Acquaintances, Bygones, Ethics, and Life

"So what?" I was puzzled, "I just signed away all but a fraction of that business."

"It's not what that letter means to those clients," she shook her head, "It's what it means to the clients here on theses lists." I was not sure I agreed it would matter to dollar dollar bottom line corporations. "Look, if he was willing to screw you so totally over refusing to help with a job any service provider could manage, they have to expect he would do the same to them if it suited his purposes. And if he was setting you up back then..."

"You're saying I let him crib the wrong answers."

"Exactly, my Boy Scout," she leaned down, hugging me, "If even a few of these companies chose to use Abel Security it will mean you have more business than you did Wednesday before Cane walked in."

So we went to work, identifying whether the various business interests were owned or client partners. Which were privately owned and publicly traded. Which maintained a social media presence that indicated a concern for the greater good. She had another four discriminators. We ultimately had an even dozen companies that seemed likely to respond to our offer that a more reputable security service supplant Cane's various enterprises. It was going to mean immediate branching into cyber security. And somehow Lacey found three of the contracts which immediately demonstrated I had been way under the mean in my asking price.

She helped edit my letters to each company, and an I though impressive PowerPoint slide show demonstrating the man they had working for them was too rich for the jobs he held, and too willing to abuse the power entrusted to him, which would put their businesses in jeopardy. She got the emails edited, added the other evidence we had put together supporting our case, set the blind CC addresses, and put into the cloud to be delivered at 8 AM Monday.

By the time we had finished, it was nearly dark on Saturday. I slipped on my coat, caught her arm, and insisted she let me buy dinner to celebrate. We went to Two Nice Guys, a pizza place in the Italian District. That does not sound gourmet, but the past three meals had been old baloney on stale bread or dry cereal. I don't usually drink wine with my pizza. Saturday night we killed a bottle of house cab.

It felt... right as she leaned against me, standing under the maroon awning when we went out after the meal. A storm was passing through, and I enjoyed her warmth pressed against me, looking to where I had parked the truck, a lot longer run in the rain than walking in hand in hand had felt like.

"Wait here, I'll drive over," I warned, then paused, smiling down at her, "I'm sorry, I guess I'm being presumptuous... Want to come home with me?" She giggled, coming up on tip toes to kiss me. A kiss a guy could be proud the valet and greeter were watching.

"If I can wait that long," she whispered, and I hustled away for the car, the run made more difficult by a rising erection. I got to the car, fumbling with the keys for a minute, wishing I had the money for keyless entry or that fancy Tesla job that would have pulled up to pick us both up, for that matter. At least it did not matter that I was dripping on the seats. The engine turned over after a couple hesitations. I hung a U on the empty street beyond the restaurant and pulled up, leaning over to open the door as she stepped out of protection of the awning.

I blinked at the transformation from when I had run for the truck. Her eyes were red, tears threatening. Her phone was in her hand, her attention somewhere else.

"Lace?" She was silent, piling into the seat to avoid the rain and slamming the door shut, angrily thrusting her phone into her coat pocket and buckling her belt. "Problem?" She pursed her lips, blew a long breath out. Followed it with a long inhale and a hold. I'd seen that before. Stress breathing or Tactical breathing. I let the car creep forward, eyes automatically scanning the streets around us, wondering stupidly if Cane was making another demand. She shook her head abruptly, motioning out the windshield.

"I'm sorry, Abel, can you take me back to the office?" I stopped scanning and let the car roll.

"Is there a problem?" She nodded, then shook her head. Checked the mirror.

"With us?" she answered too quickly, "No," then recognized, "I mean, it, no, Abel," but did not look at me.

"And not with getting... our business taken care of..."

"No," Almost a laugh, "Is that what you're worried about?" I let the attempt at displacement sit squarely on my shoulders for a moment. Braked too hard at the yellow light I should have noticed. Threw my arm out automatically, keeping Lacey from smacking the dash. She gasped, chest smacking my hand, then pushed it away angrily.

"I'm worried about you," I said. "I'm worried about OUR business." I could not look at her. "I'm scared of what I'm feeling and I'm more scared that I said or did something and I've fucked it up, and that's why you suddenly don't want to come home with me." I stopped at that. Gritted my teeth in the silence that followed. I did not want to look, but could not stop myself. The tears streaming down her cheeks did not make me feel any more like a man. "I should have known it was all in my head. I'm a dumb old man. Should've just enjoyed our night and thanked you for the help and let it go. So I'm sorry... and thank you."

The light was green and we were at speed, my attention back to the road. Nearly bare tires squealed and the truck nearly fishtailed into the back parking lot. In another situation I would have claimed I meant to wind up right beside her car. I was at a loss for words, and apparently so was she, because the door opened and closed again, and then she was in her car.

I sat listening to the clattering lifters for several minutes after she was gone, trying to figure what had happened after dinner. Or at dinner. Hell, over the last three days. Unbidden, I remembered the last time someone had left.

"I don't love you any more. I want a divorce." My ex, delivered like asking me to pass the salt, as she climbed into her side of the bed the night of our ninth anniversary, after a night I had dropped two bills on dinner and spent the time we were eating planning our future since the court case has been tossed.

"Abel, you really do have a type," I scolded myself, before putting the truck in gear and heading to a home that seemed emptier somehow than it had before that week.

I kept myself busy Sunday. Weekends were my turn to review the electronic surveillance feeds. I saw the icon for Cane's home, but did not bother trying to open it, since he had taken control of that. The office was nearly as depressing as the loft, but I had a suspicion I was going to be in the market for a new secretary, so I busied myself with the tasks that would snowball if I did not stay on top of them, the mundane daily chores I hated and had been happy to have someone else handle. Late in the afternoon I paused, wondering if it was a harbinger and I was on my way back to sleepless nights chasing domestics.

I almost skipped opening the office Monday morning, but doing what is expected rather than what you want had long ago become a habit. So I went in, opened up, set the chime on the door, since I had no secretary to screen people, and headed into the closet where the coffee maker had been set up. I do not drink coffee, so it was a new habit that reopened the wound of being alone when I realized what I had done. I retreated to my office and flicked on the morning news, kicking my feet up on the desk and reaching for the paper.

The chime rang. I had propped the door open, and did not hear anyone call out, so after a few seconds I stood, glancing at the clock. Still fifteen minutes to 8. I frowned, determined to send whoever it was packing until the office was open, a petty victory that would undoubtedly cost me potential business.

"Abel?" I stopped between the desk and office door at Lacey's voice. She came through a moment later, wearing the stylish London fog ankle length coat that reminds me of Carmen Sandiego. "You're here early?"

"You're here," I paused, "I did not expect you would be in." She frowned at that,

"How..." I closed my eyes, wishing she had said 'why' several puzzle pieces clicked at once, and I was glad I had gotten a head start on taking back the duties I had asked of her. I shrugged.

"It's okay, kiddo, I should never have expected even one night with you." She clenched her teeth, turning to look at the clock.

"I'd like to explain." I started to retreat to my side of the desk.

"You don't have to," I said not looking at her, "I appreciate you coming in."

"We still have more than ten minutes," she said, "I haven't clocked in." I turned, wondering what she meant. She had opened the belt on the long coat, and I found my mouth open with no thought what to say as she opened it, revealing her abundant glory.

Tan skin, with pale triangles defining the pattern of the bikini she had worn through the summer. The darker pink of her small areolae and nipples standing out on the pale flesh. Nipples pert, but not fully erect. The dolphin on her navel ring caught the light as it twisted, her flat stomach planing away, letting the bauble twist without skin against it, the hint of a six pack more noticeable as she stood before me.

"I didn't think you..." She had closed the distance between us, lips pressed against mine, the impact of her young body a greater force than it should have been It pushed me back and I turned, guiding us back to my chair, pulling her along with me, returning the passionate kiss, not caring what the explanation was.

My hands cupped her breasts, perfect hemispheres, all natural, firm and warm, the nipples seeming to spring to hardness under my fingers as she moaned into our kiss. Her knees were astride my thighs inside the arms of the chair and she humped her naked mons against my trousers for just a moment before her fingers were scrabbling at the buckle. I dipped my head, licking, then sucking at both nipples, letting her do the job, nipping each point on the second pass, urging her on.

"Don't tease," she moaned," having managed to get my pants open. She pushed urgently, with no room for the pants to move, lifting her ass and bringing her sex against the head of my cock. We groaned together as she managed to seat me in her honeyed introits, the crown of my cockhead pressed against her clit from beneath. I rose, pushing more into her, lifting us both out of the chair, hands leaving her breasts to push my pants to mid thigh, and levering forward, carrying her to the middle of the desk, my weight over her, driving my erection into her. Her arms curled around my neck, as I dipped my head, hunched over her, hunching into her, and again began to nip and suck at her breasts. She rocked her pelvis, welcoming my urgent thrusts, trying to get me fully into her dripping sex.

"Yes!" she murmured, "Yes, Abel, fuck me!" I obliged, struggling to maintain that breathing pattern I had seen her use... two seconds in, hold for two, out for two. And trying to imagine the nun who had been my math teacher, glaring at me as I struggled with a quiz on the quadratic equation... "Oh God... Oh God, yes! So good... So close!" Her nails dug into my neck and back, knees coming up, heels spurring my ass. "Don't stop... don't stop." I nearly laughed, imagining I could stop if I wanted. "Harder. Give it all to me, Abel!" I did chuckle at that. "Wha?" she slurred, head back, eyes closed, body trembling at the edge of her climax.

"I... can't," I panted, wondering when I had lost control of my breathing, "Desk... edge... Scoot... forward." It was her turn to giggle, but she was already taking care of the issue, hitching forward on my next back stroke, keeping more of me inside of her, and repositioning so that her ass was perched over the edge of the desktop. She cried out as my next stroke buried my length, thighs butting against her ass instead of the table edge. I repeated the stroke, aware of her ankles cinching behind my waist, pulling me closer.

"Cumming!" she keened, "arms trapping my head between her breasts. My hips were still pistoning, Damnit, I was not ready!

"You bastard!" I stiffened, hearing Lacey gasp at the man's familiar voice-- a voice raised in definite anger. "Did you think you'd get away fucking me over, Abel?" I swept my right arm around Lacey's waist, pinning her against me and pivoted to my left, sweeping her off of the table, still impaled on my cock. I kept pivoting, expecting at any moment the noise of my former partner firing into my back. My left hand had shifted between us, and pushed Lacey away from me as I faced my chair, depositing her unceremoniously on the cracked leather as I kept turning..

The dirty little secret is I pulled my firearm maybe a dozen times in a decade on the force. Never fired it away from the range. I never claimed to be a better than average shot. But that does not mean I have not kept in practice. And one of my chores over the weekend had been practicing a quick draw from the shoulder holster. I had not figured on my pants being down or the turn, but it worked out. I was correct, Cane had his revolver out... No, he had A revolver out, not his service piece. My Glock was out and pointed at his chest while his was still pointed at the floor, his eyes wild, but locked on the gorgeous young nude woman I had left sprawled on my desk chair. He blinked, then pointedly removed his finger from the trigger guard. I left mine in position.

"Enough, asshole," I growled, bringing my second hand up, the academy taught Weaver grip steadying my aim. "I'm tired of you breaking into my office and making demands and threats."

"You're tired?" he barked a laugh, "IA is all over my ass. I thought they were going to cuff me the moment I walked into my office. You fucked me," he repeated. I did not lower the Glock, but shook my head.

"Listen to me, Cane. I have zero idea what you're talking about." He tilted his head, licked his lips.

"Bullshit."

"How exactly could I fuck you?"

"You were in my den. The cameras... You saw my accounts."

"I set up cameras that could not see your computer, asshole. I don't know what accounts you're talking about." I shifted a half step, covering as much of Lacey as I could with my silhouette. "Do you want to tell me what this is all about?" He clenched his teeth, paced left and right, talking to himself, shaking his head. He stopped, shoving the large frame revolver haphazardly into his coat pocket.

"It's too late," he said, but I was not sure whether it was to himself or me, "I need your laptop." I shook my head, opening the desk drawer, lifting my iPad Pro out.

"I don't have a laptop. All the security is on iPads." I did not mention the password and fingerprint combination or that I had them set to wipe after 2 failed attempts. "The only computer is on Lacey's desk out front." He stepped forward, grabbing the iPad, ignoring the Glock. He held it , looking at it like he was lost. "Cane," I said again, "Your data is not on that ipad. Other corporations are. Please put it down." He looked at me. "Why would I do this to you?" I continued, "What do I gain by fucking you over? You were going to help me get my business back."

"That's the back up," he insisted, "You told me it backs up.

"It backs up to the unit in the garage and to the iPad you took," I told him. "You saw the footage from the cameras?" He nodded jerkily.

"She wasn't... I did not see any guy," he said.

"Did she go anywhere?" He considered that. "Was she gone Saturday night?" He blinked, seemed surprised, eyes narrowing.

"Are you two..." He licked his lips, hand flexed like he might reach for the gun, "You two fucked me!"

"I have not seen Tamara since the divorce," I told him calmly. "I was trying to help you because you tried to help me when they came after me. Or were you really helping me? Were you fucking my ex wife before she left me, Thomas?" He flinched, looked away.

"It wasn't like that."

"Bullshit." I took a calming breath, "So you think I'm fucking you over for you fucking me over a decade ago? Why would I wait? I built a new life. Had no reason to suspect you until you told me, just now. And once again, You. Came. To. Me."

"But how else..."

"You said she was acting differently?" He nodded. "Could she have hired someone? Could there be a camera behind your desk?" He shook his head.

"I check. I scan for bugs."

"When was your last sweep?" He frowned, then shook his head. "So it's possible." He started to speak. "Nope." I cut him off, redirecting the Glock and firing at the yellowed plastic phone junction box on the floorboard inside the doorway. I felt Lacey flinch behind me, and Thomas jumped like I had shot him.

"I don't want to know," I told him, "I don't want to be able to help IA. But I'm done helping you. Whatever you did, you get to decide if they have enough to put you away, in which case you run, or if it's a fishing expedition, in which case you'll never run for office, but you'll get your pension and you'll be able to enjoy it." He bit his lip.

"She can't testify against me."

"No, she cannot be compelled to testify. She may choose to do so." He flinched. Stepped backwards toward the door, glancing at the ruined junction box. "That's the junction for the whole office. We can't call out. But someone will have heard that shot. You have to go." He waved a finger at me.

"Your cell phone. Give it to me, both of you." I slipped mine out of the pocket of my coat... I paused, wondering how I was holding a gun on my former partner while still wearing my suit coat and shirt, my cock flapping in the breeze. I slid the battered ancient cell phone across the table top. He caught it, looking to Lacey.

"She clearly doesn't have it on her," I scolded. "Check her desk, or her purse," I felt Lacey shift behind me, "But don't touch anything else. I didn't fuck you here, Thomas. Whatever happened, you fucked yourself." My former partner paused for another moment, then turned, dashing out of the office. I heard the chime ring a few moments later.

I had turned by then to check on my secretary, who was shaking visibly. I pulled her into an embrace, whispered for her to wait right there, then went into the office, reluctantly zipping my pants closed along the way, and brought her a glass of coffee. I paused long enough to add a shot of the bourbon.

"You had better get dressed," I told her even more reluctantly, which to my future memory's delight brought a protest from her. "I wasn't kidding," I explained, "We will have guests, soon." I glanced at the Great Escape poster, where the office camera and microphone were hidden. "I'll edit the tape before I give it to IA. She seemed more shocked at the idea what we had been doing was on tape, then giggled.

"Maybe we should keep it as a memento." We, but speaking as if it was not going to happen again. She padded naked into the front office, returning a moment later pulling a bra and matching panties out of a travel bag, followed by a mid calf summer yellow dress... Not button front. I had pulled a pad out of my desk, and finished scribbling a series of five numbers on it. I handed her the note,

"Here, keep this safe." She winked, tucking it into her bra.

"What are those, the numbers to your lawyer?"

"They're the numbers to his Swiss and Cayman accounts," I answered, "And IA may already have them."

"How... you said you didn't put the cameras behind his desk!"

"I didn't. But when I thought you weren't going to be back, I reviewed all of the security footage Sunday. And then I went back, because I was puzzled that you had an icon for his system, even though I had not given you the numbers." She shrugged.