DIRTY READS

by Scott Hildreth

  “I’m a federal agent,” he said. “He’s the bad guy, a drug dealer. He was going to shoot me. It was self-defense.”

  I met his gaze. Strangely, it was the first time his image registered in my mind. Prior to that moment, he was a faceless, nameless, emotionless killer. Now, as I studied him, he seemed to be slightly more human, but more than anything, he stood out as being attractive.

  So much so that it was difficult not to stare.

  “Come here,” he barked.

  I blinked and stared, wondering how long he’d been speaking to me.

  He pointed directly in front of where he stood. “Come stand right here. With your back to my chest.”

  I did as he asked and stood in front of him.

  His hands formed around the ankles of my jeans, and worked their way up the length of my legs until they were pressed against my crotch. After patting against my pockets and along my torso, he ran his fingertips along the bottom edge of my bra.

  I inhaled a choppy breath.

  A tingling sensation shot through me as his hands cupped my breasts. His fingertips traced along my cleavage and fell beneath the edge of my bra, almost touching my nipples. I told myself he was only checking for weapons and that his touch shouldn’t have been sensual, but it was. Very much so.

  A sigh escaped my lungs.

  He released me and took a few steps to the side. My legs went weak. He turned to face me when I didn’t immediately follow him. “You’re coming with me.”

  I followed him into the bedroom and then into the walk-in closet. A paper bag right inside the door seemed to catch his attention, and after looking inside, he met my gaze and grinned.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Here in a minute, there’s gonna be cops all over this place. They’ll search this house, search my car, and start asking a lot of questions, but they won’t search you or your home. So, take this money to your house, put it in a safe place, and get your ass right back here. I’ll come for it later. I’ll give you fifteen seconds and then I’m going to come looking for you. Understand?”

  What the fuck with you and fifteen seconds?

  Still in slight shock, and somewhat overcome by his handsome looks, I stared back at him and didn’t immediately respond.

  “If you’re not back in fifteen seconds…”

  Taking the money seemed like an odd request, but I wasn’t about to try arguing with him. I reached for the bag. “I will be.”

  The neighborhood I had moved into was new and vacant – short of Brad and me. With Brad being dead, I knew I didn’t have many options regarding running away or screaming for help, and strangely, I didn’t feel I needed to. I sprinted home, tossed the sack of money under my bed, and ran back as fast as I could.

  I stepped into the living room and found him looking over Brad’s dead body.

  “Listen carefully,” he said dryly.

  I turned away. It made things seem less real. “Okay.”

  He stepped between me and the door. “You know how to shoot a gun?”

  I grew up on a farm in Kansas the daughter of an ex-con father who never saw value in abiding by the law. Truth be known, I’d probably shot a gun more than he had.

  I gazed beyond him and focused on the splintered door frame. “Uh huh.”

  “Well, it was my plan to get in and out of here without incident. This neighborhood’s empty, and he was supposed to be the only one in it. Things don’t always go as planned, though, do they?”

  I studied his chiseled facial features and shook my head.

  “My time’s limited and my options are few. You can either choose to help me, or I can kill you. I’m hoping you’ll help me, ‘cause you’re too fucking cute to kill.” He chuckled. “So, which will it be?”

  Gee, thanks.

  He may have been a cop, but he sure as fuck wasn’t a typical cop. I didn’t feel I had an option. “I’ll help you.”

  He pulled Brad’s pistol out of his waistband, wiped it down with a handkerchief, and held it by the barrel with the piece of colorful cloth. “There’s rubber gloves on the couch cushion. Put ‘em on. Put this in his hand, point it at my chest, and pull the trigger using his index finger. Understand?”

  I glanced at Brad’s dead body. My throat constricted. I nodded and fought to stretch the rubber gloves over my sweaty hands.

  What the fuck am I getting myself into?

  It didn’t really matter. Whatever happened, it was better than dying. I formed Brad’s hand around the frame of the pistol, poked his finger through the trigger guard, and pointed the barrel directly at the center of his chest.

  “My name. It’s Lex.” I had no idea why, but it seemed like a good idea to tell him.

  It seemed he couldn’t have cared less. He cleared his throat. “You heard two gunshots. That’s it. No matter how many people ask you, that’s all you know. You didn’t hear a car, see any lights, anything. Boom! Boom! That’s what you heard. Reluctantly, you walked over here. Much to your surprise, you found one dead bad guy and one cop on the floor. Upon seeing us, you dialed 911. And that money? It didn’t exist. Understood?”

  I nodded.

  If I was too cute to kill, he was damned sure too handsome to shoot. But, he asked for it.

  “Now shoot me,” he said. “I need to call this in before he gets cold.”

  I took aim and inhaled a shallow breath. His dark eyes met mine. He nodded. It was my cue. As much as I really didn’t want to, I slowly squeezed the trigger.

  The force of impact against his bullet-proof vest knocked him to the floor. I jumped from the couch and ran to his side, wondering if the bullet somehow penetrated the protective gear he was wearing. After a what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than a few seconds, he gulped a breath and tried to sit up.

  “Son-of-a-fucking bitch.” He reached for my hand. “That fucking hurt.”

  I gripped his hand in mine and had every intention of pulling him to his feet. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to stand, and I wasn’t prepared to support his weight. As a result, he stumbled and fell against my chest.

  I wrapped my arms around him and held him close as he fought to catch his breath. After a moment, I felt a wet warmth against my chest. He leaned away, inhaled a slow breath, and gazed into my eyes.

  “Carter,” he whispered.

  I rubbed my hand against my shirt and glanced down at my wet fingers.

  Blood.

  His vest had a dark wet spot on the left side of his chest. “Oh my God. You’re bleeding,” I snapped.

  He didn’t seem to care. He shook his head and locked eyes with me. “My name,” he said. “It’s Carter.”

  And he collapsed onto the floor.

  TWO

  Carter

  “Special Agent Wallace, please explain the sequence of events that brought you to the residence of Mr. Brown on the day of the shooting,” the OIG Investigator asked.

  I leaned toward the microphone and spoke clearly and concisely. “On 6 May, I received a tip from Confidential Informant 0724 that Mr. Brown was dealing in mass quantities of controlled substances, primarily cocaine. Surveillance of Mr. Brown subsequently followed, and on 8 May, while conducting surveillance on Mr. Brown’s residence, I witnessed him carrying what appeared to be a weapon into the home. A few minutes later, Mr. Brown exited the residence, returned to his car, and retrieved what I believed to be a kilo of cocaine.”

  “What led you to believe the package was cocaine?”

  “My training as a field agent, Sir. It was approximately eight inches by four inches, and looked to be an inch and a half thick.”

  “After witnessing Mr. Brown carrying what you believed to be cocaine into his residence, what course of action followed?”

  “I approached the residence. Through the blinds, I observed Mr. Brown sitting on the couch facing the door. Realizing commission of crimes contrary to 18 USC 922 subsection g, and 18 USC 924 subsection c had been comm
itted, I entered the residence, and was immediately met with deadly force.”

  “You entered the residence forcefully?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Upon entering, Mr. Brown fired his weapon at you?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And you returned fire?”

  “I was advised that I did, yes.”

  “You don’t recall returning fire?”

  I shook my head. “No, Sir. I do not.”

  “Be it a matter of record in this hearing that Mr. Brown was struck by one .40 caliber bullet in the chest, and was declared DOA by St. Luke’s staff at 20:13 on 8 May. The bullet was linked by ballistics to Special Agent Wallace’s weapon.”

  I reached for my glass of water, took a drink, and shifted my eyes toward Lex. Wearing a black dress and conservative heels, she looked much different than the day we met. Her brown hair had blonde highlights, and I wondered if they were natural or something she had done professionally.

  In my six years as a DEA agent, I had interviewed thousands, arrested hundreds, and encountered more people than I could possibly count. My training taught me how to read body language, eye movements, and even speech patterns. I had never, however, met anyone as difficult to read as Lex.

  Or as beautiful.

  She sat quietly with her hands in her lap and studied the OIG Investigator. I pried my eyes from her and took another drink of my water.

  “You do not recall returning fire, agent Wallace?”

  “I do not.”

  “Do you recall being shot?”

  I’d been shot by the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Did I recall it? Hell, I’d never forget it. I pressed my hand to my chest. Ten days had passed, and it was still sore. My third right rib was cracked and my sternum was fractured by the bullet Lex fired at me. It appeared Mr. Brown was prepared for an encounter with police, and his weapon was loaded with ‘cop killer’ bullets.

  The price I was required to pay, I supposed, for the amount of money I obtained.

  “Yes, Sir. I do.”

  “Be it made a matter of record that Special Agent Wallace was shot once with a .45 caliber weapon. The bullet pierced his tactical vest, body armor, and was lodged in his chest cavity. Upon removal, the bullet was linked by ballistics to a Colt .45 caliber semi-automatic pistol found in the deceased’s hand. Cordite samples and fingerprints indicate the weapon was fired by the deceased.”

  I feigned surprise and shrugged as if relieved.

  “After being shot, what is the next thing you recall?”

  “A woman looming over me. Her voice was distant, but I vaguely recall her telling me an ambulance was en route. On the way, en route, something.”

  “Is that woman present? Today?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Can you identify her by pointing?”

  I pointed toward Lex. She fought not to smile, but didn’t totally succeed. “Yes, Sir.”

  “That is all, Special Agent Wallace. The United States calls Alex Kriss to the stand.”

  Alex.

  I suspected her name was Lexi, but hadn’t done a background check to find out for sure. Alex suited her more than Lexi. She was a brave woman and possessed a certain confidence I had always felt was reserved for men. Having a man’s name was very fitting.

  With one perfectly placed step after another, she sauntered toward the witness stand no differently than if she’d done it a hundred times. As she adjusted herself in her seat, she shot me a quick look. It was one of reassurance, and with it, all of my concerns regarding her testimony vanished.

  “The testimony you provide will be considered evidence, Mrs. Kriss. Raise your right hand. Do you swear or affirm that the evidence you provide this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

  She nodded. “I do.”

  “On the night in question, what brought you to the residence of 12721 Holy Oak?”

  “I heard two loud bangs.”

  “Can you describe the sounds you heard?”

  She brushed her hair over her shoulder and grinned. “Bang! Bang!”

  “Did they sound like gun shots?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what gun shots sound like. They sounded like loud bangs.”

  “After hearing the noises you described as loud bangs, what happened?”

  “I walked to the neighbor’s house, stepped on the porch, and saw one man on the floor and one on the couch.”

  “Walked or ran?”

  “I said I walked. I walked.”

  “Why didn’t you run?”

  She chuckled. “Why didn’t you wear a red tie today? I don’t know. I walked. I didn’t see a need to run.”

  Wow. She’s got balls.

  Clearly frustrated, the investigator shook his head. “Both men had been shot?”

  “From what you said earlier, it sounds like you already know the answer to that.”

  “Answer the question, ma’am.”

  She sighed and leaned toward the microphone. “Yes.”

  “And how did you react?”

  “I called 911, peed, and waited for the ambulance.”

  The OIG Investigator shoved his hands deep into his front pockets and wrinkled his nose. “You relieved yourself?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I peed. Pissed. Relieved myself. Whatever you want to call it. I sat down on the toilet and tinkled.”

  It was a detail I had missed, and I was glad she caught it. She was in the home when I arrived, and I failed to ask her why. Undoubtedly, if she had used the deceased’s bathroom, her fingerprints would have been found, and her volunteering the information in court would prevent further questioning regarding her having been there before the shooting.

  “And then what?”

  “Wiped. Washed my hands without soap, and dried them on the only towel in the bathroom. Then, I waited for the ambulance.”

  “Did you speak with Special Agent Wallace?”

  She nodded. “I told him an ambulance was on the way.”

  “On the way, or en route?”

  She glared at him. “Seriously? You’re being serious right now?”

  The OIG investigator glared.

  She exhaled an audible sigh and shook her head. “You know, I’m not sure. He was bleeding, there was a dead guy on the couch, and I was fucking scared. I tried to comfort him. I held his hand. And, just in case you want to ask some more stupid questions, I sat by his side until the ambulance arrived.”

  “Very well. At any time did you peruse the home?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Peruse?”

  “Yes. Examine. Search.”

  “I know what it means,” she snapped back. “No. I just told you. I sat by his side until the ambulance arrived.”

  “After the ambulance arrived, what transpired?”

  “I walked into the yard, barfed, answered a ton of questions, and then went for a cappuccino.”

  “Cappuccino?”

  “Yeah. It’s espresso and steamed milk. I find it calming, maybe you should try it.”

  The investigator shook his head and turned away. “No further questions.”

  “Can I go?”

  “No further questions.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Can I go?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You may.”

  She stepped off the witness stand, met my gaze, and brushed the wrinkles from her dress. Her adjustments caused the neck to lower, revealing significantly more cleavage. Clearly aggravated, her breathing was labored. The two mounds of tanned flesh heaved with each breath she took.

  My mind quickly went to searching her after the shooting. Squeezing her breasts in my hands was nothing more than a procedure, but at the time – and certainly now – it seemed like so much more.

  I felt my cock go stiff.

  She turned away.

  As much as I hated to admit it, the shooting tied us to one other. We each had our secrets, and if they were revealed, we both faced time in prison.
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  My next course of action would be to make sure Alex Kriss was happy, remained happy, and had no reason to ever cross me. I had a few ideas on what I might try to lure her, but needed to see just how receptive she was first.

  Considering her testimony and apparent lack of respect for authority, I decided I might have a difficult road ahead of me.

  But I was prepared to find out.

  THREE

  Lex

  Leaving $1,200,000 in the trunk of my car made me nervous, but that’s what he told me to do. And who was I to argue with him?

  Of all places to meet, he chose a book store. At least it was one with a coffee shop. I walked up the steps to the elevated seating area and scanned through the book-reading patrons and college students.

  At a table on the far side of the platform, he stood from his seat and grinned.

  Dressed in jeans, boots, and a tight-fitting tee shirt, he looked much different than he did on the night of the shooting or in court. The night he shot Brad, he looked like a SWAT cop. In court, he looked like a businessman.

  Now?

  He made my lady bits tingle.

  His chest was massive, his waist was small, and the few day’s growth of beard covering his face made him much more irresistible than if he had been cleanly shaven. Tufts of his brown hair were tossed about on his head haphazardly. He looked like he just got out of the shower and forgot to comb his hair.

  He raised a massive hand and waved like I did each time the cops hauled my dad back to jail. I had no idea what his plan was, but it had been six months since my last sexual encounter, and if he wasn’t careful, I was going to be all over his sexy ass.

  I walked to the table and reached for the chair across from him. “Hi.”

  It sounded juvenile, and I wished I would have said something witty instead. I opted to leave it at that, and shifted my eyes away from him.

  “You want something to drink?”

  My distant glare didn’t last long. I returned a curious stare and imagined him with his shirt off. He was easily six inches taller than me, and his arms were long and muscular. His height made him appear thin at first glance, but upon further examination, he was nothing but muscle from his neck to his bulging thighs. The tingling in my lower extremities worsened. I flopped into my seat and crossed my legs.