B Larson - Spyware

She glanced at him, pursed her lips and shook her head. He sat back in disappointment. He had such faith in her that it hurt to see that she had let him down. She smiled at him. He had actually believed she was about to come up with some stroke of genius, some witty connection that everyone else had missed. Such faith made him more endearing.

She sighed and drank more. The whole thing had grown too big. She had even begun to believe that they themselves were being followed by agents, with orders to jump in when something broke. That was both reassuring and disturbing. It meant the brass trusted them to birddog the quarry, but not to make the collar themselves. She supposed that their superiors were just being cautious, as there was too much at stake to let one team’s pride get in the way.

“You know,” she said, running her finger around the top of her margarita glass and knocking the crust of salt off as she went, “I don’t think we’re going to solve this one tonight.”

He laughed. “In that case, I’ve got just the thing.”

She looked up then, with eyebrows raised. She caught something in his eye-a twinkle you might say, she thought to herself-but then she chided herself for having such ideas. She turned her eyes back down to her drink. Her finger still ran around the top of the glass. It was beginning to make a singing, moaning sound now that she liked.

“Tell me,” she said quietly.

Johansen grinned and opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again as two men appeared at their booth. Their haircuts and their suits said it all: They were government agents, through-and-through. Neither man was smiling.

“Agent Vasquez? Agent Johansen?” asked the taller of the two. He was a black man with a mustache and a set of large rings on his fingers.

“Yes?” Johansen answered. He automatically put his hands on the table and chair back, as if ready to throw himself to his feet.

“I’m Agent Verr out of Virginia,” he said, flashing his ID and badge. “I’m here to tell you that my team is taking over this investigation. Here are my orders, and yours.”

He presented them with piece of paper. Vasquez eyed it, realizing it was a fax, of all things. How many years had it been since she had seen a fax? With the internet problems, they had gone back in time twenty years overnight.

Johansen took the fax somewhat reluctantly. Vasquez followed Verr’s eyes as they swept over the dinner table, pausing at the margaritas and possibly Johansen’s popped-open pants. She felt a flash of hot embarrassment. It was a sickening feeling that she wasn’t used to.

“I would appreciate it if you could provide a briefing in the morning,” continued Verr after a short silence. His eyes ran over the table again and pointedly looked at the drinks. “At say, ten o’clock? We could meet you at the police headquarters.”

“Make it seven,” snapped Vasquez. “We’ll be there.”

Verr pursed his lips and nodded. “Seven it is, then.”He left without offering to shake hands.

“What a prick,” said Vasquez, staring after his back. “He did that just to show us he could.”

“What?”

“Coming in here like that. Showing us that he could find us at any time, like it was nothing for him. He could’ve waited until we reported in tomorrow, but he just couldn’t wait to tell us he had taken away our assignment.”

Johansen sighed. “We just took too long, that’s all. The brass got nervous and decided to make a change. Any change would do, we can’t take it personally.”

“Well, I do,” growled Vasquez.

Johansen read the fax. They both glanced at them and grimaced.

“It’s true. We’re relieved ,” said Johansen. “Funny word, that. Relieved. Hmph. More like: ‘found incompetent’, or ‘summarily forgotten’, or ‘discovered to have screwed pooch’.”

Vasquez gulped the last of her drink and sat back in her chair. Maybe the word was right. Maybe it would be a relief to give up on this case. She pursed her lips, not liking the idea. Then she looked back at Johansen and a new idea formed.

“What were you about to suggest before they arrived?” she asked him.

He glanced at her and blinked for a moment in confusion. “Oh, that maybe we should go to the bar for another drink.”

“An excellent suggestion,” she smiled.

His face slowly melted as they eyed one another for several quiet seconds. Then she felt another hot flash of embarrassment over what she was thinking. She got up and headed for the bar. He picked up the bill and followed her.

Events flowed smoothly and naturally for the rest of the evening. First, they had more drinks. They stuck to margaritas, and by the time she had finished her third he was done with his fifth. She didn’t drink much, and as she was small, the effects left her floating somewhere just above the surface of her barstool.

Together, without any planning conversation, they headed across the street to the Ramada where they were currently staying. The flowing river of white headlights and red taillights that formed I-80 looked surreal and almost magical. Johansen stood beside her as they looked down the grassy embankment at the roaring swooshing cars. A breeze came up and ruffled her hair, which had somehow come down and now hung all around her face in a soft circle.

She looked at him, smiled and put her finger to her lips. He smiled back, looking mildly perplexed and curious. She knew this was absolutely not like her, but she didn’t care. She thought that Johansen must be all but baffled at any kind of playfulness, and the thought made her smile.

She took his hand and led him up the concrete steps to her room. After a few seconds of fumbling with the key and giggling, they slipped into the room and shut the door behind them.

In the dark room he reached for the light switch, but she put a hand on his to stop him. At that moment-at that touch-she felt a real electric tingle. It was strong, almost magnetic. There, in the dark, her fingers felt incredibly small and delicate against his blocky hand. She took his hand away from the light switch and guided it up to cup her left breast. That one was slightly larger than her right and she hoped like a high-schooler that he would be impressed by the weight and firmness of it. She could hear his breathing now. It had grown heavy with desire.

Johansen needed no more encouragement. He swept her up for their first kiss. It was hot, wet and suffocatingly long. When it was over, she wondered how they had possibly held out for so many months.

After that, things progressed quickly. Soon he was on the bed with her, and she was glad she was still on the pill, despite nearly a year’s worth of abstinence. As gently and delicately as he could with his great weight and strength, he ravaged her.

They kissed hotly for a time, still saying not a word. It was much better that way, she knew. To hear his voice might ruin everything, might make her freeze up and realize what she was doing, how crazy it was.

She learned that his belly wasn’t flabby. It was as rock-hard and ribbed as his back. Years of habitually working out in the gym had given him a body beneath those ill-fitting suits that was a pleasure to her senses.

When she finally realized that her panties were off and he was entering her, she gave a gasp of surprise and mild pain. He was big, even bigger than she had expected. She was a small woman, and out of practice. She knew that if he thrust with abandon it was going to hurt a lot.

He seemed to sense this and proceeded to move his bulk over her slowly and probed only shallowly at first. Only when she began to moan and clutch at him did he allow himself the luxury of sinking in more deeply.

He came quickly, but she beat him to it. She surprised herself, as she rarely had an orgasm during just straight intercourse without additional stimulation. It felt wonderful.