Her long golden hair was like strands of lustrous glass reflecting tiny points of moonlight back to him. It tumbled carelessly down her back caressing her shoulders along the way and fell nearly to the ground. She was looking at Ethan again only this time she didn't turn away. Without taking her eyes off him she stood up slowly, her body tall and trim, and began to walk in his direction.
Ethan's stomach felt like it hit the bottom of a roller coaster hill and his hands were sweaty. He was mesmerized by the playful bounce in her firm high
-
perched breasts precariously contained in the thin bathing
suit top. In his mind he knew out of common courtesy he shouldn't stare, but he couldn't bring himself to ending his pleasure. There was something about this woman, some deep, almost confusing connection. She could turn a cold, rainy, fall day into an adventure. He wanted to meet her family. He wanted to marry her, grow old with her, but first he figured he should probably meet her.
He realized he had a hard
-
on.
As the mystery woman sauntered closer, he could see her taunt, tight, slim waist flare into rounded agile hips. He thought she moved like a model or a dancer. He wanted to turn to the side but he thought a profile shot of his perpendicular penis would only make it more noticeable. He put his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks and pushed them outward to try and conceal the bulge. Step by step, she came nearer, her hips tapering into long athletic
-
looking legs.
Would she speak? Could she speak? What would she say? Could he even answer her if she did?
Her eyes were misty and wistful catching twinkles of light as she glanced from his waist to his face. She was barely five feet from him.
He felt like running
,
there it was again, that same compelling, magnetic smile she sent his way earlier.
She reached out her hand.
Her hand floated in midair.
And still closer it came.
Such long sensitive fingers you have, the better to stroke your cock with. He gazed at the hand it was close enough for him to reach out and grab, then he looked up past her smooth bosom and arms, past her glistening bronzed shoulders that seemed to beckon to him, beyond her slender tan neck to her luscious red lips. They were moving, sweetly and seductively. Holy shit! She was talking to him!
"Excuse me?" he asked, embarrassed.
"I said . . . " she moistened her dry lips with her tongue, "Hello Ethan, I'm Ava Porter from the Center for Biological Warfare." She grabbed his hand from his pocket and shook it. "And I need your help."
They walked along the beach for a bit and she told him what Puck expected her to do, and the part he could play. As she spoke her mind was elsewhere. Even in a crowd, or from the pictures in his bio his presence was compelling, but here, up close, he was a massive, self
-
confident divination. He had an air of authority and the appearance of one who demanded instant obedience. She thought this was at odds with the quiet gentle way he spoke. He was attentive, interesting, hell, even charming; and she'd be a liar if she denied the sight of his erection when she first walked up to him didn't arouse her.
“So this Abaddon, ah, Brian Speakes, what’s up with that? Why didn't someone in the defense department notice he was bug-nuts crazy before they made him second in command on a nuclear submarine?"
"Well I'm not sure if that’s a fair statement. I mean how much of Brian Speakes is there in Abaddon and vice
-
versa? I do know this about serial killers though, and most of it seems to apply. Serial killers usually act sane, and in many but not all cases are not considered psychiatric freaks, but are generally sociopaths or those suffering from personality disorders. And listen there are some personality disorders that the military actually encourages. Studies reveal that most serial killers are white males between twenty
-
five and thirty
-
five who are usually products of working or lower middle class families."
"You sound like you're on television or something
--
like you're reading from a script, oh, that’s right, that’s your job. That's our boy Abaddon all right. So far so good, please continue."
"And many mass murderers come from broken homes or homes where they were abused."
“Is that his background?”
“It was bad beyond belief.”
“I don’t know if I can feel sorry for him though.” Ethan said.
"They say that most have suffered rejection, which causes them to experience frustration and psychological emasculation. Few mass killers express any feelings of guilt or remorse for their crimes. Most serial killers use some ruse to gain control of their victims. Abaddon is using a combination of religious mysticism and some kind of mind control."
“You call him Abaddon and not Brian Speaks, do you believe they are two separate people?”
“Yes and no. Yes, all the bad that was Brian Speaks has brought us here, but no this thing is not human, it’s so much worse. You have a psychopath and the supposed Son of Satan and a hard to kill zombie all rolled into one.”
"Oh there's no supposed about it. There's definitely something strange going on with that misanthrope."
“ . . . Now let me ask you a few questions Mr. Bell."
"OK, shoot?"
"Well, I think I got your friend Lieutenant McCullough pegged, but you're really a lot different from what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"I'm not sure. I guess you'd know I was lying so I'm not even going to try. I've looked at your bio and I probably know more about you than you do. You don't need me to tell me you're a man of extremes."
"You mean my military record, yeah I know, I
--
"
"I wasn't talking about your military record I was talking about your personal life. I know all about your ex-wife leaving you." She didn't hurry this statement along, but let it simply hang on the gentle offshore breeze and the moonlight. She watched his face for a reaction. There wasn't one.
They walked another hundred yards down the darkened beach. Twice he stopped and looked like he was going to speak changing his mind at the last minute.
She was afraid the silence would become a wall so she tried to explain. "Ethan, when I said I knew about your ex-wife, I wasn't accusing you of anything. And I guess it wasn't just the Sophia and your relationship that I meant was extreme."
She looked into eyes that wouldn’t look back. She grabbed his hands and shook them making him look at her.
"Maybe Sophia didn't know what she was getting into. Judging from your military sagas, you don’t seem the type to settle down.”
“I think that’s what she thought. But I am the type to settle down. I’m through with excitement.”
“I could really see that the last few days in Oceanview.”
“And that’s different how?”
“It was something that needed doing. I didn’t go looking for trouble this time—it came knocking on my door.”
She paused and regrouped. “I’m not sure if this is coming out the way I intended. I guess what I'm trying to say is, your veneer is covering up real wood. From the escapades I thought you'd be exactly like . . . "
"Like Bill," he said as if he'd been down this road before.
"Yeah, I guess like Bill. You two are really so different. Yet alike in enough ways for you to be friends."
"Best friends. There have been times if it wasn't for Bill I wouldn’t have survived, both on and off the battlefield. Especially after Sophia left. What the hell were you doing snooping around in my personal life? And who in the hell would keep a kind of file with that kind of stuff in it anyway?" He said. He felt naked, exposed.
Ava knew this was dangerous ground, so she took a second to gather her thoughts. She could sense she was about to lose him. At first, he had been so open; it had been easier talking to him than anyone else she had ever met. Now there was a restless energy about his movements; she thought he was devastatingly handsome but she was about to lose him. She had to do something to turn the tide back into her favor. She gently took both of his powerful hands in hers and looked into his eyes.
"Ethan, you have to realize from all the work you've done for the Army that the DIS keeps extensive background files on everyone in the OSI, NIS, and CIA. It's the Defense Department's policy to do periodic updates even if the agent has retired. Once in always in, I suppose. But, I, ah . . . “ The electricity of his touch, the closeness, the sweetly intoxicating musk of his body, all were commingling and confusing her. She searched for the words that would cut the tension as he looked at her with reproachful eyes.
"What I'm trying to say is, I guess I had to know if I could trust you.” Ethan said.
She let his hands go and avoided his eyes by turning toward the water. "When I brought up Sophia it was just to let you know that I understood what you have been through. I wasn't throwing it in your face. I'm not like that. That's the way my boss treats me."
"What do you mean by that?"
"His name is Dr. Angus Puck. He's the Chief of Staff at the Center. He's a workaholic, a perfectionist, a chauvinist, and a self
-
centered prick."
Ethan smiled at the way she said this—it was so undoctorish. He stepped up next to her and skimmed a clamshell into the pounding surf.
"He keeps a pretty short leash on all his people. He does this by learning everything he can about you and then exploiting your weaknesses."
"And what are your weaknesses?"
"Well, Puck seems to think I carry a feminist chip on my shoulder. He thinks I'm always trying to prove I can do the work as well as a man."
"And are you?” Ethan asked, tossing another shell into the water.
"In a way . . . but if he knew more about me he'd see that I wasn't just proving to him that I could do the job as well as a man. I try to do it better than everyone."
She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered slightly. Ethan could see the tiny goosebumps on her tanned skin. Now that he thought about it he was getting chilled also. "It's getting kind of cold," he said. "Do you want to start heading back? I think we have a ways to go."
Ava looked around her for the first time and asked: "Where are we?"
"Those lights up there are Little Creek Naval Base. I guess we walked two or three miles."
"I hadn't really noticed."
"Me neither."
"Do you want to go back to your place and talk some more?” she asked.
"I think that'd be nice," he said. He tried not to sound too eager just in case she might be teasing or suddenly change her mind.
She moved very close to him and he put his arm around her. The touch of her bare back felt good, firm, real. They talked about lighter subjects on the way to his beach house. They discovered that neither had dated much in the last year, they both liked Dave Mathews’ music, and they both loved white wine. He lifted her effortlessly onto his back patio and hopped up himself.
"What would you think about a little chardonnay and Dave Mathews?” He asked in a cheesy French accent that sounded a lot like Pepe Le Pew.
"I don't think so."
"What?" he asked sounding surprised. He knew she'd change her mind.
"Oh no," she said, quickly seeing the disappointment on his face. "I mean, yes that sounds wonderful. I'd just like to do something first. While you put on the music and open the wine, would you mind if I took a shower? I feel all sticky from the salt water."
Relieved Ethan said, "Sure let me show you where it is."
He opened the patio door and led her up the stairs.
"Do you think I could borrow something to put on? My clothes are in my bag out in the rental
car."
Ethan got her a bathrobe and a towel and waited outside the bathroom until he heard the water come on in the shower. He thought just on the other side of that door was a beautiful woman naked. All he had on were his swim
trunks. How easy it would be to step out of them and slip in there with her. He shook his head but couldn’t shake the thought away as he went down and got the wine and put on some music.
He had opened the wine to let it breathe and sat the glasses on the patio table. He went inside and still heard the water on, so he took the opportunity to go to his room and get out of his bathing suit. It felt good to be naked and to know that in the next room Ava was naked too, it got him sexually aroused. He put on a silk bathrobe much like the one he gave Ava and went out to the deck to wait.
He was finishing his first glass and lost in the rhythm of the waves when he heard: "You've got speakers out here?"
She appeared on the deck toweling her hair, the bathrobe clinging to her partially wet body.
"Yeah, I have them throughout the house," he said, pulling a seat around for her.
"I heard it in the bathroom. It startled me a first—I thought it was you coming in to join me."
"I guess I could see how that would scare you."
"I didn't say that,” she said smiling. She dipped her finger into his glass of wine and seductively sucked on it. "That wouldn't have been so bad."
He shivered with the words.
"Here, let me pour you a glass. I hoped you don't mind that I started without you."
"I don't mind as long as it's the wine you're talking about and not something else." She took a long hard swallow and finished in one drink.
"It looks like you were thirsty."
"I was. And it looks like you changed your clothes."
"I did. I hope you don't mind." He could see the outline of her nipples sticking through the thin material of the bathrobe.
"I might. It all depends what you have on underneath it?" She poured herself another glass and sipped on it.
"Nothing . . . I'm bare
-
assed naked under here."