by S. Poirier
I want her. I want her in my bed. Maybe I could sleep better if she was near me.
Bad idea, dude. The last thing you would be doing is sleeping if she were in bed with you right now.
I don’t know what she thought I was going to say today, but it wasn’t what she was thinking. I don’t want a one night thing with her. I had every intention of telling her…Hell, I don’t know, because I can’t quite figure out exactly what it is that I’m feeling. But, I do know that I need more of her. One night wasn’t enough, and I’m starting to believe that I’ll never have enough of her. After what she said though, I didn’t know how to respond.
I swipe the phone off the nightstand. “Hello?” I whisper.
“Catch, man, you and your girl needs to get the hell out of Lookout Mountain right now,” there’s urgency in his voice that brings me fully out of my sleep fog. Also I hadn’t told Snitch where we were hiding out. “I don’t know what you’re doing in that Lookout town, but they found you. You need to move quickly. Did you ditch the jeep?”
“Yeah, it’s gone, hidden. They’ll never find it.” I reply as I’m hurrying to pull my jeans on.
“Good, now get going. I’ll keep you posted.” Snitch ends the call and I pull a shirt over my head. I pick up my shoes and socks and go across the hall to wake up Max.
Her bare shoulders are exposed letting me know that she’s sleeping naked under those covers. She’s sleeping on her stomach with her hair fanned out over the pillow and her arms are tucked under her chest.
I run my finger across the smooth skin of her shoulders and she stirs. “Max, babe, we have to go.”
“Five more minutes,” she mumbles as she reaches up tugs my hand down and places it on her back. I splay my fingers out across her soft, warm skin. Her body relaxes with a sigh.
My chest, and member down below the belt, tightens.
Jesus, this girl is trying to kill me.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away knowing we are out of time. “No, Max, we need to leave now. Snitch called.” That’s all I need to say for her to roll over and bolt upright. I sit on the edge of her bed and start pulling my socks and shoes on.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
I turn to look at her and she’s sitting there with the blankets down around her waist. Her beautiful tits are on full display. Two pretty, rose pink nipples are staring up at me.
What the hell? Yep, definitely trying to kill me.
“Uh, Max,” I mumble. I try to look away, but I can’t help my eyes zeroing in on her perfect pink nipples.
She looks down at her naked chest. “Don’t act like you haven’t seen them before. Now tell me what’s going on.”
I turn my back to her because she doesn’t seem to know exactly how crazy she is driving me. “They know we’re in Lookout Mountain. We have to get out of here now. Max, my mom…” Coming here was a bad idea. They’re gunning for us too hard. I never should have put my mom at risk.
She jumps out of the bed and hurries around to her bag. I look up at the ceiling because I know I won’t be able to control myself if I see her streaking across the room naked.
“All I need is two minutes.” She pulls out some clothes and zips her bag shut. “Here, take them. I’ll meet you outside.”
I take her bags and hurry out of the bedroom to let her get dressed. I take every single bag we have down the stairs in one trip. It’s only two in the morning so it’s really dark. I throw the bags in the trunk and Max’s purse in the passenger seat. I toss the duffle bag with the vest and guns in the back seat and tuck Max’s gun into the side pocket of her purse.
True to her word, two minutes later, Max comes hurrying down the stairs. The passenger door is already open, so she slips in and closes the heavy door as quietly as she can. I run over to the backdoor and slip a note underneath it. I can’t just leave without letting mom know we’re okay.
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Max asks after I start to pull the car away from the house.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine. Snitch said they know we’re in Lookout Mountain. If they knew of our exact location he would have told me.”
“Won’t Snitch get into trouble for doing this?” She starts to twist a piece of her hair. It drives me crazy when she does this. It draws all kinds of attention to her beautiful hair, face, and hands.
“Snitch is called that for a reason. He knows how to get information, and stay out of trouble. Nobody knows exactly how he does it, and we all stopped trying to figure it out years ago. He’s too valuable to Timer for anything bad to happen to him. That is, if Timer could even catch him. Snitch always seems to be one step ahead in the game.”
I take the Yankee’s cap out of the waist band of my jeans and pull it down low on my head. She watches with disgust on her face.
“We need to get you another cap,” she says as she flicks the bill. “Because you are a fan of Major League Baseball’s number one villain.” I readjust the cap and smile at her description.
The town is dark, and there aren’t any cars on the road. My nerves are on edge. I can only hope that they haven’t made it to Lookout yet, or they found someplace to crash until morning. Regardless I’m not going to take any chances.
“Max, I need you to put your head in my lap.” I could’ve phrased that another way, but I like to see her squirm.
“What? Hell no! Dammit, why do you have to be such a pervert?” She’s yelling and bouncing like a crazy woman in her seat. I can see her fist clench into tight balls, and through the dark I see that her cheeks are flushed. I don’t think she can decide whether she wants to hit me or kiss me.
I reach across the seat and grab her arm. Although her stubbornness is hot it’s also kind of irritating. “It’s a ghost town, and they will be looking for any vehicle with a couple in it. Now you can either lie down across these two seats, and put your head in my lap, or you can switch places with my bag of tricks in the backseat.”
“Alright fine,” she says as she pulls her arm free from my grip. She unbuckles her seatbelt and lies down so the low center gap between the seats is against her back. Using her right arm she sweeps it under her hair and fans it out across my left leg. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
Maybe I should have made her get in the backseat.
I glance down to see her back slightly arched causing her tits to bunch around the top of her V-neck shirt, and she’s looking up at me through hooded eyes. Everything about the expression on her face screams fuck-me-now, but I don’t know if she means it, or if she is just doing it to try and torture me.
I decide to go with the safer of the two, which means she is a clever little thing, and I will get her back for making me have to keep my dick in check.
I take the back roads, which are quieter than the main roads, but assuming they don’t think I have any real ties to Lookout Mountain they won’t know about my familiarity with the town. I can probably let Max sit up, but I’m enjoying her closeness a little too much so I decide to be selfish.
She’s twisting her hair and humming along with the rock song on the radio every once in a while moving her head to the beat. Her eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. I want to touch her, run my fingers across the cupid’s bow of her lips, down her neck and across the beautiful swell of her breast.
My knuckles are now white because I’ve been gripping the steering wheel so tightly, and for such a long period of time. I must be a fucking glutton for pain. There is no other explanation as to why I’m doing this to myself.
****
Max
I totally get why he has me doing this, and yes, I could have gotten into the backseat, but I want to be close to him. No matter how much it’s driving me crazy I need to be close to him. So, here I am torturing myself by lying in his lap.
I’m determined to do everything possible to make him uncomfortable, to make him want me. Move my head to the music, twirl my hair so my arm brushes against his abs, arch my back just enough so my boobs fall
out of my shirt. I gave him my best ‘fuck me’ eyes but I couldn’t tell if he was affected by them or not.
Good job, Max. Way to not make things awkward.
“Okay, Catch, can I sit up now?” I ask trying my very best to sound bored. Through the dark I can see the muscle in his jaw flex. Maybe I am getting to him.
****
It’s only a seven hour drive to New Orleans from Lookout Mountain, but we’re still not there. We spend very little time in Alabama and skip over to Mississippi. Catch keeps taking alternate routes, and traveling long, winding back roads through one of the creepiest bible belts I’ve ever seen. At one point I swear I see the house from the movie Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
Two days pass, two hotels, always two beds, and very few words. Catch is avoiding me at all costs, sometimes disappearing for such a length of time that I’m sleeping before he gets back. Those are the nights I sleep with my gun close. I hate when he leaves me. Yes, I’m tough, but the idea of assassins being after me seems to have knocked me down a couple of pegs.
I still haven’t put together the puzzle that is James Kelly, Fiddle, and those terrorist countries yet. I know fraud is involved, and I’m almost one hundred percent that treason is too. But I still haven’t figured the full extent of the situation. No way Fiddle is just taking money and providing them with weapons without something in return. I just need to find out what that something is.
“Ugh!” I grunt in frustration. We are somewhere in southern Mississippi—Hattiesburg I think—at our third hotel and Catch is just getting out of the shower. Tomorrow we will get to New Orleans and finally get to meet with Snitch. I’m trying my best to get as much information together as I can just in case he needs to know any of this stuff.
“Still not getting anywhere?” He asks. I look over to see that he is fully dressed, but his hair is damp and hanging in his face. We haven’t touched since the night we left Lookout Mountain. And he’s always been very careful not to leave the bathroom without being fully dressed. If he’s trying to send a message I hear that shit loud and clear.
“No. I found some receipts for tax write off purposes. James has been giving large sums of money to different charities around the DC area.” I’m looking at one as I tell him.
“Yeah, a lot of large organizations give money to charity,” he replies, always challenging what is going on inside of my head.
“But these are given only days after the funds from the terrorist countries are transferred. And they’re not coming out of that strange checking account. I have documents here showing that before the money is donated it’s being transferred into Fiddle’s main checking account.”
“Good work, Detective Brady. But answer me this,” Catch walks over to his bed and sits down placing his hands on his knees. “Why are they keeping a paper trail? It doesn’t make any sense if all this will get them in trouble for treason and fraud.”
I shrug. “Most of this stuff is recent. They could be destroying it after thirty days or so. Shit, I don’t know. There are jack-wads of idiots at Fiddle. James Kelly being the king to rule them all.”
“Hey, weren’t you once one of King Kelly’s jack-wad minions?” he asked with a chuckle.
I scowl over at him. “Don’t push your luck, Catch. I may not win in a fight against you, but I will have fun trying.” He’s suppressing a smile. I can tell by the way he’s curling his lips in. “You said that just to get a rise out of me.” I start gathering the papers off the floor and stuffing them back into their folder. I’m irritated with the whole situation. Fiddle, James, assassins, running, hiding, and Catch. “I’m going to bed.”
“Well, I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” And that’s when I notice that he’s wearing jeans and a button up, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair is now dry and in a mess on top of his head. He even shaved, and good god, the man smells good.
A wave of jealousy rolls through me because now I know what he’s been doing. He’s been going out, as in out for drinks, to bars, or whatever. I’ve been cooped up for the past two weeks and this asshole has been going out? A wave of heat washes over me as I start grinding down my molars.
“Where are you going?” I ask with plenty of attitude.
“Hmmm, you know, I don’t think that’s any of your business,” he replies, as he puts his stupid Yankee’s cap on and turns for the door.
Reeling in my urge to attack him I click off the lamp and throw the covers up over my head. “Screw you, Sage Carmichael,” I mumble. Two seconds later the hotel door slams with such force it rattles the furniture in the room.
13
Max
Two hours after we leave Hattiesburg we finally make it to New Orleans, Louisiana. Catch parks the car in some high security parking garage, that probably cost a small fortune, and then we take a street car to the French Quarter.
As much as I want to walk through the heart of one of the most notable cities in the world, Catch steers me down a side road and then over a few blocks. The longer we walk, the sketchier the area seems to become. Not to mention we are lugging around our bags.
The whole drive to New Orleans I didn’t speak to Catch. The last thing I said to him was, “Screw you, Sage Carmichael” and I haven’t spoken a word to him since. Lord knows he tried to get me to talk, but I was in the middle of a silent game record.
He would sing horribly loud, drum on the steering wheel with his stupid, wonderful fingers. He tried asking me questions that would piss me off just to get a reaction out of me, and then when he got really desperate he tried knock, knock jokes. By that time I was ready to throw myself from the moving vehicle.
Now here we are in the middle of New Orleans in some weird neighborhood and my arms are starting to burn. I stop and take a look at my surroundings. The buildings are tall, old, and all connected. Some have old balconies and most have very large storm shutters. Parts of some buildings look old and others look remodeled. Some are colorful, and some have chipping paint. Their character speaks volumes, and a part of me wishes that the walls could actually talk.
The music and sounds of foot traffic from the main part of the French Quarter have all but died down, and my arms are starting to get sore.
“What the hell are we doing?” I finally break the silence.
“I’m so glad to know that you didn’t in fact cut your tongue out last night,” he says in an icy tone. Well I’ve managed to piss him off again.
Good.
“Just answer the damn question, Catch. Dammit!” I yell.
He stops abruptly and I’m so taken in by the unique buildings that I run smack into his back. Every nerve in my body sparks to life, so I take step away from him. He looks over his shoulder at me. “Snitch gave us an address. Somewhere we can stay that no one will find us. I’ve stayed there many times before.”
“Is he there?” I ask as we start walking again.
“No. I’ve never been to Snitch’s house, apartment, underground bunker, or wherever it is that man hides,” he replies while looking at the street signs. “This way.” He takes a right and a few doors down we finally come to a stop.
The building is unmarked. It has an old charm with tall windows, big wooden doors, and a balcony with wrought iron railings that are decorated with flower boxes. Catch knocks and a woman calls through the door.
“Marina, it’s Catch, honey, open the door,” he says sweetly.
“Honey?” I whisper with a snort.
He cocks a crooked grin. “Jealous, Max?”
“Don’t be silly,” I reply, but my lie falls flat and I know that Catch notices.
The door swings open with such force that the wind it creates blows Marina’s hair back. She’s a blond. A very pale blond, and surprisingly it’s not bottle blond. This is the woman’s natural color. Her eyebrows match, and her face is heavily made up with blue and pink eyeshadow, fake lashes, and lots of rouge. She’s rail thin and her sweater dress does nothing to help accentuate any curves that she may or may not have.<
br />
In one quick motion she launches herself at Catch and wraps her gangly body around his muscly frame. That dress has risen up enough that when he puts his hand on her thigh so he doesn’t drop her they are skin to skin. Then to my horror she starts pecking kisses all over his face, leaving pink lipstick smears wherever her mouth touches him.
I’m dying. I’m ready to kick him in the balls and then scratch her eyes out.
Wait. I don’t scratch eyes out. I’m fucking Max Brady. I eat bitches like her for breakfast.
Good pep talk.
I clench my fist and flex my neck to the side. She has three seconds to take her fucking hands off of him or I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than scratch her eyes out.
Catch laughs and glances over her shoulder at me. I have three fingers held in the air. I curl one down and then the second one. That’s when he puts his hands under Marina’s arms and untangles her from his body, setting her back down in the doorway.
“Damn, hot stuff, I missed you,” she giggles, and I feel my nostrils flair. Finally she decides to notice me and turns so we’re face to face. I think the look on my face kind of scares her because her giggle dies out and she takes a step back into the house.
Catch clears his throat. “This is Marina, an old friend of mine. Marina this is…”
“Max,” she finishes for him. I look at her and I think I see her cheeks blush under all that rouge. “I know. Snitch already filled me in that you guys needed a quiet place to stay. The room upstairs is ready, the one on the corner with its own bathroom.” She steps aside and allows us to come into the building.
“Wait, does it have one bed or two,” I ask.
“Uh, one, but Snitch called you ‘Catch’s girl’,” she replies sounding confused. And I’m almost sure I hear a hint of disgust.
I roll my eyes. “Exactly what have you told him, Catch?”
He throws his hands up. “Nothing. I swear. He’s just assuming things.”
“Well, you two will just have to work it out because that’s the last free room, and I don’t think anyone is going to agree to switching. On the bright side there is a couch in the room,” Marina says in an I-could-give-a-shit tone.