by Aden Lowe
Except part of me thrilled at the barely leashed power I sensed in him. Before, he was never less than strictly gentle with me. Although I knew he possessed the capacity for violence, he never brought it into our relationship. This side of him sent my heart pounding. What would it be like, to be possessed by him now? I sensed there would be nothing gentle about it. I couldn't let it happen though. If we found the killer, afterward, he would go back to his life, and I would go back to mine. A kindergarten teacher couldn't be involved with a deadly mercenary, and I doubted if relationships worked out so well for soldiers of fortune.
At some point, I drifted into a restless sleep, tormented by dreams of rough hands sweeping over my skin, and beard stubble brushing against my most sensitive areas.
***
Flag
Why the fuck did I think I could sleep in the same room as Azia? Fucking idiot. I should have tucked her in and went to sleep in my truck. Sure as hell wouldn't be the first time. The instant she touched me, I recognized her, but instead of letting it go, I tried to frighten her by immobilizing her. Who knew if it worked. But the feel of her soft body, yielding and vulnerable under mine, gave my dick all kinds of distracting shit to think about.
So I ran. The dark, empty streets offered the perfect place to clear my head with physical activity. The punishing pace I set carried me far from the motel, and when I reached a bad part of town, I didn't bother to turn back. In sharp contrast to the dead quiet of night earlier, the sights and sounds of illegal pursuits filled this neighborhood.
A gold Caddy El Dorado from the late eighties rolled by, all tricked out with curb feelers and running lights. The heavy bass pumping through its sound system vibrated the concrete under my feet. I didn't bother to try for a glimpse of the driver behind the blacked out windows. The car slowed to a crawl just ahead, but I kept my pace steady.
After half a block of leading me, the car stopped, still pumping out that ear-shattering bass. The music nearly deafened me as the front passenger door opened and someone got out. I slowed a little, and braced for confrontation with some local bad boys trying to piss on trees to mark their territory.
A short kid, maybe twenty, approached me with a swagger. The backwards ball cap and slouched jeans seemed at odds with the shoulder length blond hair he had going on. "Yo, homes, you lost?"
I measured the consequences of my possible responses and settled for the least confrontational. "Nah, just passing through." Even though my muscles ached for violence, I needed to keep my head down on this job.
The kid gave me a long look. "Wrong answer, cocksucker. Ain' nobody jus' pass through the Sout' Side wit'out permission." He flashed a couple of hand signals to someone in the car, and the back doors opened. Two other thugs climbed out to lean against the car in poses evidently meant to intimidate me.
Sighing inwardly, I resisted the temptation. "Sorry man, I'm not from around here. Just stopped in to check on an old Army buddy before I go back off leave."
The kid's eyes narrowed in speculation. "Army? You see any action o'er there?"
A metallic taste filled my mouth. "Yeah, man. Way more than I wanted."
He nodded. "I heard dat. My brother, he went. Come home stone cold. He don' sleep at night either." He took a step back and flashed another signal to his friends. "Go on, man, have a good run." And just like that, the opportunity for violence disappeared.
The Caddy pulled away, leaving me to continue on my way. My muscles still burned with the fucking need to inflict pain, but I pushed it away. I couldn't afford to draw official attention to my presence here and risk alerting the chain of command that I reestablished contact with someone from my past. The thought of one of the creepy-as-fuck CIA handlers knowing anything about Azia sickened me. We were repeatedly warned what would happen if we reached out to anyone we used to know. The Agency authorized our handlers to take out any person or persons who might pose a risk to the operation. Azia was most definitely a risk now.
Alone once more, I ran on through the night, skirting areas with signs of nocturnal inhabitants. The next encounter might not have such a peaceful ending. Now that I worked for Azia, part of my job included protecting her, even from myself. Fuck, I needed to get the mission over and get my damn ass back where I belonged—in the shadows where no one knew me.
My revenge would have a different target. It wasn't her fault my asshole grandfather lied to her. The old fucker would lie to Jesus Christ himself if he thought he might get something out of it. He must have really gotten off on knowing the hurt he caused Azia, and on keeping her from me. We lost count of how many times he tried to interfere in our relationship back then. Hell, he even told my football coach he found a vial of steroids in my stuff. Lucky for me, Coach already knew what sort of low-life the old man was, and just laughed in his face. Labs would have cleared me, but the doubt would have remained.
By the time the motel sign appeared up ahead, my lungs burned and my legs felt like Jello from the punishment I put them through. I should have just grabbed a room somewhere else for the rest of the night, but if I wasn't there to stop her, Azia would probably go straight back to her apartment as soon as she woke up. After the encounter with her sleazy neighbor, she couldn't go back there safely. I made a mental note to make sure that fucker decided he'd rather live in another neighborhood, and quickly. And I had to focus on shit like tracking down a serial killer, and not concern myself with how Azia felt under me.
I let myself into the room, as near silent as I could manage. Her scent immediately hit me full in the face with a reminder of those few seconds when I held her down on the bed. I tried to focus on the ache in my muscles while I grabbed a clean pair of shorts and headed for the shower. She moved restlessly as I passed by the foot of her bed, and my breath caught in my throat. Yeah, I needed to get this job over with, and fast, before I started shit with her I couldn't finish.
Chapter Eight
Azia
The sound of running water nearby roused me, and reminded my bladder of the two glasses of water I drank at some point during the night. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head, trying to ignore the discomfort long enough to drift off again. If anything, that made the need to go worse. Then I realized where the sound came from. Cass—no, Flag—must have returned and decided to get a shower. At the worst possible time. At least it gave me something to think about besides the risk of wetting myself while I waited.
The past reached out with memories of how Cass and I spent some of our stolen moments of privacy. We avoided his house whenever possible, and only went to mine if we had nowhere else to go. But sometimes, during a quiet walk, we talked about all the ways we would make love in the future. He promised the home we eventually made together would have a huge marble shower, and his favorite fantasies always centered around it.
And suddenly, I had a shower fantasy of my own. I wanted to see water droplets sparkle like faceted crystals on hard muscle. They would form fascinating prisms through which to explore his tattoos, and when the time came to lick them away, they would lead me on the adventure of a lifetime. Except it could never happen. He made it abundantly clear he despised me now.
Finally, the water shut off and I sat up to wait impatiently for him to come out. When he did, the smell of his aftershave reached inside me to stir more memories. Stunned, I nearly missed the sight of his bare chest as he crossed the room.
"Didn't mean to startle you. Sorry." The rumbled words made me realize my mouth hung open.
I clamped my teeth together, shook my head a little, and darted for the bathroom. With my bladder finally taken care of, I decided to get a shower. Except, like an idiot, I left all my toiletries out there. I sighed, gathering my resolve. I would have to go get clothes anyway, I reasoned. Having Flag see me with bed head and smudged remnants of yesterday's makeup bothered me, especially when he was fresh from the shower and utterly impeccable in nothing but loose-fitting shorts. With no reasonable alternative, I gathered my nerve and slipped from th
e bathroom, intent on grabbing what I needed and disappearing as quickly as possible.
Flag stood by the table, a wide assortment of weapons spread before him. He raised a gun and I instinctively froze in place, even though he only checked the ammunition. His morbid grin startled me a little. "Don't worry, Azia, I won't accidentally shoot you."
I forced my muscles to relax a little. "But you would on purpose?"
He sobered and picked up another gun. "A couple of days ago, the answer would have been yes."
A cold chill spread through the room and my nipples hardened in reflex. "What changed?"
The gaze he turned in my direction settled directly on my chest. "I found out your disappearing act wasn't entirely your fault. All these years, I thought you fucking played me and walked away."
"Oh." I floundered for an excuse to get away. "Shower. I'm going to get a shower." And I turned tail and ran to the bathroom before he could say anything else, while his mocking laughter followed.
I took my time in the shower, and kept my mind busy with wondering what my kids were doing for the weekend. Otherwise, my thoughts would have strayed to those shower fantasies Cass painted for me all those years ago. I couldn't afford to go there. So I concentrated on whether or not Kelcee got the pony ride she had her heart set on. Hopefully Cameron stayed safe and fed with his grandmother, instead of being forced into a horrible weekend visit with his junkie mother.
By the time I worked my way through all the children in my class, my fingers turned into prunes and I couldn't find an excuse to stay under the spray any longer. I shut the water off and slowly dried myself and wrapped the towel around my hair. The rush with packing severely limited my choices of clothing. I settled on my favorite jeans and a turquoise top with a scoop neckline. Even though I had no desire to impress anyone, I took the time to dry and straighten my hair, and applied light makeup. Looking nice should at least boost my confidence a little.
There was no sign of Flag, or his weapons, when I left the bathroom. The little twinge of disappointment at his absence surprised me, but I ignored it, and turned the TV on. It was still early, so the news was on. The local anchor delivered a tease for the next story, then went to commercial break. Maybe there would be some news of the investigation into Chris' death. I still needed to know if it was a coincidence, or connected to me. Commercials about the magical powers of coffee, perfect baby diapers, and the SUV that automatically made the driver cool failed to impress me.
Finally, the news returned with a story about yet another local factory closing. It seemed like another one shut down every week now. People who found themselves unemployed all of a sudden answered questions from a reporter, and told how devastated the job loss left their families. Then a story about a charity fundraiser walk organized by a local church to raise money for clean drinking water in Africa came on. The irony of the two stories struck me. People in our own community feared for how they were going to feed their children, yet they were being asked to give money to help strangers on the other side of the globe. The reporter finished and handed off to the anchor before I had time to think much about it.
The anchor's fake smile disappeared and she gave the next lead-in. "In news we first brought to you on FirstNews At 11 on Friday, the investigation into the death of a local man continues. Bret Hollister has more."
The broadcast cut to a reporter standing in front of my building. "Yes, Meghan. Police say they're still following leads in the investigation. Christopher Reis' family reported him missing from this building on Friday, and the same evening, his mutilated body was found near the Sixth Street Viaduct. Last night, trouble visited this quiet neighborhood again. Three men, one of whom is a resident of the building, were walking through the parking lot when they were suddenly assaulted. Police have security footage and descriptions of the assailants, and are searching for any connection to the death of Christopher Reis. Area residents are advised to be especially security conscious."
He went on about not opening your door without knowing who stood on the other side, and staying in well-lit areas—all the basic safety precautions everyone already knew. I stopped listening and paced the floor. Those men that harassed me filed a police report, saying they were assaulted. The news said there was security footage. Did that mean they had Flag's picture? Or mine? Would they show up here? Or at the school when I went to work tomorrow?
A noise came at the door and I jumped up, terrified. The police? Or the men from the parking lot? Neither could be good. I looked around, searching for a place to hide, as the door swung open.
Flag stepped inside with his hands full and kicked the door closed behind him. "I brought back breakfast."
My knees buckled and dropped me to the bed. "Oh my God. You scared me half to death. I thought you were the police."
He swung his gaze to me. "The police? Why?"
The cup of coffee he passed me warmed my cold fingers as I recounted the news report. "What if the police think we killed Chris? And those men said they were assaulted!"
His chuckle grated against my nerves. "First, if there was security footage, the cops would know those motherfuckers were after you. Second, that side of the parking lot is so dark, even if they had good cameras, it would be a miracle to get usable images off them. Stop worrying. You did nothing wrong." He gestured to the table. "Come on. Eat. We have a busy day ahead."
"What are we going to do?"
He wolfed down a breakfast sandwich. "We're going to get all the details on all the murders, and find out everything there is to know about Richard Riley."
The sound of his voice soothed my nerves as we ate. Maybe he even intended to distract me from my fears, who knew. We chatted back and forth about nothing, really. Just noise to fill the silence between us. I ate half my bacon-egg-and-cheese biscuit, and rewrapped it, while he inhaled three more. If he ate like that all the time, those abs I glimpsed wouldn't look so nice for long.
"I meant to ask earlier, is your neck okay? I didn't mean to nearly break it last night." He chuckled, but his eyes were serious, guarded.
"I'm okay." The greatest danger to me came from the sensation of his body over mine like that.
He nodded and looked away. "I really am sorry. I have some pretty bad dreams at times, and when I wake up, I don't always recognize where I am, or who's there. It's best to just keep your distance."
Instinctively, I reached for his hand to offer comfort. "It's okay, Cass. No harm done."
He ignored both my touch, and my slip with his name, and returned to the meaningless conversation from earlier. By the time he finished eating and my coffee was empty, I even laughed at something he said, almost like old times. I cleaned up, reminding myself not to relax too much with him. Even though hints of Cass showed through, he certainly wasn't the same person anymore. I couldn't trust him beyond the job I hired him to do. That was all this could ever be, even when I wanted so much more.
He gathered up the trash bag and tied the top. "Ready?"
I nodded, then pointed to the bag. "They don't have housekeeping?"
"Don't know, don't give a fuck. I don't want anyone in here poking around, for any reason." He shrugged. "I told the clerk absolutely no one was to come in this room." The words suited this new wary side of him to a tee.
"Okay. That's good to know." What else was there to say? That I thought he might have a serious case of paranoia? I followed him out and waited while he double checked that the door locked correctly.
He crossed the parking area at an odd angle, then detoured to the dumpster and dropped in the trash, then another odd angle over to his truck. The door swung open and he offered a hand to help me up. How could one man possibly need such a big vehicle?
"Where are we going?" Curiosity refused to leave me alone. I needed to know what he planned.
Rather than answer immediately, he closed my door and rounded the truck to climb into the driver's seat. Had he not heard me? Or was this simply a refusal to answer?
The eng
ine roared to life. "We're going to a fast food place or something, where I can steal wi-fi for a bit."
"The motel doesn't have wi-fi? I thought that usually came included with a room now." He had to know the risks of having his credit card information stolen from free wi-fi, right? The warnings were practically everywhere, even as more and more places offered it to their patrons.
"It does. Using a non-secured network is just another layer of hiding my tracks. If anyone can track my IP address after it bounces all over the world a few times, then when they get here, it's an open network that anyone could have accessed on any device. And I don't even have to go inside to do it." The truck jolted over a drainage grate as we pulled out into traffic.
Yes, definitely paranoid. Why would someone be interested in his internet activity? The idea seemed ridiculous, but I held back my laughter. "Who do you think would be tracking?"
"The killer." His glance seemed to question my sanity, even while his expression said that wasn't his only concern. "We don't know for sure who he is, what resources or skills he might have. There are programs designed to watch for specific keyword searches, for example. He probably doesn’t have access to anything like that, but just in case, I'd rather be careful."
My heart thudded into my throat. "You really think that might be possible? That he could do that kind of thing?" That kind of thing was only possible in popular thrillers. I clung to the idea, trying to reassure myself.
"I just don't know. Until we do, we have to assume it could happen. And for the time being, we hope he doesn't know you have help. The longer we can keep it that way, the better." A rhythmic clicking sound signaled a lane change. "And my bosses have access to every kind of scary, privacy-invading software ever dreamed up by conspiracy theorists and fiction writers."