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A Life Not My Own Ch. 01

By: FinalStand



 (I serious recommend all writers get an editor but Frontma is MINE, damn it and if you don't like it -- Thunder Dome!)

*Control is illusionary*

(Erotic Coupling)

(Please note that the story starts out a bit awkward but it does get rolling. You may assume that Echo does not date -- AT ALL; before meeting our hero. That may help you make sense of some of her actions. Also, as explained later, Dominic is, in fact, a FREAKING genius-savant, but not in a way that helps him with women) 

*

I'd never really been wealthy until I graduated college, but I'd been close to it. At nine, I had been given a scholarship to an exclusive prep school and that had opened doors into higher education. By the time I got my Master's in International Finance, I'd networked myself into a really sweet job way ahead of schedule. I had the nice apartment overlooking the city, the prerequisite sports car, and the healthy bank account. I thought I was the master of my own fate--foolish me.

I am at LA's Castro Club on a Friday night with several of my co-workers and their dates when my GF Stephanie and I have a huge throw-down and part ways for the evening. After she took off in a huff and I'm sitting back watching some of my friends dance, this smallish, attractive brunette tugs on my sleeve.

"Hey, handsome, would you like to dance?" she smiles. She's older, nice looking, and Stephanie has split up with me over some bit of drama for the night, maybe forever-- just like last weekend.

"Sure," I respond happily. She grabs my hand and yanks me through the crowd at the edge of the dance floor, but not onto it. 

In short order she brings me up to a table where there are several females sitting, including a beautiful, black-haired, dark-skinned, statuesque woman giving the world a frosty glare.

"Hey ..." the brunette starts to say.

"Dominic Umstead," I fill in.

"Dominic, this is Echo Ashaz and she needs a dance partner," the woman tells me. I find that hard to believe; she's freaking gorgeous. She's as tall as I am-- taller with those heels. She's clearly of Middle Eastern descent with almond eyes and curves that just won't quit. I'm suddenly glad Steph and I had that fight.

"Echo, care to dance?" I say, playing my role. Echo looks at me like I'm some piece of filth she'd like to scrape off her shoe. Before I can back the fuck out of this situation, her friend grabs Echo's hand and shoves us together.

Echo seems to consider her options before grabbing my hand in a strong grip and dragging me to the dance floor. When we get to a good spot, she turns around and burns a hole through me with her eyes.

"Touch me and I'll break your hand," she seethes. I look shocked. Defying her, I put my hand on the small of her back and start shoving her back to the sidelines.

"What?" she snarls.

"I've got better things to do than dance with a frosty, stuck-up bitch like you ... Echo," I snap back.

"It didn't take you long to figure out you weren't getting any tonight," she scoffs.

"Wrong. It didn't take me long to figure out that I didn't want you. There is a difference," I counter. She stops me from pulling her off the floor.

"Listen, if I don't dance with you, my friends will keep dragging guys over to the table. Since you are probably gay I guess it is safe to dance with you. Please stay," she adds with resentment. 

"If it means I don't have to see you the rest of the night, then okay," I relent. We get back into the crowd and start dancing. In no time, the crowd presses us together, causing us to start brushing our bodies occasionally. Echo makes an effort to look away when this happens but I sense she's getting into it. The song ends and Echo looks at me, waiting for me to make the next move.

"Do you have anything else lined up for tonight?" I shout into her ear over the noise. She shakes her head reluctantly, looks to the table her friends are at, then looks back to me. The next song picks up and we start dancing again. On the following song I get her to dance facing away from me for part of it. The next one saw her grinding against me for a few furtive moments. Once she lets down her guard, Echo turns out to be a whole lot of fun.

Thirty minutes later, we come out of the crowd, breathing heavily and winding our way over to her girlfriends. Echo is holding my hand and smiling at me while her friends seem mildly stunned to see us still together and me intact.

"It's okay," Echo jokes, "he's gay." With the way she rubbed against me, she knows that's a lie.

"Ha!" I snort. "Echo, ladies, this has been fun, but sadly I have to catch up with my friends. Take care." I go looking for my buddies and we decide to get a late-night bite to eat.

I'm almost at the door when Echo comes up and grabs my arm.

"Thanks, you saved my night," she says quietly before pressing a coaster with her number into my hand. I look at it before following her ass as it moves further into the bar. Of course, I already have a girlfriend (sort of) so I'm not looking for any extra complications in my life.

THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND

Jay and Scott (two of my colleagues) walk into the club with me, dressed for a night on the town and waiting on our respective ladies. I haven't taken twenty steps in when Echo appears before me and she looks unhappy.

"You didn't call," she points out.

"My girlfriend and I made up, Echo. It is good to see you, even so," I add as I try to rejoin my friends.

"Maybe we can dance later," she suggests. I stop and take her in. She's tall, athletic, and highly attractive, but her hands are worn and her nails are short from physical labor. 

Also, she's in the same dress she was in last Friday, meaning she's probably some middle-class consumer living above her means; this is a high-end club.

"I'll see what I can do," I lie to her. I barely disentangle from Echo before Stephanie arrives. Her getting jealous over Echo is a problem I don't need. 

I try not to think about Echo for the next hour or so as I dance, chat, drink, and have a generally good time. Unfortunately, I'm angling over to the bar for a drink order when I spot Echo and some jerk is giving her a hard time.

I don't really think about it, I just do it. I walk up and slip an arm around Echo's waist. 

She's startled and I think she's about to throw a punch when she suddenly recognizes me. I step up and kiss her deeply on the lips.

"Hey, Honey, how's it going? Did you miss me?" I say to her and the jerk. I meet the guy's eyes straight on, daring him to challenge me for my lady. He mutters something and moves his drunken ass away.

"You okay, Echo?" I inquire in a softer voice.

"I was okay without you," she responds. "You didn't need to kiss me."

"It seemed like the thing to do at the time," I counter.

"Are you used to taking what you want, Dominic?" she inquires.

"Not really. Usually I ask what I want to come home with me, and they do if they feel like it. This has been fun but I have to place some drink orders and rejoin my friends. Have a nice night, Echo," I tell her before flagging down the bartender and ordering the drinks. If Echo doesn't need my help, more power to her. I promptly forget the matter and get back to having a good time.

THE FOLLOWING TUESDAY EVENING

I've put a hard day's work (by my standards) and I'm heading home to get in a nice workout, followed by some television since Steph is pulling another all-nighter on a pending case. She promises me that when she makes partner, this shit will end; God, I hope it does, because right now I could use my cock to drive in tent pegs, I'm so horny.

I'm not really paying attention to where I'm going, or how fast I'm getting there, until I spot the flashing red light from the unmarked car behind me. I pull over because it is a well-trafficked street and I'm not likely to get car-jacked. I don't think I was speeding but I pull my license and registration anyway.

The officer walks up along the driver's side and taps on my window. Standing just outside of my angle of vision, I stretched my neck around until I was able to take in the plain-clothed officer's drab, cheap suit hanging off what seemed to be a nice female body.

"License and registration," she requests and I comply. She looks me over for a minute.

"Step out of the car," she commands.

"What is this about officer?" I question.

"Step out of the car," she repeats. This time I comply. As the door swings open and I step out, I look up into Echo's face.

"Oh, fuck, Echo," I sigh with relief, "you scared the crap out of me." She doesn't look amused.

"I am Detective Ashaz to you," she corrects me. "Now up against the car." I'm about to say something about that but by the look on her face, she's not a happy camper. I put my hands on the hood, back to her, and she kicks my legs apart. Next comes the pat down, which is kind of surreal when she brushes over my crotch.

She reaches inside my pockets one at a time and on the second try, she comes up with a baggy with white powder in it.

"What's this?" she asks as she waves the baggy in front of my face. I'm really starting to sweat it because, though it's not mine, this is ten kinds of bad news for me. I'm trying to remember who the best criminal lawyer (who I'm not dating) is in town when she prods me again.

"Well, what is this?" She places it in my hand for me to examine.

"I haven't a clue," I stammer. "I've never seen it before."

"Do you think the judge is going to believe that?" she whispers in my ear. She takes the baggy back.

"I think I need a lawyer," I reply.

"Especially now that your fingerprints are on it; how is that going to look?" she asks. I think we both know the answer to that one; she's suckered me good.

"I have a feeling they aren't going to be happy," I confess. Echo mulls that over for a bit.

"Maybe we can work something out," she offers. Here it comes.

"Like?" I inquire.

"Drive back to your place and I'll follow you. Do something stupid and you'll regret it," she threatens. I contemplate all the calls I could make to deal with this situation but they all boil down to my word versus Echo's.

I park in my spot and Echo takes the guest slot. She has this totally Bad Ass Cop vibe going on which leaves me somewhat pissed, along with afraid, on the elevator ride up. She watches me go into my apartment first, her eyes following me as I move around the room.

"Well?" I say in a somewhat exasperated tone.

"Nice place," she comments.

"Thanks. Now what is this going to cost me?" I grind out. Echo looks disappointed. She crosses the living room and starts peeking into the various other areas of my place. When she gets to the bedroom, she stops and pulls out her handcuffs which she swirls around with one finger.

"You want me to put those on?" I inquire. Echo looks at me impassively, handcuffs still swirling. "Fine," I snap. I walk over to her and snatch the handcuffs from her while watching her smirk.

"Really?" I growl at her grinning face. The smirk doesn't disappear until I snap a cuff on one of her wrists and we start wrestling in the hallway. Belatedly, I realize she's still got her gun.

For whatever reason Echo doesn't go for it, instead trying to get the key out of her pocket while pinning me to the ground. Too bad for her I took Aikido in college. Once we get to the ground, I have her rolled over and her second wrist cuffed behind her back in no time. We are both panting lightly; her eyes are blazing away at me while I lean against the wall next to her. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

I start by sifting through her pockets to grab that powder she planted on me as well as putting her gun and badge on the kitchen counter. After I dump the powder in the sink and wash it down the drain, I come back to Echo.

"What am I supposed to do with you now?" I ask. She fails to provide me with a vocal answer; her eyes were saying I was in big trouble. 

Angrily, I roll her off her stomach to her side when my upcoming tirade dies in my throat. Echo's nipples are punching through her bra into her shirt like bullets they are so aroused. I feel an evil grin crossing my face as I reach out to pinch one of those nipples.

"Mmmphf," she lets slip. I find that encouraging so I roll her onto her back and begin to caress both breasts.

"Let me know when you want me to stop," I offer, but Echo refuses to budge. A little frustrated, I start to unbutton her shirt, letting my hand tease her stomach as I work off her shirt from the bottom up.

"Nice bra," I comment as I realize she's definitely in something way beyond what a police woman would normally wear. It also unfastens from the front, a nice feature right now.

"Did you wear this for me?" I ask, but again I get nothing but an angry glare. "Fine, if you are going to be that way," I accept patiently. I run both my hands behind her back and pull Echo's body up to my lips, taking a nipple into my mouth, and begin to suck and swirl it with my tongue.

"Ah ... ah ... ah," Echo stifles her whimpers as I switch from tit to tit.

"Let me know if you want me to stop," I repeat, but again, nothing; at least her eyes are semi- shuttered. I now rub my right palm across to the bottom of her breasts and onto her stomach, then slip it beneath her belt and onto her panties, silky and smooth.

Finally, that gets a response from Echo; she thrashes and swings her hips about, but that only manages to egg me on. I yank her around, unclasp her belt, unbutton her pants, and begin to work them off. Any minute now I expect her to cry out and stop me. I have to sit on her thighs to work off her shoes and pants. Since she's still playing the silence game, I hoist her up, take her into the bedroom, and toss her on the bed. I imagine that it hurts her wrists a bit but still Echo fails to cry out.

Echo tries to work her way into a sitting position but I keep pushing her back on the bed while I strip down.

"Echo, we can stop this at any time if you would just say something," I tell her. I get nothing but more anger directed at me. I go for the panties next, and though Echo fights, I can sense a degrading of her resistance.

I push Echo onto her back and start running my hands over her body. Her shirt and bra up around her shoulders don't conceal anything, instead adding a strangely erotic appeal to her breasts and upper body. I work another nipple into my mouth, tasting her salty sweat and smelling a faint hint of perfume. I squeeze her breast with one hand, pushing more of the tit into my hungry mouth.

"Aha," she gasps again. I like that sound and I want more of it, so sliding a hand down to her pubic mound seems like it's the right thing to do. Echo has other ideas, thrashing about and keeping her legs tightly locked together. I can pry them apart with my hands but not keep them that way long enough to do anything more than glide a hand along her slit.

Echo curls herself into a ball to keep me at bay. I roll her over to her front, expecting her to stretch back out and keep the fight going. She doesn't play it that way and I find myself staring at her tantalizing ass poking up into the air while she lies face down on my mattress with her hands cuffed behind her back.

I stay at her side and start running my hand along her back, then under her hands to her lower back, along her ass, and ending at her muscular thighs. On each trip I move closer to the spine in the middle and thus the closer to the cleft of her ass. Despite her best efforts, she shudders slightly when I finally slide my hand between her ass cheeks. She attempts to squeeze them tightly but I work my fingers in.

Moving behind her, I attempt to work her legs apart one more time but Echo is having none of it. My next option is to pull Echo back, which she only resists half-heartedly. I look down and see that I've accomplished what I need to; her pussy has become more exposed. I run two fingers up and down between her thighs. She flexes her thighs tighter together but that doesn't help.

When my fingers finally pierce her labia, she's totally sticky with her fluids. I elect to not verbally tease her about this; I'm having too much fun doing it physically. Despite her last minute bucking of the hips, I manage to slip a finger in her slit. Man, her fluids are oily slick and viscous, encasing my finger in her hot glove that seems to entice me further.

"Damn, Echo, you feel fantastic," I whisper unconsciously. I feel her shift around and notice she's now looking up at me. As I slide my finger in one knuckle at a time, Echo squints her eyes.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," she moans. I like the sound of that so I slip another finger into her snug twat. Echo doesn't disappoint me with her sensual reactions to my efforts.

By now, I'm pumping two fingers furiously into my lovely police woman and she's panting up a storm; her back is soaked with sweat and her thighs are now open and trembling.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiii!!!!" she screams into the mattress as her vagina gushes a small amount of liquid onto my hand and her muscles massage my two fingers.

I leave my hand in place, unmoving, while I lean down and kiss each ass cheek and wait for her to come down from her climax. When I sense her eyes open up and look at me once more, I start to move my hand, causing her to gasp. I try to see what more she's willing to do so I rub my finger up along her anus and press lightly.

"No ... please ... I've never done that," she finally speaks. I wait a moment before relenting, enjoying the moment she unclenches and relaxes. I roll her slowly onto her back, keeping her knees against my chest. She gazes at me uncertainly while I rub my hands along her calves and knees until I feel her tension bleed off.

I let my hands rest on her knees for a minute, then slowly work between them, wedging her legs apart. Echo doesn't make it easy but she doesn't fight too hard either. I can see her mind spinning as she tries to figure out what I'm doing. I run my hands down the back of her thighs until I can feel Echo stressing her muscles and hear a murmur from deep within.

Her thighs come apart and are slowly pushed back. Echo eyes me with more anticipation than stoic resolve now. I move my hand inside her widening gap and lower my lips to her juicy cunt and hooded clit. I kiss there first, then suck gently, causing Echo to roll her head back and exhale deeply. I settle between her legs and begin to move my head along with my lips and tongue.

I lick from right above her anus to her clit, alternating fast and slow strokes. Before long she's thrusting her hips against me and moaning like a freight train. I grab her hips and ass, raising them up, and start adding tongue-fucking to my repertoire.

"Gahahh ... aaahhh," she exhales rapidly. I start working her over in a frenzy of moves, causing Echo to start working up to her second orgasm.

"Please ... Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiii," she goes off again. I drink more of her than last time and her love canal does a good job working over my delving tongue. I tease her along for over a minute before I raise my head up to soak in the pleasure of watching her afterglow. Sweaty and disheveled, she has never looked more beautiful and I tell her so.

Maneuvering around to her head, I point my cock toward her mouth. She studies it with some uncertainty as if she is deciding if she should bite it or suck it while I wait patiently. Echo finally opens her lips enough for me to push my cockhead along her lips. Soon she's tonguing my knob and starting to take more in. I place a hand on the top of her head, grab a knot of hair, and slowly start fucking her face.

Echo is game for this and starts cooing around the shaft she is swallowing. She's not a pro and she's not deep-throating me, but the friction and the tongue action she provides is excellent. We get into a steady rhythm with the occasional break for Echo to breathe properly. She becomes more aggressive as she senses my climax on the horizon.


A Life Not My Own Ch. 01



I've tried to make it as clear as possible that I'm going to shoot my load but Echo keeps the faith and opts to swallow rather than mess up her face or clothing. I keep things steady until I feel my rod shrink out of her mouth. She licks the head of the last dribbled bits eagerly. I rise up, stroking her hair in appreciation of what she's done for me.

I lean in and lick off the few dribbles she's missed, then kiss her nose and lips. We settle in on our sides, hers for the sake of her handcuffs and mine so that I can stare at her body. When she gives me the faintest of smiles, I start moving in on her shoulders and neck, laying sweet little butterfly kisses. Since I'm not paying attention to her tits, Echo has taken to rubbing them against my chest in a very distracting fashion.

Echo somehow rises up on top of me, her shoulders pulled back because of the cuffs, making her breasts stand out even further. Echo starts rubbing along my shaft, spreading her thick, oily flow down my shaft to my ball-sack. I start to sit up, pushing Echo back into a sitting position on her knees and thighs. Unlike last time, her legs are wide open and wafting of her sex appeal.

I slip off the bed and pad down the hallway to get the key while Echo's eyes try to follow me. She remains slightly tense while I remove the cuffs and sit down beside her. Echo rubs her red wrists while remaining on her knees facing me, staring eye to eye.

"What now?" Echo finally asks.

"I still have a girlfriend, Echo. Besides, you did kind of ambush me and threaten me with jail time to get me back here," I explain to her.

"It was baking powder," Echo informs me. "You were in no real danger."

"So the abuse of police powers doesn't bother you, Echo? I don't appreciate being treated like that," I scold her.

"I -- well ... I don't know why but I couldn't stop thinking about you," she mumbles. "I have to admit that this made more sense when I was horny this afternoon."

"Yeah ... okay. So how did you find out who I was?" I inquire.

"I asked the bartender after you paid for the drinks at the bar with your credit card. Badges do things like that for you," she informs me. "I found out where you worked from your financials, then I waited for you at work and followed you to a convenient place to pull you over."

"I hope you know we aren't going to do this again; right?" I tell her. I hope she knows that is not really a question.

"Um ... okay," she sighs. "I admit, I have come across as crazy, but I'm not normally like this."

"Hey," I smile as I stroke her cheek, "I have to say this is a date I won't soon forget."

"Was this our first date?" Echo smiles suggestively.

"First, last, only," I inform her, but I keep a compassionate tone; I'm not really so pissed anymore.

"Is the date over yet?" insinuating to me there could be more.

"Echo, remember, I do have a girlfriend," I remind her. "I'm a bit out of bounds as it is."

"That's not a 'no'," she grins.

"First you won't talk to me and now you are trying to put words in my mouth, Echo. What is your game?" I respond.

"When we arrived here I didn't know what to say. Initially I was going to blackmail you into sex, but I realized after being with you that it would be a mistake," she tells me.

"So you let me wrestle you to the ground, handcuff you, strip you, and then have oral sex with you?" I wonder. Echo nods with stunning and unlooked for meekness.

"Speaking of sex, why didn't we have any?" she asks.

"No condoms," I explain. "I was planning on getting back with my girlfriend tonight but that fell through but I was still going to pick some up later tonight."

"Damn," she grumbles, "I knew I should have brought some."

"On that note," I suggest, "we should get dressed and you should go." Echo's shoulders droop and she starts putting her bra and shirt in order. She keeps glancing over to me as she gracefully clothes herself and I can't tell if she's embarrassed or curious. I would prefer that she be contrite.

At the door Echo turns and grabs my wrist.

"This has been the best sex I've had in a long time," she expresses to me.

"Um ... okay," I stammer.

"I guess that tells you something about my sex life," she chuckles dryly.

"Why is that? You are very pretty, and when you aren't trying to threaten me or arrest me, I like being around you," I relate.

"Oh," she shrugs, "most guys I meet want to either dominate me because I'm a female cop, or they want me to dominate them for the same reason. Those types turn my stomach."

"But I don't?" I question.

"We spent all that time on the dance floor but you never put your hands inappropriately on me; and when I gave you shit, you nearly dumped me back on my friends," she explains. "You weren't a macho asshole and you weren't a wimp."

"So we come back here and I wrestle you into some handcuffs ... and I get all of this attention because I'm not a jerk. I'm honored, I guess," I answer. 

"Too bad you are taken. Is she nice to you?" she inquires.

"Stephanie is a bright girl. She's a criminal litigator at Bronson and Sheers and she's really great at her job. A mutual friend hooked us up when I moved out here. As for being nice -- we fight and we both work a lot, but I like to think that we are compatible."

"That's a ringing endorsement," she notes sarcastically.

"I can't say that we are in love but we have the same friends, hang out at the same places, and like the same things," I tell her.

"Does she like having sex with you as much as I do?" she asks.

"Out!" I insist. I gently prod her out the door, lean against it when it shuts, and take a deep cleansing breath.

"Well," I mutter to myself, "That was fucked up." At least the lady with the gun was out of my place, and hopefully my life. I figured I needed a little help with this so I went over to my phone and gave Stephanie a call. She's a lawyer after although I don't want to talk to her about Echo.

"Hey, Dominic," she answers.

"Hey, Steph," I begin. I am hearing some movement in the background; not unexpected, but then I hear 'Room service' and suddenly it is not okay. We remain silent for several seconds as Steph must have figured out that I heard that too.

"Okay," I say carefully, "I'll let you get back to your work."

"Wait, Dominic -- " she starts to say before I hang up. 

"Dominic," she says shakily when she calls back, "it is not what you think."

"You are in a hotel room when you told me you would be at work. What have I misunderstood?" I grumble.

"I'll come by tonight and we'll talk about it," she suggests.

"Are you going to shower before you stop by?" I smirk.

"Dominic, stop trying to make me the bad guy here," she snaps back.

"That's right. I was sexing up a hot lady earlier tonight but I tossed her out before we did the deed because I didn't want to cheat on you," I confess.

"Dominic, you are a bastard!" Steph shouts before cutting the connection. This is turning into a wonderful fucking night -- God damn it.

(NEXT WEDNESDAY) 

"Dominic, you have Children's Welfare Charity on Friday night so don't forget," Katya reminds me. She is the Floor PA for me and the five other people here in Projections. I spin in the hallway and feign a collapse. 

"Don't do that," she tsk-tsk's me. "Stay with your date and the cougars won't swoop off with you."

I've heard about this function. It is like feeding the youth of the financial world into the grist mill of High Society sexual politics. Worse, my company President, Brad Pierce, knows me (we really like each other) and expects me to show up. Since I like the guy and my future plans rely on staying on his good side, I'm going.

"I'll think of something," I concede.

I make the handful of steps over to my office and start going through my call list, phoning the few unattached women I know. My luck being what it is, they are all either previously committed or attached and I'm down to Stephanie. We haven't talked since the 'room service' call.

Actually, I have two mutually unattractive choices. Recalling her digits are pretty easy for me; making the call is not.

"Detective Ashaz," Echo answers.

"Hello, Echo, it's Dominic Umstead," I inform her.

"Oh," she says after a moment. "I need to call you back; I'm working."

"Oh-kay," I respond, right before she hangs up. Well, that didn't go as badly I thought it would.

That night I'm walking into my apartment when the phone rings. I'm praying it isn't work calling me back in but caller ID makes my heart beat faster.

"Hey," I respond.

"Dominic, it's Echo. What do you want?" she says abruptly. Oh, this is not good.

"I was wondering if you want to go out Friday night," I inquire. 

"I thought we were done," she counters.

"Well, things can change. I'd like to take you to a company function if you would like to come," I go on.

"Where is your girlfriend?"

"Things didn't work out the way I thought they would," I confess.

"She cheated on you," Echo chuckles.

"What makes you think that? You are right, but what made you say it?" I sigh.

"I'm a cop. When a relationship doesn't work out, it always boils down to someone cheating," she instructs me. "As for the date, why me?" 

"Is it hard for you to believe I want to spend the evening with you?" I offer.

"Do I have to drag you downtown and interrogate you or are you going to be honest with me?" she threatens.

"Besides you being a downright sexy woman with curves to die for, you were the second to last person on my list. Everyone else was busy," I explain.

"Second to last? I imagine you ex-girlfriend would be last, then. I need to think about this," she replies. She hangs up and I go to the in-house gym to work out my frustrations.

The call catches me in the shower so I have to slip across the tile floor to the video phone in the hall.

"Dominic," I pant into the phone.

"Dominic, if you are trying to convince me to go out with you, it is working," Echo sounds amused. I have to think about that for the moment, then I realize the phone shows a lot of my naked body. I feel like editing this day from my memory.

"I've tried Party Animal and Rich Playboy, and since those didn't work, I decided to go for Man Candy this time out," I laugh. Echo gives me a snort.

"Fine, what is the party going to be like?" she inquires.

"Black tie affair with tons of rich people; it is the Children's Welfare Charity," I inform her. I can tell she is hesitating again but I think I know why.

"I'll do it, but mostly to make up for the stupid stunt I pulled on you. Don't make too much out of this. Do I meet you there or are you going to pick me up?" she tells me.

"I'll pick you up. What are you going to wear?" I inquire.

"Do I need to wear anything special?" she responds. The problem is one of economics -- notably her underwhelming public sector paycheck.

"I tell you what; since I'm dumping this on you at the last moment, why don't I buy you an evening gown for the event?" I offer. I can hear her mental gears grinding.

"Oh ... how would that work?" she finally says.

"We could do an early lunch tomorrow and hit some shops along the Strip," I suggest. Again she seems to weigh her options before replying.

"Fine, I'll meet you outside of you work address at eleven," she instructs me. "Will there be anything else I need to know?"

"I'm glad I gave you a call, Echo," I admit. I hear her snort over the phone.

"If you say so," she responds.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at eleven sharp," I say as I get ready to sign off.

"Good night, Dominic ... and thanks for calling," she says before the connection ends.

THURSDAY MORNING AT WORK

They come for me at 11:10 and you can hear half the floor stampede for the restroom to dump all their coke, weed, and illegal prescription drugs. Echo and her partner's looks scream cop and everyone thinks they are here on official business. To my credit, I'm carrying my jacket and briefcase coming out of my office with my phone pulled out calling her, so Echo's glower improves to a frown.

"Echo," I say by way of a greeting. I'm trying to sound happy. Her partner turns out to be the brunette from the club that first night. We look each other over and I'm thankful she looks far less upset.

"We were waiting," Echo states.

"Hey, Dominic, I'm Detective Lydia Haversett -- Gloomy's partner," she chortles. I enjoy her humor. "What kept you?"

"Conference call with London," I groan. "To them it's end-of-business so I couldn't jump ship. My apologies, ladies."

"Works for me," Lydia grins. "Now let's get going." She immediately starts to steer us back toward the elevators while I'm trying to be upbeat and Echo keeps studying me. My plan was to take my car, but you would have to shoehorn someone into the rear of my vehicle so we take the unmarked cop car on the shopping expedition.

I guess it would be too much to hope that Echo would be giddy over dress shopping but at least Lydia is getting into it. There is that priceless moment when the saleswoman catches sight of Lydia's gun. Fortunately, Echo spots the woman's panic and shows her a badge before Beverly Hills SWAT storms the place. The next prime moment is when Echo final shifts slightly away from her feigned displeasure and begins looking at some fetching styles.

When she inquires about the price she nearly chokes. Lydia comes over to see what the problem is and shoots me a worried look. I smile and give her a nod that tells her I know exactly what I'm getting into. A little power struggle erupts between Lydia and Echo as Echo starts choosing the cheapest (and that wasn't saying much in this place) and Lydia goes for the most flattering (perhaps too flattering).

When I see Lydia examine this strapless ocean blue satin number with a slit half way to the hip, my interest perks up. Lydia catches that and hustles Echo into the changing room.

"Come here," Lydia whispers to me as she comes racing out of the back area. Before I can resist, I'm dragged around the corner and to the booth were Echo is changing.

Echo is wearing translucent black bra and panties while stepping into the dress. Her head snaps up to regard me, anger flashing in her eyes toward me and Lydia.

"Lydia," Echo growls; I get the feeling our last escapade hasn't been discussed with her partner yet. 

"Hey, the man should get to appreciate what he's paying for," Lydia giggles. That argument doesn't win points with Echo so I try for something else. I step up to Echo and run a hand along her jaw, around her ear, to the back of her head. I pull her down and start kissing her tentatively, slowly tickling her lips with my tongue, and then she returns my attention, going into a full passionate embrace.

When we separate, she regards me with lustful curiosity.

"You are a hell of a fox, Detective Echo Ashaz. I think I'll leave you in peace now," I say with a sexually promising smile of my own. I turn and walk back to the main floor.

"Woot!" exclaims Lydia, "you have a live one there."

"You have no idea," Echo mutters loudly enough for my hearing, but I imagine there is a grin with that grumbling.

Echo latches onto my eyes when she comes back to the front. I let out a low whistle but as she sneers, her eyes flash with star-like luminescence. She turns from side to side, letting me drink in her curvaceous lines from the swell of her breasts, the flatness of her stomach, and the shapeliness of her ass.

She keeps moving back and forth in such a seductive dance that I'm caught off guard when Lydia playfully punches my chest.

"You can breathe now," Lydia jokes.

"Wow, Echo," I stammer, "like, Wow."

"I keep feeling like my boobs are going to spring out," Echo gripes. Lydia snickers; I fantasize about helping her fit those puppies back in during the function. As I recall, they feel quite nice.

"Let's go for something in that color but with straps, then," Lydia chimes in. The shopping goes on and we finally do get a dress for Echo, but that night I'm left thinking of her in the dressing room even after I drop off to sleep.

FRIDAY NIGHT

We have a strange little arrangement; Echo meets me at the door of her apartment. I think I catch a glimpse of a cluttered apartment-home before I'm totally absorbed in the lovely woman before me.

"How do I look? Is something wrong?" Echo asks me as she touches her hair and tries to check if she's missed something.

"Umm ... how about this; Beautiful doesn't begin to describe you, Echo," I laud her. "I'm the luckiest man in town tonight." She studies me to see if I'm serious, then slowly grins.

"We'll see about you getting lucky later," she whispers into my ear. Only when I offer her my hand do I realize her purse is bulging.

"Let me guess," I sigh, "you have your gun with you."

"Of course. I'm an off-duty police officer; I always have my gun and badge," she informs me.

"Did you bring your handcuffs," I inquire.

"Yes; why?"

"I hear this party can get wild; you may need to restrain somebody," I suggest.

"Someone like you?" she wonders.

"No, I promise to behave myself," I swear. She looks at me intently.

"Well, don't promise to be too good," Echo bumps me with her hip.

I hold the car door open for Echo and she catches me admiring the slit of her dress riding up to the top of her stockings, plus some. She moves her leg into my car with sensuous grace and it was with great reluctance that I shut the door, cutting off half of my view of her. After I sit down on my side, I bundled us off with haste; I am feeling a bit reckless.

"Buckle up," Echo cautions me with playful chastisement. I'm speeding down the road, unbuckled, with a cop sitting next to me; I start buckling. "Wait until we are at a light."

I see her point and comply at our next stop.

"Don't be so nervous, Dominic; I'm not in the habit of arresting people for every little infraction," Echo tells me. So says the women who turned baking powder into a lethal weapon.

THE CHARITY EVENT

"Dominic!" exclaims Rachel Pierce, my Boss's ex-wife and minority partner in my firm. She and her husband were still married when they recruited me, before I went for my Master's in International Finance. Even back then, I thought she had a thing for me. At the firm's Christmas Party, she had her hand down my pants and was administering a round of tongue wrestling when her secretary stumbled in on us. 

I decided it was best to find Stephanie and that had been the end of that.

"Who is your friend?" Rachel asks.

"Rachel Pierce, this is Echo--" I start to introduce my date before she elbows me in the ribs.

"Oh, Ms. Echo, I don't recognize you. What firm are you with?" Rachel asks with false politeness. "I thought Dominic would be alone, seeing how he and Stephanie Waller have so recently broken up."

"I'm with the city," Echo informs her. Echo gives a shark-like clarification, "It is nothing important."

"Are you a professional or a civil servant?" Rachel persists.

"I'm a professional civil servant, "Echo responds. 

"I'm a little surprised that Dominic would know someone like you. He normally only spends time with the best and brightest. He was number one in his class at Stanford, after all, and had his Masters by the time he was twenty," Rachel points out.

"I may have graduated from LA City College but I'm far less likely to be a cheating whore who abuses him," Echo shoots right back.

Rachel is stunned by Echo's aggression.

"Rachel, Echo is a good friend and was here for me when I caught Stephanie cheating on me," I say. "She is a wonderful person."

"Oh, well," Rachel smirks, "Stephanie is here with Carl Dunne, in case you are interested." 

Rachel turns and walks away, tossing a look over her shoulder as Echo and I watch her backless forest green gown move across the floor.




A Life Not My Own Ch. 01



"Wonderful person?" Echo gripes to me. "Your grandmother is a wonderful person, not your date."

"What did you want me to say?" I retort. "You look hot naked on my bed with your hands cuffed behind your back"?

"I ... Grrr ... I see your point. We don't really know each other," Echo sighs. "For instance, are you some kind of freaking genius?"

"The term 'genius' gets tossed around too often," I shrug. "I am good with math, statistics, and have a talent for remembering things, and those combined skills make me, and the Pierces, a great deal of money. So what is the deal with you?"

"There is something seriously wrong with us that we haven't discussed any of this before now," Echo mutters.

"Okay. I make my living predicting the fluctuations in currency and real estate values, things like Central Bank Promissory notes and how a given commercial and residential neighborhood will trend," I bore her, except I don't.

"So you get global criminal data?" she stares intently.

"Sure." I see where she is going because she's a cop. "I get reports from 84 countries plus Interpol."

"Can you access bank records?" Echo nearly salivates.

"Not individual accounts, but I can track and predict the movement of funds on a national and international basis," I start to worry.

"Do you get any drug data?" she inquires eagerly.

"Of course. High incidences of drug crimes degrade an area's value but result in a corresponding economic activity at 'clearing' points -- places were money is laundered. We are also walking on some dangerous terrain as this is privileged information," I caution her.

"Fine," Echo seems a bit frustrated. "I work for the Organized Crime Taskforce, which means we act as a clearinghouse for information between the various departments of the LAPD, Los Angeles Sheriff's Department, and state and federal agencies on matters dealing with crimes that perpetuate beyond the metropolitan area." I know what she wants me to do, though she hasn't formulated the request yet.

"Would you like me to look at some property and banking records for you?" I offer.

"Dominic, I want you to know this is not why I've been interested in you," Echo backpedals. "I looked you up, I knew you worked at a financial firm, but I had no idea what you did, only that you didn't have a criminal record."

"In retrospect, I should have looked into your college records as well," Echo grins. "You looked like yet another over-privileged playboy so I made an assumption -- and we know how assumptions work out."

"What? Huh? Did you say something?" I tease. "I was scoping out your assumptions."

Echo gives me a wicked grin as she leans in.

"Don't make me handcuff you then shoot you in the classic LAPD style," she whispers. 

"I don't know; that might be fun. Where would you shoot me?" I banter.

"In the nuts," she responds quietly.

"I've never been a boy scout but I seriously want to emulate one right now," I gulp.

"You can be yourself," she assures me. "The real you is polite enough."

"That's nice of you to say, 'Gloomy'," I chide her. Echo surreptitiously put her hand on my bicep, then squeezed it painfully, like she'd inflicted this on a person a time or two.

"I don't like that name," she smiles sweetly. "You haven't earned the right to use it, and you won't use it again unless I tell you that you can." I don't back down easily.

"Whatever you say," I grind my teeth. "Next time I meet Lydia, I'll call you Sexy Bunny instead."

Echo opens her mouth to make another threat but she catches herself.

"Dom!" my boss Brad Pierce calls out. I don't recognize the beautiful Chinese woman of mixed heritage on his arm (I'm thinking Malaysian/Chinese). "Come on, I want you to Michael Harrow of the Harrow Group. He is that big account that we've been hunting and you're our man with the eye for figures."

"Echo -- Brad Pierce, my boss. Brad, she's --" I manage to get out.

"She's happy to meet you," Echo interrupts. She offers Brad her hand and he shakes it.

"My companion is Aya Yen," Brad introduces his companion.

"Malay Capital Investments," I grin.

"Do we know each other?" she asks in an overtly polite fashion.

"Your name comes up all the time on real estate reports," I remind her. She blinks in surprise.

"I don't do real estate transactions," Aya tries to correct me.

"No, but you do a great deal of loan approvals," I point out. Aya stares at me and Echo tightens her grip on my arm.

"That's my boy," Brad laughs. "Dom remembers everything -- and I mean everything -- he ever reads unless it is a business appointment; those he somehow manages to forget." Aya gives an incredibly correct laugh, as do I.

"Ah, and here I was hoping this handsome young man was paying particular attention to me," she smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Pity."

Brad leads the way to a tall, blonde, well-muscled man in his mid-forties. He has the look of a man constantly challenging the natural world with the same aggression he tackles the business world. I hear about guys like Michael Harrow; he is one of those hyper Type A personalities who not only has to win, he has to make you lose. He doesn't just kill you; he kills your hopes, dreams, and ambitions before your eyes...then he kills you; figuratively or so I thought.

My boss wants this guy's portfolio too -- oh, joy. Well, I didn't imagine I'd been going over every aspect of Harrow's life for the past two weeks for nothing. Brad likes putting me on special projects but it would be nice if he would lighten my normal workload when he did it. It means I actually have to work, damn it.

Michael turns and regards us in a rather unsettling fashion. The ice-cold blonde on his arm looks like she would only be happy killing clowns for a living but is introduced as his daughter.

"Hello, Brad," Michael greets us with thin patience. "Is this your Wunderkin you've been bragging about?"

"Yes," Brad smiles. "This is Aya Yen, my gracious date for tonight. The lady on Dom's arm is Echo, and this fine young man is Dominic Umstead."

"Fine," Michael sounds bored, "dazzle me, Mr. Umstead."

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"That's very original," Michael sneers. I have the feeling this interview is about over.

"Very well: you aren't Michael Harrow, that woman isn't your daughter, and you have eighteen Total Sum Profit businesses controlled by holding companies under your control, but hidden behind a half-dozen banks that you have influence with," I answer.

"What do you mean, I'm not Michael Harrow?" Michael slaps me upside the head in a way that is normally mistaken for a paternal gesture but was applied with enough force to make my ear ring. "Really, Brad, what kind of moron are you hiring these days?" To his credit, Brad doesn't throw me to the wolves.

Echo starts coming around, as does winter-chic with Michael.

"Ouch," I cringe, "that hurt. As for you not being Michael Harrow, your income projections were all wrong. The Michael Harrow who lived thirteen years ago didn't have the initiative, resources, or connections to get where you are today."

His look is not a good one but since I've never seen homicidal before, I don't know how much trouble I'm in.

"Oh, and if you touch me again, I'm putting you into the floor, Mr. Harrow, just so there are no miscommunications," I add with a grin.

"Let's see about that, Dom," Michael challenges me as he prepares to do just that.

"She's got a gun," the ice-chick comments softly so only our immediate gathering can hear.

"I was planning to drive Dominic up to the Hollywood sign after the party and shoot Jack Daniel's bottles off his head," Echo glares at the woman, "but now you've ruined the surprise."

"Seriously?" I look Echo's way.

"What do you carry?" the blonde persists.

"A gun -- it's made of metal and has bullets in it; that's all you need to know," Echo ripostes. I am not sure what happens next; I'm pretty sure Michael tries to smack me upside the head again. 

They say I threw him down the marble stairs but I was going on all-out instinct. I'm not sure because a second later, I went sprawling. I look up to see ice-chick clutching her throat as if she can't breathe. That is because I just missed Echo punching her trachea. She is looking at Echo who promptly smashes her in the temple with her purse, sending ice babe into la-la land. I am now reminded that I work for the best guy in the business.

"Sorry, Mike," Brad calls down the stairs, "but the kid warned you." He comes back over to me and helps me up as Aya and Echo hover close by.

"No worries," Brad pats me on the back. "I'd heard he was difficult to deal with but that was nuts. By the way, your new girlfriend beat the hell out of his bodyguard. I'm glad to see you moved on after Stephanie. She's was high maintenance. Trust me, I know the type," he adds with a wink.

"Interesting moves," Aya observes. "What do you do for a living?"

"I'm current unemployed but I grew up in a rough neighborhood," Echo smiles. I'm lucky my jaw doesn't drop off. Isn't this the moment a cop should show her badge and tells everyone things are okay?

"My girlfriend Stephanie and I broke up earlier this week and there was a mutual friend who hooked us up," I help fabricate the falsehood. "It turns out we'd actually met a few times before too so it wasn't even like we were strangers."

"Well, you are lucky she agreed to be your date tonight because I'm not sure what that woman would have done to you," Brad chuckles as he leads me away. He soon spins us off so that he can do damage control.

"That was unexpected," Echo muses once we've grabbed some champagne.

"What is your interest?" I counter.

"I may tell you later if we get out of this alive -- trouble." Echo points me in the right direction. Michael Harrow and his somewhat battered but clearly furious companion are coming my way.

"Let me handle this," Echo whispers to me.

"That would kind of defeat you lying to him and my boss about what you do for a living," I remind her.

"We need to talk...outside," Harrow insists.

"I can give you ten reasons why that is not going to happen, first being that I'm not sure how much plastic surgery my insurance covers." I try to make light of the situation.

"I'm not...too angry, Mr. Umstead. I actually want you to consider a job offer," Michael grins like a lion on the prowl.

"Oh...wow...thank you very much, sir. That was unexpected," I answer carefully, "but I like working with Brad Pierce. He's always looked out for me and I owe him my loyalty. Hell, he's like a father to me...actually, more than a father since my dad was a drunk who ended up wrapping himself around a tractor-trailer one night when I was a six."

"You haven't heard the offer," Michael uses his size in an intimidating manner.

"Mr. Harrow, if you offer me more than I'm worth, I would get suspicious, and if you offer me less than what I'm worth, I wouldn't be interested," I state. "Cost analysis is what I do. If you want my services, please give Pierce and Pierce the contract."

"You are really starting to piss me off," Michael growls, but I am getting the feeling this is some sort of contest he wants to play out because he knows he's destined to win and he wants to savor that moment.

"That's not what I had planned," I back up, "but then, your happiness has never been a real concern for me. You are not a friend and you don't wear the right kind of lingerie to make me question my morals."

He glares and he glares, and then he laughs long and loud. He makes as if to slap my upper arm but holds back at the last second.

"I like men who don't fold up at the first sign of violence, Dominic," he stares fiercely at me. "That wasn't in your profile. It indicated you were self-absorbed and rudderless."

"That could be the fault of your data, or maybe your data interpreter," I relate. "Personality profiling is more of a sideline for me, not my main area of expertise." He laughs again but it was merely a distraction.

"You still don't think I'm Michael Harrow," he asks casually.

"Four things: movies, flowers, prophylactics, and porn," I explain. "For a guy who is now knocking it back with four or five smoking hot babes a month, your dating profile for the first twenty-three years of your life was abysmal."

"You are joking," he seems really amused. "You think I'm an imposter because of the women I see?"

"Michael Harrow was a dating nobody; all credit cards associated with him show it," I continue. "He was virtually invisible until thirteen years ago when he/you were the beneficiary of multiple unsecured loans, and the rest is history."

"And this theory is based on dating history. I hope you understand how insane that sounds?" Michael shakes his head.

"It would sound a lot more nuts if you were not standing in front of me with a job offer," I point out.

"You are getting the job offer because you have stones, Dominic," he gives a sinister grin. "The last thing I want right now is some pointless slander, though."

"That won't be a problem; my analysis is the property of the client and the Pierces," I inform him. "I'm not in the news services or with any PR firm. I make people money and I like to think I'm good at it."

"What is with the personality profile, then?" he questions me.

"I'm hardly earning my paycheck if I put your finances together with someone who is irrational, idiotic, or corrupt," I detail. "It is part of the service."

"I could make you a very rich and successful man," Michael prods.

"I'll be rich no matter what," I brag, "and I have all the success I want right here," I wrap an arm around Echo's waist.

"I'll see you later, Dominic," Michael snorts. He turns and heads out.

"You are fast," the icicle finally speaks.

"Thank you," I nod to the woman.

"Fine," growls Echo. Maybe the woman was talking to me and maybe she was talking to Echo. She walks away to catch up with Michael so I may never know. I want to ask Echo something important but...

"Well, that was an epic disaster," Stephanie comments from behind me. I turn and there she is with Carl Dunn, an associate at the same law firm and probably the guy she was cheating on me with.

"Are you referring to our relationship or your decision to come here with a man more than six inches shorter than you?" I force a smile. Carl, who is five-four in lifts, bristles at the jibe.

"Your lack of ambition always disappointed me," Stephanie shoots back.

"Dom, this is the skank you tossed me out of your place for? This is the woman you were so faithful to?" Echo joins in.

"You really had a bimbo at your place that night?" Stephanie sounds surprised.

"Yeah," I mock her, "one of us was actually faithful in our relationship, Steph."

"Give it a rest," Carl growls. "You were never there for Stephanie."

"I'm not a bimbo but I did stop by his place that night and I did want to fool around with him," Echo glares at Steph.

"How about this not being the place for this conversation, Steph?" I intervene. 

"Are you tired of making a fool of yourself?" she counter-mocks me.

"Careful, Steph; I still have that video of you with that thing up your ass and me coming home to help you get it out," I taunt her.

"What? You bastard," Stephanie hisses. "You told me you deleted that thing."

"Oh," I grin, "that was comedy gold. I simply couldn't get rid of it."

"Don't you dare show that to anyone," she whispers harshly.

"That's the difference between you and I; I would never betray a confidence," I remind her.

"Dominic," Rachel Pierce came gliding over, "the dancing is about to begin and I have a few things I want to talk to you about." I give Echo a hopeless look right before I was swept away by my other boss. I recall Katya warning me about staying close to my date or I'll be snagged by the cougars roaming the crowd. Damn it, she lied to me. Cougars are predatory felines while dates are a fruit from the Middle East; cougars aren't afraid of dates.



A Life Not My Own Ch. 02



 (Thanks to Shawhollow for taking so much time to edit so many of my stories. Thank you.)

*Your private life and public life are never separate because the brain never stops thinking*





"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" I hint to Echo as my car pulls away from the charity event.

"I can't right now," she furrows her brow. "I need to think a few things over." There is a lull in the conversation for over a minute then, "Dominic, do you have any family?"

"Ah, no," I answer. "Dad did his drunk driver thing and Mom got septicemia after she got hurt on her job. There are no brothers or sisters. Why are you asking?"

"The world is a dangerous place, Dominic, and Michael Harrow is a dangerous man," Echo warns me kindly.

"The guy is a bully and a thug...a well-connected, rich one but I've dealt with his kind before," I grin, trying to put her at ease. You be a super-smart charity case at a prestigious school for the insanely rich then stack it on by jumping two grades at a time and see how often you get stomped on for the sake of amusement of kids who didn't know that lawyers existed in schools of less than three.

"And you just told him that you can prove that the man we met tonight is not the real Michael Harrow," she points out. I shrug; it isn't my problem.

"Dom, has it occurred to you that if he isn't the real Michael Harrow then what happened to that guy thirteen years ago and if he's not Michael Harrow then who is he?" Echo prods.

"It's not my problem," I inform her; an answer that doesn't go over well with her.

"I...forget about it," she groans. There is another long silence as I drive closer to her home.

"So, beyond the fist-fight, how did you enjoy our second date?" I inquire. Our first date involved her using police entrapment to force me to my place, tricked me into handcuffing her hands behind her back and stripping her before engaging in oral sex.

"Yes, beyond cold-cocking a woman who put you on your ass, fighting with your ex-girlfriend and watching you be molested by your boss while dancing the waltz, I had a good time," Echo gets snarky.

"That was a black tie affair," I give her a pained smile. "Wait until you see that crowd at Happy Hour."

"Is your life filled with working 9 to 5, parties, fast cars and whatever woman finds you attractive?" Echo shakes her head. "Don't you have any tangible attachments?"

"I care about Brad Pierce all the time and Rachel some of the time," I counter. "I tried to care about Stephanie but all we really were was a perfect couple with none of the fire. Then there is you; I haven't decided how I feel about Echo Ashaz yet."

"At least you are acquainted with honesty, but you still aren't having sex with me tonight," she informs me. I take a deep sigh because in my original plan I was supposed to have swept her off her feet by now.

I get back to her place and she's developed a good head of steam and is gone from my car before I'm even out of my seat. I still go after her because high-brow boarding schools teach you how to be polite on the surface, especially if you are a scholarship kid. After racing up two flights of stairs she slows down by the door to her apartment.

"Good night Echo," I say as I extend my hand. "I apologize for not showing you a better time tonight." She turns and regards my hand, following up the line of my arm and shoulder to my eyes and I can't determine what she makes of me.

"Why didn't you report me for that stunt that you refer to as our first date?" she inquires.

"Pity," I answer. That pisses her off terribly.

"Thanks," she bites off her curt reply.

"It's not what you think," I explain. "When I was young I was a really small for my age; add to that I was a dirt-poor kid in a school where the other students couldn't decide what continent they would spend Christmas on plus I was a 'freaking genius' and you can imagine how unpopular I was." Echo nods with some level of comprehension.

"Benjamin Corbin – I was getting my weekly beating in my dormitory bathroom when he walked in. He was sixteen, I was ten and my attackers were ten or eleven years old. He had no idea who I was and he wasn't even supposed to be there but he had come over to visit his younger brother and heard the noise. He beat the crap out of those five guys."

"We ended up in the Headmaster's office because some of those other kids' parents were richer than Corbin's and, well, I was a nobody. I couldn't figure out why he did it so I broke down and asked him. Did you know what he said when I asked him why he would put his neck out for me and taken on so much trouble?" I relate.

"It had better have been something important," Echo suggests.

"He said the world wasn't supposed to work that way – the strong tormenting the weak". He said that "it wasn't up to the weak to seek justice but for the strong to ensure it, I recall like it was yesterday. "I thought that was the dumbest, most naïve thing I'd ever heard. I thought he was mental."

"Oh," Echo sounded disappointed in my assessment.

"I helped his kid brother with his studies until I opted to go to college early; long after Ben left. He went to Annapolis and then flew aircraft for the Navy – not jet fighters but still. Since that day in the Headmaster's office I have never talked to him," I finished up, "but there are times in my life I ask myself what Ben would do. You were one of those times. I call it pity because I don't want to think about what else it could be."

"You never told him what an impact he had on your life?" she says in a different voice.

"Ben didn't do what he did for me. He did it because it was what he felt was right," I answer. "What could I tell him that he didn't already know?"

"Damn it Dom, why do you keep surprising me?" she now sounds both happy and upset.

"I don't know but now that you are in a better mood, can I talk you into going out with me tomorrow?" I press my luck.

"How about I call you tomorrow and see if we can do something for tomorrow night?" she counters.

"Cool; I can live with that," I grin. She steps up and gives me a tight hug, a kiss on my cheek before pulling out her keys so she can go inside. She's half way through the door when she looks over her shoulder.

"Dominic, if anyone asks about me, tell them my name is Aisha Bashir, a second generation Syrian-American and that Echo is a nickname you use for me," she requests. 

That seems a weird thing to ask. I usually keep in reserve my long-practiced skills of deception.

"Are you going to tell me why?" I question.

"I can't right now," Echo assures me, "but it may turn out to be nothing." It is not lost on me that cops carry guns for a reason and there must be over a hundred TV shows and movies that show why undercover officers use false names.



I am still mulling that over when I get to the parking garage beneath my apartment tower. Only when I get to the elevator do I realize that not only am I not alone but the other person is walking toward me. Better yet, it is the ice princess that was on Michael Harrow's arm; the one he identified as his daughter.

"Mr. Umstead," she calls out once she realizes she's no longer sneaking up on me.

"Ms. Harrow," I give her a tired grin back. "How is the head?"

"I'm doing fine," is her chilly responses. "As pleasant as our conversation is, that is not why I am here Mr. Umstead. Mr. Harrow would like you to come by his mansion tomorrow morning at seven." The elevator door chimes open and I step into it.

"I am not sure that will be a good time for me," I confide in her. Her eyes flash and she steps up and interposes a hand to stop the elevator doors from closing.

"That wasn't really a request Mr. Umstead," she threatens.

"Please call me Dominic," I sigh. "What do I call you?" Besides annoying.

"I will pick you up at 6:30," she informs me then lets the door start to shut.

"Believe what you like," I chuckle, "but I'm locking the door and disabling the doorbell." Her hand barely wedges open the doors this time.

"Why are you trying to anger Mr. Harrow when your firm needs his business?" she glares. 

"Get in or get out, but move your damn hand...Tara," I insist. She thinks about that along with whether or not to punch my lights out for a second time tonight, no doubt.

"My name is not Tara," she growls as she steps in and lets the doors shut. I punch the button to my floor.

"Okay Julia," I smile wickedly, "I'm not trying to anger Mr. Harrow but I don't work for him so I'm allowed to not present myself like a call girl whenever he desires my presence – unlike you."

"My name is not Julia and are you calling me a whore?" she says with lethal intent.

"Not really," I muse. "He owns you so that would make you more of a slave but I thought calling you that was rude." Yes, my sexual frustration is showing through. The door opens; she continues to glare and follows me to my door. "Listen Irma, or whoever you are, I have nothing personally against you or your boss but you have been lying to me from the moment we met. I put up with that from my ex-girlfriend but I've known her for a hell of a lot longer."

I unlock the door, keeping her in my peripheral vision because she's creeping me out.

"Come in," I allow. Surprisingly she takes me up on my offer.

"You will go out that door at 6:30," the woman repeats, "and stop trying to guess my name."

"You must have blown all your karma on looks because you are a lousy conversationalist and your personality only comes in two flavors: frigid and scolding hot," I explain. "Also, I am not trying to guess your name. I asked what it was, you didn't tell me, so I'm assigning you names until I find one that works."

"Not meeting with Mr. Harrow could be unfortunate," she changes tact.

"Mmmm, go away," I yawn. "I have no clue what your job description is and it is no longer important. Go tell Mr. Harrow I will never meet with him if he sends one more God damn flunky. Get out." She reacts by getting in my face.

"This is not how Mr. Harrow does business," she menaces.

"Show up at my door at 6:30 and I'll call the cops," I repose. I can see the wheels turning behind her eyes. "It is highly improbable he sent you here to succeed." She doesn't believe me.

"Fine; you are not my physical type, you have the diplomatic skills of a hormonal rhino and if I wasn't going to knuckle under to him, why would I bow to you?" I explain.

"I don't need to be diplomatic," she simmers. "I clarify things."

"Mission success," I exhale. "I got it; 6:30. You can go now." She gives me one final look then strides from my place. Maybe I should have 'clarified' for her that all I wanted was for her to leave – mission success.

(Saturday)

Someone has been beating on my door for fifteen minutes. I decide to get out of bed because they are obviously not going away. When I arrive what I see disturbs me; my door is a quarter inch open which could only happen if someone had a key...or picked my lock. Fortunately I had a rough time in school and I learned a little trick – to block your door, slip some forks underneath to wedge it shut. The harder you push, the more the forks dig in.

There is another 'knock' on the door which sounds much more like a kick. I think I've really pissed someone off and a quick look at my watch suggests to me it's the chick from last night. Maybe if Stephanie and I hadn't fought at least twice a week a neighbor would have called the police by now, but this seems to be another gift from my ex that keeps giving and giving.

"Good morning Karen Starr," I communicate through the intercom which I had disabled along with the doorbell last night before crashing. "What do you want?"

"Open the damn door," she seethes, "and stop making up names for me."

"I don't think that would be a wise course of action," I reply. "I think you are furious with me right now and I have no desire to spend this morning in an emergency room, a police station or with Mr. Harrow." There is another big kick against the door. 

"You will regret this," she growls.

"Lady I've had nothing but regrets since I've met you. Now I'm going to dial 911 unless you get your ass out of here right now," I inform her. It is a lie; I don't call the cops, I call my boss, Brad Pierce. I bring him up to speed with my encounters with crazy ice princess. We both agree that Harrow is a nut job, though a filthy rich one. He tells me not to worry about it; he's going back to sleep.

Since I'm now awake I elect to wait a few minutes for the crazy lady to leave before heading down to the complex's gym for a good workout. Thirty minutes into it, my phone rings with a number I don't recognize.

"Dom, this is Michael Harrow," is the way he greets me in a calm cool manner. "My underling appears to have gone beyond the bounds of protocol. I find her actions in this episode very disappointing."

No, that's not an apology. I doubt he has one in him. I am not sure why I saw what comes next.

"Actually she was very convincing and I think we developed a certain level of trust and understanding. Unfortunately I retain a certain schedule that helps me in my work, including aspects of my morning exercise that I hate to deviate from. A man has to be the master of his own fate after all," I finish up.

"That was not communicated to me," Harrow sounds displeased.

"I would blame the undeniable sexual tension between Ms. Danvers and me for any miscommunications. I was lonely but she was certainly getting sexual satisfaction elsewhere and I was keeping her from such a liaison," I fib.

"You should have taken advantage of her," he taunts me or someone else close by. "She would have performed well and she has some skill."

"Sir, I don't even know where to begin with how wrong that is except to say you are only saying this because she's somewhere close by," I am deeply disappointed. 

"We went down that road last night" I continue. "Dr. Morse clearly has affection for you; terribly loyal and willing to violate the law on your behalf. I won't abuse that devotion – it is not manly." Slap! Take that you asshole.

"As you will learn Dominic, Men take what they want," Harrow sneers.

"You are a super-rich, super-successful guy but still feel compelled to prove yourself to everyone you meet. I have a lot less but I possess the confidence that says I have nothing to prove to anyone, especially you. I've said it before and I'll repeat it now; you don't matter to me. Your money doesn't matter, your legion of employees doesn't matter, and all your trappings mean nothing to me," I sigh.

"If you find me difficult to work with, please feel free to stop calling, if you want my services contact my boss and if you punish Ms. Blake remind yourself that leaders take responsibility while incompetents find someone else to blame for their failings," I attempt to help somewhat. There is another long pause.

"Why all the different names for Ms. Harrow?" he inquires.

"I pick the name of a random blonde super-heroine each time since she won't give me her real name," I answer.

"Oh...I'm not familiar with Dr. Blake," he redirects the conversation.

"Lady Blackhawk – DC Comics; she's a superior human as opposed to super-human figure – really good with planes," I inform him.

"You have time for comic books?" he chuckles. 

"Mr. Harrow I remember everything I've ever read, seen or heard. Quite frankly, I treasure these workout sessions to let my brain slow down for a while and that is why I don't normally take phone calls from strangers at these times," I hint.

"Why did you take my call?" Harrow pries.

"I want Ms. Lance to fix my door; she damn near kicked it down and I don't seem to have a mailing address to send the bill to," I lie once more.

"Lance?" He questions.

"Black Canary," I roll my eyes. Some of these aren't even hard.

"The door will be fixed," Harrow allows. "We may meet again. Good day." With that the connection is severed and I can get back to my workout. Three hours later two guys show up to fix my door and floor. Saturdays? Unions? Work permits? I know jack about home repair but I am a wizard about costs, billings and this job isn't looking kosher.

"Dominic, it's Echo, do you want to do lunch?" last night's date asks me as I answer the phone. 

"Do you want me to pick you up or are you coming by?" I reply.

"I'll meet you at the Fat Burger on Cilantro," she says. "See you soon?"

"Actually I have two mystery men fixing my door and floor because Mr. Harrow's daughter came by last night, was really annoying and then came by this morning and tried to kick her way in," I chuckle.

"Are you okay? Do you want me to come over?" she requests with some urgency.

"If you promise to wear that white yoga suit of yours, sure, we can sit around and wait for them to be done," I grin. She hesitates but not for reasons most people think. As far as I know she doesn't have a white yoga outfit or even any color yoga suit. 

"Sure thing," she tries to sound sensual but comes across more as anxious. "See you soon." I'm a twenty-first century yuppie, pretty self-absorbed and blasé. That doesn't mean I'm stupid.

"Hey Brad," I greet my boss over the phone next.

"Hey Dom, don't tell me you're at the office," he yawns. "What happened to that amazon I saw you with last night?"

"I meeting her for lunch but I thought I should tell you that I've got two guys who have magically shown up to do some home repairs on my door and floor," I snicker. "I know oddities like this interest you."

"I didn't know you had any home issues but it is good to know you can get someone to come out on a Saturday morning," he yawns again. "You've woken my companion up so I need to go; you understand."

Come on now, I handle billions of dollars. What kind of moron would allow his home security to be violated by two unknowns? Sometime this afternoon Brad is going to have a few of our security contractors come by, change my lock and sweep my place for illicit electronic devices. The first time Brad had them do it for me I thought it was James Bond-cool. 

Now it is persistent, a little annoying but necessary, though learning that Stephanie had a spy cam installed to record our bedroom antics was actually fun. They still had to remove it; pillow talk being what it is. That was okay; if Stephanie was feeling kinky we went to her place upstairs.

Forty-five minutes later Echo shows up at my door while my two new buddies are cleaning up their work area. I'm pretty sure her yoga pants and leotard are brand new in the same way I can tell Lydia's have some wear and tear because she actually does yoga. I walk up and give a quick kiss to Echo. It is time to start selling their cover story and treat them like bimbos.

"Hey Bunny Ears," I smile. Before Lydia can do more than snicker once, I wrap Echo's smaller partner up and start some forceful foreplay.

We include kissing, licking, hands all over her front and back ending in grabbing two handfuls of ass; Lydia keeps pace, catching on pretty quick. She's the social chameleon of this crime-fighting duo.

"Damn I've missed you," I smile down at her. "If you weren't my sister we would be making babies right now," I add a playful pant. Lydia nearly collapses in hysterics. 

Lydia pats my crotch affectionately and with feigned familiarity.

"That's why we always use condoms Bro," she winks.

"She's my sister, not yours," Echo joins into the act with a playful swat to my shoulder, "and shouldn't you be over here?" motioning me over to her side, joining in the con job Lydia and I have been playing for benefit of Harrow's men.

"Half-sister," Lydia clarifies, "and it isn't like I'm planning to steal your new boyfriend."

"Where's my previous boyfriend?" Echo teases Lydia right back. Lydia shrugs innocently.  We keep up the play but the physical aspects quickly get put on the back burner. 




A Life Not My Own Ch. 02



When the craftsmen finally figure out that I'm not leaving until they leave though I think it is Echo's suggestion I get a pair of pit bulls from a fighting ring to be my pets and she's going to get them real, real soon. They leave and we head out to place right south of downtown. I think I impress both Lydia and Echo by rummaging through my bathroom for a nail file and breaking it off in the lock...in case it mysteriously develops the desire let a stranger in.

"So Dominic," Lydia says once we are on the road, "is there a car in your garage worth less than $50,000?"

"With depreciation, that white Beemer is only worth $28,000, if that helps," I shrug.

"How much is your toy worth?" Lydia teases.

"$127,000 but I had some extra puts on," I informed them both. Echo had a sharp intake of breath.

"You understand that is more than I make in two years," Echo finally says softly.

"I can give you all kinds of crap reasons for that but I think you are making a wrong assumption that is perfectly in-line with your career," I tell her.

"In-line with my career; what would you know about my career that doesn't come from a spreadsheet?" Echo growls.

"You deal with corruption, moral compromise and an insane desire for money and the things money buys, drugs included," I relate. "I had to weigh at a very early age that I could market my talents for money or I could struggle and own my life."

"How did you do have a clue?" Echo gets angrier, "Were you tempted to sell term papers?"

"Precisely," I agree. "All I had to do was hope I didn't get nailed for an honor code violation. Except, when you think about it, they were rich and if I broke down once I would never get out because they were rich and I was poor. One compromise and I'm their bitch forever. So fuck you if you think I don't understand. Greed is a drug too."

"Yet you chose to work in finance?" Lydia intervenes.

"It is what I'm good at," I say followed by, "stop at that store please."

"Umm – okay," Lydia gave me a glance she then shared with Echo. She grabbed a spot and I was out before she could cut the engine off or ask me what I was doing.

I was back in the car two minutes later – pre-paid disposable phones are always by the counter; its smart marketing. I hop back in and get to work on the phone.

"Sorry for the mess," I mumble as I pop the phone open.

"Fine Dom but what are you doing?" Lydia inquires.

"What is the trash pick-up at the place we are getting lunch at?" I ask instead.

"How is that relevant?" Echo rumbles.

"Before we go to the meeting where I will agree to help you guys I'd like to spoof my GPS," I explain. "On the off chance someone as paranoid and criminally inclined as Michael Harrow takes an interest."

"Where did you pick up that trick?" Lydia sounds impressed.

"Drug Kingpins: LA," I answer. "They gave out dozens ways to beat surveillance."

"You picked it up from TV?" Echo is incredulous. "It is a Reality TV show but still."

"It works," Lydia laughs.

"The science is accurate," I add.

"Anyway," Echo turns in the seat and regards me intently, "what makes you think we are doing anything more than saving your ass from little Ms. Harrow?"

"Really?" I look up from my work and study her eyes. I guess she needs me to beat it into her.

"Fine, first it is the both of you, not you alone, Echo," I begin. "Second; last night you said you would call me about doing something tonight and here we are, the three of us, driving to lunch. Don't bother telling me something about protection – you ask a patrol unit to come by – they come by and you aren't the one to misuse your authority," which is an amusing thing for me to say considering our history, "outside of our first date."

"Third; you nearly had a fear orgasm when you met Mr. Harrow last night and finally you were terrified that you would get me killed when I dropped you off last night," I tell them.

"First date?" Lydia picks the kernel out of all the facts I've put forth. "Tell me, Gloomy, or I'll make up lies for the wardroom."

"Why doesn't Dominic tell you?" Echo glares back at me.

"We met at a traffic light; she scowled, I waved and after I made a nuisance of myself we got a cup of coffee. She wanted to see how a rich, stuck-up playboy lived so I took her to my place - we failed to talk because she sucks at it and we became a little physical before we broke it off and she left," I totally lie.

"Did you get her clothes off?" Lydia quizzes me.

"You will have to ask Bunny Ears about how far we went," I grin.

"I will shoot both of you," Gloomy mumbles as she sits facing forward and crosses her arms.

"Someone finally got some!" Lydia crows triumphantly. She's almost right.

Lunch is uneventful but Lydia and Echo show me their vastly superior perception abilities and street smarts. Apparently you can learn to discern between new tourists, veteran tourists, new residents, seasoned residents and natural-born Los Angelinos with nuances I can barely understand. 

They even find a good place to stash my 'burner' phone with the added bonus that only Echo is tall enough to stash it there. I know that Lydia has chosen the spot for maximum exposure of Echo's breasts as she stretches up to get the job done. Echo knows it and sighs but smiles when she thinks we can't see.

They call their 'Boss' to make sure everything is ready, whatever that means. Brad gives me a call to inform me that Harrow has requested a 4 o'clock meeting. Much to Lydia's and Echo's surprise I plead for him to cancel the meeting or at least postpone until he and Rachel can go over my analysis. 

Brad reminds me this is a boatload of money and will move Pierce and Pierce into the big leagues. He also tells me he's landed the Malay Investments account – more money. Of course it is. All I can imagine is that Aya Yen is really great in bed; Brad is normally smarter than this. I tell him I'll make it but it will be tight; I'm with 'that' girl.

I'm not prepared for what I meet but I've never worked for the government in any fashion, much less a task force. A piddling little thing called operational security has never occurred to them, or at least to any one whowants a place at their table. The introductions go around and my experiences in prep school dynamics serve me well.

Captain Tayshanna 'Tay' Freeman is the top dog but only because she's LAPD; every other entity 'tolerates' her being in charge. I want to nut-kick the bunch of them and not because they are a threat to me but because if they screw up, they will kill Lydia and Echo, two people I like and I don't like too many folks.

"Before we begin," I request, "shut off all recording devices and never – ever use my name or make a record of it."

"We don't work that way," Captain Tay lectures me, "We are governmental agencies."

"Oh – I understand," I shrug. "Have fun losing the largest pipeline of heroin in US history as it gets shoved up your collective asses."

"What?" about four different voices mutter. Fuck these civil servants, I want to live and my projection studies lead me to believe that a losing side that doesn't' change things up keeps losing. An 8th grader can tell you the same thing.

"Please," Echo asks me. "Give us a chance. Show them what you can do."

"What do you mean by 'heroin pipeline'?" the guy I think is DEA inquires intently. They haven't done what I asked for so I take it in a different direction.

"Lydia and Echo, can I have your phones?" I request. I take the three phones over to the closest computer and fiddle around for a bit.

"What are we doing here?" FBI girl grumbles irritably. Maybe she's pissed about missing her early Saturday afternoon time spent bitching at her significant other.

"Done," I announce then, "Cover your ears," and I hurriedly do so because I only have a three second delay. The computers flicker and a triple-harmonic high pitched whine rattle the windows. 

Five seconds later it's over and I get back to re-connecting the receivers on Echo's, Lydia's and my phones. People are all looking mostly at Captain Ty when I'm done.

"Oh, you will all need to repair your computers and buy new phones now," I inform them. "I've fried your receivers and your computer RAM is toast. Your hard drives should be fine."

"Listen up, you little bastard!" FBI girl starts coming at me.

"I warned you," I roll my shoulders. Now she's right in my face.

"Lady, I don't need you and I don't need this," I stare her down. "You have nothing on me, I've done nothing wrong and you can't afford my services so you can suck it up and grow a set, or you can consider the fact I might be able to be of some help."

"We were told you have some information on the Harrow Group," some guy I think is LA Sheriff's Department.

"I will get to you in a second," I tell him politely. "Rule One..."

"What delusion makes you think you make any rules here," FBI chick just won't shut up.

"Being rude will earn you nothing while wasting fifteen minutes talking to me will earn you at least nothing and perhaps something useful, so I'm going to wait for you to decide if you want to be an adult or a Prima Donna," I say. "Hurry now, you are burning through what little patience I have for civic responsibility."

"At least let me find out what this guy knows about the rumors I've been getting about the heroin," DEA guy pleads.

"Fine," FBI girl backs off.

"Rule One: when it comes to me, Captain Tay Freeman is the ONLY authority – period." I could tell that all three LAPD were surprised while most of the rest were irritated.

"Rule Two: my name is never spoken, written down, or recorded – no exceptions."

"Rule Three: I am not about convictions, laws or national sovereignty. I am not going to break the law but you may not inquire how I get my data. Keep this in mind."

"Rule Four: I have no illusions about my risks or survivability. A sane man would be in his car, leaving the state if not the country as fast as he could. There are two people who can question me, my motivations and most of you are not them."

"That being said," I take a breath, "Four things happened recently that spell huge trouble for you. Sixth months ago a joint RCMP-Interpol-Mainland Chinese effort slammed a door on the main heroin network moving the product into North America from Shanghai to Vancouver; this was on BBC. A month later, one of the leaders of the three largest Chinese Triads in San Francisco was in a hit and run and a gang war has broken out; HLN."

"The Sinaloa-Tijuana Cartel war broke out five weeks ago, which is only relevant in the fact that five Chinese businessmen were killed by the Sinaloa's; Azteca. Probability would suggest they were Triad agents attempting to open heroin and opium trade to the US through Mexico which would have been highly cost effective," I explained.

"You sound like you admire them," FBI girl comes at me.

"How about this; for over a month I have been aware that the Harrow Group's major sources of income are, in order, arms trafficking – mainly French, Italian and Chinese; human trafficking from North Africa and Eastern Europe, and all manner of illegal drugs," I shoot back. "I told no one."

"I am not a law enforcement agent; I'm not much of a moralist, and God knows I don't have anything invested in this fight," I meet her gaze. "I'm rich enough to afford my own private security so if this city becomes a war zone, I'll get by. This is the only reason any of you should think I have a chance of surviving; because I don't give a crap and Michael Harrow knows it."

"That's cold," Captain Tay grins, "but he's right." She shoots a look of approval Echo's and Lydia's way.

"No offense Captain but this leads us to LA; you are losing the war here. That is not insult – it is mathematics. You have an increase in population density but a lowered economic potential. Factor in the increase in subsistence government aid instead of infrastructure improvements plus a lower per capita law enforcement budget and you all are boned."

"And the cherry on top is Michael Harrow and a second tier player in the Triads by the name of Aya Yen will be completing a deal in my boss's office at 4 o'clock today," I frown...and the hush is biblical.

"I guess this is the obligatory moment you give us your threat of vengeance if we mess you over," FBI girl says softly. 

"No, that is pointless. If you guys screw up, my introduction to my inevitable death will be my only clue. I have given a damn about the world outside my own personal life four times before in my life. This will be my fifth act of blatant stupidity," I relate. "See, I am the only person in this room not under the delusion that we are not all wasting our time."

"When Harrow goes down there will be another Harrow," I sigh. "We will shut down the pipeline and there will be another pipeline. You are all going to die or burn out and end up wishing you had taken another career path. I am the only one here who will wake up one morning, decide yesterday was enough, take my millions and vanish. All that being said, can we work together?"

"One thing," Echo says into the murmuring. "Why do it at all?"

"What would Ben do?" I reply. She nods and though they don't understand my answer, Tay and Lydia nod as well.

"You are unreliable," FBI Lass keeps crawling up my ass; "you are a Brainiac but you have no experience in actually combating organized crime."

"I am not Bruce Wayne, Oliver Queen or Tony Stark, Miss, and I'm barely smart enough to know it. Two of LAPD's finest took me to school this afternoon with their 'simple' ability to discern who was a criminal and who was going to be a victim," I tell the Fed. "I don't know your jobs and I don't want to do your part. You wouldn't be here if you weren't really good at making the arrests."

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't good enough to make Mr. Harrow want my services," I remind her, "and you wouldn't still be here if you didn't think I represented an opportunity. I don't know why you are choosing to be so aggressive but we can talk it out, you can tell me what's wrong, or I will go digging in the next few days and tell you."

"Don't threaten me asshole," she stabs my chest but the three LAPD's come to my assistance.

"Calm down," Lydia intervenes first. "He's not going to tell anyone but he needs you to understand how vulnerable we are to someone like Harrow. Interpol has been running at this animal for over a decade with zero success. Let's try something different."

"I'd also like to remind my Federal colleagues that punching their finger into a prospective contractor – who is working for free – is really stupid," Captain Ty states.

"Considering Dominic's martial arts prowess, assaulting him might prove to be truly unfortunate," Echo growls. FBI chick is proving pretty fearless.

"Air Force Academy Ring from 1998, from your build, height and weight plus general weathering that only comes from high altitude desert climes, I'm guessing that you were an Air Rescue officer – that's an elite few and fewer still are women, which explains your natural aggression and your unwillingness to back down or disregard procedure."

"With that information, I'll know who you are within a few hours and figuring out your social security number will be made easier by your marriage then divorce filings," I lay it out for her. "Bank records I can get. You live within thirty minutes of here so I have your utilities, paper delivery, mail schedule and a dozen other tidbits – that's day one."

"So?" she grounds out.

"Profiling isn't even his thing," Echo gives a shark-like smile. "Harrow wants him because of his financial forecasting."

"I don't know how I'm going to sell this to my superiors," FBI chick grouses.

"Tell them this is LAPD's operation and they don't need to know," Captain Ty gives her own wolfish snarl. I can only imagine how many times she's been on the receiving end of the NTN bullshit – in her own city. Now it's her turn to have her hand on the font of knowledge, which is why I chose her to protect Echo's life as well as Lydia's and my own.

(Saturday Afternoon (The Office))

I took fifteen minutes to bring my system into data-crawler mode and synch it with my phone. My encryption isn't NSA but is pretty top notch and I'm going to need my wireless for the calamity that's coming. Brad calls me to come over for the meeting in his office; I wave good-bye to my cactus (it's been sole and loyal companion since Prep School) and put my room in lockdown.

Indira, Rachel's PA, is on duty for the meeting but the undercurrent of nervousness in the Pierces has gotten to her. She was barely out of college when she joined the firm twenty years ago. Back then it was five people and she was office manager. She still knows everybody. I still don't know what secret deals were cut for Rachel to get Indira in the divorce. I hope that neither regrets that decision now.

"Go get them, Killer," she smiles.

"If you feel like taking a coffee break, I'd highly recommend it," I am inspired to say.

"Are we in trouble," Indira whispers. I nod and she taps my elbow. "Come behind me and give me some cover."

I do so and she slides a panel in the left side under her desk. She pulls out an Uzi between her legs and double checks it, flipping the safety and chambering a round.

"When the time comes, go to dinner with the Brad and Rachel," I warn her. 

Brad and Rachel haven't eaten socially in over a year.

"Okay; we didn't always work in a safe neighborhood, you know," she winks at me. "Good luck." I join the awkward gathering in Brad's office but don't bother to sit down.

"You may want to ask the Snow White to leave the room," I suggest to Harrow, "or do you plan to dispose of her in the next forty-eight hours?" We lock wills. He waves his hand dismissively and Blondie takes a powder. I start working on my phone as I will for the entire meeting; it's important for what is to come.

"You can thank me for saving your life later," I give her a weak smile, "maybe on your 21st birthday. Now, Mr. Harrow, you wanted to rate the quality of our services."

"Let me see; you are clever not brilliant," I began as I kept eye contact, "you have exceptional instincts and you've learned to trust them so you like to take risks which means you were in a hierarchy but hated it and you were often insubordinate in ways that didn't get you fired but would have stymied your career."

"Since the maximum leg bone extension is 4 inches – you would go for the max - that would put you at five foot eight inches in height before and since you are proportional now, that would mean you were stocky then. Everything points to you being physique obsessed so you worked out fanatically then as now – it was never a casual thing with you," I continue and if he can prove I have missed the mark I'll swallow a kitten.

"You keep your hair blonde all the time and you are proud it so you were born with black hair," I work out.

"Why not brown or red?" Rachel gulps.

"Oh, he's obviously from Germany or Russia," I explain. "Only they would have an intelligence apparatus big enough to train such a successful foreign operative and the likelihood of red or brown hair is low and our guy was 'average'. He is very familiar with information services but he's not a programmer. He had the resources to statistically meld into another person's identity and as well as reconstruct his entire body."

"We are certainly paying our intelligence officers a whole hell of a lot of money these days," Harrow huffs.

"Your brother – your stance in videos indicates favoritism toward bonds of brotherhood – was a criminal and he died – check that; he was murdered. Criminal financing is the source of his reconstruction and Harrow's initial phantom cash infusion. You took his one-shot lump of money both of you were planning to use for him to disappear and created a far more elaborate disappearing act."




A Life Not My Own Ch. 02



"Why would I go through all that trouble?" Michael chuckles. "That's very James Bond."

"You could never get close to your brother's murderers but Michael Harrow could go into business with them and when the time was ripe and they had every reason to trust you, you wiped them out," I conclude. "It is called repositioning and positing of assets for a hostile take-over; it is standard practice. Seven years ago, according to Interpol, this is exactly what you did."

"Dom, how many men has Mr. Harrow murdered?" Rachel whispers.

"Do you want me to go and find out? I doubt I could give an accurate figure," I say, "and it has ceased to be a relevant negotiating point. We are all dead anyway."

"This had been a nice theoretical discussion," Michael grins wolfishly, "and it is only a theory. Amusing flourish by the way," he chuckles, "'we are all dead anyway'; Nice."

"This is why I want Ms. Yen in the room, but not your bodyguard. The rest of us are culpable and here by choice. Anyway, I will have your true identity inside six hours," I respond to his wolfishness with a bored yawn.

"I highly doubt it," he sneers. This man never backs down or gives up.

"Listen Michael, I said you were clever, not brilliant," I lecture just to piss him off – and keep his ire aimed at me and not Brad and/or Rachel.

"The real Michael Harrow disappeared thirteen years ago. Consider two years for reconstructive surgery and healing has a German Intelligence Officer dying in such a way that made DNA confirmation impossible," I tell them. "Within a 24 hour time period before that, a mid-level criminal 2-5 years older was murdered fifteen years ago."

"So?" Michael is becoming more and more fascinated.

"So, over the next two years that criminal's friends and contacts slowly die off or vanish – you would have had to use your brother's people during your infirmity, but like the surgical team, you couldn't leave them alive," I reason out.

"All fanciful theory," Michael persists but now no one truly believes him anymore.

"I'm looking to for a man who would be 52~54 years old today because your ego would drive you to pick a younger identity – 18 year old models will sleep with a 42 year old faster than they will a 52 year old. With those criteria we can have this cleared up soon and answers beyond a doubt within three to four days, depending on the German Government's cooperation."

"You are imaginative," he chuckles with obvious menace.

"Germany has a consulate in town," I shrug. "Let's go down there and give a blood sample. When I am proved wrong I'll pay for the billboard that says 'Dominic Umstead is an idiot.' You are bold and brave, so what's the hold up?"

"What would it prove?" Michael snorts. "In this fairy tale all it proves is a German civil servant didn't die. This is hardly the first time I've had to fend off vicious rumors."

"Who did the German's confuse with that guy and there is the piddling matter of the death of the real Michael Harrow?" Brad chimes in. "Maybe you weren't so careful with those first two cases of premeditated murder."

"And I'm sure the British will be intrigued about a German Intelligence operative murdering a British citizen so he can assume that guy's identity," I add.

"Fascinating," Michael stands up. The Valkyrie wannabe opens the glass door from the other side and holds it for him. "You missed your calling, Pierce and Pierce. You are not a financial establishment; you are a publishing house for science fiction."

He walks passes me but stops at the glass door.

"What makes you think she isn't 21?" he questions me.

"Unless you were terribly poor and desperately far beyond hope you wouldn't understand," I explain. 

"In my case there was this kind public teacher who lifted me out of my miserable life. Your girl was given a hand too. That hand tossed her into a pit of blood-hungry dogs. The eyes don't lie and I don't forget anything I see. That's how I know; just like I know you don't give a crap."

Harrow laughs as if I just mimicked Billy Crystal parodying Mel Brooks.

"Oh, and ask her what name she wants to be called by and use it or next time we meet I'm going to clobber you with the biggest thing I can lift and hit you in the head, you misogynistic bastard," I threaten.

"It is not going to happen so why wait," he taunts me.

"Parking Garage beneath the building," I suggest. I have lost my damn mind. This man is going to kill me. I am a weekend warrior while this guy does the 'Insanity' workout daily.

Brad moves to follow the three of us – Frosty the Snow Bunny isn't going to miss this fight either.

"Brad, take Rachel and Indira out to eat," I plead. "I call you once I've taken him to the emergency room." Brad chuckles and I've cleverly planted the idea of a hospital being the final destination of this calamity – as opposed to me going to the ocean as chum or a landfill as body parts.

"Dominic, I'm never going to have children of my own but I've always been proud to call you Son," he pats my shoulder paternally.

"Oh – I thought it was because your penis had lousy aim," I smile affectionately. Both Brad and Michael laughed at that and the Glacial Lass had a quick bout of global warming before the Little Ice Age kicked back in.

The three of us get in the elevator, each person putting their back to the corner and Michael at the controls of course.

"This isn't New York but do you want to fight with Roxbury Rules?" I joke.

"Real combat doesn't have rules," Harrow sneers my way. I doubt he's been in a real combat situation his entire life but then neither have I.

"You must be a barrel of laughs in a firefight Mike," I observe. "In combat I like to observe a few simple rules like – don't shoot someone on your own side, don't kill the only pilot when your plane is airborne, when you pull the pin on Mr. Grenade he is no longer your friend – stuff like that." Snow Cone is about to bust a gut, she's fighting so hard to keep it together. 

"Your joking bravado does not impress anyone," Michael mocks. "You are clearly terrified."

"Terrified, fearful, doubly-glad that I drained my bladder – I am all that and more," I smile. "You are going to beat me badly, maybe even kill me but no matter what happens I will always be the better man because you are an ape and a throwback and I will always be smarter too."

"In five floors we will see who is smarter," he growls. I look at my phone. "Contemplating 911?" he asks.

"No," I regard him evenly. "In just over two minutes a distress call will be made to 911 and they will be informed that 124 kg of high quality heroin and a badly wounded and bound Airport security guard are onboard your Gulfstream G550."

"What?" he snarls.

"Since you don't have a flight plan, your pilot isn't on board and since there is a wounded law enforcement officer missing and since the Airport has the third highest rate of overtime in the city they can't be sure who is and isn't on duty they are going to board the plane," I smile. "It is okay because two other sources will make similar but not identical calls."

"I don't have any heroin," he state cautiously.

"Yes, but a paranoid egomaniac like you has a small illegal arsenal on the plane which will lead them to impound the plane," I continue. "Now, I know the plane isn't yours – it belongs to a business you control through a shell company."

"I am passed saying 'so' Dominic," Michael allows.

"Until the Blizzard Bunyip gets a name, you haven't earned the right to call me that," I snap back. "Human beings call me Dom or Dominic. Things that ooze out of the dark underbelly of the human experience call me Mr. Umstead."

"Now, as I was explaining; I – me, Dominic Umstead – originated those phone calls from my office, which means they can get a search warrant for my computers and all the data on them, thus everything I have on you including our conversation and the directive to initiate a search into your true identity."

"So much for your data being the sole property of your bosses and your clients," Michael accuses me of duplicity – that's rich.

"That is why I have explained the situation and will explain your options – besides I don't work for you," I pointed out.

"What's to stop me from taking the phone and making you end this program?" he grills me but in a way I think he is thriving on the implicit threat that I care – I file it away for future use; implying I have a future.

"I have little doubt you can break me and have me tell you everything – given time and that's what you don't have," I grin; yes, I am enraging him on purpose. This is part of my hare-brain scheme.

"So you have experience with pain, do you?" Michael asks smugly.

"No," I confess, "but if torturers are anything like assholes, I've got this covered."

"Back to joking, are we?" he says as we are almost to the end of the ride. I shrug and hand Ice-flake my phone and take off my jacket. They both look surprised.

"If it breaks I have nothing to bargain with," I bother to explain. 

The door opens and Michael steps out. It would be too much to hope Snow Globe follows him. I can always get a new phone but I only have one life to live. I step out and she is right at my back. I do get the dubious joy of seeing two security guards coming our way at a jog. Brad must have called them. If I escape this without a concussion I'll have to remind him about the wisdom of providing Harrow and Henchmen with two Tasers.

Michael leads me to an open spot and throws his jacket to the ground.

"Why didn't you send Aya Yen out of the room too?" he starts to circle.

"She's a willing participant of a brutal, homicidal criminal enterprise and she deserves whatever you end up doing to her," I tell him. "Besides she just might get you first." Michael laughs; he is a misogynist after all.

This projection is based on these conditions; he has mastered Krav Maga, I was top of my 'college' class at Aikido and I have 5 meters to play with. He is taller, stronger and has greater reach. We are both familiar with each other's style and my strategy allows me to give ground while he has to play the aggressor – something we are, again, familiar with.

He's a lot faster than I recall him being last night but that was his ego was making decisions back then. This time he's pure predator and I'm the prey but Michael should remember some of the hardest things to kill in the animal kingdom are the hunted. To the untrained eye, our combat looks like a 2nd grade slap-fest at x5 speed. It is really him trying to get close without being thrown and me trying to throw or lock him up without letting him inside my guard.

I flip him but he manages to get a partial connect with his heel to my throat. I stagger away as he breaks my grip on him. He rolls up, I block, he pile-drives through into my left side, and I lock his arm up and put the back of his head into an SUV. Michael damn near introduces my sternum to my spinal cord.

I twist my lock and something gives painfully in his wrist but I can't hold back his head-but and palm strike. I do my level-best to make the fall become a roll; even so I'm not back to my feet before his foot comes in, snake-like and takes away my wind. I'm closer to twenty and he's past fifty but training counts for more at this moment. I can block his feet, he's got one good functioning arm but he puts an elbow from his bad arm to my temple and I know I'm fucked.

I take several more strong kicks and more of the power is getting passed my wards. His sudden mistake is giving into his raging ego. He uses his advantage to grab the back of my head and pull me up so he can spit his wrath into my ear. I can't see him but I have excellent hearing. 

"You are going to regret crossing me you pathetic pu-," he almost finishes before I drive the back of my head into his face. His quick reflexes save his nose; I drive his teeth into his tongue, nearly cutting it off and flooding his mouth with a hot spray of blood.

This time when he kicks, I catch his foot and spill him on his ass. I'm back to my feet when the taser hits me. If I was 6' 8" and 280 lbs. I might walk this off too – but I'm not so I don't. My lips contort in soundless agony as the proscribed amount of Mother Nature's Wrath courses through my body. When the device stops crackling I'm a puppet with his strings cut.

Michael Harrow, always the sportsman, proceeds to kick me repeatedly when I'm down. My rubberized, 'good to 300 feet underwater' watch chimes success to my battered eardrums.

Though I can't see the action, I am pretty sure where the White Rabbit disposes of the security guards; it was her with the taser pulling the biased referee bit.

"Sir, are you sure you want to kill him? Too many people know and you've worked too hard to let this idiot stop you now," White Horny Owl pleads.

I use the respite to force myself to a kneeling position but before I can make it to my feet, I catch Michael's shoe just below the diaphragm and almost collapse backwards. The second kick doesn't come though Michael is cursing up a frothy, slurred storm.

"Sir – sir, the phone," Snow Babe is shouting at him and since I'm not catching another kick, I can assume she's pulling him away.

"Let go of me you whore," Michael snaps. She does so and Michael grabs me by the front of my shirt and shakes me vigorously. "Make that program go away." I take the phone.

"How many Dwarves were there?" I groan.

"What?" Michael snarls.

"Seven," the girl answers; I hit the seven button.

"If you fucked this up," Michael snaps at his servant – not me.

"Fuck Dude, have a little fantasy in your life and pay attention to who you have standing around you," I cough up some blood. "There isn't a girl in the English speaking world that doesn't know Snow White and the Seven Dwarves."

"That's what you called her at the start of our meeting," Michael observes. "Which means you planned all this," he kicks me in the ribs again. "I don't like being used."

"You happiness is not something I worry about," I mumble once I can right myself. I'm essentially defenseless now and Michael is still very angry.

"Why do it, you moron?" he grumbles.

"I had to buy the time necessary for Rachel and Brad to get free of this building," I sigh painfully.

"How sure are you that they have left the building?" Michael glares at me with his twisted smile. "Ms. Yen may have taken exceptation to the whole game and acted in her best interest."

"No sounds of gunfire and no building-wide alarms," smile a bloody smile. "Because I know something you don't – again." Michael kicks me yet again, though I roll with this one and don't get something broken.

"I should feed you your phone," Michael seethes, pulling out his own. "I could have them killed right now."

"Listen up, you Neanderthal," I groan and groan louder when he kicks my arms I've blocked with. "There was no threat – it was a bluff. Such an investigation would have destroyed Pierce and Pierce; I would not destroy my home; I had to convince you I was to get you out of the building."

"What is going to save you now?" he gloats over me. "You've lost your leverage."

"The response time of the LAPD and the fact this has all been on camera," I point out.

"That's a lie," Snowy Owl denies me. "We are outside of the camera angles." 

"Yes, but this area is infamous for the young mothers that all park here on Saturdays.  All their SUV's have rear angle cameras, which ARE pointing right at us and have been broadcasting to my systems and the security desk since the beginning." I get a kick for my troubles and I'm feeling weak and woozy.

"Sir, you need to get going," Snow Grouse," is becoming insistent. Michael howls out his rage, gives me one more swift kick then punches me as I topple down to the ground, defenseless and prone. Michael moves to his Lamborghini and races away while I crawl to my phone and call Echo, telling her what hospital she can come get me at. Sure enough, three patrol cars arrive too late. 

I claim a cloudy vision and an uncertain memory which allows the paramedics to take me away. At the emergency room they determine I don't have a concussion, internal bleeding or broken ribs but it wasn't for lack of trying as I have a fracture to my skull, three ribs and both ulna bruised. They give me some kick-ass painkillers so that I'm nice and toasty when Echo and Lydia are shown in.

We are pretty quiet as we get into the car but then my phone rings. It is Brad, who is remarkably upbeat considering – we have the Harrow account - $22 billion. We are in the big leagues now and Brad doesn't know the half of it. He wants a rundown but I tell him I'll be in the office real soon, which the ladies don't like.

I un-lockdown my office, find Harrow's true name and share it with Brad. Brad is catching up with Rachel and they both have some local, top-notch security for the next few weeks. Aya Yen has left for her home but will be back in a few weeks.  Harrow is going to Western and Central Europe for a few weeks but will be back as a semi-resident soon enough – and he expects results.

I make a note to put Michael on my Christmas bomb list. I reformat my external systems before heading home. We sweep the car for bugs as a standard precaution but the girls explode with questions when we exit the parking garage. The first and dumbest thing they do is ask me if I want out.

"That would make the beating I took pointless," I groan as the pain-killers hit their limit and the low-scale pain becomes a constant. "I expected and planned for this; as you recall I told you I needed to drag Harrow in. Now, he's not going to kill me until I admit he's the better man – this will not happen."

I have them stop by Keystone Security where I pick up a few things before heading home. "Ladies, I have something to help us all out in this," I tell them between flashes of pain from the body blows Michael landed on me. "Here are the cars you will need to use if we are going to work together; Echo you get the Continental GT Speed and Lydia you get the Range Rover L405."

"We can't accept these," Echo insists even as she's salivating over one of the fastest cars ever built. If she likes that, she's going to love the fact that it is not street legal – it can reach speeds in excess of 300kph, not that anyone would admit to that.

"Oh fuck yeah!" Lydia goes the other way. "Is there anything I need to know about this model?" she giggles.

"We can't keep these," Echo refuses to budge.

"Lydia, yours is the security model," we ignore Gloomy though I can't ignore how much standing and breathing hurts – breathing hurts all the time right now. "Bullet resistant glass, layered Kevlar panels on all four sides, the roof, hood, and undercarriage."

"Run-flat tires," Lydia claps joyfully, "onboard electronics detector and well as chemical sniffers." Lydia is starting to salivate. "Can I keep this at home Dominic? Please, please!"

"Sure you can," I look at Echo's partner become very happy. I produce the two cards I had picked up as well. I hand one to each officer.

"We can't accept these and we can't accept the cars – Lydia," Echo is still very stern. "Police officers can accept gifts."

"The kids will love this," Lydia pleads. "Consider all the skanky cars we've had to drive, let us live a little Echo."

"Besides, they are not a gift, they are your covers because you can't hang out with me if you look like – excuse me – middle class wannabes," I explain. "Your speech and mannerisms are fine, but you've got to look like you are flaunting wealth, thus the cars and the cards."

"What about the cards?" Lydia smiles at me in a way that says I've made her New Years, Easter, her Birthday, 4th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas all at once.

"It is a credit card except it is tied to ten different accounts at ten different banks. These accounts transfer money between them to cover purchases and to conceal your buying history. It is virtually swipe-proof and is pretty common at the executive level. I'll handle the balance so don't worry unless you go hog wild."




A Life Not My Own Ch. 02



"What is the limit?" Echo asks hesitantly.

"$500,000", I answer. "Remember, I just landed the Harrow account so that put $22million into my checking. If Captain Tay asks you what your war chest is, you now have your number."

"You are going to use his money to fight him," Echo starts to smile for the first time in a while.

"Did you seriously think I was going to rely on your anemic budget to make this work?" I smile weakly. "International monsters like Harrow and Yen aren't going to go down by regular means or one overwhelmed municipality's government. We need to fight them internationally; which means we need to travel and look the part. We may need a Gulfstream of our own and that could mean bringing in a third agent."

"Damn," Lydia sighs, "Dominic, I'm not really assigned to this case."

"So Echo is guarding my back 24/7/52?" I point out. "That doesn't work. If I don't provide for my security, Michael Harrow will. I couldn't take that – I need to sleep in a bed that isn't going to sprout blood stains in my sleep. Tell Tay that we need you and tell FBI girl she can come along too."

"Why do you want to work with Special Agent Saberhagen?" Echo looks at me suspiciously.

"She has an Air Force Academy ring on and her shirt under her jacket says 'Air Force Academy' and that's what she casually wears around the house – her empty house," I relate. "She rubs the place where a wedding band used to be when she's stressing, so someone left her."

"Are you sure you don't profile for a living?" Lydia muses.

"My powers of perception are limited by my experiences," I grin despite the pain to my jaw, "and today you both skunked me when we had lunch. You know so much more about human interaction than I do and your instincts are trained to classify levels of threat that are truly impressive."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said about the police since I've known you," Echo chastises me.

"No, the nicest thing I've ever done is show up, Echo," I answer. "I trusted you two and then I decided to trust your Captain because I trust you. That doesn't happen often."

"He's got you there," Lydia smirks. "Here we were thinking he'd bolt when he got the bad news on Harrow and he ends up having more Intel than we do; including his real name and blood sample (from my hair) which we need to run by the Captain."

"I'll do it," Echo looked at her card as if she expected it to explode and tear her hand off. "I'll get some stuff too, water the plants and be back." She looked at her new car keys, shook her head and left." The door shut and she started grinning.

"Oh...back undercover," she smiles. "Ever since the birth of my daughter I've missed it. It took all of Echo's juice to get me on the task force but that isn't really 'in the trenches' kind of work I joined the LAPD for."

"Husband, son, daughter," I guess to her. "I need a shower," I attempt and fail to have a pain-free deep breath. "You are going to have to do some washing, if it doesn't make you uncomfortable."

"After the mugging at the door this morning Dom," Lydia laughs, "I know what you've got and the Polish Sausage company wants their flagship salami back."

"Thank goodness," I snort playfully and find an action I can make that doesn't hurt. "I thought you were going to say 'Children-sized Chicken franks' or something like that."

"Well, you need to pump Echo a few hundred times to set her straight," Lydia hesitates. "Between her fiancé and her family, she's had lousy male experiences to date – except for you."

"By the way," Lydia studies me, "she didn't play 'Bad Cop' with you, did she?"

"Yes – a baggy of baking powder she tricked me into touching then she had me drive back here but lost her nerve," I confide in Echo's partner and friend. "I knew when I told Echo that this was the way I first hooked up with my husband; she would emulate it – poorly. Sorry about that."

"Oh, when she began pulling up all that stuff on you and Stephanie, I was worried she had gone all 'stalker' on you," Lydia relates her worries. "Then she shows up with cuff marks on her wrists and a sort of wistful smile; I thought something nice had finally happened to her. So – what did you two do," Lydia prods. 

"You will have to ask her," I evade. It is the right thing to do. Lydia knows me but Echo is her friend; maybe her best friend. Lydia's phone rings and she makes a motion for me to be quiet. I quickly figure out that it is her husband. Thirty seconds later, I can tell that Lydia's tone is getting bitter then accusatory and finally furious; there is something about a 'brother' and the city of Barstow and my conjecture is divorce and custody battle in the offing and Lydia's been blindsided. 

I have to finish cleaning up and drying off before I frailly pull a towel around my waste and wait for her to accept my hug. She finally hangs up when the bastard on the other end won't let her talk to her children then storms into my arms.

"Towel," I whisper, "You need to hold up my towel or this will move way past awkward."

Lydia sobs and giggles which is a really odd sound but she keeps my towel up. She doesn't unload on me and that's fine because she hardly knows me. Flirting is fine in her book but trust is something else. The intercom goes off but it isn't Echo, it is Snow White. Lydia gives Echo a quick call to update her.

"Hello, Mr. Umstead," she speaks in an even tone, "I brought a peace offering from Mr. Harrow. He wants you to know there are no hard feelings over the stunt you played." Yes, right – it was my entire fault but he is big enough a man to forgive me for having a common sense and a spine.

Lydia secures my towel snuggly then draws her service weapon and holds it behind her back. I walk up to the door but before I open it, I ask one thing.

"How did you feel about the risk you took answering the question?" I inquire.

"I was confident," she replies. "The clue was so obvious I knew I was right." I open the door and Blondie looks at me for permission to come in. I nod and she strides over to the kitchen counter to put down a food basket.

"He didn't figure it out," I give her a lop-sided grin.

"You enraged him – the gambit was well played," she grins really for the first time and the muscles on her face show it. Someone taught this girl to be happily unhappy. "So is your friend going to shoot me with that gun, or what?"

"Or she is waiting for back-up," Echo comes through the door Snow left open.

"My name is Eloise," she addresses the room.

"Come in and take a load off. I think some introductions are in order," I say then wince. Breathing still hurts. Echo is torn; she wants to keep Eloise surrounded but I'm clearly in pain.

"My girlfriend, Echo, you have already met; her friend and mine is Lydia, Echo's half-sister, and on the rare occasion, bed buddy," I make the introductions. "This is, hopefully for all time, Eloise, who saved my life today." This takes my two cop buddies off-guard.

"That's okay, you saved my life first," Eloise nods then sits. "You went through a great deal of pain and anger for your friends," she adds, looking my way.

"What did our buddy do?" Lydia sees in a far more dangerous voice than I am used to hearing from her.

"He made me leave a room when discussions turned to more 'privileged' nature; knowledge I was not allowed to be privy to," she gives a tip of the 'hat' to me.

"Also... (long pause)...he was fucking hilarious before he and Mr. Harrow dueled in the parking garage," she now tries smiling again. It is not as agonizing to watch this time around. "Did you really grow up poor?" she ambushes me.

"Dad was a drunk and then a dead drunk pretty early in my life. Mom was borderline mentally handicapped so all she could do were the easiest manual choirs. I had problems in Kindergarten and then in the first grade a fourth grade teacher caught me reading his text books," I think back. "He figured out my problem right away. On his own dime, he took me to the closest college with a Psychology department; they tested me and I blew them off the charts. He and one of the professors shopped around for a private boarding school to take me in. They gave me some choices and that was that – I am the man you see before you today."

"Was it easy?" she questions.

"Hardly; my intellect was as much a curse as a blessing because it made kids hate me," I mutter. "I was small and weak with no money whatsoever save the small allowance the school gave me.  I had no social standing in or out of the school so my word was worthless and I took the blame for anything tossed my way; the so called 'Honor Code' was simply another hammer to be used against me."

"My first year there were four scholarship cases; the rich snobs broke down two of them and they went home. The third actually stole and broke the Honor Code so he got what was coming. He stole $2.50 to call home and talk to his sister so he was expelled forever. Two weeks later the kid of a State Senator stole a $300 guitar and was forced to recite the school song for one whole lunch period ~ 45 minutes. 

45 minutes of minor humiliation compared to expulsion to East St. Louis. That seemed fair," 

"Fuck," mutters Lydia. She's starting to understand me and how much of what I said about me not being invested in this fight is true.

"How did you strike back?" Eloise leans forward from her seat.

"I didn't Eloise; I got out," I correct her. "I got out – I went to Stanford and earned three bachelors and one Master's degree in seven years. I graduated two years ago and I've made a total in stock, salary and other benefits in excess of $5million. I don't give a crap about them because if I hated them I'd still be that hurt little kid crying in his bed. They had their chance to ruin my life and they failed. Now they have ceased to matter to me."

"Why did you help me then; when you weren't making me look stupid in front of Mr. Harrow, that is?" Eloise is trying to figure out.

"Mr. Harrow means nothing to me in any positive way; if I have a choice I wouldn't deal with him at all. He is a bully and disrespectful of who I am and what I do. He has nothing that interests me," I point out.

"He gives me no incentive to hang out with him or work for him; he has nothing I need or want and to pre-empt the next argument, there is nothing left in this world that would make me bow down to that man's wishes," I insist. "No possession and no person. I'm not built that way."

"We all know our relationship with Dominic will end someday," Echo shrugs. "So be it."

"If that jackass that Echo and Dom met last night ends this sooner than later, there will be repercussions," Lydia tries, and in my estimations succeeds, to sound 'street'.

"Their bullets fly in the same trajectory as everyone else's," I get ahead of Eloise's snobbery. She was floored by Echo after all.

"Dominic, why do you hang around with women from the lower strata of life?" Eloise still gets around to the pimp-slap. Echo takes two steps forward and Lydia's gun is now in plain sight. The intercom buzzes.

"Dominic, I just heard you were hurt," Stephanie sounds truly concerned. "Can I come in?"

I judge my place too small for anything more than an intimate gathering with a few close friends and I've never had one of those.

"Would you please," I ask Echo.

"One cheating whore coming up," Echo gives her snarky response. She opens the door and Stephanie's look flashes from concern, to confusion, to anger and when she finally looks past my bevy of beauties, concern over me once more.

"Who are all these women?" Stephanie inquires of me as she works her way through the living room/entry area.

"The woman next to you is Aisha Bashir, but she goes by her nickname Echo. The woman closest to me is her half-sister Lydia Bashir, or it will be when her divorce is finalized, and the woman on the sofa is Eloise Harrow, who you should also recognize from last night. Pierce and Pierce are still in negotiations with the Harrow Group," I finish up.

Stephanie welcomes them but Eloise makes her social and business naiveté clear.

"Actually, Dominic you have accepted the Harrow's Group contract," Eloise corrects.

"And you don't talk about that until the deal is finalized with people outside the perspective business," I take Eloise to school. She might as well have tattooed 'Hi, I'm a leg-breaker' to her forehead.

"You threw the man down some stairs last night," Stephanie stammers to me.

"Yes he did," Echo jumps in, "and while some of – you – were mocking him, some of the people he is having a relationship with came to his defense."

"It is the matter of 'our' relationship that brought me here tonight," Stephanie growls at Echo.

I am wondering how bad Stephanie's eyesight is because Echo has all the advantages in this showdown.

"Oh, suddenly he makes $22million and you're interested," Eloise grumbles then Lydia starts chuckling. This is not even Eloise's fight so where is this coming from?

"Huh – what - $22million...Dominic," Stephanie turns on me and nearly shouts, "you were lead on the Harrow account and you didn't tell me?"

"Because it was business Steph and I don't discuss confidential business outside the workplace," I remind her. "By the way, why are you here if it wasn't because I beat Mr. Harrow black and blue until he cried like a little tranny whore begging for a tip?"

"What?" Stephanie and Eloise exclaim.

"You are good Eloise, you almost looked human there for a second," Echo snarls. "Get your food basket and leave."

"Wait – what – what is going on here?" Stephanie begins to babble.

"It isn't what you think," Eloise stands and waves her hands defensively toward Echo and myself.

"Eloise, I am not angry but with you the job is 24/7 and combined with the business ethics of the Ebola virus," I shrug, which hurts. "I don't doubt you had your sincere moments but as a whole you are too fucked up to ever be trusted again. 

Go back to him, congratulate him on the plan, admit your failure and he will give you what he thinks you deserve. Good-bye." I hold up my hand for silence before pointing to the food basket, then Lydia and finally to the food chute. She nods and does as I directed. I then point to Eloise.

"Dominic," Eloise pleads, "you don't understand." She takes a half-step toward me and Echo and Lydia take half-steps toward her.

"Hold on everybody," I raise one pained hand. "Stephanie who told you what happened to me?"

"Nancy Rydal in Billing," Stephanie informs me. I called Nancy and, surprise – surprise; she hadn't been into work on a Saturday.

"Stephanie, I was in a fight with Mr. Harrow today – he kicked my ass – an now he was checking up on the people in my life to see if I had talked about my work with anyone close as well as trying to determine which people I was emotionally attached to. He sent Eloise here to spy on me. I saved her life at the meeting and she pulled Mr. Harrow off of me once I was essentially helpless," I relate.

"Please let me explain," Eloise tries again. 

"No." I am adamant. "I don't care if he really is your father; he is holding your mother, baby sister, baby or best friend hostage. That's not my problem. You are dying of a disease and he has the only cure; not my problem. I gave you an out and you chose to stay with him and do his will."

"An out?!" she screams, "What out did you give me?"

"I may be small and pathetic, but I fought him," I weave my deception; I need Eloise distracted for a few more seconds. "Sure I lost, but I think you know there are worse things than death he can put you through. You are so clearly dead no matter what you do; it is almost as if he has a stable of young ladies out there just like you. In fact, that makes sense but for reasons I don't need to get into now."

"You lost and he would have killed you if I hadn't held him back," Eloise insists.

"That is what he wanted to look like; I was supposed to see you save me and he wanted to see how far you would go to save me. It was a win-win for you," I grind out through the pain. I barely track the food going the apartment's organic waste chute but that is what I've been waiting for.

"Stephanie, did Ms. Rydal call you, or did you call her?" I inquire. I have to sit down and thankfully Echo comes over and supports me. Stephanie comes in and shuts the door which leaves her uncomfortably, for me, close to Eloise. Eloise is half way to the door when she stops, her fists curled in frustration.

"She called me," Stephanie relates with some confusion.

"Take a deep breath," I tell Eloise. "You have about a minute before your tracking gets wonky."

"Wha-what?" Eloise turns on me.

"Your boss is a paranoid egomaniac, so we can assume you are not bugged – he doesn't want to bug himself, but his peace offering was," I inform her. "I only wanted you to know I'm not giving up on you but if he knows that he'll use you against me. It isn't pity; it is your ability to see through the bullshit and keep thinking clear when others don't."

"Oh," she blinks in surprise, "you were leading me on – because Michael was listening in?"

"I doubt Michael is listening in, but someone you know he is close to will check up on it at some time," I correct her. "Him giving anyone an ounce of sympathy to anyone is laughable." Eloise nods her head. "Take off and we'll talk later."

"How?" Eloise looks at me.

"How do you feel about girls?" I smile, which reminds me how much my lip and cheek hurt – which is a lot.

"Oh," she makes that little 'o' with her lips, cans the three other women and smiles. "I'm okay with that," she finishes up before turning and leaving.

"I won't sleep with that woman," Stephanie announces. Lydia raises a hand and checks out where Eloise was sitting then makes sure the door is shut and locked before giving me a 'thumbs up'.

"You'll do it Stephanie if you don't want to end up dead in some criminal haunted alleyway, victim of an unintentional drug overdose," Echo explains to my former girlfriend.

"I don't do drugs you gutter-trash," Stephanie struggles back. Echo hits her then returns with the back-hand, both a great deal softer than anything I received so far today.

"Listen carefully," Echo squeezes Stephanie's face into a fish-shape. "Dominic is trying to keep your skanky ass alive. Before you go whining about this being his entire fault, this is your rich buddy Harrow's fault and Dominic's just trying to keep us alive."

"Steph, this isn't about him doing something stupid like going to the cops and you end up dead," Lydia jumps in. "This is something bad happens to you if his weekly numbers are bad. I take you back to how happy you were a moment ago when you heard he had the Harrow account – now how do you feel about the fact he has been forced – I say 'forced' – to work with such fine people?"

"They are drug dealers?" Stephanie whispers.

"Don't know and don't care because my sister and I are in the same boat," Echo says. "Dominic was a fun time after someone ripped out his heart. Now we are stuck with him too. You will get an obituary; my sister and I won't even get a police report," Lydia sits on the arm of my chair.

"That's because you are little people," Stephanie rubs her cheeks and glares at Echo. "I...ripped your heart out?" Stephanie suddenly rediscovers her compassion for me. "But why did you have to turn to these whores? You could have come over and begged me to take you back."

"That's it," Echo growls to Lydia. "Get a drop cloth. I'm popping a cap in her ass and feeding her down the garbage disposal!" Lydia jumps up and rushes Stephanie out the door, not giving into laughter until Stephanie is truly gone.

"Pop a cap in her ass?" Lydia chuckles to Echo, who grins evilly.

"With a personality like that, I have to guess she's home several nights a week watching bad TV cops shows," Echo shrugs. It hurts too much for me to laugh but I am amused.




A Life Not My Own Ch. 02



"I have to bolt guys," Lydia returns to a serious note. Her life is spiraling and she needs to deal with family stuff before jumping into the riptide that my life has become. 

"You be careful Lydia," Echo gives her partner a hug which is returned with strength. "I've got Dominic until you can come back."

"What is our handle on Eloise Harrow?" Lydia sighs.

"You should assume if you meet her without me being around that she's going to try and kill you," I rasp. Not moving is only making me sorer. 

"What is that based on?" Echo turns her head to inquire.

"Not so much data a gut instinct," I confess. Echo and Lydia seem to agree with me because that is the end of that. Lydia is soon gone and Echo is taking me to the bedroom.

"Dom, I don't' think we should engage in a physical relationship while we are working this case," Officer Echo tells me.

"Is this your professional opinion, or fear of a personal nature?" I challenge her. She doesn't come right back with a comeback. "Fine, do what you like but you know the first time Harrow asks you about how good I am he's going to burn straight through your lies."

"Because you've slept with her," Echo means the when/if I sleep with Eloise.

"Absolutely," I counter. "If he thinks I gave a crap about you, I wouldn't sleep with her but since I do, he is going to ferret that out and you are going to suffer as a matter of him reminding me he is in control."

"So I'm going to sleep with you solely to maintain our cover, not because I am attracted to you," she studies me.

"If that lie works, I'm all for it," I try to grin without it looking like my liver hasn't suddenly burst.

"As long as it is clear," she pulls my t-shirt off. "We don't care about each other."

"Honestly I find you totally repulsive," I relate. She strokes my cock through my gym shorts.

"Oh, I can tell," she rubs with slightly stronger strokes, "you are clearly un-responsive."

"Maybe if I saw your breasts one more time things might change," I suggest. Echo starts pulling down the sleeves of her leotard until her overly-frail bra is revealed. Her arms are pinned by her sides so the onerous burden of pulling up her bra falls to me. She still is able to make continuous hand passes over my cock though.

I roll her bra up and latch on to her excited nipple and areola.

"You are sure you are not enjoying this?" Echo gasps.

"Mmmm – slurp – I'm trying to maintain rigidly professional," I mouth around her bountiful breast.

"I am not sure you are 'rigid' enough," Echo smiles at me. She gets off and peels out of her leotard and yoga pants. Her underwear vanishes as well. She removes my pants with much more care. I'm naked and she's left with her rolled up sports bra.

"Oh God, Dom, you were worked over by a real pro with a hate-on for you," Echo sounds so sympathetic and endearing in her concern for me.

"How did you hold out?" She murmurs as she pushes me down and straddles me. I like the view sans handcuffs this time around.

"Who says I held out? I could have cried like a baby," I answer.

"Oh please," she smiles broadly. "I think I really like you, Dominic Umstead, and I think you like me yet you feel compelled to drive me crazy half the time.

"I can only imagine how much you enjoyed pissing off someone you really disliked," she teases me with smug satisfaction. She has the roadmap of pain that is my body to use as evidence against any denial. 

"I wish I made you happier," I try instead.

"You are working hard at making me happy Dominic which is more than I can say for every other man in my life," she keeps on going and going trying to make me think that 'having my ass thoroughly kicked' is the best thing to happen to our relationship.

"I've never wanted to cause pain to men I've never met before in my life," I cough slightly.

"I regret not decking Stephanie the first time I met her," Echo leans down and kisses me. "I'm surprised you can get it up with all the pain-killers you are on," she adds tauntingly.

"Spoken like a woman who does not appreciate how beautiful she really is." I tease her right back.

What follows is thirty seconds of lustful agony; I try to grab hold of her and she tries not to make me pass out. Echo decides that only by taking control of the matter can I be spared further injury. By that I mean she rises into a half-kneeling position, coddles my penis into the warm embrace of her juicy cunt lips and slides her way down.

"Did I hurt you?" she worries because I've been moaning the whole time.

"Yes," I grimace, "and I insist you make it up to me all night long."

"You drive a hard bargain," she softens. I don't.

"Please stop teasing me," I beg. "Just fuck me because it hurts worse than laughing."

"Poor Baby," Echo wiggles her hips. "My poor baby is going to get his ass kicked twice today it seems." My love thinks she's funny. It is going to be a long night.



A Life Not My Own Ch. 03



 (Thanks to Rey for his editing expertise)

*We bleed for Love and Hate; both celebrated with tears*



(9 days later)

"So, are you anxious about joining the mile-high club," Echo whispered. I had to wonder about her need for privacy – there were only five of us on-board 'my/our' private jet. Michael Harrow offered repeatedly to let me use one of his air fleet to come to Lanao del Sur in the Philippines. I not only refused, but I 'bribed' an officer at the Naval Air Station to sweep my plane before departing.

I videoed the devices our 'normal' service missed, sending a copy Brad Pierce, my boss, as well as Harrow before dropping the bitches in liquid nitrogen for trans-Pacific delivery to Harrows hot little hands. This allowed me and the currently four ladies to make our flight unhurried to our destination – a place where civil authority barely held sway.

My pilot was Special Agent Jensen Furst, aka FBI Girl – she could fly anything short of a passenger airliner and she'd been shot at in actual combat. Like any true idiot, she'd volunteered to fly into the Muslim controlled Southern part of the country. I really did feel safer knowing she was at the controls.

The other stranger on-board was someone I didn't know and therefore didn't trust was DSS Agent Winifred Portsmouth – who apparently was the daughter of a former ambassador to some non-First World country. The US State Department saddled us with a diplomatic security service agent and I was going to find out how they knew who to send.

Lydia Haversett, Detective Sgt. of the LAPD's Organized Task Force had remained upbeat until we lifted off then had crashed into her seat and was inconsolable by anyone but Echo. Her husband was crucifying her for returning to the life of an undercover officer – the fact that she had just now volunteered for another deep cover assignment only made things worse.

It took one long look at the deep rift in Echo's emotions to realize what had been thrown on the table. If Lydia put her career on hold for her daughter and husband's sake and left Echo to go it alone with me, she could retrieve her marriage. Lydia was choosing Echo's life and safety and, by default, mine as well.

Echo aka Aisha Bashir was my own Hell's Angel. Not the motorcycle club type but the graceful spirit that destroys you with the best of intentions. We met at a bar twice, played Bondage cop then I made the colossal mistake of inviting her out to a social function and all I could blame was my hormonal synergy and my keen intellect that was attracted to our differences. If Lydia said it was love at first sight one more time she was going to wake up wearing clown make-up.

"At least let's go to the bathroom," Echo whispered to me. Apparently it was bad form to have sex with Agent Portsmouth two seats in front of us. Lydia was two seats ahead of Winnie (Winifred Portsmouth).

"It is a coffin," I explained patiently for the third time. "By that I mean it is the size of a coffin for someone who is 6' 8"; 230 lbs. or less. I checked the specs."

"How about the beds?" Echo kept evading. "There are two of them."

"Do you really want to wedge you and me into a 28 inch high space?" I sighed. I wouldn't go into the fact that calling them single beds was being generous, she'd already seen them and balked and this chick had done a thirty hour stakeout in a Honda Civic.

"Why are we doing this at all?" she got pissy and conflicted at the same time.

"I could tell you some bullshit about Harrow getting in my face the moment we get to his hotel, if he doesn't smell sex on me that's going to plant a serious seed of doubt about my lack of character."

"But?" Echo traps me with her eyes.

"I just want you Echo. No reason beyond I'm horny for you and scared and terrified that I'm going to let you and Lydia down," I explained.

"What about Jen and Winnie?"

"I haven't let them inside," I responded.

"Yet," Echo insisted.

"Yet," I allowed the possibility that common sense would continue to be eroded from my life. That was all the answer Echo needed to forgive this open act of carnality.

Echo stepped into the isle, back to the cockpit and started stripping out of her boots, pants and socks. I got to push up in my seat and do the same, with less room to maneuver. I caught Echo stopping herself from looking back at the other two passengers. We all hoped Special Agent Jensen didn't take this moment to stroll out of the cockpit; it would embarrass Echo and put her out of the mood and right then I was ready to knock one out of the ballpark.

We pushed the armchairs into a recessed position (almost as if they were designed for what we were about to do – the manufacturer will make some shit up about being make-shift beds or some other nonsense) and Echo mounted me.

"Why do you always end up on top?" I teased her.

"That's not so," Echo groaned, "you take me every which way you want me."

"Yes – and?" I coaxed her along.

"And every way I like," she confessed before kissing me. I slipped my hands down her back and underneath her jeans waist-line.

"Yes?" she repeated with a wider smile that almost matched my own.

"Someone is wearing a thong," I perked up.

"Someone's gone commando," she upped the ante. I bucked instinctively against her crotch. "Ready to knock one out of the ballpark?"

"Are you inside my head?" I snickered.

"You and baseball – you would never know you hadn't played a game in your life – now fuck me while I'm still in the mood," she taunted me. That poetic verse sent us into a frenzy of ripping off our own clothes while biting exposed areas of flesh on our partners.

I stroked two fingers inside Echo's pussy; she was my liquid nectar of arousal.

"I love that look on your face when you touch me there," she whispered. "You always look like this is the first time for you."

"You are embarrassing me," I responded in a wistful manner.

"Good because I'm not totally comfortable having those three staring at me ass as you – fuck me," Echo started growling sensually. She was going to love this then. I took my left hand and pushed my dick into her cunt as she rocked up then back, using her force to drive my shaft all the way in as a continuous action. At the same time I penetrate my right forefinger into her anus.

"Damn Dominic," Echo shivered," that's not fair." Oh yeah? I drove my cock even deeper at the same time my finger drilled all the way to the second knuckle.

"Oh fuck you," she cried and I mean cried. Tears were trailing down her cheeks and her thighs and stomach vibrated. I wiggled her hips side to side and Echo lost it.

"You are staring Special Agent Furst," Winnie said. I imagined she was smirking.

"Ssshhh," Jen replied softly, "I'm taking notes."

"This is only the first inning," Lydia chuckled quietly. "They can go like that for an hour."

"In my briefing I was informed I might have to sleep with this guy," Winnie grinned (I think). "I'm now okay with that."

"You three keep it down," yelled Echo. "I'm getting my cunt massaged damn it!"

"Cunt massage," Jen mused. "I like the sound of that."

"I swear to God I'm – I'm shooting – oh yeah Dom – oh that feels – the next bitch who opens her mouth."

"Echo, please don't shoot the pilot," I pleaded while matching my upward thrusts to her downward plunges. This ground her clit into my pelvic bone and tickled it with my hairs. "We are over the Central Pacific and need to refuel somewhere soon."

"A few days in a life raft with you would be fun," Echo panted.

"As fun as," I start ejaculating into my lady, "sunburn and drinking saltwater. Oh God, your craziness just made me cum."

Gun to the head

As we were getting off the plane, two limos and a handful of pick-ups (Chinese knock-offs of Toyotas) rolled up and a few dozen mean and rather filthy looking indigenous tribesmen arrived as our welcome wagon. They piled out lickety-split and came at us with their guns raised. Oddly enough (I've worked really hard at being unpopular recently) they weren't aiming at me – they were aiming at my ladies.

Even Jensen, at the top of the stairs, didn't look too enthused at our prospects; Gulfstreams are well-built but not armored. Their AK's would make Swiss cheese of the airframe and the remaining air fuel would only highlight the afternoon sky. The lead Sergeant Major – the guy who's AKM (so Winnie identifies for me later) was joined by three different kinds of pistols and the local equivalent of the multi-tool called a Bolo – told the lot of us something in one of the thousands of languages I didn't know.

As I said, I didn't understand the language so it was rather miraculous that Winnie started politely interacting with him but he was still getting quite rude and agitated.

"They want all of us – and by us, he means the women – to give up all our weapons or he'll kill us," Winnie informed me. She was getting ready to lay her little ol' euro-built killing machine down too.

"Have him repeat the demand," I requested of my suddenly priceless State Department associate. No, I was not going to miraculously learn their language, but I needed time to figure out if I was facing your garden variety psychopaths, the Amish Mafia, or one of your common playground bullies. A little verbal tug of war developed between a linguistically agile Winifred and the Sarge. This ended up with every native pulling back the bolts on their weapons.

"Dominic," Echo whispered nervously.

"Dominic," Winnie added, "I've tap danced all I can. We need to give up our weapons; these guys work for the local Sultan who is pretty hardcore Islamic."

"Is their leader more afraid of our client or is our client more afraid their leader?" I requested of our translator/linguistic goddess.

Our boy, the Sarge, yelled at Winnie and we were all sweating from more than the heat. 

"Our boy is top dog," Winnie bowed her head in my direction, as if she was subservient. It was to laugh.

"Winifred, tell our brilliant opponent that I'm requesting my personal weapon then give me a loaded pistol and make sure that security thingy is off," I joked. I tended to joke when I was terrified. I was terrified because I didn't want to die and I was not bluffing about what came next.

"It is called a safety you idiot," Lydia chuckled under her breath. I lauded Agent Winifred Portsmouth and to the State Department in general; she was one cold cucumber. She bowed to the Sergeant Major and stated something firmly but respectfully then rather foolishly several militiamen point their weapons at me. I was praying the damn thing didn't go off in my hand – really praying and normally I held atheists to be too religious.

I caught her drawing her shoulder holstered 9mm Beretta (I looked it up on a weapon's catalog on the ride to the palace), Sarge got feisty but that was okay. I had his little red wagon and if I was wrong I wouldn't have to suffer the ignominy of being outsmarted by a man who most-likely murdered his elementary school teacher last year in order to graduate the 1st grade.

I held the gun in a sweaty palm because it was one thing to say I live and die by my wits and another to really put that to the ultimate reality test.

"Winnie, please translate this over to the Sergeant Major – whoever this fucker who thinks he is in charge is called," I took a deep breath then put the gun to my temple. Several people looked like they wanted to kill me and some actually worked for the other side.

"Tell Bubba here that I'm going to blow my brains out in twenty seconds unless he boards me and my harem with our weapons on some sort of suitable ride. Ask him what Mr. Harrow is going to believe – he and his redneck posse went nuts and killed his money man or that I actually killed myself. Ask him and his buddies what the Sultan is going to do to them when he decides they murdered me...and to their families."

Winnie had been babbling on and on like crazy as I had been speaking; both Sarge and his buddies were showing a remarkable lack of discipline as the enormity of working for bloodthirsty dipshits with a low tolerance for failure dawned on them.

"Starting now," I gulped down my fear.

Action number one for bullies is to bluster and that's what they did. Winnie wasn't, I hoped, counting down the last seconds of all our lives as she spoke in short, clipped tones. Action two was for them to bust up the punk who was disrespecting them but all four of my ladies had grasped the concept that I was a total asshole but they were probably facing a gang-rape no matter what and they'd rather go down with the smell of cordite wafting around them than die the other way. They drew their guns and stared down the nearest cluster of bad guys.

One made a lunge at me but Echo put her body in the way, pistol held in the classic two-handed stance. His AK was most certainly pressed against her stomach and would do a good job at cutting her in half. Her .44 would perforate his sinus cavity right before it introduced the front of his brain to the back of his skull. Echo's a big girl, I may love her and I didn't want her to die.

Strangely, none of the bastards wanted to play hero or martyr but I was willing to bet that type of guy didn't tend to beat the crap out of kids half their size either. It was a really, really intense few seconds that Winnie kept counting down. Action three came about when the bullies can't beat you down; they backed away from the fight – they swallowed face instead of taking pain.

Sarge was yelling shrilly and pointed his weapon from me to Winnie.

"Jen – thirteen," Winnie shouted a bit shrilly herself. I couldn't blame her; she probably thought she had a promising career in US service 24 hours ago.

Jensen Furst starts at thirteen and counted down. Winnie was going rapid-fire with Sarge then,

"He says we can keep our weapons and stay together," she almost screamed with three seconds to spare. God (or Goddess, Allah, Yewoh, or Oppenheimer) Bless Lydia; she yanked my hand up and away right as I squeezed the trigger. Had I been bluffing, Sarge would have known it so I had to be ready to put my life on the line. I was so busy looking over all the angles I almost forgot to save myself.

Everyone jolted at the sound of the shot but thankfully a blood bath did not ensue. All the militiamen were looking at me like I was some sort of lunatic. None of the girls were taking their gaze off our welcoming committee so I couldn't tell what they were thinking. I was sure I'd get an earful soon enough. I clicked the safety back on, took the weapon by its warm barrel and handed it butt first to its owner.

"Thanks for the loan Winifred," I smiled and she matched my gaze perfectly. Aaahhh, she thought I was a lunatic too, but she was smiling like a maniac so it must have been a good thing in her book.

"Thank you sir, now do you require us for any immediate needs or do you want us to oversee the unloading of the aircraft?" Winnie inquired respectfully.

"I want these guys to do the heavy lifting for us, Winnie. I'm not comfortable with our side putting our weapons away," I said. Sarge interrupted by asking something; I thought he was asking.

"He wants to know why you don't carry a gun," Winnie translated.

"I kill people with my mind," I answered with my most convincing soulless smile.

Winnie said a few things and I saw the native crowd recoil and make some sort of gesture; I was guessing against evil. The second thing she said got Sarge all pissed off again but I owned his ass now.

"He says he won't ask his men to do menial labor while women are around," Winnie informed me. Yes, I had been transported to Mr. Harrow's paradise. I walked toward Sarge.

"He wants to know what you are doing, Sir," Winnie translated next.

"What is that sword-like thing at his belt?" I questioned the DSS agent.

"It is called a bolo, Sir." If she kept calling me 'sir' I was going to get used to it and that only ended with me in Manila re-enacting the Crying Game – on the losing end of that sexual encounter.

"He really wants to know what you are doing, Sir," Winnie repeated.

"Tell him I'm going to take his bolo and cut off his left ear if he doesn't get my luggage into those cars in the next five minutes," I detailed my current madness.

He snapped his head toward Winnie when she enlightened him and was a second too slow.

Sarge tried to bring his weapon back to my center but I grabbed and twisted his barrel away. He tried to maintain control but I was using his two handed pull against him and flipped him to the ground. The hand on the trigger let go to brace his fall while the other kept to the barrel of the gun. I stomped on his sternum and then drew his bolo.

In most irregular armed force, 50% of the men are there because they are forced to. 33% to 25% are believers of some kind. The last 17% to 25% are there are there for familial bonds, or insane criminals. Likewise, in this part of the world, Sarge had his position because of his loyalty and questionable blood ties to the upper leadership.

In my current situation, it meant 20 of the 40 guys wanted out of this fight and didn't trust Sarge to do it. Ten were interested in helping their kin out, so five of them wanted this fight not to happen. Of the fifteen left, 8 would support the Sultan and 7 were Islamic extremists. I could count on Jensen, Lydia and Echo to track those nutjobs.

Sarge suddenly changed his tune and the unenthused guys started being called over to get our stuff loaded. Jensen protected our surveillance equipment but the rest of our gear moved fast and safely enough. At this moment I retrieved my briefcase and started reintroducing Christmas to the heathen. I got out seven normal envelops with $(Phil) 2500 in each. I paid off the seven guys who 'got' to help us. 

I understood that was ~ $200 US dollars. I helped up Sarge and gave him a nice fat envelope with twice as much though I could tell he and I were not buddies. Winnie had to tell them some made up stuff about Sharia law and only allowing money for Charity work. He wanted to stuff some guys in with us on the ride over but I looked from his bolo to his ear and he backed down again.

The money was Winnie's idea, the anti-bullying campaign was mine but I seemed to have her seal of approval. By the iciness I received on the road to the villa right outside of town, I could tell, she was the only one. Like any good democratically elected despot, the Sultan had his grounds patrolled by armed men with armored cars decorating various key positions around the perimeter. My financial disclosures had revealed the vehicles were Myanmar Army surplus – Harrow never let an antiquated engine of destruction go to waste.

A guy I liked to call the Major met us at the palace/villa/mac-mansion that housed the chief potentate and imagine that, he was seething at the Sergeant Major over my ladies still having guns. His bodyguards were a higher caliber of killer too. They took pride in their appearances and their status as elites. I didn't care that they didn't hold a candle to Delta Force. Delta Force wasn't with me.

I made my snatch unnoticed as I moved pass the guards but I thought that three of my four girls did notice by the way they groaned. I walked back and forth while poor old Sarge got his ass chewed but then it was my turn. The Major spoke to me in Spanish so no translator was needed. This man was clever enough to know that if I lived in Southern California I must speak some Spanish.

"Senor, your women must give up their weapons," he menaced me but was being polite about it. "That is Mr. Harrow's wishes." I was sure it was.

"Do I have the hospitality of the Sultan's house?" I inquired offhandedly.

"Of course you do, Mr. Umstead," the Major sensed a trap coming his way.

"Then it is appropriate that I give you a gift for your hospitality (thanks Winnie)," I smiled. I handed him a ring with the grenade pin attached.




A Life Not My Own Ch. 03



"Why did you give me this?" the Major was now highly suspicious.

"Because it would be rude for me to give you the grenade it was attached to," I kept that smile frozen on my face. 

My militia buddies were backing away rapidly; they knew I was nuts and they'd seen what happened when a Chinese-made Type 42 grenade goes off.

"What do you plan to do with that?" his tone was even and hostile.

"I'm going to throw it somewhere random," I gave a congenial nod. "I'll pay reparations on any men I kill and, of course, pay standard market price on any equipment damaged or destroyed."

"Unless," his eyes narrowed but burned with intensity. "There is always an 'unless'."

"Unless you stop treating this as a cultural lesson being handed down to someone who is pretending to care about you, your leader, your people or your culture," I related. "I know the fucking globe like the back of my hand but even I had to look up this place on a map to find it."

"I am not disrespecting you but I'm not going to kiss your ass either. I don't have a death wish; I am here to conduct business," I continued, "and my business doesn't include social niceties, or pretending to be culturally sensitive when we both know that I'm not. I'm not going to blow smoke up your ass; I want to conduct my business then depart to a place where I'm not in constant fear for my life."

"The grenade?" the Major directed his eyes to the instrument of pain and death.

"I had to get your attention and cut through this bullshit argument about taking my bodyguards' weapons away from them," I took a deep breath because the Major had ceased being the Enemy and has returned to being an enemy – he'd kill us if ordered to but not for shits and giggles.

"Where did you get the grenade from?" He inquired almost serene- like. I extend the grenade and he placed the pin back in carefully; we'd hate it if we suddenly ruined our burgeoning friendship over a little hand sweat.

"I am not going to help you nail the poor bastard I lifted this from," I shook my head.

"It was him," the Major pointed out the guy who has been doing such a fine imitation of a tree until now.

"I neither confirm nor deny," I stated.

"He is missing a grenade in his belt," the Major pointed out. 

He handed the man back his grenade, calmly gave him an order in the native lingo and our boy departed. That he departed at a quick step and not as a condemned man spoke volumes for the Major over guys like Sarge – this fucker was dangerous.

"Your women will keep their side arms holster and latched down. All assault rifles and SMG's will be back slung and will not be touched unless your life – not theirs, only yours – is in danger," he ordered.

"Knives and bolos?" I clarified.

"If your women can take one of my men with a knife, so bit it. Same goes for the bolos," the Major conceded the issue in my favor. We proceeded up the steps and inside to a pedophiles playhouse – oh hell. Apparently the flavor of the week is 12 to 14 year old boys and girls.

"This disturbs you?" the Major tilted his head my way and questioned me.

"Yeah – yeah it does," I nodded. "Fuck explosive population growth, this is a huge waste of intellectual and economic potential. I assume you eventually off-load them to foreign markets because I don't think you could justify the waste of muscle power on killing them."

"Is that all, Mr. Umstead?" he persisted. He was not sounding me out for sympathy; he was profiling me as much as I was profiling him – as I said, a totally different kind of bad guy.

"Nope, I have a conscience and I find beating someone smaller and weaker than you to be a disease that should be eradicated from the human species," I responded.

"Failing that, if I had access to a small mercenary army, I'd come back here and round up every male over the age of 15 in this town and bring back impaling as a death sentence because I hear it is a long and horribly way to die, but still kinder than child slavers deserve," I detailed to him clinically. "As reality stands, Mr. Harrow holds the lives of those few people I care about over my head so I will behave – happy now?"

"You are lying, Mr. Umstead, but I can't tell about what?" The Major looked me over. "That tells me you are either very good at deception, or you, yourself, are conflicted about what you do?"

"What is your boss going to think about that?" I pushed things.

"Oh, there are things my Sultan does not need to be troubled with," the guy said, "The Sultan likes to be decisive but finds actually making a decision to be taxing, thus boring and unpleasant."

We entered the main open-air meeting area though I noted the Sultan had roll-out screens on the roof that will deflect most to the rain should it come while we are meeting. The place is a miss-mash of Mindanao, Spanish, and Arabic styles that works for his place. Michael Harrow and four ladies where off to the right.

To the top left was Aya Yen and three no-necks who looked happy enough to throw live baby chicks into a burning oven just to watch them pop. Three other independent groups of sleaze-bags are on the left beneath Aya. One group was made up of fanatics – over what, I did not know. The other two groups were soulless monsters who should be put down on general principle.

The Major bowed (guards don't bow, they guard) and thanks to the omniscient Winnie, we bowed too. I caught Harrow being mildly amused by the whole scene. Most likely he was the Sultan's special friend and didn't have to bow. A short argument went back and forth between the Major and the Sultan then the Sultan and Harrow shared a secret joke.

"Welcome to my country," the Sultan greeted us (me really), "Stand – stand," he allowed us. "How has your visit been so far?"

"I'm waiting for this place to grow on me," I conceded then I heard Winnie groan softly. I was not pretending to be the world's best diplomat. "I feel so under-dressed; all I brought with me was a nail clipper."

The Sultan regards me for an instant then fired off in his home lingo to the Major.

"I can sell you a gun if you like," the Sultan smiled once more.

"Thank you Sultan, but that won't be necessary. If the threat is at range, one of my ladies will kill it and if it is up-close, I'll break their necks myself," I grinned right back.

"Women are not allowed weapons in my land," the Sultan's smile grew brittle.

"Quaint custom but I didn't come here for your customs, I came to do business," I told him. "If you don't want to do business; my arrangement with Michael Harrow is voided, I will turn my ass around and leave, never looking back."

"I don't think I'm indispensable and there are a hundred money men who will stab their own mothers in the back to get into bed with you. I am the best man in the business for you, though, and I'm not going to go running to Interpol with some whiny little tale about how you threatened my sick little daughter, or my favorite Labrador named Fluffy," I kept at it.

"I don't want to be here but I am and deserting Mr. Harrow only makes the lives of my few friends worse – so I'm here. You are not going to yank my chain though because every damn person in this room, me included, deserves to die – painfully screaming out our last seconds. That said, do we start shooting, do my ladies get dispensation to carry their artillery, or do I get to go home?" I finished up.

"Even me Dominic?" Aya Yen purred but it is all velvet fur and nasty claws underneath.

"Especially you, Ms. Yen; you touched my friend so I'm only waiting for the change to choke you and watch the flickering flame that is your life go out," I promised – and lied.

She seems somewhat taken aback by my glacial anger.

"Are you sure your mind hasn't been poisoned by the FBI and the US State Department?" she taunted me. I could tell Jensen and Winnie were surprised that their 'covers' have been blown so fast. Since the conversation was in Spanish, I could tell only Harrow and the Sultan were also in on the gag.

"And?" I looked at Aya.

"And – and they are federal agent so you are either a total idiot – which you loudly claim not to be – or you are in with US law enforcement," she snarled triumphantly.

"Sure, you could see it that way, or you could see that Ms. Winifred Portsmouth, daughter of former ambassador to the Philippines and weapons expert was fired over sexual misconduct charges 8 months ago – the file was sealed for her father's sake," I snarled right back.

"She knows two dozen languages and dialects from South-East Asia alone and she was with DSS. If she wasn't a bi-sexual nymphomaniac, she'd still be with them today, but she's a sick little kitten that I like to pet, so she's with me now," I grinned toward Winnie who rubbed her panty line from hip to crotch. Now this was the cover story I planted – gritty and embarrassing.

"I figured that actually knowing what the fuck was being said around me was going to come in handy and it already has," I snorted. "Being smart isn't the issue – being smarter than you and your information source is. By the way, she has a brother named Peter who I went to a private academy with. Did your sources tell you I've known her for twelve years too?"

"Jensen Furst was an FBI agent and a good one. She made a bad call and three agents were wounded, two critically so she was marginalized, her career over and looking at early retirement. I recruited her because I need someone who knows criminals – like everyone in this room – but who wasn't a criminal themselves because I don't want someone on your side giving me advice," I stated.

"Do you want to ask her how happy she is working with me, doing this?" I offered the room.

"Well Ms. Furst, how do you feel about this? Won't you turn us in when given the chance?" Yen pressed.

"Lady, I couldn't get a trash bag changed in the FBI when I was shown the door," Jensen related with some real bitterness that was tough to fake. 

"All my friends have retired or been rotated to desk jobs. The only people I can tell would use this to make their careers – the career that should have been mine," she growled. "If you start chopping up some baby in front of me I'll probably kill everyone I can; I'm not some animal damn it. Beyond that, some of the perks of this job are looking worthwhile."

"An FBI agent," the first of three fanatics glared our way.

"Yeah, and I was in air rescue Ali (random name), which means I took helicopters into rough places and rescued downed pilots. I also got to jump out of my Pave Hawk with my M-4 and pop some Jonny-jihad ragheads in Afghanistan," Jensen met his gaze. "Anyone you knew?"

"Your woman is insolent," 'Ali' snapped at me. Apparently being killed by Jen was not in his day planner because Vegas wouldn't take odds on him outdrawing Jensen, so he just stopped.

"Hmm...you are right Sir, - I'd ask your name but it doesn't really matter - Jensen, come here," I demand. Jensen took a deep breath and came from the back of the group to my side.

I turned and faced her, took the bottom of her tank top and roll it up to her neck. Her sweat-soaked white sports bra went up next. I could tell Jensen wanted to nut me so bad but she wanted to live more and being so close to Harrow had made her aroused enough for me to get the scent. I licked each nipple then squeezed her breasts together so I could lick them both at the same time.

"You are a pathetic deviant," Ali mocked me angrily. I raised a 'hold on' finger up for him.

"Okay Jensen, you have been suitably punished," I smiled at her. Her smile was a bit subdued; I'm guessing open displays of nudity weren't in her normal sexual handbook. "Now Jensen, if you think Ali here is going to – not says something, but is ABOUT to say something, I want you to blow his brains out, are we clear?"

"As crystal, Sir," she nodded. Here we went with the Sirs again. Lydia was never going to let me live this down. "Now Ali," I turned on the fanatic asshat, "do you want to press your belief in something you cannot see, hear, touch, smell or taste against a very close proximity mixture of flesh and metal?"

"He is a guest in my house and under my protection," the Sultan intervened.

"Oh, sorry about that," I apologized. "Lydia? Do you know Jensen here all that well?" I questioned.

"Two days Boss," she grinned.

No Sir from her.

"If she kills Ali, I want you to shoot her; can you do that?" I inquired.

"Right as rain, Boss," Lydia chimed off.

"Jensen, are you still ready to shoot Ali if he speaks?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely Sir," Jensen sounded pretty pleased actually.

"Problem solved," I addressed the Sultan and it looked like I'd amused the psycho – yay me!

"Muhammad Omar, would you answer me a question," the Sultan taunted his guest – the one we knew as Ali. Muhammad Omar jumps up and stormed from the room. One buddy rushed after him while the third fanatic looked around confused before following along.

"That still doesn't resolve the matter of you having two former government servants in your employ," Michael Harrow brought up. I couldn't bring up his background – sort of.

"We have many corrupt politicians and policemen in our organizations," the Sultan ameliorated.

"These two are not corrupt, they are disenchanted which is much more useful for us all," I stated.

"Being in government service doesn't make you a good guy or a bad guy; being a criminal doesn't make you loyal or venial," I continue. "If I thought they were active agents, why would I be sending myself away to a prison forever – be it concrete and steel or Witness Protection? If you really are such a bunch of gutless babies, I'll just leave and all your worries are over."

"I haven't seen anything illegal, former work-product is still covered under contract, and I already don't trust any of you because you ARE criminals. Robbing, stealing and cheating is what you do to pay the bills – along with drug smuggling, arms dealing, human trafficking, murder, extortion and terrorism. You guys do not have a glowing resume and I can make less money elsewhere that would be a lot safer," I sigh.

"Fine," Harrow said, "kill one of the girls and the matter will be settled."

"Would that make you happy, Michael?"

"Yes it would, Dominic," he sneered. Oh, he's crossed the line.

"Echo, do you still have that stress ball?" I hoped. She nodded and tossed it to me and I immediately threw it at Michael's face. He caught it but the reactions around the room were telling. Many hands went to their guns.

"You don't get to call me Dominic yet, Mike," I snarled. "We aren't at that stage of our relationship. Now the Sultan can because he's an out-in-the-open bloody tyrant. You and I still have unresolved trust issues."

"Eloise," he gives me the bone I'm looking for, Eloise having her name acknowledged.

"Thank you Michael – back to where we were – does everyone know who Santa Claus is," I'm clearly wearing the patience of the room thin but most nod. "Do I fucking look like Santa Claus? I don't think so, which makes me wonder why anyone here thinks that their happiness means anything to me."

"All I care about is making you rich – rich enough that you will put up with my eccentricities and rich enough so that one day, when a bonded courier service shows up with all your records you won't come looking for me because I've vanished. I am not going to be the richest, certainly not the deadliest and hopefully not the most wanted. I am going to hit my happy point and then I'm out," I spoke plainly.

"Always that lack of ambition," Michael sneered (he'd earned that right now), "to see the next challenge and even that final struggle, Dominic."

"I have a family to lead," the Sultan regaled me. All I knew was the Filipino Government used a car bomb to kill the Sultan's father; the police chief he hired, the local magistrate he paid for, and the local judge he owned all said so.

The local Muslim population already distrusted the central government so they were convenient fall guys and a few months later the indigenous terrorist network moved in and Harrow started supplying both with weapons. Since the regions autonomous status means that federal and international police agencies can only investigate with the Sultan's approval, you can guess how lawless things had become.

Somewhere along the line the Sultan was going to remember he had his own father killed and his sons were going to look awful suspicious. Lucky for the World this guy's has over forty kids.

"Good for you," I told the Sultan. "I'm building a gilded tomb full of death traps and taking it all with me. No one gets anything from me when I'm gone." That earned me some laughter – we were all selfish bastards after all.

"When will you conclude our relationship, Dominic?" Aya Yen teased me in a way that was not teasing at all.

"You are mine when I want you, Aya. You weren't that difficult to figure out at all," I glared back at her. "From the moment you dragged Brad Pierce down to your level, I came gunning for you and you were too stupid to realize it."

"You are still a joker," Aya's eyes shuttered.

"If it is a joke, why don't you share it Dom; I'm sure Ms. Yen won't mind," Harrow got all predatory. I looked his way then move around the central fountain to the setae that Aya was reclining on. She's had a great poker face. Sadly she was great at reading people and she knew I'd gotten her more than dead to rights.

"Got a Yuan to spare?" I said softly. She couldn't press the Chinese bank note into my hand fast enough.

"Why?" she whispered, as in why was I not killing her right then.

"She (we both know I'm talking about Aya's lover) doesn't deserve to die because you are a contemptible piece of filth, Ms. Yen," I replied before walking back to my ladies. 

I see that look of love and warmth that reminded me that I'd left the protective circle that they normally kept around me. The girls were going to take turns kicking my ass when we got to our rooms for that dumb stunt.

"What was all that about?" the Sultan was displease on not getting leverage on Yen.

"When Dominic takes your contract," Harrow related, "his work product, both before and during your contract, are your property and he can't share it with anyone, or so he claims."

"Odd," the Sultan sulked. "Mr. Umstead, can't I outbid you for Ms. Yen's secret?"

"Of course you can Sir," I turn and face him now that I'm back with my girls. "But it is one more Yuan than you've got."

"You don't know all the treasures at my disposal," the Sultan tempted me. He must have really wanted Yen on her knees.

"Sir, it will ALWAYS be one more Yuan than you have," I waved the single note Yen gave me. "Speaking of treasures, I do have a gift for you, as per your traditions of respect and hospitality," I motioned to Echo to get 'the box' plus if he took it, he was loosely bound to protect us; deviant mongoose that he was.

The box was polished oak, nothing special. I didn't take it all the way to the Sultan before I was relieved of the item but it didn't blow up in the henchman's face so he seemed happy. The henchman pulled out the five plastic casings, read the titles but didn't know what to make of them. I could assume there wasn't much of an intellect test for the position of bomb-sniffing human.

The Sultan ripped the box away and studied the contents.

"They are your five favorite movies on Blue-Ray all in your native tongue – none of that lousy dubbing in Spanish. I found fourteen voice actors to do the roles and the Blue-Rays are in pressed gold sheeting created from the original masters."

The Sultan looked floored, Harrow looked floored and even the Major looked impressed. Sure he was a multimillionaire with his own kingdom and a private army that enforced his will; he was a pariah outside of the Southern Philippines and wanted but not in the good way. I'd brought him a piece of civilized recognition for him, his culture and his people and that was worth more than dollars right then.




A Life Not My Own Ch. 03



He waved me off and the five of us took our dismissal and made a break for the car. The Major traveled along but kept quiet, studying the group of us out of the corner of his eye. Only when our limo took off did the beating begin and due to the possibility of listening devices I had to take it.

The tourist hotel they brought us to was nice – really nice and that was because Harrow built it, staffed it, and guarded the borders from unwelcome eyes. The staff was Moluccans of the Christian variety which Winnie told us means Harrow has his own fanatically little army that the locals couldn't get to as the Moluccans were raised on sectarian warfare with their Muslim neighbors.

It also means if someone liquidated the current Sultan, the locals were coming straight here and murdering the lot of us; and you wonder why this was not a #1 tourist destination.  Jensen and Winnie swept the room while Lydia and Echo searched for video surveillance. We had a camera in one of the three shower heads plus five others spread out around the place.

I was busy checking the dimensions of the rambling suite – not for secret doors but to figure out where the audio and visual dead zones were. I also spotted three locations where outsiders could make maximum use of enhanced audio devices. I used my infrared laser and nifty IR goggles (really just sunglasses) to spot the one guy using one expensive bell shaped device on us.

Jensen sneaked across the room to the window so she could see the bastard with her non-violent suppression device aka a sonic gun and fried his ass. I mean his damn thing exploded, he screamed in agony and fell off the shed he was using as his cover. I swear to God, he was fountaining blood out of his ears – it is a horrible sight to behold – non-violent my ass.

We sat around making duck calls for five minutes when poor SOB #2 showed up and this time Jensen let's Lydia work out some just-been-divorced aggression by dowsing the guy in sonic death. We had to stop Lydia from (hopefully) not giving him permanent brain damage because the guy was so wedged into his spot he couldn't fall down thus escaping the line of fire and Lydia was having an 'ex-husband in the sights' moment.

While waiting for round three, we order room service (the tray table wasn't bugged) and dug in because we starved. After a half hour we've determined that they are on to our game and were not willing to toss another staffer on the short term disability list. 

The Hotel was a two story sprawling hacienda type place. We were on the second floor at the Northeastern corner, where the building was closest to the beach. We had two king-sized beds and two huge baths linked together with a massive open communal area – the only doors were the heavy wooden main door and the two glass doors in the two showers. Only thin white curtains separate any of the rooms and even the walk around balcony from the outside world and one another.

There was no defending this place so our thoughts went to an exit strategy. Running into the building for the stairwell was suicidal because while the walkway was broad, the railing was a frail wooden weave; hardly bulletproof. The women made the calculated decision that we needed to jump off the northern-most balcony into some thick, if prickly, bushes. 

The first two of us were going to take light blankets to build a cushion for the rest of the team. The plan was for Lydia to go first, to see if the drop was doable. I'd go next, because I was the most important (in their opinion – also I'm a lousy shot) person, followed by Winnie (we needed her language skills), Echo, and Jensen (she was our pilot but she was also our greatest combat veteran). I impressed the FBI girl when I did argue, along with Echo, that Echo should have been last.

Our argument was cut off by our door being key-carded and Eloise stepping in. She was packing an AKM tonight with a fashionable addition of boots, jungle camouflage pants, shirt and cap, with a light ballistic vest providing a post-apocalyptic air. She packed a shoulder holstered weapon and a boot knife. Her eyes swept the room and I rushed her. I thought Echo barely missed cold-cocking me with her pistol as I moved past her.

It took some serious control for Eloise to a) not shoot me and b) not go hand to hand when I hugged her.

"Hey, it is good to see you," I greeted the stiff girl. I looked past her into the eyes of Michael Harrow.

"Hello Michael, thank you for the nice room," I smiled. "When does construction finish?"

"You are not getting any more doors, Dominic," he stated. I released Eloise who flowed around me and checked out the room. I back-pedaled toward Winnie (on the left) and Lydia (on the left). Michael was amused by my attempts at security.

"It is a bit late to be worried," he looked down at me. "Do you have a backup plan?"

"Nope," I shrugged as two ladies dressed identically to Eloise entered. The last one in shut the door without taking her eyes off us.

"Perhaps you believe your – seasoned – help will compensate for you miscalculation," he grinned.

"Wait, are you making aspersions to that fact that every lady with me is 28 or older while every one of yours has recent experience wearing Huggies?" I faked being confused.

"I thought we settled our differences concerning you and your irreverent attitude," Michael stepped up and got ready to...hug me; okay 'man-hug's me with a painful trio of slaps on the back.

"The Sultan loves you," he laughed because seven women were about to spew death around the room and he found the death of underlings to be completely amusing. "That gift was spot on and you beat all the odds when you arranged for your girls to get their guns into the audience hall. Did you really threaten to kill yourself?" He found that terribly amusing too.

"Missed ventilating my skull by .43 seconds; Lydia realized that I'd entered a fugue state – all I could hear was the countdown – and yanked my arm up right on time," I replied.

"Lucky me," Harrow was being down right jovial at my expense.

"That has yet to be determined; you told Brad you wanted to send some more business our way," I tried not to sound pissy but I was approaching both my terror and bullshit limit.

"We will talk in the morning," Michael snorted. "I wanted to make sure you had settled in okay and no one had misdirected you to someplace unsavory."

"Speaking of unsavory," Echo chimed in, "we found a truckload of your bugs on our plane," she told Mr. Harrow. The misogynist ass-fuck turned on my – well, not my lady, but still.

"I need him," Mike indicated me, "but what makes you think you can talk to me this way, or at all? Dom, you have a problem in your stable; correct it."  Oh yeah, that was going to happen. At least in civilization, Harrow was somewhat constrained. Out here in the Wild, Wild East, he was totally off the reservation.

"Echo, who told you that these bugs were Mr. Harrow's?" I asked.

"You did Sir," Echo snapped off her reply.

"You aren't overly educated but you have good criminal instincts," I continued, "Was I simply wrong or was there a reason I would hold Mr. Harrow responsible?"

"One of his underlings used his equipment without his knowledge or consent," she grinned feral-like at Michael. "This has to be the case because you ARE the smartest man in the room."

"What makes you think one of my people had your plane bugged, Umstead," Harrow simmered.

"Umm...you've spent fifteen years dealing with the meanest, dirtiest, most paranoid motherfuckers on Earth, Michael. Someone close to you would gladly spend a few thousand euros to make sure for you that I'm not your run-of-the-mill scumbag – it is simply good business," I told him. "Someone took initiative.

"I don't tolerate those kind of activities against my associates – besides, if I want to know where you are all I need to do is ask," Michael tossed the ball back in my court.

"True enough," I agreed. "So it has to be someone who knew I was coming and since Eloise knows me better than that – right Snow White? – it has to be one of the two new girls."

Eloise gave a slip of smile before anyone on her side could catch the gesture.

"Echo – gun please," I requested of my closest 'bodyguard'. She hands me her .44 which I examine, weigh then hand back. "I'm not hunting a water buffalo; give me a weapon I can use." She handed me the 9mm at the small of her back. She made sure a round was chambered and the safety was off.

"Michael, that brunette with that ponytail has been eyeballing me since she came in," I pointed out. "Let me talk to her for a second, if you please."

"Knock yourself out," Michael's eyes flowed from me to his doomed hireling. Of course the girl had been eying me because Echo was at my side. 

Lydia was behind me and to the right, partially shielded by us. The second brunette was eyeballing Winnie and Eloise was doing the same with Jensen. Michael knew this too but was unleashing me on his girl anyway. Proving she was a human being despite her icy exterior, her eyes grew wide when I walked within eight feet of her, raised the gun and aimed it at her head.

I'd never shot a gun at another person before and this was the second time I'd held one – not only today but ever. By the look on the girl's face she'd realized this too.

"Do you have a name?" I asked her.

"Dee Harrow," she answered in a clipped tone. My mind was racing; I thumbed the hammer back then I let every other distraction fade away and broke my world down to statistics, math and input. It suddenly seemed far too easy to simply snuff a life out – at eight feet. I aimed for a spot right below her left earlobe, I winked with my right eye, watched her eyes expand and I pulled the trigger firmly back.

I missed which meant I actually hit what I was aiming for.

"Fuck," I snapped. "I can't believe I missed her at this range," I flipped the safety on. "She flinched. She flinched to her right so she must not be the one. Maybe someone overheard the four of you; it doesn't matter." I walked back to Echo and handed the gun back to her, pistol grip first.

"With more data," I told Michael as I faced him once more, "I'll figure out who did this, I promise you. Winnie, can you give Mr. Harrow the liquid nitrogen container with the devices in it. He may be able to follow up on other leads." Winnie nodded and padded off quietly to get the cylinder we stashed all the bugs in.

She dropped it off in front of Eloise because that route kept her the farthest from Harrow. Harrow may not even have noticed her; his eyes were waiting for mine to blink.

"How's the tongue?" I inquired about the wound I gave him in our first/last fight.

"How are ribs?" he snorted at me instead of answering my question.

"They only hurt when I breath...or sleep...or have sex; I'm okay when I eat," I replied deadpan. I was not so much a macho-asshole that I couldn't admit I'd done a dumb thing and paid the price. Harrow slapped me in the upper arm.

"Watch over him ladies," Harrow joked while keeping the stare-down going, "I have plenty of uses for Mr. Umstead and I'm going to be truly pissed if he dies before his time. I hope we understand each other. Night Dom." 

Over his shoulder he tossed Echo her stress ball which she caught with insane ease. Was I just clumsy or what? He turned and left, Dee going out first then Michael, the second brunette and finally Eloise lifting the LN container and backed out and shutting the door.

"Dominic, remind me to kill you after we have sex," Winnie took a deep sigh.

"Me, first," Jensen upped the ante.

"In case anyone missed it, he's my boyfriend," Echo became aggressive which I best associate with near death experiences and now gun play.

"We need to establish one thing right now," Winnie got her authoritative gears grinding as well. "Lydia, I am aware of your current situation, but after watch Harrow tonight, we all need to understand how he sees us."

"How is that?" Jensen sounded concerned. "I was only joking about the sex thing, by the way."

"I'm not and we need to examine that there are three games in town," Winnie continued. "We are Dominic's bitches, Harrows passing distractions, or playthings for the every cock-sucking piece of filth on this island. Free-wheeling women, in charge of our own destinies, aren't an option; we don't have enough bullets."

"Not that I'm dismissing your view but what makes you think it is this bad," Lydia closed up with the rest of us.

"The majority of the Islamic world is moderate to conservative where women are concerned; then you have your garden variety fundamentalist – they will cut a woman's head off or beat them on the souls of their feet with rods for things we consider trivial."

"Then you have these guys; women are property/slaves and rarely let out of their homes unsupervised. Worse, these men are societally allowed to molest rape and even murder unescorted women. If we can't convince these bastards that we are Dom's women they will expect us to lie down and get raped by them and their friends," she finished.

"If you want to rely on Dominic to look at you as if you he's had sex with you and loved it; go right ahead. I want to spend Christmas with my family on Cape Cod, so unless he fights me off, I'm making love to him," Winnie stated. There was a pregnant pause.

"Listen, I can become very adept at showing affection to all of you, so this won't be necessary," I pledged; the last thing I wanted was forced sex and the resentment that followed.

"Dominic, outside of Stephanie and Echo, how many women have you had sexual relations with," Lydia pressed me.

"You mean sex-sex?" I felt my throat tightening; "none."

"Oh God," Jensen groaned hopelessly.

"Dominic, I was the second woman you ever slept with...I mean," Echo was almost in shock, "you seem so skilled – confident."

"He reads," Lydia's voice regained some of its true playfulness, "a lot and that seems to include more porn than we had considered." I didn't deny it; three of those women could interrogate me into next week and the other one, Echo, had romantic issues to work through with me.

Jensen tilted her head and regarded me intently.

"What do I like sexually, you freakish savant?" she insisted I figure out. Later Winnie told me my lips moved as if I was whispering a hundred numbers and words at once. I thought of everything I'd seen; SA Furst's moves, speech, word choices, looks, how she sat, walked, glances at and what she looked at on me. I couldn't believe I'd never thought of that before; my mind was boggled.

"Double Penetration?" I guessed. I was not really sure where that came from but I thought she liked to wiggle her ass in a seat yet she liked presenting her standing body with hips spread and legs wide open suggesting vaginal sex. She didn't smack her lips much or swallow even when I was naked; so not an overwhelming preference for oral.

Jensen had clearly done undercover work before because I was not sure if this educated calculation of mine was on the money.

"You; Jensen," Lydia gasped. "I would have never guessed it." Jensen turned and stormed off to the far bedroom.

"What about me?" Winnie pinched my left triceps. Fuck it all; that hurts.

"I'm not a damn circus monkey!" I screamed at her. I'd found my emotional limit and it was in the look of betrayal in Jen's eyes when I opened my mouth. Jet lag certainly didn't help.

"Hey," Echo wrapped me in her arms from behind and spoke lovingly, "none of us feel you are a freak, or that you are not one of us Dominic. You aren't ready for this but here we are and we will help you as much as we can."

"We are going to go crash in the other bed tonight," Winnie took Lydia's hand, "you two de-stress and we'll crawl in before sunrise."

"Good night," Lydia kissed Echo then kissed me on the rebound. "We've all been in worse situations than this."

"You are lying to me," I sighed. "Statistically speaking, if all four of you had done this before, there is no way all four of you would volunteer to repeat the experience. Winnie, I need to know; did the leak that brought you here come from 'N' or 'C'?"

"Someone Noisy," Winnie answered. I looked at Lydia who was looking at Winnie; she nodded that she believed Winnie was telling the truth.

That meant that the NSA had illegal or semi-legal taps on Pierce and Pierce communications. I hated FISA. As far as I'd been able to discern, 'I think something might be going on' was reason enough for that secret court to have any federal agency violate my civil liberties. I was right back to the prep school honor code system I despised so much except this time the bully was the largest single employer in the United States.

"My family and Cindy got pissy about who could come along," she tried to impress me with the fact that the CIA (Cindy) and the State Department both wanted any part of this mess.

"Your lack of common sense is appalling Winifred," I muttered. Strangely, she leaned in until we were face to face.

"This is my profession Dominic," she whispered. "You are doing this out of love, which is a motivation I don't see enough of. Did you really go to school with my brother Peter?"

"Yes, I got regular swirlies from him and his buddies Sydney and Mark Burgess for over a year; if I was a petty man I'd take out that anger on your pretty body," I said.

"If it is any consolation, he's been kicked out of two colleges to date and is on his third," she smirked, "and both mom and dad aren't happy."

"He was bright enough but never wanted to exert his brain to accomplish things he could do by physical force or his social status," I recalled.

"I don't remember seeing you there," she confessed.

"I remember seeing you," I told her. "Why didn't you and Benjamin Corbin stay together?" The polite answer was to tell me that it was none of my business but she saw something in the reactions of Lydia and Echo that gave her pause.

"Ben and I had some good times, but we were both too serious about our careers," Winnie told me. "He received a posting to Sixth Fleet and I went into the DSS. We never reconnected though I was at his wedding. I didn't know you knew him." Which was to say my name never came up in casual conversation; I would have been stunned if it had.

"There is no tie between us, I just remember the name and an article I read a year back about him," I said.

"Work on your lying skills, Dom," Winnie scolded me. I shouldn't have bothered.

"Ben is the most important man in Dominic's life; only Ben doesn't know it so let it remain that way, understood?" Echo threatened. Winnie took a few seconds to nod her assent.

"Bedtime," Echo whispered to me and lead me zombie-like to my bed.

"I need to exercise," I mumbled.

"You will be exercising alright," Echo assured me as she started unbuttoning my shirt. I had a dress shirt, undershirt, dress pants, boxers, boots and socks – far too much clothing in that sweaty environment.

"Come on Dom," Echo started steering us to the closer bed with its flimsy white curtain suspended from the ceiling. "Let's get you to bed."

"Why aren't the rest of you starting to come unraveled?" I asked.

"Every one of us has discharged a firearm in anger, we have all been shot at, and we've been trained for this kind of stress. If we make a mistake, someone pays dearly and we've all had years do deal with this," she tried to comfort me.

"That's a crock Echo," I smiled quirkily. "Sure you make a miscalculation and someone dies. I make a miscalculation and the murder rate goes up a half of a percent – I've done the calculations. Worse for me now, those numbers have faces in the four of you."

"Then don't mess up," she started unbuckling my belt.

"Strip," I teased her about her unsubtle clue to me. I started the disrobing process. Echo got halfway there when she realized that all the girls put their luggage in the other bedroom. She scampered off and I watched her bare butt cheeks dance away – ah, going commando. She quickly came back carrying her gym bag by the strap.




A Life Not My Own Ch. 03



"You could have moved at least," she teased me seductively. "Did you watch me run away too?"

"Hell yes," I mused. "I'm sure there is an inch of you I don't like but I have no idea where it is."

"You are such a screwball Dominic and I..." she hesitated.

"It is a loaded word, isn't it?" I filled in. Love, we weren't the types to toss that around. The sympathy of others had been a disappointment far too often.

We finish stripping down quickly but before we could spill onto the bed she crouched down in front of me. She kissed my cockhead, engulfed it for several seconds then licked from the start of the scrotum, along the bottom of the haft to the head once more. I was waiting for more of her cock-sucking when she handed me up some sleeping shorts.

Having people rush in and us be naked would have been – unpleasant. She had scooped up a fresh set of panties and a sports bra. We tried the covers – the other bed was in direct, if hazy, view. I struggled to order my chaotic thoughts as my mind did what it always did in a crisis – sorts through every ounce of data I'd encountered in the past 24 hours. If you thought a precise memory was a blessing, wake up and smell the overload.

Echo had only really known me for less than two weeks but she had developed keen instincts concerning me. She rolled onto her side, propped up on her elbow smiling at me.

"Oh," she whispered when she spotted my distracted facade. While staying in the same spot in bed she rolled over until her tush pressed against my hip. Her left hand coasted back until she was stroking my penis once more.

Yeah, I was hungry for her. My mind shifted its focus and drunk in every facet that was Echo Ashaz. I got onto my side, took it slowly so she could guide my cock into her.

"I'll take care of you, Dominic," she whispered. "I'll be here when you need me."

"I'll never be the same if I lose you," I breathed into her ear, "so don't you dare go away."

"Make me, Big Boy," she distracted me. I kept inside her while pushing Echo onto her stomach. She lets me settle in between her now wide-opened legs. When she propelled her ass slowly up, I started pumping her with equal care.  After she had me positioned behind her in the doggy-style pose, she looked back at me through her flowing black hair.

"If you want to keep me, you had better keep up," she thrust back. Man, Lydia was right, when Echo finally got uncorked; she became as playful as any teenager girl ever written. I soon learned that tonight her left breast was more tender so I played with it, circling with two fingers the aureole but tweaking the nipple only every thirty seconds or so.  

I placed nibbling kisses on her shoulders; let my right fingers linger over different parts of her body from the inside of her elbow to her shoulder, neck and down her ribcage. Her grunts became gasps then a desperate panting and finally her whole back seized up and she screamed into her pillow. 

Her orgasm was so luxuriously violent she chewed through the light fabric of the pillow and had to cough up some goose down to escape being smothered. We collapsed to my side of the bed to catch our breaths. I was close and would have strove for my own climax but the whole pillow thing worried me.

"Hey," she gasped my way. "That was – was odd." She caught a few deep breaths. "You didn't cum."

"Girls can cum all the time while guys stay hard forever," I gave a dry laugh. "Every Viagra study says show...or maybe I have that backwards." Before we could go much further about my 'problem', I yawned. That cascaded over to Echo who lost her next idea to extreme fatigue.

I fished for my shorts, dressed and padded over to the second bed. I was not a trained detective but I could tell they were feigning sleep. I sat down closest to Winnie. She knew the gig was up and acknowledged me.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she whispered.

"I was hoping that Lydia could go spend the night with Echo," I suggested. What I was really saying was 'can Lydia go take comfort from her close friend because Lydia was suffering inside'.

"Are you sure?" Winnie replied. Lydia was already giving up her resistance. She gathered up her pillow – Echo murdered hers and was now using mine – and gave me a kiss on the cheek before stealthing over to her partner.

"Get in," Winnie commanded. She had caught me eying the sofa. "Jen already stole one its cushions to use as a pillow." I snuck over Winnie and settled between the two. I was not all that chivalrous to begin with and I was too tired to argue. As I settled down, Jen slide her pillow half over to me.

"Jen," I hissed, "is that a – umm – sub machine gun under here?" indicating the plastic and metallic under the cushion.

"Yes," she whispered, "would you rather I throw bullets at them?"

"I'm going to go to sleep now," was my response. Winnie spontaneously cuddled in behind me and draped an arm over my waist. Jen turned to face me from the front, looking for God knows what in my eyes.

"Go to sleep Dom," she finally confided to me, "We will keep you safe from everyone else. You concentrate on Harrow." I was out before I could find the words to reply with.



A Life Not My Own Ch. 04



(Thanks to Shawhollow for editing my blather and Talenwolf for story creation - he doesn't get enough credit for all the stories we have worked on together) 

*Doing evil for a good reason is still evil -- so don't let it be all you do*

(Late that night)

"We have a problem," Winnie touched me. I opened my eyes and started looking around. Aya Yen was about a fifteen inches away from the foot of the bed. She wasn't moving and I figured out why as I saw her eyes flit to either side of me. Jen was up, breasts bare, pointing an MP-5 with a sound suppressor at Aya. Winnie was reclining with a small pistol that was most likely a .38 or 9mm with a silencer.

I sat up and Winifred followed suit. My hand went up, requesting silence, before I pivoted to Winnie, tapped my ear then made a circling motion to indicate a sound search of the perimeter. Winnie nodded once then slipped out of bed, heading off to get our 'sonic gun' and looked with IR goggles to see if our host had set up another listening post.

Aya stood still as Winifred did her rounds.

"We are clear," Winnie informed us when she was done. I soon heard the padding of two sets of feet coming my way --Echo and Lydia. Aya seemed a bit perplexed.

"I would like to talk with you alone," she finally requested.

"Oh hell no," Echo announced, "That is not happening."

"I guess I came for no reason then," Aya nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait, do you want to know if I know who she was or how I found out in case others try to pick up the same trail?" I countered. Again, she was conflicted.

"Never mind," she growled.

"Ladies, I need a few moments with my client," I requested of my ladies who allowed me this madness grudgingly.

"Isn't this the moment you tell me that there are numerous copies of what you have done to ferret out my weakness and in case of...blah, blah, blah," Ms. Yen mocked me

"Nope," I stared at her, "the only knowledge trail I haven't annihilated is in my brain and it's not going anywhere willingly."

"If you are tortured?" Aya met my gaze.

"I'll wail like a baby," I responded instantly. 

"I have no illusions I would hang out for long. I'd spill my guts after they ripped off the first fingernail because no one will be coming to rescue me and they might just shoot me once they have what they came for."

"You are annoyingly honest," she informed me.

"You aren't paying me to sugar-coat my results," I laid it out for her.

"How did you find her?" Aya came to the side of the bed, sat down and moved until our faces were only inches apart.

"Your dating is 30% below normal in Kuala Lumpur," I began. "I tracked your personal movement into a one block radius once I saw that pattern. 

I checked out all the buildings in that area but you had shielded the money trail so I tracked down all consumer complaints to the building manager for the past three years and located all the apartments that didn't have any -- only one," I told her calmly.

"You didn't want people to discover who she was so you used specific contractors who kept to a limited schedule. 

I went to Interpol and searched their records for someone at that address and with work hours that matched food deliveries. They weren't work hours; they were a school schedule," I was concluding. "She is the daughter of your patron inside the Triads. She is personally close to you or you would be hiding her away inside a wall of security like a Triad member -- you are hiding her activities from the man who is your patron. The most probable supposition is that the relationship is of two secret lovers."

"So you can kill me whenever you want," she numbly muttered.

"You don't matter but she deserves better than being murdered because she's an embarrassment to some other fuck-nut I don't know or care about," I related.

"Why are you telling me that you know about her then?" Aya strained to understand.

"One, I had no idea what my investigation would dig up when I started out and two, you don't get to inquire into my motivations," I responded. 

"Whatever else happens, if something happens to -- her," Aya locked in my gaze. "I will have enough left to make you pay." 

"You work on a daily basis with drug smugglers, slavers, murderers, thugs and thieves and you are worried about me?" I chuckled. "Get over yourself. I'm a glorified bean counter; taking you down doesn't do me any good; I don't hate you that much and I don't want your job. My main focus is to survive long enough to develop my exit strategy."

"Do we have to be enemies?" she gives off a subtle sexual undertone.

"I don't much like myself and I haven't broken any laws yet but the moment some person overdoses from some drugs I've helped sneak in, or someone dies in a container ship crossing the Pacific, I'll hopefully still hate myself for that. You have already passed that point and since you are sitting in my room capable of smiling, you are a threat."

She stood up and looked at me with deep suspicion.

"What are you doing here if you think that little of us?" Ms. Yen demanded.

"I repeat; you don't get to ask that question," I replied dryly.

"We aren't getting off to a good start," she noted.

"I am hardly heartbroken by that news and I'm growing tired of our conversation," I explained. "If you want to talk again; how about we try something in the daylight with advance warning?"

"I'll take that under advisement, Mr. Umstead," she frowned before turning away and heading off to the balcony next to the bed I had started the night in.

Jen intercepted Aya but no words were exchanged; she merely waited for Aya to slip out of sight before joining everyone else. The other three women closed in on me.

"You have to stop tossing yourself out there," Echo chastised me. "People like Ms. Yen have no real empathy; she would gut you and laugh about it over your corpse."

"Right until we ventilated her," Lydia pointed out.

"What did you two talk about?" Winnie inquired.

"Not something I would feel safe telling any of you," I replied, "and trust me when I say that; I don't know what you will put into your report and until I know I can trust any of you, I'm going to keep some things compartmentalized."

There was a pregnant pause until Jen showed up and then,

"That's not how things work, Dominic," Winifred said authoritatively. 

"Oh," Jen sighed, "He's holding the conversation for his use alone?"

"Yes," Winnie answered. "I was trying to get him to..."

"What are you going to do; tell his boss, his Mother or beat him up?" Echo gave Winnie a steady stare-down. "He volunteered to help the rest of us out and he will leave when he wants."

"So Ms. Portsmouth," Lydia remarked, "how are you going to make him give up what happened?"

"I thought you were going to be cooperative," Winnie refocused on me.

"I am doing more than that Winnie," I met her look. "I barely know you but you've come through in a very competent manner. I don't know who you report to so until I trust them, I only relay information that is key to your immediate survival or something I think will help you at work. This has ceased to be a matter of discussion -- it is how it is. What your bosses don't know they can't fuck us with."

"I could go on about security clearances but I now imagine this is what they meant by you being 'eccentric' and 'paranoid about security'," Winnie nodded. "Your sexual escapades on the plane followed by stunt at the airport should have prepared me for this."

"This is why I'm not using his name when things get kicked upstairs," Jensen added. "He's a total prick but we have an unprecedented opportunity to put hundreds, if not thousands of bad guys away."

"Now you are making it sound like we work for him -- on his team, despite all of us having years of experience over him," Winnie pointed out.

"Wrong," Echo sounded decisive, "any criminal organization requires manpower, money and resources. Current law enforcement efforts have centered on manpower and that isn't working."

"With our little pal here," Lydia put an arm around my waist, "we have the opportunity to take a bite out of all three. We'll take away the money all these criminals make, we'll expose the suppliers and give us access to the key players in the networks."

"And all this was brought about by Dominic being a bit of a dick when he met Michael Harrow," Echo added.

"The moment Harrow came back at Dominic for round two, I realized that we were inside his ego and this was personal to that son of a bitch. I thought this crazy plan deserved a chance." she continued. "It is key to our plan that Dominic thinks the way he does and acts the way he's learned to over the years dealing with people who have consistently underestimated his genius."

"I'm not a genius," I corrected her. "I have an eidetic memory and am familiar with the principles of mathematics. I'd point that Winifred has impressive language skills, all of you far exceed my martial abilities plus all of you have vastly superior skills in criminology and criminal psychology. I would never attempt this without you, believe me."

"All this 'around the campfire' stuff is touching, we need an effective night's sleep if we are going to be up to playing our best game tomorrow -- Everyone to bed," Jen insisted. No one protested and we were soon back to our late night sleeping arrangements. As for my part, all I had to do was figure out why Michael wanted me here and to keep one step ahead.

(Monday Morning)

Our morning was interesting to say the least. I was convinced that running with even a sidearm would be cumbersome and throw off our pace. The girls were convinced that I could do better running inside an APC (Armored Personnel Carrier). We compromised. Jen carried a goodie bag with several 'non-lethal' grenades, an MP-5, two spare 9mm and plenty of ammo -- in case the Zombie Apocalypse started in the next hour. 

They would alternate who carried the bag over each leg of the trek. Everyone also carried one sidearm, usually in a shoulder holster. Even I carried a piece -- a nine millimeter -- so that they would have a spare pistol if needed. At least the guards didn't seem all that put off; they were Christians, not Islamic fundamentalist. 

As we ran down the beach toward the farthest guard point we saw several dozen families coming down to the beach from the resort.

"I count six," Winnie panted over to Jen. She meant criminals wanted by Interpol. I wasn't even working hard at playing this game.

"I only count four," Lydia wheezed alongside me.

I saw five," Echo was breathing heavily but kept running steadily. 

"I saw eight," Jen made her final assessment as we approached the hacienda that contained our quarters. "That similar-looking couple are the children of La Tortuga. A little over a year ago, their old man got into a fight over Bolivia with Harrow. La Tortuga ended up dead -- slain by some deranged hooker and the son and daughter ended up working for Harrow."

"Any guesses on your part," Lydia prodded me. I shook my head.

"I was looking at their wedding bands; they are all the same and I'm willing to bet the inscriptions on the inside have some dark meaning to the wearer. Also, only two women had them who were unaccompanied; the La Tortuga's daughter and a woman none of you seemed to have noticed -- the one with the blue bikini," I noted.

"The heavily tanned one -- Spanish or Italian decent," Echo recalled, "With that conservative electric blue bikini, but she didn't set off my threat radar."

"She's probably so good she hasn't shown up on Interpol's lists yet," Winnie concluded. We climbed up to our apartment, stripped out of our sweaty clothes and waited for our rotation in the shower.

First it was Lydia and Jensen, then Echo and Winnie and lastly me. I insisted that I could take a shower with either group but they argued that I was sexually irresistible and thus had to be kept on a tight leash. Man, I expected some kind of security to monitor me during this so-called vacation but I didn't expect it to be no fun at all.

As I was rinsing off, Echo escorted a member of the staff into the bathroom; there were no doors inside the apartment which continued to annoy the crap out of me.

"Senor Umstead, you presence is required for breakfast at the central surf-side cabana at 9 o'clock sharp," the flunky for the regime announced to me.

By the rules of etiquette that Winifred had provided, I mimicked the proper response carefully. That seemed to satisfy him. Since the ladies had gone over the place with a fine-toothed comb, we were relatively bug-free for a while.

"Well, does anyone have an idea where this is going?" I inquired. "Besides the basics of making them more and more readably accessible finances," I added. "That is my opening supposition."

"Isn't this too soon for a face to face with the major players," Echo worried.

"Maybe not," Lydia countered, "Harrow wants to corrupt Dominic, get him addicted to the rush of easy money and then destroy him."

"Right now Harrow has nothing to offer these alternate powers he's dealing with," Winnie postulated to everyone, "so he must have discovered something new in the past few weeks that makes them think that he has a way around their problems."

"Product in -- money out," I muttered.

"So, can you mask the movement of monies as well as you can ferret them out," Jensen questioned me.

"Sure but it would require three dozen major banks and thousands of accounts at those banks. Remember that no system is foolproof but a hydra based model could be created," I concluded.

"What do you do about the terrorist organizations?" Lydia worried.

"Don't worry, I've got an angle," I smiled at her and was met with a cacophony of groans.

Echo rustled my wet hair,

"So you have no clue?" she chided. I didn't have to confirm her guess; they all know the truth.

(The first meeting)

We went to the central cabana a few minutes before nine and we were the only ones there.

We were approached by a man I imagined was the head of Harrow's security force at this estate. "Mr. Harrow wishes you to come down the sea's edge and talk with him and his associates," I rose and motioned Winnie to come along.

"Only you," the man insisted. I guess he expected some sort of resistance because he let out a sigh of relief when I picked up my lemonade-mango drink and let him lead me away. Winnie followed at a discrete distance.

There were ten men and one woman, Dee Harrow, present sitting in a semi-circle with each end touched by the soft, gentle surf. I was apparently the last one to arrive and the conversation died as I took my seat at the closest end chair. I had no shoes on since they might slow my flight for life if it came to that. Some jack-ass made a comment in a language I couldn't understand.

I casually put on my headphones and put my smart phone on the chairs arm.

"We don't record these meetings," Michael sneered.

"Oh, I'm not needed then," I rose. "Call me when you require my services because I find people talking some sort of chicken-shit Third World babble to be very rude."

Everyone went quiet proving to me that everyone was choosing to be a dick. Muhammad Omar, who seemed to be here with the real terrorist mastermind, stood up and put his hand on some sort of fashionable curved knife. He said something in a condescending tone but again I didn't speak the language. Several of the members, Harrow included, chuckled.

I shrugged and pulled out my earphones before dialing up some tunes.

"Aren't you curious about what he said?" Harrow chided. 

"The opinion of any man who is more comfortable mutilating defenseless little girls whose sole crime is to want an education is useless to me," I stated. "He knows I'd kick his ass if he wasn't under the Sultan's protection. He exhibits this by not talking to me in a language he knows I speak."

Omar headed my way in a cold fury, clearly looking forward to stabbing my sitting form. I waited because the Sultan hadn't spoken. That bastard was polite enough to not use a language I knew either -- fucker. Fortunately, I had predicted that might be the case. I let his arm come down, twisted in my seat and let him thump into the same beach chair.

The chair gave way but I was hardly inconvenienced. He tried to slash from his side down position; I locked up his arm and bent back the wrist cruelly enough to make Muhammad Omar cry out. The knife tumbled to the cushion and I forced him to him to a kneeling position with the added benefit of his eyes watering. People had been shouting encouragements fell silent when I picked up the ornate curved blade.

"That is his honor," Harrow sounded amused.

"Good to know," I nodded. I kicked him onto his back as I let go of his arm. Omar was furious, but also freaking afraid of me now. I didn't want his fear. I hurled his knife out into the bay.

"Go fetch, Bitch," I showed my contempt for him.

I could feel the man's rage at the tipping point.

"Harrow, I'm getting my girl because otherwise I'm going to have to school everyone here and that's going to make for a very unproductive meeting," I stated evenly.

"Get her," Harrow allowed. I waited until Omar had moved a few feet away before making my own half turn and waving Winnie over.

There was no chair for Winnie so she had to take up a kneeling position beside me.

"How many languages do you speak?" I whispered to Winnie out the side of my mouth.

"As in 'I can get by in a city' or 'I can recite the dictionary of'?" she responded with deathly quiet.

"That'll do Pig. That'll do," I told Winnie. She was going to bruise me for that but at least I'd hinting that her name was 'Babe'. Yes, that was going to be my defense. Winnie gently put her head on my thigh and reached around, pinching my ass while pulling off the mystique of looking demur and worshipful.

"We have been examining the different parts of our pipelines to the United States and Europe coming under attack, disrupting money flow and leaving product isolated and vulnerable at certain junctures. I have the solution," Harrow grinned. "Let me present Dominic Umstead. Dominic, you are going to create a pipeline governmental agencies can't bring down."

"How much does he know?" the guy who seemed to be the Aya's boss asked in a language I didn't know but Winifred pulled off flawless and obsequiously. 

"He doesn't know a damn thing about what we do," Harrow grinned maliciously. He was daring me to fail. I had to think fast but I had already done the shipping schemes inside my head.

"What do you know about children's television programing?" I led off. They all looked at me like I'd lost my mind except Harrow, who seemed to have developed absolute faith in my abilities as a fortuneteller. A few of them made quiet comments which boiled down to 'who is this idiot' in five languages.

"You need a few things for a successful children's television series -- a moderately interesting show -- in this case three prime characters resisting the hordes of Genghis Kahn are going to be a female Chinese Doctor, a brave male veteran Uzbek warrior and a male Arabian thief. These three will have a large global appeal," I began to lay out my hare-brained scheme.

"You will create this show in China, build the action figures in Malaysia and do the dubbing work in the United States, France, the Czech Republic and Hungary," I kept going. "We also will train professional teams of actors with a support staff to go to Anime/Cartoon/Comic conventions all over the globe to support that series."

"You need someone with a clean record to control the production companies but the rest is golden. You get to move people all over the globe for a totally legitimate service. You move your product around inside, or in containers underneath, the toys created to support the show," I explained. "Oh yeah, you will make money in the legitimate side of this business."




A Life Not My Own Ch. 04



Now there was a hush and I felt Winnie clench my arm tightly in a reflexive sense of horror over what I had just said. The Terrorist/Opium Warlord leaned forward and spoke first in a language I would learn was Pashtun.

"Who processes the product and trains the actors and company; also why an Uzbek?" Winnie translated with the noise of an angel whispering to my soul.

"I know zip about global terrorism or the work necessary to produce opium so I'm leaving that production and transit to the companies in Malaysia up to you. Or, you could give me a week and I'd figure out a rotating cycle of container ships to use. It is an Uzbek because it is a happy friendly word for the Pentagon where Pashtun means terrorist," I explained.

The Terrorist Mastermind nodded thoughtfully.

"How does this help us launder the money?" the Chinese gentleman asked intently and Winnie related. I blinked and looked at him in a way that clearly communicated that I thought he was a moron.

"Do you have any idea on how much is spent globally on children's toys and entertainment?" I didn't wait for an answer. "Over ten billion in US dollars; you are creating your own laundering machine in the companies you are creating for this 'cover'. Any moderately successful accountant can hide it all."

"Why would we need you?" The Sultan was polite enough to say in Spanish.

"Maybe you need me because everyone here except for me and Mr. Harrow is marked for death," I looked to the Sultan. "Face it, you are the reason the United States military has Special Forces and I'm betting Ft. Bragg has a full-sized diagram of your compound."

"You do realize that the past five men to have the top spot in your organization have been assassinated by smart bombs and drone strikes," I looked to Mr. Big Bad Terrorist and his buddy Omar. Winnie translated for me. "It is just the way it is, sorry."

"The ten richest countries on Earth all have governmental taskforces specifically devoted to both weapons and drug smuggling -- you win some and they win some," I kept going. "The object will now be to decide how much you give them now, not how much they take from you. Human trafficking operations are woefully underfunded worldwide, so it is a waste of my time to devote efforts there."

Again, there was a pause followed by all the key players talking amongst themselves and with Harrow who occasionally shot me a smug, perhaps even appreciative look. Winnie kept me quietly abreast of the scope of the dialogue. She even prodded me when my idea was about to die.

"Three words for you gentlemen -- McDonald's Happy Meals. They have franchises in three-quarters the nations on earth and 80% of those include a child's entrée with a cheap plastic toy. McDonald's is selling fast food for God's sake. That is a science -- a series of mathematical equations and nothing more."

"Have you heard of Pokémon? Look it up. It is the story of a perpetually pre-teen boy and his lightning bolt throwing bunny/rat hybrid -- I shit you not. It has been around for over ten years as both a TV cartoon series. I haven't pulled any of this data out of my ass gentlemen. All the proof that this plan will succeed is already out there," I sounded bored.

"How much will this cost us?" a man with a very heavy Russian accent addressed me.

"Do you want an estimate or a precise number?" I said and Winnie translated over to Russian.

"Both," he answered in Russian.

"In the current Chinese, South Korean, Malaysian and petrochemical markets -- I would say around 12 million euros," I ran the math in my head. "I can tell you precisely over dinner."

Harrow laughed.

"Dominic can advance us the money," Harrow pledged to the others.

"I could but I'm not," I immediately replied. "You people have a suspicious tendency of permanently misplacing less lethal business associates."

"I'm going to have my cryogenically frozen body interned in my mausoleum of solid gold," I smiled at the assembly. "I'm not giving you guys a dime."

They laughed once more. They weren't agreeing; they simply assumed that they would own me before this was over no matter how smart I was.

Five minutes later they hadn't decided anything except that I had a brilliant idea, or so they hoped. They started tasking minions to take up the details that would get the ball rolling and I was dismissed as others joined the circle. Twenty meters from the meeting, Winnie took my hand and leaned close to me.

"If I ever doubt you again, you have my permission to spank me," Winifred whispered conspiratorially. "You had no clue what they were going to ask you?"

"I had a clue -- I had several clues in fact but I did not know the precise question to be asked," I answered.

I withheld further questions until we gathered with the rest of the team. We all began sunbathing on the beach and waited until the background noise level made Jen happy then Winnie reviewed the meeting for them. Almost everyone seemed depressed.

"Okay Dominic, what's the weakness?" Echo prodded me hopefully.

"Oh please," I grinned, "there is a built in flaw in any operation involving artists."

"There is a secret flaw in the cartoon?" Winnie looked at me hard.

"No," I met her gaze happily, "It is in the actors and the fans at the conventions. Psychologically speaking, a strong minority of the Con-going population will know something is wrong the first time they meet the troupe and those people will blog; conspiracy theory will do the rest."

"That seems weak," Lydia badgered me.

"Not if you are the NSA," Winnie rescued me. "They are all about looking for key words and it will quickly come to their attention if this becomes a global phenomenon," Winnie hugged me, "It's brilliant. Harrow will figure out what gave him away and he won't even know you did it."

"On the off-chance I've been too brilliant and Harrow decides in the next few hours that I'm expendable, can I sneak off with Echo and attempt to convince her to engage me with her carnal favors?" I pleaded to the group. Lydia snickered at me while the other women's looks were unfamiliar to me -- part pity and part hunger.

"Dominic," Echo crawled over to me and whispered in my ear, "it is that time of the month -- started this morning." That took me a second to grasp.

"Well fuck," I groaned but I did hug Echo because she was far more than sex to me.

"Don't be despondent," Echo assured me, "I've agreed to share you with the others for the next few days."

My first thoughts on hearing that were: 'I've got to keep this one' meaning Echo and then 'Am I the James Bond of the 21st century?' Now I had to figure out to handle this. Lydia was in the middle of a messy marital collapse so that left Winnie and Jen and if one was not interested and I picked her, how remote were my chances of sexual relief?

"Let's grab some breakfast first," Echo said. Our wonderful Moluccan server was clearly on the job because our juices were chilled and pulpy. There were no pork products but the variety of fish and shellfish made up for it. Best of all, he hovered close enough to attend our needs but not enough to make us feel watched. Before my second cup of chipped ice, I developed a plan.

"Jen and Winnie, would you like to come up to the room with me for a while?" I offered.

"I can't figure," Lydia giggled, "if Dom did this so I could have girl time with my best friend, or because he wants to be humiliated by trying to take on two physically fit women."

"Consider this cardio-vascular training," I offered. 

I stood and Jen and Winnie came up to me on opposite sides and hung their arms around my waist.

"I can't believe I'm about to have sex with a man who was in daycare when I graduated high school," Jensen whispered.

"You are in great shape Jen," Winnie responded, "so you should be able to break the Kid, no sweat."

"True," Jen mused, "but I've never handled that much dick before."

"I'll be gentle," I promised.

"Thanks," Jen kissed my ear. "Sorry for being such a hard-ass that first Saturday."

"That's okay," I turned and kissed her lips, "I was being pretty freaky." That was a lot of weight for Jen to give up. She had been 'institutionalized' by the FBI and that wouldn't work in what I had planned to do -- essentially to create our cell to be a vigilante force, living outside the law.

Jen was happier so I turned back to Winifred who was studying me, still working on her profile of the man I was. I kissed her lips and she smiled.

"When I have Jen occupied," I delicately whispered into Winnie's ear, "sneak up on her okay?" Winnie gave me a quick wink.

"I'm starting to like you despite myself Dominic Umstead," Winnie sighed.

"I'm with you on that sentiment," Jen looked around my chest and smiled at Winnie," He's really easy to hate because he's so convinced he's right."

"But?" I hoped a 'but'; otherwise I was going to feel like a real heel.

"But after I went over the stand-off on the runway in my mind, I put it all together and realized you trusted us to trust you and you don't do that easily," Jen told me. "Dom, you backed up everything your instincts dictated you to do with your life. Inside a minute you got inside the bad guy's mind and schooled him and that's a talent I can understand and appreciate."

"That's nice, but I was right next to Dom and it was a bit more terrifying for me. I still want you to work on a real apology for me," Winnie nudged me with her hip. I couldn't take that from the new girl to the team -- not and stay in charge. I put a hand on the small of her back then worked several fingers down inside the bikini and squeezed her right butt cheek.

"Jen, he's got his hand on my butt," Winnie announced.

"Why didn't we take him last night?" Jen playfully questioned Winnie.

"We wanted to be sensitive to Echo," Winnie answered. "Now it's Open Season and I plan to make good use of that photographic mind and his penchant for pornography."

"Now this is the point where we regret being in a country that has no sex industry and no sex toy establishments," I commented as we walked inside the hacienda. "Do I need to ask what Lydia and Echo took as extra gear?" I whispered at the threshold.

"2 extra clips for their sidearm and 4 flash-bangs," Jen whispered backed.

I chuckled at the image of them hiding that equipment on their bikinis. I shared my amusement with the ladies.

"Yeah, you guys have it so easy -- replace your banana wrapped in foil for a .38 Smith and Wesson and no one is the wiser," Jen zinged.

I opened my swim trunks and looked down.

"The first one of you to hand me a Derringer and says 'hide this' gets a sub-standard performance review," I smirked.

"Don't worry, Dom," Winnie smiled. "Every man claims to have a bazooka but few really know how to use it."

"Gosh Sarge," I looked back and forth between the two ladies, "are you going to hold my hand?"

"After the noises Echo made last night, I think for safety's sake I'll keep hold of something else," she said with dancing eyes. I imagined it was easy for most people to forget she was a Blue Blood -- Harvard, Vassar, Yale, Cape Cod and the Hamptons.

Jensen Furst was more like me; working class family -- dad was the son of a cop and was a Police Captain in Memphis. She'd lost the accent but not the sensibilities, I was willing to bet. We made our way to the room and I didn't even attempt to break protocol -- Jen entered and swept the room with her trained eyes while Winnie kept a hand on me outside.

Jen gave us the 'all clear' and we all made straight for the bedroom. Both women didn't miss a beat as they secured the submachine guns under the head pillows and slipped their handguns beneath the mattress. I didn't even bother -- I handed my holstered pistol to Winnie who tucked mine in next to hers.

Clothes came next, with Jen flashing me quick looks from time to time. It was pre-ordained that I got in the middle -- in other words, Jen was trying to put some distance between us and Winnie and I were having none of it. That meant I was correct in believing she wasn't an adrenaline junkie, which was good.

"Jensen," I rolled onto my side, facing her. I leaned in and kissed her. She took that well until she realized I was going back for seconds and thirds. Suddenly she didn't want to be doing this. It boiled down to love/affection and she didn't have that for me. She liked me well enough but a girl like Jensen wanted more before she laid down with a man.

Since trying to get her to do this at a later date would suck and with her currently mulling over how to put this in her status update to the FBI, I had to find a way to worm through her defenses.

"Once we work our way through this, we'll have fooled Harrow and we can move on to the next step," I whispered.

"So this is something we are working through," she responded professionally.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say I don't find you attractive. I have wanted to do this for some time, but I know we are also working an assignment and I'm not going to pressure you," I reasoned.

"What do find attractive about me?" she interrogated before kissing me back.

"I know you are going to think this is stupid but it was the way you programmed the navigation system and the auto-pilot parameters," I responded.

"You want to fuck me because I'm a good pilot?" she pulled back and blinked.

"It doesn't hurt you look smoking in a white bikini either but then my dating track record has been smart, professional, mature women," I pointed out.

"So if it wasn't for the job and Echo, we might date?" Jen had a faint smile.

"Are you kidding me," I snorted. "I'm only twenty-three; you would never normally date a kid like me; admit it."

And then Jensen Furst giggled.

"I'll give you that," she laughed then ran her hand through my hair right above my right ear. "I wouldn't let a wet-behind-the-ears FBI recruit like you buy me a drink, much less invite me up to your room." I returned the favor by brushing her hair behind her ear and sucking on the exposed lobe.

This time her reaction was very different, moaning and applying gentle pressure on the back of my head to hold me close. I had enough freedom of movement to kiss her jaw, cheek and temple but not much more. I freed up my right arm and began caressing her breasts which drew forth even more pleasurable noises.

We spent several minutes with me treating her earlobe like a sensitive nipple while my fingers played over her real nipples. Winnie pressed up behind me so she could watch the fun but decided to slide down my body then climb over so that she could start kissing Jen on her thighs. Jen answered that by opening up her legs and pulling the left up and away.

I settled between her legs, trying to work out how, exactly, I was going to enter her when she rolled her hips up and I sunk right in, penetrating steadily. Jen's vagina was fluid warmth and I was buried to the hilt in one push.

"Oh fuck," she gasped as she wrapped her arms and legs around me to hold me tight.

It took thirty seconds for her vagina to get comfortable with my cock and her psyche to grapple with the fact she was getting fucked. When her eyes opened, I began kissing her lips, the tip of her nose and her eyelids. She took a few deep breathes before ramping up reactions to my touches with those of her own and then began bucking up against my thrusts. 

This was my signal to give Jen a little control then take it all away. I rolled sluggishly toward the center of the bed, Jen ending up on top still grinding away. When Winifred mounted my knees behind Jen, Jen gave me this knowing look; a virtual 'bravo' to my tactical handling of events. 

Winnie made a terrific display of affection, kissing and nibbling the back of Jen's neck and down each shoulder while massaging Jen's breasts and ribbing her tightened nipples against Jen's back. Even knowing she'd been trapped didn't save Jen from the cascading excitement. When she let out an explosive moan we knew we had her.

I didn't see what Winnie's fingers did but I could feel those fingers stroll down Jen's stomach until,

"Oh God!" she exclaimed and took off like a race horse turned bronco. Jen propped her hands on my shoulder joints, looking down at me and smiling as the prelude to an orgasm stretched her features until they could take no more.

It was like the sound a pissed off cougar combined with a low-sound rumbling that vibrates the flesh and rattles the bones. Jen went on like this for nearly a minute before lowering her sweat drenched body down on me. She looked down at me, our eyes only inches apart and she said,

"Let's do that again," and that's when I shot off -- the very idea of hearing that sound again and not participating had been the final frontier of my control. The promise of more had set me off.

"Fuck you," she panted to Winnie, "he's giving it to me -- nice and hot, just how I like it."

"Ah pooh," Winnie gave vent to her play-anger. "Dom, how long do you take to recharge?"

"How about we get some sugar by way of fruit bowls to recharge and let Jen and I grab a shower," I suggested, "because these ceiling fans can't compare to central air."

Jen rolled of the bed spryly, pulled out her pistol and began nakedly jaunting off to the bathroom.

"Coming?" she quizzed me playfully.

Jen had let her hair down in so many ways. I got out of bed to follow Jen. Winnie whistled and slid my firearm across the bed and I raced across the open area so I could catch Jen by the shower stall. Winnie was back by our bed ordering room service in a language I didn't understand.

Jensen hadn't much experience bathing another person, much less a man she'd just made love to but she was patient and she lent me that patience to not rush all over her body, exploring her again. As she stepped out of the shower I wrapped her up in my arms again.

"Calm down Tiger," she patted my hand clasp under her breasts, "We'll have months together, if not longer. I'm sticking around."

"Winnie," I called out, "Let's recharge, gather up the girls and see what we can do for some entertainment on this super-sized island."

"Absolutely," Winnie laughed. She threw our clothes at us then handed Jen her big gun like someone was going to jump us in the shower.

"We have a good surf coming off the Philippine Sea," Winnie suggested. 

"How do we handle security?" Jen inquired, back on the job once more.

"We..." was all Winnie got off when her Spidey-senses went off. "Down!" Winnie went to her belly with practiced ease and Jen jumped on my back and bore me to the ground.

Two massive 'thumps' came from the door. Two things worked in our favor: unlike the rest of our apartment suite, the door was built super-solid and even it couldn't take two grenades, it didn't blow into the room though it definitely needed replacing. The second thing was the food cart catty-cornered near the entrance masked in the smoke.

My head was ringing as Jen hoisted me up and led me to the closest rattan sofa. We hit it, knocking it on its back. Jen pushed a second cushion between me and the front door before giving herself the same flimsy protection. I couldn't see Winnie. The bad guys made themselves noticeable by screaming 'Allah Akbar!' and shooting through the doorway.

Jen reached out to shove me to the floor and smirked when she found me already there. I learned really, really fast as she was finding out.

Jen calmly looked over to me as cushion stuffing rained down on us from the AK's 5.45x39mm rounds coming at hip level. She held up three fingers and I nodded that she heard three attackers. How anyone could tell the difference between assault rifles of the same make and model. There was another cry to God Almighty then a cry of surprise as the first guy charged through the smoky door and into the food cart, spilling them both.




A Life Not My Own Ch. 04



Though freaking scared for my life, I could tell the difference between Winnie's HK MP7N (aka the euro-built death machine) cycling and the other weapons. Even as I saw Jen silently counting and the guy who hit the cart crying out his last breath, I saw the plan coming together. The second guy in the room tracked Winnie's shot, so he looked left.

Jen popped up and shot him. Had his gun been pointing straight ahead it would have been a quick-draw, but he was still trying to bring his AK to bear when Jen put three shots in his jihadist left-of-center mass. Dead, dead, dead. The third guy was my old buddy Mohammed Omar. He charged in and unloaded on full automatic.

I stopped peaking and dodged out the corner of the sofa between Jen and wherever Winnie was hiding. Omar caught my move and walked the fire toward me when he clicked empty.

"Mag!" Winnie screamed. I saw her get up from a small scrimshaw table she'd been using as cover and run Omar's way from the right.

Jensen rose up and circled in on the left. I stayed put. Winnie banked some bullets into the doorway for no reason I could see until Omar twisted and fired bullets off to the right, trying to hit Winnie. This was Jen's cue to point her gun around the left corner and put several bullets into Omar. Playing bridge with these two would be a hell of a lot of fun.

Winnie peaked around the corner, hesitated then called out.

"I hear footfalls and Mohammed isn't dead but he soon will be," Winnie commented coolly. "Plan?"

"Help me get him outside -- Jen, cover us from the door," I acted decisively.

"What are we going to do?" Winnie muttered as we dragged Omar under his arms to the railing outside our room. Seven of Harrow's armed security guards came up the stairs and the leader began yelling at me.

"He wants us to put Mohammed Omar down and step away," she translated -- damn her and her command of the spoken word.

Okay, that's how it was being played, I thought.

"Winnie go inside and don't give up your arms no matter what," I stated decisively. Winnie scampered back. The guards kept coming and seemed willing to risk me and my pistol in order to get Omar back. I heaved Omar up by the back of his shirt, put the pistol to the back of head and made eye contact with the security team leader.

"Christus triumphe!" I shouted and put a slug through the back of Omar's skull and rained grey matter and bone fragments down to the gardens below. I let go of the body and about half of us watched it tumble over the railing. I then raised my hands and let them disarm me. See, Moluccans are devout Christians who are raised on sectarian violence with their Muslim neighbors

For a single crucial second I gave them a moral quandary. Omar was dead -- were they going to kill me over the death of some damn dirty Muslim by a man who invoked Christ's name? They didn't know me or that I was an atheist but they wanted to believe a guest got some payback that their loyalty to Harrow denied them.

Indeed, they handled me with kid gloves. They could have shoved me to the ground and stomped on me hard but they kept hold of my shoulders and marched me away. I went to the far side of the complex to this surprisingly modest bungalow separated from the hotel complex by a moat that doubled as an outdoor pool. Even more surprising, Eloise and Dee intercepted me at the arched bridge and my security buddies exchanged a few pleasant words and departed.

The Harrow twins nodded, took me by the elbows and led me inside.

"It is nice to see you still alive," Eloise said softly. From across my body, Dee shot Eloise a worried look. "Dom, are you going to make a break and run for it if we take our hands off of you?" Eloise snorted.

"Nope -- I can't leave my ladies, I wouldn't leave you to Old Man Harrow's wrath and I have unfinished business," I answered in Czech. Eloise let go of my arm. A few seconds later Dee did too.

"You meant to wink, right?" Dee inquired in Czech then caught herself.

"Well, I was planning to, miss, but I wanted to make sure you didn't dodge the wrong way," I nodded. There was silence until I arrived at the veranda. Big Bad Terrorist Guy, the Sultan and Michael were sitting back and, in theory, drinking religion specific beverages.

"Oh Dominic," Michael Harrow hoped up, highlighting his finely sculpted bronzed physique, "you've created a bit of the dilemma." I could be a smart ass but sometimes it's worth it to pamper the intellect of a psychopaths.

"That was not my intent," I bowed to the Sultan first then nodded to the terrorist and finally looked confused to Harrow.

"Mr. Omar seems to have died, Dominic, while on the way to make peace with you," Michael looked like a polar bear coaxing up a baby seal to a blow hole.

"Oh...that's was what that was," I nodded. "You know he didn't like my female translator and while in the process of working that out, some unseen party tossed two grenades in the room. A shot rang out and then a full firefight ensued."

"I did assume this was a trap set by Omar and I did execute him in front of your staff," I seemed apologetic. "I found such a lousy ambush to be insulting." The Main Terrorist shifted as what I said was translated to him though I had the sinking impression he spoke Spanish just fine though he talked in what I believed was Arabic.

"Mr. Tariq Masud wants to know what lies you used to lure Omar to your place," Harrow translated. 

"I told Omar I had found the penis and balls he was seriously lacking," I replied deadpan to which the Sultan let slip a chuckle and Harrow grinned before conveying my words. "Honestly Mr. Masud, after I played Frisbee with his knife earlier this morning, what could I have possibly have said to lure Omar to my place for a three on three showdown?"

Belatedly Harrow passed the message on but Tariq was already reading my eyes and judging my level of guilt. He spoke few words but I made out the words 'Christus triumphe'. This caught the Sultan by surprise and he was not appreciative of my ploy. 

"Mr. Masud wants to know when you found God," Harrow asked with that shark-like grin.

"I haven't but I really wanted to kill Omar and do it in a way that didn't get me killed by the security staff," I revealed. "If Mr. Harrow has taught me one thing in our short relationship it is that the only good enemy is both good and dead. I had a chance to remove Omar and I took it. There seems to be a misconception that my lack of a body count makes me vulnerable."

"Besides, ask anyone -- the sequence was two grenades first then several short bursts of fire, a full auto assault rifle going off then two bursts and a final pistol shot," I stated evenly. "I'm no tactical savant, but why would we be spraying the only entrance to the room? Saving ammo and waiting for help to arrive would seem saner.

That means someone was trying to force an entry and that means someone put Omar up to this," I was concluding. "Which means Omar was already dead despite what I did."

"How do you see that?" Harrow studied me.

"The Sultan would definitely find out who violated his hospitality," I lied. I didn't think he knew who did what, but keeping the butcher on my side was worth some flattery.

"He would have Omar interrogated and someone would have been in trouble," I stated. The Sultan nodded and developed his own wicked smile. Heaven be praised, the Sultan said the dumbest thing.

"I'll need to have my security team talk to your staff Michael, to determine how three heavily armed men made it to Mr. Umstead's part of the hotel," the potentate demanded.

"Of course," Harrow responded but there was no joy in that voice. He hadn't believed Omar would kill me. He was trying to kill one of my girls, he'd used substandard (to the quality of my professional women) tools to get the job done and had not only missed the mark, he was now caught in the back-blast.

The Sultan wouldn't get far; of that I was sure, but Harrow would be swallowing his pride for a moment because right now he needed the Sultan's good will. The group dynamic told me that the Major League Terrorist knew what I knew now as well. Omar was a fanatic nutjob, but he had been Tariq's fanatic nutjob and that man's life had been expended in a way that didn't support Tariq's, and therefore his God's, agenda. That was trouble.

"I'll go wait in my quarters for the Sultan's men to question me," I said, then nodded to Tariq and Harrow and bowed again to the Sultan. No one said a thing as I left which made me wonder about the existence of a Higher Power after all. Here I was still alive in the land were pineapples were a style of grenade and missive was the misspelling of missile; yay me.