Chapter 7

I sat alone on the balcony off my hotel suite drinking my morning coffee. The balcony offered a golf-course view. I watched sprinklers throw water over the grass.

This is a desert, dammit! Wasting water on grass should be against the law.

I was grouchy because, in the cold light of this day, I'd reviewed the previous day and found myself lacking. I'd made some serious mistakes, mistakes that could have gotten one or more of us killed, mistakes that could still bring the police to my door.

I could blame the mistakes on my memory loss, but that would be a copout. Plain and simple, I'd fucked up, and not just once, either.

Colleen stepped outside wearing a robe supplied by the hotel. She didn't look like her normally perky self. Nightmares had awakened her twice during the night. She draped her arms over my shoulders and gave the top of my head a kiss.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she moved around me and sat on my lap.

"Mistakes I made."

She brushed my lips with hers and nuzzled my neck with her face. "What mistakes?"

"Involving you in a shootout, for one."

She stiffened briefly, and then relaxed. "I'll be okay."

"Maybe. Mr. Bart conditioned me from boyhood to kill, but at the same time he also taught me how to retain my humanity and sanity after killing. You don't have that training to fall back on. I'm afraid I moved you too far, too fast into my business."

She tightened her arms around me with a hug. I winced. My chest was black and blue. The vest had saved my life, but most likely, the bullets slamming into Kevlar had cracked some ribs.

"Sorry," she muttered, straightened up and looked me in the eye. "I'll be fine, cowboy. Do you know why?"

"Tell me."

"Because I'm loved and I'm in love. I'm your sidekick and mate. Yes, I killed. Yes, I had nightmares about it. Will I lose my sanity over it? No. Am I less human because of it? No. Life is more sacred, more important to me today than ever before. Involving me in that shootout was not a mistake, and it wasn't too soon. Mark accused you of precipitating the confrontation. He was both right and wrong. True, you faced those shooters head-on when you could have run the other way, but being the man you are, you had no choice. Being the woman I am, I had no choice, either. I stood by my man. I faced my fears and did what I had to do."

I hugged her fiercely. Fuck the cracked ribs. "And did it well."

"You said mistakes - plural."

"Yes."

"Well, tell me."

"We used vehicles that could be traced to us, and we're not home free yet. That mistake could still bite us."

"How? You switched license plates and Mark torched the car we left behind. It exploded in flames, cowboy."

"A forensic or arson specialist could recover the VIN number."

"What if they do? The car is registered to Ken LaPlant, not Luke or Morgan."

"Whose face is on Ken LaPlant's driver's license?"

After a brief stunned silence she said softly, "Fuck."

"Which means the house in Scottsdale must be sanitized."

"Sanitized?"

"All traces that you and I lived there must be removed. I spoke with Maggie this morning. She'll hire a moving company to remove and put in storage everything in that house, including the trash. A cleaning crew will move into the house tonight with instructions to steam clean the carpets and clean and wipe down every surface. Painters will move in the day after. When the dust settles, the moving company will move the furniture and other items that belong to the landlord back into the house, and Maggie will send a different cleaning crew into the house to steam clean the upholstered furniture and wipe down every surface. All this because I made a mistake. A simple call to Jasper would have provided vehicles that couldn't be traced to us, and they would have been more applicable to the task, to boot."

Colleen nodded. "I won't try to talk you out of this one. You made a mistake, cowboy. What else?"

"I should have hired a two drivers. We got lucky. We managed to leave the scene before the police arrived - barely. We lost minutes escaping because you and Heather had to retrieve vehicles from the garages. What's more, both of you were under the influence of massive adrenaline dump. Professional drivers get pumped to drive. They aren't falling apart with adrenaline dump when they start driving. The mistake wasn't fatal, but it was a mistake."

"You can't think of everything, cowboy."

"Wrong! I have to, sweet thing. When it's life and death, I have to, and that brings me to my biggest mistake. Mark's position on Elm was weak. We're lucky all he got out of it was a nasty flesh wound."

"Could you have made his position stronger?"

"Oh, yeah. I ordered everyone to wait until he was in position before the shooting started. Dumb! The shooting should have started when he turned right off Elm and went out of sight. I didn't think of Ruben becoming a sniper until it was almost too late. If I'd ordered Ruben to take out the sniper, the shooter and the driver on the second floor of the garage at the same time you took out the shooter in front of the condo building and Heather the shooter on the ground floor of the garage, Ruben could have covered Mark with the rifle, and you and Heather could have created a crossfire at ground level in front of the sedan on Elm while Mark attacked from the rear."

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"In a shootout, twenty-twenty is necessary upfront. I made a mistake, Colleen, one that could've cost Mark's life. Once again, we got lucky."

"Is that it?"

"I wish. I didn't think about your exposure until later."

"You fixed it, though."

"What if one of the bullets I took hit flesh instead of the vest? In that case, I couldn't have fixed it soon enough, and the police would have your pretty face on tape. I was in a disguise. You should have been disguised, too, and not thinking about how exposed you'd be in that lobby wasn't my last mistake. When Hansen tried to escape, I thought I could stop him and could take him alive. In my quest to capture him so I could determine the identity of my nemesis, I did what I told the rest of you not to do. I risked my life. Dumb! If I'd let him escape, I could have tracked him down wherever he tried to hide. Now I have nothing, no way to move forward against my enemy. He'll have to come at me again before I can grab the end of another thread I can follow that will lead me to him."

"Or," Colleen said, "you can recover your memories and pull his identity from your mind."

"There's that."

"How's Mark doing?"

"He'll be fine." I chuckled. "I checked on him earlier - telepathically, not in person. Heather was playing nurse."

"Oh? How?"

"A blow job. Mark wasn't feeling any pain right then."

"I thought Ruben was her fuck buddy." You, too, you louse.

"Heather is an equal opportunity fuck buddy. She took care of Ruben, and Ruben took care of her before she played nurse with Mark."

"And you experienced all this telepathically?"

"Fleeting thoughts only. I'm not a voyeur, sweet thing."

I am, she thought, and then blushed. "You heard that, didn't you?"

"Yep."

"If I could do what you do, I would've experienced everything, not mere fleeting thoughts."

I snickered. "If I were an empath as well as a telepath, I might do the same thing, but all I experience are thoughts, sweet thing. I can't assimilate sensations."

She shivered. "Ooh, that would be something else again." She slipped her hand in my robe and fondled my cock. "Heather was your fuck buddy, huh?"

"That's what she called it." Colleen's soft hand achieved her purpose. I got hard, not boy-cock hard, but hard enough.

"What did you call it?"

"Casual sex."

She stood up and opened her robe. "Open yours," she said.

"We're pretty exposed out here, sweet thing."

"I'm an exhibitionist, too," she said as she straddled my lap and took my hard cock in her hand again. She leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss.

I'm your fuck buddy, buster. Got it?

Got it.

With that, she rose up a little, swiped the head of my cock through her wet crease, and settled down around my length.

Oh, baby, that feels so good. I love your cock in me, she said.

I grabbed the globes of her gorgeous ass, thrust upward and buried my shaft to the hilt. Now I'm in you.

You sure are. You hit bottom. Suck on your fuck buddy's tits, suck on them and play with them while you fuck me.

I sucked as much of one tit into my mouth as I could and pinched her other nipple.

Oh, yeah, like that. Suck on the other one now.

Oh, God, they're fucking! That thought came from someone else.

I moved my eyes left and right. Heather was on a balcony to my left with one vacant balcony between us.

You're an exhibitionist, huh? I said silently to Colleen.

Yeah. I enjoy fucking out of doors or in places where I might be seen. The idea that someone might watch excites me.

That's good because someone is watching us.

She stiffened briefly and then continued to move on me. Who?

Heather. She's on your right, two balconies over. I'm connected with her.

What is she thinking?

That we're sexy.

Is she playing with herself?

I don't know. Maybe.

I hope she is. That would be so sexy. Let's give her a good show.

Colleen shrugged off her robe and increased the pace of her rotating hips.

Suck on a tit again, like you did before.

Her tits are gorgeous, Heather thought, and look at him suck on 'em! That's so hot! I'm hot. Fuck her, fuck buddy. Fuck her.

Colleen shook her head left and right as if in the throws of passion, or in real passion. I didn't know which, but the gesture let her see Heather.

She's doing it, cowboy! She's finger-fucking herself. Oh, I'm hot! I'm fucking the love of my life, and his old fuck buddy is watching us and finger-fucking her cunt.

Maybe I am an exhibitionist. I'm hot, too, I said to Colleen.

Can you see her? Can you see her fingers in her cunt?

I looked to my left. I could indeed see Heather's busy fingers, and she saw me looking at her. She took her fingers from her cunt and put them over her lips to silently tell me to be quiet about what was happening. Then she sucked her fingers into her mouth.

I bet he likes this, Heather thought. He's getting royally fucked and watching me finger-fuck. Her fingers went back to her cunt. She spread her outer lips wide, and then stuffed two fingers inside. I sensed her moan of pleasure.

I see her, and she knows I'm watching her, I said to Colleen.

Did she stop?

I chuckled. No way. She's having as much fun as you are.

What? You're not having fun?

Sure I am, just not as much as you. Or Heather, I suspect.

Should I let her know that I know she's watching?

No. Let her know later. Surprise her.

Okay. Are you close?

Yes. I have been for a while.

Well, come in me, baby. Come in your fuck buddy, and I mean me, not that sexy slut, two balconies over.

That was an easy request to satisfy. I grabbed the globes of her ass again, let out an orgasmic roar and blasted semen into her. She climaxed with me, I noticed.

Sexy, Heather thought. I'm coming with them. I'm coming, too!

The ladies were still coming when I finished. Typical. Female orgasms last longer than a male's. I also noticed that Colleen's climax lasted longer than Heather's because Heather gave me a little wave and sashayed back into her suite before the pulses of Colleen's orgasm let her return to the here and now.

"That was a good one, cowboy," she breathed.

We'd watched the news on television the night before, and I picked up a newspaper and read the article about what was being called the "Gunfight at the 24th Street Corral." Colleen and I also watched the news before our scheduled debriefing session, which I dreaded. I planned to admit my mistakes and feared my errors in judgment and just plain stupidity had annihilated my recruitment effort.

Thirteen of the sixteen men who arrived to ambush me died in their attempt. Ruben shot the driver in the garage, but he didn't die from the wound, and after surgery, he was expected to recover. The two men I'd clubbed with my cudgel were in the hospital. The driver was in critical condition. I'd hit him hard enough to do serious damage. The shooter was listed in serious condition. All three men were under police guard.

No witnesses had come forth, at least a witness that the press and the police would admit to. I found that hard to believe. 24th Street between Highland and Camelback is a busy street. Also, no human collateral damage was reported. With all the bullets flying around from our opponents, I found that absolutely amazing. There was property collateral damage. Bullets fly until they hit something and then create holes and smash things.

A call to Blount assured me that the police didn't have a line on my crew or me. He said the police suspected my involvement but had no proof. They suspected me because I'd had run-ins with them before and lived in the area. Of the three assailants still alive, two of them were lawyered up and not talking. The other one was still unconscious.

"It looks like you were right, Morgan," Blount said. "You might get a get-out-jail card this time."

Except for the VIN number on the Camry, I thought, and kicked myself yet again for not using vehicles Jasper could have provided. I did call Jasper. The Lexus and Colleen's Cadillac had to disappear for a while, and Jasper rented me two late-model, nondescript sedans. Maggie arranged for two self-locking storage units, and Colleen and I parked the Lexus and Cadillac in the storage units until the hoorah about the gunfight cooled down.

Colleen and I used one of Jasper's cars to drive to the house in Carefree to change clothes and freshen up, and Ruben, Mark and Heather did the same at the Ritz-Carlton using the other vehicle. Eileen booked a suite for Colleen and me at the Boulders Resort in Carefree, as well as rooms for my crew, and cancelled the rooms at the Ritz. That hotel was too close to the site of the gun battle. We used the suite at the Boulders for the debriefing.

I opened the session by saying, "Mistakes were made. I made them."

"You're not alone," Mark said. "I made some doozies."

"Likewise for me," Ruben said. "You had to prompt me to take up that sniper rifle, Morgan."

"I should have converged on the Elm Street sector faster," Heather said.

"Me, too," Colleen said.

I outlined my mistakes without making excuses or claiming extenuating circumstances. And then I apologized. "Mark, I'm especially sorry I put you in such a weak position against three men with automatic weapons. I'd understand if you wanted to take a poke at me. I'd also understand if you want to back off and go on your merry way. The same goes for you, Ruben, and you, Heather. Each of you performed admirably, and because of your above-and-beyond effort we succeeded in spite of my error-riddled plan. Whether you leave or stay, check your bank accounts. I instructed my paymaster to wire transfer $10,000 bonuses to each of you, and that includes you, Colleen."

When Mark started to speak, I held up my hand to stop him. "Folks, this was my sidekick and mate's first firefight. She did her job and she did it well. She stayed in her sector and followed the plan, as lousy as that plan was. I believe she deserves some attagirls from us."

I started the applause, and Mark jumped in, shouting some hoorahs in addition to clapping. Ruben and Heather were also effusive with there appreciation, especially Heather.

I sat down.

When Mark started to speak, Ruben stopped him and took the floor. "I agree, Morgan. You made some mistakes. Mark's position was weak. Colleen should have been wearing a disguise, and you should have hired drivers and used vehicles that couldn't be traced to you. That being said, I'm proud to have served you yesterday, and I'll serve you again. I, for one, am not going anywhere until this job is done. Go ahead, Mark."

Mark jumped up. He was a demonstrative cuss.

"Take a poke at you!" he shouted. "I ought to take a poke at you for even suggesting that I'd so something like that to you. I admire you, Morgan, more than any other man, and mistakes or not, I'll follow you into Hell. Got it?"

I nodded.

"Say it, goddamit! Tell me you understand how I feel about you."

"Got it," I said.

"Good. Now we've got that out of the way, I'm here to tell you that I'm not going anywhere, including after this job is finished. You say you turn away jobs all the time. Well, I want them, Morgan. I want you to be my agent. I want to work for you. Waddaya say to that?"

"Okay."

"I..." He looked confused. "You agree?" He'd obviously anticipated a negative response.

"Yes. I do turn jobs away all the time. If you want me to be your agent, I'll do it. You're a protection specialist, right?"

"Yes."

"I'm a recovery specialist. You might as well take the protection gigs that come my way. Your fee is $1,000 a day plus expenses, correct."

"Yes, but that includes my agent's cut. He takes half."

I grinned. "Then you just got a big raise. I charge my principals $2,000 a day plus expenses for protection services, and I won't take a contract with less than a $10,000 retainer. I'll pay you $1,000 per day plus expenses."

"What about missing-person gigs?" Heather said. "Do you turn some of them away, too?"

I grinned. "Yes. How many do you average a year?"

"That varies. Eight to fifteen."

I frowned. "I don't turn that many away. Would you take recovery or protection jobs as fill-ins until I can beef up my referral source list to attract more missing-person assignments?"

"What's a referral source list?"

After I explained, she turned to Ruben and said, "Why didn't you tell me about this, Ruben. What are you doing? Trying to hog a good thing for yourself?"

"Nope. You heard Morgan. He's a recovery specialist. That's what I do. He can't do me any good."

"Ah, Ruben, that's not entirely true. I have a problem you might be able to solve for me."

"What's that?" he asked.

"I want to spend time with my sidekick and mate. I can't do that if I'm out and about somewhere on assignments ten months out of every year."

Ruben's grin lit up the room. "Now we're talking."

"Whoa," Heather said. "Me, first. You asked a question, Morgan. Before I answer, answer this question. How long will it take to beef up your referral source list so that most of my jobs are missing-person assignments?"

"I'm not sure. A year, maybe less. I'd plug Protect & Serve into all the missing-person organizations, government and private, as well as individuals in occupations that would learn about missing persons early on. You could guide my effort. Combined with my current referral sources, an additional three hundred individuals scattered around the country ought to do it. I'd only need to recruit twenty-five new referral sources a month. Piece of cake. Of course, I'd also need to train my screener regarding missing-person referral calls, but she's experienced with protection and recovery screening, so she won't become a bottleneck."

"Screener?" Heather said.

I told her about my screener and added, "She's part of my support system."

"Support system?" she said, becoming more and more agitated.

"You won't believe the support he has on call!" Mark said. "That's my biggest gripe with my agent. If I need a weapon, it's up to me to find and buy it. If I need an airplane ticket, I have to check flight schedules, book the flight with my own credit card, and then wait months for the expense reimbursement. I could go on and on."

"He's right, Heather. Morgan has the best support system I've ever seen. You offered Mark a raise, Morgan. What's your deal for me?"

"Let's see. You're fee is $1,500 per day plus expenses, right?"

"Yes."

"What's your net?"

"$900. My agent takes 40%."

"Whew! You're way low. I charge $5,000 per day plus expenses for recoveries. The same for missing-person jobs, Heather. I'd split that with you." I gave each of them a hard look. "I'll pay half of what I can charge. If either of you take a protection job, you'll be paid $1,000 a day, not the $2,500 a day for a recovery or missing-person job. That's fair, isn't it?"

"I'll say," Heather said. "I'm in."

"So am I," Ruben said.

"Whoa! There's a bunch of other stuff we need to work out first. Tell me Ruben, how did you get in the business?"

"When I left the military, I started in protection, and later trained under a man working recoveries."

"In other words for a while you took second chair, right?"

"Yeah."

"Would you be willing to train someone I'd put under you on a job?"

"That would depend on his level of competence to start with. I won't be shackled with someone who could get me killed."

"Fair enough. What about you, Heather?"

"Ditto what Ruben said, except I'm not usually at risk. Some missing-person gigs turn into recoveries, though."

I grinned. "I know - abductions."

"You've got it," she said, returning my grin.

"What about you, Mark?" I asked.

"If the trainee isn't too green and listens, I enjoy teaching the principles of protection. I have a question, though. Why do recovery and missing-person assignments pay so much more than protection jobs?"

"Ruben, will you take the question as it relates to recovery jobs?" I said.

"Sure. Remember yesterday, Mark? You came face to face with death. That's a recovery for you. Not every time, but more often than not, recovery operatives must face the guns of the kidnappers, abductors or zealots to release hostages or captives. In other words, the extra money is a risk premium."

"That's a good explanation, Ruben," I said. "I'll add that in addition to the risk premium, the principal is also paying for specialized knowledge and skills, which leads us to the second part of your question, Mark. Heather, tell Mark why you're worth what you're paid."

"You said it already, Morgan. Specialized knowledge and skills. I even specialize in the specialty. I'm known for locating missing children, so I deal mostly with runaways, but many children are abducted. As Morgan said, a missing person who has been abducted is handled much like a recovery, so besides being a specialist in missing persons, I must also understand and perform the recovery end of the business."

Mark looked pensive. "Morgan, I'll work second chair to either Ruben or Heather to learn their specialties, and not just for the extra money. I've got to say that finding missing children appeals to me."

"Does second-chair pay come out of first-chair pay?" Ruben asked.

"No. Second chair is an expense to the job. Ruben, Mark, our discussion about the business before Heather arrived made me step back and take a look at what I do and what I want to do, and after speaking with Colleen on the subject, I've decided to change Protect & Serve from the one-man band that it is into an organization. I plan to expand marketing and support systems, set up training programs to bring youngsters into the business (I started when I was twelve years old). I'll also establish retraining programs for operatives who join the organization from other agencies. My goal is to make Protect and Serve the best in the business. Notice I didn't say the largest. I'm not interested in big. I'm interested in good. If the three of you are serious, I think I can place each of you on a job in the next few days."

"What about your problem?" Ruben said.

I grimaced. "At the moment, I don't have a direction I can take. I killed the man who could lead me to my enemy. It's a waiting game again, and I'm not good at waiting, so while I'm waiting, I'll start turning Protect & Serve from a one-man band into a symphony orchestra. If I can produce a job for you, Ruben, do you want an assignment?"

"Sure. I'm not any good at waiting, either."

"Heather?"

"I'd rather work than sit around. I'm serious about Protect & Serve."

"Mark?"

"I'm serious, but... Morgan, what if your enemy finds you again, and we're on jobs and can't help you?"

I chuckled. "I'll do what you wanted me to do to start with, Mark. I won't precipitate a confrontation with him that I can't handle by myself." Or hire other help, I thought, but kept the thought to myself.

"He could ambush you again," Mark said.

"Which, by definition, you can't stop any more than I can. All I can do is be better than the shooters he sends at me."

"What happens to Protect & Serve if your nemesis, as you call him, succeeds?" Heather asked.

I looked her in the eye. "Tell me, Heather, do you plan to fire your current agent or tell him your taking some downtime?" I knew the answer to my question before I asked it.

She blushed.

I said, "If I were you, I'd take some downtime, too. The opportunity intrigues you, but you want to make sure it's real before you burn any bridges. That doesn't offend me in the least. I know I've got to perform or you'll walk, and if I'm dead, I can't perform. For what it's worth, once the organization is up and running, I'll initiate procedures and systems that will ensure Protect & Serve's continuity should anything happen to me."

I admit it. After the meeting broke up, I listened in on their thoughts and conversations.

I'm pumped, Heather, Mark said. I'm really excited.

Are you referring to the opportunity Morgan offered you, or me? she said.

The opportunity, but you excite me, too.

Which is no great feat. He's easy to excite, business-wise or otherwise, she thought. Still, the opportunity Morgan offers is amazing. I haven't made more than a half million in any one year during my entire career. If I take two months off, I can still clear $750,000 working for Morgan. I felt her inward groan. That's if he can produce the missing-person assignments. The proof will be in the jobs he hands me.

Pumped, huh? she said to Mark. I know about being pumped, or is it punched? Mark, as a girl, I was known as the neighborhood punch. Is that the same as being pumped? Or... is this pumping?

In my neighborhood when I was a boy, what you're doing was called a hand job.

My neighborhood, too. What was this called?

I sensed his groan of pleasure. A blow job.

And later,

Waddaya think, Ruben? Heather asked.

About what?

Morgan's offer?

I experienced his laugh. What's not to like?

Can he perform?

Morgan's word is his bond. He's an anachronism. You heard him. A man he calls Mr. Bart took Morgan under his wing when Morgan was a lad of twelve. The man put him in kung fu classes, fed him tradecraft until the principles of protection were second nature to the boy, hired a shooter to show him how to handle handguns, and Lord knows what else. Can he perform, you ask. Yes, and he will. Unlike you, I plan to fire my agent. I'm in, Heather, one hundred percent.

You're the best I've seen in the martial arts, Ruben. Could you take him?

Not on my best day. You're good with a pistol. I've seen you in action, but you're not in Morgan's class.

Humph, I'll bet you... hmm what would be a good wager?

What's the bet?

That I can take Morgan in a shooting contest.

In your dreams, sweetheart.

I've yet to meet a man I couldn't out shoot. Come on. Put up or shut up.

What can you afford to lose?

Hey, I'm not talking money here. Five pussy lickings versus five blow jobs. If I beat him, you do the licking. If he beats me I do the licking.

You're on, baby, and to show you I'm a good sport, I'll give you a free licking right now.

I made some calls. Sherry had a protection assignment that on the surface looked perfect for Mark, but after checking further, I passed. Protect & Serve did not protect bad guys. I told Sherry what I was looking for, and when I mentioned missing-person assignments, she perked up.

"I got a call yesterday, Morgan. I discounted it and didn't get the details 'cause it had to do with a runaway teenage girl, and I know you don't take jobs like that. I'll call the referral source back and get the details."

With my screener alerted, I called my get-it-done gal and explained my support system. "Maggie, my faulty memory apparatus has yet to give me to the names of the individuals who provide certain support functions. I remember the functions but not the people involved."

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Paul Phenomenon

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