Passions of Crime

"Don't worry, sweetheart," you say with a warm smile. "I'll be fine."

**********

Six hours later, you return to the hotel, tired and frustrated. You didn't get caught, but the keys did nothing at any of the three companies, and what paperwork you did manage to find revealed nothing illicit.

As you walk up to the door to your room, you see the wood of the door frame is splintered next to the knob. Pulling your gun out, you push the door open carefully. At first, everything looks normal. Then you see something that makes you forget to be careful: a pair of blue shoes sticking out from behind the far bed.

"Camille!" you shout. You race around the bed, then stop in your tracks. You drop your gun in shock, falling to your knees. "Oh God, Camille. No..." you whisper.

She is lying in a pool of blood, her dress soaked through with blood from several stab wounds. Her mouth is covered with tape, and her face is bloody, bruised and swollen. She has been beaten so savagely she is unrecognizable.

You hopelessly feel her neck for a pulse, but she is cold and stiff. You gently caress her cheek, tears streaming down your face. "Camille, I'm so sorry," you sob.

You sit beside her, your head in your hands, rocking back and forth as you cry. You are wracked with guilt. She was wonderful, and you promised to protect her. And the very first chance you got, you failed her.

A hard knot of anger slowly grows in your stomach. "They'll pay," you whisper, wiping your eyes. "I swear I'll make them pay, Camille." You lean down to kiss her cheek, and that's when you see it.

Her earrings aren't blue. They're gold.

"Oh my God." A small flame of hope flares up inside you. You examine her body more closely. You've known her for less than 24 hours, but you've seen every lovely inch of her, and the more you see now, the more doubt fills your mind.

Then you find something that shouldn't be there, something nonsensical, leaving you utterly bewildered. Stuck in the bottom of her shoe is a large fresh wood chip.

You sit back, at a loss. The stress of the last day, the last week, the last month swirls through your mind. You shut your eyes tightly, trying to block it out.

Then, with a sudden blinding flash of insight, it all makes sense. "Those sons of bitches!" you exclaim out loud.

Five seconds later, you are out the door and sprinting down the hall.

**********

It's getting dark as you stare out the window of your car at the locked front gate of Haviland Lumber, the very same lumber yard from the ad in your pocket, with your name hastily scribbled on it by a dead man.

And while that man had not been a good husband, his final act in this world had been trying to keep his wife safe from his killers, and you would be damned if you let his sacrifice be in vain.

You hope to God you're right about this.

With your jacket collar turned up and your head down to try to hide your face, you casually stroll past the gate, but you can already see it's no good. The padlock on the gate requires a bigger key than either of the ones you have.

You make your way carefully around the perimeter to the back gate, but again it's a no-go. The padlock here is smaller, but neither key will fit. You grit your teeth. "I'm not wrong," you mutter.

You continue around the outside of the yard, but find no other entrances and no obvious place to climb over the fence.

After thinking for a minute, you return to your car. Starting it up, but leaving the headlights off, you drive slowly around the yard and park next to a back corner of the fence. Climbing onto the roof of the car, you jump up and haul yourself over the top of the fence, your injured arm throbbing painfully, then struggle to lower yourself down on the other side.

You hit the ground hard, rolling to your back with a groan. You wish you were younger as you stand up painfully, but nothing seems broken. You look back at the car. The fence isn't solid and anyone with a flashlight would notice it. You'll have to hope the night watchman is lax. This doesn't seem likely, but then again, you reflect, criminal lackeys can be just as lazy as any other low-paid workers.

You look around for anything you could use to climb back over. All you can find nearby is one crate and a wooden pallet. You push the crate to the fence, then set the pallet vertically on top of it, leaning against the fence. It's rickety and probably tough to climb, but it will have to do.

You head to the yard's office buildings. You run into one patrolling watchman, but you sneak through the shadows and manage to avoid him. Most of the windows are dark or have drawn curtains, and the others show nothing interesting inside. You try your keys on each door to no avail.

You don't intend to leave without finding something useful, but if you start breaking down doors you're sure to be noticed, and you're running out of places to look. There's one smaller building, apart from the others, nearer to the mill.

"C'mon, Marcus, don't let me down," you say under your breath as you approach the door. You slide the big key in with a click. It turns smoothly in the lock, and the door swings open.

Inside, sitting on the dirty floor in her undergarments and a thin shirt, her feet bound and her hands tied behind her back, with tape over her mouth, is Camille.

She looks up with fear as the door opens. Her eyes widen in surprise. "Mmmmm!" she cries against the tape.

You stare for a moment, not quite believing. Utter relief washes over you. You close and lock the door, then pull a chair over and prop it underneath the knob. You rush over to her and pull the tape off as gently as you can.

"James, thank God! I was so frightened!" You untie her hands and she throws her arms around you. "I knew you'd find me," she sobs, clinging to you as her chest heaves.

You hold her tightly, stroking her hair. "I thought I had lost you, Camille. Are you hurt?" She shakes her head.

"They said they would, though. They made me take off my dress and shoes, and they said if I didn't tell them everything I knew, they would do to me what they did to her."

"Who?" you ask, untying her feet.

"Dean's wife, June." Her eyes fill back up with tears. "Oh, James, it was horrible! They had beaten her so badly! They took her somewhere else a few hours ago."

You sigh. "I'm sorry to tell you this," you say, helping her to her feet, "but she's dead." Camille gasps. "They had her put on your dress and shoes, took her to our hotel room and killed her. They wanted me to think she was you."

Camille closes her eyes, horrified. "How are we going to get out of here?"

"I have a plan for that. But we can't leave yet. If we don't find some evidence now, they'll just move this whole operation somewhere else and we're back to square one." You look around the room and spot a filing cabinet in the corner. "Here, help me go through this."

The cabinet turns out to be locked, but your little key is a perfect fit. "Alright, look for anything mentioning Mandrill." She nods.

As you search, you glance occasionally at Camille to check she's okay. You catch her looking back at you several times. You can tell she's aroused, but she obviously understands the urgency of your predicament and is doing a good job controlling herself.

"I found something!" she cries excitedly. She hands you the file and you skim through it. Mandrill's name, and a few other names you recognize. The names of cops, and their payoff amounts.

Your eyes glint with the hard, righteous fury of the justified. "Jackpot. If we get out of here with this, we're home free." Thank God criminals are so paranoid, you think. It makes them such meticulous record-keepers.

You fold up the file and stuff it in your jacket pocket. You look at Camille, barefoot and shivering slightly. "Here, you're going to need this." You pull off your jacket and hand it to her.

She smiles as she puts it on. "My perfect gentleman," she says fondly.

Just then, you hear a key rattle in the door. Camille gasps in alarm. The door pushes against the chair, then again, harder.

Muffled voices can be heard. "What's wrong?"

"It's stuck."

"How could it be stuck?"

"I don't know, jackass, that snooty bitch must have jammed something against it."

Camille's eyes flash instantly from fear to indignation. "Oh, you just come in here and I'll be jamming something somewhere!" she hisses.

You grab her arm and point to the window at the back of the room. You pull it open, climb out, then help her through.

"Which way?" she whispers.

You can't go back toward the car, that would take you past the front of the building, and any second now, the door will be broken down. The only place to run is the mill.

You lead her inside the cavernous space, past mountains of cut lumber, conveyor belts and huge circular saws. You are just passing an enclosed workshop when you hear a door open ahead of you. You duck behind a pile of boards and pull Camille down next to you. You can make out faint voices at the far end of the mill.

"Just stay by the door and make sure she doesn't get past you."

"How the hell did you let her get out, anyway?"

"It's that cop. Gotta be."

"No way, we did exactly what you said! Right now he's crying over that dead cunt in his hotel room."

"Just guard the door, shithead!"

You clench your fists and consider taking your chances with these two, but when you look around the side of the workshop, back the way you came, you see two more men entering the mill. You sit back, trying not to panic. "Shit!" you say softly.

"Oh God, there's nowhere to hide!" Camille whispers, terrified. "They're going to find us!"

You look around, knowing you can't play cat and mouse with these guys for long. Your eyes alight on the roof of the workshop directly above you. "Wait here," you whisper.

"What?!" she cries, a bit louder than a whisper.

"Shh!" Peeking out first to make sure the coast is clear, you climb on the boards and jump up, grabbing the edge of the roof.

The roof of the workshop is jammed with piles of material and equipment. There's one long empty spot, but the only way to remain unseen from the floor would be to lie down flat. There's only enough room for one person, unless...

"C'mon," you call down quietly. You dangle your arm down as far as you can reach. Camille jumps up and grabs your hand, and you pull her up.

"Lie down, quick!" She lies face down and you lie on top of her, trying to find a position where she won't have to take your full weight.

"Wouldn't it make more sense for me to be on top?"

"If we're found, I'll have to be able to start shooting quickly. Now hush!"

You hear footsteps from below, then voices.

"There's only so many places to hide in here. Spread out."

"Are you sure she's in here?"

"There's nowhere else she could have gone, asshole."

"But did anyone see her come in here?"

"Nobody's ever gonna fucking see you come out of here if you don't get moving!"

"Alright, jeez..."

The footsteps move away again.

"Eventually they'll give up and look somewhere else, and then we make a break for it," you whisper in Camille's ear. She nods.

A sudden thought strikes you, and you laugh. "What's so funny?" she demands.

"I was just wondering what Camille from yesterday would have thought about lying on this filthy rooftop in her underwear."

"Ugh, don't make me think about it. So gross." She shudders. "I think I may be scarred for life."

For a minute everything is still and quiet. Then Camille starts to squirm. At first you think she is just uncomfortable, then you realize she is rubbing her ass into your crotch. "Are you serious?!"

"I'm sorry!" she cries in an anguished whisper. "I can't help it! You just feel so nice lying on top of me... Can't we just..."

"No! Absolutely not!" you say in your firmest tone, but her squirming is starting to make you hard despite your efforts to control it.

"James, they left me alone for so long! At first I was just scared, but then I started getting... My hands were tied behind my back! I couldn't touch myself! It was so awful. I got so turned on I cried." Her eyes are full of tears again.

You squeeze her hand. "Babe, I feel for you, but this time you really are going to get us killed."

"I won't! I swear I can be quiet!" Camille redoubles her efforts, rubbing herself against your dick.

"Sure you can," you say, not believing it for a second. "Alright, but just until they leave. And we're going to go real slow."

"Yes, please!" she says with a soft groan. "Go as slow as you want! Have your way with me!"

You roll your eyes, but you can't deny how sexy she is, begging for your cock. With a good deal of difficulty, you unzip your pants and pull her underwear to the side. Camille gasps quietly as she feels you pressing against the lips of her pussy.

You push forward until you feel the head of your cock pop into her tight tunnel. Camille twitches and lets out the smallest whimper. It's a tough angle, but she's very wet as usual, and you easily slide in and out with small strokes, gradually working your way deeper.

After a few deliciously agonizing minutes, you're finally fully inside her. You hold still, enjoying her warmth surrounding you, her entire body pressed against yours. You caress one breast, and kiss along her jawline and up her neck.

Camille is rhythmically gripping you with her tight pussy, craning her neck back as you lick her ear and nibble her earlobe. "Having fun, my dear?" you murmur.

"God yes," she sighs. "Now please, no more teasing. Please fuck me." You begin to rock your hips into hers, barely thrusting, but she gasps nonetheless and bites down on the sleeve of your jacket to keep from crying out her pleasure.

Despite your insistence on going slow, she feels so good around your cock you find yourself inexorably speeding up. You can feel her ass cheeks gripping your shaft as you slide out of her, each stroke getting longer and more powerful.

Suddenly you hear voices below again.

"I knew she wasn't in here."

"Shut up, idiot. You know shit. Check around the fence, we can't let her get away. You two take the east side, you two take the west. Move!"

You hear footsteps hurrying off in both directions, and breathe a sigh of relief. You look down at Camille, but in her current state you doubt she would notice if the mill collapsed. Her whole body is taut, and the sheer level of intensity she's reaching is mind-blowing to watch.

You finally start to fuck her in earnest, with full-length pounding thrusts, her tight hole yielding to your rock-hard tool. She buries her face in her arm to muffle her shouts.

You pinch her nipple through her bra and kiss her neck fiercely as your hips slam into her. You feel her wet pussy pulsing around your cock as a massive climax shakes her body like an earthquake.

As before, you are completely unprepared for her sudden wild bucking and squeezing, and you erupt into her. Your jaw clenches and you squeeze Camille tightly as your hips jerk, spraying your cum inside her.

She gasps for breath beneath you. "Shit, James! Each time it's better than before. And I didn't even touch myself that time." She looks back over her shoulder at you. "Did you come? I didn't even notice. I think I may have blacked out for a second."

You kiss her soft lips with a smile. "You always make me come, sweetheart."

"Mmm," she sighs, her lips melting back into yours. Suddenly her eyes fly open in shock. "Oh no! Did I scream? I feel like I screamed!"

"You didn't," you assure her. "I think it was so intense you were rendered mute. Besides, those guys left ages ago."

"James!" she scolds.

You laugh. "I'm kidding, it was just a minute ago." You pull out of her, eliciting a small moan. "But we should move."

"Great, now that my legs are jelly," Camille complains as you help her up.

"Hey, don't blame me, you wanted this. You knew I was the world's greatest lover."

She giggles. "Sure," she says, rolling her eyes. But she kisses you again regardless.

You lower yourself down to the ground. Camille is too scared to go off the roof backwards, so she sits on the edge and pushes herself off, and you catch her.

"I like this," she says, giving you another kiss. "Wanna just carry me?"

You set her down. "No pussy is worth this aggravation," you grumble, but Camille refuses to be baited.

She looks up at you becomingly through her lashes. "Except mine," she says seductively, batting her eyes. Despite being fully spent, you can't ignore how good she feels in your arms.

"Uh huh. Don't come crying to me when you get shot because I was too busy ogling you."

You lead her out of the mill and back toward the car. Several times you have to hide from men with flashlights, but you reach the back corner of the yard unseen.

You help Camille onto the crate, then climb up beside her. You boost her to the top of the pallet, and keep pushing until she's able to grab the fence and make it over the top. You hear her fall down onto the car.

You are just starting to climb up the pallet when the beam of a flashlight falls on you. Instead of opening fire immediately, the man behind you makes the fatal mistake of calling for help first.

"They're over here!" You spin around, firing two quick shots. The man grunts and falls, dropping his flashlight.

"James!" you hear Camille yell.

"Get in the car!" you shout. More flashlight beams appear from farther away. You scramble up the pallet and leap up, barely grabbing the top of the fence. You swing your leg up, hooking it over the top, and pull your body up.

Just as you reach the top, several more shots ring out. You feel a fiery burning pain in your arm. You scream and lose your grip on the fence.

You smash hard into the roof of the car, bruising your ribs. You bounce off and slam into the ground, knocking the wind out of you. "James!" Camille yells again from inside the car.

Although you'd much prefer to simply pass out, you immediately fight to regain your senses, knowing you have mere seconds to escape. With a monumental effort, you make it into the car.

You gasp for breath as you drive away from the lumber yard, blood dripping freely from your wound. "Oh, James, your arm!" Camille cries, immediately pressing her hand to it to stop the bleeding.

In spite of the pain, you laugh, then grimace as your ribs complain. "Now that sounds familiar. You're a real expert at identifying body parts with holes in them."

She laughs too, sounding relieved your death is apparently not imminent. "At least you didn't ruin another jacket," she says with a wry smile.

"I'd prefer to not ruin another arm!" You look over at Camille and notice she's biting her lip. "Sweet Jesus, you want to do it again, don't you?"

She gives you a sheepish grin. "Would you mind?"

**********

The door finally flies open to your incessant knocking. "Who the hell is it at this time of... good God!" Judge Wagner's eyes open wide in shock at your appearance.

You can see his point. Dirty and disheveled, with a beautiful half-naked woman clutching your bloody arm.

"What the hell happened to you, Welbry?" he demands.

Your eyes meet Camille's for a moment, and you both chuckle. "So much more than I can possibly explain. Right now, there's something you need to see." Camille pulls the file from your jacket, smearing blood all over it. She seems not to notice or care. She is past such petty concerns, simply glad her ordeal is over.

Wagner takes the file gingerly. "You'd better come in."

At the kitchen table, Wagner thumbs through the file. He has brought clothes for Camille, but she refuses to clean herself up until she has tended to your arm.

"This file was obtained after entering private property on the reasonable suspicion of criminal activity, Judge."