Undressed To The Nines: A Thriller Novel (Drew Stirling Book 1)

by Jayden Hunter

  I should have decided this earlier.

  “I wanted to take you out to dinner. Are you free tonight?” Marc asked finally.

  “I’ve got plans already,” she lied.

  They agreed to talk again soon. Drew stared at the phone after she said, “Talk to you later,” and ended the call. She fiddled with the phone for a few minutes and went back to her book.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” she said out loud to convince herself she had no urgency.

  An hour later her phone vibrated from an incoming text message.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I've looked on many women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me.

  ~ Jimmy Carter

  God, I fucking hate the press. Don’t quote me on that.

  ~ Congressman Lance Boyd

  Lance Boyd snuck a quick peek at his personal cell. It was a weekend meeting so nobody would complain if he checked his text messages. The message was simply the number sixty which was code for “Urgent and important. Not an emergency. Get back within the hour.” It was from Hull. He looked at his watch. He’d call him back in fifteen. He took a sip of water and pretended he was still paying attention.

  Hull had initially contacted Boyd the first week the Congressman was a freshman in Washington several election cycles ago. Boyd had simply assumed then that every congressman and senator had someone that did odd jobs off the books. They never discussed any of Hull’s other work. Boyd assumed he worked for others, but he didn’t want or care to know who. He knew Hull would never disclose it anyway and trusted he’d come to him if there was ever a conflict of interest. They discussed money that first week, but after that when Boyd needed something special done, he’d call and Hull would bill him just like an attorney and debit a retainer account. So far, there hadn’t been any problems, but this current mess was beyond a little dirty job. It was the kind of thing that could sink a lot of careers.

  Boyd wasn’t exactly sure of Brandon Hull’s methods or what lines he crossed. He didn’t want to know, and he didn’t ask.

  “Hull speaking,” Brandon Hull said when he answered Boyd’s call.

  “What’s —,” was all Boyd got out before Hull starting talking over him.

  “I’m still in Bristol. I’ve recovered as much as I can for now. Any more and it’s going to raise flags.”

  “Okay, great, and —?”

  “And,” Hull continued, “I have a thumb drive. It has all the notes, pictures, documents. I have everything on here, including some other possible leaks. Basically, I —”

  This time Boyd interrupted, “What the fuck do you mean by other leaks?”

  “I said possible.”

  “Possible is probable. Probable is a clusterfuck. I don’t need to tell you…”

  They argued for five minutes about the probability of additional leaks. They argued about the possibility of someone else having even more damaging information. They discussed the likelihood of anyone in the more prestigious political blogging community taking any existing rumors seriously.

  Conspiracy theory nuts always had a story, so rumors by themselves weren’t too damaging. In reality, the more crazy conspiracy theories that were out there, the better it was for those people actually doing the corrupt, the illegal, and the evil. Both Boyd and Hull recognized this.

  “Maybe I should leak a story,” Hull suggested. “Congressman Boyd caught with a space alien, and their hybrid child is threatening to destroy humanity —”

  “Quit fucking around. Look, give me your best advice here, straight up. I’ll be back in Bristol tonight, and my intention is to get the drive from you, check it out, and see if there is anything else there.”

  “Okay, but first, I’m not sure you want to look at this stuff. Plausible deniability and all. Besides, what can you do without stirring up some trouble or leaving some virtual fingerprints?”

  “You recommend destroying it and calling it a day?”

  “Destroying it would be safest. Second best option, I put it on ice. Maybe for a rainy day, you bring it out. That’s my take.”

  Boyd considered this. If things ever went badly with Hull the information on that thumb drive could come back to bite him. No reason to give Hull leverage. On the other hand, there was no reason to believe that Hull wouldn’t just make himself a copy anyway.

  Fuck, if there is anything Watergate taught politicians is that one little fuck up and you’re done. In this case, really fucking done. Better to know what’s on there. Better to know than not know. Information is power even when it’s bad news.

  “I’ll be down in Bristol about ten thirty. Let’s pass off around eleven,” Boyd ordered.

  “You got it boss.”

  Boyd looked at his phone. He never kept more than a few numbers stored in a burner phone. One of them in this particular phone belonged to Drew. Another week or so, he’d have tossed it. But looking at the entry, DS, he noticed he was getting just a little excited. He adjusted himself and looked around. He quit imagining her naked and sent her a text.

  Outgoing text: Meet me @ Fireside, same booth, tonight, 11:15

  Boyd went back to his desk and cleared his “must do” folder. He called his wife and told her he’d land close to midnight, but that he would have a couple more hours of paperwork and a few overseas calls to make. He’d stay the night in Bristol and be home in the morning.

  She asked him how the weather was in D.C., how things were going on the Hill, and whether Rose and Fred were parents yet. “Wasn’t she due last Tuesday?” she asked, mostly to herself.

  He didn’t have a chance to answer her before she’d started answering questions he’d not asked. Yes, the kids were doing fine in school, she told him. The new gardener was working out just fine. She was going to give the pool guy another month to shape up, and yes, her parents would be in town to babysit over their anniversary weekend. She ended the call after saying good night without waiting for a response.

  Boyd called for a car. He locked his laptop in a drawer, and he rearranged the few things on his desk. He stood, ran a lint remover over his slacks, put on his coat, and headed to the garage.

  The airport wasn’t busy. It was Saturday, but he still liked to be early. He picked up an old Sports Illustrated magazine in the VIP lounge. A few pages into it, he recognized one of the models. It was Drew. She had two photos in this issue, and she looked nearly identical to how she’d looked the week before, maybe a bit younger and with longer hair. He felt uncomfortable for a moment looking at her picture here. She was so young. He flushed and lifted his eyes. Nobody noticed him. He looked down and stared at the photo. He shut his eyes and hoped she’d respond affirmatively to his text invitation.

  “OH, Congressman Boyd. Hello,” said an elderly woman with her husband in tow. “I just had to say hello. I’ve been a supporter since your first term. You flying home?”

  “Yes,” he said. He tried to put the magazine down without drawing attention to it.

  “We must be on the same flight. It’s so nice to get to talk to you in person. I was wondering if I could address the situation with…”

  He listened, nodded at the right places, and promised he’d look into her issue when he got back into Washington.

  It was going to be a long flight he thought to himself.

  Once Boyd landed in Bristol, he drove straight to the hotel. He parked in the Blackstone Suites VIP parking lot and cautiously walked towards the lobby hoping to God he’d not run into any more concerned constituent voters who had issues to discuss. He’d feel more comfortable once the exchange with Hull was over and he was safely in his room. He scanned the parking lot and the foyer for anyone that seemed out of place or might be holding a camera. He wasn’t on the front page yet. He had avoided any run-ins with the political paparazzi so far. He wanted to keep it that way.

  He knew this would change with any breaking news story. He wouldn’t be able
to be in public without someone taking pictures and asking questions.

  Boyd entered the lobby and looked around. No Hull.

  Goddamn it.

  Boyd hated tardiness. He sat down and played with his smartphone. Five minutes later, he was already annoyed.

  “Aren’t you that congressman?” the man sitting next to him asked.

  “What congressman?” Boyd asked. He was wondering if this stranger would bring up anything about the scandal.

  “The Genaplat congressman,” the man whispered.

  Boyd tensed. Fuck.

  Then the man laughed and smiled. “Got you,” he said.

  “You asshole, quit fucking around,” Boyd said and stood. He’d been sitting next to Hull the whole time. God damn him and his disguises.

  Hull handed Boyd the card key to a penthouse suite and the thumb drive. He told him he’d checked out the bar, the parking lot, and the lobby. Everything seemed ordinary and quiet. No news was good news.

  “Are you staying in town?” Boyd asked him.

  “Yes. Bristol tonight and then I have some chores to do. In a day, I’ll be free again if you need anything.”

  “I hope the sky clears on this and things are quiet for awhile. I’ve got to start thinking about the next mid-terms. I don’t have time for destructive bullshit.”

  “I’m staying here tonight.” Hull looked Boyd directly in the eyes. “I’m still recommending that you let me destroy that. Let me handle it. Stay in the dark on this. If you change your mind, call me. I’ll be up late.”

  Boyd shook his head. “No, I’d rather know, even if it’s bad news.”

  “Especially if it’s bad news,” they both said in unison. They shook hands and parted company.

  Boyd headed to the bar. It was just past eleven, and he was anxious to see if Drew would show.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Well, did you do any fornicating this weekend?

  ~ Richard Nixon

  Once a man has surrendered his self-control, risked his marriage, promised me the moon, admitted his weakness, coveted, lied, and created a shameful secret, it’s about that time I get bored. It’s nothing personal.

  ~ Drew Stirling

  Drew Stirling looked at her phone again. The message wasn’t going to change, but she felt compelled to check it again. She’d received the Congressman’s text message, his invitation, but hadn’t responded. It was more like an order.

  His message wasn’t “Would you like to meet for a drink?” or “Are you free tonight?” He texted her with a message telling her to meet him. She hadn’t responded to his text, but here she was, sitting in the parking lot at the Blackstone checking her makeup. It was eleven ten. She didn’t like being late. Although in this case, she’d never agreed to meet in the first place. She considered leaving. She considered texting Marc to see if he was free. She fidgeted for another couple minutes. It was eleven fourteen.

  Drew decided to send a message to Lance. Maybe he had a change of plans or decided against meeting her again.

  Outgoing text message: Still up for a drink? I’m running late, it’s Drew

  Incoming text message: I am here, your scotch is lonely

  Outgoing text message: Okay ;)

  Congressman Boyd rose and gave Drew a friendly hug. He motioned for her to sit and she did. She sipped her drink.

  Fuck, he’s handsome. Why am I here? This can’t end well. God, this is good scotch.

  “How was your flight?” she asked.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he answered. “Tell me about your week.”

  “A couple of assignments. Boring, really,” she said. “Not like a politician.”

  “My work is mostly managing people. It has its exciting moments, but it’s mostly paperwork and headaches. And damage control.”

  By the end of the second round of drinks, the conversation eased into the kind of intimacy people have when they’ve already had sex once before.

  Drew started talking about her father, her childhood, and some of her dreams. “I’d thought I was going to go to college like all upper class kids with decent SAT scores and socially competitive parents. I worried about whether I should be taking the LSAT or the MCAT. Or should I go into one of the hard sciences? Or engineering? It was great having options, but also hard to decide what to pick. I scored high in math. I really did consider going into engineering for awhile. It was my top choice, but I was just a kid. How can you decide as a teenager what you want to be when you’re forty? My dad really pushed me hard in my sophomore year. You have to go to a good school he’d say. You have to think about your future. You have to be competitive. You have to, have to, have to. I got sick of it. Really, I was only fifteen.

  “I decided to try out modeling the summer before my junior year. I’d already attracted a good agent by my senior year of high school. I started making decent money, well, for a kid anyway. Dad wasn’t happy at all, but Mom was supportive, and she’d drive me to photo shoots and auditions. I think she had fun. She even flew with me up to New York several times and once out to California. It was adventurous for both of us. They became little vacations away from my dad. I became a mild celebrity at school. Plenty of guys asked me out. I bought a new car when I got my driver’s license. I mean, I paid the difference between my dad’s budget and what I wanted. I was spoiled, I know. I think my mom felt guilty.”

  “Never a serious boyfriend?” he asked.

  “No. Lots of boys, nothing serious. I could never trust whether they liked me because of me or because of the minor fame and attention. It’s hard being the pretty girl.” Drew put her hands up and made air quotes as she said “pretty girl.”

  “You gave up your dream of being a scientist for fame and glory?” he asked with a big teasing smile.

  “I guess,” she said. “I don’t know. I can still go to college. Do something important with my life. I’m not sure. I’m young still. What do you think?”

  “Let’s pour the next round upstairs,” Lance said. “Come on.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. After throwing cash on the table, he reached for Drew’s arm and helped her up. They walked in silence towards the elevator. Drew had stopped having any doubts or regrets before she’d accepted the second drink, so as they rode the elevator up she moved into him, and they started kissing. She loved the taste of scotch on his tongue and the powerful way he would kiss her one moment and then ease into tender soft kisses the next. He kissed her around the lips and then down her neck. She shivered and goose bumps ran down her arms. She was surprised she could feel like such a schoolgirl so soon, but she recognized the feelings of a crush coming on, and this was a strong one.

  Lance filled two shot glasses as Drew looked out of his suite’s large windows.

  “It’s so pretty up here, all the city lights,” she said.

  He handed a shot glass to Drew and raised his for a toast. She followed his lead and kissed him immediately following the burn of whiskey.

  She got on her knees after the second shot and declared that she wanted him. He took off his clothes, but tripped trying to remove his slacks. Drew laughed. He grabbed her and tickled her until she screamed for him to stop. He quit and kissed her quickly on the mouth.

  “We need a safe word.”

  “How about harder or faster?” she joked.

  “Funny, but I’m serious. You like to play a little rough?”

  “A little,” she said. “I read.”

  “Let’s just say if either of us uses the other’s first name, we’ll stop and talk. Okay with you?”

  She nodded.

  Lance finished getting undressed. He looked at Drew who was now standing on the bed in her panties and bra. She smiled and started swaying her hips. “You can’t fuck me if you can’t catch me.” He lunged at her, and she ducked and jumped off the bed. Laughing and drunk, she ran to the sofa that was in the sitting area facing the windows with a view of the city. He regained his balance a
nd ran towards her. She ran around the sofa and mocked him. He jumped onto the sofa and ran like a child towards her. She squealed and made it to the bed just as he grabbed an ankle and pulled her towards himself.

  He dropped to his knees and pulled both her feet to his shoulders. She laid on her back on the edge of the bed, and he kissed her thighs. She moaned with pleasure and had no self-consciousness in her inebriated state. She slid her fingers under her lacy panties. He watched her for awhile before joining in.

  “Christ,” she said. She spoke with the last of her breath and then panted and inhaled deeply.

  While she was recovering her breath, Lance vanished. He turned off the lamp. The soft glow of the city lights were filtering in through the window. He closed the blackout shades.

  “Where’d ya go?” she asked into the dark. He remained silent.

  Drew felt she was all alone. She could hear her own breath, nothing else. She thought of getting up, but her legs were weak, and she was still breathing hard. She felt something silky and strong wrap around her wrists. He was using his tie to bind her hands above her head. She couldn’t see him, and he dragged her up the bed. He flipped her over and tied the other end of his tie to the front leg of the bed. He put a folded pillowcase over her eyes to eliminate even the faintest shadows. He pulled her legs back down towards the end of the bed. She felt helpless and thrilled. Scared and titillated. She felt him bite her ass. Then kiss it. She struggled to get free of her bonds but the knot held tight. She squealed.

  He smacked her ass. The pain felt like the wet sting of a jellyfish, but when he kissed the same spot the contrast heightened the pleasure. She desired more.