In Too Deep: A Romantic Suspense Novel (45 page)

"What do you mean? It's all I've been thinking about since last night!" I practically wailed. "For fuck's sake Scott, I'm telling you I want you to take me to bed and fuck me senseless, do you need a more open invitation than that?"

Scott cut off my complaints with a finger on my chin, and a soft kiss on my lips. "Yes," he said once our lips parted and I could listen again. "I don't want to just fuck you, Tabby. I'm sure that will be great, and there may be a time for it. But I want to make love before we just fuck."

The look in his eyes struck me dumb, and I nodded in understanding. Could Scott be the one, the one to accept who I am? "Scott, that's hard for me. I'm a pretty sexual person."

"I know," he said, smiling. "I saw that from the first moment I saw you in the shop, and in everything you've done since then from sipping a soda to dancing with me. And you can do whatever you need to relieve those desires. But I want our first time to be special. Can you make me a promise?"

"I can try," I said, in a small voice that was totally unlike me.

"Just give me one day," Scott said. "If you wake up in the morning and can think of nothing but me, not sexually but just as me, like I've been thinking of you, then call me at lunch. I'll come over at dinner time, and we'll see what happens then."

"Okay," I said in a shaky voice. "Well, I have to go rescue my door key from my apartment manager. You mind walking with me to the gate at least?"

"I'd like that," Scott said with a smile. He came around and opened my door, helping me out of the car. We held hands like a couple of teenage sweethearts until the gate, where I stepped into the manager's alcove and retrieved my key. "You should find a different plant next time. You never know, I could be some creepy stalker dude."

"I doubt that," I said as we stood there, holding hands. I hadn't felt this way about a guy since my teen years, honestly. "Are you sure I can't convince you to come upstairs with me?"

"My body wants it so bad right now my balls are kicking themselves," Scott said softly, "and the rest of my body is joining in. But my brain and my heart want more, Tabby. Call me greedy, but I want more than some nights of what I anticipate would be some incredible, memorable, mind altering passion. I want the whole package. And the only way I can get that is to wait, at least until tomorrow."

I nodded, and pulled him in for another kiss. Our lips and tongues twisted slowly around each other, and I was moaning in frustration when we finally broke apart. "I swear to all that it supernatural that tomorrow night, I will extract a measure of revenge on you for this," I groaned, already feeling my nipples hardening again inside my bra. "You are never going to be the same, boy."

"You know what I need, Tabby," he said, and I could see the painful grimace on his face when he adjusted his feet, and the hard bulge in his pants. It looked so delicious I wanted to go to my knees and suck it right there. "If you can give that to me, then call me at lunch tomorrow. Good night."

Scott turned and, while not exactly gracefully, at least walked back to his car. I watched him go, and turned, a tear trickling down my face. There were two reasons for the tear. Part of it was frustration, I was so aroused I thought I could wear out a fresh set of batteries on my favorite vibrator at that point and still not be satisfied. But the other part of the tear was the happy side, the side that thought that perhaps, in accepting the frustration, I was seeing the chance to have more than just sexual satisfaction, something I’d dreamed of for a long time.

"
Y
ou really want
to work on Saturday?" I asked, as Mark and I walked up the stairs to the bell tower at Mount Zion. "Are you planning another operation or something?"

"No, it's just something that I saw when I glanced at your final pile yesterday before we went to lunch that has been on my mind all day since I woke up, and I wanted to do some cross checking," he said. He sealed the steel core door that was at the bottom of the staircase, and we went up to the top, which had thankfully been refitted somewhat since he had first brought me there. The thin foam mattress was gone, replaced by a full workstation along with locked steel cabinets for the small arsenal we kept at Mount Zion. While the bell tower was not our main strike base, the fact was, we could easily outfit ourselves to take on just about anything short of an armored assault with what we kept there. "I just didn't think I could get it out of my mind until I had done this one thing."

"Okay, but why the tower? You could have used your pocket computer with any of the in-house monitors, you know that."

"Just a gut feeling," Mark said, sitting down and turning on the small cubical computer he used for secure purposes. Barely bigger than a deck of cards, it was the twin of the one we had at our main offices, and backed up with it nightly.

I'd come to trust Mark's gut, because usually what Mark called a gut feeling was more due to the constant awareness of everything that went on around him. One time, when we were on our trip through Eastern Europe to facilitate my training, he allowed me to test his awareness. I went into a hotel room, and put the items exactly the way I wanted. He hadn't ever been in the room before. When I was ready, I took photographs and stored them on a camera. Mark then walked through the room and spent thirty seconds walking around, looking at things. We then went into an adjoining room and described the room.

His recollection bordered on freaky. He started with interesting but not outlandish things, such as that the television was a Samsung, and that the clock radio's display was green. It then went on to borderline amazing, as he noted that the toothpaste tube visible in the bathroom had a pink label, and that the gel inside was dark red. By the end though, it was almost totally insane, as he recalled things like a stray hair I had laid on the pillowcase, and how it was on the opposite side of a crease that I had caused by running my hand across the upper corner of the pillow. He even saw things that I had missed, like the light tea stain on the carpet next to the window, so faint that I had to go back into the room and look more closely, as it hadn't shown up on the digital photos I took.

Mark's ability to gather information was just as sharp when it came to business and facts. He'd read the newspaper, and make connections between stories that sounded almost paranoid, but they would either turn out to have connections later, and would affect the investments he moved around in response to his connections. Sometimes these connections were so subtle even he couldn't put a name to them, and they were gut feelings. So when Mark told me he had a gut feeling, I didn't discount it in the least.

Mark pulled up the spreadsheet of the hacked companies he'd stolen from the Confederation servers a few nights before, and then next to it my final list of candidate companies for our next round of investments. He blinked a few times, then tapped a few controls. It took the computer less than a second for words on both windows to flash bright blue. "I thought so," Mark said as he tapped the screen.

"Pressman Contractors," I said, reading the screen over his shoulder. "HVAC company. I remember the portfolio, actually. Good ROI, small, ticked all the right boxes."

"Except for one," Mark said, sighing. "They're a front for the Confederation. It's not unexpected, I didn't know every company that fronted the Confederation and there was bound to be some that matched everything else we're looking for. It's the biggest problem with the Confederation."

"They're a Hydra, with more heads than we know about," I said. "What about Owen Lynch?"

"Lynch's power is more concentrated, and more narrowly focused. Taking him down is different in that he isn't worried about money or traditional things like that. He just wants control and power. Which kind of makes sense. I mean, seriously, after the first couple of million, what is more money to a man like him? If you can buy three Ferraris, who cares about being able to buy a Bentley as well? He uses his money like we are, using it to finance power. The Confederation though, with so many players, has to care about money more, and has more little things like this."

"So what are we going to do?" I asked. Mark clicked on the file on Pressman Contractors, reading what he had gathered. "What is Pressman?"

"On one hand, they're a pretty typical money laundering front, using construction contracts to filter Confederation money in and out of circulation. They've got the receipts here to back that up, the bank transfers and other stuff. This is full of second level connections that I'm going to need weeks to fully analyze, with all these companies. But there are a few other things here that concern me."

"How so?" I asked, looking over his shoulder still at the spreadsheet on the screen. It looked a lot like a normal accounting spreadsheet to me.

"This accounting code," Mark said, tapping one of the cells, "is the same one that Sal Giordano used with me when he hired me out for contracts. I don't think that Pressman has another hitman working for it, I knew that group very well. It pays to know the men who might be putting a bullet in your back. But that doesn't mean that there isn't some other sort of Confederation operative working for Pressman."

"Like what?" I asked, finally taking a seat and looking at the screen, my imagination whirling.

"Oh, there are all sorts of different operatives. A place like this would be a good place to stash an arsonist, a bomber, drug maker, burglar, spy, quite a few different jobs. They'd have access to buildings, deeper than a lot of others go, and they don't look out of place carrying tools and weird bundles of stuff."

I shook my head in amazement. "And you knew the Confederation had these sorts of men."

"And more, my love. Why else am I taking so many precautions with our own actions?" Mark replied. "Well, we know what we have to do now."

"What's that?" I asked, as Mark shut down the computer and unplugged it from its monitor and keyboard.

"We have to go down there, see if we can get eyes on someone, maybe figure out what is going on. You think Sophie Warbird and Marcus Smiley might be up for a weekend visit to our most recent potential investment?"

"Why not wait until Monday?" I asked as he sat back. We faced each other, and I could tell that Mark was nervous. "Come on, talk to me."

"I'm concerned that the Confederation may be making the same connections that I'm sure Owen Lynch is doing," Mark replied after a moment. "They know that coming after Marcus Smiley directly creates too much danger to their operations, but by putting out these sorts of poisoned pills, these land mines if you can think of it that way, they can derail us without risk of exposing themselves. I want to go down there today for two reasons.

“First, they won't know we're coming, so they can't be prepared. If we call Tabby and go down there Monday, they'll know it and be prepared, giving us a whole dog and pony show that will surely be ninety-nine percent bullshit. We go down there today, and we might learn something."

"What's your other reasons?" I asked. "You said first as if you had others."

Mark nodded. "Yes. Tabby. You saw the way she acted the other day, I'm sure."

"Of course. We even joked about it."

"I remember. Sophie, what concerns me is if there is a connection between this guy that Tabby met, and Pressman Contractors. If there is, and they know who you and I are, then Tabby may have gotten herself into trouble again."

"Oh God," I moaned, standing up. "We should call her."

Mark stood up and took my hands. "No, there's no reason to panic," he said, giving me a reassuring look. "First of all, we don't know for sure. Also, even in Confederation companies, a lot of the workers are just ordinary people who are making a living. Only a small percentage are the real criminals. Finally, if they are trying to use Tabby to get to me, they're playing a long ball game. They know it didn't work before when they rushed it. Their most likely plan is to try and use her as a blind mole, someone who funnels them information on our operations without ever knowing they are doing what they're doing. She's not in immediate physical danger."

I felt Mark pull me into an embrace, and I relaxed, letting my tension flow into him. "Okay," I said after I was calm. Actually, I was a bit more than calm, but that's normal every time Mark hugs me. "So we go down there, and what do we do?"

"We be flamboyant," Mark said with a grin. "Rattle their cages, see what falls out. Is your Sexy Executive Suit still clean and ready?"

I grinned. "I have three of those, you know I have one ready. Which do you want, black or white?"

Mark thought for a second, then smiled. "White. It contrasts your hair more, and if you just happen to get a grease stain on it that pulls attention to your breasts, well, shucks, guess it can't be avoided."

P
ressman Contractors looked
like any of a half dozen other industrial companies Mark and I had visited for potential investment during our work. The front windows showed a somewhat cluttered but semi-organized mess of machine parts that I couldn't even begin to identify. The shop was somewhat dark, with a bored looking guy manning the counter. We drove up in our customized Bentley and got out, Marcus in his skinny-panted suit with counter stitching and pocket watch, me looking like an anime wet dream. Thankfully the suit was mostly Lycra, I doubt it would have been able to move otherwise.

As expected, the counterman first caught sight of the car, then of me. Marcus' plan to be a "business peacock" depended on me pulling as much attention from his face as possible, especially when he went into areas that the Confederation or Owen Lynch could have men who knew his old face. That and it helped distract from the spring-loaded knife blade he kept attached to his left wrist. A twist of his clenched left hand, and the top of his forearm would grow a ten-inch razor sharp spike faster than you could blink.

"Good afternoon," Marcus said as he came in. "This is Pressman's, right?"