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“Eve,” Steele grunts and shouts.
Wolf growls my name, too.
And I shout both of their names, wild and frenzied, as they pump and burst into me.
Two hard, fat rods fill me with hot, thick blasts of smoking jizz, and I cling to both men with all the trembling strength I have left.
I’m so lucky to have the power of these two polar opposites with me. I feel like together we can overcome anything the world can throw at us.
I crumple and fold in between them. Even if I’m in the worst possible danger of my life, even if the DEA is coming to get me, I feel so totally safe, wrapped up in my two lethal men.
We sprawl and snuggle in a heap on the big couch.
Blake comes back from the kitchen with three cold beers.
Wolf says, “So, you’re not on duty, Special Agent?”
Blake just looks at him as he hands him the beer. He can’t tell when Wolf is joking.
I take the beer and roll it against my cheek. “Blake, why did they come here? How did they find me, and what do they really want?”
He sits down next to me. Takes my head in his lap and strokes my hair as he takes a pull on his beer.
“I honestly don’t know, Eve.”
“But you have a hunch.”
“I don’t think I should tell you my hunches.”
Wolf asks him,
“I seem to remember seeing some ID’s you had that were supposedly used by Eve’s mother.”
“So?”
“In my experience, Agent Steele, government agencies like the DEA don’t like to forge identity documents for themselves. Like most of their criminal activity, they mostly prefer to contract out that kind of work to private businesses.”
“That’s a great story, Wolf.” Blake says, “Now, if it only had a point.”
“Hey, you’re really funny,” Wolf tells him, “Often there are ways to tell who made a driver’s license or any kind of ID if you know what to look for. If you’re familiar with the hallmarks of some of the better-known artists in the field, for instance. Would you let me see some of those IDs?”
One of Blake’s eyebrows tilts up to full sardonic. “That would be completely illegal, Wolf. I couldn’t possibly do that.” He turns to look Wolf in the eye. “Of course, I might not be able to stop someone observing the keycode I use on the briefcase. If someone were to put everything back exactly as they found it, I might never know that security had been breached.”
He leaves his case on the table and announces that he’s going to take a shower.
“I have to get back to Quantico.”
While Blake is in the shower, my phone rings. Expecting the DEA again, I take the phone and stand by the window, leaning against the wall.
It’s not like me to be envious, but I’m wishing I had a view like Lucien’s.
The call is Deputy Buckle. He says, “I have some information, Eve. Information about something that I know is of great concern to you. Can you meet me?”
His deep Missouri baritone reminds me of home, and he has an infectious playful quality. I can’t tell if he’s talking that way, being coy, to try and sound mysterious. I wish he would just say.
“Where are you?”
“I’m parked outside Cherrie’s Little Diner.”
