"I think too much about you, and kissing your breasts, and slipping my fingers in and out of you while you rub yourself against my palm and purr in my ear. God, you're so tight... and hot. Tell me how hot you are."
"David..." Her voice was raw with need.
"You can have me, love. Your mouth feels so good sucking on me. I'm big and hard, and just about ready to burst, but I want to be inside you. Guide me, baby. Press me against you, right where you want me. Now move me, up and down then in and out. That's it. Up and down. In and out. Don't stop. C'mon, stay with me, honey. A little faster now. Oh, god, you're good. I'm almost there. Come with me, please."
He could hear her breathing clearly now-—short, broken gasps that harmonized with his own. "Say when." He clung to the edge of the cliff, waiting for her.
"Now."
He let go, knowing she was with him all the way.
Moments later, releasing his own ragged breath, he murmured, "G'night, Holly." And hung up before she could say a word.
The dreamy cloud of pleasure lifted from Holly's mind with the disconnecting click. It took a little longer for her body to catch up.
Damn him.
Chapter 17
David had only been asleep a few hours when the call came. Mick D'Angelo was willing to meet him at the Peacock Lounge in two hours. At the appointed time, David strolled into the nearly deserted bar as if his heart wasn't racing with excitement.
He mentally dismissed the lone woman talking to the bartender. Only one other patron remained, and he was either a professional wrestler or Mick D'Angelo's muscle. The only hair on his big head was a thick, brown Fu Manchu moustache. Even his eyebrows had been shaved off. The fact that he was seated at a table in the far corner of the room did not hide his considerable size.
As soon as the hulk spotted David, he stood up and jerked his thumb toward the men's room. David realized he had underestimated the guy's height and weight—he was literally a giant. It occurred to him that the man wouldn't need a weapon to be frightening, but he probably carried one anyway. Something like a chainsaw perhaps.
In spite of the little voice screaming that this was one of the stupidest things he had ever done, David followed the hulk into the restroom.
"Stwip to the skin."
David's head tilted back with a jolt. Hulk not only had a lisp, but a decidedly feminine pitch to his voice. And he was blocking the exit. "Hey man, I thought you were somebody else. I'll just go back out there and wait—"
"Aren't you David Wells? Word was you were a pwetty boy. Be cool. I pwefer tits with my piece of ass. I work for Mr. D'Angelo. You don't get to see him unless I guarantee you're not wired... anywhere."
David's mind ran through his options, which were severely limited by his desire to meet D'Angelo. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Hulk took it from him, gave it a thorough inspection and hung it over the door to a stall. Next went his shoes, socks, and slacks. Feeling less certain about his need to see D'Angelo every minute, he tried to remain as nonchalant as one could while wearing nothing but bikini briefs in front of a giant fruit fly. A disgusted sneer from his tormentor got him to remove the last of his clothes.
"Arms over your head. Spread your legs."
David did as he was told and gave in to the urge to close his eyes as Hulk circled him. Three swipes of the man's big, calloused hand verified that David had nothing hidden in any crevice.
"Okay. Get dwessed and come back out. I'll get Mick."
David had his clothes back on a minute later. It took several minutes more to replenish his lungs with air. When he reentered the lounge, he saw Hulk standing beside the table he had vacated. Seated next to him was an overweight, middle-aged man with thinning black hair slicked straight back from his face and a bulbous nose that had experienced one fight too many.
"Mick D'Angelo," the man said, introducing himself with a friendly smile that didn't reach his eyes. He didn't rise or offer his hand, merely waved toward the chair on the other side of the small table.
"Your receptionist has cold hands, D'Angelo," David stated in a flat tone as he sat down. "A little extreme for a simple conversation."
D'Angelo shrugged. "I can't take chances. I already know you're a reporter, and a reputable one at that. I figure you could be looking for a hot story."
"I'm not."
"So you say. At any rate, now that I know you're not recording our little chat, I can say anything and it would be our word against yours. So, tell me what I can do for you."
"I represent someone who might be interested in buying one of your special films."
"This person's with the government?"
"Yes, but he wants it as a gift for a rather influential foreigner."
"Middle East?"
"I didn't ask. Don't really want to know."
"That's okay. I have a fair idea. At least now I understand how you got my name. This isn't the first time a politician has come to me for a buy. When you carry a unique line of products, word gets around. Tell me, Mr. Wells, where do you fit into this goodwill operation?"
"The secre—, er, I mean, the government employee did me a big favor a few months back. Slipped me some highly confidential information. I thought I was repaying it in kind until your trained ape redefined the term 'close encounters'."
D'Angelo allowed himself a horselaugh, then instantly got serious again. "I'm going to go with my gut on this and believe you. I can usually judge a man's honesty by looking in his eyes. You've got honest eyes, Mr. Wells. But if I've made a mistake this time, I guarantee you'll suffer ten times more than I will. You might consider what a real close encounter with Butch would be like."
He paused to make sure his threat had taken root. "Okay. I've got something for every taste. Depending on the subject matter, the tapes run from a hundred to a thousand dollars each. You want to see them first, that costs, too."
"Just to see what I'm buying?"
"Sometimes that's all a person wants is to see it once. Nothing's free. So, what's the man looking for?"
"Actually, I don't think what he wants would be in the price range you mentioned. He was under the impression you had an original movie... the kind someone would die for." He kept his eyes on D'Angelo's and saw the acknowledgement there.
"There is only one DVD, no copies. It would suit my purposes for it to leave the country. But it's a big risk for me to even take it out of safekeeping. Viewing cost will be ten grand. Purchase price is one million."
David managed to keep from gaping only with the greatest effort. Instead, he nodded as if it was what he had expected to hear. "I have to see it first. The fee's no problem. I'll decide if it's worth the price tag after that. When and where?"
"I have a specially equipped screening room. I could have it available tonight. I'll call you with the directions when it's time. Cash only, nothing larger than hundreds. Come alone, and if you start getting any funny ideas about what a good story this would make, just think about Butch's cold hands."
By the time David returned to his hotel room, he was seriously questioning his sanity. He had never taken a risk this big for a story. His life was actually on the line. And where the hell was he going to get ten thousand dollars by tonight?
On the other hand, if he could get the money, and if he could get a look at the film, he would have the kind of story that could put his career over the top. Did the end justify the means?
You bet your ass it did!
His editor ran over the same ground when David called in, then came up with the same conclusion, but he refused to go along with David's plan to stick his neck out all alone. He told David to stand by while he made a few calls.
* * *
For three days Holly had fretted over how she could reach David to warn him to be careful. His editor swore he didn't know where David was staying in Miami. Though he took her messages, she had the feeling he'd given the same speech before, many times to many women.
It would serve David right if he—She cut of
f the vindictive thought. This wasn't his fault. It was hers, for trying to play a game that was beyond her experience. If anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself. She thought to check her caller ID as soon as she awakened, but it only showed the words, unknown number and hitting star sixty-nine was just as useless.
So far she had heeded Bobbi's and Philip's advice—only because she wanted to talk to David before doing anything else. But it still didn't go down well. As soon as the sun came up, she called the one other person she felt comfortable talking to. She had called April on Friday before leaving for Maryland, just to let her know their plan was moving along.
With each conversation they had, Holly felt more comfortable about confiding in her. It had been a long time since she had had a best friend that she could talk to that way, and although April was free with her advice, Holly never felt as though she was being treated like a patient.
"April? It's Holly. I hope I didn't wake you."
"Oh no," April replied with a smile in her voice. "I'm an early riser. Is everything all right?"
"Yes. No. I'm not sure. Can I talk something out with you?" She heard April murmur to someone who must have been in the room with her.
"Actually, it would be a bit difficult for me at the moment. Could I call your office later today?"
Holly chewed on her lower lip as she imagined Evelyn or Philip overhearing her conversation. "I don't think that would be a good idea. It's about the two—"
"This really is a bad time," April interrupted sternly, enunciating her words with exaggeration. "I'll tell you what. Why don't you come up here this weekend for that long visit we talked about? It's only about a two-hour drive. You can come up on Saturday morning and stay overnight."
Holly hated having to put it off that much longer, but it was clear that April was reluctant to discuss the situation over the phone. She accepted April's invitation and wrote down the directions to her home in Newark, Delaware.
As soon as she hung up, her thoughts went to how she would explain her absence to Philip. She had lied to him about visiting April last weekend and now she would be going there legitimately. At least this time she wouldn't have to give him a phone number with transposed digits so that he couldn't possibly call to check on her. All she had to do was convince him that April wasn't like the other women in the group.
* * *
When his editor called back, it was to inform David that he had an appointment at the Miami headquarters of the FBI. Not knowing whether D'Angelo would have him followed, David walked partway, changed cabs once and direction twice. As soon as he gave his name to the guard, he was taken to an office where Senior Agent Quick and two of his underlings awaited him. All three were of medium height and weight, had medium-brown, regulation-cut hair and wore navy-blue suits and ties, white shirts and brown wing-tipped brogues. They made a point of having him sit before they would. It took considerable restraint for David not to voice any of the sarcastic quips that came to mind.
Living up to his name, Quick wasted no time on preliminaries. "Washington has confirmed your identity and the fact that you're looking into a story. But I gather you weren't expecting this. Who put you on to D'Angelo?"
"How did you manage to get to him?" Number Two asked less casually.
"Why are you so certain it's a genuine snuff film and not a good fake?" Number Three demanded.
The questions went on, with David answering as concisely as possible, except on the matter of his informant. He refused to divulge more than that some hooker in some bar had given him a lead. Before leaving the hotel room, he had trimmed the photo of Nikki Farris to cut Cinnamon out.
Finally convinced David had told them all he could, or would, at this point, Quick moved them to the next stage. "Normally, we would set it up so an agent could take your place for the buy."
"Fuck that." David let them absorb his refusal before explaining. "The strip search should give you some indication of how careful D'Angelo is being. There's no excuse in the world that would convince him to accept a substitute for me. He'd know something was up. And his orders were that I come alone, so you can forget assigning me a guide dog too."
Quick gnawed on the end of his pencil but he agreed with David. "We've been trying to get something substantial on D'Angelo for a long time. His file is overflowing with penny-ante shit but this could be the break we've been waiting for to really nail him. Besides the snuff film, we'd like to get our hands on a variety of the other stuff he's peddling, especially kiddie-porn. That goes over with a jury better than a prostitute getting herself killed."
Quick turned to his two colleagues. "We're going to have to bring in Miami's homicide people on this one. The murder isn't our jurisdiction, just the pornography." He returned his attention to David with a frown. "The only thing I hate more than getting a civilian involved in a case is having a loose-lipped reporter underfoot."
David bristled. Everyone knew a newsman and a cop made poor bedfellows but the guy didn't have to get insulting. "I have no intention of risking my neck only to bury the story. I'm a professional. I know just what I can and cannot report to keep from jeopardizing a case." Quick was clearly not convinced. David had two choices—drop the whole thing or come up with a compromise. "I'll agree to giving you a preview of what I'm writing, then seriously consider any revisions you suggest with an open mind."
Another few seconds passed before Quick gave in. "All right. I don't have any better idea. You'll have to be the front man."
Number Two stood up. "I'll put in an emergency request for the money and set up the equipment to trace any calls going into his hotel room. I'll stay with him while he waits."
"I wouldn't count on the trace helping much," Number Three put in. "More than likely the call will come from a throwaway phone without GPS. We'll have to come up with a different way to wire him for sound in case they strip him again. And a homing device, so we don't have to follow too closely after he gets the call. We have to figure somebody may be on the lookout for heat following him." He walked over and threaded his fingers through David's hair.
David jerked his head away. "What the hell?"
Number Three grinned. "It's perfect. A few snips underneath, two drops of super glue, and no one would ever guess he's got bugs in all those curls."
Another couple hours passed before David and Reese—Number Three had finally deigned to give his name—returned to the hotel room to wait for the call.
It was determined that David would have to sit through the videos long enough to be positive about what he was seeing. Three taps on the bug in his hair would signal Agent Quick that the jackpot was waiting for him to come scoop it up. There were no guarantees about David's safety. The best they could offer was to arrest him along with D'Angelo. If he was good enough at acting shocked and scared, maybe D'Angelo wouldn't immediately figure out who'd set him up. David assured them that he understood the risks of what he was about to do.
At midnight, the call came in from D'Angelo himself. It took less than a minute for him to give David directions.
"Hold it," David said, responding to Reese's hand motions to extend the call. "Just so we don't have to go through this twice, I wonder if you could have another one or two of your products available."
"Such as?"
"I know someone who likes his, uh, entertainment, on the young side."
D'Angelo laughed. "No problem. We'll make that the appetizer before the main course. I'll wait for you until one. After that, I split."
Reese gave David a thumbs-up at the same time D'Angelo cut off. The conversation had been recorded though it had been too short to trace. "You'll be followed, that's for sure," he told David. "He wouldn't have given those directions so easily unless he had a plan to make sure you didn't have a tail of your own."
David made a point of driving safely and slowly to make sure D'Angelo's shadow was satisfied that he was coming alone. He reached the location, a warehouse in Hialeah, west of Miami, with fifteen minutes to
spare. When he saw Butch standing outside one of the garage-type doors, he hoped the homing device glued to his scalp was still functioning. As soon as the bodyguard was positive David had come alone and no one was hiding in the trunk, he directed him to park some distance away.
David was amazed that he was able to walk back without his knees giving out. Butch raised the door and waved David forward.
All David could see in the dark interior was a barrier of drywall with a very narrow door on one side. The giant opened it, motioned David through, then closed the garage door behind them. The next instant, a dim light came on from a lamp across the room where Mick D'Angelo was seated.
Directly ahead of David was a large flat-screen television, and to one side was a double bed covered by a dingy-looking, rumpled sheet. A dripping air conditioner in the upper corner of the back wall was putting out more noise than cool air, but at least it was enough to keep the windowless room from being suffocating. Between the air conditioner and the sound-absorbent tiles covering the ceiling and walls, David figured almost anything could go on in there without anyone outside questioning it, particularly in the middle of the night when the place was deserted as it was now.
D'Angelo waited until David's attention returned to him. "You have the cash?"
David handed him the thick brown envelope and watched him leaf through the bills.
"I regret the necessity to inconvenience you once again, Mr. Wells, but due to the unusual quality of the film you're about to see, I'm not about to take any chances."
At first David didn't follow his meaning then Butch stepped forward and held out his hand with a smirk on his face. David frowned, but unbuttoned his shirt. The sleazy room and having another pair of male eyes on him made the process that much more embarrassing, but he survived unscathed.
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