Concentrating on the seemingly limitless expanse of black pavement disappearing under the bike's wheels, Camille hadn’t felt more in control in long time. Whether it was the supple black leather poured over her generous feminine bits, or the Superquadro, Ducati engine she was riding, that made her feel like some high class biker badass bitch. The feeling of power probably had more to do with the advent of a new life, with new loves, and a new future. It was a leap of faith, but it felt good and she felt like she could take on the world.
Life seemed ready to take her on too.
She pressed her chest against the fuel tank while leaning into the bike to take advantage of the limited protection the windscreen provided. She flinched. Her ribs still ached. Well, with one hundred and ninety-five units of horsepower zooming her up the highway along the Hudson River, her long limbs comfortably hugged the network of fiberglass and chrome between her legs-everything that was supposed to be healing ached. Her helmet hid a steely gaze and exasperation with the two men who were the reason she dared to be on her beloved bike on the eve of a winter storm that weather forecasters were predicting to be a Nor’easter.
She was on a mission. She was pretty convinced that she, and the bike she was, riding was the only thing that was standing between Carrick and Malcolm, a three-hundred pound cellmate named “Tiny”, and a stint in the nearest federal penitentiary.
Federal Agent Marks, an uninvited, early morning visitor made this impromptu road trip inevitable. If she didn’t get to Carrick and Malcolm first, she was pretty sure that that their relationship would end before it ever really began. A try-out in the electric chair kinda did that to a relationship. If Carrick thought she was crazy before, well clearly her common crazy had definitely gone viral.
What the hell were Carrick and Malcolm thinking? Camille fought the urge to close her eyes at the thought of the anguish she would feel if they were taken from her…in handcuffs. The idea of her and them in adjoining cells wasn’t exactly easing the ache either.
Camille leaned further into the bike, ignoring the rub against her ribs. Orange just wasn’t her color, and a jumpsuit was just tacky. She was determined to save them all from the embarrassment of being cosigned to cotton blended polyester.
And the morning had started so promisingly…
“Morning baby.” Even barely awake, the deep, rumbling warmth of Malcolm’s voice brought a slow smile that she knew was broad and toothy. He must have just left the shower and put on his cologne, because her senses were assailed with the crisp clean smell of a man fresh from his toilette, intermingled with the essence of Malcolm, a scent so uniquely his own.
Blindly she stretched like a well-fed, contented kitten. Almost smug in her satisfaction, her whole body seemed to unfurl and blossom at the memory of the night before. She felt the depression of his hand near her head, she blindly reached for his arm, intent on pulling him back into bed. She had a better “Wake-up Call” in mind and wanted to show them both exactly how she felt. They had infused their into her being. She didn’t have the need to investigate, dissect, or fear it. They had answered all the important questions when they told her they loved her and she accepted them. Now, her joy made her silly-she felt this inexplicable urgent need to fly to the Alps and reenact Julie Andrews’ opening scene in the Sound of Music.
Well, maybe it would be an interpretive rendition…two men and a little skimpy fräulein outfit she’d bought the last time she was in Switzerland…it would be the triple X porn interpretation.. The thought brought a naughty smile to her lips. “Booyah!” She silent whispered to herself, not even bothering to open her eyes.
“If she looks that content and we aren’t even in the bed, I might have to climb back in there and reminder her how good we can make her feel when we are in it.” Carrick’s smug voice almost made her crack her eyes open. But with her eyes closed, Carrick’s cologne was mixing with Malcolm’s in such a deliciously sensual way and her senses were indulging in a bit of an instant replay of the previous night. Opening her eyes would just be overkill…and too much damn work. She burrowed into the bed deeper, still trying to tug the arm-she had a pretty good grip on-to join her.
Her eyes snapped open.
Wait! They’re not in the bed?
Then her eyes narrowed on the man she would take a healthy bet was responsible for her lack of manly companionship in the warm, snuggly bed.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Carrick’s eyes cautioned her to behave.
Camille’s scrutiny only became more severe.
“We’ll be back before you know it. You’ll hardly miss us,”He promised, Carrick figured it was probably a bad time to let her know how cute she looked trying to give him the business with her stare. She couldn’t possibly know that she looked all puffy from a comfortable sleep and kiss swollen lips.
Camille’s features rearranged themselves into clear disbelief.
God she looks incredible first thing in the morning. Carrick thought to himself. If what was waiting for Mal and he wasn’t so important to have handled today, he would have no problem with climbing back in bed and pulling Mal in with him. Carrick cast a quick look at a clearly besotted Malcolm, also mesmerized by a sleep sexy Camille. Clearly he wouldn’t get any arguments from that better half.
To Carrick’s surprise, Mal was the one to circumvent all ideas of returning to bed.
“Baby..” Mal soothed, trying to get her attention while nudging against that special spot beneath her ear.
Camille too busy giving Carrick a bitch fit with her eyes to barely pay Malcolm any attention.
“Baby girl.” Malcolm entreated while leaning further on the bed to snuggle into Camille, carefully keeping himself above the covers.
Now Mal had Camille’s full attention. She turned to him, pressing the front of her body closer to his as she began placing tender little nips to, and around, his lips as he struggled to talk. She wasn’t playing fair and evidently hadn’t any intention to try.
Malcolm sampled the lobe of her ear as he talked, “Baby, we really have to leave. Why don’t you catch up on some sleep. When we get back we promise to make sure that the extra zzz’s are worth your while.” He couldn’t help smile when she turned toward his lips and slipped out her tongue to give his lips a little lick, and then trapped its finely defined ridge between her teeth.
Malcolm growled. He was hardness pressed against the zipper of his pants and the side of her thigh. Her talented mouth was making their leaving almost impossible. “Baby, this business can’t wait. We’ve have to leave now. The chopper is waiting.”
Business. Camille eased off as she surveyed the living and breathing Men’s Wear Daily Ad that was looking right back at her. It must be big business, based upon the way Malcolm and Carrick were carefully coiffed. Camille knew Caudwell was an extensive enterprise and she had been a huge distraction for too many weeks. She assumed corporate shenanigans called them, and it probably had to be fairly serious if whatever it was pulled them away from what she was laying out on a platter.
Be a big girl. Her conscious advised. She’d guess that there were thousands of Caudwell employees that counted on Carrick and Malcolm to act like men with responsibilities.
She also needed to set a precedent. The following would be the only condition that they were allowed to leave the bed in the morning when she was snuggly, hot and horny. “Whatever deal you leaving this bedroom for better be worth zillions, or I’m grabbing my Fräulein outfit and the first man to strike my fancy to the Swiss Alps.”
Malcolm was puzzled. He wasn’t sure what the threat actually was, but he was sure Camille in any kind of outfit wasn’t something he’d want to miss. He took a quick glance at Carrick, hoping he could get some help from him.
“Ahhhh…Okay.” Carrick didn’t have a clue what she was talking about either, but he definitely didn’t like the other man option that she was rolling out.
“First of all, the other man bullshit is not the way to go to try to get crap out of me.” Carrick advised his eyes promising that he would punish her for that little remark later.
Camille tried to give him her, “I don’t give a shit” face, she didn’t want to let on, especially with a man with an ego like Carrick’s, that he was hot when he went all dictatorial. She wasn’t into the crazy kinky stuff-those clients always paid substantially exorbitant fees on top of her regular charges- but damn, a nice spanking did have some merits. She concentrated on not looking too eager for corporal punishment.
Carrick continued, “Second, this deal is worth everything to us, or nothing in heaven or on earth would get us to leave this bed. Carrick ran his hands over her sheet covered legs and leaned in to give her pouting lips a deep kiss.
Touching her long limbs reminded him how it felt to have them wrap around his waist and his cock deep inside her. While kissing her his body subtly shuddered with remembrance. Damn, but he didn’t want to leave. Still, he knew he had to go.
Before she quite knew what had happened, Malcolm had taken his turn with Camille’s lips and both men had left before she could think up another argument.
Evidently Camille was more tired than she thought because she must have fallen back to sleep. The next thing she felt was a sluggish feeling of pulling herself from the depths of a deep sleep. Camille wasn’t really sure what awoke her. Her senses told her something had. Camille looked around the room. She wasn’t familiar enough with the room, but nothing obvious out of place enough to draw her attention. She looked across the bed and saw a piece of paper on the night stand.
Camille scooted across the bed to investigate it. Her name was boldly scrawled across a fold of the single page of sturdy stationary.
We left you some Danish and there’s coffee in the kitchen.
If you see anything you want or need, feel free-what’s ours, is yours.
Left a cell should you need us for anything, or just call us so that we can hear your voice.
We’ll be back before you know we’re gone.
Yours (and his),
His written words made her grin. She wasn’t sure if she had smiled this much in five years.
Then she frowned.
She was awake and it seemed that they were still gone.
Admonishing him in her mind-Bad Malcolm! She had only been awake for a moment and she already missed them. She cautioned herself not to be one of those clingy women. The part of herself that was Chameleon was in hysterics at the thought she could ever feel such a deep longing for her men that the absence of them made her feel an essential part of herself was out, around and wandering.
Camille’s head perked up at the sound of something moving in the other room. Looking at the door she realized that the door to the bedroom was slightly open.
Damn, that Malcolm was good! Chagrined, she did know if she more embarrassment that she was so relieved that they were in the house, or that within twenty-four hours she become some strange breed of woman who wasn’t as confident standing on her own two feet, as she was strengthened by being in her lovers’ proximity. That was the true death blow to her alter ego, Chameleon.
Camille decided to take the time to morn Chameleon’s demise later, as she hastily clambered out of the huge bed excited to see them-ready to match her wits to Carrick, wrap herself around Malcolm and later settle down to showing them both how grateful she was to have them. She saw a deep bronze, silk robe at the end of the bed and threw it over her, casually tying it, on the way to see them.
God, I love them.
Attempting to create some type of order in the messy tresses, she hastily finger combing her hair. She couldn’t keep from softly singing to herself, “…The hills are alive with the sound…”Camille’s fingers itched to find a piano, key board…something to play. She glowed at the thought of the times that Carrick would somehow materialize when she played. He was her private, intimate audience.
Maybe I’ll wow Carrick with my catalogue of Rogers and Hart…
The thought made her breath catch as she entered the hallway. A memory bubbled up. One that she’d thought had been locked up tight, or at least put in a recessed folder in her mind marked, “To Forget.” Like photo paper placed in a solution to unlock the captured image, she saw a couple with two little girls, one about ten and the other an infant, pressed between them in a huge bed. That was how her sappy love of old musicals came to being, watching in Technicolor as carefree lovers singing to a carefully crafted melody in her parents bed. Her mother helped her learn to play every single whimsical love song in each one.
She stood for a moment with her hand on her heart, steeling herself for the physical pain that always accompanied the merest whisper of any reminder of that life so long ago. Her eyes widened with the realization that the recollection didn’t burn anymore.
Camille drew a cleansing breath. The picture in her mind felt more like a comforting keepsake to remember, unlike the usual knot of pain she’d try to ignore. Carrick’s and Malcolm’s gift of love freed her from that pain as well.
She needed music. She needed them. At least one of those necessities was waiting for her in the living room. She rushed on bare feet across bare floor to get to them.
Turning into the large open living room, Camille skidded to a stop as two things simultaneously caught her by surprise.
Her piano was in Carrick’s and Malcolm’s living room and Agent Jeffery Marks was sitting behind it reading another folded piece o f paper. At first, after such a long time apart her heart raced that seeing. The instrument at The Pride was spectacular, but this one was hers. She kept in her bedroom and it was one of her very first purchases when she started making real money. Camille almost lost her bearings to the world around her in her rush to get to the grand piano. She felt almost giddy, How did Carrick get it into the penthouse? How did that marvelous man know that it was just what I would need? This must be what pure joy felt like.
Agent Marks made some movement. Instinctively, Camille halted mid-step. She couldn’t quite catch what about his demeanor put her on guard. Immediately she was struck with the wrongness of him seated at her piano and she could just finally focus beyond the presence of the instrument to recognize the hostility that seemed to be directed toward her.
Reading the note’s message, Agent Marks recited, “If music be the food of love, play on..,” giving Camille a withering glare. “
“Why doesn’t he just say what he means, “Thanks for the booty. God know if it was anything else he would would’ve managed to stick around the morning after.” Clearly annoyed, Marks glanced at the slip of paper, “Who the hell does he think he is?”
“Shakespeare” Something turned in Camille’s stomach as he touched the piano she loved and spoke Carrick’s private words that were meant only for her.”
Marks looked at her in surprise, “He thinks he’s Williams Shakespeare-talking about delusional?” Smirking he threw the note on the top of the piano and raised himself off the bench, beginning to tour the room.
“No” Camille surprised herself by responding calmly in the face of his insults, “The words on the note…” She watched Agent Marks walk around the room picking things up, studying them, then putting them down only to walk over to the next thing and following the same procedure over and over again. “…they are Shakespeare’s …from the ‘Twelfth Night.’”
Agent Marks had always treated her with basic decency, but something in his eyes warned her that his presence in Carrick’s and Malcolm’s apartment that morning was probably not going to end well.
Marks was glaring at some Chrystal knick-knack, turning it toward the light shining through the windows, reviewing the signature on its side. Marks’ anger was almost palatable. He gave voice to it, “So that asshole with all that money can’t come up with his own words? He has to plagiarize?” Marks laughed hatefully.
Ah, clearly Carrick and his winning way with people, has made himself another admirer.
Wisely, she kept that observation to herself, she was well aware that she was wearing little more than little a piece of man sized silk which separated him from her naked body. Somehow she knew that moving would be a serious mistake and she had no intention of going back to the bedroom to dress properly and possibly drawing him into that room. Camille tried to wrap the robe closer to her body, attempting to make it look casual so he wouldn’t think she was as guarded as she felt.
She’d never thought of him as anything more than a somewhat reasonable boss, he’d held too much power of her life for her to think of him as anything else. Sometimes he’d seemed to be flirting with her, absentmindedly she flirted back. In her business, flirting was like breathing-it didn’t take a whole lot of conscious thought and it didn’t hurt to keep the guy who had the key to the handcuffs friendly.
Surely he didn’t think that there was more between them? Camille’s eyes widened at the thought, but she remained silent.
Without the courtesy of looking at her, Agent Marks continued to question her, “So, did you sleep well? When I checked on you a little bit ago, you seemed to be down for the count. ” On the surface the words seemed polite, yet she heard an implicit layer of brewing anger. She couldn’t help but be creeped-out that he had been in the same room with her when she was vulnerable and asleep. Her nausea increased as revulsion rippled throughout her body.
Marks’ tested the weight of what seemed to be a smallish Ming vase in his hands. Each time he tossed the vase from one hand to another. Camille winced with each launch, waiting for him to let the priceless vase drop by “mistake”.
Agent Marks cast Camille a calculating look and gave the vase a final high toss. Breath caught in her throat as Camille took a couple half broken, awkward steps toward priceless piece of porcelin with her hands extended. She was brought up short as he caught the piece at the last second and placed the vase were it belonged. Before Camille could step away from him, Agent Marks took the final few steps to stand closer than a foot before her. Camille could feel the heat of his breath blow across her forehead. For a moment she flashed back to boat and Benny.
I’m about to throw-up.
“Camille, you’re looking a little pale. Rough night?” Marks roughly grabbed her by the arms, looking at her like she was an unpredictable puzzle.
“Jeffrey, why are you here. What do you want?” He had her arms pulled painfully in front of her. She didn’t know if he realized her was hurting her. She only knew she just had to get him to stop and calm down.
He leaned closer and spoke into her ear, “I was in that museum he calls a house and he looked at me with contempt. Like was nothing and her treated me like I was a joke. I worked my ass off to be an Agent and he made me feel like the shoe shine man.” He shook her harder with each sentence, “Do you know what that feels like?” He grabbed her closer, trying to get her to meet his eyes, “Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. You know you’re just part of his collection. You and the boyfriend are both just two really expensive, one-of-a-kind, black bookends.”
Camille pushed at his arms, fighting not to be forced to look into his eyes, but he fought her just as hard to make her. She saw pain, no small amount of embarrassment and a whole lot of anger. She didn’t know what happed between Carrick and Marks, but she did know that Carrick was hard core when it came to protecting those who he believed deserved his loyalty. She knew that better than anybody. “Jeffery, Carrick is arrogant, a bit elitist and certainly egotistical, but he is not a racist.”
“Says the Black girl sucking his dick,” Marks ignored her defense.“Why in hell would you put your eggs in his basket? He couldn’t possible understand you, a Black woman who has made some hard choices in a world that is stacked against most women of color. I know who you are. I understand the sacrifices, I watched my mother make the hard decisions, trade in her pride just to get the scraps off their table and offer her children a life that was little easier that the one she had. You and the boyfriend are just an amusing Stepin Fetchit routine for him. What are you going to do when his trades up his collection?”
She pitied him and she wasn’t going to let him feed her his doubts after Carrick and Malcolm had helped her resolve her own the night before. She sighed, “Again Jeffery, what do you want?”
He looked at her sadly, “I’m sure Malcolm is already compromised. He’s a man who prefers dick to pussy so he’s already fundamentally flawed, but you have a chance to get out. I’ll help you. You just help me close this case and I will help you get your life together.
I just bet. With part of my time spent on my back. He couldn’t kid a kidder.
“Jeffery, you don’t know anything about my relationship with Carrick, or Malcolm. You don’t have a clue what kind of men they are and you know even less about me.” She unsuccessfully tried to tug herself from his arms, “Stop embarrassing yourself and leave.”
Something in his eyes calcified as his tone changed into one of admiration, “My deal must look pretty paltry next to the one Carrick Caudwell and his hired dick are offering you? He laughed with disgust. “One guy and a spare,” He smiled and grabbed her chin so hard that the skin rubbed against the bone, “No doubt you’re a professional and you’re thinking damn big. Carrick Caudwell and his lover are your ultimate insurance policy aren’t they?” He released her chin, “Now I wonder if you even give a damn about how much it’s going to cost them. Just don’t fucking tell me that you give them all that ass and pussy for free?”
She forced herself not to try to vainly claw his hands off of her body. His insults hurt. But she’d been though hell and it seemed to gaining a certain level of tolerance for it. “If you don’t get leave now I’m going to call security.” She tried to keep her voice under control, but she afraid that he was losing his control, if not his sanity.”
Agent Marks was on a roll, again he ignored her, “If you’re giving it out for free, why couldn’t have been me. You knew I wanted you. You played on that didn’t you?” his voice changed to a whiny quality. Marks released one of her arms and with infinite care allowed his thumb to play at the collar of her robe, letting it trace the boarder of the garment as it flowed along her neckline and bisected the space between her breasts. The edge of his pinky finger hesitated as it brushed the side of her left breast.
Camille glanced up and her eyes collided with the slightly crazy in his. Camille could only turn her head. There was no one to hear her if she screamed and unlike how she allowed herself to submit to Benny’s beating, she knew she would fight to the last breath if Marks tried to rape her. She didn’t think she could bare him within her body after what she shared with Malcolm and Carrick. Her men had stamped their ownership of her body and soul the night before-she would fight to death to protect that.
Still, dying seemed a little drastic. She had to think. I also have to check the ingredients in my custom-made perfume. Something in it obviously attracted crazies like roaches to Black Flag. Camille made a mental note.
Marks let out a harsh laugh, “Well it looks like I’ve got you and them, now.”
Staring at him dumbfounded, at first, his words didn’t penetrate. She knew he had her. His fingers were digging into her arms as he spoke, but how did he have…them?” All her protective instincts were triggered. No one was going after Carrick and Malcolm. As far as she was concerned, she was the only one allowed to make Carrick’s life hell-if she was so inclined.
Camille dug deep and forced her body to shake off the paralyzing effects his aggressive behavior triggered in her. Damnit! Over the years she’d spent a fortune on martial arts master. Maybe this would be a good time to show off her skills. When in hell did I become comfortable the role of victim? She cursed Michele and Benny-all of this shit was their fault.
Camille violently twisted to shake his hands off of her, and swung wide to slap his face for good measure. She put everything she had into that slap. As far as she was concerned this was the last time any man would be putting his hands on her without her permission. Agent Jeffery Marks was about to learn the lesson the hard way.
The force of the impact of her hand connected with his face forced Marks to swing back. Camille quickly stepped out of arms’ distance. Filling herself with as much hauteur she could muster her sore jaw clenched as she slowly annunciated, “How. Dare. You!” Her disgust leaked out of every syllable.
Marks’ head snapped back to face forward and he instinctively stepped toward her.
Camille jumped back with her hand out as if to stop him. “If you take one more step, I’m going to press the panic button and you can talk to the building’s security and the NYPD regarding how you gained entry without permission, and how you’ve tried to manhandled and scare the crap out of me.” She was pretty sure there had to be some type of panic button in the apartment, but damned if she had a clue where it might be. She sure hoped he didn’t call her bluff, but to to add a little frosting to her cake of fairytales she added for good measure, “Or maybe you’d like to take your chances with Carrick and Malcolm.” She gave him a look filled with pity, “What would be left of you, wouldn’t be enough to moisten a postage stamp.”
He leered back at her, “Who tha’ fuck do you think you are and how much damage do you think I could do while you wait for them to show up. I have the government to back me up. You think your saviors are willing to go against that…over you?”
Honest to God she knew that this mess that she had gotten them in wasn’t worth any sacrifice by Carrick and Malcolm. She would do almost anything to take back the all kinds of crazy that she saw coming, but she promised herself to take a leap of faith so she gathered herself up to put into words what Carrick and Malcolm pressed into her body last night, “Yes, they would do anything for me.” She knew the belief in those words shone in her eyes when Agent Marks’ narrowed. She tried to head-off a continued confrontation, “Jeffery…” she said his name with a quiet, soothing tone, hoping to get him to step back and give them both a breather so he could come to his senses, “Don’t do this. Please don’t do something I know you will regret. You’re not this man.” Her hand lifted up and down trying to show that he man in front of her, almost frothing at the mouth, was unworthy of him.
He was way past hearing her. “So you’re giving it to them that good. Got them on-call, fighting to keep their lease on your shit.” He brought his pointer finger to his lips, pretending to carefully consider his next question, “How much is the standard contract for a cunt plus extras cost, or do you offer an financing option?”
Camille couldn’t help herself as she straightened, looking every inch the calculating businesswoman. Name calling by those without means be or buy her time, ceased to bother her a long time ago, “If you looking for financing, you can’t afford me.” She really didn’t give a damn what he thought about her, but she need to steer him toward telling her what the hell was going on with Malcolm and Carrick.
“You’re a bitch.”
Camille continued to stare impassively at him. “And you’re disgusting. What happened to you? You used to be a decent human being.” She stepped further away from him, careful not to turn her back.
“Maybe I got tired of being played. Now it’s payback time.”
She’d had enough. “What have I missed? What exactly did I do to you?” Maybe if she had him recite his alleged wrongs the she could move this pity party along and see what she could do to help Carrick and Malcolm.
Marks was clearly didn’t know where to start. “I’ve been covering your ass for more than a year and you allowed me to think that I might have a chance with you.”
But this cunt is good enough for you. A man’s contradictions will never cease to amaze her. Camille looked at him incredulously. There was no way he could be that stupid and be one of the Fed’s best and brightest. “You were covering my ass because it was your job. Said Ass, was out there in the first place because YOUR bosses were blackmailing it. I’m not sure if you missed the part where I was on my own while MY ass was exposed and shaking its assets all around every mobbed up lunatic.”
She couldn’t help but to advanced upon him, getting a little closer, but not too close. “Funny how You didn’t have so many complaints when I was making your fucking career and getting myself into of a whole lot of goddamned trouble.”
Clearly her association with Carrick was rubbing off on her. Since she met him; she’d never used so much profanity in one conversation in her life. “Since you’re so smart, and you think you’ve got Malcolm and Carrick where you want him why don’t you let me in on the big plan.” She was praying that Marks’ ego was as large and fragile as most boastful males, the only benefit in their mind for being brilliant, was the ability to brag about it.
He didn’t let her down.
Marks looked around the room and found the sofa and took his time walking to it. He flopped down on it as if to make himself comfortable barely able to contain himself, “I guess it won’t hurt let you in on a few things. It’s not like you can do a damn thing to help them.” She pulled her robe closer to her body as she watched him, so boastful, so full of his own greatness. It made her want to projectile vomit all over his smug face.
He continue unconcerned about her clear disgust, he laid out the new ground rules as he crossed his legs and let his arms rest along the back of the sofa, “I’m sure you remember the terms of your agreement with the United States government, you are to do everything we ask, or charges will be brought against you and everybody you give a damn about,” he reminded her.
“So now you aren’t allowed to leave this apartment. You are not to receive any calls, make any calls or receive any visitors.” Looking positively triumphant, Agent Marks pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pants pocket, “This piece paper states I have the authority to do so. Read it, and weep.”
“Nice speech, now what the heck does the United States government think that Carrick and Malcolm did that would make it think that this,“ she nodded at the piece of paper he had thrown on the coffee table, “is necessary.” Camile need him to lay out whatever he had on Carrick and Malcolm.
“Ah,” the agent offered a sly smile, “It seems that your boyfriends have been pretty busy since they took you off that boat in Florida…”
He proceeded to blow her mind.