“I don’t buy that. Someone as clever as you has to have a higher reason for doing something.”
He didn’t answer me right away. It was ballsy of me to poke the brawny hitman. I didn’t even know why I was doing it. Well, it was hard not to see the similarities in our situations, although of course I couldn’t tell him that. For whatever reason, he was running from his former life. And I was running for my life.
He finally said thinly, “Sometimes money does cure all evils. Listen, let’s go get our arrows from the targets. Clear!”
He yelled clear even though we were the only two people in there. Such a thorough man would not have left his former life for trivial, or even strictly monetary, reasons. He couldn’t be in WITSEC, though, I thought with a chuckle. His agent would hardly allow him to work for a cartel. Then I started wondering which cartel he worked for. I was familiar with some of them, though of course not all. But that would be the last question you’d ask a sicario.
“Oh, look,” I said weakly. How embarrassing! “I got the arrow way up there.”
“No big deal. You threw that one away.”
“I’ll say. Can you reach it? No? I’ll go find a stepstool.”
“No sweat.” Bending at the knees, Fox wrapped his big hands around my waist and lifted me. It was fun, being so light, up that high. I admit I made it seem like it was harder than it really was, getting the arrow out of the wall. There were lots of holes in the wall where idiots had done the same thing.
He had twisted me around so we were face to face. His back was to the wall, and my legs dangled against his hard chest. Suddenly the airy summer dress I’d put on that morning seemed completely insubstantial. It felt like I wore a dress made of tissue paper—or worse, that I was naked. Suddenly we felt so intimate my pussy lips bloomed with arousal. My pubic bone rubbed against his collarbone, and my bare thighs below my hemline could actually feel the ridges of his six pack.
When I strained to yank the arrow from the wood, I squirmed more than was necessary. He had the side of his face pressed to my belly, sending torches of heat arrowing into my womb. It was then I had to admit that I was, maybe literally, on fire for this man. We synced together. We had good chi. I hadn’t done it with anyone since leaving Corpus Christi, but I wanted to do it with him. Just blow off a little steam, really.
By the time he let me down, I could tell my panties were damp. He let me down slowly, too, sort of corkscrewing me, letting me squiggle erotically. My mons veneris bumped down over his pectorals, over that six pack, banging lightly on his enormous pewter belt buckle. With my hands on his bare shoulders, by the time my toes touched the ground, it was like we were dancing. Just the two of us in an enormous silent ballroom. Except the ballroom was lit by fluorescent tubing. And there were posters on the wall for The Hunger Games and Brave. And a guy with a red afro was waddling through the shooting lanes holding a bunch of new paper targets.
I’d never noticed how much shorter I was than Fox. I lingered there, looking up with adoration. He just exuded virility and stamina. This close, I could breathe in his natural musky scent. It was as though each breath I took filled me with a drug I needed—a drug I was quickly becoming addicted to. I knew I was gazing at him starry-eyed, and possibly even cross-eyed. I didn’t care.
But suddenly he broke the trance. Businesslike, he picked up our other arrows from the floor and strode back to the bow racks. I was completely stunned and more than a little dejected. He could’ve kissed me. I even sort of owed him at least one kiss after he’d saved me the day before. But he just walked off, and suddenly a guy wearing a business suit was walking across the shooting pads.
“Slushy!” cried Wolf Glaser, on his way in the front door with a tray of our smoothies. “I should’ve asked you if you wanted something.”
“No worries,” said the lawyer, trying to get past Wolf with his briefcase.
Slushy. The club’s lawyer. Fox and I looked at each other at the same time. Now I knew it wasn’t a juice bar down here. His law office was somewhere.
Wolf was trying to say, “Hey, I’d like you to meet—”
But Fox beat him to it. With his hand out, he got smack in the lawyer’s path. “Fox Isherwood. Dr. Driving Hawk has got me researching why the fuck Ochoas would be in the Leaves of Grass backyard snooping around. I’d appreciate any insight you’ve got.”
Slushy didn’t say hello. With his free hand, he pointed at Wolf. “This guy’s for real?”
Wolf never lost his shit-eating grin. “Oh, he’s for real, all right. A for real sicario, a friend of Slayer’s.”