One of Roscoe’s men let us in when we got to Jennifer’s place, a large, three-story brick home located about two blocks from my house, on the same street, but in a totally different world financially.
“Where’s Mrs. Wilkins?” Roscoe asked his operative.
“She’s in the den, working on something,” the man, a blocky, balding ex-cop from New York, replied. “Got another of those damn computerized threat calls this morning. Real vicious this time.”
“Son of a bitch!” Roscoe exclaimed. “All right, you can take off. He…” He nodded in my direction. “…and I will take over.”
“You want me for this again tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Roscoe said. “I’ll give you a call.”
“OK, boss,” the man said. He picked up a small suitcase and walked out the door.
Roscoe turned and looked at me. “I’ll show you the control center I set up, then we’ll go and talk with our employer and see if she has a problem with your working on this case,” he said.
I looked around Jennifer’s house. It had been redecorated and enlarged since the last time I was there and was even more impressive than I remembered. The interior looked as if it had been designed by the people who put out those magazines that people buy to see how nice their homes could look if they had an unlimited supply of money and could afford to hire an interior decorator.
I picked up my duffel bags and gun case and followed him down a long hallway, to a heavy, highly polished wooden door. Roscoe opened it and walked inside. I followed him into what must have once been a bedroom, but was now an electronic control center, filled with TV monitors, VCR’s, phones, and a computer that, apparently, controlled most of it.
“Pretty elaborate,” I said.
“Most of it’s controlled by the computer,” he explained. “There are four cameras outside, scanning the area around the house. We also have a perimeter of electronic sensors. Anything bigger than a dog comes into the yard, you’ll hear an alarm, floodlights outside will come on and, unless you kill it, a call goes directly to the cops.”
“Impressive,” I said.
“For what it’s costing this lady, it better be,” he said. “Come on, let’s go talk with her.”
We went down the hallway to and Roscoe knocked on another door.
“It’s Roscoe, ma’am,” my partner said.
“Come in,” Jennifer replied. Her voice sounded just like I remembered it, smooth and rich. I could feel my heart begin to beat a little faster. Why was I reacting this way? Maybe I should have told Roscoe the problem wasn’t Jennifer, it was me. It was starting to look like I was emotionally involved in this, maybe too involved to function effectively.
Roscoe pushed the door open and we walked through the doorway. “Den” was nowhere near the appropriate term to describe the room we entered. It was a huge room and the walls were lined with shelves which were filled with books. Jennifer sat behind a large mahogany desk. I recognized it as being like one I’d once considered buying. It’s a computer desk designed to look like it isn’t a computer desk. The monitor sits behind a glass screen that forms the top of the desk, and the keyboard is hidden in what would normally be the middle drawer. I really wanted one, but I couldn’t afford it.
Jennifer looked wonderful. Her flaming red hair had been cut shorter than she’d worn it when I last saw her. It hung straight to just above her shoulders, and had just a hint of a flip at the ends. Her eyes were as lovely as I remembered them, but there were hints of the dark circles under them that her skillfully applied makeup didn’t cover. She was wearing a pinkish jacket and what looked like some kind of silky blouse under it. She stood up and I could see that she hadn’t gained an ounce since I’d last seen her. The pleated gray trousers she was wearing were loose, but looked just right to me.
“I-I must say I-I’m surprised,” she said softly, her eyes holding mine. “Why…why are you here?”
“I occasionally do some work for Roscoe,” I told her. “I used to be a cop a long time ago and, when I don’t have writing assignments, I do some freelance work with him. I have a P.I.’s license.”
“I see,” she replied. She turned to Roscoe, but kept glancing at me. What did the look I’d seen in her eyes mean? There was surprise, even a trace of elation at first, then that faded and was replaced by something very close to fear. Why on earth would she be fearful of me? She had no reason to be frightened of me.
Roscoe began explaining why he’d brought me into the case, and while he did, I recalled the last time I’d been in this house. It was the day after Jennifer and I bumped into each other at a party an acquaintance of ours had given. When I got home the next morning, after spending the night in bed with Louanne, the woman who’d given the party, I found a message from Jennifer on my answering machine. When, at her request, I returned her call, she invited me over to her place and, after taking a shower and changing, I went.
**********
I arrived at Jennifer’s house and rang the doorbell. When the door opened, what I saw took my breath away.
Jennifer’s lush body was barely covered by a light-green sheer peignoir and clinging sheer gown made of the same material. The color of the peignoir was exactly right to highlight the mass of wavy red hair that tumbled in loose waves to her shoulders. Her green eyes gleamed hotly.
Jennifer’s body – she was five-nine and weighed maybe a hundred and thirty-five pounds – was a spectacular result of hours spent laboring in a health club. Her breasts were large and well-shaped, and strained against the gauzy material of her outfit. The hardening tips of her nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric. Below her magnificent chest her trim waist flared into full, wonderfully-formed hips.
“Hello,” she said. She smiled warmly. “Come in, please.”
Moving stiffly, I walked by her, into her house. I knew I should say something, but wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. I could barely get my breath, and I couldn’t tear my eyes off her.
“Can I take your coat?” Jennifer asked.
I shrugged out of my lightweight jacket and handed it to her, then I followed her as she walked into her living room.
Jennifer laid my jacket on a chair, then she turned to me with a smile on her face. “You don’t say much, do you?” she purred. She moved so close to me I could feel the heat radiating from her. The scent of her expensive perfume filled my nose.
“Since you don’t seem to be a man of many words…” she murmured, as her arms slid around my neck and her body pressed against mine, “I’m assuming you must be a man of action.” She tilted her head up and licked her lips.
I bent my face down to hers and our lips met. Passion arced through me like lightening and immediately I felt my cock stiffen and strain against my pants. My arms went around her, sliding easily along the silken fabric of her gown. Her body strained against mine.
