Page 38 of S.O.S. Mizzay

“Cobble,” Andy screamed, her arms and legs octopus-ing around him as he gave one final thrust.

Their bodies stilled, shocks shot through him, and Cobble emptied himself in a seemingly endless flow as they both toppled over the edge.

Minutes later, or maybe it was hours, they lay entangled on the small cot; Cobble on the bottom and Andy cuddled on top. She was playing with the small amount of hair on his chest.

“That wuz awesome,” she finally said with an amused snort. “I’ve never come that hard in my entire life.”

“Me, either,” Cobble admitted, his dick—still encased in used latex—stirring again against her belly. “Do you think it was an anomaly?” he questioned.

She grinned above him and wiggled her ass, putting exquisite pressure just where he wanted it most. “I’m not sure. But there’s one way to find out.”

Cobble smiled, then growled like a grizzly coming out of hibernation as he gleefully rolled them over.

“Thatwas exactly the answer I wanted.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Five years ago, Boston…

“You’re too close to this, Missy,” Cavateral—the DAAG, or Deputy Assistant Attorney General at the DOJ—the man who’d stuck with her so far throughout Cobble’s entire case, lamented. He was currently sitting behind Director Baskins’ desk at the FBI office where she’d been working undercover. “You did stellar work, finding the identity of the CIA operative working with El-Umar.”

Right.It had taken the better part of a year to convince her bosses that sheshouldbe allowed to go to South Sudan. And they’d capitulated only because they’d unsuccessfully exhausted every other avenue open to them to find out who was behind everything.

“But because of what recently came out at the trial,” Cavateral continued, “and the subsequent debacle, you no longer have deniability that you’re not still intimately involved with this investigation.”

Yup.Missy had finally, after making her case for a stupid amount of time, gone to South Sudan undercover. She’d then followed El-Umar for two and a half years, off and on, until finally,finally, she’d caught Intelligence Officer Veegal of the CIA on camera, taking a bribe from the murderous man.

Another two months of clandestine tailing, and Missy determined Veegal was the only rotten egg involved from the CIA. So, with Cavateral and Baskins giving her the proper backing, they’d arrested Veegal and brought him back to the States to be tried.

The CIA in South Sudan had been briefed to leave El-Umar at large until they could identify the remaining players in the US.

“I give you huge kudos of course,” her DAAG continued, “but since it’s now well known that you were instrumental in Veegal’s capture,andhe was brutally assassinated in the process of transferring him to prison, the danger to you is significant.”

Missy didn’t like where this was going.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better operative, hereandworking hand in gloved-hand with the FBI. But having talked to Director Baskins and Agent Smalley, we’ve decided your days with the various departments must come to an end.”

Missy didn’t know whether her mouth actually fell open, or if, in her shock, she just imagined it. But…

“Youze two are firing me?” she responded incredulously, her accent on full display with the unwelcome blindside.

“Not without regrets,” Cavateral told her. “But as long as you remain employed by the DOJoreven bogusly for the Bureau, you’re going to be a target. If, however, the remaining smuggling faction sees that you’ve been…dismissed, especially with some trumped up accusations of dishonesty in your records, it’s our belief they won’t come after you.”

“But, sir, the threats haven’t interfered with my work,” she argued, then bit her tongue.Shit. She shouldn’t have letthatslip.

Baskins, her FBI director, chose that moment to walk in.

“You’ve been getting threats?” Baskin’s face turned red. “And you didn’t report them to us?”

Missy hedged. Shehadreceived some pretty explicit warnings up to and including during the trial.

“Well, they were more like…suggestions that I back off and not testify,” she told him, then changed the subject, desperate to drop that hot-button topicandto alter his mind-set. “Listen,Boss—Bosses. Youneedme. We’re getting so close to finding all the players involved with this.Pleasedon’t take me out.”

Missy wanted to scream when Cavateral and Baskins both shook their head. She realized that anything else she said would be futile. It was clear they’d made up their minds.

“Fine,” she clipped. “When do I leave.”

“Today,” Baskins apprised, rare compassion rising in his eyes. “I’ll start a ruckus in a minute or two, where I start yelling at you for making up line items in your latest expense reports; trying to skim from the Bureau and this Department during your time in South Sudan.”

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