Sugar & Spice (9 page)

Kelly pulled into the parking lot of the Patriot Bar and Grill, parked the Stingray, and turned off the growling engine. “Have I offended you, counselor?”

“Have you been disingenuous?”

“Yes, but I really didn't mean to.” Kelly placed her hand on his. “I'm sorry, okay. But the truth is, black men come on to me all the time.”

“And white men don't? Is that what you're telling me, Agent McPherson?”

“No, white men do, too.”

“And why do you suppose that is?”

“Truthfully? Because I'm a fine-lookin' broad.”

Sterling laughed. “The truth has finally shown itself. If white men find you attractive, why can't any man find you attractive?”

“I guess they can,” Kelly said reflectively. “Does this conversation mean I can't get a little later?”

“Depends. If you win, yes.”

“And if I lose?”

“Self-stimulation is always an option.”

Two hours later Sterling and Kelly were back at the Willard. They hadn't gotten in the door good before they engaged in a deep kiss that threatened to asphyxiate both of them. Their hands pulled and tugged at each other's clothing recklessly. With her sweater off and tossed on the floor, Sterling reached around with one hand and unhooked her bra like he had done it a million times.

Kelly finished taking the bra off and tossed it near her sweater. Wantonly, hungrily, Sterling sucked her breasts while she leaned against the door of the suite.

Kelly moaned softly. “I need this.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Kelly said. “Be good to me. Be very good to me.”

Sterling moved from her breasts back to her wide kissable lips and plunged in hard. He needed this, too. His body ached for a release and he would have it. While they kissed, he continued to undress her, tugging at her zipper, and almost breaking the button.

“Let me do it,” Kelly said.

A few seconds later, her pants were down to her ankles. She kicked them the rest of the way off and to the side.

Sterling put his hand inside her panties and felt her bush just before he felt her liquid. She moaned when he touched her there, in her most sensitive area. Up and down, he moved his hand until her moaning became synchronized with his steady movement.

“It…feels…so…good,” Kelly heard herself saying. “Don't you stop. Don't you dare stop.”

Sterling continued the tease that was building, becoming volcanic with each and every stroke, threatening to erupt at any moment.

“Yes…yes…oh, yes,” Kelly muttered. Her mind and body were one, like a spiritual journey to a land where pleasure is the only emotion allowed. Then suddenly, she convulsed. “Oh, my God…Oh, my God…Oh, my God.”

Sterling was still lapping at her breast when her release came. Kelly pulled his head in and almost smothered him. She couldn't help herself. His head was the only thing she had to hang on to.

“I want you in me now,” she practically screamed. “Right now,”

“Let me get a rubber,” Sterling panted.

“Hurry up! Shit! I'm ready!”

Sterling went into the bedroom to get a condom but before he had a chance to return, Kelly had kicked off her panties and followed him. She pushed him onto the bed, unbuckled his pants, and slid them down along with his underwear. She took the condom out of his hand, opened it, and put it in her mouth. Then using her mouth, she put the condom on his erect penis.

“You like that?” she asked just before straddling him. “I saw that on one of the HBO
Real Sex
episodes.”

“Really, Agent McPherson? Does the bureau know your viewing habits?”

“Of course. It's required. Now, be quiet and let me get my swerve on.”

My phone rang loudly, waking me and my husband out of a deep death-like sleep at two a.m. Keyth answered the phone and handed it to me.

“Who is it? Kelly?”

“No. It's your new boss.”

“Hello,” I said groggily.

“Agent Perry, this is Acting Director Malone. I thought you were on extended vacation.”

“I am,” I said, still, out of it, eyes still closed.

“Then what the hell did you think you were doing going on television speaking for the bureau?”

That got my attention real quick. My eyes shot open and wide. I knew Kortney was going to find out soon enough. But not at two o'clock in the morning. I felt like a kid who knew he was going to be punished for missing curfew so he stays out even longer. The kid realizes the punishment will be the same regardless of how late he returns.

So flippantly, I said, “Kortney, it's late and my husband has to get up early. I would appreciate it if you called during normal business hours.”

She was silent. We had been at the Academy together so I knew what she was doing, knew how she thought. Whenever she was about to blow up, she simply silenced herself, which was exactly what I wanted her to do. At least I'd be able to sleep the rest of the night. If she was really
hard-up, she could force me to meet her at the bureau where I'd get the tongue-lashing of my life. But by pissing her off, she would think first.

“Agent Perry,” Kortney finally said after a long pause. “I apologize for calling your home at this hour, but I'm looking at this idiot who looks just like you in an FBI windbreaker on the news. Give me one reason why I shouldn't suspend you on the spot.”

“Kortney, I screwed up,” I said, changing my tone. “I let my emotions get the better of me. I knew the victim. She was one of my daughter's teachers.”

“I'm sorry, Phoenix.” Kortney softened a bit. “But was the reporter right? Did the victim have anything to do with the Perkins murders?”

“I don't believe she did. No,” I said sincerely.

“You're absolutely sure about that?”

“Yes,” I said confidently.

“And you know that because…” Kortney's words trailed off.

I paused. I had fallen into yet another trap. Kortney had set me up. I felt about as bright as a two-dollar whore bragging about giving change back to her customers. Both the reporter and Kortney had used my emotions against me in subtle ways to elicit truth from me that I, under normal circumstances, would have never divulged. The reporter saw my whitehot anger and knew immediately that I would want to set the record straight. Now Kortney was pulling my loyalty strings to siphon off information.
Pimped twice in one night.

“Well?” Kortney said. “How do you know, Phoenix?”

“Well…I guess I really don't know.”

“And that's why you keep your damn mouth closed in front of the media. Do you realize your emotional outburst made the national broadcast? The local affiliate notified the network and now CNN has it. It's being replayed every half-hour on
Headline News.”

I remained silent.

“Tell me something, Phoenix. How much did your house cost?”

“Huh?”
Where did that come from?

“Humor me. How much did your house cost?”

“That's personal, Kortney,” I said. I didn't want people in the bureau knowing how much money my father and husband's private investigation firm was pulling in.

“You know I can easily find out, Phoenix. It's a matter of public record. But if I did that, I would have to wait until tomorrow to make my salient point. Now, how much did you pay for your house?”

“Four hundred fifty thousand,” I said. If we lived just about anywhere else in the country, with the exception of Los Angeles and New York, our home would be a palace. But in Arlington, houses are very expensive. It would be difficult to find a decent house for less than $230,000. That is, if you want more than one bathroom.

“That's what I figured,” Kortney said with a satisfied tone. “Now, how is it that a teacher can afford to live right across the street from you?”

“She inherited the money from her deceased uncle,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Are you shark sure?”

I remembered the first time I heard her little euphemism, “shark sure.” We were at the Academy with other would-be FBI agents practicing how to go through doors. Kortney and I had gone through a door and yelled “clear.” We heard an instructor say, “Bang! Bang! Both of you are dead.” Then he reminded us to look behind the door. Later, at mealtime, Kortney had said she would be shark sure the next time she yelled “clear.” We all laughed hysterically. We knew what she meant, but it was funny as hell.

“Yes.”

“Well you better be shark sure, Phoenix. Shark sure!”

I remained quiet. I was thinking about what Kortney was saying. What if Sarah Lawford lied about the inheritance money? If she lied, that in and of itself would not prove that she was involved with Warden Perkins. But it would raise questions. Questions that could prove to be embarrassing for me and the bureau. I was the one who had vouched for her on television a few hours earlier.

“You know the media is going to ask some of the same questions that I'm asking, Phoenix.”

“I know,” I said, shaking my head. All of a sudden, I wasn't so sure about Sarah Lawford. I wasn't sure at all. If we couldn't prove that she inherited a substantial amount of money, the media was going to have a field day.

“Listen, you can pretend to be on an extended vacation if you want, but I'm putting you back on pay status, which means I expect regular reports from you and McPherson. You don't have to come into the office, but you do have to report your findings to me. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said.

“Apologize to Keyth for me. Goodnight.”

Alex and Sam were sitting in a black Oldsmobile parked a few hundred feet from Taylor and Jack Hoffman's multimillion-dollar residence in the Rosemont district of Alexandria, Virginia. The white painted brick colonial was distinguished from the other homes by four huge columns that stood in front of the entrance. A red brick wall separated by an iron gate surrounded the property.

The twins had followed Taylor Hoffman to Dulles International Airport, where she dropped off her husband who had taken the last flight out to Los Angeles. They had waited in the sweltering August heat for Taylor Hoffman to turn off the only light burning in her bedroom. It was so hot that they had discussed turning the air conditioning on, but decided against it. They were taking a big chance as it was. If someone heard a car start, they might look outside and see them. Maybe even call the police.

The Hoffmans were an upwardly mobile couple with everything to look forward to. The young couple was married in June, a few weeks after twenty-six-year-old Taylor had graduated from Georgetown University, where she earned her degree in corporate law. Earlier that morning, Taylor had interviewed for and accepted a coveted position with Talley, McNearney and Associates. The firm had promised her plenty of opportunities for advancement and a possible partnership if she worked hard.

Jack Hoffman had developed a virtual reality program at the Massachusetts Institute for Technology that was specifically designed for the
motion picture industry's science fiction films. The program broke new ground and allowed pictures like
The Matrix
and
Titanic
to be more realistic. Jack had just accepted a three-picture deal with Paramount Pictures and was flying out to Los Angeles to begin work on a project. He had planned to leave earlier, but when Taylor landed the job at Talley, McNearney and Associates, he took a later flight so they could celebrate.

Alex was wearing a pair of headphones that were connected to a parabolic mic that was capable of picking up sound inside Taylor's bedroom. A few minutes after she turned off the light, soft snoring could be heard. The twins got out of the car and walked between the columns to the front door—duffel bag in tow. Using an alarm decoder and a set of master keys, the twins easily walked into the dark colonial without detection. They donned a pair of night vision goggles and welcomed the air-conditioned chill.

Furtively, they climbed the carpeted circular stairs and found Taylor Hoffman in the master bedroom. She was curled in a ball sound asleep under a comforter. Alex took off the goggles, sat on the bed without disturbing her, and turned on the bright nightstand light.

“Taylor,” Alex said, shaking her. “Wake up.”

Taylor opened her eyes and was blinded momentarily by the bright light. When she was able to focus and saw who was in her house, she opened her mouth to scream, but it was too late.

Alex taped her mouth shut and smiled. “Heather Connelly, Sandra Rhodes, and Paula Stevens are dead. You didn't think we'd forget about you, did you?”

Early the next morning, Kelly McPherson came over to pick me up. I got into the passenger side of the Stingray. We were going to Norrell Prison to interview Salaam Khan. Kelly looked relaxed and well-rested, like she'd had her bell rung several times during the night. She hadn't looked this cheerful in over a month. I welcomed the change—even if it was due to illicit sex.

Kelly hummed as she drove down Continental Boulevard. The strange thing about it was I don't think she even realized she was humming. All I could think of was poor Sterling. She probably rode him like a wild colt in need of just the right sort of rider to bring him into submission to the bridle in his mouth. I laughed a little under my breath.

“What, Phoenix?” Kelly said, smiling widely.

I said, “Somebody got their swerve on something fierce.”

“I sure did,” Kelly acknowledged. “Might have to get some more before he leaves town.”

I shook my head.

“So, did you howl the way you howled when we were in St. Thomas last month?” After I said that, I realized it might be a sore spot for my friend. The guy she was with at the time had betrayed her and wasn't exactly what he claimed to be. “I'm sorry, Kelly.”