Shooting On the Strip (3 page)

Luke and I started our foreplay in the limo on our way back to the Bellagio, and we both had
bathtub
on our minds. We hurried to our master bath. I started the water and poured in the bubble bath. Luke went to the wet bar and got a bottle of champagne and two glasses. I lit the candles that were on the sides of the tub.

Once the stage was set, we began disrobing each other, feverishly kissing each other’s bodies as we removed clothing. By this time, I was wet and he was hard.

He turned off the water, and we stepped over into the foamy bath. Luke turned me away from him and rubbed my nipples between his forefingers and thumbs while his erection pressed between my thighs. He kissed and tasted my neck and shoulders. I reached behind me to rub his cock.

He gently lowered the two of us into the water and fit my pussy onto his dick. With one hand, he resumed fondling a nipple. With the other, he fondled my clit.

I moaned. “Oh…that feels incredible!”

His thrusts combined with the tantalizing caresses of his fingers were going to make me cum in a hurry. I raised and lowered my hips, squeezing my cunt against his shaft as tight as I could as I kept rhythm with his plunges.

We came together and then drank champagne and languidly bathed each other. It was heavenly to explore Luke’s body gently and lovingly…kissing him…caressing him…knowing there would be a round two tonight, but not yet.

When we got out of the bathtub, we blew out the candles, toweled off and then went into the bedroom. We turned down the sheets and slid into the bed, spooning, cuddling, and caressing until he became hard again and I became wet.

We made love slowly this time, keeping our eyes open and drinking in each other’s bodies, movements, and reactions.

I placed fluttery kisses along Luke’s jawline, down his neck, over his chest…and then I sucked his nipples. His cock jerked in response. I trailed on down his body, skipping over his dick to concentrate on his inner thighs. He gasped when I cupped his balls, licked them, and then teased the area behind them with my tongue. I stroked his shaft slowly, teasing with my hands and my tongue, until he rolled me onto my back.

“My turn,” he said huskily.

He bit and sucked my neck, causing such an immediate tingling that I thought there must be a direct line from my throat to my clit somehow. Then he kissed down my body, sucking my nipples as he lay between my legs.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he said.

“I just want you,” I said.

“I need more specifics than that.” He stopped everything.

My body was on fire for him. “Eat me…please.”

He chuckled softly as he moved lower, moving my knees onto his shoulders. “Hand me a pillow.”

I did as he asked.

“Raise your ass.”

As I lifted my ass, he put the pillow under it. He parted the lips of my pussy and began licking my clit with his firm tongue. He was in a particularly nippy mood, and I liked it. No, I
loved
it. He gently took my clit in his teeth and sucked. I nearly came up off the bed as I cried out with pleasure.

He put two fingers into my cunt, pulsing them in and out, as he continued licking and sucking my clit. I quickly came on his tongue, and he continued licking and stroking.

“Please! I can’t stand it anymore!” I cried.

“What do you need, baby?”

“I need your dick inside me!”

He rose up, wiped his mouth, and then plunged his thick, hard cock into my pussy. My legs had slid lower, but my ankles were still on Luke’s shoulders. Having my legs raised and the pillow underneath me put my cunt at a wonderful angle that let Luke penetrate me so deep. I clung to his back and met each of his thrusts as we moved faster and faster. He waited until I came again to fill me with his cum.

Afterward, we were both too spent to move. We didn’t even get back up to turn the lights off…just pulled the bedspread up over our heads and slept.

Martin Wilson lived in a modest ranch-style house in Boulder City, Nevada. He was about forty years old and had a shaggy, unkempt appearance. When we knocked on his door, he answered it with a beer in his hand. It was only nine o’clock in the morning. That could explain the belly. I’d yet to see if it shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly because he didn’t appear to be in the mood to be disturbed.

“Whatever you’re selling, I ain’t buying.” He started to close the door in our faces.

“Oh, we aren’t selling anything,” I said, lifting the basket. “This is a gift…for you.”

“For what?” He scratched his stomach with his free hand. “I didn’t enter no contests.”

“No, but we’re Brandy and Luke Fontaine.” I smiled and looked over at Luke.

“We own the company you work for…or that you were working for when you were injured,” said Luke. “We got into town yesterday and met with Dan Sellers, and he told us about your injury.”

“May we come in?” I asked. “This basket is getting heavy.”

“Yeah. All right.” Mr. Wilson took two steps back so Luke and I could go inside.

I was really glad we’d rented a modest car for the day instead of arriving here in the pretentious limousine. Mr. Wilson seemed put off by us already, but he’d never trust us if he thought we were a couple of snobs.

We followed Mr. Wilson into his living room, and I sat the basket of goodies on his coffee table.

Mr. Wilson sat down on a worn recliner and nodded toward the basket. “What’s in there?”

“Cookies, chocolates, crackers, cheeses, summer sausages, mixed nuts, hard candies… that sort of thing,” I said.

“And you brought me this why?” he asked.

“Because you were injured,” I said. “We just wanted to express our get well wishes.”

“Huh. Well, thanks.”

“Also, Mr. Sellers seems to be under the impression that you’re moving,” I said.

Luke took my hand and gave it a squeeze. I didn’t look at him because I knew his eyes would be flashing warning signs at me. I didn’t feel the need to be warned. I knew what I was doing.

“I ain’t going nowhere.” Mr. Wilson squinted at me. “Why do you say I am?”

I shrugged. “Mr. Sellers said somebody saw you loading up a moving truck the other day.”

Wilson’s squint turned into a glare, and Luke pressed my hand harder.

“In case you do decide to move,” I hurried on before either man could interrupt me, “we’d like you to keep us in mind when you’re ready to return to employment. We have other operations around the country.”

Wilson’s glare went back to a squint of confusion, and Luke let up on my hand.

“Right,” Luke said. “You have a spotless employment record, and we’d hate to lose you just because you might want a change of scenery.”

I was glad Luke had got on board with my train of thought. We’d spoken about what to say in the car, but Luke had thought mentioning a move was a bad idea…that it would spook Wilson that we were on to him. I thought…okay,
hoped
…this would get us onto the subject of the truck and what he was doing that night.

“Sellers might’ve just been saying that because he wishes I
would
move,” said Wilson.

“Why would you say that?” I asked, bringing my hand to my chest in feigned surprise. “Like Luke said, your employment record is spotless.”

Wilson took a swig of beer. “He thinks my back’s not hurt as bad as I say it is. But the doctor has told him it is. I ain’t faking. The stuff I was putting into that truck wasn’t heavy at all. I was helping a friend move.” He took another drink. “Or it might not have been me he saw anyway…could’ve been somebody that just looked like me. Who saw me?”

I looked at Luke. “I don’t think he ever said, did he, sweetheart?”

Luke shook his head. “Maybe we need to be talking to Dan about this. Why in the world would he suspect you of faking your injury? A man with an employment record like yours wouldn’t lie about an injury.”

“That’s right. I don’t know what he’s got against me, but he had somebody following me around and everything.” Wilson was jumping on this indignant bandwagon we’d driven out in front of him. “He did. It was a little old man, and I could’ve sworn he was taking pictures of me and stuff.”

I gasped. “What nerve!”

“Yes, ma’am, what nerve,” said Wilson. “I felt like one of them circus of the stars or something with them papa—what do you call them?”

“Paparazzi?” I asked.

“Yeah…with what you said hiding in the bushes laying wait on me and stuff.” Wilson nodded.

“Did Dan have more than one man following you?” Luke asked, taking a notebook out of his breast pocket to make notes.

Wilson sat his beer down beside the chair and leaned forward. He saw the opportunity to burn Dan Sellers, and he was more than willing to take it. “Well, now, I ain’t saying there was more than one man trailing along after me…but there might’ve been.”

“Tell me exactly where and when you realized you were being watched,” Luke said, pen at the ready.

“Well, that little old man I was telling you about was at the bowling alley the night I met there with my league.”

“Did you get a good score?” I asked.

“One-eighty!” Wilson grinned, showing a mouth full of tobacco-stained teeth.

“Yay!” I clapped my hands.

Wilson’s grin widened, and Luke smiled too. I’d just given Luke proof that Wilson was well enough to bowl…apparently well. That didn’t tell us what had happened to the investigator, of course, but we’d get there.

“Any other times?” Luke asked. “We don’t like our employees being spied on.”

“No, sir, and I don’t blame you,” said Wilson. “It ain’t right for Sellers and them to be spying on people unless they’ve done something to show they can’t be trusted. And you said yourself, I have good records.”

“You do, Mr. Wilson,” said Luke. “Can you think of any other times you knew you were being followed?”

“Yeah…that night with the truck,” he said. “See I was in the grocery store parking lot waiting on a friend of mine. I…uh…had some stuff of his in the trunk of my car…and some other stuff in the backseat. Anyhow, I loaded that stuff into the truck while he stayed in the cab. When I got the stuff loaded up, I pulled the door down, and he took off.”

“The stuff you loaded…how heavy do you think it probably was?” Luke asked.

Wilson’s grin faded. “Why?”

“Well, you couldn’t have had anything all that heavy in the trunk of a car, could you?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not like there was a sofa or a refrigerator back there!”

Wilson laughed. “Right! Right. There wasn’t any of them boxes heavier than fifty pounds.”

I scoffed. “Fifty pounds. Even I could lift that.” I flexed my right bicep.

Wilson winked at Luke. The two good ‘ol boys were fixing to share a laugh at the little lady’s expense.

“I don’t know about that,” said Wilson. “Fifty pounds is more than you think…especially when you’re loading ten boxes on the back of a truck.”

I giggled. “I guess it
is
more than I’d be able to handle. Truth be told,
twenty
pounds sounds heavy to me. Of course, I don’t have the muscles you big strong men have.”

Luke had a coughing fit that told me he needed to cover a laugh in a hurry. I was laying it on thick. But he had to give me credit—I’d knocked it out of the park twice for the home team.

Luke gave Wilson a business card and told him to call if he could think of anything else.

“In the meantime, you can bet I’ll be talking with Dan Sellers,” he said.

“I appreciate that, Mr. Fontaine,” said Wilson. “And, Mrs. Fontaine, thank you for the basket.”

“You’re so welcome,” I said. “Do be sure and let Luke know if you come up with more information about Mr. Sellers…or anything.”

“You bet I will.”

When we got into the car and pulled away, Luke said, “I don’t have the muscles you big strong men have? Really?”

I laughed. “Hey, it got us at least part of what we needed, didn’t it? Wilson admitted to bowling and lifting ten fifty-pound bags of…something. That has to negate the seriousness of his back injury, right?”

“That’s right, Miss Scarlett.”

“Fiddle dee dee! I don’t mind your calling me Scarlett O’Hara as long as you’re Rhett Butler and realize that I need to be kissed often and by someone who knows how,” I said.

“I’ll take care of that as soon as we get back to the hotel,” he said.

“But first we’re going back to talk with Dan?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep.”

Nervous Dan, as I was starting to call him in my mind, was pacing around his office when we returned.

“Did you see Martin? What did he say? Did he even talk with you?” he asked.

“Yes, lots of stuff, and yes again,” I said.

Luke shot me a look of exasperation. “We did talk with him. Frankly, Dan, he doesn’t seem like the brightest guy in the world.”

“Yeah…well, he wasn’t our corporate attorney.” Dan barked out a quick laugh.

“He admitted going bowling and lifting fifty pound bags of something—either he doesn’t know what or he isn’t saying—onto a truck the night he was captured on film by the private investigator,” said Luke.

“So he practically admitted to us that his workers’ compensation claim is fraudulent,” I said.

“Good. Well, there we go!” Dan nodded, obviously pleased.

“You’re forgetting one minor detail,” Luke said. “The private eye is still missing.”

“Oh…of course. But that’s really a matter for the police, isn’t it?” he asked.

“You said they weren’t taking you seriously,” I reminded him.

“I did, yes. B-but…you know…they’re right about there not being a body found,” Dan said. “Maybe I was being too hasty or paranoid.”

“Maybe…or maybe not,” said Luke. “I’m still going to poke around a bit to see what I can learn. I’d be very surprised to find that Martin Wilson had anything to do with the investigator’s death though.”

“Me too,” I said. “He might be shady, but he didn’t strike me as a killer.”

“Just be careful, Mrs. Fontaine.” Dan bobbed his head like a little bird. “Seldom does a murderer advertise what he’s done.”

“Well, Dan, we’ll get out of your way. If there’s any way we can be of further assistance, please let us know.” Luke shook Dan’s hand.