Page 33 of S.O.S. Perk

Yup.That was Smalley alright. A dedicated and competent guy, albeit incredibly dour. Sloane had her suspicions that the “hat” the agent wore while in the office, wasn’t exactly who the actually man was. It was hinted around the coffee station that Smalley had some mad, hidden skills which the Bureau used, but lips—all around—were sealed. That both Sloane’s boss, Baskins,andMizzay had recommended him for this joint op was interesting, since he wasn’t often out in the field any more.Yup.There was more to Smalley than met the eye, and Sloane would sniff things out, eventually.

The Bureau tended to age people prematurely, which made Smalley’s years undecipherable. Which made Sloane pause. Didshealso look older than she was?Damn.If things with Perk progressed, she didn’t want to appear like an ancient hag next to all his youthful, Adonis beauty.

Aaand… Here she was back to personal shit.

Sloane gave a shrug, sucked up some fortitude, and went for broke.

“That’s good. But on another note, I, uh, don’t suppose you’d like to meet up somewhere that’s remote on Saturday. Just to goover the case, of course,” she clarified, cringing and hoping she didn’t sound needy.

Perk chuckled. “Hey. We don’t need any excuses to get together, Sloane,” he assured her. “Iwantto see you. For you. Not for business.” Still, he clarified. “But our hanging out has to be dependent on where the case is going. If I get an invite to any other teenage gatherings, we’ll have to postpone.”

“Of course,” Sloane readily agreed. “But I’m hoping you’ll find out something tonight that will speed things up.”

“From your lips…” Perk responded before getting back to their personal agenda. “So, where do you think would be best for us to meet? My place? Yours?”

Sloane had been so nervous proposing a get-together in the first place,she hadn’t even thought about logistics. Which was so unlike her.Dammit. She needed her head back. Which meant she needed to scratch the itch that was Perk, fast, or put some goddamn lotion on the bothersome rash and get the freaking irritation off her skin for good.

In response to his question, though, logistically a remote destination would be better than either of their Boston homes as a destination.

“Maybe getting together someplace neutral but far away would make more sense,” Sloane countered.

“Agreed,” Perk returned. “And I know just the place. My parents have a summer home on a lake right across the New Hampshire border,” Perk informed her. “It’ll be a little chilly in early December, but it’s not being used right now, and I can bring wood for the fireplace. How does that sound?”

Damned cozy, and probably dangerous, but Sloane gave herself a mental smack. It was time she finally stopped waffling and made up her mind about Perk one way or the other. She couldn’t back down now. Not until she found out if her lust-filledfeelings toward Perk had sticking power, or could be assuaged and dismissed with one mad, frantic, sucking-face session.

“Great,” Sloane managed to eke out. “Address?”

Perk rattled it off, after which they settled on a time for their rendezvous, and determined that Sloane would bring breakfast. It all sounded very innocent and “picnic-y”, but Sloane had her alternate agenda tagged as a priority.

She hoped she didn’t scare Perk away.

****

Perk pulled his Volvo into Higgins’ driveway, checking to make sure he had the right address. He’d expected the rough-edged kid to live in a sketchy neighborhood. But this two-story, pristine colonial sat regally on a beautiful, tree-lined lot; the street filled with other gracious abodes. It looked like Higgins wasn’treallya hoodlum, just a wanna-be thug trying to outrun his upper-middle class existence.Interesting.

Perk went to the side door, slipped the backpack from his shoulders to his left hand, and knocked as he’d been instructed to do. A forty-something-year-old woman who looked like a PTO-attending, cookie-baking type mom, answered his summons.

“Oh. Hello. You must be here for Barry. He said he was expecting more company.”

Barry, huh? Thathadto be Higgins.

“Uh, yes ma’am. We, umm, have a project we’re working on together.” It’s what Perk had been told to say if any grown-up asked.

“Of course. Of course.” The woman let him in. “I’m Stella Higgins, and you are?” She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, and he couldn’t help but notice she was checking him out with an appreciative spark in her eyes.

“Thomas. Thomas Perdudan.” He stuck out a hand, and hoped it was enough to take the inappropriateness out of the air.

“Nice to meet you, Thomas.” She accepted his shake with one of those lame, two-finger grasps before giving a half shrug, turning toward the counter to pick up a plate. “I made some brownies, if you’d be so kind as to take them to the basement with you?”

“Certainly,” Perk said, and switched his backpack from his hand to his shoulder, taking the proffered dessert.

“If you need anything else,” she replied breezily, a touch of lust back in her voice, “just call up. Mr. Higgins and I will be watching TV in the den.”

She turned on her heel and left the kitchen as Perk clutched the goodies.

Well, at least he had the woman’s approval, and now he wasn’t going to starve even if he was consuming empty calories. The homemade brownies were at least as nutritious as the fast food he’d been inhaling at his makeshift home. Perk had quickly learned that Smalley couldn’t cook, and Tertia was—although stellar in the kitchen—generally too busy; their temporary living room back in Waterston was evidence of that, strewn with a large variety of take-out boxes.

But…now what?

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