Plain Sight Page 18

  He nodded and stood up, his hands falling to the fasteners on my pants. Vaughn’s fingers were deft, and in an instant he had my pants and panties off my ass and on the floor. He tried to crawl up the bed and cover me with his considerably-larger-than-mine body, but I grabbed his belt and stopped him.

  “No clothes,” I repeated. “Naked.”

  I pulled the belt free of itself and his impatience got the better of him. He yanked everything free of himself, and dropped all of it to the floor, stepping out of it.

  He was as big as I remembered. Long, thick, erect, and already a bead of precum waiting for me. I wrapped my hand around him, holding him still for my tongue to swipe the taste of him off the tip.

  “Shit,” he hissed.

  I looked up at him, standing there and smiled. “I am going to suck you, Vaughn. But not right now? Right now is for fucking.”

  It was clear he was a little shocked by my words, but mostly turned on because the cock in my hand twitched hard.

  Taking a step back, he reached in the bag, and pulled out a foil packet. He pressed it into my hand as he drew close to me again. I took his erection in hand and licked the tip again, then used my teeth to open the foil. I manhandled his dick as I rolled the condom down, stroking and twisting carefully, and cradling the heavy sac below in my hand when I was done.

  Staring down at me for just a moment, he moved quickly to shift me to the middle of the bed. He landed in the cradle of my legs, bent them up and licked my entire sex from back to front in one broad, amazing stroke.

  My breath hitched, but the moan escaped and I couldn’t stop myself from arching up. Vaughn rested his chin on my mons, wet with my desire and grinned at me. “I had no fucking clue you could make a condom erotic.”

  I smiled back. “It’s only because I know where it’s going and what it’s about to do for me.”

  He pulled his back a little, his thumbs splaying my pussy open. A quick, pink tongue darted out, licking my clit and pulling back. It was fast and sharp and I gasped again. He did that a few more times and I was mesmerized by him, his lips, his movements.

  So much so that the finger he slipped inside me was a shock and delight. “Oh, ssssshit,” I hissed.

  “Oh, fuck, baby, you’re so wet…”

  I loved the term of endearment off his lips. With a finger under his chin, I dragged him back up my body and caught his lips with mine.

  “Vaughn,” I whispered against his lips.

  He nipped at me, and tucked his face in the junction of my neck. I felt his tongue dart out again to taste me there.

  I wasn’t waiting anymore. I fisted his erection and pushed him to my entrance. His ear was at my lips and after nibbling just a little on him, I whispered to him, “Fuck me, Vaughn. Please.”

  His cock entered me at a smooth, determined, controlled pace and he filled me to my very top, wringing a shudder out of my body. I drew a sharp breath and grabbed his perfect ass, holding him deep inside.

  He nibbled on my ear again and then licked down my jaw to my lips. “Damn. Fuck.”

  “That feels so good,” I whispered. “Move. Please move…”

  Vaughn

  I couldn’t move. Not for a few more long seconds.

  I would have just come right then and there, like some kind of pubescent teen staring at a poster of a wank-fantasy woman.

  While Bridget was a fantasy, she was not a one-and-done for me.

  I started mentally tallying work sheets from Dylan’s homework to get myself back under control. I felt brave enough to slide back a few seconds later.

  “Ohjesuschristfuck,” I mumbled.

  Bridget was a dream. A hot wet naked dream and I was deep inside her. She was deadly, dangerous, devious—all things that should have pushed me away from her. But at that very same time, she was soft, pliant, and had granted me access to her deepest depths.

  I moved inside her, careful and slow at first. Her walls held me tight, but her desire had soaked her entrance and made it easy to glide in and out.

  She closed her eyes and rolled her head back, the sweet expanse of her throat calling me. I leaned down and kissed her jaw, then sucked, licked, and nibbled my way down. All the while my hips settled into a comfortable, pleasurable rhythm inside her.

  “Oh, God, it’s better than I thought…” she whispered.

  I couldn’t help but smile. She canted her hips down so I dragged over her clit as I moved.

  I wrapped my arms under shoulders, and held her tight. “I have a better idea,” I whispered.

  In a single move, I rolled so Bridget sat astride me. I didn’t know it was possible, but I moved even deeper inside her pussy. My hand moved to her perfect, pert, tempting breast and I cupped them, holding them, teasing her nipples.

  “It’s your show, moi chroi,” I whispered.

  Her hips were fluid and perfect as they moved over my dick, drawing me in and out, over and back again on her clit. My breath came hard, and I was mesmerized by those perfect round breasts that moved like water in my hands.

  It wasn’t long before her movements became more frantic, and instead of gliding over me, she was dropping down on my cock and panting and I was right there with her. My orgasm was rushing back to finish the job she’d started earlier.

  “Shit, yes,” I hissed. “Go, baby, do it.”

  The sensation of climax was rolling through my spine and it was about to land in my balls hard. I reluctantly let one of her beautiful breasts out of my hand and quickly found her clit between our bodies, rubbing against her frantically.

  She bit out a swear word, and her eyes slammed shut—everything was suspended in her body as she found her climax, and came hard.

  Her mouth was on mine in the next second, kissing me desperately, offering me the scream she wanted to let out through the room. The tight waves of her orgasm ripped away the last of my self-control, and I slammed up into her body, the same shrieks of joyful completion offered right back to her through the kiss.

  Her forehead rested on mine as I jacked my hips into her a few a times, the ropes of cum filling the barrier between us.

  Finally, her cheek found my chest and she exhaled hot and sweet into my neck, licking at my skin once and again as we tried to catch our breath.

  “Hell,” she whispered. “I’m a screamer. I forgot.”

  I couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping me. Smoothing my hand down her back, I grinned against the crown of her head. “We’re just going to have to try that again when there isn’t a five years old asleep in the next room.”

  She picked her head up, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Yes, please.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  8:35 AM

  Q: Information

  007: Waiting

  Q: The drug ring you’re looking for is run by a man named Bradshaw. He operates out of Fayetteville. He’s heavily armed and heavily guarded. And heavily pissed the money for the guns got rerouted.

  007: How do I get to him?

  Q: Pretend you’re a crackhead.

  007: Excuse plz?

  Q: He’s too heavily guarded for you to get anywhere near him unless you want to help him sell product.

  007: That’s not helpful.

  Q: The woman you’re going to see will help.

  007: Cut, Color, and Curl?

  Q: Yes. She’s part of a sort of underground resistance to this Bradshaw dude. They buy some product and try to spoil the other shipments. Make them unusable.

  007: But users don’t care if it’s cut with aspirin and baby powder. They’ll take it anyway.

  Q: Bingo. That’s the problem.

  007: They want to take this ass out?

  Q: Yes.

  007: I’m nominated.

  Q: Yes.

  007: Will this end the threat against T and D?

  Q: Domestically.

  9:02 AM

  007: Is there possibility of international elimination?

  Q: Near future. Yes.

  007: F
alls to me as well?

  Q: TheMoney and Moneypenny have expressed interest in assisting.

  007: Cut, Color, and Curl Carol will be able to get me in close enough?

  Q: Dangerously close.

  Q: Moneypenny said to use the Tajik Trick.

  007: Tajik Trick. Is that really what she called it?

  Q: Copy and paste.

  007: I love that woman. If I were ever to bat for the other team.

  Q: Best not let Felix hear that.

  007: Who talked?

  Q: Please. I saw it. It was hard to miss.

  Q: Did he get lucky?

  007: Mrph. You could say.

  Q: You go, girl. *snap, snap*

  007: Never say that again.

  Q: Are you taking this?

  007: *Deep sigh* Yes. If CCC Carol can get me that close to this guy, and it stops the domestic threat and leads to the international cessation…

  9:42 AM

  007: Yes. I’ll take him out.

  Bridget

  I didn’t want Vaughn with me for this part of this misadventure. I knew it was going to start getting messy, the closer we got to the source of this problem.

  The problem was he didn’t have an interest in being passive anymore.

  The amazing sex we’d had the night before—one screaming orgasm had gotten away from me in the shower—had shifted something between us. It wasn’t a bad shift. But it was a big shift.

  We were in this together.

  There was no more me protecting him and his son.

  There was us, protecting Dylan.

  Trying to convince him to stay behind in the safety of the hotel was absolutely fruitless. It would have been very easy to have Miles add another night to the room.

  Vaughn wasn’t hearing it.

  Our destination was only two hours down the road in a tiny little town on the border of West Virginia and Kentucky. The location Nolan gave me was a Google plus code. Not a lot of people knew about them yet, so it was faster and easier and more cryptic than the coordinates.

  The code led us to Frankie’s Hair and Wax.

  Cut, Color, and Curl. Now I got it.

  Parking the car and climbing out, I had Vaughn move into the driver’s seat. I leaned down in the open door as he buckled his seat belt. “You sure you can handle this, cowboy? I mean, these Camrys…they get wild sometimes.”

  “Fuck off,” he whispered with a laugh.

  “You know what to do?”

  “I don’t want to leave you behind,” he said. “I’m waiting as long as I can if things go south.”

  “Just get your son to safety,” I said. “You can worry about me and this crap later. Dylan is your priority. I’m hoping to be back in just a few minutes. If it’s longer than fifteen, or safe for you to come in, I will text you.”

  “Yes, Agent McInnis.” He grinned.

  I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Dylan made an ew noise from the back seat, but that was what five year olds did.

  We’d agreed to let him see us being lightly affectionate with each other—it kept the tension down in this horribly twisted situation. Letting us show little bits of our new relationship instead of radically jumping away from each other when we were caught helped us to focus.

  I had to admit, it gave me more confidence too. He didn’t want to hide this, us from his son.

  “Watch your phone, Mister Willard.”

  Closing the door, I walked casually to the front of the Hair and Wax—which was just an awful name. I pushed through the open door and into the stink of the earlier 90s and perm activator.

  Gag.

  There was a woman at the desk who looked up as I walked in and she smiled at me. She too looked like she had been vomited out of the early nineties, with big gold hoop earrings, teased hair—who the fuck did that anymore?—and long, pink nails. Even her eyebrow wax was 90s.

  Had Nolan sent to me to a time machine?

  “Hi, there, sweetie, come on in.” She assessed me and raised one of those pencil thin eyebrows. “Are you looking for a hair do or a wax. We have a painless Brazilian the guys just go nuts over!”

  There was no such thing as a painless Brazilian.

  “I’m um…I’m looking for a cut, color, and curl,” I managed to choke out through the stench of the chemicals.

  “Oh are you now?” She didn’t seem affected by my words at all. What did I expect with the toxic mélange of smell, though. She probably didn’t react to much. “Well, we have just the girl you want to talk to. Gail, baby! Come on up here! We have a cut, color, and curl special for you!”

  A woman just a few years older than me walked out of the back, chewing gum like it was her business. She had her hair in a banana clip and I wanted to die from embarrassment for her.

  “Hi there, darling,” she said, but the pleasantry never hit her eyes. “Can I help you?”

  “I need cut, color, and curl,” I repeated.

  She looked me up and down and her eyes lingered on the stop where my Beretta was tucked in its holster but she said nothing about it. “You sure do. Come on back, we’ll wash that hair of yours.”

  She turned and disappeared behind a wall at the back. The woman at the desk made a ‘shoo’ motion, indicating I should probably follow.

  I walked into the back of the shop and turned down the same hallway that Gail had disappeared into. It only went a few feet and turned left. I followed it. Gail was standing in the room there, waiting for me, testing the water coming out of the faucet in the hair washing basin.

  “Who sent you?” she asked, disinterested.

  “Um…” I raised an eyebrow. “Nolan?”

  “Don’t know him,” she said and pointed to the chair.

  I tried again. “Farida.”

  She looked up at me. “Did you witness the cassowary incident?”

  “The one with asshole cousin of the Canada goose?” I answered.

  She shut the water off, and motioned me toward a curtain in the back. I headed over and she held the fabric back so I could walk down the stairs there. Letting the curtain fall back, she followed me and pointed me to the left.

  I rounded the corner and there was a large steel door, with deadbolts and bars. Gail stepped around me and pulled out a few keys. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, into the room. I followed again, the lights tripping on.

  I gasped.

  The room was packed to the fucking ceiling with guns.

  “You used to guns?” Gail asked.

  Glancing at her, I went back to perusing the collection. “I had someone disappeared for a collection like this once. What the hell is going on here?”

  “This is our arsenal. It’s one of the few places we’ve managed to keep out of sight.”

  “You have illegal military weapons in here.” I pointed to a far wall. “There’s a fucking bazooka in here. What is going on?”

  “I don’t know you from Sam, except you know Fari. So explain that and I’ll explain this. A little bit.” She folded her arms.

  “Farida Mahmoon Peterson, CIA operative. I met her in the Philippines six years ago. She and I were meant to work together to get some sensitive documents away from some insurgents. She was attacked by a cassowary on our second assignment together. She thought it was a pretty bird, ignoring my warnings that the thing was an asshole. We worked dozens of missions and assignments together until four years ago when she went into Jordan and my bosses pulled me from our collaboration.”

  Gail dropped her arms and stared at me, shocked. “Who are you?”

  “Bridget McInnis. Former MI6.”

  Tossing her head back, she let out a laugh I was sure they could hear three blocks away. “Are you kidding?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “Woman, do you have any idea how much money Abbruzzi put on your head for wrecking his gun business through Tajikistan?”

  “I wouldn’t, because I put a bullet through his brain,” I answered.

  �
��Your head is worth millions.”

  This time, I folded my arms. “And how would you know that?”

  “Because I know Bradshaw.”

  “Personally?”

  She cocked her head. “Personally. Does that scare you that you’re talking to someone who could give you over to him in a heartbeat?”

  I popped a fist on my hip. “Sister, there isn’t much that scares me. I’ve been in the company of major sex slavers, psychotic dictators, and men whose personal give a damn was so broke they’d shoot their own kids for an extra key of cocaine money.”

  “And the guns?”

  “Surely you know what you have here. Do you need to me tell you about them? How about this instead: You tell me why the fuck you have an entire division’s worth of armament in the basement of a store that claims there’s a painless Brazilian. Tell me about him, about this scheme going on.”

  Gail was clearly torn. She seemed like she was the kind of woman who wanted to do it all on her own, because she had been betrayed, badly. But at the same time, she knew she needed help. So I opted to trust her and give her a little more information.

  “I need to know what’s going on so we can shut this drugs-guns-money pipeline down. I want it gone, because it’s threatening people who have nothing to do with any of it.”

  It was quiet a moment. I let her be and started checking out the weapons. I even saw ammunition for my own Beretta in one of the cubbies.

  She was very quiet as she started speaking. “Childress Bradshaw is the major supplier for fentanyl for most of the southern part of the state and the surrounding areas. Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee. High level supplier. There are distributors, then dealers. So the drugs are cut and cut again, and the profit margin is huge.

  “Bradshaw brings in the fentanyl from somewhere in Africa. Illegal labs, I’m sure. He launders the money to make sure that the gunrunners get the guns to them for whatever nefarious reason. They get the guns, another shipment of fentanyl.”

  “So Bradshaw does the laundering?”

  “He facilitates the laundering, that’s about it. He makes his money off the drugs. He gives the runners an estimate of how much he can make off the product, and it’s always too low. He pockets the rest.”