by Tara Oakes
“Um, th-thanks,” I play the sweet, innocent act. I know I’ve put him in a terrible spot here, but he’s doing exactly what I knew he would from the second I hatched this crazy plan to recruit him.
He’s following through.
He’s risking his safety and his freedom to help someone he’s only ever met through a computer screen.
“No problem,” he straightens me, before deciding I’m stable enough on my feet to be left to my own devices. “How do I look?”
I’d been caught off guard by the opening door and almost tumble that I haven’t been able to see much other than the kindness of his eyes. I fix that, and quickly.
His once clear and soft eyes are now dark and muddy like my own, with the colored contact lenses changing his naturally blue eyes to brown. The sharply angled cut of his chin is concealed by the short scruffy beard that’s been placed expertly. He’s obviously used some of these things before to change his appearance, no doubt for one of his FBI assignments.
Lastly, the dark hair that had just the right length to it to be sexy while still appearing to be professional is now nearly gone, buzzed to an almost military style that makes it look lighter and less thick.
Wow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was looking at a completely different person. On the outside, at least. The one part of him that hasn’t changed is the one part I stare at now.
His lips.
His gorgeous, full, but weathered, lips that carry just a bit of smirk on them.
Ugh!! I remind myself once again that this isn’t part of the plan. That I can’t get attached to him in any way, whatsoever.
This is a business deal, plain and simple. He helps me, and then I erase the planted evidence that could convict him of a slew of crimes and send him away for a really long time.
That’s all there’s room for in this arrangement, that’s all there’s time for.
Everything else is just background noise that needs to be ignored, for both of our sakes. It could prove dangerous, too dangerous in fact, if we let anything else get in the way of the mission.
No matter how fucking bad I want to bite his smirking bottom lip right now.
“Not bad,” I lie. It’s probably one of the best disguises I’ve seen, but I don’t need to go telling him that. I guess maybe the FBI actually knows what they’re doing in some things, even though I’ve managed to evade them time and time again.
“Now, let’s go.” I don’t wait for an answer, instead grabbing the rest of my own costume, a pair of oversized sunglasses to wear along with the short brown wig I’m sporting.
The outfit wouldn’t be complete without the tourist maps in hand and professional looking camera hanging from the lanyard around my neck. To any unsuspecting eye, we look like just a couple of random tourists here to see the sights, and that’s exactly what I want them to think.
With my own hands full, I point to the small gym sized duffle bag that houses all of my equipment. “Can you…?”
Like a true gentleman, he nods, picks up the bag by the two twin straps and we head out of the crappy low budget room and into the crowding hallway.
More than one language being shouted and mumbled alike between the many faces in the moving line can be heard. Beau and I add English to the mix.
“What’s all this? Fire drill?” he asks from behind me as I take up the lead.
As if. Things are very different in the Ukraine than back at home, for him, in the States. There’s no way a dump of a hotel like this even has a fire escape, let alone optimistically hoping it meets fire codes.
“Tour group,” I call over my shoulder. “We’re about to embark on a long, dirty, smelly bus tour to Poland. With some stops along the way, of course.”
Someone’s oversized suitcase hits me in the leg as they pass. Damn. That’s gonna leave a bruise.
“Hurry up!” I make sure he can hear. “We don’t want to end up in the back near the bathroom. Trust me.”
He heeds my warning and picks up his pace. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
Our conversation garners a few quizzical looks from people trying to beat us to the exit of the hotel. Not because they’re interested in what we have to say to each other, but rather because we don’t plan on sitting in the rear and neither do they. It’s a race to the finish and the losers will be breathing in exhaust fumes and overly sprayed Lysol for hours on end.
In the end, we win, although the prize is hardly something to write home about. The many customers of the paid tour ride try to bottle neck into the narrow door to the aging coach bus and we fit right in. Almost.
“Here, honey. You forgot to put this back on.” I hand Beau the simple gold band that matches the one on my own left hand ring finger. I’d picked them up for thirty dollars each at one of the local pawn shops and they will help to corroborate the information on our phony passports.
The only thing stopping him from doing a double take at the random piece of jewelry that I withdraw from out of my pocket is the tone of my voice; saccharinely sweet and full of hidden meaning.
I can tell from his reaction to the ring that he doesn’t like to wear much jewelry. Probably just the Tag Heuer watch on his right wrist and the dog tags around his neck that I made him hide in his shoe.
It would be kind of stupid to pass him off as one person when the official tags around his neck claim him to be another. I’m sure the border control, no matter how lax they can be at times, would just love that one.
“Sorry, honey. Can’t believe I forgot.” He winks as we slow to greet the conductor waiting at the foot of the stairs to enter the bus.
“Dokumenty i kyvtky bud’ laska,” or, Documents and tickets please, he asks in an unenthused way.
I hand over the very expensive passports. They purposely look worn and used although they cost more than most would pay for a new car. Each.
Normally, I could procure these types of documents easily and cheap enough. For this journey though, I needed to ensure that there was an extra level of security. One that would guarantee that the information doesn’t make its way to those who could be looking for me, or, rather now, for the two of us.
“Ah, Canada!” The conductor smiles broadly at our politically neutral “home” country’s emblem on the cover of the small booklets. He speaks English now, accommodating us. “Welcome, welcome. Always happy to have Canadians aboard. So much better than Americans.”
I can’t help but notice how the word Americans is spoken with disdain. Beau notices too as he straightens and smiles tightly at the man signing our tickets and handing them back to me. He knows better than to say anything to defend his motherland. For now, he’s forced to play the part and pretend to be an ice hockey loving, plaid wearing Canadian.
“Thanks,” I smile warmly at the man and make sure to add a little French Canadian accent to my words. “How long until our first stop?”
The once interested man has now moved along down the line and accepted the outstretched travel documents of the next passenger. “Nine hours ‘till first stop.”
Perfect.
The one good thing about large buses like this one is that they can travel long distances on a single of their large fuel tanks. Anyone that’s potentially following us in one of the commonly small and economical compact cars will need to stop long before us and lose our tail.
One can never take too many chances.
Not even two average Canadians.
~*~
BEAU
“This is without a doubt, the worst trip I’ve ever been on,” I can’t hold my thoughts in anymore.
The risk of offending any of the other passengers is low as most are sleeping and the others are occupied with earbuds lodged in their ears and their phones in hand.
“Don’t be such a big baby. We’ve only got about another hour or so to go,” Raven doesn’t seem sympathetic.
She’s been typing furiously on the travel-sized laptop resting on her knees almost the entire ride,
typing in some kind of coded language to another person. This is neither the time or place to demand answers from her but I plan on seizing the first opportunity to do so.
I am after all risking more than I’m comfortable by joining up with her even if my arm is figuratively being twisted. My life, my freedom, my career… everything is on the line and she has control over where that line is headed right now.
That may work for the time being, but not much longer.
I’m not exactly the kind of guy to take orders and shut up. She’s about to learn that. Fast.
“Done,” she announces as the laptop is slammed shut, obviously sensing my impatience with her. “Our rendezvous is all set. We’ll just have a twenty-minute wait at the first stop until they pick us up.”
“Glad to know it,” I quip back. “Too bad I won’t be going along with you.”
Raven’s quizzical eyes narrow and show signs of computer screen fatigue. “Excuse me?”
I can’t help but be smug. “Yup. I won’t be going anywhere unless you answer every single one of my questions to my satisfaction. And, even then, I can’t guarantee anything.”
Her head shakes in disbelief. “But, you’re a wanted man.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, about that. I decided I’ll take my chances. Maybe claim asylum or something. That is, unless…”
Hear breathing is loud and annoyed. “Unless what?”
This is the part I’ve been rehearsing in my head for the last half hour. “Unless you ask me. Nicely. See, since I got caught up with you, you haven’t asked me for anything. You took the liberty of drugging me up, decided on your own to frame me for international crimes that you still have yet to tell me about, decided on our travel and now presume to tell me what the next step is. That’s not gonna work anymore, darlin’.”
I can hear my slight Oklahoma accent begin to creep through and cover it up quick.
“If you want a puppy dog to follow you around, then I suggest you go find yourself one. If you want a partner to help you in whatever the fuck you’re trying to do, then you’re gonna ask me. Nicely,” I finish.
Her mouth opens and closes with unformed and unsaid words being pushed down before she bites her lip and pushes back in her seat, arms crossed.
The mini temper tantrum is a bit dramatic but kind of sexy at the same time. Inadvertently, her defiantly crossed arms only serve to push her already plump breasts up and out, threatening to spill from the shirt she’s wearing.
I feel my dick twitch instantly as I settle my eyes on the perfectly smooth, rounded mounds. Damn. I muster the strength to squash the desire to pull her across my lap and spank that sexy little ass of hers for her childish reply. I mean, the silence treatment? Really?
I can see the corners of her mouth tighten as she fights from betraying herself by speaking to me even though she knows it’s inevitable. I can’t help but imagine what those corners of her mouth would look like stretched wide as I bury my cock deep down that quiet throat of hers.
I spend the next two minutes debating the merits of rushing to the bathroom in the back and taking care of the aching pain that she’s inflicting between my legs or sitting here and staring at those tits some more.
“Please,” she whispers while her eyes are fixed on some imaginary point on the glass of the window.
The only thing that will make this harder than it already is would be for me to rub it in. I know she’s a proud person. I know she likes to take charge and isn’t used to giving in.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” There goes not rubbing it in. I guess I can’t help myself.
I flip through the pages of the expired travel magazine that was left behind by some random previous occupant of this seat, and pretend that I’m not to waiting on pins and needles for her to say that word again.
I’ll bet that if I close my eyes tight I can imagine she’s begging me for something other than just my help. In my daydream, maybe she’s begging me for something much more satisfying for the both of us.
Begging me to slide my now swollen cock into her as achingly slowly as possible until we both scream in need? How about begging and pleading with me not to take it out and to just leave it in to the hilt, filling her up until she can’t take any more?
I like that one better and go with it, imagining what it would be like.
“I said. Please.” She clears her throat and makes sure that her words are perfectly and articulately spoken.
I feign a mild interest. “Please, what?”
She squirms. I abandon the crinkled pages of the brochure and use the dark of my eyelids to picture how dark the room would be as I explore every single inch of her body blindly, with only touch and feel to guide me.
Her voice penetrates my thoughts. “Please help me.”
I won’t risk loosing the thought of her tender nakedness openly splayed out in my mind, but I’ll bet if I opened my eyes and looked at her right now, I would see how hard she would be clenching her teeth at the position I’m putting her in.
“Why do you want my help?” I goad her some more. “Do you need it?”
She exhales quick and sharp. “Yes.”
The fictitious image of her lying on her back as my tongue has its way with her is getting me dangerously close to an explosion right now.
“Then say it. Say you need me.” I want to hear it.
See, this is what happens when I spend too much time on work and not enough time on my private life. I haven’t gotten laid in about three months and I’ve imagined what Raven would be like in bed ever since our first encounter online where I blocked her from hacking into the Department of Treasury.
She had some very colorful words for me back then, and her feistiness only served to turn me on, despite my best efforts of reminding myself she was a criminal. A sexy criminal.
God, now I’m thinking of what I could do to a sexy criminal like her using my handcuffs.
“Fine. If you need to hear me say it, then fine. I need your help. Please help me.” There’s an edge to her voice.
My eyes fly open at just the right moment to control myself and suppress the thoughts of how I want to have my way with Raven. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
I leave the folded magazine to cover my jeans until I’ve settled down. Raven smiles knowingly, wickedly, piecing things together.
“I don’t know, Beau. Is it that hard?”
CHAPTER THREE
RAVEN
Crossing the border into Poland doesn’t usually frazzle me, but tonight it somehow does. There’s more at stake now than ever before.
It’s dark now, one of the reasons I purposefully chose this particular bus and its schedule, and I think that helped a little. Late night border crossings tend to be easier on everybody. The guards are more relaxed, and easy going. The passengers are sleepy and quiet.
Everything went according to plan.
Well, mostly.
A little quick thinking on Beau’s part saved the day although I’ll never actually tell him that. If the topic ever comes up, I’ll just chalk it up to some random luck. Even though we’ll both know that this could have easily gone a different way than it did.
As luck would have it, the border agent happened to have lived in Canada for some time. What are the odds? Beau used some quick thinking and was able to make light conversation about the place as if he actually did live there. Enough so that the Ukrainian man bought it and let us through.
It was enough to remind me that there are far too many variables in this equation for something to go wrong, and for that reason alone we both remain silent as the tour bus treks into Poland for our first stop.
After hours on end being cramped in tiny uncomfortable seats, the exodus from the bus is like a flood of limbs as people stretch and move about in awkward ways to remind their bodies of what they’re capable of, that they can actually stand upright.
“Hungry?” Beau asks optimistically as the swelling group heads toward the rest
aurant while the bus heads off toward the fuel station.
I shake my head no. “No time to eat. We’ve got to meet up with our courier.”
My timing cannot be worse as my stomach growls at the exact second I make the argument, giving me away.
I grab Beau’s hand and begin leading us away from the group and toward the small, white general store where we’re supposed to meet the guide who’ll be setting the next leg of our journey into motion. The heavy pressure in his grip is evidence enough of his lack of enthusiasm for missing yet another meal.
Entering the small well kept store, I quickly lose Beau as he makes a bee line toward the grocery section and fills his arms with anything he can find that is even remotely unhealthy for you. I take advantage of the opportunity and casually head over to the clerk behind the wooden counter.
He eyes me, this middle-aged man with a short mustache and furry eyebrows. According to my arrangement, he’s my rendezvous, although I’m a few minutes later than I had anticipated thanks to the slight holdup at the border. If the Ukrainian agent hadn’t taken such an interest in Beau and I, I’m sure we would have made it here on time.
“I’ll take a purple hairbrush, please.” My Polish is a little rusty but accurate. At least, I think it’s accurate. Judging from the look in the man’s eyes, it might not be.
“A purple hair brush?” he asks.
I nod.
After a moment of careful consideration, he nods. “I think I have one in the back. Let me go check.”
His large back is turned to me and I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
The seconds tick by like silent bombs being dropped as I watch the long, red arm on the old wall clock move at an impossibly slow rate.
This isn’t one of my usual travel routes and I’ve never met this man before. With the gravity of the situation, I thought it best not to use my regular contacts as I’m sure that’s what my enemies would be expecting. I can’t help but feel uneasy, not knowing if any of my new contacts will actually follow through even though they’ve already been paid handsomely for their effort.