"For Love or Money"

[NiceRPGuy]

Kent Davis tapped at his keyboard, transferring another $14 million. It was something the accountant at First Federal did all day long -- typically in much greater amounts -- so if any of his fellow workers had been looking over his shoulder, they wouldn't have paid him any attention, let alone questioned his actions.

And yet, he couldn't help but glance around the office nervously. What he was doing would put him in a Federal Prison for the rest of his life ... which wouldn't be long since the Cordoba's could easily and quickly have him killed regardless of what kind of deal for immunity and relocation the Feds offered him for informing on the drug cartel.

He continued typing at the keyboard, activating a trio of worms. In minutes, Kent had eliminated any record of the skimming he'd been doing over the past year; any record of the cartel's dealings with him personally; and any record of the transactions he'd been making today, including sending information about the Cordoba's to the FBI.



"Gaaaawd ...!" Kent grunted, so loudly that it set off his girlfriend's dog; as euphoria flooded through Kent's body, the yappy little Chihuahua sprinted a back and forth arc around the end of the bed, growling and chomping at the air as if trying to eat the satisfaction filling the room of his owner. Kent's head lolled back as the climax overwhelmed him; he grasped his lover's hips tightly, pulling her ass back against his groin as he felt his dick jerking, emptying deep inside of her. As the orgasm waned, Kent leaned forward, letting his weight push his long-time girlfriend flat to the mattress below him. He laid atop of her, spent, enjoying the pleasure, feeling the pounding of his heart, breathing deeply, waiting, until finally he had enough control to finish his exclamation with an almost whispered growl, "...all mighty."

He wasn't sure how long they'd just laid there, but soon she made that gesture and grunt that told him his weight was getting to be too much. He pulled out of her with a wet plop and rolled to his back beside her. She moved atop him, kissing his chest and face, asking, "My god, Kent ... what was that all about. You must have..."

She continued on, talking and kissing and caressing and fondling...

Kent didn't respond, doing his best to pretend she was no longer there; his climax was still raging through him, and -- with all of the things on his mind at the moment -- he simply didn't have an interest in post-coital chit chat. He'd given her the three orgasms that she defined as a good night's fuck, as well as two extra, simply because he'd had it in him tonight; and he'd gotten his one nuclear explosion that was all he ever needed to be satisfied with their time together in bed.

He didn't see why they couldn't just lay back now and go to sleep, happy and fulfilled. Three years of this shit, he reminded himself as she continued to chat on about his performance, wondering what had inspired the animal in him tonight. Oh, just fucking pass out!

Eventually, she did, and Kent rose and moved to his lap top in the next room. He checked the breaking news page, then scanned a few Law Enforcement and corporate banking news pages ... and a smile spread wide across his face.

With a pumped fist and a yell of Ye-e-e-es! -- which again set off the Mexican Rat running circles around his desk -- he stood and danced naked across the condominium's hard wood floor, doing his best impression of Lady Gaga as he sang, "Beautiful, dirty, dirty, rich, rich, dirty, dirty ... beautiful ... dirty ... rich!"

Once he'd gotten control of his glee, he returned to the computer to verify the public news with information he could only get from password accessed pages. He danced about in the chair as he verified that his worms were doing exactly what they'd been intended to do.

Kent snatched up his cell phone and, drawing and exhaling deeply, tried to assume a concerned, frightened emotional state. He tapped a speed dial number, gave a code word to the person who answered, then when he was connected to a man with a deeply accented voice, asked, "My god! What happened...? The Feds ... they're all over us! Do I need to disappear...? I can't go to jail! You have to protect me ... get me out of the country!"

The man on the other end told him to calm down, but Kent continued with the feigned panic until he was told a place and time to meet...



"Don't you think you could have picked a better place than a doughnut shop?" Kent asked with feigned panic. He glanced around at the 24 hour business's clientele, which included a quartet of cops sitting in the far corner. "Maybe we should have met at the Precinct. It would've been more convenient ... for incarcerating us!"

"Calm down," Juan Cordoba told him. "The Fed's don't know that you're the Family's accountant ... nor do they know that I'm in the country. So ... relax, and tell me what you know."

Kent recounted what he'd read on the web and learned from checking the accounts. Carefully glancing the direction of the cops occasionally, he confirmed what Juan already believed, that the FBI had located the money laundering accounts and seized them. Surprisingly, the most senior Cordoba in the U.S. not currently in Federal custody seemed very calm to Kent.

"But you're money," he whispered with excitement. "They got it all."

"No, they didn't," Juan corrected him. "The Feds only got the Cayman accounts ... only about two hundred million dollars, U.S."

"Only about two hundred million...?" Kent's acting skills continued as he took on an even more shocked expression. He'd been installing bits and pieces of the worm for months, testing it with small amounts of money that he knew no one would notice. When he'd finally activated it early in the day, it had not only taken the money Juan knew about, but would continue to seize accounts -- putting the blame on the FBI -- for several weeks to come ... amounting, ultimately, to almost $780 million. "Only...?

Juan gestured him silent again. "Go home. Go to work tomorrow. Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. I'll contact you when the time is right."

Kent pretended to continue his concern, but eventually stood and departed, looking this way as if he expected the Feds to suddenly swoop in from every direction. He wasn't truly concerned, of course. He'd covered his tracks well, and he'd pointed the fingers at the FBI in a way that there was no reason for Juan to suspect him.

Of course, Kent couldn't have been so wrong: Juan Cordoba always suspected every one...



The waves crashing against the sea wall made recording conversations all but impossible. It was the reason why Juan Cordoba did most of his business here, where the Safe House's property line met the Pacific Ocean. He turned to the woman standing a few feet away and, after giving the beauty a very conspicuous once-over ogle, told her, "Find the money first. Then ... bring him to me ... alive ... so that I can hurt him in ways that he never imagined."

He looked to the file folder on the table behind him, then -- knowing there was nothing more to be said -- turned to look out upon the setting sun and the blood red colors spreading across the horizon before him.

There WILL be blood...

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Swaying slowly to the seductive rhythm of the music, Alexandra unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the lace bra underneath. The deep red color was offset perfectly by her olive toned skin. Sitting in the chair in front of her, Urie Zetrof, middle-aged, fat and balding, could not keep his eyes from the alluring sight of her swaying hips, which were clad in a form fitting black leather skirt. Reaching behind her, Alexandra slowly unzipped the skirt, letting it fall to the floor and giving Urie a good eyeful of her matching lace panties.

"So beautiful." He said in a thick Russian, his hands reaching out to grip her hips and pull her closer. "So perfect."

Smiling down at him, Alexandra straddled her lover's lap, her panty covered crotch sliding against his lap. She could fee his arousal beneath her, his cock hardening inside his pants as she continued to rub against him teasingly.

"I want to fuck you, Alexandra." He kissed the smooth skin between her breasts, his hands hungrily exploring her body.

"Now, now, Urie," she said, her Russian accent perfect, as she gently pried his wandering hands from her body. "Good things come to those who wait." With a promising wink she climbed off his lap and moved towards the hotel room's wet bar. Her hips swayed with each step and she could practically hear Urie Zetrof panting. Pouring two glasses of vodka, Alexandra made her way back to the eager man, who had unzipped his pants in her absence, his small cock standing at attention. The sight of it made her want to vomit, but Alexandra was nothing if not a professional. Keeping a look of pure desire on her face, she straddled him once more, feeling his cock rubbing against her panties. She was grateful for the thin barrier the lace provided.

"To the new president of Semak Industries," she said, handing Urie one of the glasses. The lustful man quickly knocked back the vodka.

"Now we fuck." He said with a lecherous grin, his sweaty palms cupping Alexandra's breasts and pulling at them hungrily.

"No," Alexandra stepped away from his grasping hands, her accent gone and replaced with her true American accent. Urie looked up at her, confused. "Now," she said, leaning down close to him, the vodka on his breath was overwhelming, "now you die."

As if on cue, the poison that she had dropped into his drink only moments before took effect and the horny Russian collapsed in the chair.





Juan Cordoba stood in front of her, the imposing mob boss eyed her openly, but Alexandra didn't so much as blink. She was used to men ogling her, it was whether or not they acted upon their lecherous thoughts that bothered her. Alexandra had no problems playing the slut when she was on the clock, but on her own time, men had best stay away. She had no time for them in her life. They only fucked things up.

"Find the money first. Then ... bring him to me ... alive ... so that I can hurt him in ways that he never imagined." Juan directed, handing her a file folder. He had filled Alexandra in on the details when she'd first answered his summons. This wasn't the first job she'd done for the Cordoba family, and it wouldn't be the last either. She knew how they operated and they liked her because she got the job done, no questions asked.

"You'll have him within the week." She promised, taking the folder. Flipping it open she studied her target. Kent Davis looked like any other man she'd killed. He was good looking and from the look in his eyes he was used to getting what he wanted. Which meant that he loved the chase. Well Alexandra would play the game, but in the end she would come out the winner.





With her heels clicking down the marble hallway, she found Kent's office. Dressed in a tight pencil skirt and modest blue shirt, which offered just the slightest hint of cleavage, Alexandra knocked on his office door.

"Excuse me, Mr. Davis." She said when he opened the door, "My name is Alex Weaver, I'm your new secretary."

 

[NiceRPGuy]

"Excuse me, Mr. Davis," the woman at the door greeted, "My name is Alex Weaver, I'm your new secretary."

Kent looked Alex over for a long moment; he hadn't meant it to be an ogle, but by the time he'd decided what to say to her in return, it had become one. Despite the need for one, Kent had never had a secretary; he really hadn't wanted someone looking over his shoulders as he funneled millions in illicit drug profits into off shore bank accounts.

But, the dirty work was done, now. The money was safely hidden away, from both the FBI and the Cordobas. He was sure that he'd covered his tracks well, which meant that the prior wouldn't be arresting him and the latter wouldn't be torturing him, taking back their money, then skinning him and hanging him from a tree as an example to others.

Right...? he found himself wondering. He stood and flashed a polite smile as he rounded his desk to greet Alex. Could she be from the cartel...? Do they suspect me...? Do they want their money ... or my life ... of both? No...! No, they don't know. I'm VERY good at what I do.

"Welcome aboard," Kent told the woman, offering his hand out. He was totally oblivious to the danger Alex could be to him; all he saw was a beauty body that he hoped his charisma, his position as boss, and his millions of dollars would get him naked with in the very near future. "I've been meaning to ask for some help ... so, it's nice to see you here."

A co-worker stepped into the door way, telling Kent of an emergency board meeting before disappearing again. Kent acknowledged the man's news, then looking back to Alex, smiled politely and said, "Well, so much for introductions."

He snatched up his jacket and satchel and turned back to give Alex one last quick ogle before meeting her eyes and -- reaching for the stars -- lied to her, "Listen ... I am scheduled for a business conference in Seattle tomorrow, so ... I'll be out of town. I'll need you to go with me, of course."

He headed for the door, not wanting her to have a chance to say no. "Private plane at Turner Field, tomorrow morning at 9am ... okay?"

(OOC -- Sending you a PM. Read before you reply.)

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Alexandra could not believe her luck. After only two minutes of obvious ogling on Kent Davis's part, the man had quickly left for a meeting after instructing her to meet him on a plane the next morning. Now, Davis was gone from his office and Alexandra, as his secretary, had free reign to snoop around and see what she could discover.

Moving to his desk she quickly accessed his computer and after a few quick seconds she hacked into his private account. If there had been any record of his siphoning the money it was long gone. No doubt Davis had erased any paper trails that could lead back to him. The man was smart. But no so smart that he couldn't see past her tight skirt and blouse. Of course, Alexandra would have been disappointed if the job had been that easy. What was the point, after all, if you couldn't have a little fun with your victim first? To Alexandra toying with her victim, like a cat toys with a mouse, was just as much a thrill as killing them.



The next morning, she was up bright and early, ready for whatever Kent Davis had to throw at her. Dressed in a sheath style dark red dress with a square neckline and a black belt cinched tightly around her waist, Alexandra made her way across the tarmac to the private jet, her black Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking with purpose on the tarmac. Handing her bag over to the stewardess, she quickly climbed the stairs up into the jet, placing her sunglasses on top of her head as she ducked through the door.

As he'd said the day before, Kent Davis was already waiting for her, sipping on a glass of champagne as he waited for take off.

"What would your superiors say if they knew you were drinking in the morning." She teased, leaning her hip seductively against the seat in front of him. "But it will be our little secret if you share a glass with me." Her full lips turned up in a smirk as she sat in the seat across from Davis, her knee brushing gently against his as she sat.

 

[NiceRPGuy]

Kent was thankful for the angle of the early morning sun as he stared out the port side of the private jet. He simply couldn't take his eyes off Alex as she made her way to and up into the plane. Her dark red dress clung to her perfect figure as if shrink wrapped to her, and for that brief moment between reaching the top of the steps and entering the plane, with the sun silhouetting her, Kent would have sworn she was naked as the bright light penetrated the fabric and revealed the perfect curves that hadn't already been exposed to him by her selection of wardrobe.

You are ... SO ... in trouble ... with this one, buddy, he thought to himself, reaching casually down to his groin to readjust how his enlarging penis was laying within his slacks.

"What would your superiors say," Alex asked, stepping up close and standing over Kent, "if they knew you were drinking in the morning."

"I have no superiors," Kent said without hesitation. "Only people I work for."

His confidence had been riding high since his success at both stealing the Cordoba's money and shedding the blame for the leak to the FBI. When he realized how conceited the response sounded, though, he flashed a wide smile and blush a crimson red. "Sorry ... reflex in the presence of beauty."

That last comment was dead on truth; Kent had always had problems in the face of a beautiful woman. It took all of his will to keep from becoming Captain Awkward when he yearned for a woman -- like Alex -- who was obviously out of his league.

Of course, if he'd realized that his success with the Cordoba's hadn't been with all of them, and that his new secretary was a actually a plant from the cartel's new Don, feeling awkward would have been the least of his worries.

Kent gestured her to a seat, and signaled the Attendant to get a second flute for Alex. Only a moment after the tall glass of bubbly arrived, the powerful engines of the jet began to roar and the plane began its slow taxi for the end of the runway. Kent's gaze shifted several times during the vehicle's roll, but always between the same to places: his new assistant's unbelievable face and body, and the gray, cracked tarmac of the runway they were nearing.

Kent wasn't much of a flier. He'd only been up six, maybe seven times. Ironically, each flight had been to a foreign country to either establish the off shore accounts that he would hide the Cordoba's money in ... or establish new accounts at, ironically, the same banks in which to siphon that same money away. It was, again, awkward to be boarding this plane -- the first he'd ever chartered on his own -- to be going overseas to begin the process of reclaiming those millions that no one could seem to locate.

As the engines roared even greater and the plane surged ever faster forth, lifting from its rough, rattling roll to a smooth, climbing flight, Kent took a sigh of relief and looked across to Alex with a sly, knowing smile. "Oh ... yeah ... by the way. We're not going to Seattle. The, um ... meeting was canceled. But ... the flight was already booked and non-refundable ... so ... have you ever been to The Bahamas...?"

 

[SweetAsSuga]

The flight passed with relative ease. A little light flirting and conversation, plus some champagne, had Alexandra at ease. Kent Davis might believe himself to be some playboy man of mystery, but she would crack him before too long. Already she had caught him eyeing her body, trying to get a peak or two down her dress as she leaned over to pour herself more champagne.

Like taking candy from a baby, she thought to herself, the trace of a smile on her lips. All she needed to do was snap her fingers and Davis would have his pants unzipped and his cock out before she could blink. The seduction was nearly won, now she needed to get him to trust her or, at the very least, feel that she was harmless enough to open up to.

As the plane landed, the two disembarked. Alex walking ahead of Kent, her hips swaying just enough to give him a tease of what could come later. She could practically hear him panting behind her. Two cars waited for them at the end of the tarmac. Kent waved to the man who stepped out of a jeep, his linen pants and loosened tie were meant to give the impression that he had not a care in the world, but the light sheen of sweat on his balding head, along with the throbbing vein in his neck told another story. Perhaps this man knew something about the money? Could he be hiding the paper trail for Kent?

Kent greeted him with a manly slap on the back, not bothering to introduce Alex to the mysterious stranger. The man gave Alexandra a quick up and down before choosing to ignore her.

"Miss Weaver, Tony here will take you to where we're staying." Kent Davis said, tilting his head towards the man who stepped out of the second car. This one was dressed in khaki pants with a polo shirt, the insignia of the resort inscribed above his heart.

"Why thank you very much, Tony." Alex said, giving the young man her most dazzling smile as he took her bags and placed them in the trunk of the car.

"No problem, ma'am." He stammered as a blush crept up his cheeks.

"Feel free to charge anything you need to the room." Kent said, opening the car door for Alex. "The company is picking up the tab."


Before Alex could respond, he closed the door and turned to the balding man. As the car drove off, Alex could see them discussing something very adamantly, she only wished Kent hadn't packed her off so quickly.


Arriving at the resort, Tony led Alex down a secluded path that led to small bungalows, each one set back from the path so as to give the occupants privacy. Unlocking the door, he led her inside the airy bungalow. A cool sea breeze blew through the white gauze curtains, ruffling the matching canopy that surrounded the one and only bed in the bungalow.

Alex bit her lip to keep the smile from showing on her face.

So that's how Kent wanted to play it. He obviously had something unprofessional in mind for their time there. Well Alex wasn't going to protest. Though she often hated sleeping with her targets, it was often the best way to get the information she needed from them. One never knew what would be shared during some post coital pillow talk. Plus, Davis wouldn't be a horrible bed partner, he was decently attractive and, judging from the outline she'd noticed in his pants while on the plane, decently endowed. She could have done worse than be assigned to him.

Grabbing her sunglasses and purse, she made her way to the resort's boutique. She hadn't packed for the beach and needed to pick up a couple of things. Things that would make Kent Davis stand at attention.

 

[NiceRPGuy]

"No, no, no, no," Kent was telling the man walking beside him toward the beach. "Never use the word problem with me. There are no problems ...only opportunities."

"The only opportunity I see here," the bald man responded, "is the opportunity to go to prison."

Or get killed, Kent almost added. His banker -- on this island anyway -- had always been the nervous type. Kent had decided from the start to leave out the part about the money coming from a Colombian drug cartel and instead told him they were hidden profits siphoned from a shady hedge fund.

"Gregory, Gregory, Gregory," Kent said in a tone that was part reassurance, part sarcastic mockery. "Opportunity! This banking regulator you're having problems with...? You tell him your client wants a sit down meeting. You tell him it has to be tomorrow because I have a meeting with ...with some Sheik in Dubai. Google a name of your choosing. You tell him a penthouse suite will be reserved for him at the West Tropico the next isle over, and a guide will be there to help him with anything he needs ...and when you say guide ...you ensure he hears female guide ... sexy female guide ... you make sure he hears escort."

The banker stopped short, his mouth wide open in shock. "Let me get this straight. You want me to bribe a bank regulator with free air travel to another island, an expensive suite, and a hooker?"

"Yes," Kent said without hesitation. "Opportunity, my good friend. We're gonna make a new friend today."

"Or go to jail!"

Kent thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Or go to jail. But think for a moment, Greg buddy. If you were some old stodgy bank regulator from New York, would you choose to take on just another white collar criminal, knowing you would spend years trying to make your case ...only to see that alleged criminal walk ...because it's a non-violent crime ...or would you choose to get laid by a beautiful woman on a tropical island... and continue the good fight another day?"

Gregory stared at his employer for a long moment, then -- as if he'd suddenly put himself in the Regulator's shoes -- he shrugged and said, "Might work."

The banker stopped short, his mouth wide open in shock. "Let me get this straight. You want me to bribe a bank regulator with free air travel to another island, an expensive suite, and a hooker?"

"Yes," Kent said without hesitation. "Opportunity, my good friend. We're gonna make a new friend today."

"Or go to jail!"

Kent thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Or go to jail. But think for a moment, Greg buddy. If you were some old stodgy bank regulator, would you choose to take on just another white collar criminal, knowing you would spend years trying to

Gregory stared at his employer for a long moment, then -- as if he'd suddenly put himself in the Regulator's shoes -- he shrugged and said, "Might work."

Kent slapped the man on the back, then turned him to face the beach. "Gregory, my man ... look out there..."

Just a couple of dozen yards away, a variety of shades of tan on a variety of shaped bodies in a variety of states of dress -- from total nudity to Hey, take some off! -- filled a beautiful beach, edged by crashing waves.

"Are you looking...?" When the banker responded tentatively, not sure where his employer was going with this, Kent pulled out his money clip, ripped off several hundreds, shoved them into the man's hand, and said, "Go get laid. One of those beautiful bodies -- guy or girl, what ever your fancy -- certainly needs this money as badly as you need to get laid."

With that, Kent turned and abandoned his banker, saying comically, "Places to be ... people to see ... secretaries to ravage. Ta ta."

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Kent was taking his sweet time getting to the resort, so Alex took full advantage of the time she had to set up surveillance equipment around the bungalow. She hid cameras to cover every angle of the small space, hoping to catch whatever information she could. The faster this job was done the better. With the cameras set up, Alex changed into one of the bikinis that she'd picked up from the resort's gift shop, a leopard print bikini that showed off each curve of her body. She left her clothes laying on the bed by her suitcase, making sure that the edge of her lace thong showed just beneath her discarded dress. Grabbing a towel from the bungalow's bathroom, Alexandra made her way down to the private beach. She might as well take advantage of the time she had in the Bahamas and work on her tan. After all, who knew when she would be back in such a sunny place.

Laying out on her back, Alexandra closed her eyes and relished the way that the sun heated her skin. The gentle slapping of the waves on the beach, coupled with the sun's heat, was slowly lulling her to sleep. But Alex quickly shook herself awake and rolled onto her stomach. She unhooked the strap of her bikini top so as to avoid tan lines.

In the distance she could hear someone approaching the bungalow. Kent must have arrived.

Let the games begin, she thought as she waited for him to notice her out on the beach.

 

[NiceRPGuy]

Despite the carefree way in which he'd dealt with Gregory, Kent knew that the banker's concerns were valid. The great advantage to this day and age of electronic banking -- or, in Kent's case, money laundering -- was that you could perform almost any investment action from anywhere in the world in an instant. The disadvantage, of course, was that the IRS, FBI, FTC, and their counterparts in the dozen countries in which Kent had hidden money -- his and the Cordoba's -- could take that money just as fast; all they needed was suspicion, an account number, and -- usually but not always -- a court order.

He was about to enter the bungalow when he caught sight of a nearly naked, female body on the portion of the beach open only to the resort's guests. He stopped instantly, the animal in him screaming breed it! It didn't even concern him that the wonderfully rounded package of female flesh might not be Alex, but when he realized that it certainly had to be, his heart turned over, anxious to get as close to that as he could, and fast.

He hesitated for a moment, grimacing, before turning away and heading into the bungalow to retrieve the satellite phone. He plugged it into the scrambler -- disguised as a simple transistor radio -- and dialed a number; he'd learn the hard way -- getting one of Cordoba's men killed -- that you never programmed speed dial numbers into phones when you were the money man for a drug cartel.

"Do they have me?" he asked when he heard a familiar voice on the other end of the call. He listened for a moment, then in almost a rage hollered, "Don't give me that bullshit! Do they know about the accounts...? No... No...! Yes, I am ... Yes ..."

He rolled his head about in dismay and turned to head for the door, coming to the end of the scrambler's cord and stopping, kicking at the bed in frustration.

"It does me no good," he growled, "to put all that time and effort into stealing the money and moving it if you're fucking people knew about me in the first place! They'll just watch the money float around, waiting until the scoop up the rest of Cordoba's men, then take my money and arrest me! That's why I paid you over three hundred thousand dollars last year ... to tell me when your agency had eyes on me and my fucking money!"

He listened for a bit, then gave a simple farewell and secured the scrambler and sat' phone. He moved to the window and looked out upon Alex for a long moment. Even from forty yards, he could make out each and every wonderful curve of her womanly body. What's it going to take for you to nail this woman, buddy? he quizzed himself. What's it going to take ... how MUCH is it going to take?

Since he'd begun his secret life as a drug cartel money launderer, Kent had learned one thing about women: throwing money about was like dumping booze down their throats, in that it lessened their inhibitions and heightened their desire to be closer to him ... or, at least, closer to his money. It wasn't true for all women, of course; in fact, it probably wasn't true for the majority of women. But, Kent wasn't after those kind of women, so ... they didn't matter in his calculations.

The private jet, the Bahamas, the private beach, the boutique credit line; this was the way Kent got -- or bought -- his intimate moments these days. He could still remember the days when he met and wooed women with his charisma and chivalry. Those days were gone; Kent simply didn't have time to court a woman these days. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. It wasn't much of a life -- in fact, it sucked -- but it was the life he had currently.

Money... he thought, thinking of it in general this time, not in the amounts he would spend -- which were almost unlimited -- to spend the night between Alex's warm, inviting thighs. Gotta move some money.

He took the phone out again, powered up the scrambler, and dialed another number. A moment later, he ordered methodically, "Red account ... four million U.S. ... St. Marcus Church in Houston ... two million U.S. ... The Jefferson Children's Fund, St. Louis ... how much is left ...? The balance to the following account ... Grand Cayman National ... number four, six, six, six, seven, zero, nine ... read that back, please."

As he listened to the voice repeat back the order and account number, his gaze fell to the bed and the clothes upon it. He reached down to the red dress Alex had worn on the flight, moving it aside. He drew a deep breath of excitement at the sight of the tiny panties. God almighty ...

"Yes, that's it," he said, giving another quick farewell and, again, dealing with the phone and scrambler again. He hurried to the closet, stripped bare, fondled his semi-erect penis for a moment for the reason Edmund Hillary had been misquoted concerning Mt. Everest -- because it was there -- then dressed in pair of tight swim trunks that -- to his delight -- defined the family jewels quite well.

He headed for the sand, the waves, and -- most importantly -- Alexander Weaver.

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Minutes passed as Alex lay in the sand, listening to the gentle lapping of the surf. Though her eyes were closed, her senses were on high alert for any sound of Kent Davis making his way onto the beach. Tucked into the sand beside her, Alex's cellphone vibrated. The cameras, which were motion censored, had picked up Davis in the bungalow. Casually propping herself up on her elbows, the tops of her naked breasts coming into view, Alexandra grabbed her phone and punched in the security code to access the camera feed.

With the volume turned down low, she listened in as he gave pass codes over the phone to various accounts. A slow, victorious smile tugged at her full lips. She was one step closer to completing this assignment.

As Davis ended his phone conversation, Alex saved the video and sent it to Juan Cordoba. Now she just needed to figure out if these were the only accounts and how much more money he had stashed away.

Hearing foot falls in the sand, Alex glanced up to see Davis walking towards her in extremely tight swim shorts, which gave off a very nice view of what he was packing. Taking in his well built form, Alex gave him an innocent smile, thinking that getting the rest of the information wouldn't be too hard, or boring, a job.

"Hello, Mr. Davis." She smiled up at him, "I take it your meeting went well earlier?"