by Sahara Kelly
ANASAZI FIRE
Sahara Kelly
Content © 2018 Sahara Kelly
Cover art © 2018 Sahara Kelly
For P&N Graphics
Two novellas based around the theory that if you’ve lived a thousand years,
you’re probably pretty darn good at sex by now and can pass your skills along to the family.
Contents
Jane’s Adventure
Hot Dig
(Both these stories were originally published elsewhere as “License to Thrill” and “Anasazi Lassie” over a decade ago but have been re-edited, updated and revised for this edition.)
Acknowledgement
The Anasazi people vanished hundreds of years ago, but left a mystery behind that has puzzled archeologists, and fueled more than a few novels. We may never know the details of their disappearance, but like other famous mysteries—the colony of Roanoke, for example—the curiosity that is an intrinsic part of human nature will always find these things fascinating.
I’m no historical or archaeological scholar, so the Anasazi references here are simple in nature, since my research was extensive, but in no way comparable to detailed studies published by experts in the subject matter. Any glaring historical errors are mine alone, and I beg forgiveness.
Since these stories were originally written, I’ve been fortunate enough to spend some time at meetings and conferences in Arizona. I can now, with certainty, attest to the fact that the desert southwest heat is…well, it’s everything that Midge experienced, and then some. I love the area around Phoenix, with its unusual hills—not unlike massive termite mounds. An almost-alien landscape baking under summer temperatures that are lung-searing, but relishing dawns that are spectacular, cool and filled with the fragrance of desert flowers and the songs of birds who would probably fry if they left the shade later on in the day. I would love to know how the Anasazi coped with that merciless heat…another mystery I’ll never be able to solve.
Jane’s Adventure
Chapter One
Pooiinnngggg.
“Oh shit.” Jane Bradford clenched her teeth as the button at the waistband of her skirt shot across the silent office. “I never should’ve had that frickin’ cheesecake for dessert.” She groaned.
There wasn’t one goddamned safety pin in the entire office, either.
Mangling a paper clip into a sort of pointy sculpture, she pierced the waistband of her skirt and prayed it would hold. She also promised herself she’d give up cheesecake for the rest of her life, but knew that was a flat-out lie.
Her office was unusually quiet, since just about everybody had the flu, therefore her embarrassing button failure would—with luck—go unnoticed.
Why she hadn’t gotten the bug, she had no idea. But for once, she was rather thankful for her robust constitution, even though it came with a rather robust figure. Women with lush curves like hers didn’t get sick much. They did things like eat regular meals, stayed away from germ-breeding environments like health clubs, and of course, never kissed anybody with bacteria that might be infectious.
Never kissed anybody at all, infectious or not.
Jane shrugged, grappled with a load of files that needed to be entered into the database and promptly tore her last pair of stockings on her desk drawer.
“Fucking hell. Motherfucking…piece of shit…crappy damn pissy drawer…” Taking full advantage of her solitude, Jane recited a litany of every foulmouthed curse she could think of. And added a couple in Italian for good measure.
“Ms. Bradford.”
A stern voice at the door interrupted her caustic litany, making her jump and drop the top batch of the files in her arms. More oaths trembled on her lips, but died when she saw who was standing there.
The head of the Agency. Steven Turner.
“Er…good evening, sir.” Jane nodded at him. Fuck it. He must have heard every damn swear word. There goes my year-end bonus. She blushed.
He ignored it. “You’re the only person here?”
“Yes sir.” She shrugged. “The flu’s taken out everybody else at the moment. Was there something you needed?”
He frowned. “There’s nobody else here?”
Sheesh. Boss he may be, but apparently not too bright. “That’s correct, sir. I’m it.”
Mr. Turner sighed. “Well, you’ll have to do, I suppose.”
Jane blinked. “Do what?”
He turned away. “Follow me.”
“Huh?”
He gritted his teeth. “It was a simple instruction. You are to follow me. To the communications center. Now move your ass.” He stalked off, not even waiting to see if she obeyed.
Suppressing yet another curse, Jane shoved the remaining files onto a desk and left her office, grabbing at the waistband of her skirt as she went..
What the fuck was all this about?
*~~*~~*
Some distance away, another member of the Agency was cursing. Only this time, he was softly and fluidly uttering words beneath his breath that were close to a thousand years old.
His contact had stood him up. There were several unfriendly looking individuals leaning up against the bar of the seedy strip club, eyeing him. Their expressions were not unlike the looks a dog gives to that last piece of pizza—hungry, with plenty of teeth.
Edvarde Przybyl wasn’t too concerned. He could handle them if he had to. But he wasn’t about to blow his cover to a bunch of liquored-up, brain-dead morons, not to mention the rest of the patrons drooling over the current presentation of tits and ass.
He lifted a hand to his ear to brush his long hair aside, while also surreptitiously tapping the small receiver that lurked behind his lobe. It was part of the earring he wore—in his left ear—not that the clientele would know the difference.
The stripper, however, had noticed. She knew the difference.
He raised an eyebrow as she gyrated over to him, the sequins on her thong reflecting the neon lights that blinked up a nearby pillar. Her large breasts swayed precariously and for a second Eddie braced himself to catch her if she tipped over.
Her waist was slender and her hips lean. It was a pity her plastic surgeon hadn’t kept the rest of her in proportion. Eddie sighed. He liked a little something to grab hold of in the ass department, since fucking a bony woman wasn’t his idea of fun. Even if she was about to thrust her pussy into his crotch and do some kind of hip wiggle guaranteed to produce a hard-on in ninety percent of the male population.
“Uh…not tonight, okay?” Eddie produced a bill, folded it, held it out between two fingers, and smiled politely as she lowered her mouth on it and whipped it away.
“Thanks, baby. Maybe next time?” She brushed her solid breasts over his arm.
“Maybe.”
“I won’t forget, you know.” She teased herself against his shirt, nipples hardening as she moved in time to the music.
“That’s nice.” Where the hell was Control?
He needed to leave, to get the hell out of this dive, but couldn’t—not until Control had confirmed his contact as missing. There were other channels of communication between contacts and the Agency, but only one between the Agency and the agents in the field.
Control. That voice on the commlink that filled an agent in on the up-to-the-second details of each mission. The voice that had decided to take a hike right at the very moment he needed it most.
Inwardly, Eddie seethed. Outwardly, he continued to smile at the stripper. Given the lack of customers, she’d decided he was her best bet, in spite of his protests and the fact his smile was about to crack his cheeks.
“My name’s Lulu.” Her breasts wobbled in confirmation.
“Ah.”
“And I’ll just bet you’ve got a mighty big cock down th
ere.”
“Hmm.”
“I love cock. Love sucking cock. Licking it, running my tongue up and down, right round that sensitive bit at the veeeery tip…” She giggled. “Especially on quiet nights like this. My pussy loves big cock too.”
*~~*~~*
“My pussy loves big cock too.”
“Good God. What’s that?” Jane’s jaw dropped as Turner pushed her into the chair in front of an electronic console.
“That’s your agent’s conversation. His Control…er…fell ill.” Turner looked embarrassed. “Rather suddenly.”
Jane winced. “Threw up, did he? There’s a lot of that going around.”
“I’m sure it’s a lovely pussy, but really, not tonight. Thanks anyway.” The male voice oozed through the speakers like warm honey.
“Oh for heaven’s sake, turn that to headset, will you?” Turner looked helplessly at the console.
Jane settled the earpiece unit over her head and clicked a switch. Now that voice would ooze for her alone.
“Where is he?” She toggled various switches eliminating background interference.
Turner sighed with relief. “He’s in a strip club, at a supposed meet, but his contact just called in to change the location. Can you tell him that?”
“Of course.” Jane hit the “send” button. “This is Control. Repeat. This is Control.”
“Well, it’s about time…for me to leave, baby.”
Hmm. Quick thinking on his part. Probably leaving one sad and horny woman behind him, though, if he looked anything like his voice sounded.
Turner passed her a slip of paper. “Here’s the new information. Get it to him as soon as he’s clear. You’re in contact with Agent EP-9—his Control for the moment, Ms. Bradford.” He moved to the door. “Get that stuff to him, and stay live while he makes the meet. That’s all.”
“Uh…what do I do? I can use the machine, but I have no clue about Control responsibilities.”
An odd grin curved Turner’s mouth. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about with Agent EP-9. He’ll take care of himself. He always does. Your job is just to monitor him. Give him whatever information he needs.”
“Ah.” I can do that. I think.
Turner’s cell phone chimed and he answered it, cutting off the conversation abruptly. “I have to go. I’ll be back in a while. Keep up the good work, Ms. Bradford.”
Right. Roger that.
Jane was alone in a strange cubicle, in front of a multi-gazillion dollar piece of equipment, connected to the most seductive male voice she’d heard in years.
“All clear, Control. Come in please.”
Damn. That was one hell of an offer. I wonder what he looks like? She squelched down her hormones, gathered up her work ethics, and settled in to do her job. “Control here.”
“Where the fuck is Kurt?”
Jane frowned. “Kurt, who I assume was your previous Control, is doubtless sucking down some sort of flu medication. And then barfing it back up again. In case you missed it, buddy, there’s an epidemic going around here.”
A gusty sigh blew into her ears, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. What the hell was it with this voice? “Yeah. I’d heard. So I get a newbie. Swell.”
“Look Agent EP—er—nine, I’ve had a shitty day too. Let’s get this over with, shall we?”
Silence reigned. Then a small chuckle sounded. “Okay, darlin’. You got a new contact point for me? Since this one’s a bust. In more ways than one.”
Jane overlooked the endearment. This agent was probably as much of a self-absorbed horny asshole as some of the others she’d seen. Sex and secret agents seemed to go hand-in-pussy these days. She wrinkled her nose and read off the address over the mike.
“Oh lovely. A whorehouse.”
Jane chewed her lip. Obviously Agent EP-9 knew the area better than she did, since this fact was news to her. “Ah.”
“About fifteen blocks or so south from here, I think. Hang on…”
There was an odd whistling sound, like the one reporters do their best to avoid on windy days. She adjusted the gain.
“Okay. I see it.”
Jane blinked. “I thought you said it was fifteen blocks. How’d you get there so fast?”
“Shortcut.”
She opened her mouth to question that succinct non-explanation, but his next transmission stopped her.
“Shit.”
“What?”
“I’ve got company. Three of them, leaving the entrance right now. Not happy.”
“Three who? Not happy about what?” Jane sat helplessly, staring at blinking lights with unseeing eyes. This was like walking into the last reel of a mystery movie, or reading the last chapter of a juicy murder novel. She’d missed all the explanatory action and had no idea who the fuck he was talking about.
“Ssshh.”
Jane shushed.
For about five seconds. “Look, I’m supposed to be your Control. I’m here to help you.”
“Then shut the fuck up for a minute or two, will ya?”
Jane snapped her mouth closed. Asshole. Thinks he’s God’s gift to national security.
The silence was broken by the sounds of doors opening and closing and muttered conversations. There was a giggle, a shout, more giggles—what the hell went on in those places anyway?
Jane did her best to stay professional about the whole thing. So Agent EP-9 was in a whorehouse. Big deal. It would’ve satisfied a rather naughty curiosity if he’d described it for her, but she was a professional first. Okay, and a nosy woman too, but that was a distant second. Right at this particular moment, anyway.
“Control, I’m approaching his room.”
“Roger that.” Call me a newbie, will ya?
He chuckled again softly, and Jane had the oddest feeling it was for her alone. She shook it off and focused, closing her eyes and envisioning a door opening onto…what?
“Oh—merde.”
Okay. There was nothing in the rulebook about not responding to French curses. “What?”
“I said shit.”
Jane sighed. “I speak French. I understood the word. I wanted to know why you’d said it in the first place.”
“It’s not good.”
“Huh?”
“My contact’s dead.”
Chapter Two
Eddie stared at what was left of Sully “The Sneak” Adams. It seemed he’d departed this life unwillingly, since his hands were bloody and bruised, his body twisted, and his knees were clenched tight into the fetal position as if to protect himself in his final moments.
Eddie frisked the body carefully, but there was nothing in his pockets. “Control, notify the locals. DB at this location. Homicide.”
“Roger that. Dead body at your location.”
She was efficiency personified when she remembered to be, and a delight when she didn’t. In spite of the carnage inside the room, Eddie grinned. He wanted to meet this one. But first things first.
“Authorities notified. Also Mr. Turner. He suggests you return to base and regroup.”
“I’ll just bet he does.” Eddie shrugged. “Tell him I’ll be there ASAP.”
Looked like he was going to get to meet his new Control sooner rather than later. A prospect that lightened Eddie’s thoughts considerably. While a portion of his mind worked over the new dynamics of the case, another part considered his options concerning her.
Fuck, he didn’t even know her name yet.
A few minutes later, he was walking in the door of the Agency and running his hands through his hair. Flying always made one annoying bit stick out from the back, and he wanted to look his best.
There she was.
Eddie stopped for a moment or two in the doorway, staring at her. Intent upon her console, she leaned over it, sandy brown hair tucked neatly into one of those scrunchy elastic things. Her blouse was taut over her back, showing the outlines of a lace-trimmed bra. Full hips were planted firmly in he
r chair, their swell making Eddie’s mouth water. He did so love a rounded ass.
He cleared his throat and she glanced over her shoulder. “Hi.”
She turned back to whatever it was she was doing. Calling him, by the sound of things. “Agent EP-9. This is Control. What is your location? I repeat…what is your location?”
“Right behind you.”
She spun around, giving him a perfect view of the full breasts that pushed out the fabric of her blouse. Niiiice.
“Look buddy, the trash is over there, okay? I’m kinda busy here.”
“Uh…I’m Eddie Przybyl.”
“Good for you. Like I said,” she nodded her head to the corner of the cubicle. “Trash is over there. Now take a hike, will ya? I don’t have time to chat.”
“Ah good. You’re both here.” Turner walked around the corner and pushed Eddie into the small room in front of him.
Jane gaped. “Huh?”
Eddie smirked.
“I forgot. You’ve only met over that.” Turner pointed at the console. “Eddie, this is Jane Bradford, your temporary Control. Jane, this is Agent EP-9. Edward Przybyl.”
“Not the janitor.” Eddie couldn’t help adding the taunt. He was mostly amused, in spite of a little hurt she’d confuse him with the maintenance staff.
She leaped from her chair, color spreading over her cheeks in a hot blush. “Jeez, I’m so sorry. I thought…I mean you look like…uh…” She stuttered to a halt. Then gasped as a slight rustling sound followed her words and her skirt dropped from her body to puddle on the floor around her feet.
Eddie couldn’t help it.
He looked.
*~~*~~*
Jane wanted to die. Right then and there. But of course she didn’t. She just gasped out her horror and glanced up from her fallen skirt into Eddie’s eyes.
Big mistake.
Glints of fire flickered behind his gaze as he stared at her panties. Damn, he was staring through her panties. She could feel her pussy begin to moisten and swell under that look. Something in her gut made her want to part her thighs so he could get a better look. Maybe even touch her.