“Hmm? We did plenty of bouncing. You could’ve multi-tasked.” Her sassy swollen mouth smiles and my cock twitches.
Will I ever have enough of her?
I force the little brain to give way to the one upstairs. “So, I was thinking… I have a friend who has a blog with a huge audience. We could ask him to turn the tide of public opinion. Everyone thinks you crashed a perfectly good helicopter into the harbor. By avoiding the ferry, you saved hundreds of lives. You should be the new Captain Scully.”
“What’s in it for your friend?” She clicks on the news playing yet another view of us dropping into the water as talking heads expound on what could’ve been done better.
I take the remote from her and switch it to the Yankees. “For sure, an exclusive interview, including details on the stolen black box will gain traction.”
Sighing, she drops back on the pillow and stares at the ceiling. “Do it. Call him.”
More sex in my near future, I crave food and caffeine, but not the crappy hotel shit. “I’m going out. Want something?”
“Oh my God, yes.” She scowls at her mug. “The room brew tastes like a bean swam a lap in lukewarm water.”
I chuckle. “Dark or light roast?”
“You mean burnt or delicious?”
Brows raised she grins, and I shake my head. “You yanks and your coffee.”
Looking out the rain-splattered window, I grab an umbrella. “Be right back. Don’t open the door for anyone, okay? Not even housekeeping. We have no idea if any of those bikers followed us here.” I don’t say so out loud, but I also wonder about the Chinese. After missing the first time, will they try again?
Evening comes, we watch a movie, make love some more, and in the morning, I wake and decide to surprise her by bringing her breakfast in bed. As I exit the coffee shop, a muffled shot rings out, I drop to all fours, and a chip of stone cuts my face. Prostrate on the sidewalk, I try to pinpoint the gunman’s position.
This could be yet another random shooting in Atlantic City but more than likely, it’s my past coming to haunt me. I don’t have to wait long for the answer.
A man with emotionless hazel eyes squats next to me and points his weapon at my head. His proximity for most, would mean certain death. For me, it means my foot swings forward, making him fall on his ass. As he does, his gun goes off and the bullet grazes my ear. Deaf, I run and duck under an idling, double-parked, BMW.
The shooter stands, dusts himself off and fires repeatedly, blocking my escape. I count rounds pinging the car’s metal and as he pauses to reload, I sprint toward a door marked employees-only.
Inside, I hop down a steep flight of stairs to a musty basement lit by an overhead grate. Panicked feet clomp across the grill. Once they stop, I wait for a while, unlock a padlock with the key still in it, and lift the heavy covering. From there, I climb to the street and jog down the sidewalk, doubling back toward my car.
That’s when I notice the red on my shirt.
Dammit. I’m hit.
~ Chapter 18 ~
Lanita
Waking up, I reach out my hand and finding no big warm body, open one eye. “Dash?”
At the silence, I sit up. “You here?”
That’s weird. He’s gone. Maybe he went out? I text and by the twentieth message with no response, my heart races.
ME: Where R U? Should I check us out of the hotel?
Panicked, I run down the stairs to the parking lot. His SUV is gone. Did he leave me here? Back upstairs, I pack his stuff. Dammit. What the hell is going on now?
Should I stay another night or take an Uber home? His cracked leather shaving kit contains a stainless-steel, double-edge razor. It looks expensive. I’m guessing it’s not the kind of thing a man would leave behind.
Is he in trouble? Having no clothes of my own, I slip into his dress shirt, cinch the waist using the studded thrift store belt, and tug on my thigh-high boots.
Close to checkout time, I wheel his designer bag to the elevator, wander to the front desk and show Dash’s picture to the teenage attendant. “Did you see him go out this morning?”
The blond-haired kid with an overbite shakes his head, no. “But I came on at ten.”
