Page 49 of Dangerous Lover

And anyway, when Deaver found Prescott he’d be rich. Not as rich as Drake, but still.

“Is there anything else?”

Even if there were, Deaver couldn’t afford it. “No, that’s it.”

“Then I think we’re done here,” Drake said, rising. “My men will accompany you to our ID facilities. It shouldn’t take long. Someone will be manning a phone number you’ll be given for a month, round the clock, ready to verify your identity as an FBI agent. If you require that service for longer than a month, it will cost you extra.”

“No, a month should be fine.” Deaver was a good tracker, the best. He’d find Prescott before the month was out.

“Then we have a deal.” Drake offered his hand and Deaver took it. The hand was cool, dry, the grip strong. Deaver had once seen him kill a man with a single blow to the chest. “Let me know where you’ll need your weapons.”

Deaver nodded. There was no overt sign, no button pressed, but the steel door suddenly opened, two bodyguards at the other side ready to accompany him to where he’d get his ID.

“By the way,” Drake said in his cool, precise voice when they were standing on the threshold. “When you recover your diamonds, bring them to me. I can get you a very good price.”

The steel door closed on Deaver’s astonished face.

Chapter Ten

Summerville

“Oh yeah, baby, give it to me,” she purred. “Big and thick and hot.”

“You got it, honey.” Sanders McCullin obliged, holding the woman’s skinny hips and bucking up into her. It was pleasant enough. She was very wet and was enthusiastically bouncing up and down on his dick.

Sanders couldn’t remember her name. Karla—Kara—Karen. Something like that. They’d met last night at the Zig Zag. On Christmas Eve, the bar had been bouncing and loud. She’d been with a girlfriend who’d dumped her for a guy and had slid over to the empty barstool next to his.

They’d been fucking for the past 24 hours, breaking only to eat, shower and go to the bathroom. Not being sure of her name wasn’t that hard.Honeydid just fine.

Kara-Karen threw her head back, eyes closed, hips pumping.

Sanders guessed her age to be about thirty. Except for her breasts and nose, which were probably about four.

Women with breast implants shouldn’t be on top. Everything wiggled except the breasts, which looked bolted to her chest. Fascinated, Sanders watched her breasts— big stiff things that didn’t move, like water balloons under the chest wall. She was skinny everywhere except for the balloons on her chest—tits on a stick. And with her head back, he could see the signs of plastic surgery on her nose.

And … on herface? Jesus. He hadn’t noticed that at the Zig Zag and they’d been fucking in the dark ever since. So maybe she wasn’t thirty after all.

After pumping energetically for a few minutes, she came with a great howl, sex pulling hard on him, startling him into his own climax.

With a cat that ate the cream smile on her face, she settled back down on top of him, clearly intending to stay there, head on his shoulder.

“Wow,” she purred. “That was fantastic.”

He could smell the sex on them. Ugh. Clean up time.

“Hey, honey, sorry. Nature’s calling.” Sanders nudged her off him and rolled off the bed, padding naked into the bathroom. As he walked past the dresser, he caught a glimpse of himself and stopped, pleased. Those hours at the gym sure paid off. He had a flat stomach and some good definition, except right now he looked … inelegant with the condom hanging off his dick. He pulled it off.

Not bad, he thought.Still holding up. The ladies sure weren’t complaining.

In the bathroom, he threw the condom in the wastepaper basket—there were four of them on the bottom.

He loved his bathroom. He’d spent $50,000 remodeling it and he loved every inch of it. Next to the shower was a stand-alone bathtub carved from a single block of marble that weighed one ton. The floor had had to be specially reinforced before it could be winched into place.

Sanders stepped into the shower and felt his spirits lifting at the sight of the gleaming fixtures and pale cream Valentino tiles. It was a spa-quality steam shower with 30 shower jets, a foot massager, piped in music and a hands-free phone system.

As he soaped up with his Clinique for Men shower gel, Sanders realized that he wished the woman in his bed would just disappear before he got out of the shower. He was all fucked out and didn’t like her enough to spend time with her not fucking.

She wasn’t the brightest tool in the woodshed and she had an annoying, screechy voice. She was good in bed and gave great head, though there’d been a shocked moment when he looked down at himself afterwards and seen a black cock, as if it had suddenly turned gangrenous. It was just Karla-Kara’s trendy goth black lipstick all over his dick, but he’d had an ugly moment there.

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