Hired Gun Ch. 02

"The FBI is presently conducting an investigation into the overnight shooting of one of its agents at the Showboat Hotel in Atlantic City." The reporter, a distinguished looking man in his late forties stated. "His body along with that of Sardar Iqbal, a Pakistani National was found massacred early this morning, along with two unidentified women, who escaped being injured.

"The FBI gave no explanation as to why one of their agents was present, admitting only that they were conducting an investigation into Iqbal's activities at the hotel." The reporter continued. "We'll have more on this later."

"Well!" The reporter's female co-anchor laughed. "That must have been one heck of a party!"

I wasn't upset knowing I'd taken out an FBI agent, assuming he was there on behalf of Sardar, probably warning him of the pending investigation. He was obviously a traitor!

Finishing the last of my iced tea, the news switched to a live report from Washington. A spokesman for the FBI was standing behind a podium, reading a prepared statement.

"Our investigation into the assassination of Sardar Iqbal has come to an abrupt close." The man stated. "We have determined that a militant group is responsible for the action, which also resulted in the death of one of our agents, who was under an internal investigation by the Bureau."

One of the many reporters present asked if the agent was suspected of being a cohort of Iqbal's.

"We're not going to answer that question." The spokesperson replied, gathering up the papers. "The least we can do is protect the suspect's family."

"Suspect!" I thought. "Why the hell don't you just admit you've got security problems, Asshole?"

Feeling much better, I decided to drive on to Indianapolis before getting a hotel room and a good night's sleep. That would put me within five-hundred miles of my home.

Stepping out of the shower at the Holiday Inn on the west side of Indy, my cell phone rang. The caller I.D. was blocked so I knew it was Michael Whittaker.

"I hope you're not expecting another bonus for taking out two assholes instead of one!" Whittaker laughed instead of returning my hello. "But I do appreciate it."

Before I could ask about the FBI agent in question, Michael informed me he was a distant relative of Sardar's and acting on his own to warn the man about the investigation into his tossing the two hookers off his balcony.

"When do you want to meet for the pay-off?" I asked.

"Where the hell are you now?" Michael inquired.

"I'm at the Airport Holiday Inn in Indianapolis." I answered.

"Are you naked?" Whittaker laughed.

"No. I'm wearing a red thong with matching spiked heels!" I jested. "And a smile of course!"

"Hmmmm. Sounds hot!" Michael exclaimed. "Stay put. I'll be there sometime around midnight."

Tired and sleepy, I climbed into bed after downing a few aspirins to knock out my headache.

The light knocking on my door awoke me around 1:00am. Slipping on a robe, I checked the security eyepiece before unlocking the door.

"You're an hour late!" I quipped, seeing Michael standing in front of me.

"Yeah, but I'm worth the wait!" Whittaker jested, glancing down at his briefcase.

"I hope that's for me." I asserted with a grin, knowing it was.

"Fifty grand, just like always." Michael responded. "I also brought along a bottle of champagne to celebrate."

"Hmmmm. Champagne makes me horny." I laughed, slipping off my robe and tossing it on a nearby chair.

"Oh my God, Amanda!" Whittaker exclaimed, taking in the sight of me standing before him completely naked. "I never dreamt you were so beautiful!"

"I'll pour the champagne while you get undressed." I murmured in my sexiest voice.

I put ice cubes in the glasses to chill the champagne, seeing it was warm. Setting the glasses on the nightstand, I didn't have to wait long for Michael to pull me into his arms. His heart was beating hard, throbbing against my bare breasts. His lips crushed against mine in a passionate kiss that seemed to last forever.

For a man in his early fifties, he had the physique of a much younger man. Not nearly as good as Trace's of course but still great for a man of his age. Running my fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair I wanted to fuck him right then.

"The Viagra's working!" He mumbled, guiding me backwards towards the bed. "Let's see how long it lasts."

As a lover Michael was fantastic. His lips traveled slowly downward over my breasts, taunting my erect nipples with his teeth. Placing my hands gently on the back of his head, I entwined my fingers in his hair. I was about to cum the minute his warm breath wafted over my pubic mound. His nose nuzzled my trimmed pubic hair. Michael's tongue flicked lightly at my clit, sending a shock wave through my body.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" I moaned aloud. "AHHHHHHHHH!"

Whittaker's tongue stabbed at my pussy, prolonging my orgasm, milking it for all its worth. I rode it out, never wanting it to subside.

Catching my breath, I felt his tongue slither inside me. I grasped the back of Michael's head, pulling his face hard into my wanton pussy. I came again, the orgasm outmatching the first one.

"Christ! You're hot!" Whittaker exclaimed after lapping up my cum.

"Fuck me!" I whispered, reaching up and grabbing his shoulders. "Make me cum all over your cock!"

Michael's cock, though not very thick or very long, worked my pussy hard. With every stroke I slammed my body into his, jolting both of us. Michael's stamina was not to be outdone. We fucked like animals, grunting and groaning. I came the instant he did, feeling his warm cum flooding into my pussy. His arms stiffened, supporting his upper body wait. I felt he was going to collapse on top of me at any minute but he didn't.

"That's one!" He muttered with a grin. "Let's go for two."

His cock slammed into me like a jackhammer, his desires taking control of his body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking my ankles together. Michael fucked me harder and harder until I came once again, muffling my screams against his chest.

Whittaker's perspiration covered my face, saturating my platinum blonde hair. His climax totally wiped him out. Collapsing on top of me, his cock was still oozing cum inside me.

I held him in my arms, our hearts beating against each other's chest harder than ever. We lay there, warmly embracing for almost a half hour.

"That's the best pussy I've ever had." Michael murmured in my ear.

"Killer pussy's always the best." I whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

"My dick's still hard." He laughed. "Wanna go again?"

"Let's have some champagne first." I suggested, rolling him onto his side "I need a cigarette."

"Good idea!" Michael agreed, climbing off the bed.

We drank two glasses of champagne, which gave me enough time to choke down a couple of cigarettes. Michael's cock remained rock hard so he strutted around the room like it was some sort of trophy.

"How about giving my ass a rest?" I suggested, running my fingernails lightly over his cock.

Motioning him towards the bed, I had him lay flat on his back. Picking up a pillow off the floor, I placed it behind his head.

"Whatcha got in mind?" Michael asked with a grin. "Something kinky, I hope."

"Nothing kinky." I murmured, giving him a passionate kiss, snaking my tongue between his lips. "Just lay back and relax."

Gliding my tongue down over his chest, I stabbed at his bellybutton before continuing on. Michael's rock hard cock brushed against my cheek. Sliding my tongue upward from the base, I swirled it slowly around the mushroom-shaped head. Michael was staring at me, his eyes wide open, taking it all in.

Filling my mouth with thick saliva, I plunged my lips down over his cock. His body tensed for several moments before gradually relaxing. Slowly, I lifted my mouth upwards, coating his shaft with my fluid.

"You like that?" I whispered, knowing he loved it.

"Hmmm!" Michael moaned, his face taut.

I pumped my mouth up and down on his cock, taking my time, prolonging his climax until I wanted him to cum. His balls were warm, my fingers gently massaging them. I sucked on his cock, filling the room with loud sucking noises. That was enough for him to blow his load. I clamped my lips tightly around his throbbing cock.

"OHHHHHHH GEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZZ!" Michael groaned, succumbing to my desires.

His body remained tense as the cum seemed to never cease. I swallowed it all, not letting one drop of his cream escape my lips.

"Feel better?" I laughed, leaning over him. "I certainly do!"

"That was awesome!" Whittaker muttered, smiling up at me.

Climbing off the bed, I ran into the bathroom to get a wet washcloth. Michael was still lying flat on his back, watching me when I returned. His cock had finally gone flaccid.

"Now what?" He questioned, eyeing the washcloth.

Instead of answering him, I began washing him off, putting his tired body at ease. Michael's eyes followed my every movement, savoring the attention I was bestowing on him.

"Do I get to wash you off?" Michael jested with a grin.

"No. I'm going to run through the shower." I replied, washing his balls. "You just lie back and wait for me."

I took just enough time to wash myself completely and dry off before returning to the bedroom. Whittaker was sitting up in bed, drinking another glass of champagne. Climbing onto the bed with him, I slipped the glass from his hand and took a sip.

"I need you to do me a favor." I stated. "A personal favor."

"Name it, you got it." Michael replied without hesitation, taking the glass from my hand.

"I know you've got a researchers working at the Predator Group." I asserted. "I need them to track down somebody for me."

"Let me guess." Whittaker interrupted before I could continue. "Richard Adam Douglas."

"Yeah. How'd you know?" I asked.

"I knew you'd ask eventually." Michael answered. "I figured someday you'd find somebody and want a divorce from your husband."

"Too bad I'm not the lucky guy." He laughed.

"There isn't anybody else." I declared. "I just think it's time I got a divorce and ended the marriage officially."

"I could have him taken care of." Michael suggested. "No muss, no fuss, instant divorce."

"No. I don't want that!" I exclaimed. "Just find him for me and give me his address. I'll take it from there."

"Ok. Ok. Have it your way." Whittaker reluctantly agreed. "Give me a few days."

Switching off the lights, I snuggled into Michael's arms, falling asleep almost immediately.

It was around 8:00am when Michael jostled me awake. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd worn when he arrived.

"My flight's leaving in an hour." He murmured, giving me a loving kiss. "I hate leaving but I've got to be getting back to D.C."

"I hate your leaving too." I whispered, brushing my lips over his. "Don't forget your promise."

"I won't." Michael responded.

After getting dressed, I checked out of the hotel, grabbing a bite of breakfast as a nearby restaurant. I still had five-hundred miles to drive but carrying fifty-thousand dollars in cash made it more enjoyable.

It was late afternoon, when I pulled into my driveway. I was glad to be home, glad to be where I felt safe and secure.

For the next several days, I jogged, mowed grass and kept busy around the house. I carried my cell phone with me constantly, hoping to hear from Michael Whittaker....or Trace McCall, but my phone never rang.

The incident in Atlantic City had faded into history on the internet, in the newspapers and the televised news reports.

Finally, I got the call I'd been waiting for.

"Turn on your fax machine, Hon." Whittaker affirmed. "I'm sending you the information you wanted."

Switching on the fax I waited patiently for it to warm up. The green light started flashing alerting me that a document was being sent.

"Are you receiving it?" Michael asked over the cell phone. "Stay online with me until it does."

The document printed out face down. Reading through the paper, I saw the top line. "Certificate of Death". I didn't bother taking the paper out of the tray.

"How? How'd it happen?" I mumbled into the cell phone.

"It was a traffic accident, Hon." Whittaker replied. "About six months ago, just outside of Detroit. Rick was pronounced dead at the scene."

"Are you sure it's the right Richard Adam Douglas?" I muttered, tears streaming down my face.

"We confirmed his Social Security number, driver's license and tax records." Michael asserted. "I wanted to make damn sure before I called."

"I need some time off." I stammered. "I'll call you when I'm ready for another assignment."

"Call me if you need me." Michael stated. "I'll do whatever you want."

Disconnecting from the call, I took the sheet of paper from the fax machine. I read it over carefully, focusing on each word. Rick, the man I'd had feelings for since we first met, was gone forever. I cried uncontrollably for over an hour.

For the next two days I moped around the house, not eating, just smoking every cigarette I had. I toyed with my diamond wedding band, vowing I'd never take it off.

My appetite finally returned but I was reluctant to bother eating. Everything in the house was outdated except for a package of Oreo cookies. I ate the whole package, which made me sick to my stomach. The last thing I remember was lying on the bathroom floor, wishing I were dead.

It was dark when I awoke. I lay there, not moving a muscle, afraid I'd get sick all over again. It took me awhile to realize I was in bed and not lying on the bathroom floor. I heard footsteps climbing the stairway, then approaching the bedroom.

"You're awake." Trace murmured, kneeling next to the bed, brushing his fingers through my hair. "You feel like eating something?"

I barely shook my head. The last thing I wanted was something to eat no matter how bad I needed nutrition. Trace said something but I fell asleep, not hearing a word.

The bright morning sun streamed into my bedroom, shining on my face. My body ached all over like I had the flu. I laid there for awhile, gradually moving my legs, then my arms to work out the kinks. I rolled over, turning my back towards the sun.

I wasn't sure if Trace had left or not. Slowly opening my eyes, I saw him sitting in a chair in the corner of the bedroom.

"What time is....?" I mumbled, my mouth too dry to finish the question.

"It's a little after 9:00." Trace replied, checking his watch. "You want some water?

I nodded my head, exerting all my strength to prop myself up on my elbow. Trace held the bottle of chilled water to my lips, letting the fluid seep into my mouth.

"Cigarette." I muttered.

"No cigarettes until after you've eaten something." Trace retorted.

I wasn't about to argue, knowing he was right. Sitting on the side of the bed, Trace spoon fed me some soup. I started feeling a little better although my muscles still ached.

"My husband...." I sobbed

"I know. I know." Trace interrupted, brushing the tears from my face. "I saw the fax on the diningroom table."

"I'm never taking the ring off." I mumbled. "I just can't."

"That's ok." Trace murmured. "I can live with that. I love you too much not to."

THE END....or is it