Harris didn't even bother to act subtle. He high-tailed it to Wick's table and sat down, motioning for the waitress to bring another round.
Intercepting the hand that reached for his second shot, Wick scooped it up and slammed it back. "I don't play well with others. What do you want?"
"To keep Brad out of jail, just like you. He's a decent enough guy and doesn't deserve this witch hunt fixated on him."
Wick leaned back in his chair and studied Harris's smooth features. He had to admit the face was sexy as hell, too bad the owner annoyed the shit out of him, and they'd only known each other for an hour or so. "Fine. I'll listen to what you've got to say."
Sierra, Wick's regular waitress, deposited two more shots on the table, one in front of each of them. Then she placed a glass of water and a clean rag next to Wick's netbook. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Courtesy of Chance. He said something about not wanting to keep the evidence around?" She ran her nail over her temple a couple of times and Wick remembered the drying blood on his head. She knew better than to ask Wick questions, a top reason why she procured a favorite spot in Wick's book.
After she left, Wick and Harris got down to business. Harris's tight-lipped answers proved that he wasn't all for the open sharing, luckily Wick excelled in reading between the lines.
"So we have two companies here that have been at war with each other for the past three years, both of their values slowly deteriorating over that time. Up until the last three months when their stocks have steadily increased."
Wick nodded noncommittally as he maneuvered through the files on his thumb drive and pulled up the company's URL address, quickly accessing their M drive. "Who's the highest up in Lexincorp that might have his hands filthy?"
"Uh?" Harris sniffed his drink and made a face. "Tequila? Where's the limes and salt?" He glanced around the table.
"At Kroger, limes are on sale. I need a full name—first, middle, last." He waved his hand in a come-on gesture.
Harris took out his PDA and used the stylus to tapon the screen. "Um…here, I imagine Alexander Grent might be the ringleader."
"Middle?" Wick wet the tip of the rag and poked at his tender forehead and temple. The cloth tinged from his ministrations. He glared at Harris as he waited.
"I said sorry. I've got a bruise in a very bad spot myself, if that matters." He scrolled down some more. "Here it is…um…Chipper? Alexander Chipper Grent?"
Wick snorted but typed in GRENTAC as the password. The computer blinked red and gave him an error message. He strummed his fingers on the table and contemplated this situation. He tried again, but instead of using the full last name he only entered the first four letters this time. The screen blinked again, then opened to a long list of files.
"What are you doing on that thing? Damn that's tiny."
"Buying shoes. Four inches aren't too slutty, are they?" He quickly perused the list of files until he got to one that only had three allowed viewers. That held appeal.
A spreadsheet opened in front of him with names and dollar amounts. He clicked on the link of one of the corporations accepting payments from Lexincorp with the memo notated as progress.
Wick felt Harris's presence behind him. "Holy shit! That's the CEO of Brad's company. We've got our mole."
Chapter Five
Wick ducked through the hole in the chain-link fence and circled around the apparently abandoned warehouse. The noises behind him made him grit his teeth and bite his tongue. It irked Wick that Harris seemed attached to his side, but not like it should've.
He reached the stairway to the second floor and took two steps at a time. "You live here? Um…why?"
Wick inserted his key into the door and glanced down the two steps to where Harris
stood. "I've made a lot of enemies in my line of work, got a few hits on me in the process. Best not to be flashy."
Harris widened his eyes. "Damn, really?"
Wink gave him a droll look. "No, not really. What do you think I am? A gangsta?" He shook his head and unlocked the door, making a beeline for the open kitchen in the far corner. The floor plan of his place was simple and open, split into quarters—kitchen, bedroom in the other, office in the adjacent far corner from the door and the final fourth of the place held a leather couch and some tables with a big flat screen television set mounted on the wall. In the bedroom quarter, out of sight behind a tiled L-shape wall, was the bathroom with an open shower that boasted two shower heads, one on the left tile wall and the other on the right.
Wick didn't appreciate closed in spaces, and that reasoning alone prompted him to buy this warehouse and apartment. A simple bonus was the abandoned vibe it portrayed. He liked his privacy. Of course he didn't plan to give up his luxury to achieve his privacy. The inside design leaned toward the modern side with nice clean lines and all the amenities up-to-date.
"Are you aware that you're a complete asshole?" Harris slammed the door shut and stopped at the couch, leaning on the back of it while crossing his arms over his chest.
Wick snorted, "Yes." He grabbed the fresh ground coffee from the freezer and measured it. "Drinking coffee or no? I've got beer and iced tea also, no soda though. Can't stand that fizzy shit."
"Coffee's fine. So you packed it up awful quick after we discovered the mole, and you took the back way to your place through that fence and all. Are we evading people or what?"
Wick finished pouring the water in and hit the button, turning around and mimicking Harris's stance against the counter. "Can't seem to evade you, now can I? And we went that way because my car isbelow us…" he stomped hard on the floor, "in the warehouse. Through the fence is quicker than taking a nice leisurely stroll all the way around. I'm lazy by nature."
Harris nodded his head, but Wick knew that type of nod. It more or less brushed off an explanation that Harris didn't truly buy.
What Harris didn't realize was that when Wick lied to him, and there was no doubt that he would sooner or later, it wouldn't be over something so trivial as why he took the shortcut home and he damn sure wouldn't be able to pick up on it.
"So, why are you here? You know who the mole is." He tossed a thumb drive on the island counter separating the two men. It skidded across and halted a millimeter or two before it would have slid over the edge. "I saved the incriminating evidence on there for you. It's an open and shut case now."
Harris pushed himself off of the couch and retrieved the drive, leaning his elbows on the counter as he switched it from hand to hand. "This will definitely get convictions on the guilty parties, that's for sure. Too bad I can't use it." He placed it back down and with the tip of his pointer finger pushed it all the way over to the edge of the counter on Wick's side.
Wick froze in mid-stretch for the coffee mugs. "Like hell you can't." He again mimicked Harris's pose with elbows on the countertop and pushed the drive back over. "I'm not a cop. It doesn't matter how I retrieved this info, it's admissible."
"Yes, it is…if you turn it in to the cops. Not if I do."
"I gave it to you; you're a cop. Claim an anonymous informant or something."
"I'm not a cop."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not."
"You admitted you were!"
Harris shook his head and smirked at Wick, "No, you assumed I was. I just didn't correct you at the time. Now, you know what they say about assuming, right, Wink?" And to add insult to injury, he winked.
Wick gaped at him, just before he growled, "Who the hell are you then?" He nonchalantly stood up straight and crossed his arms again, making sure his right hand rested damn close to his piece.
Harris raised both his hands, palms showing to Wick. "Calm down, we aren't drawing on each other." He cocked his head to the side and half-grinned, "At least not today. I'm a special agent. Not a cop."
"For who?"
"Need to know, which you don't. Hey, nothing has changed here. Yeah, I could take this info and say I've got an informant, but a good defense a
ttorney will blow holes in it left and right. I've witnessed it done, it's not pretty."
He picked up the drive and rounded the island so they stood toe to toe. Holding it up under Wick's nose, he continued, "With you sitting in that witness chair, combined with this, we have them."
"No. I work off the radar. Nobody at that place would even be able to eyeball me. I'm not testifying for anything." He plucked the piece of equipment out of the hand in his face and slid it in Harris's pants pocket, patting it for good measure. "Take that and go do the best you boys can do. Without me. Fuck, do I have to wipe your asses for you too?"
He hadn't meant to lean forward—those extra inches—that put him now nose to nose with Harris. As the man's scent hit him, his nostrils flared and his groin thickened. Damn, it'd been a long time since he was attracted to someone. Really seriously attracted to them and not just trying to scratch an itch. Why did it have to be this man? He reeked of complications.
When Harris licked his lips, Wick almost swore out loud. He realized he still had his hand pressed on the other man's pocket. It would be so easy to move it the slight distance to cover his groin, maybe press into it and find out if the close proximity affected Harris also.
So damn easy…
*** Wick tossed the newspaper down on his desk; it teetered near the edge and finally settled. The big bold header over a picture of two men trying to hide in the shadows blared "BUSTED" with the sub-title explaining how two prominent rival companies were caught in the act of insider trading. What better way to raise stock options than fraudulently pit them against each other from the inside, where they could monitor all aspects of the deception?
Sure, it was a wuss move on Wick's part. Slinking around and taking pictures of the unsuspecting duo in the dark—leaking them to the newspaper for a front page cover story. But hey, it kept him off the witness stand. That combined with the thumb drive made a case that no defense attorney could poke holes in, unless of course the state's attorney screwed up big time. Either way it cleared his calendar of this crap.
Brad still paper pushed at his job, informing Wick that nothing had changed with his position, but that the management was under huge overhauls. Upon a few strategically asked questions, Wick also learned that a certain Ned Harris seemed to have just disappeared. Brad contemplated that maybe Ned was in on the illegal activity, evidently not knowing the truth behind Mr. Harris.
Wick kept his damn mouth shut. He didn't want that type of complication. It had taken all his willpower to move away from Ned that night over a month ago. But he didn't seem to have the willpower not to allow his mind to wonder overit every day since…
So damn easy…he shook his head and jerked away from Ned. Quickly back stepping until his ass hit the counter and his hand brushed the side of the hot coffee pot, causing him to jerk away from that also.
The smirk Ned bestowed just for him pissed Wick off and encouraged his ass-hattery into motion. "I'm sure if you put all your blue heads together you will figure something out. You even try to pull me into this and I'll make sure your every secret is front page news."
Ned shook his head sadly. "You'd try, maybe. I believe you would, too. But you have to know who I am in order to pull that off."
He stepped closer to Wick. It took all of Wick's willpower not to scramble on top of the damn counter. Knowing Ned played with him purposely helped his resolve. Damn this man would be a dangerous person in his life, whether friend or foe.
"You have no idea what I'm capable of, Ned. Don't begin a game you can't finish."
Patting the pocket that held the thumb drive, Ned leaned the rest of the distance toward Wick and whispered in his ear, "It's not about the winning or losing that's fun, it's how you play the game." He quickly turned and headed to the front door. "I'll see what I can do with this information, I might be back. Either way, I'm quite certain our paths will cross again, Wink."
The End? Nope...not really.
Check out what Wick is up to next on March 15, 2013. Until then there is plenty of Pulp Friction to keep you happy...
Released on January 1, 2013
Lee Brazil's
Chances Are
His Grandma always said he'd come to no good. Chances Are, she's right.
Meet Chance:
"I'm Chance, this is my place. You want me; this is where you can find me."
The problem with that, of course, was that it wasn't my name. My name was actually Aaron Dumont. I picked up the name Chance as a kid when my grandma kept telling me "Chances are you'll come to no good, just like your pa." She had said it so often, it just kind of stuck. I've been Chance ever since. When she passed away and left me the remains of her estate, I sold everything but a few special items then invested it all in a nest egg for a rainy day.
I figured that's what she'd intended it for anyway. She'd said as soon as I joined the police force back in the eighties. "Chances are you'll come to no good there. It's a dangerous job and you're an accident waiting to happen."
She was right too.
Excerpt: "I have to go. Gerry leaves now. Sorry to leave you hanging." I had to get behind the bar. We do a steady business with the cops and the neighborhood people, and even though it was ten o'clock, I had four more hours until closing.
"Call me." His voice was husky and I fancied I heard just the slightest clink of that metal stud clicking against his teeth.
He wasn't the first visitor to my office, not the first face I'd stared at, trying to forget the one that was burned into my retinas, but he was different. I might have to get his name. Shit. I don't think I even gave him my name.
"I'm Chance, this is my place. You want me; this is where you can find me." I won't call. Been there, done that. Got the emotionally stunted psyche to prove it. I shoved him out the door ahead of me and let it close on our little interlude with a sensation akin to gratitude. The problem with that, of course, was that it wasn't my name. My name was actually Aaron Dumont.
I picked up the name Chance as a kid when my grandma kept telling me "Chances are you'll come to no good, just like your pa." She had said it so often, it just kind of stuck. I've been Chance ever since. When she passed away and left me the remains of her estate, I sold everything but a few special items then invested it all in a nest egg for a rainy day.
I figured that's what she'd intended it for anyway. She'd said as soon as I joined the police force back in the eighties. "Chances are you'll come to no good there. It's a dangerous job and you're an accident waiting to happen."
She was right too. That nest egg came in handy after the not-so-accidental shooting that ended my career. After my injuries healed and the physical therapy was done, I loafed around doing nothing for a bit, sinking into depression and dying slowly inside of sheer boredom. Then I found the bar, and Chances Are was born. I don't know if the name was a tribute to the woman who loved and understood me or a fuck you to the one who ruled my childhood with an iron fist. Since they're the same ruthless, gently bred Southern lady, I don't spend a lot of time dwelling on the motivation behind the name.
Every night found me here, polishing glasses, pouring drinks, and soaking up the world. I got to talk shop with local law enforcement without being responsible for the paperwork. The neighborhood itself was eclectic and I got plenty of customers in on any given night who were prone to chat and flirt and sometimes, like the rookie, even a little more.
He was still there, watching me when he thought I wasn't looking, taking the ribbing his buddies were dishing out with a flush and a faint smile. I was impressed. Rory Gaines had backbone. I liked that. It kind of made me want to test his limits, crush his spirit, just to see if he'd let me, but I knew that was the bitterness of lost love, and I'd never actually do it. I don't think.
As I polished the shot glasses, I was giving serious thought to actually going back to my office and digging that business card he'd given me out of the trash can. When the front door burst open and smashed into the wall with a sound so akin to gunfire tha
t several of the off duty cops in the room dropped to one knee and reached for weapons they weren't supposed to be carrying in my establishment, I forgot about everything else.
And... Being released on February 1, 2013
L.E. Harner's
Triple Threat
Because anything two can do, three can do better. Master Archer found his forever with fellow Dom, Zachery, but when their discreet recovery business interferes with their personal time, Archer buys exactly what his lover needs— submissive Jeremiah.
Excerpt: “Come here, Zachary,” he said. His voice was a low growl, nothing like the cultured tones he’d used with our guest. My dick responded, despite the vigorous workout from earlier this morning.
I moved to stand between his spread knees, prepared to kneel if that’s what he wanted, but he seemed content to wrap his arms around my waist and rest his cheek against my stomach. He rubbed his hand over my heated ass, his firm stroke raising my level of awareness. “Do you still feel me, here?”
His words shivered through me.
“I think I might still be feeling you through next Tuesday, but I could take more.” Archer threw his head back and laughed. “Such an eager boy. Are you sure you’re a
switch?” His to ne was teasing, but his hard hand squeezed my ass, and I moaned in pleasure. He laughed again and the sound eased the slight concern I’d felt at his earlier shift in attitude. “We have a lot to do in a short amount of time.”
“You have a plan?”
“I do.” Archer reached for his e-tablet and I opened a new document on the laptop. Archer was a genius, and there was no telling how fast his ideas would pour out once he got going.
“Check the calendar,“ Archer said, his own fingers turning electronic pages.
“What am I looking for?”
“Hold on…” He shook his head. “Opera…no…damn, there’s a premiere…what about…” he looked up, his eyes shining. “Check Thursday, three weeks from tonight.”
I checked. “There’s nothing on your schedule, shall I save it?”
Wicked Solutions Page 3