She was reluctant to draw the gun she had in its holster at the small of her back, because it might only be someone who was lost. More than that, though, it would be a big mistake to draw a weapon if it turned out to be an unmarked police car. But out here on this lonely stretch of road, it could easily be trouble of one kind or another, so as she walked around to the driver’s door when she heard the window rolling down, she was ready to draw the weapon at the first sign of trouble.
Angela leaned down a little but stood back to give herself room to draw her weapon if she needed to, and enough room that the person in the car couldn’t grab it. The door popped open just enough for the interior light to come on and show John Babington grinning up at her. His suit jacket and tie were lying over the passenger seat. His shirt collar was unbuttoned.
“I need to have a talk with you,” he said.
Angela was sick about what had happened to Barry. If Babington had prosecuted the men who had tried to kill her, they would have been in jail and Barry would be fine. It was this man’s fault that Barry was in the hospital near death.
“About what?”
“About the serious charges against you.”
This was new. “What charges?”
“Well,” he drawled, “that’s what I’m here to talk to you about. Took me some digging to find out where you live. Why don’t I follow you up to your house and we can talk about it?” He winked at her. “I’m sure we can work it out.”
This was not the way legitimate prosecutors conducted business, but Angela knew better than to flat-out tell him to fuck off, even though that was what she really wanted to do. John Babington was about the last thing in the world she wanted to deal with at the moment.
She knew, though, that sometimes you just had to take opportunities when they presented themselves.
She smiled down at him. “Sure, okay.”
Angela got back in her truck and drove up the road to her house. Babington followed and pulled around to park next to her. As she unlocked the front door, he stood uncomfortably close behind her. She turned on the living room light as she walked into the house.
She was still wearing the low-rise cutoff shorts for her job tending bar. She knew he was watching her ass. There was little doubt about what he had on his mind. She expected that he wanted to make her a similar offer to the one he’d made Tiffany.
Angela turned around and tried to sound apprehensive. This time, she was not in his office in a building full of police and security. This time, he was on her ground, and he had no idea who he was dealing with.
“So … what did you want to talk to me about?”
“You don’t want go to jail, do you.”
“No, of course not,” she said, deliberately elevating the concern in her voice. “Can you keep that from happening?”
He made a face to indicate “Maybe.”
He ran a finger up and down the side of her arm. “You rub my back, I rub yours, so to speak. Know what I mean?”
“No,” she said, playing dumb so that he would spell it out.
He finally dropped the pretense and reached down to put his hand on her crotch. He felt confident because there was no one to see him doing it. Angela didn’t move. He reached around with his other hand and grabbed her ass so that she was sandwiched between his fat mitts.
“Does this help you get the picture?” he asked.
“Are you making me the same kind of offer you made to Tiffany?”
He grunted his displeasure. “I’m going to have to teach that little cocksucker to keep her mouth shut—at least when she’s not with me.”
“You know,” Angela said as he fondled her ass, “your cell phone can be tracked. Not saying that I would, but if I were to report that you came here to proposition me under threat the state police could trace your phone’s locations and see that you were here tonight.”
“That’s why I left my cell phone at work,” he said with a smirk. He tilted his head as if to say he was one step ahead of her and she was outsmarted.
She gave him a coy look from under her brow. “I guess, then, that I’m kind of in a spot.”
Babington arched an eyebrow as he wormed two fingers under the crotch of her shorts. “Yes, you are, little lady. Now, I’d hate to have to see you sent to jail, so maybe we can work something out to clear up these pending drug and weapons charges?”
Angela pushed his hand away from her crotch. “I can’t think with you doing that.”
“What’s to think about?” he asked. “A little trailer park whore like you screws different guys all the time. None of them can keep you out of jail, but I can.”
“You swear that if I agree you would make sure there are no charges? You swear that will be the end of it?”
He shrugged. “I come over for a visit from time to time, you take care of me, and I will keep charges from popping up.”
“You mean this is something ongoing? I’m always going to be under threat of going to jail?”
He rolled his eyes back as he smelled the fingers he’d had inside her shorts. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
“You’re saying I have to give you sex or you will bring me up on false charges?”
His look darkened. “Look, I’m not playing games, here. I could easily put you in a great deal of legal jeopardy. It will cost you everything you have and then some to fight it. You will still end up in jail in the end and have a mountain of debt as well. I can keep that from happening. I’m getting tired of the questions. I suggest you agree before I change my mind.”
Angela reached down and grabbed his erection through his dress pants. She pressed herself up against him.
“If you would handle my legal problem, then I think I could handle your problem.”
His grin widened. “Now you’re talking. We start tonight. Right now.”
“All right.” Angela tilted her head. “I like to get all crazy with guys down in the basement. I have a special room set up.” She squeezed his erection as she smiled up at him. “Know what I mean?”
The thought clearly excited him. “Lead the way.”
Angela looked back over her shoulder and smiled as she unlocked the basement door while he felt her up from behind. She flicked on the light and skipped down the stairs to get away from his hand. He wasted no time in following her.
At the bottom he looked around, trying to figure out what kind of sex room she had set up.
Angela flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Babington, and I’ll handle everything.”
He flopped down onto the metal chair, his head still swiveling around. Angela swung a leg over him to straddle him as she sat on his lap facing him.
Without saying anything, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. That seemed to reassure him and get his mind back on track.
She rested her arms on his shoulders, locking her fingers behind his head so that her face was mere inches from his. “This kind of what you had in mind?”
He was sinking into a trance of desire. “Uh-huh.”
“You know,” she said in an intimate whisper, “I’ve found that justice is often an illusion.”
He grunted. “Indeed it is.”
“In fact, I’ve found that the law has little to do with justice, that laws are merely a way for some people to have power over others and that if you want justice sometimes you have to make it happen yourself. Know what I mean?”
He frowned, trying to figure out where she was going with this. “I’m an officer of the court. I represent the law.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Get on with it,” he said, his impatience showing.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’re going to get fucked real good.”
“Hurry up and get on with it, then.”
Angela kissed his cheek. “As you wish,” she whispered in his ear. His erection throbbed against her.
Angela got up off his lap and drew her gun from her grandfather’s holster at the small of her back and pointed it right between his eyes.
She stepped back far enough so that he couldn’t reach up and try to grab it. “You’re right about one thing. You are an officer of the court. You are supposed to represent the law, but you instead represent what most people in authority have—power for themselves.”