Chapter 456

The Shopping Trip

Amazing everyone, there was no line, and procuring the marriage license went quickly. The lady behind the counter even gave them a cheap folder to keep the documents in and went over what the person carrying out the marriage ceremony was to do with the license after the wedding. In other words, complete the officiant’s section by having the witnesses, the marrying couple and the person authorized to perform the marriage, all sign the document, then bring it back to be recorded, or mail it in.

As they walked toward their vehicles, Mike asked Marie if she would rather ride back with him.

“You know I would,” she whispered back, “but I certainly don’t want to hurt Diana’s feelings. We should ride back the way we came.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” he said, nodding at the folder with the license in it.

“Yeah, isn’t it great. We’re actually going to be married tomorrow,” she whispered as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him before they parted for their rides.

“Martha’s?” Diana questioned her husband just before they separated for their vehicles.

“Sounds good to me,” he returned. “Let me check with her to see if she has room for our escort, though.”

“I’ll do it,” Diana interrupted to say. “It’s well after lunchtime, so maybe there will be room for everyone, otherwise, we’ll just go on home. No way are we going in to eat with our Security sitting in the parking lot hungry.”

“The ones in full combat gear...” Jeff began, only to be cut off.

“We’re not in a hurry, and Martha knows everything about us. We’ll have their orders sent out. The ones in civvies can go in and eat at the same time we do.”

“Sorry about the delay,” Jeff told Sergeant Higgins, referring to the stop, as the Prime briefed him on the secure radio.

With a chuckle, Higgins responded. “The guys watching from the helicopters might be pissed, but it will be because they didn’t get to eat with us. The rest of the team will be pleased to get a free meal at Martha’s. Just give me a few minutes to have the area secured before you go inside, Colonel,” he finished as he changed channels and called Security Headquarters.

In moments, another vehicle left the mountain, its occupants’ mission to make sure the restaurant was secure before Jeff and the others arrived. Martha’s slow period wasn’t going to be as slow this afternoon.

Later, as they finished their meal, Jeff told Martha that the helicopter pilots would be coming in at their convenience, instructing her to please feed them and send him the bill.

Moreau’s Compound

A frustrated Moreau thought about killing yet another of his personal assistants, but even his raving mind realized that killing Blankenship would accomplish nothing good. Besides, Blankenship had now lasted for several months, was efficient and didn’t manage to piss him off too often.

Little did he know that all that kept this assistant from killing his boss, and thus being killed himself, was laying his hands on enough 9 mm rounds for a novice shooter like himself to be certain he could kill Moreau.

What Moreau did know was that it was becoming almost impossible to hire mercenaries – any mercenaries. Word had gotten out that it was a one hundred percent certainty that working for him would mean death. Not one mercenary had returned from a single mission that involved Matthews.

Even Moreau’s personal security people, once a prestigious job, had become antsy around him with his moods frequently becoming violent. They were also well aware of how many assistants he had killed or was responsible for their having died or having been arrested to never be heard from again.

But all Moreau could seem to think about was killing the FBI agent and all those who had continued to oppose him. “How fucking hard can it be?” he raved aloud while sitting alone in his office, the remains of the destroyed monitor still on the floor beside his desk. “I can’t even get a good look at their little procession, let alone get a team in there to take them out.”

In addition, it bugged him to think that he might be under surveillance himself. This Matthews son-of-a-bitch seems to have the whole fucking army guarding that damn mountain. Hell, even the weather seems to be on the side of that piss-ant FBI agent. A tornado – a fucking tornado – hit just as a whole fucking, heavily armed, expensive-as-hell, group of mercenaries hit that house in Georgia. And what happened? Hell if I know. I’m just the guy who paid for the whole thing. It’s as if they fucking disappeared into thin air. Not even one expended casing showed up from their weapons. Just poof and they’re gone, and so was that FB-fucking-I dweeb. He’s young as hell, so how can he keep surviving group after group of guys who do nothing but kill for a living? Was this fucking Matthews guy helping him in Georgia? He had to have been. I paid out millions of dollars and I still know next to nothing, and most of what I do know is actually conjecture. But it stands to reason that Matthews isn’t just sitting on his ass. So, now the bastard, with all his apparent resources, has to keep hiding just like this fucking FBI agent is hiding from me. But, dammit, that also applies to me. How in the hell could this happen?

But then again, I don’t know that Matthews is actually watching me, but that has to be the logical conclusion. He’s rich, has all those resources, and I’ve been going after him. If it were me, I would be fighting back, but dammit, none of my people – well at least the ones who have survived – have seen a fucking thing. If they’re close enough to see what happens, they never return.

Snatching up his phone, he snarled to Blankenship, “Get in here.”

When his assistant hurried through the door, Moreau snarled out, “I’m being watched. I fucking know I am. I want you to find out how this fucking Matthews guy is doing it, and I don’t mean for you to take all year to do it, either, or I’m going to have yet another assistant. Do I make myself very, very clear?”

Before Blankenship could answer, Moreau went on, “I don’t give a shit how much it costs. Buy the technology, or whatever it takes, to out whoever the fuck or however the fuck they’re watching me. Maybe he’s using a fucking satellite or some other means that we haven’t thought of or noticed. Fucking find the fuck out,” he screamed, practically frothing at the mouth in his anger.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do my best, but...”

“If you want to keep living, get it fucking done.”

“Yes, Sir,” Blankenship mumbled as he turned to hurry out while thinking, I have a weapon. Granted, it’s made from spare parts, but it seems to work. All I need is a few bullets and a few seconds to decorate your chest, Mr. Asshole. I’ll be dead seconds later – chances are your security will make sure of that – but you’re going to kill me sooner or later, anyway. But ... this new assignment should give me a little leeway and it might just allow me to get what I need to kill your ass. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve screwed up this time.

The Prison Planet

... Between the roaring fire and the warmed skins, she had gotten over her short stint in the cold, but his arms felt good wrapped around her as she sat cocooned under the skins and, somehow, she didn’t want to move just now. Instead, she snuggled tighter against him and said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong,” he responded.

After a few more minutes, Jasmine was beginning to sweat from the fire and the warm skins wrapped around her, but she was reluctant to be free of his arms. “Thank you,” she said a little louder, and blushed even while she chastised herself for doing so. What’s the matter with me? Granted, I’m not that experienced, but neither am I some starry-eyed virgin. So? I screwed up, slid down a hill in the snow with my pants and panties hanging around my ankles, but I made it back with Lobo’s help, and could have gotten warm on my own. I was cold and uncomfortable, but I wasn’t dying, only just plain miserable.

After a moment of contemplation, her thoughts went on. I’ve had some very well educated men wanting to bed me while in the field, but I never took any of them up on it. There’s just no future in assignations with colleagues.

Another worry struck, and she gave a mental sigh. Morales seems to have a very keen sense of smell. If I sit here snuggled in his arms, he’s going to know that I’m becoming excited, and that would definitely send the wrong message. But darnit, I’ve never been this sexually turned on while in the field. I’m always focused on what I’m doing, and I made up my mind long ago to never have sex with the men I work with, let alone the asshole bigwigs that are frequently my superiors. But... she thought with a mental grin, Morales isn’t a colleague. Her mind balked at the direction of that thought, though. No, he’s a prisoner. What the crap is the matter with you, Girl?

While she continued to sit on his lap, her mind in a turmoil, he reached one-handed to slip her unlaced boots off. As he cupped a hand around her left foot, he made a sound and said, “It’s cold as ice.”

Coming to his feet with her still in his arms, he set her on the cook stool. “Where are your socks?”

“On top of my things,” she replied, motioning, “but I’ll...”

He lifted her legs and slid a rock under her feet. “I use that rock to warm my feet by the fire. You warm yours while I go get the socks.”

When he returned, he held the socks near the fire until they were warm, then slipped them on her feet before sitting her boots nearer the fire to warm, too. “The warm socks should help, but keep your feet on the rock for awhile,” he said with a smile. Taking her coffee cup, he topped it up before putting in a little more sugar and creamer. Realizing that she had finished the small amount of stew he had given her, he wiped the bowl out and put it in their new dishpan for later washing with the few breakfast dishes they would have soon.

Warm now and no longer sitting snuggled in his arms, she again thought about the intimacy that had just happened, and was embarrassed. “Mr. Morales, I’m not a novice at life in the field. It was stupid of me to screw up like that. I’m too experienced to do something quite that foolish, but I certainly could have gotten myself warm without your having to wrap me in furs and hold me.”

He looked as if she had thrown cold water into his face. “Uh, I didn’t mean to be so ... I mean. I wasn’t trying...”

What’s the matter with you, Girl? He was only trying to help. But, another part of her mind placed him firmly in the category of other guys who had gotten farther than she would have normally permitted by being overly nice to her, only to drop her after they got what they wanted. He’s a man who has been without a woman for a considerable length of time, and one who expects to be alone for the rest of his life. Don’t let him get under your skin by pretending to be Mr. Caring. A guy cares until he gets his dick in you, then it’s all about him. When he tires of you, he’ll drop you for the next dumb bitch. Morales has a life sentence, so some of that can’t apply to him, because you’re the only dumb bitch here, but you’ll be gone in a couple of months, Girl, and he’ll still be here.

But no matter how much she chided herself, there was still a part of her mind that remembered how good it felt snuggled under those furs with his strong arms wrapped tightly around her.

After donning her boots, she folded the skins and put them on his bed. Picking up her brush and positioning her mirror, she began straightening out the disaster that was her hair. After it was brushed out and back in a scrunchie, she walked toward him, her thoughts still jumbled. Noticing the expression on his face, she knew he was wondering why her mood had changed so drastically.

“Want a couple eggs for breakfast?” he asked, but the other question still shadowed his face.

With a mental sigh, she thought, You’re being a bitch and judging him by what others have done to you. On impulse, she grabbed him in a hug and laid her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. I really appreciate what you did.” Quickly releasing him, she took a step back. “I ... uh ... just thanks,” she finished, lamely. But knowing why she was leery of men who tried to be good to her, didn’t override her feelings completely, despite knowing that she was judging him by others who had preceded him.

But still, she thought, he’s a criminal. A murderer. He even killed his partner... Barely realizing it, she defended him against her own thoughts as she went on, But truth be told, his killing of his arrogant partner was probably a good thing, at least as far as his own personal survival was concerned. But, come on, Girl. You’re a physical anthropologist, not a cultural one. You only minored in cultural. So why aren’t you back in the ice cave looking for artifacts instead of wondering so much about how he and the wolves communicate. But still ... there are the rest of the shelves to dig out, and the outhouse to build. Doing number two in the snow is definitely not high on my want list, and using the chemical toilet in here is beyond embarrassing.

Oh, poo. You know that the main reason you’re here is because of your curiosity over the way he communicates with the wolves. So, screw it. You’re young. You’ll have time to work on that doctorate after this visit is over and done with. But, I’m in no hurry to go back to Earth. We’ll get the shelves done and everything stored properly, then I’ll help him build the log outhouse he envisions. After that, I’ll check out the ice cave. The General said he would wait for my signal to bring me back. I’m on sabbatical, so I’m not costing the General anything, well, other than the items I took for Morales. I have plenty of time.

“Eggs?” Morales reminded as he grinned at her.

Oh, crap. He probably thinks I’m just spaced out because of my experience outside. Taking a breath, she couldn’t help grinning back at him. “How many do we have?” When he held up two, she realized that she didn’t want to eat eggs if the wolves couldn’t have any. “Since we don’t have enough for all of us, why don’t we wait until the hens lay more?” she found herself answering.