Unlawful Contact

by Pamela Clare

  Marc grinned. “Details.”

  And then they came to his favorite part of the drive, where the highway came to the top of McCaslin Mesa and the entire Boulder Valley opened up in front of them, plains colliding with mountains and reaching a compromise with the foothills.

  “God, I’ve always loved this view—Bear Peak, Green Mountain, the Flatirons.”

  She nodded, smiled. “Me, too.”

  He glanced at the digital clock on the dash. It was almost two. “You hungry?”

  He drove her to University Hill—or The Hill as it was known to locals—and stopped for a couple of sub sandwiches.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sophie said under her breath as they walked into the sub shop. “Aren’t we supposed to be staying out of sight? What if someone recognizes you? What if there are cameras?”

  He slipped his arm around her shoulder, kissed her temple. “Would you relax? I haven’t seen a single camera, and no one is paying attention to us. They’re not looking for us here.”

  His mouth watering, he perused the menu for ten minutes before deciding to go with the pastrami. They ate outdoors on the patio, taking in the tie-dyed, dreadlocked, pierced-lip street scene, soaking up the sunshine, talking about everything and nothing in particular, the ordinariness of the moment seeming so extraordinary to Marc. He did his best to absorb the feeling, that crazy indulgent feeling of being with her, of being able to reach over and touch her hand or lick mustard off her lower lip, of watching her face and hearing her voice as she spoke, of simply having time with her.

  After lunch, they strolled back to the car, Marc dragging Sophie into an ice cream shop where she got a single scoop of strawberry and he got a bowl piled high with four scoops—cookie dough, mint chocolate chip, double fudge chocolate, and peanut butter—which he immediately devoured.

  “Damn this was good.” He licked his spoon. “I should’ve gotten the rocky road, too.”

  Sophie watched Marc polish off the last of his ice cream, both amused by his enthusiasm for such simple pleasures and saddened by it. It made her happy to see him enjoying himself, but it also reminded her of everything he would lose when he was caught. She wished she could give him everything—a lifetime’s worth of taste and touch and smell and sound to carry him through any darker days that might lay ahead. And not for the first time she found herself praying that he and Megan would reach Mexico and find a way to build a life there.

  She hadn’t told him about the pills yet—the pills she hadn’t taken. She wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it. She didn’t want him to worry, and she didn’t want to get his hopes up. The night they’d had sex had been twelve days into her cycle—she’d counted on the calendar last night—so there was a good chance she’d been fertile. Instead of feeling horrified by that thought as she ought to have been, she’d found herself hoping she was pregnant. At least she’d have a part of him to hold onto.

  Thursday would be here far too soon, and after that…

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  “You’re going to have to slow down on the eats if you want to keep your trim figure,” she teased, poking him in his 3-percent-body-fat, hard-as-steel abdomen.

  He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses and grinned. “You’ll have to help me work it off later.”

  And Sophie felt herself blush.

  THEY WALKED BACK to the car, fingers twined, then headed north on Broadway.

  “So are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “I have a storage locker. I rented it when I was still out on bond, paid for it in cash, put it under my mother’s name. The cops and the feds didn’t manage to take all my assets—I had some savings from the army they couldn’t touch and all my personal belongings. I brought it all here—cash, clothes, gear. I set it aside in case I needed to leave town fast. For awhile, I thought of taking Megan and making a run for it, but I didn’t want her getting caught up in all of it. I think some stupid part of me still thought I’d get a sentence I could live with—twenty years with parole in ten or some shit.”

  “Well, you were wrong about that.”

  The storage facility was on the north edge of town not far from the strip club and the homeless shelter. Hunt drove through the open front gate and wound his way through rows of what looked like garages, all painted bright sherbet orange. He turned into the last row, drove three doors down, and parked.

  “You need to see this,” he said.

  Sophie got out of the car and followed him, watching as he bent down and turned the numbers on the door’s combination lock—6-9-1-9-9-6. For a moment, she didn’t think anything of it. And then it clicked.

  June 9, 1996.

  “That’s…!” The night of the graduation party. The night they’d first been together. “You remembered.”

  “Of course.” He pulled the lock free. “Most important night of my life.”

  The door rolled up, just like a garage door. Inside was a cold, dark space about the size of a single-car garage that was piled high with boxes. While Hunt carried Megan’s stuff in from the car, Sophie walked inside and glanced around. A mountain bike stood propped up against boxes. A kayak lay on its side against the far wall next to some skis. There was a dusty bookshelf and an old VCR. And there, on the floor to one side was a familiar-looking backpack. Beside it was a sleeping bag in a stuff sack.

  “You came here. After you left me at the cabin, you came here.”

  “Yeah. I crashed for a few hours, then changed clothes and headed into Denver.”

  “And to think I was worried.”

  He set the last two boxes down and glanced over at her. “You worried about me?”

  “I was afraid you’d frozen to death.” She poked around, looked in some of the boxes and found clothes, shoes, books, CDs, videos, photo albums.

  Sophie picked up one of the photo albums, brushed off the dust, opened it. Whatever she’d been expecting, it wasn’t this—a portrait of Hunt in an army dress uniform in front of an American flag. He looked handsome enough to make her knees weak, happy, and confident, his face free of the worries he carried now.

  So that’s how he was before all of this happened.

  She turned the pages. Hunt wearing only briefs and dog tags, hanging with his buddies in the barracks. Hunt sitting in full combat gear in a helicopter, mountains visible outside the chopper’s door, his jaw set. Hunt standing on a desolate patch of dirt road, stubble on his face, body armor over winter camo, holding a mean-looking rifle and standing in front of what could only be a land mine.

  “Afghanistan.” He came up behind her, wrapped his arm around her waist. “Damn mines were everywhere.”

  “What happened to your army buddies?” She was almost afraid to ask.

  “Some of them left the service. Most stayed in, went to Iraq. A few were killed there.”

  “I’m sorry.” She turned the pages, fascinated by the photographs, each one a window on a part of him that she knew nothing about. Hunt outside a mud hut. Hunt next to a Humvee parked beside the rubble of a bombed village. Hunt in a T-shirt and khakis playing soccer with a group of Afghan boys. “Do your army buddies know?”

  “About my situation? Yeah. They stood by me at first. The cocaine in the crawl space was too much for them. I don’t blame them.”

  “What’s this?” She pointed to a photo of him standing, cleaned up and in dress uniform, shaking the hand of someone who, judging from the ribbons on his chest, must have been a high-ranking officer.

  “I’m getting my Bronze Star.”

  Astonished, she looked up at him. “You earned a Bronze Star?”

  He nodded. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “It matters to me.” She closed the album, slid it back into the box—but not before sliding a few of the photographs out and tucking them in her purse.

  “Come here.” He took her hand, led her to a box full of kitchen stuff, and pulled out a coffee can. He opened it, reached in, and pulled ou
t a stack of hundred dollar bills. “After today, there will be only about five grand left in here. I never told Megan about it, because I knew she’d spend it on drugs. But I want you to know. That’s one of the reasons I brought you here. If anything happens to me, everything in here goes to you. Do whatever you want with it, but please watch over Megan and especially Emily.”

  Sophie had to turn away to keep from bursting into tears.

  MARC DROVE SOUTH on 28th Street, which would eventually turn into US-36. Sophie sat beside him in silence, and he knew he’d upset her. There hadn’t been any way around that, as far as he could see. The situation was what it was, and he couldn’t change it. He’d wanted her to know about his stash, and now she knew. If he were killed or landed back in the pen, his stuff would end up going to someone who cared about him instead of landing in the trash. And if she ever needed cash in a hurry, she knew where to find it.

  He pulled up at a red light, glanced to his left. “Wow! Look at that.”

  “They tore down the old mall a few years ago and built this. Pretty upscale, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He popped on the turn signal, slid into the turn lane.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you shopping.”

  She turned in her seat and gaped at him. “What? Are you nuts?”

  “You haven’t figured that out already?”

  “You’re taking too many risks, Hunt! You can’t do this!” She was still protesting as he parked in the underground garage. “You can’t go in there! They’ve got tons of cameras. I won’t do it, Hunt. I won’t go in there with you. I won’t do anything that will put you in danger!”

  “You’re right—I can’t go in there. But you can.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of hundreds. “I hate seeing you in Mrs. Rawlings’s ugly shit. Go buy yourself a few nice things. I’ll wait right here.”

  “I won’t take your money, Hunt. You’re going to need that.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Am I?”

  She glared at him. “You scare me when you say things like that. I hate it!”

  He caught her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “We both know where I’m likely to end up. If I want to spend my money on you, let me.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. Then she nodded and took the money from his hand.

  “And, Sophie,” he said as she stepped out of the car, “don’t hold back on the lingerie. Feel free to surprise me.”

  He watched her walk away and settled in for the wait.

  SOPHIE WALKED OUTSIDE, most of her new wardrobe in bags, the rest on her body. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But Hunt had said she should feel free to surprise him, and she had taken him seriously. With the help of three or four sales staff who’d sprung forward to help her when they’d seen the cash she was carrying—and a very helpful makeup artist at the Lancôme counter—she’d didn’t look anything like the woman who’d entered the store forty-five minutes ago wearing jeans and no makeup.

  Her hair was now shaped in a French twist, her face carefully made up, her body sheathed in a short silk dress as black as sin. Black patent leather heels, black silk stockings, black lace garters, and a matching black lace bra completed the ensemble. No panties.

  If only she had Holly’s sexual courage—and her skill at walking in spiked heels.

  Doing her best to step gracefully, Sophie made her way down the stairs into the parking garage, spied the gleaming black Jaguar, and, pulse racing, walked right past it. She stopped at the end of the row and stood there, waiting. Hunt was a smart man; he would figure it out.

  And she hoped he figured it out fast. She was freezing her bare butt off.

  She heard the Jag’s engine roar to life and took a deep breath, a giggle welling up inside her. She subdued it, fought to keep a straight face, hardly able to breathe. She couldn’t blow this. She just couldn’t.

  The Jag rolling slowly, Hunt circled the row of parked cars like a predator circling its prey. When he finally drew along side her, she was on the driver’s side. The car slowed to a stop, and the window slid down with a buzz. He raked her with his gaze, down and up and down again. “Do you need a ride?”

  She lowered her voice, let the words come out slow and sultry, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Only if you can take me where I need to go.”

  “Oh, babe, I know I can.” He smiled, a slow, sexy smile. “But what’s in it for me?”

  Sophie walked closer, switched her shopping bags into one hand, and lifted the front of the dress just enough to show him what was—and wasn’t—beneath it.

  Air rushed from his lungs as if he’d been hit. “Get in.”

  Sophie dropped her dress back in place, took a step backward. “You’re my first…customer. How do I know you won’t hurt me?”

  He looked at her through dark eyes. “You don’t.”

  A tremor of excitement rushed through her. She walked around to the passenger door, which opened for her, and let Hunt take her bags. Then she slid into the seat, the heat of his gaze all over her, a look of blatant male hunger on his face.

  As the car began to move, she reached over, unbuttoned his jeans, and slid her hand inside, her blood going hot when she found him already hard as granite. “You’re so big!”

  But he didn’t answer, his eyes on the exit, his jaw clenched.

  She freed him from his jeans and stroked his entire length, working him slowly, paying special attention to the engorged head. “Does that feel good?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Sunlight flooded the car as it left the garage for the street. As the car turned onto the highway, she bent down and took him into her mouth.

  Marc gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his mind completely blown. When he’d told her to surprise him, he’d been thinking of a white lace teddy and maybe a thong or two, not a full-blown sex game and road head. Oh, but here he was, driving on the highway, going fifty-five, and getting the best blow job of his life, his cock in her hot, wet mouth.

  And, Jesus, what was she doing with her tongue?

  Merging traffic. Slow down.

  “You’re pretty good, babe.” The words came out ragged and gruff. “God, yeah, really good.”

  She moaned, tightened her grip, took him into her throat.

  Throbbing heat filled his pelvis, made his balls ache.

  Speed limit fifty-five. Speed up. Whoa! Slow down.

  He reached down, sank his fingers in her hair, holding the steering wheel with one hand, his hips lifting of their own accord, urging her to go faster. “God, yes! Fuck me with your mouth!”

  Faster. Faster. Yes!

  The Louisville exit passed in a blur.

  Slow down!

  Then she reached down, forced her hand between his thighs, and cupped his balls, keeping up the rhythm with her mouth, her tongue swirling over the aching head of his cock, swirling, flicking, stroking.

  Orgasm shot through him in great, wracking spasms, the pleasure sharp and hot, Sophie taking all of it. How he managed to keep the car on the road, he didn’t know. All he knew was that when he could think again, they were still on the highway, and no one was dead.

  She sat up, ran kisses along his throat, his jaw. “Did you like that?”

  Two could play at this game.

  “I’m not finished with you yet, babe. I intend to get my money’s worth.”

  She shivered. “What do you want from me?”

  “Lean your seat back, spread your legs and rest your knees on the dash. Then lift your dress above your waist.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  She did as he asked, exposing her soft inner thighs and the red gold curls of her muff, opening for him like an exotic tropical flower, rosy and sweet. One eye on the road and one on her, he indulged himself and played with her, feeling the softest part of her, teasing her swollen clit, sliding his finger inside her. Soon she was lifting her hips, whimpering, pleading with him. By the time he’d pu
lled into the garage, she had already come once, and he was hard again, his libido sent into overdrive by her erotic game.

  He jerked the car to a stop, turned off the engine, and closed the garage door behind them. Then he walked around to the passenger side, opened her door, and hauled her into his arms for a long, hard kiss. But he wanted more. He pulled her around to the front of the car, turned her to face away from him, and bent her over the hood of the Jag, lifting her dress, exposing her delicious bare ass.

  “I’m going to fuck you now just the way I want to—hard and fast.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a condom, opened it, and rolled it down the length of his erection. Then, gripping her hips, he drove into her.

  She closed around him like a fist, the fit so perfect that it seemed a miracle, every thrust better than the one before. He wanted to make it last, wanted to make sure she enjoyed it, too. But the sight of her bent over the hood of the Jag in her sexy black dress, her bare ass exposed, his cock pounding into her, brought him hurtling toward the edge.

  Faster…God, yes! Harder…

  She felt so damned good.

  Slick…tight…like heaven.

  He felt the tension inside her peak and shatter. Her breath broke, became a cry, her back arching as she came. And then he was thrusting into her mindlessly, lost in the hot rush of release.

  “JUST A LITTLE more. Over. Over. There! Got it!” Triumph sounded in Hunt’s voice as the snowflake settled on Sophie’s nipple and instantly melted. He ducked his head around and licked the tiny droplet of water up with this tongue. “Mmmm.”

  Sophie laughed, closed her eyes, her body floating in the steaming water, her head resting against Hunt’s shoulder, his arm around her waist. They’d been catching snowflakes like this for a while now, and she could have stayed in the hot tub forever, skin to skin with him, the night sky overhead, snow falling in lazy, fat flakes around them. It was a perfect moment, and she didn’t want it to end.

  He nuzzled her ear. “You’re turning into a prune, sprite.”