I can hear the soft crunch underfoot as I move forward, tense to the quiet world around. Dim light snakes through the trees from far to the side. The woods are starting to wake up as the sky turns in.
Through the trees I make out the lonely fluorescent glow out in the distance, the only thing artificial for miles.
The perfect place for a hitman to hide out, I'd told Lt. Sawyer. But then she asked for proof. And I didn't have any. Just phone calls and interconnected messages relayed from Big Man Reyes that, if you stared at the pattern long enough, helped lead you to this lonely house.
We knew Reyes had a high-skilled hitter but we couldn't prove a damn thing. We didn't even know what the hitter looked like; just that he'd gotten to four rival crime lords in the last year. Bullet to the head, no fuss, no muss, little to no trace. Just this house and no one would back me up. And then the keys were in my hand.
The tree line breaks in front of me. Just 100 yards of grass between me and the house, no sights or souls around, just that lonely fluorescent light. No other movement in the house. I breath, crouch, tense, spring forward. The house rushes to meet me and I come up in a huff to the front porch, crouched low.
I don't have much of a plan, other than a vague idea of exigent circumstances and more luck than I'm entitled to. But I do have a gun. The black heft conforms against my hand as I slide it out from the holster under my suit jacket. My right hand wraps around the handle and the left cups the bottom. I take a breath, step forward and ease my way up the porch steps. Stop. Listen. Nothing but quiet.
A few more steps and I'm at the door. I reach out, hand easing itself against the handle. Twist and push. The door swings inward, I follow right behind. Gun up, pivoting through the air. No one home save for the lonely light around the corner. But there are sounds. Steady, rhythmic, but I can't make out anything more. Is that coming from upstairs?
One step up. And two. I climb the steps as carefully as I can, hoping that the house doesn't betray my presence. The sounds are getting louder now. Breathing? Top of the steps and the sounds finally coalesce into grunts and moans. Crap, looks like he's not alone. But what do I do? I could turn back. Bolt out to the woods and out the half mile to where I parked as far off the winding country road as I could coax the car. But I've already come this far. A woman who hooks up with a hired killer is surely no angel, right?
Down the hallway, one foot in front of the other. The door ahead is slightly ajar. I slow my breath, willing myself silent. I peak through the open door, ready to put my gun in his face.
But there is no "he" at all. Just a bare, heart-shaped ass thrust towards my face as long, golden hair at the other end buries itself in another woman's crotch. The redhead at the other end of the pussy licking writhes and moans on the bed at her partner's touch, body quivering from the attention.
I blink. Try to clear my head of the sight right in front of me, focusing on the hitman nowhere to be seen. But the bare ass keeps swaying to her partner's moans and I can see her tongue lapping at the dripping wet pussy.
I barely even hear the muffled noise behind me. I turn slightly, still too focused on the sight in front to be scared. There's a sound of lips blowing and a powder in my face. My fingers go numb and suddenly the gun in my hand doubles in weight. My hand can no longer hold it up, I try to grip but it slips from my grasp and falls, achingly slowly, to the hardwood floor below. Bang. I stumble backwards into the bedroom, trying to remain upright.
The moaning behind me stops. I fight through the fog to try and get a glimpse of the figure in front of me. It starts to come into focus, tight pants clinging to a narrow waste, trailing up a white tank-top to a full chest framed by light blond hair. A devilish grin completes the image. "Sorry to interrupt," she purrs.
"Interrupt?" I manage to say.
A slender hand comes up to my chest and gives a shove. I stumble from the push. There's nothing to catch me until I thud up against a far wall and slide down haphazardly.
"I wasn't talking to you," comes the purr.
"I don't mind Selene," rings a voice from the bed. I swing my head wildly in the voice's direction to rest on the redhead, her small but perky breasts moving up and down as she regains control of her breathing.
"Speak for yourself," the leggy blond wrapping herself around the redhead says. I think she's glaring at me.
Footsteps draw me back to the woman who'd pushed me. She bends down. Her hand reaches forward and tilts my chin up to meet her gaze. "I think you might need to make your rudeness up to my friend Jane over there. What do you think Detective Meln?"
How the hell does she know my name? My voice cracks as I try to reply. "Who?" I stammer. "Where... where's the hitman?"
