Chapter 2
It had been simple to research who the local insurance investigators were. Drew just went to the various auction houses and watched to see who inspected what items and took a few discrete photos. Getting names was so easy. They all wore badges. Once he had pictures and names, he looked them up in the phone book, got their home addresses, and one by one, broke into their homes and placed listening devices. All this work because he believed in Sun Tzu’s maxim, “If you know your enemies and know yourself, you will not be imperiled in a hundred battles.”. The way he saw it, if he was going to be lifting those items they were responsible for collecting, he should know all he could about them.
This was a solid plan until he spotted her. She was beautiful. She wore a dark, pink stripe suit that hugged her curves. Her hair was dark brown and shoulder length and was pulled back, revealing a perfect face with eyes that seemed to challenge anyone to cross her. Her smile was perfect, full of life, and ready to take on the world. He noticed her name and took more than the usual photo. He was drawn to her and knew this would cause problems if he weren’t careful.
His attraction, Drew decided, needed to be controlled, so he went straight from the auction house to his loft and began to research recovery specialist Cynthia Smith. It didn’t take long before he found that any thoughts of getting to know her better would be as well advised as playing with nuclear weapons. Cynthia was not just the best at what she did but also dangerous. One thief resisted capture and wound up in the hospital for a week.
The next day, Drew developed a daring plan. If he did it right, it would keep her off balance and allow him to keep one step ahead of her. Leaving his loft, Drew made for a local hangout for thieves and their ilk. It did not take long for him to locate the perfect guinea pig. He approached Alfred Sloane, a halfway decent B&E specialist for the local mob.
Alfred had a long face and protruding snout that gave him the look of a weasel. His dark, closed-set eyes darted around the room, looking for real or imagined dangers. He looked to be in his late 40s, a heavy drinker with little personal hygiene.
“Your Alfred, I take it. I have a small job for you,” Drew said, sliding into the booth across from Alfred.
“What is it? I don’t do charity.” Alfred’s voice sounded like grating stones.
“It pays well. There is an excellent late 17th-century Rembrandt reproduction at this address,” Drew replied, sliding an address across the table. “I want you to steal it and fence it. You can keep all the proceeds from the sale. Just steal it.”
“What the hell? Is this some trick?” Confusion was written all over Alfred’s weasel face.
“No trick. Just steal the peace. It is simple enough. I have even planned it out for you. It’s all here on this thumb drive.” Dropping a small drive on the table, Drew made to leave. “Take the job. It’s easy money. All you have to do is follow the plan. You have to do it in two days, though. Any later, and you’ll have missed your opportunity.”
“If this is some kind of trick, I have friends.” Alfred’s quick fingers snatched up the drive. Looking at the receding figure, he saw Drew come back to him.
“It’s not, Alfred. And we both know you don’t have anyone who cares enough about you to mess with me.” With a smile, Drew knew he had Alfred. There was no way he wouldn’t do the job. The first step is complete; the next steps would be the most difficult.
Two nights later, Drew put together Cynthia’s first package, left it on her doorstep, and waited to see the results.
Around 6 a.m. Cynthia came bursting out the front door, nearly tripping over the package. She gave it only a glance before putting it on a table inside the door. Her hurry had Drew concerned. It could mean only one thing: the faux Rembrandt had been reported to the insurance agency already, which meant within moments of being reported to the police, the insurance agency already had an agent on the way. She would probably beat the police.
Drew left the apartment building, going to the residence where the faux Rembrandt formerly resided. He needed to beat Cynthia there to discreetly watch her in action. Reaching the home of one Mr. Arno, Drew parked across the street and turned on his receiver. He had placed a bug in the house two nights previously for just this occasion.
Cynthia’s red Corvette pulled up to the home within five minutes of Drew’s arrival. Recording everything, Drew watched intently as Cynthia began asking questions of Mr. Arno and examining every inch of the room.
Hours later, when Drew reviewed the tape, he was disheartened. The only way he could succeed was to ensure Cynthia was entirely off her game.
Chapter 3
Driving home, Cynthia needed help to concentrate on the case. She wanted to call Mitch and see if he could meet for dinner, but suddenly realized she didn’t even know his phone number or last name. She blushed at the sudden shame, mixed with delight, at the thought of how she had let herself go completely in the moment with him. It had been exhilarating. Oh well, she thought, he had her number. It’s a good thing. She didn’t want to appear desperate for him. A smile came involuntarily to her lips as she replayed the previous night in her mind. He had known how to push her buttons just right.
Reaching her apartment, she suddenly remembered the package. Opening the box inside, she found a letter and a glass rose that looked like it had been made of air. Its petals were so thin and delicate. The letter read:
Dear Cynthia,
I know this is a strange way to meet, but I am shy. For so long, I have passed you in our building. Each time, I needed to work up the courage to speak. I watch you come and go with such confidence and grace; I can’t help but admire you. Your beauty is unmatched. Your smile can melt the stoniest of hearts. I hope this is okay for you. I want to converse with you if you are open to it. My email is AdmirerofBeauty. Please give me a chance while I work up my courage.
Signed,
Admirer
This was strange, without a doubt, but some newly awakened part of Cynthia decided, what the hell. She hopped online and sent him a quick reply:
Dear Admirer,
I am most flattered by your kind words. This is strange, like something that happens only in old movies or modern horror thrillers. I hope it is the former. If it is the latter, I carry a gun and can use it better than any man I know. But you have me at a disadvantage; you know my name, but I don’t know yours.
Signed,
Cynthia.
Before she could sign off, a reply appeared in her inbox:
Dear Cynthia,
I am hoping more for the outcome of the old movie rather than the modern horror thriller. By the way, I enjoy being on the edge of your seat. It is fun from time to time. As for my name, a little mystery can be pretty fun, too.
Signed,
Admiring You a Far
Cynthia smiled to herself, throwing caution to the wind. Soon, she was chatting it up with her Admirer. She found she could talk to him about her work; he understood it and was genuinely fascinated by it.
The next day, Mitch called to ask if Cynthia wanted to go out for dinner. She readily agreed, and he said he would pick her up at seven.
The next evening, the door rang right at seven. Answering the door in a deep blue dress, almost black, with a neckline that revealed her ample cleavage and conforming to her every curve, Cynthia asked Mitch to come in and sit. She wasn’t quite ready yet.
Turning her back to head to her room, she felt his arms wrap around her and pull her in tight, kissing the back of her neck and pulling her to him. Cynthia leaned back, letting his lips work their delightful magic. She could feel his erection pressing into her. She gently rubbed against him, encouraging it. His hands roamed up her body, caressing every inch of her. She longed for him to take her. She felt his hands slide up her back and tug the zipper down. His hands moved her straps off her shoulders, letting her dress fall to the floor.
Her naked body before him, Mitch leaned in, whispering, “You have a perfect ass. I want it.”
“Take it,” came the bare whisper.
Mitch’s hands moved her thighs, gently gliding over her stomach, coming to slowly trace the outline of her perfect breasts. As his hands caressed her, she heard his pants hit the floor. She was warmed up and ready for him. She needed him. Leaning over the couch, his hands grasped her hips and pulled her to him. Sliding in and filling her, they moaned mutual pleasure.
At first, he was slow and deliberate, taking his time. Her body was screaming for him to take her, but he seemed intent on torturing her.
“Damn it, fuck me hard!” The words came out before she even realized what she was saying.
Mitch’s pace quickened. Their bodies met in a fervor of passion. Cynthia’s world spun. She couldn’t hold a thought as her body rebelled, quivering, exploding with release. They fell together on the couch.
“Well, I guess we should eat,” Mitch said between gasps.
“Yes, we should,” Cynthia said, climbing on top and kissing slowly down his torso. Reaching his manhood, she kissed it, then slowly licked up his shaft, bringing it back to life. Looking him in the eyes, she said, “I am famished, and you have just what I want.”