Jennifer Crusie - Agnes and the Hitman

“Been there,” Shane said, and watched her pad across the hardwood floor to the half-finished bath on the other side, telling himself that she was exhausted and they were both mind-fried from thinking about the next day until he heard the shower go on, and then he gave up being the Sensitive Guy and stripped and went in to join her.

She hadn’t turned the lights on in the bathroom, either, so he found her by the moonlight coming through the skylight, making the soap blue on her wet skin. “Hey,” she said, but it was a soft welcome, not a protest, and his hands slid on her soapy lush curves, and he forgot the next day and lost himself in Agnes and in the feel of her hands as she stroked the soap over him, and the soft sound of her giggle and sigh under the water, and the taste of her as she tangled her tongue with his, the way her body yielded to the shove of his, the way she shivered against the scrape of his beard, drew breath at the slide of fingers, and urged him on, hungry for him as he invaded her, but mostly the way she wanted him, wrapped herself around him and demanded him, and by the time they fell onto the bed, she was so hot, so desperate for him, and he was so insane for her, that he drove into her, into the shock and the need, into everything she was, obliterating himself in her, nothing but him in her, rolling in those satin sheets, until they both exploded, and when he came back to the cool blue room and the moonlight and the quiet with Agnes shuddering in his arms, holding on to him as if she’d never let him go, for the first time in his life he thought, Don’t let go, and held on.

The sunlight woke Agnes up because it came in at such a funny angle, and then when she realized where she was, she sat bolt upright and said, “Oh, my God!” and Shane sat up, too, and said, “What?” reaching for his gun, which, probably for the first time in his life, wasn’t within reach because she’d kicked it last night, flailing around. Even Rhett jerked awake under the windows and looked around.

“I overslept. I think.” Agnes looked around for a clock, but there wasn’t any. “Do you have a watch? What time is it?”

Rhett gave them both a dirty look and went back to sleep. Shane reached over her, which felt so good that she didn’t fall back against the pillows until he pressed her down there with his body as he grabbed his gun and his watch out of the pile of clothing next to the bed. “Six,” he said to her, keeping her pinned down.

“Oh, good,” she said, nestling back into the pillows. “I still have to get up, but it’s not a complete disaster. How’s your gun?” She grinned at him, and he put the gun on the bedside table and rolled her to him so that they lay side by side.

“My gun is fine,” he said, and pulled her leg over his hip so she could feel him hard against her.

“I guess it is.” She settled in closer as he began to kiss her neck. “This was a good idea, sleeping up here. I should have been up here a long time ago instead of saving this place for some dumb commitment idea.”

“Nope,” he said, and kissed her, and she settled into the kiss the way she’d settled into his body as his hand slid down her stomach, practically following a path by now. She started to giggle at the thought-Shane blazing a trail-and he said, “What?” but he grinned against her mouth.

“You’re going to wear a groove there,” she said, and then stopped smiling. “Not that I’m assuming you’re staying-”

“I’m staying,” he said, and kissed her again.

When she came up for air, she said, “You don’t have to say-”

“Can we have this conversation tonight?” he said, and she looked up at him, not sure. “I think a lot of things are going to happen to both of us today. But I know I’m going to be back in this bedroom with you tonight. Can we talk about this then?”

Agnes swallowed. “Sure.” He knows he’s going to be back here tonight. She wriggled a little with happiness, and he grinned and pulled her closer.

“Because if we keep talking, you’re going to have to leave to go do wedding stuff,” he said, letting his hand drift lower, “and I’m not going to get laid.”

“Right,” Agnes said, and sighed against him, but she thought, God, I hope we’re both still alive to be back here tonight.

Then he kissed her, and she stopped thinking at all.

An hour later, the buzz of Shane’s sat phone woke him up.

“I hate that thing,” Agnes murmured, buried under the blanket, her head resting on his chest

Rhett lifted his head from his place on the floor and communicated his displeasure with a long look before he collapsed back onto the pillow Agnes had put there for him.

“Yeah, I’m starting to feel that way, too,” Shane told them both as he checked the phone.

DOCK-FIFTEEN MINUTES

“I’ve got to meet Wilson,” he told her. “I hate him, too.”

“Yeah,” Shane said, his mind reluctantly turning to things he didn’t want to face.

Wilson had kept information back, vital information. That could have been part of his fucking No Need To Know, part of the whole responsibility of the guy who’s in charge the reality of taking Wilson’s place suddenly swept over him, ensconced in Washington, sending others out into the held to do the dirty work, others like Carpenter-but it could be something else, too, and his gut was telling him it was something else and it wasn’t good.

He sat up, hating to move away from her warmth. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Can you?” She raised herself up a little, wide awake now. “Because if you can’t, just say you can’t. Please.”

Shane paused and looked down at her. He’d always seen her as capable, angry-definitely angry-and in charge. But right now she just looked vulnerable. He leaned over and kissed her. “Right. I promise.”

Another promise. “I’ll be back tonight.” Getting to be a habit.

Agnes sighed and nodded and rolled out of bed in all her naked splendor. “Okay, then. Breakfast to make. Maria’s wedding day. I’m sure everything will go well.” She crossed her eyes at him and went into the bathroom, and he sat looking at the space where she’d been for a second, just in case she came back.

“Yeah,” he said, and got dressed and went outside into the early morning quiet. The sun was behind him, shooting over the trees and lighting up the far shoreline of the Blood River. The only sound was the quiet lap of water against the pink sand and the honking of Cerise and Hot Pink as they greeted the new day. For a few minutes, he could pretend it was peaceful. Until he heard the boat engine.

Shane looked toward the dock and saw Wilson’s boat pull up to it. The old man stepped onto the floating dock and the boat pulled away to a holding position. As Shane went to the long walkway, Wilson made his way slowly up the metal gangplank to the high dock.

Shane heard a car door slam and looked over his shoulder. Frankie Fortunato had just gotten out of his pickup and was stretching, his white hair now dyed black, his beard gone. He was still fifty pounds heavier, but now he looked like Frankie. A second pickup was coming down the drive: Joey. Shane imagined the two had spent an interesting night talking over old times. And threatening to shoot each other, Good thing they were both afraid of Agnes.

Shane stepped onto the wooden dock and began the long walk out.

As he neared Wilson, he could finally see how old his boss was. Older than Joey, older than all the others involved in this. Shane wondered how that felt, how tired Wilson was. How done he was with what he’d been doing for over sixty years. Or was he really done?

Wilson was already seated when Shane arrived at the high dock. Glancing over at the Brenda Belle, Shane saw no sign of the boat’s owner. Brenda must be biding her time to make her grand entrance. Or sleeping in so she’d have plenty of energy to let loose the dogs of war.