corner of her eye. Then her resolve kicked in, her inherited instinct that swore to take down this type of scum.
Andi grabbed Satish and hugged him through the back of the swivel chair. “You rock, Satish. You freakin' rock.”
“Kiss on the cheek?” he asked coyly.
“Can't blame an Indian superhero.” He popped a muscle pose. They both looked at his skinny arms and laughed at the same time.
“Jenny,” Andi said suddenly, reaching for her phone. She punched in a text, asking Jenny to call as soon as she could.
While they waited, Andi called Brandon and reviewed the bounty of proof, and Satish continued reviewing and saving files that could be used for the stories.
“You're going to be famous, Satish.” Andi clicked the phone off.
He jerked his head back. “Me? I'm just a humble computer programmer.”
“You're a freakin' genius, who will likely help save lives.”
“Well, it does come naturally.” He fixed his shirt like it was a tuxedo.
“Humble you aren't.” She grinned at her friend.
Andi went to her car and grabbed her computer bag and then began assembling the key pieces of the top story that would run in tomorrow's paper. After a couple of hours, she looked at her watch. She needed to let Jenny know—now was the time to walk.
Andi's stomach growled, which ignited a thought. She picked up her phone and called Trevor. He'd just completed a twenty-four-hour shift, but said he was now off for three days. She asked if he'd like to pick up some sub sandwiches and meet over at Satish's apartment. He sounded energized, which warmed Andi's heart. He also said he had some good news related to Jenny's future.
Trevor arrived with twelve-inch subs and chips, and Andi did the introduction.
“So this is the man whom you've been spending every waking moment with?” Trevor grinned and extended his hand.
“Satish is in the house.” The computer whiz spun around and danced to some unknown tune, then finished with a fist bump.
“More Bruno Mars?” Andi asked.
“Something like that, whoop, whoop.”
Trevor smirked at Andi, and their eyes stayed locked an extra few seconds.
The three amigos ate every last bite of the subs. Andi then realized she'd yet to hear from Jenny, voice or text.
“Shit. Do you think they know Jenny has been involved?” She looked at Satish. “It's after one o'clock. Lunch is probably over, don't you think? No communication.”
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