Hi folks, please be forewarned. This is a very long story. I haven't written one of those in a while and i keep getting e-mails asking for them, so as fall approaches and we all have more inclination to sit down in front of the fire with a nice long read, I decided to indulge. Those of you who want a quick story with a lot of sex scenes should probably skip this one. Also I have to warn you that I am again without the services of my regular editor and definitely in the market for a new one, so any experienced combat editors out there can feel free to contact me. I think that Callie did a good job here but she's back in school and doesn't really have the time. I must also regretfully inform some of you that I had told that I'd probably start slipping brief interludes that will lead up to this year's Halloween story in, that this story because of its length will not include one of those. Lastly look out for a bunch of old friends in this story. SS06

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"Hey, Will, have you seen this one yet?" yelled my best friend and office manager from the large shared space outside of my personal office."

I looked up from my computer screen and glanced in his direction. I took a sip of my now warm wild cherry Pepsi and looked at the clock on the wall of my office. I realized then that I'd missed lunch again. It seemed to happen a lot when I really got into a project.

I wiped my eyes and let them adjust to focusing on something other than the computer screen that was right in front of my face. "What?" I grumbled as I stood up and stared in his direction.

Danny was my exact opposite. We were so different that our close friendship amazed even me.

Danny is six foot four and weighs closer to three hundred pounds than to two hundred. People often make the mistake, because of his bellicose voice and aggressive yet friendly demeanor, of thinking of Danny as a former athlete. They think that is the reason for his bulk. They're wrong. Danny's bulk is all donuts and fried chicken. He has very little muscle it's all lard.

Danny is probably the least athletic man I know. He once missed three days of work for a back spasm that he got while bending over to tie his running shoes.

On the other hand, I'm five foot ten and weigh a hundred and seventy pounds. I actually have a gym in my house and work out every day and run at least six miles every morning. On days when the weather isn't good, there are two treadmills in our gym.

Danny is a friendly and outgoing person. He constantly talks to every member of our team. While doing that he keep each person on the straight and narrow project wise, but also makes sure the keep them on the healthy side of stress and burn out. His impromptu parties and lunches make our office a fun place to work. He's also in charge of hiring and counseling employees. He's the first person they see when they walk in every day and the last person they see before they go home.

I on the other hand rarely talk. I'm usually so involved with whatever I'm working on that I hardly ever leave my office. The only things that can ever get me out of my office are meetings with clients, Danny forcing me, or my wife. But since my name is on the door, I'm the one who fires people when it's necessary or unavoidable.

I wander over to Danny's desk. It is of course the opposite of mine. The funny thing is that we have the exact same set up. We both have two HP touchscreen computers powering three monitors.

In my case one PC and two of the monitors are for running AutoCAD. I'm an architect so I keep all kinds of designs and specs on that computer. In my case, the design computer isn't networked. It isn't even connected to a printer. If I need to transfer anything from that computer or print anything, I use a flash drive to transfer it to the other PC. That one is used for general office stuff and internet access.

Danny's system is of course outfitted differently. He has one monitor for office stuff. He has another monitor for internet stuff and his last monitor is for him to watch TV on.

My office is pretty stark. Except for a few photos on the wall of my wife, it is pretty much unadorned. I could take those pictures down and everyone would think the office has never been occupied.

Danny's desk is cluttered with every souvenir and collectable piece of crap you can find. His desk blotter proudly proclaims that a neat desk is the sign of a cluttered mind. He smiles at me as I approach.

He's staring at his internet monitor and grinning from ear to ear.

"Why didn't you tell ME at least?" he asks, pointing a finger that is still greasy from the Coney dog he's eating.

"Tell you what?" I ask.

"That Becca is making the transition from modeling to movies," he gushes as if he knows everything.

"Because the only transition that Becca is going to make is from modeling to motherhood," I said. "At least once a week, she tells me that she wants to have a baby and soon."

"She's high," he spits out. "She needs to grab all of the dinero she can, while she's got that body. Then the two of you can sit back and get fat together, later on. Shit, any woman can lay back and spit out a kid. The trailer parks are full of girls who aren't even out of high-school and have a couple of kids. But how many women can say that they were a genuine super model?"

I looked at him as if I was puzzled.

"Will, think about it," he said.

"I don't get it," I told him.

"Shit, Will, you've been working too hard, dude" he said. "There's millions of trailer trash hotties out there, but how many super hot models are there? It's a case of rarity, dude. Do you get it now?"

"No," I said. "I know at least ten or twelve women that you'd call supermodels. I don't know anyone who lives in a trailer though."

"Grrrrrr," he growled at me.

"Besides, what makes you think Becca wants to go into film?" I asked.

"This encounter that I got from one of those super-secret internet entertainment sites," he said. "They have all of the news that most of the celeb media doesn't get or can't run."

He clicked his mouse and I watched as a nearly six foot woman ducked out of a building, trying to avoid being seen. She was clutching the hand of a shorter greasy looking guy, with glasses and a general unkempt appearance. She wore a hat and a long trench coat and kept sticking her hand in front of her face to obscure it from being seen. She was holding the man's hand and trying to avoid the reporters and photographers.

"See," said Danny. As we watched the reporters swarmed the woman, firing question after question at her. It just seemed off to me. Normally, Becca would always stop and politely answer any questions that she was asked. She was very grateful for what she did for a living. Even if it sometimes meant that she lost a bit of her privacy. We also had a pretty good way of dealing with it. Becca had two sets of ID.

One set that she used while working, that proudly proclaimed her as Rebecca Miranova. The other set that named her as her actual legal name Becca Temple. After a shoot, she'd just throw her hair in a ponytail, take off her make-up, throw on a baseball cap and get onto a plane as a tall and thin but unassuming wife of an up and coming architect. She'd even taken classes with several speech therapists and could for a few moments hold a conversation in which she'd sound like a typical Midwesterner.

But there on Danny's monitor she sounded like a formerly Russian supermodel and she wasn't taking any time to answer any questions.

"See," said Danny again.

"Okay, Dan, work with me, here," I said. "What did you see in this interview that makes you think she's going into film?"

"Well she's clearly trying to avoid the reporters," he said. "Your wife doesn't do that. She even let's high school reporters interview her. She's nice to everyone. Two, look at that little nerdy dude that she's with. He's obviously some kind of movie producer. That's why there's all of this secrecy. They're discussing exactly the kind of film she needs to break into acting. A lot of models try to go into film and let's face it, they suck. Just because they're good at being a mannequin, or strutting their tiny little asses down the runway, it doesn't always translate."

I watched the monitor again and saw Becca duck into a car with the man. The alarm bells went off in my head then as once they got inside of the car the camera caught a fleeting glimpse of her leaning over to kiss the man.

I didn't need to drag Danny into it so I pretended I hadn't noticed it. He was so busy making plans for my wife's movie career that he hadn't seen it.

"Danny, I missed lunch," I said. "I think, I'm going to call it a day."

"Sure, you're the boss," he smirked. "You get to just up and leave in the middle of the afternoon on a fucking Wednesday. Bosses often do that and..."Oh I get it," he said smiling broadly.

"You want to go home and give your hot assed wife the bone train. Just seeing my little video here has started your salmon swimming upstream, huh?" he quipped.

"Whatever?" I said.

I grabbed my coat and my laptop from my office. I stopped and downloaded my work files onto a four gigabyte flash drive. I have a similar setup at home so I can work there for a while if I feel like it.

I smiled and waved at several of my employees on the way out. Once I got to out parking lot, it was easy to spot my car. It was the only screaming yellow 2013 Mustang GT around. Becca thought it was odd that my car wasn't like my outwards personality.

I guess she thought of me as shy and studious, so my car should be something understated that doesn't stand out as well. It's pretty simple. From the time that I was a kid growing up, I loved cars. I had hundreds of Hot Wheels cars and tracks to run them on. Of the more than a hundred toy cars, at least thirty of them were Mustang variants.

Once I got my license, I drove the family car for a couple of years but when I went away to college, I had choices to make. My dad's biggest factor in picking a car for me was budget. He told me that I had x amount of dollars that he'd pay for a car for me. It was enough for me to get a nice, new small car. I told him I'd wait until the end of the summer and save the money that I earned over the summer too. He thought it was very responsible of me.

At the end of the summer between the money dad was offering and the money I had saved, I shocked my dad. I didn't get a new car. I got a six year old 1999 Mustang GT. When I drove it home, my mom didn't bat an eyelash. She looked at my dad who was still sputtering in outrage.

"What did you expect?" she asked him.

Since that first car, I had never driven anything else. Every car I've ever owned has been a Mustang. After trading that first one in after my first big payday as an architect, I've managed to keep every other one I've earned.

Something about the design of the car and what it symbolizes strikes a chord in me. Mustangs say America and freedom and unbroken continuity. Since 1964, Ford has produced the Mustang. Unlike a lot of Muscle cars, they've never gone away. The Challenger, the GTO, the Charger and the Camaro have all become popular again. As of late, the car companies are trying to grab the market of people who are interested in Muscle cars again. The Mustang has been here since it all began. It's the only one of those cars that has always been here. There are more Mustang clubs across the country and the world than almost any other car type.

Another thing about the car that I really love is that it can be the ultimate ice breaker. From both strangers I meet on the street to clients I meet for business, the car gets a response. It just pulls something out of people in the way that a Toyota or a Volkswagon or for that matter a Saturn, simply doesn't.

My thoughts on that day weren't on the car though. As much as I ordinarily loved driving, my mind was on other things.

The only thing I loved more than that car was my wife, and my feeling was that unlike my car, she wasn't mine alone. Most of us know where we fit in the world. We all rise to a certain level like water. When the ice melts in the spring and the rivers rise, we know that eventually those same rivers will go back to the levels that are appropriate. At the same time if the summer is particularly hot and the levels drop, we know that only a few rains will bring them back close to where they usually are.

I guess it's the same way with people. As much as I love her, in the back of my mind, I've always thought that Becca was too good for me. I always felt like she'd settled. And to be truthful, I've always felt that one day, she'd leave me for someone who was on her level.

I guess that's why, I've never really commented or participated much in her conversations about us having kids. As much as I'd like to have children, I've always thought it would be a mistake for us.

I don't think I could handle being one of those dads who only see their kids every other weekend. There's also the fact that I want my kids to have as normal a life as possible. And to have them dragged around the world according to Becca's schedule wouldn't allow them to do that.

Becca had pretty much been able to dictate when and if she travels. Right now she's on the top of her game. Clients are willing to locate her shoots here in town or very close. And when she does have to travel, we usually go as a vacation.

There's also the fact that I know most of the photographers she works with. Most of them have been to our home at one time or another and they all know exactly how I'd react if one of them were to try something with her.

But in the end, I guess it all comes down to faith and trust. In every relationship, both parties have to be able to trust their partners. They have to have a clear understanding of what they can and can't do to stay in that relationship. There are some lines that just can't be crossed with some couples.

Becca and I know several couples, mostly from her side, who have very liberal views on their marriage vows. Some of them are into swinging or simply have open relationships. Becca knew going in that I wasn't like that. I get jealous at the drop of a hat. The funny thing about it is that Becca does too.

In fact, it was Becca's jealousy that actually made me realize that the two of us might have a future together.

Five years ago, I got a commission to design and build a new wing on a house for a guy in California. He loved the designs and I worked with the contractor to make sure that everything came out the way we wanted. After the renovation was complete the owner decided to throw a huge party to show off his new space. I was invited and went back out there for the party. He had several university students who interned for him at the film studio he worked at, working the party as well.

One of those interns was my sister Ava. There were so many actors and models and entertainment types at the party that normal people stood out simply because no one could tell who we were.

I was just getting out of a failed relationship with my college sweetheart and wasn't looking to meet anyone. Ava like a good little sister was always on the lookout for someone she thought would make me happy. I turned her down. I didn't want to meet anyone. I did have conversations with several very famous people of both sexes, but I didn't stay with anyone at the party for very long. I figured that being famous, they had better things to do than talk to me.

I gravitated to the side of the house where there were fewer people. I spent time looking at the host's art collection. I was lost in one of his Warhol prints. Mostly because it took me a while to get a perspective on it that actually made it seem more like art and less like junk. Then she came into the room.

I have to admit that I gave her more than the once over. I looked at her body. She was tall, a couple of inches taller than me. And she's built deceivingly. Her breasts are fuller than they appear when she's clothed. And she has some hips on her. No one would ever accuse her of being top-heavy and she's never going to grace the cover of "Bubble Butt" magazine. But she has some very alluring curves.

I think the thing I spent the most time studying was her face. Beeca's features are so interesting that I could write a book about them. Her eyes are luminous. So much so, that they appear to glow when she's happy. Her nose is almost an after-thought. It's so tiny that it looks like God took one look at what he'd made and said, "Shit, she has to breathe too doesn't she?" So he just threw a nose between her eyes and above her mouth.

Her lips are thick and full and naturally a dark rosy color. There are times when it looks as if she's wearing lipstick, when she actually isn't.

And then there's that mane of long thick brown hair. Her hair is too thick and too heavy to move. Becca's hair could be a weapon. It isn't like those women you see on TV where every time they flick their heads, their hair flits around.

Becca's hair goes nearly to her ass and it's like ballast if she turns her head hard enough to move all of that hair it's going to knock the shit out of someone or something.

When we first met, Becca still had a very heavy Russian accent. "Take peecture. Lasts longer," was the first thing she said to me.

"Sorry," I blurted out. I quickly left the room. I moved back towards the host's large garage for safety. First, because I wanted to look at his collection of cars again; and secondly because I really wanted to compare the actual house to the model of it that I'd made to show him the design.

Just as I was comparing the angle of awning over the sun balcony on the model, to how it actually turned out on the actual house, I sensed someone behind me.

I turned and looked into those bottomless eyes. "Why are you going where I go?" she asked.

"In both cases, I was in the rooms first," I said. "Are you accusing me of reading your mind?"

"Not accusing anything," she said. "Am just tired of being stared at."

"You should get used to it," I said. "You're so beautiful that people just get lost looking at you."

"Three years ago, people called me..." she looked as if she'd drawn a blank. "What is word for long neck deer?"

"Bambi?" I asked.

"No, dear with long, long neck not normal deer," she said emphatically.

"Oh, a giraffe," I laughed.

"Yes," she said bestowing one of her dazzling smiles on me. "I was waitress and...I was terrible waitress, but this is California. You know how that goes. There are beautiful and tall women everywhere. The ones who can sing become singers. The ones with big boobs become actresses. The ones who like to fuck become prostitutes."

I looked at her because I'd never seen her in a movie. And her voice was too heavy yet at the same time to scratchy to imagine her having a pleasant singing voice.

"The rest of us..." she began again. "The ones who can't do any of those things are models."

I breathed out a sigh of relief. There were far too many questions going on in my mind. I truly had imagined that she was some kind of high priced hooker. I was sure that even though my annual salary was in the mid six figures, I couldn't afford her.

"What is this toy?" she asked pointing to the model. "Where did you get it?"

"It's not a toy," I said. "It's an architectural model. It's like a 3-D representation of what the house was supposed to look like when the remodel was done."

"Oh..." she said. "I thought you were going to bring out your G. I. Joe collectibles and say that they all lived in this house. My photographer Joey is the beegest nerd. He has hundreds of Star Wars dolls...Sorry, they are not dolls. They're ACTION FIGURES." Then she laughed and if I hadn't been attracted to her before then, her laugh would have won me over.
"Why do you have this dollhouse...I mean architectural 3-d model?" she asked smiling. "Are you a nerd too?"

"No, I'm and architect," I said. "I designed the house. That's why he invited me to the party."

"So you're not..." she began.

"Nope," I said. "I'm not some famous guy."

"Then you're not trying to act like you're too cool for the room?" she said in shock.

"Nope, I'm just a regular guy. I'm not really comfortable in big parties, so I tend to move away from the crowds."

She slapped her hand over her face. "So when you said that I was beautiful, you really meant it? It wasn't just some boollshit line?"

"Nope," I said. "It was just my opinion." She was becoming more and more animated and my ability to accept what I considered irrational behavior, even from a woman as beautiful as she was, had worn out, so I went back inside the house.

Once there I looked around the room and wondered what I was doing there. I waved at my sister who was carrying a tray of drinks and quickly slipped outside and left the party.

A few days later, back at home, I answered my phone absent mindedly while staring as usual at the designs I was doing for a building.

"Yeah?" I said as I spoke into the phone.

"That is not polite way to answer phone," she said. I was shocked. I knew instantly who it was, but couldn't figure out how she'd gotten my number or why she'd call me. I figured very quickly that she must've gotten my number from the guy who held the party and she probably wanted me to do something with her house.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"Now you sound like you are working in a store?" she laughed. "You left the party before we were finished talking. I had to track you down."

"Why?" I asked. "You're some kind of model or entertainment person. You live in California and I live in Illinois, just outside of Chicago. I design buildings and homes. It's not glamorous and you probably make a lot more money than I do. I'm a normal boring guy. I do normal boring things. You can probably walk down your street and talk to twenty or thirty millionaires or famous people the same way I walk down my street and talk to my mailman or a bag lady."

"So what are you trying to say?" she asked in a huff.

"I'm trying to say that we're not the same kind of people. We don't travel in the same circles. We don't do the same things. We don't like the same things and you'd be wasting your time," I said.

"So now you've changed your mind and you don't like me?" she asked. "I'm not beautiful anymore?"

"I didn't say that," I said.

"But what you're saying is that when we looked at each other, there was no spark and I was imagining the whole thing?" she asked.

"Well, no, I'm not saying that either," I stuttered.

"Have you thought about me at all since then?" she asked.

"Well..." I said tentatively.

"Well what?" she asked.

"Okay, I thought about you some," I said. "But what does..."

"You only thought about me some?" she asked. "I've been obsessed with you. It's lucky for you that my friend Ava had your number. She told me I should call you."

It was really strange but we started dating on the weekends. Either I would fly to California or she would fly to Chicago. It got to the point that the five days between the weekends were torture for both of us. And thank God for unlimited phone packages because there were some nights when I'd call her when I first got home and we'd stay on the phone for three or four hours or until one of us fell asleep.

It was actually the telephone that made me realize that we had a problem. Apparently one night Becca called me and my phone was busy. She then called Ava and her phone was busy too. She called us both back an hour later and both lines were still busy. Becca doesn't do jealousy well. She left her apartment and drove to Ava's dorm. She stormed in and started calling Ava all kinds of names and tried to fight her.

Two of the guys who lived in the dorm room next to Ava had to come in and restrain Becca until she calmed down. When she did calm down she wouldn't listen to anything Ava had to say. She just stormed out and drove right to the airport with no luggage and got on the first available plane. Luckily Ava had the foresight to call me.

When Becca showed up cursing and screaming at me, I was ready for her.

"You bastard," she yelled. "I loved you."

"I still love you Becca," I said calmly.

"No you don't," she hissed. "Or you wouldn't be spending all of your time talking to chunky girls."

I looked at her and shook my head.

"If you love me, you have to promise me that you won't ever talk to her again," she screamed.

"I can't do that Becca," I said.

"I knew it," she screamed. "You love her don't you?"

"Yep," I said. "And I have for a very long time."

"How long?" she asked she was calming down.

"About twenty two years," I said.

"But she's only twenty three," said Becca.

"Well, I was kind of jealous of her when she was first born," I said. "Here, let me show you something." She was still angry but I got her to come over to my couch. I showed her the photo album I'd gotten ready for her.

As she looked through and saw pictures of me growing up she also saw a lot of photos of Ava.

"She's your..." she began. She had the biggest smile on her face. Then she turned red.

"Yep, Ava is my baby sister," I said.

"Neither of you ever said anything about that," she hissed. Even as she whined she snuggled herself in and wrapped her long arms around me. "I feel so stupid," she gushed.

"No you don't," I said. "You feel warm and soft and..."

"Stop that," she smiled. She pulled my hands out from under her sweater. "You have to call Ava, first."

"Why so I have to call my...chunky sister?" I asked.

"Oh please don't tell her I said that," she whined. I dialed the phone and handed it to her. After a few minutes of them chattering away she handed the phone to me.

"Hey sis," I said.

"Will, that woman is crazy about you," she said.

"I feel the same way about her," I said.

"So maybe you should do something about it," she said.

"I'm trying to, but she won't let me take her clothes off," I laughed.

"No stupid, I meant something permanent, like getting married and having kids," she said.

"Ava, that's ridiculous. Becca is going to be one of the top models on the planet. She has a very bright future ahead of her. In a few years she won't even remember me. You know it, I know it and she knows it. You act like I'm supposed to change both of our lives by just saying, Hey, Becca, ya wanna get married? Don't be..."

"Yes!" yelled Becca from across the room.

She snatched the phone and started kissing me. I was totally shocked. I had no idea what was going on. I didn't even realize that she'd been listening to me. I hadn't listened while she was talking to Ava so I guess I thought she hadn't either.

As I pulled into my long driveway, I realized that the car had gotten us home on its own. I don't remember leaving the freeway at my exit. I don't remember whether or not I stopped at stop signs or even if I ran through any red lights. I'd been so lost in my memories of meeting Becca and the early days of our relationship.

It's funny. I never spend much time thinking about how we got together. But now that it's probably going to end it's all I can think about.

I got out of my car after grabbing the laptop. I closed the car door and noticed that she'd already noticed me. The transformation is amazing. One second she's lying there on a lounge chair in front of our pool. She's the very epitome of beauty with a light sheen of suntan oil on her body. The tabloids would probably pay money for this shot of one of the world's most beautiful women relaxing during her time off. In the next second, she's looked across the yard and seen me and she jumps up and trips, barely avoiding an awkward fall in a clumsy tangle of thin arms and super-long legs. The super model's poise and grace are lost in the frenzy of a woman who has clearly missed her mate.

"Hmmm," she says hugging me. "Home early. I think someone missed me." She presses her body against me in a full on hug. She doesn't give my clothes or her tanning oil any thought. "

"Let's go upstairs," she growls.

"Becca, I might need to work for a little while," I whine.

"At the office, you work," she said. "At home, I'm your job. So yeah, let's get upstairs and do some work."

"Well what about dinner?" I asked.

"There's a phone in the kitchen," she smiles. "I'll use it to make pizza."

Ten minutes later we were in our room thrashing away at each other. Becca has very unusual tastes when it comes to sex. I think that most people have the wrong idea about her. Most people think that because they've seen her on the covers of so many magazines or so many entertainment shows, that they know her.

They don't. It's strange to hear men talk about her as they look at a magazine cover. They believe that because she's photographed a certain way, that they can tell what she's like.

Becca and her mom came over here from Russia after her father was killed in an industrial accident. He worked in a stamping plant over there and a press malfunctioned. The piston, under incredible pressure, ruptured the side of the cylinder it worked in and a huge shard of metal hit him in the head. From what she tells me it happened so quickly that he died instantly.

She and her mother came to the US, after that. Her mother had trouble finding work at first. She ended up working for an Aunt of hers who'd been in the country for a long time and owned a cleaning service. Her aunt no longer had to do any cleaning. She just scheduled the women who did.

Becca thought that would be the best job in the world. She wanted to be like her aunt and just sit in an office and tell others what they had to do.

When she turned 18, Becca got a job with her aunt too. After starting out, and getting fired, for being the world's worst waitress. She'd turned to her aunt, who gave her a chance. She was cleaning a hotel room and the guest who had the room noticed her. The woman was a modeling agent, the rest was history.

But where the world saw a glamorous sexy model, I saw my simple little Russian girl wife. Becca loves to kiss. And she likes to fuck but that's all. She thinks oral, whether getting or giving is kind of dirty, so we don't do it very often. We've never done anal. I'd tried it a few times before we got together, but it's not really something that I miss.

I guess despite the fact that frat boys the world over are staring at posters of my wife and imagining that her sex life is probably off the chain, she's still the girl her parents brought her up to be. I think that most of those frat boys would be disappointed too. Our sex life is probably way too "vanilla" for them, but it's perfect for us.

For us sex isn't about trying fifty different positions or wearing costumes and spitting on each other. We aren't into swinging or role playing or costumes. Sex for us is about connecting. It's about putting my dick in her pussy and us rubbing against each other until the line between what's her and what's me, blurs.

So as she sheds her clothing and drags me into the bed, we already know what we're going to say to each other and how we're going to say it. She lies down on the bed waiting as I strip and kiss her on her upper thigh.

Where most women would be aglow at the thought of getting their pussy eaten, she just stares at me.

"Honey, you've been at work all day," she whines. "We don't have time for that foolishness, get up here."

Apparently I'm not moving quickly enough for her. She grabs my hand and drags me onto the bed where she quickly straddles me, mounts me and starts the process by reaching behind her-self and grabbing my dick. She lines it up with her already wet slit and pressed herself forward. Both of us let out sighs as my rampant erection slides home.

"It's been too long," she gushes.

"It's been six hours," I laugh.

"See what I mean," she quips. After that we're too busy kissing and rubbing for any of our words to make sense. When both of us are spent and Becca is doing some very un-sexy snoring, I crawl from the bed and go into my home office.

I pride myself on being a good judge of people and I can't for the life of me, see any sign that she's cheating on me. When she looks into my eyes and tells me she loves me, I believe her. When she awakens and walks naked through the house until she finds me and drapes herself across me, I can't imagine her even speaking to another man let alone kissing one.

The thought of her fucking some greasy little guy and making a fool of me, upsets me.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I told her reaching for her and running my fingers along one of her mile long legs.

"Is there something that you want to tell me about or talk to me about?" I asked her. "She looks away for a second as if she doesn't want me to see her face."

"No," she said at first. "Well, there is something, but I need time to figure out how to bring it up."

"Just say it," I told her.

"No I can't," she said. "This is going to be hard because it's just not something we've talked about and I just don't want to risk messing us up. A lot of my friends..."

And that's when I went on alert. I knew what a lot of her friends did. A lot of her friends were so God damned full of them-selves that they figured their shit didn't stink. A lot of her friends weren't married. A lot of her friends who were married still figured that they could fuck around on their husbands because they were so God damned beautiful that their husbands would be stupid to let them go.

I guess a lot of people might agree with them. I can hear their rationalizations in my head. "Okay, so she screwed another guy. She still comes home to you. And it's not like it happened often. It's just something happens every once in a while. And you can do it too."

No thanks, I think. We got married to each other. We didn't say vows that allowed us to bring other people into the marriage and then stay together. I suspected from the beginning that our marriage wouldn't last, but I loved her so God damned much and I wanted to believe her so badly that I went for it anyway. And now all of my chickens were coming home to roost.

The next morning I felt worse. There was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Becca's evasiveness had only fed it. Before now, there had never been anything that she needed to figure out or think about before she talked to me about it.

I already knew what was going on. The bloom was off of the rose. The honeymoon that we'd been on for the past five years was over. My darling Becca was bored with our life or maybe she just needed to spice it up. She was trying to decide whether to tell me or not. Maybe what she'd done had been a brief affair and she just wanted to come clean. Maybe it was something she wanted to pursue and she either wanted me to step aside or to allow her to do it.

Those four words she'd uttered yesterday had told me the whole fucking story without her having to actually say anything. "Most of my friends..." she'd said.

I should have finished the sentence for her. "Most of your friends are whores." Sure the world sees them as actresses or models or whatever, but they were all women who screwed around with every guy who struck their fancy. The ones who were married either participated in the game or looked the other way hoping that it wouldn't last for long and that she'd come back. Maybe the bitch would buy me a sports car or some trinket as a reward for my forgiveness.

To me those guys were wimps. I was thinking about that Dokken song, "Breaking the Chains," as I drove in to work that next morning.

Danny waved at me as I walked in. I called him over and he followed me into my office.

"Danny, remember when your sister got divorced?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Her husband was cheating on her. It was a real shit-storm. She's still not right in the head. She doesn't even date. It's really fucked up. She's still Hetero but she hates men. Every guy we set her up with comes back vowing to never date another divorced woman and..."

"Do you remember the lawyer she used?" I asked interrupting him.

"Fuck yeah," he smiled. "That bitch was a shark. She cut Ed up and had him begging to only give Elaine half of everything and he still..."

"Can you get me an appointment with her or have her call me," I said.

"What for?" he asked. "Do you know someone who's considering a divorce?"

"Yeah," I said. "Me." His eyes bugged out.

"But why," he whined. "Rebecca loves you. Maybe it's a mistake. It's probably just a rumor or some type of Hollywood gossip. Whoever told you something was probably lying because they're jealous of what you two have and..."

"Danny the person who alerted me that something was going on was you," I said.

"Me," he said. "You can't fucking trust me. I'm full of shit. I've never liked me and I know me pretty well."

"Just get me the phone number," I said. Danny walked out of my office looking at me over his shoulder and shaking his head. A short time later he came back in and brought me a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

I dialed the number and after speaking to a receptionist and then an assistant I was connected to Sally Hawks.

"Hawks," she said answering the phone.

"Ms. Hawks, I think I need a divorce," I said tentatively.

"What do you mean think?" she spat. "You either want a divorce or you don't."

"Well I don't want one," I said. "But..." I hesitated.

"What makes you THINK that you NEED a divorce?" she asked in a softer tone.

"Yesterday a friend of mine showed me an online video of my wife dodging reporters and getting into a car with another man. Once they got in the car, she kissed him. Who knows what else they've been doing, but the kiss was enough for me."

"So do you have any proof that anything is going on other than the online video?" she asked. "And wait a minute, why would there be video of your wife online and why would she be dodging reporters?"

"My wife is Rebecca Miranova," I said.

"Your wife is a fucking super model?" she said sucking in a breath.

"Yes," I said.

"So, now I understand why you called me," she hissed. "She's probably screwing every Hollywood hunk she can find. And you're tired of it. You've decided to take the bitch for every God damned nickel she has and..."

"No," I said softly. "I do okay financially. I don't want or need anything. I just want to get out of the marriage."

"Are you out of your God damned mind?" she asked. "You're willing to walk away from money? What planet are you from?"

"Look, I still love Becca," I said. "I'm grateful for the time we had together. But I won't be a fool for her or anyone else. If she wants to do whatever it is she's doing, I just want out."

"Well first you need to get some kind of proof," she said. "We need to hire a PI. Are you going to shake some cash loose from the money tree or should I get you someone cheap?"

"I've already told you, that I do okay financially," I said. "Maybe I should hire my own PI and get back to you once I have the evidence."

"Okay, do that," she said. "I got the idea that she was thinking about how famous my wife was and how much it might do for her career."

As soon as I hung up the phone my phone rang again. On the other end of the line was my current client, Alex Blake. After chatting for a few moments about some things he wanted me to add to the design, he asked me if I was okay.

I don't know why but I told him without telling him the details what was going on. "Whoa been there, done that," he said. "It's one of the roughest things you can go through."

"But your wife is so beautiful," I said. "And she's..."
"She's my second wife," he added. "I met her as I was going through something with my first wife."

"I know you're in advertising," I said. "But you just don't seem like the type for cheating and all of that."

"Oh I never cheated," he said. "But my wife and most of the country thought that I did. I had to get a really good PI to get me out of it. Do you want her number? She's the best there is at what she does and she's a friend beside that. I can't guarantee you that she'll take your case but talk to her anyway."

I wrote down the number and told him I'd call her.

* * * * * *

Sarah

My name is Sarah Price. I'm the best there is at what I do. At this point in time, what I do seems to be being clumsy and ungainly.

Just as I lay down for my afternoon nap, the phone rang. I flailed away at the bed trying to get up. I felt like I'd swallowed a watermelon whole. After a few moments of useless flailing I managed to push myself up into a sitting position and guide my swollen feet to the floor. By the time I got to my feet and got my balance, the phone had stopped ringing.

Stifling a curse I waddled over to the phone to check the caller ID and see who'd just called me. The number was a very familiar one. It was work. I wondered what they were calling me for. I was now a full partner at the Arturo Rios Investigations Agency that I'd worked for, for what seemed like forever.

I hit the redial button and he picked it up immediately.

"Sarah, I know you're on maternity leave," he said in his smooth Spanish accented baritone.

"I'm sensing a hidden BUT in there, Boss," I said.

"Well, I have a case that might be right up your alley," he said. "It deals with a high profile client or clients, some doubt about guilt and a need to handle it quickly and quietly."

"What do you have?" I asked.

"The client is William Temple," he said. "He was referred to us by Alexander Blake and was told to ask for you personally."

"Temple...Temple," I said. "The name doesn't really ring any obvious bells. I feel like I should know him but I don't."

"Google him," said Art. "He's a pretty famous architect. He's done a lot of commercial stuff and also some homes for very rich or famous people."

"Nope that's not it," I said straining my memory.

"Well his wife is Rebecca Miranova," said Arturo.

"The tall skinny Russian super-model," I spat. "That's it. I just saw them a few months ago. He's re-doing the house Alex has in Florida, right?"

"I guess..." said Arturo. "Uh Sarah, you're kind of tall and skinny yourself so it sounds funny hearing you say that about someone else. And I think you have her beat in the uh...upper body development."

"So what does he want?" I asked, still smiling at Arturo's compliments.

"I don't know," said Arturo. "You know how some clients have a suspicion that something is going but they really aren't sure whether or not they want you to find something? This guy is one of those. Maybe you should call him and make the decision on whether or not you want the case yourself."

"Okay, I'll call him," I said.

I dialed the number and as soon as the phone was answered I knew I'd be taking the case. My cousin Savannah would have called it premonition, but everyone knows Savannah is crazy. From the second the man's voice hit my ears, I saw myself sitting with him and his wife and some other people. I also knew that this case was going to be a weird one.

"Sarah Price," I said. "Can you tell me a little bit about yourself and the case? I think we've met before briefly."

As he spoke about his marriage and his wife, my heart broke. I got the feeling that this man loved that woman with every fiber of his being. He wanted more than anything else in the world to be wrong. But he had too much pride to allow his suspicions to just die. He needed to know.

Before he finished talking about the things he'd hoped they'd do together and how the thought of her lying to him or hiding something from him hurt him, I was hooked.

"Will, where are you?" I asked.

"I'm in Chicago," he said. "How long will it take you to fly here?"

"We're probably not going to fly," I said laughing. "We're in Chicago too. Isn't that weird? I met you at a party for Alex Blake in California, but we both live in the same city. Give me your address or a location and a time to meet. I assume that you work normal hours, so probably sometime after five would be better for you, right?"

"No," he said. "I own the company I work for. And I'd rather not have Becca getting suspicious. If I suddenly change my schedule, her radar would go up immediately. She's pretty jealous. From what I remember of you, I hope you don't mind me saying it, but you're an attractive woman. It would not be good for Becca to see me with you. So perhaps a time during working hours would be best. Perhaps you could come here. That way if Becca did happen to see us, I could simply say that you were a client."

"Okay, that sounds fine," I said. "Let me give my partner a call and we'll come right over."

As I hung up the phone, I had another feeling. I could tell that beneath his suspicions, Will really loves his wife. But strangely enough, from what he said about her, I got the impression that she loved him too. It was hard for me to imagine a woman that beautiful being jealous of other women being around her husband. But from the way he talked about her, it seemed as if he's experienced her acting on that jealousy.

There was definitely something going on here, I just needed to figure out what it was, in order to help him.

I picked up the phone and dialed a number by heart.

"Crestwood Performance, Darla speaking," said a cheerful voice. The voice oozed sex appeal and vitality. If I was a man, I'd probably already have a woody trying to imagine what the woman behind that voice looked like.

I smiled thinking about it, because I realized that I was probably as bad as Rebecca Miranova. Despite the sexy sounding voice I knew that the woman on the other end of the phone was a fat sixty year old woman. I'd picked her myself. She really was as cheerful and as loving as her voice sounded like, though. All of her grand kids loved her.

"Hi Darla," I said trying to match her cheerful tone.

"Sarah," she gushed. "How are you? How's that baby coming along?"

"It's crushing my spleen and making my feet swell," I quipped. "Can I speak to him? Or is he in some kind of meeting?"

"He's still working on the dampeners for the tri bar grills," she said. "But I have instructions to ALWAYS put you through." I smiled just thinking about it.

"Okay but don't tell him who it is," I said. I heard the line click over and it rang twice before he picked it up in a bored sounding voice.

"Chris Harris," he said.

"Sarah Price," I said. "Although technically since we're married I guess I could say Sarah Harris."

"Uh Oh!" he said.

"Whuh Oh?" I asked. "What are you Uh Ohing me about mister?"

"You're the detective, Sweetheart," he said. I could imagine the smile on his face as he spoke. "But even I can tell what's going on, here. You called me and you didn't use your, "Honey I need you to brings me home a pint of Hagen Daz" voice. "You're also not screaming so it's not an emergency with the baby. That means that you probably have a case that you need or want my help with, but I thought that you were taking the rest of the time until the baby was born, off."

"Okay Smartass," I said. "Maybe you should be the detective and I should be the engineer."

"You suck at CAD," he said. "How long will I need to take off and where are we going?" he asked.

"You're going to do it?" I squealed.

"Sarah, since the day we met, I've never said no to you, have I?" he asked.

"Well, this might be the first time," I said knowing it wouldn't be. Every time I thought about how Chris was always willing to drop everything for me, it gave me a warm feeling all over. I guess that more than anything else it just showed me how fucked up the world was. All of us, searched for that warm feeling. No matter how rich we were or how poor we just wanted to be loved.

In my business, I got to see and deal with a lot of cases where people had lost that warm feeling or had given it to someone else. Sometimes, their mates would go to any lengths including murder to punish the person that stole it from them.

"I'm coming home now," he said. "I'll tell Jenny that I'll be gone for a few days. I'm pretty sure they'll all think it's something with the baby. If they don't I'll just take some of my vacation time."

"Okay, Honey," I said. "I'll see you soon." Even as we hung up the phone, I thought about what we'd be doing later. At this point in my pregnancy, I was horny as hell. It seemed like a long time since I'd been able to show Chris how much I love him. It seemed like it, but it was actually only last night that he'd spooned himself behind me while rubbing my swollen belly. He'd been somewhat innocently rubbing that cocoa butter lotion around my stomach to prevent the stretch marks that pregnancy often produced. As usual, his touch sent flames through me. I don't remember whether it was him or me who gradually moved his gentle hands down below my belly. But I do remember my legs opening up as wide as a barnyard gate so he could push his throbbing dick into my steaming innards.

My pregnancy hadn't even slowed our sex life down, let alone stopped it.

* * * * * *

Becca

I love America. I love the people, the food, the way of life and everything else about it. I think though, that most of all, I love the way they deify useless things. Back in Russia, where I'm from, I was a typical farm girl. I was always covered in mud and up to my ankles in pig shit. I wasn't smart enough to get a job in the city and I have no computer skills. That kept me down on the farm with no chance of escaping the back breaking labor involved.

People look at me funny and they can't imagine me mucking out stalls or cleaning up after animals. They tell me I'm too pretty for that. But in Russia, they look at things differently. When I was younger, I wanted to be a ballerina. I soon grew far too tall for that. The truth is that I also wasn't a very good dancer although I loved ballet and practiced a lot. I just wasn't graceful enough and by the time I hit my teens I was taller than most of the male dancers.

There are only so many things that a tall, pretty girl can do. I was too clumsy for basketball or volleyball and my limbs though long, lacked the strength for those sports as well. My father, especially, told me not to give up on basketball. It was in my genes he said. I guess he thought that since he played professionally and was on the Russian Olympic team, that it would be something I could do as well.

After he got too old to play basketball my father retired to the family farm and also worked in the factory where he lost his life

I was the only one of his daughters to take after him in terms of genetics. My other sisters are shorter, stockier and curvy like our mother. I envy them the way they're built, with their large breasts and curvy backsides. As we grew up all of the local men looked at them lustily. Very few men looked at me that way. My sister often joked that I, with almost no breasts and my tiny rear end, was built like a very tall boy.

With no skills, ballet and sports were out. My lack of feminine attributes meant that marriage was an unlikely outcome. So I was farm help. This too wasn't in my future because being very tall with spindly limbs meant that working around the farm took its toll on my body a lot easier than it did to the stockier, more strongly built women.

I actually heard some of the members of my family laughing about me when I wasn't around. They said I was useless. I was like a giraffe. I was a tall ungainly creature with no other purpose than as a curiosity.

So when my mother decided to move to America, I came with her. I started out waitressing and I was a truly terrible waitress. I think my delivery rate was probably fifty/fifty. That means that fifty percent of the time I got the plates to the table without spilling anything.

Anyway I was only a waitress for about nine days before I went to work for my aunt. I only cleaned rooms for a few weeks before I became a model. That too was due to spillage. There was a woman who came into the hotel to stay. She had a couple of fashion magazines. I thought she might be crazy or gay because she kept staring at me and looking me up and down. That just isn't polite; especially not in public. But there she was, sitting in her room staring at me again, when fate intervened.

I was cleaning the room next to hers and I spilled water all over the carpet. Just then the hotel manager came out and started screaming at me. The woman in the next room just smiled as my boss continued to yell at me.

"Is she fired?" she asked.

"Hell yeah!" shouted my boss.

"Good," said the woman. "I think she could be very successful as a model. And if things go her way, maybe she'll come back here in a couple of years and buy this place and fire you.

Things went really well for me. As I said, here in America, they love useless things. My modeling career grew by leaps and bounds. After a couple of years I really could have bought out the little hotel that I'd once been fired from. But something else happened.

That something was that I fell in love got married and became a liar. Meeting Will was one of those moments in life that lasts forever. As a model, I was always meeting actors, male models and athletes. I found all of them boring and plastic. Perhaps it's because athletes, models, actors and musicians all make their living entertaining people. While they all have to have some type of skill or quality that separates them from normal people, usually that skill isn't what makes them famous.

What usually makes them famous is their ability to make sure that they are the center of attention. They can play it up or they can try to tone it down but it always comes down to them and not necessarily their skill at what they do for a living.

As an example let's look at Tim Tebow. How could a guy with his uhm...skills as a quarterback captivate us for that long?

So I went on a few dates before just deciding that men in the entertainment industries just weren't for me. So when I first met Will at a party, I assumed that like a lot of men there he was just trying to pick me up so he could add me to his list of conquests. I actually got angry at him because I liked him from the beginning. And I just didn't want him to be an asshole. By the time I figured out that he wasn't, he was gone.

We eventually did hook up and more. We found a way to make our lives, as different as they are, fit together. Actually it was easier than it seems. I simply didn't take any assignment that would separate us for more than a day or two unless Will came with me. And every year he makes more money and becomes more famous and it bothers me.

Will has the idea that I work so hard because I need to make millions of dollars and set the fashion world on fire. I've been trying to find a way to tell him that he makes more than enough money for both of us. I'm a simple Russian farm girl. All I need to be happy is my husband. I'm more than ready to walk away from all of that. I want to settle down in our beautiful house and have babies.

I'll give Will enough time to get over whatever funk he's in. And then I'll tell him. He'll just have to get used to the fact that his wife is no longer a famous supermodel. I smile at the thought of being just plain old Becca Temple.

* * * * * *

Sarah

I liked him as soon as I saw him. He reminded me so much of Chris that it was uncanny. Another weird, quirky thing was the fact that he drove up to his office at the same time that we did. He was driving a 2013 Mustang GT. Chris was driving his 2011 Mustang GT. Of course Chris also had a 2012 Shelby GT 500 that was a hand me down from Alex Blake (read Billie Jean for details)

As soon as they saw each other they were fast friends. They were talking cars at a rate of about a mile a second until they got into Will's office and discovered that they both used similar CAD systems. The only difference wwast hat Will used the architectural version and Chris used the version designed for Automotive manufacturing.

I had to clear my throat loudly, several times to get them back to the reason for our business.

Since I hadn't had a chance to fill Chris in on his new friend's case, he was hearing it for the first time. Knowing him the way I did, I could see the anger and disgust on his face as Will spoke. I also knew from his history that my husband empathized with betrayed husbands. (read Private Eyes)

The saddest part of the whole interview though was that from my knowledge and experience dealing with literally hundreds of cases involving betrayal and infidelity, I could tell that Will was in a great deal of pain. Most husbands, in these cases, just want proof of the spouse's indescretions so they can either, divorce them and keep the lion's share of their assets, or so they can have leverage over the spouse in the future if they stay married.

A few use the evidence to force the spouse into actions that would otherwise never have occurred. Will was none of those and he was probably hoping for something I couldn't give him. As he showed us the video of his super model wife, it just seemed as if he wanted us to prove that there really was nothing going on between her and the greasy little man. I think he wanted us to give him evidence that would lead to saving his marriage. The problem was that most people have an innate sense of what is right and wrong with their relationships. Usually by the time you suspect something in going on, it has already progressed to the point of no return. I hoped that in Will's case that wasn't true. But years of experience told me something different.

Marriages and relationships can be the strongest of unions. They can bond two people from different families or different races or different cultures together in ways are superior to and stronger than blood ties. But for all of their strength, it doesn't take much to ruin them, often when that wasn't the intention. Women often fall victim to just a few words of flattery, if caught at a time when they are emotionally weak. The most pius, most resolute woman still loves and needs to hear that she is attractive and sexy. Sometimes hearing it from someone other than her spouse increases the effect until she's done something that can't be forgiven.

Men are even worse. A glance at a set of partially visible breasts or even a fully covered but especially rounded ass has ruined many a marriage and destroyed families.

My suspicion that day already ran towards the fact that a super humanly beautiful woman had simply made an all too human mistake and it was going to cost her a man who loved her intensely.

For the first time ever, I was hesitant to accept a case. Maybe my pregnancy was making me more emotional. Maybe I just didn't want to be there for the fallout when Will was destroyed by the proof we'd surely be providing. He reminded me too much of Chris.

I remember intently the pain my husband went through and the tentative nature of the early days of our relationship. There were so many days that I got the impression that Chris hated me and all other women because of what his ex had done to him. There was also the fact that Chris was pretty strong emotionally and he'd had time to absorb the shock of what was going on in his marriage. He'd loved his ex, but that love was nothing compared to what we have now.

Will on the other hand was just beginning to suspect this. He really didn't know what was going on and was in some respects in denial. He was asking for proof, but hoping for confirmation that nothing was going on. What he really wanted was to find out that his wife still loved him.
I had the feeling that if we did our job, we would shatter a very good man; possibly beyond recovery. I tried to think of a reason that we couldn't take the case. I thought about passing it to someone else, using my pregnancy as an excuse. I just needed to find a way to word it.

But for the first time ever, Chris accepted the case.

"We'll do our best," he said shaking Will's hand. I was shocked as he patted Will on the back. "Whatever she's doing, we'll catch her and get you proof."

"We'll check in with you on a daily basis," said Chris sounding exactly like me. "We always try to keep our clients in the loop."

As Will walked us back to the car, I didn't say much. Something just felt wrong. As soon as we drove away, Chris asked me what was wrong.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Sarah, I love you. And I know you," he said. "It's not like you to be so quiet. Normally you're the one who feels bad for the clients. You're usually the one who assures them that we can get the goods and ease their pain."

"Honey, this feels off," I said.

"Oh shit," he said. "Have you been talking to your cousin Savannah again? Whatever happened to my clinical, by the book, just the facts, detective wife?"

"What's wrong with Savannah?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "If you look past the fact that she's bat shit crazy."

"She is not," I said, knowing in my heart that he was right.

"Sarah, she forced a guy to marry her after suing him for paternity of a child that wasn't even his," he said.

"Nuh Unh," I said. "He married her because he loves her and they're the happiest people I know except for us. Savannah just has a persuasive nature about her and a gift for getting people to see things her way. Plus Savannah is partially psychic. Most of the women in my family are."

"Oh yeah," he said. "If Savannah is persuasive, then Evie is just nuts. I swear she's bipolar. And then there's your aunt Angela, who's either a full fledged witch or certifiably crazy. I'll let you pick the one you believe in. You're the only one who's sane, Honey. So don't start talking like Savannah."

I laughed and kissed him.

* * * * * *

Chris

As soon as I stepped off of the plane in L.A. I missed my wife. I missed my car almost as much. I'd originally thought about dropping in on Alex and borrowing one of his Mustangs but number one, I didn't plan on being here for that long. And secondly my mission here was all about stealth. There was no reason to alert everyone in the area that I was there. I didn't know very much about the people I'd be watching. But of course that would change and hopefully very soon.

I pulled out my iPhone as I stepped into the rental agency. I needed the automotive version of Wonder Woman's invisible jet. I needed a vehicle so stealthy that it would make me impossible to see or at least to notice.

Stepping up to the counter I smiled back at a young woman who stood there.

"Let me guess," she said. "You want a Camaro?" My eyes narrowed with the insult, but I maintained my smile.

"A Challenger SRT?" she asked.

"Sweetie, you're going backwards," I said.

"A Mustang GT-H?" she said excitedly. Then disappointment colored her face. "They're all out," she said. "They never stay on the lot for more than twenty minutes. That's why I offered you a Camaro. We've got a buy one day get two free on the Challengers."

"Actually, I had something different in mind," I said. She leaned in as if we were sharing a secret.

"I need a tan or gray Toyota Camry," I said. She looked at me as if I was joking. Then erupted in laughter. When she saw that I was serious, she stared at me again.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I just asked for a..." I began.

"You don't look like a guy who'd get caught dead driving a car with so little personality that we keep losing them on the lot. Are you hiding from John Law or something?" she asked in a conspiratorial tone.

"Did you rob a bank? Are you undercover?" she asked. "What are you? CIA? FBI?"

I leaned across the counter and put my face very close to her ear. I could almost feel her body vibrating with excitement.

"I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," I whispered. She jerked her head back and smiled at me. She reached down into a drawer and have me a form to fill out.

After I was done filling it out. She looked at it. "Chris Harris," she laughed. "You might as well have written John Smith." she giggled and went over to a board on the wall and got a set of keys.

"Okay, Mr. Harris," she winked her left eye dramatically. "Here are the keys to your Toyota. Good luck finding it."

I walked out lf the office wondering if everyone in California was crazy. I walked out through the lot to the spot she told me the car would be in and didn't see it. I walked around the lot and came back. I had the right spot. Then I noticed exactly how well I had chosen. The car had been there all along, but it was so boring that I'd failed to notice it twice. It was like distinguishing Kentucky blue grass from any other variety of grass from a distance. The car just blended into everything. I would definitely remain unseen in that car.

I called the office and spoke to Sophia. Sophia was a new hire at the agency. But she'd already proved her value several times. Sophia didn't work in the field. She stayed in the office and handled Internet operations.

"Hey Soph," I said. "What do you have for me?"

"Well Chris, your fat friend, as usual, was half right. The guy's name is Hugh Joel Peters. And he is a producer. But only if you consider porn to be movies. If your friends wife is mixed up with him, he might as well go ahead and file because any woman who plays around with Hugh Joel Peters is going to get fucked."

"Alright, Soph, good work. Where can I find Hugh Joel Peters?" I asked.

"Usually in a senior citizen's pants," she said. "But most of them don't still work and you have to..."

"Ha ha ha!" I said. "Am I going to have to tell Sarah that you're sexually harassing me again?"

"No sir," she said. "Then I'd have to sexually harrassment her again too and you know I find her really sexy, but I just don't do pregnant, yuck!"

"Address please," I said through clenched teeth.

Using my iPhone as a GPS unit I got turn by turn directions to Peters' condo. Obviously he either wasn't getting a lot of money making porn movies, or he was spending it on something other than living space because the place would have to be renovated to count as a slum. I cased the place carefully, making sure that no one noticed me looking at it. At this time of the day, there was really no one about. The long black car from the video, a stretched Benz was parked in the back. The gleaming car told me that Peters did have SOME money. Maybe he was just careful what he spent it on.

The unit Peters stayed in was connected on both sides to the adjoining units. That meant that he could only get out through the front or the back. Since his car was parked in the back I chose to watch from there. I parked near the closest cross street. Since that would give me the best vantage point. To make tailing him easier, I placed one of my magnetic tags under his rear fender through the wheel well. The tag was synched with a locator app on my phone. I could follow that car anywhere and he didn't seem to have another one.

I walked back down the alley behind the house and got into my invisible Toyota. Luckily I had practiced finding it, but I had to look really hard to locate it because it blended in so well. I watched the back of the building for about an hour and nothing untoward seemed to be happening. After about an hour, I decided to take a closer look.

I crept back down the alley to the condo and leapt to the top of a big trash bin. From there I climbed to the second floor window of what had to be Peter's place. I looked inside of the window, being careful to make sure that no on could see me. Sarah hated it when I did things like this. She usually had me just plant a tiny camera and move back to the car. But that was a waste of time because those cameras were expensive and I'd just have to climb my ass back up here and get it later.

As I looked through the window I almost fell off f the ledge I was on. I quickly reached inside of my jacket pocket and pulled out my phone again. Hugh Joel Peters, was busy ramming his huge old Peter inside of Will's super model wife. And if she wasn't already making porn, she should have been.

Rebecca, as I watched attempted to get her lips around the head of Hugh's dick. She was holding it in both hands and trying hard to force her lips around it. Finally she gave up and pushed him back onto the sofa they were lying on. She mounted him and I was amazed as her pussy stretched to take in the giant organ. Slowly she slid down his huge greasy Batpole until their pubes met. Then she started grinding away at him. Her eyes seemed to roll back in her head as she moved her vagina up and down Hugh's pole.

"It hurts," she said with a grimace on her face.

"Just shut up and take it, bitch," he said. He slapped her tight, tiny little ass and she began to wiggle it even more. She leaned over and started kissing him as she moved her ass up and down porn star-like.

Hugh rolled her over and got on top of her. He spread her legs and lined up with her slot. He pushed his way inside of her slowly but forcefully. He pinned her legs back and started to fuck her in earnest. He gave her short rapid strokes at first and then started to really pound her. The look on her face was a mixture of emotions. I swear I saw pleasure, pain and disgust all at the same time. After a while of him sawing away at her, I could tell that her body betrayed her. Her legs closed around his waist and she began fucking him back vigorously as her orgasm neared. Her moans and his combined as they matched each other stroke for stroke. Sweat poured down their backs as she urged him onwards.

Suddenly, Hugh stiffened and tried to pull out. The effort of staving off his orgasm was immense. He had to force her to unclasp her legs.

"No!" she screamed. "Do it inside of me. I want it."

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. He ripped himself free of her and sprayed his semen over her small but prominent breasts and long tight tummy. He directed the last blast of it all over her pretty face. Her vagina stayed alarmingly agape after he'd removed his obscenely large organ from it. It resembled the reddened mouth of a hungry animal.

She jumped up and began trying to suck it again. This time it was his eyes that rolled backwards with pleasure as her nimble tongue lathered the head of his dick, scooping up the last traces of sperm.

"Oh baby you do that so well," moaned Hugh Joel. "On your knees," he yelled gesturing towards the couch.

"Please no," she whimpered. "That hurts too much!"

"If you're going to get used to it, we have to do it," he yelled. "And stop trying to tell me what I can and can't do. Who owns your ass?"

"You do," she said. I was having trouble making out the feelings behind her words, but one thing was sure. Hugh had some kind of leverage over her. Blackmail might have been the motive, but with all of Rebecca's super model money, I'd have thought that she could have easily paid off any blackmail attempts. Unless Hugh Joel simply wanted super model pussy more than money. Maybe it was both.

As I watched Rebecca slowly got down on the sofa with sweat dripping off of her glistening skin. She put her head down and her ass in the air and grit her teeth together as Hugh reached onto the coffee table for a tube of some sort of lubricant. He smeared it around her butt and on the head of his penis. Then he lined the huge organ up and slowly forced it into her tiny hole with her grunting and screaming the whole way.

"No," she screamed. "Stop. I can't take it."

"You say that every God damned time," he smirked, continuing to push himself forward.

"How the fuck did you get up there?" said a voice from behind and below me. "Are you some sort of ninja?"

I dropped silently back down landing without too much noise on the rim of the trash bin. Then I dropped onto the dirty ground of the alley.

I came face to face with a bum. As my eyes scanned his face, I could tell that for all of the dirt and grime that covered him, this guy wasn't a real bum. For one thing the dirt and oil on his face was in random spots. It didn't cover most of or all of the face as it would have on a genuine homeless guy. For another, the face beneath the fake grime was clean shaven. How many bums shave?

Even more evidence to support my theory was the clothes he wore. They were torn and disheveled but they didn't stink.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Where you learn to move like that?" As he leaned towards me, I lurched drunkenly off balance. His reflexes betrayed him as he reached out to try and steady me, thinking I was about to fall. I turned the momentum of my seeming fall into a powerful kick that caught him in the stomach and lifted him off of his feet. He landed on his back painfully besides the trash bins.

"Holy fuck," he moaned to no one. "It's been years since I saw that shit." he was talking to no one though and slow to get to his feet. As he took off on the direction he'd seen me run he was still unsteady on his feet. By the time he emerged from the alley, I was lying down on the floor of my invisible Toyota's back seat covered by a blanket. I watched him through a slit in the dark blanket as he looked in both directions finally shaking his head and walking away.

Even as I watched him walking back down the alley rubbing his sore hip, I smiled. I stayed in the back seat and pulled out my phone. I emailed the video to Sophia and told her to relay it to Sarah.

I climbed into the front seat of my Toyota and started the motor. I was nearly in an accident. The car coming down the street jammed on its brakes and narrowly avoided hitting me, as I pulled into traffic. I was so used to my Mustang's quick acceleration that the Toyota's anemic lack of power and slow take off, caught me by surprise.

Several times as I drove down the broad California avenues, I was tempted to get out and walk or simply flog the car to get it to go faster. I had to force myself to remember that I'd chosen the car for stealth not speed.

An hour later, I was sitting at the bar of the hotel I'd picked to use as a base. I'd ordered a Dos Equis Amber to celebrate getting the evidence on Rebecca.

My phone chirped beside me. I picked it up and answered it knowing who it was.

"Hey Honey," she said. I could feel the emotions behind the same phrase across all of the miles that the phone lines and cell towers spanned.

"I love you, Sarah," I gushed. "I couldn't help it."

"Love you too," she said. I felt that too. "Good job!" she said. "I guess being pregnant has slowed me down. Maybe it just made me stupid. I watched Rebecca last night until long after dark. Like we agreed on, Will pretended to go out of town on a sudden business trip, leaving her alone. Maybe she knew she was being watched and slipped out the back way, but I swear I never saw her leave the house, let alone fly to California. It's a good thing we're a team...oh and Chris...I forgive you."

I was suddenly on edge, knowing she was up to something.

"You forgive me for what?" I asked.

"For shooting your stuff in me and getting me pregnant, just so you could crack the case instead me," she quipped. I could feel the mirth and the warmth in her voice.

"What can I do to make it up to you, Honey?" I asked, playing along with her.

"Do it again," she gushed. "Chris, Honey, this case is over. I miss you. You can come home. All we have to do now is break the bad news to Will. He's going to fall apart. He really loves that whore."

"Been there, done that, got the T-shirt," I said. "Maybe I should be the one to tell him."

"Why?" she asked. "I'm the actual detective. You're just my bumbling, lovable flunky."

"Someone is going to get her delectable ass spanked as soon as I get home," I hissed. "I'll give you flunky."

"You promise," she cajoled.

"Seriously, Sarah," I said. "I really think that I can explain this one better. I can tell him how I felt when I went through what he's going through now. I can explain to him how even though he feels like it's the end of the world. It actually might be the very best thing that ever happened to him. I know it was for me."

"How was that good for you?" she asked. "Chris you were miserable, Honey. Don't you remember?"

"Yes Sarah, but it's also how I met you," I said. "And any pain I went through was more than worth it for what you make me feel every day."

"Awww, somebody has some pregnant pussy waiting for him," she gushed. "Just hurry up and get your ass home...Oh shit!"

"Sarah, are you okay?" I yelled.

"Yeah, Honey," she said acidly. "I'm fine. You were definitely right. The bitch must've slipped by me. She just pulled back in driving a car I didn't even know they had. She has on a pair of shorts and a long T-shirt. She even has a couple of bags of groceries, like she just hopped out to the supermarket, grrrrrrr."

"Sarah, why are you growling?" I laughed.

"Because I hate to admit that you were right about all of this. I am definitely not psychic. I have to remember to go by the facts like I always have. I am definitely not like Savannah or my Aunt Angela."

"But at least you're not crazy and bipolar like Evie either," I laughed.

"Evie is the sweetest girl ever," hissed Sarah.

"Yeah until she nuts up," I said.

"She only nuts up as you put it when some woman gets too close to Chance," said Sarah. "She loves him. And for your information, if some skank started trying to move in on you, I might make Evie seem perfectly sane, now get your ass home."

As I hung up the phone that innate sense of warning that had been drummed into me as a child went off. I scanned the bar and didn't see or sense any immediate threat but I was wary. Before I crossed the bar headed towards the door my gaze lingered on a big guy with his back towards me. I stopped two tables away from him. The bar wasn't busy so there was no one between us.

He sat there drinking his beer and I noticed that he had another one unopened on the table beside him. It was my brand.

"I don't always drink beer..." I said loudly.

"According to my sources you fucking do," he sneered. "And you always drink Dos Equis."

"So you have pretty good sources," I said. "Should I get ready to rrrruuuummmmmbllllllllllllle?"

"Let's not," he said. "My ass still hurts from the first time. I was hoping we could sit down and talk about this, sonce we're kind of working the same case but from different angles. And you need to know you're wrong. You're about to fuck up some people's lives and really badly if you don't listen to me."

There was this almost John Wayne-like nobility about those bloodshot gray eyes. I'm really good at reading people, so I decided to at least listen to him. If I didn't like what he had to say, or he tried to stop me from leaving, I could always put him on his ass again."

* * * * * *

Clyde

As I watched, the young man in front of me moved over to my table and settled almost bonelessly into the chair across from me. He grabbed the beer by the cap. At the same time he smiled at me and fiddle with his phone. And then made a big show of showing me that the phone was turned to vibrate so we's be undisturbed. As he settled down I tried to very stealthily move the gun I'd been aiming at him under the table back into my hidden holster, so he wouldn't notice the movement.

"That's not very nice," he said, leveling his cool blue eyes at me. The look he gave me and the tone of his voice let me know that he'd noticed what I'd done. There would be no surprising this one. The very coolness he exhibited scared the shit out of me.
Everything I'd found out about him scared the shit out of me. I doubt that even his wife knew as much about Chris Harris as I did and she was no joke herself when it came to detective work. Of course most of what I knew he wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Most of it was buried so far in hidden military records that Barack Obama couldn't get at it.

For all that the man across from me looked like a surfer boy who'd somehow lucked into an engineering job, he was a mother fucker.

From what I'd been able to find out, Chris was an army brat. His dad worked for military intelligence somewhere in the pacific area. Military intelligence means his dad was some kind of spy. Now his old man's gig might've been as simple as getting to know the locals and providing a safe house for covert operatives where they'd be less likely to be discovered, or it might've been a whole lot less wholesome.

I do know that from the time he could walk Chris was studying Kung Fu in China. He had to be really good to survive because every kid in every one of his classes would have wanted to beat the fuck out of the white guy. Chris apparently studied several different forms of martial art but was exceptional at something called drunken style. He had supposedly taken the art to a new level. That explains the fact that even with my military background and training he had knocked the fuck out of me without raising a sweat.

What I'd perceived to be clumsiness on his part, that lurching move that seemed like he was about to fall, had been him closing the distance between us to prepare me for the kick. And then his set up and execution. His execution alone had made me seem like a girl scout in an MMA fight. And then he was gone before I even got my head out of my ass and back on my feet.

When I came out of that alley expecting to see him rapidly beating feet with only elbows and asshole visible, I was shocked again to see only an empty street. I shook my head in disbelief. Usain Bolt isn't that God damned fast. My body may not be that fast anymore, but my brain is still world class. Actually it's better than world class. I have a true photographic memory.

Normally when people talk about a photographic memory the correct term is an Idectic memory. That means that they can remember facts and words and terms and numbers forever. My memory is different. I can stare at a scene or a page or a picture and store that picture in my mind forever. So as I stood there looking at the scene, I memorized every detail of it. And once I got back to the apartment I'd rented for this investigation, I slowly dissected the picture. There were eight condo units on the block and all of them were inhabited. They had a very strong homeowners association and hacking their files was easy enough. It took me only twenty minutes to find out that none of those units had been sublet recently. There was also the fact that there was no need for him to rent or sublet a condo if he was only trying to get some dirt on the same asshole I was.

In fact we might be after the same thing. With no businesses on the street and the condo eliminated, that left only the vehicles. There were fifteen of them. Of the fifteen vehicles, none of them had been reported stolen. I got that information from a friend of mine who worked for the local PD. Twelve of them were privately owned by locals. Three of them were rented. One was rented to temporarily replace a vehicle that had been wrecked. That left only two cars and one of them was rented by a woman.

That got me a name. I was sure the name he was using was faked. But I decided to run it anyway. I have a friend in the FBI that I served with. I asked him to find out as much as he could. When he called me back less than a half hour later, all he said was, "Leave that motherfucker alone."

I pressed him and called in a couple of favors. All he gave up with was to check MI. He and I have a captain we served under who went into Military intelligence. It took me three or four hours to get him on the phone. He wouldn't talk over the phone. He left wherever he was, bought a smartphone, set up a burner e-mail address off of his base, e-mailed me the file and deleted the account. He'd had me set up a temporary account as well, using all fictitious information. I copied the file onto a flash drive, deleted the account and came back to my rented apartment to read it. I was told to unplug my computer from the Internet before viewing the file. After I looked at the file, I deleted it.

Chris Harris was carrying out covert ops or aiding in them before he was old enough to drive. He only stopped when his father retired and moved his family stateside. Then he'd gone to college got married, got divorced, got remarried and now served as sort of a detective's assistant to his wife. The woman was probably one of the best PI's on the planet. The fact that she was drop dead gorgeous didn't hurt either. I was sure that Chris was here on a case.

As he looked at me, waiting for me to say something, I took him in as I was sure he was doing with me. His sandy blond hair was perhaps a little too messy, but that was the way they wore it now. His two or three day beard growth was also just at the border of good grooming. And he sat there, slumped in the chair as if he wasn't aware of anything around him. But his movements in the alley and his ability to notice me putting away my gun told me otherwise.

I was still mystified as to how the hell he'd climbed up to that fucking window. His ability to drop to the top of that trash bin and make very little sound seemed to defy gravity. And he made all of it seem so simple. It actually seemed like anyone could do it without very much effort. The previous evening after Peters had left, I'd taken a tape measure to the scene. It was impossible. The top of the trash can was just less than five feet high. The window ledge was a little bit more than sixteen feet straight up from there.

Just to grab that ledge with his hands would have meant jumping at least a full foot higher than necessary to dunk a basketball and he'd somehow gotten his feet on it. I would not underestimate Chris Harris again. That was why I'd brought the gun.

"So Chris, why are you following Hugh Joel Peters?" I asked.

"My client is married to the woman," he said nonchalantly. He looked at his phone as if checking to see if any important calls had come in while we'd looked at each other.

"No he isn't," I said. "Tell your client to forget all about any of this, before he ruins his life."

Chris started laughing. "It's been fun talking to you, Clyde," he laughed. "It appears we have some of the same friends."

I was shocked. Most of the information on me was pretty well hidden as well. "How...?" I asked.

"You have good people," he said. "You checked me out and found me. I have good people too. I ran your prints from the beer bottle. That's why I grabbed it from the cap. You're Clyde Waitt. USArmy special forces retired. Your wife died two years ago. I'm really sorry about that. It was apparently a suicide. But somehow, I think it wasn't and you're following HJP because it has something to do with your wife's death."

"You're good," I said. "But Chris I'm not after Peters. I'm after the man that Peters gets his stuff from. And my wife did kill herself, but it was totally my fault. That's why I want you to tell your client to just forgive and forget. He'll be happier in the end."

"If I'm going to do that, you're going to have to give me a damn good reason," he said. "Will is going to need some proof that's going to wipe out the memory of that video I sent my wife."

"I have a plan," I said. "And the first part of my plan will give irrefutable proof to your client. You could probably help me with it."

"Why the hell would I do that?" he asked.

"Because you're basically a really good guy," I said. "And once you know what's going on you're going to want to prove to your client that what I'm saying is true. Once you know what's going on you're going to want in on it."

It took me over forty minutes to explain what was going on and even then he had trouble believing it. He was full of questions.

"How the hell could he do that?" he asked. "Wait a minute...Isn't that illegal and unethical and...Forbidden?"

"All of the above," I said. "And technically I don't know how to explain it, except to say that he fucking did it."

"Shit," he said. "We're going to have to take HER back with us. I don't need him so after we get them, what happens to him to get you further up the food chain is on you."

"Agreed," I said. His participation on my plan increased the chance for it's success.

He whipped out that iPhone again. This time he dialed a number. "Honey....No, I'm not at the airport. I'm not coming home quite as early as I thought. There's been a complication. Don't show that video to Will just yet. Oh shit, well tell him not to open that e-mail. I'll be home as quickly as I can."

He hung up the phone and looked at me. "Can you get us a plane?"

"Of course," I said. "All we need to do is scout our location. Figure out how many guys Peters will have with him. Come up with the appropriate counter measures for them. Figure out how and when to attack them. And then execute the plan. Then we can..."

"We're doing this now," he said.

"But..." I began.

* * * * * *

Will

I'd spent the previous two nights with Danny. The only thing I'd told him was that Becca and I needed some space for a few days.

"Are you insane?" he asked. "Why would anyone EVER need space from HER?"

We'd come in to work this morning as usual, although to be truthful my heart wasn't in it. What was the point of designing a house or a renovation for someone else, when my own house wasn't in order. Shit, my heart wasn't in order and that was messing with my head.

I looked over my list of e-mails before trying to look over my latest assignment. Most of what I found was spam. I checked my phone list and there were ten messages from Becca. Okay, I listened to all of them. I just needed to hear her voice.

Here in the privacy of my office, I didn't really have to be strong and stoic. I could be human. And I could admit to myself that I was hoping with everything I had that she was innocent and that Chris and Sarah wouldn't find anything.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that there were reasonable explanations for what I'd seen. He could have been a client or the director of another modeling agency. They could have run into each other at work and he had offered her a ride to the airport or some other place. Once she got into the car they had both looked down to find their seatbelts at the same time and that brought their faces together. There were all kinds of possibilities.

Becca loves me, I thought. And she doesn't need me. She makes a lot more money than I do. She could just leave at any time she chooses anyway. She could simply forget about me and move on with her life without giving me a backwards glance.

I listened to her first message. "Will, call me as soon as you get a chance. And don't work too hard. Honey don't try to memorize every detail of everything at this stupid conference. The main reason to go to these stupid things is to get away from work and relax. I love you, bye."

She'd called back a couple of hours later. "Will, Honey, I wanted to clear something up so don't be angry with me. When I called before I wasn't saying that your architectural conference was stupid, I just meant that it's stupid that it's keeping us apart. That's why I don't take long assignments, Honey. I don't like it when we're apart for too long. I love you, Will. More every day."

She certainly didn't sound like she was cheating on me. All of her messages were like that but they kept getting angrier and more depressed that I hadn't called her back. And Jesus, we'd been away from each other for only two days. How would she act when it had been months. I started to call her, but told myself not to. I needed to be strong. But on the other hand if she wasn't doing anything...

I tried to get back to work but I kept drawing the same things over and over and it just seemed wrong. I felt like I'd lost my perspective. Then finally my mind went back to that e-mail. They couldn't have found anything so quickly. I was sure that it was just Sarah or Chris checking on to tell me what was going on.

But any news was better than no news. So I clicked on it. There was an attachment in the e-mail. My mind went back to one of the most basic things you learn about the Internet. Never click on any attachment, unless you know and trust the source. I trusted Sarah, so with barely a thought I clicked on it.

It was a video file and what a video. I went through the full spectrum of emotions as I watched my wife having sex with the greasy little man. She attempted to suck his dick and failed because the greasy little man had a baseball bat between his legs. As impossible as it seemed, she couldn't get her mouth around the head of it. But it wasn't for lack of trying. Just that part would have been enough to end my marriage, but the video continued. After trying to give him a blowjob, which was something I'd just gotten used to going without, Becca fucked him. It wasn't like what we did. It was faster, more brutal and more vigorous.

That pissed me off because she was alway saying things to me, like, "Slow down. This isn't a race. I want to feel you."

I understood now what the bitch had meant. She needed things to go slower because compared to that thing, my normal sized dick was like a fucking microbe. If I didn't move more slowly she wouldn't know it was there.

Surprisingly enough, she didn't seem to be screaming and getting off, the way she did with us. It seemed more like it was just a physical thing. In the back of my mind, I could already hear the bitch telling me that it was "just sex" with him, but we made love. Yeah right, bitch. That was just like your Russian ancestors claiming they were only stockpiling nukes, just in case.

Well, baby, I thought. From now on you can have all of the "Just sex" that you need. But you won't have anything with me.

I got angrier and angrier watching the video. After a while she started to get into it, despite the fact that at first she didn't seem to be enjoying it. Towards the end, it seemed like she was really locked in and fucking him back. When he got ready to shoot, he tried to pull out and they argued about it. She actually wanted him to cum in her pussy. He reminded her that for her to get pregnant wouldn't be a good thing. He shot what must've been a gallon of sperm on her tits. Surprisingly she jumped up and started licking his dick clean.

I was irate. The sense of anger and betrayal running through me was so acute that I literally started to sweat. I understood then where the expression, "Hot under the collar," came from.

There were so many things I felt at that moment. I felt angry. I felt betrayed. I felt stupid. I felt lied to. I felt pain. And surprisingly hidden in the back, though I didn't want to admit it. I still loved her. That made me angry with myself. Most of all I just wished I could go back in time and for none of this to have happened, because now that it had, my self respect would never allow us to fix this.

Strangely enough, although every frame of that God damned video hurt me, I couldn't look away from the screen. My normal shy yet happy expression had morphed into a rictus of anger as I glared at the screen. Things only got worse then as I noticed that the greasy horse hung little man wasn't finished. I watched as my soon to be ex-wife dutifully got on her hands and knees and stuck her ass in the air. Becca has never even allowed me to think about touching her anus with my finger. "That's nasty and disgusting, you pervert," she'd told me when I brought it up. But here she was letting that bastard ram his human telephone pole of a dick up her ass. And when she just knelt there and let him do it, it was too much for me.

I snatched a heavy crystal paper weight off of the desk and launched it through the monitor. Unlike in the movies there was no shower of sparks. There was only noise as the LCD screen cracked and the monitor fell off of my desk. Since it was cabled to the other two monitors they slid dangerously towards the edge of the desk too. I reached out to grab them as two or three people rushed into my office to see what had happened.

"I'm fine," I yelled before anyone could say anything. "Don't worry about me, I'm just having a bad day. Go back to work, but thanks."

As soos as Danny closed the door, I pulled out my phone and called Ms. Hawks.

"Mr. Temple," she said when she got on the line. "You've had a chance to talk to your wife and you've decided against going ahead with the divorce, right. Let me tell you it's a good thing. Sometimes we have to realize..."

"File the fucking papers," I hissed. "I want that bitch served today. I want her cheating ass out of my house immediately. I want a restraining order, a PPO, CCW, CRT, NFL, and the AFLCIO. I want the whole fucking alphabet."

She spent a good fifteen minutes trying to calm me down. She faxed over a power of attorney form that I signed and faxed back. It would work until we could get together and actually submit official notarized documents that would stand up in court.

The purpose of the papers was so she could act on my behalf in my absence. She thought that I was emotionally distraught and I needed to take some time off and just get away before I did something stupid. I leaped up from my chair then. The ringer of my phone, added to my emotional instability had scared the shit out of me, almost literally. I checked the screen and saw that it was Sarah.

"Hey, Sarah," I said. "You guys are as good as advertised. Just send the bill..."

"Will, don't look at that e-mail," she said at the same time as I was talking.

"It's a bit too late for that Sarah," I said. "Everything is already in motion."

"Well pull it all back," she said. "Chris called me back and said. That we should wait. He found out something that might change things and..."

"Sarah did you see that video?" I asked.

"Unh huh?" she said.

"There's no changing that. I can't forgive that," I said.

"But what if she wasn't doing it willingly? What if she was drunk or blackmailed into it? What if she was hypnotized?" asked Sarah.

"What if the sky wasn't blue?" I asked. "What if lollipops grew on trees? What if monkeys flew out of my ass? None of that would mak a difference either. You're a good woman Sarah. Chris is really lucky to have you. I wish I had someone like you. But all I have is that lying, cheating, slut that I married.

* * * * * *

Clyde

This was all just wrong. It didn't make sense. If things were this easy, anyone could just do whatever the fuck they wanted. We drove to the warehouse that Peters made his movies in. Chris went to the pizza place down the block and ordered a large pizza.

"Please tell me you're not going to eat that before we go in?" I asked. It was my experience that eating a large meal before any type of op made you sluggish and dulled your reaction time.

Chris though at least twenty years younger than my 52 years, looked at me as if he was taking me to school and I was in the slow class.

"Watch and learn grasshopper," he smirked.

He messed his hair up even more and stuck a Detroit Tigers baseball cap over it so the brim obscured most of his face. He yanked his pants down a couple of inches until I could see the top border of his underwear. I shook my head in disgust, but realized that it was the way most of the kids wore their pants nowadays.

Then he grabbed the pizza and walked straight up to the door of the warehouse. After a few long moments a huge guy opened the door and glared at Chris.
"That will be twenty two eighty seven, plus tip, Hercules," said Chris lazily.

"What?" sacked the guy. "We didn't order any fuckin' pizza. Beat it, Spiccolli."

"Look Mr. Hand, or in your case Mr. Dick," said Chris angrily. "I have an order here for someone name Peters. And someone is going to pay for this pizza!"

The hulking guy turned away and started shouting to someone in the warehouse. He was probably asking if Peters had placed the order. As he stepped inside, Chris, instead of staying in the doorway gestured for me to move in and followed the guy inside.

Just as I got to the doorway, I heard Peters yelling, "We didn't order that shit. We're busy. Get rid of him."

"You heard him, Pal," said the huge guy. "Hit the bricks. Hey who told you to bring your skinny little ass in here?"

As I watched Chris placed the pizza on a table and grabbed his chest as if he was having a heart attack. The big guy watching him was shocked. Then Chris started to stagger and I recognized what was going on so I just smiled and watched.

"Are you okay?" the guy asked. Chris staggered again still holding his chest. The guy reached for him to keep him from falling and as his tree trunk like arms reached out, Chris moved like lightning. One hand came off of his chest. As if he was flailing uncontrollably as he tried to breathe. The flailing hand delivered a ridge hand blow to the hulking bodyguard's throat that stopped him in his tracks. Chris twisted drunkenly in a half circle ending up behind the guy. He clapped his hands together over the guy's ears shattering his eardrums. Then he grabbed the back of the man's collar and delivered a low kick behind his knees at the same time sending the near giant crashing to the floor.

The back of the giant's head hit the solid floor with a cracking sound. From the initial attack, it had taken Chris less than three seconds to knock the hulking man out cold.

As I looked down at the man, I was awed. "He's going to have a hell of a headache when he wakes up," said Chris. "But he WILL wake up." I think his words were really meant in reference to my gun. I think it was his way of telling me that what we were doing wasn't worth anyone dying over.

"Come on. I really need to get home," he said. We walked into the huge main room of the warehouse.

As we walked in I saw Peters behind a camera while a naked woman cowered in the corner. Three more huge muscular men lounged around while a couple of fully dressed women rubbed the men's genitals or sucked at them.

"But I don't want to," whined the naked woman. She was so beautiful it made my eyes hurt.

"Bitch, get your skinny ass on that bed now," demanded Peters. "Do what I say or you won't live to see two months. And I'll just get someone to replace you."

The woman reluctantly stood up, but she froze when she saw Chris and me enter the room.

Peters noticed her shock and got a pissed off expression on her face. "Where the fuck is that imbecile? Is he just letting anyone who comes to the door in. First the fucking pizza guy and now you two." he shook his head in exasperation.

"Look, guys, the tryouts for amateur porn stars is NEXT week. I'm trying to shoot a film here. Although if you can perform you two might make it. I like the laid back surfer style," he said to Chris nodding his head. "And you, Pops," he said looking at me.

"Shit, if you can get it up, I can make you a star. Do you have any idea how big the senior citizen porn market is? Fuck! Oldie porn is huge with all of the baby boomers retiring. And all of those old fuckers want to imagine someone their age crushing some young pussy. I can make you a God in porn."

"But for today, I'm shooting the debut of my new girl. I've got three of my best starring with her. You boys will learn a lot from watching them." The three huge, muscular guys nodded at us.

"Are you guys porn fans?" asked Peters. "If you are I'm sure you'll recognize the mighty Guy Whyte," he said pointing to the man on the left. He was the shortest of the three. He had a barrel chest and a thick mat of chest hair.

"Look," he said glaring at us. "That's just my porn name. I ain't no white guy. They put me in every fucking ethnicity they can find. Last week I was an Indian, the week before that, I was a Mexican. I'm an Israeli, get it straight."

"Next to him is the man with the supposed biggest white dick in porn," screamed Peters with a little smirk on his face. "The cream machine himself, Redd Neck."

"What do you mean supposed?" asked Neck.

"And finally the Cajun persuasion from the deep dark south. The invincible Sam Beaux," said Peters pointing to a huge black man who was reading a thick book. He looked up at us and told us that he was just doing porn to pay his way through college.

"Well Hugh," I said. "Since you're so busy, you could just give me Frank's adress and I'll let you get back to it." His eyes narrowed and he glared at me.

"I don't know any fuckin' Frank," he sneered.

"Doctor Franklin Nathaniel Stein," I said slowly. "He has a PHd in genetics and another in Biochemistry and BioEnngineering."

"Sounds like a smart damn dude," he smirked. "But what he doesn't sound like is someone I would know. Strippers, hookers, strumpets, sluts, gas bag steroid abusing lunkheads, I would know but..."

"Hey," interrupted Redd Neck. "We prefer to be adressed as Same Sex Americans or Neutral Gender."

"What the fuck are you bitching about, Neck?" asked Peters.

"You called me a fag steroid abuser and a lunkhead," said Neck.

"No, I said Gas Bag steroid abusing lunkheads," clarified Peters.

"Oh, my bad," said Neck. "I think I have too much dairy in my diet."

"Look, you three gorillas or in your case, Neck, girl-rillas, beat the fuck out of these two so we can get back to the film," said Peters in an almost bored voice. He was sure of the outcome before the first blow of the fight had been struck.

The three started to move towards us. "Chris how should we handle this?" I asked. This was why I hated working on the fly. We had no battle plan and no worked out strategy.

"Handle what?" asked Chris yawning. "Oh them, I've got this one. You're getting the plane. Just make sure the super model doesn't slide her slippery ass out of here."

Chris suddenly jumped up and ran towards the three porno guys. Just as he got to them he slipped and fell almost comically. He landed right in front of Sam Beaux. As he tried to regain his balance his foot flew out and caught Sam right in the nuts. Though seemingly accidental the blow was solid as evidenced by Sam's nearly soprano scream. Chris got up go his knees in front of Sam who was still screaming and had tears in his eyes from the pain on his gonads. Chris started apologizing but even as he straightened up, his fist caught Sam Beaux on the chin and the big guy went down like a sack of potatoes.

"What happened?" asked Chris in confusion. He took up one of those archaic boxing stances like they did in the 1800's with both fists aimed at the ceiling. He jumped up and down in front of Redd Neck who was still stubbed at how easily Sam Beaux had hit the ground.

Chris launched an exaggeratedly slow left punch at Redd's jaw that was so slow and so clumsy that Redd laughed as he leaned backwards away from it. The momentum that Chris had put into the punch carried his arm in a circle past Redd, who was getting ready to counter punch Chris.

But Chris had played him. The exaggerated slow punch was a feint. Like lightning, Chris twirled on his feet completing the circle as his right elbow arced around and caught Redd Neck in the back of his red neck.

Redd went down like a pole axed ox. He dropped to the concrete floor prone. "If you live by the sword," said Chris taking a little hop and skip before burying his foot in Redd's crotch. "You die by the sword." Redd's body spasmed from the pain and actually lifted off of the floor. "Or at least get knocked the fuck out by the sword." said Chris. His head pivoted until he faced Guy Whyte.

Guy now found himself alone. He looked at Chris and then at the only exit. That was the door behind us. "Not my nuts," he yelled. He abandoned his menacing advance and out both hands between his legs to protect his family jewels. Chris stepped over to Guy. His right foot stepped onto Guy's knees. His left knee caught Guy under his chin so hard his head snapped backwards. I swear I heard the sound of Guy's jaw snapping. Guy hit the floor dazed. Gravity brough Chris down on top of him with both feet landing on Guy's now unprotected nuts.

Guy couldn't even move his injured jaw enough to scream. His pain hissed out like air going through a pipe and he rolled there as Chris just looked at me.

Peters and the girl stared at Chris as if he'd just come down from mars.

"Hugh, how are your nuts feeling?" I asked. "Are you starting to remember him now. Franklin Stein. Franklin Nathaniel Stein. Frank N. Stein."

"Tick tock," said Chris to me. "Come on Rebecca," he said, holding out his hand. The woman looked at him and smiled. She took his hand. "Let's get you back to your husband."

"What's a husband?" she asked.

"Where's her Russian accent?" Chris asked me. I just shrugged my shoulders.

"You were serious, weren't you?" he asked. I nodded. Peters didn't try to fight us he took off.

Chris pushed the woman into my arms. "I've got him, Clyde," he said. A few seconds later Chris reappeared dragging a now unconscious Peters behind him.

"You can interview him on the plane or when we land," he said. "We have to go."

* * * * * *

Sarah

The feeling I'd had since this case began suddenly intensified. There was just something wrong here but I couldn't put my finger on it. As I say there in front of my computer trying to put all of the pieces together I drew a blank. Maybe Chris was right. I couldn't go by feelings. I am not Savannah. I don't have the psychic gift. Or maybe I do, I just don't know now to use it.

On the other hand, maybe I was already using it. If Savannah actually had any kind of power or ability, she had clearly only used it on Greg. Maybe that was what linked the two of them together so fiercely. And then if that was her power, maybe I had it too. Maybe I'd used mine on Chris, because the two of us were so closely linked that we completed each other's thoughts and words and at this very moment I knew that he was working on something that was very odd. I just wished he'd had the time to tell me what was going on. More than anything though I wished that this baby was out of my belly so I could be there with him.

My phone rang then. I picked it up. "Ms. Price, this is Sally Hawks," said a voice. "I'm an attorney and we share a client. I just finished looking at a rather disturbing video that your husband apparently took and you e-mailed to our client. I'm just trying to cover all of my bases. Is it possible that in the event that this case goes to a judge, your husband might be able to testify under oath as to the authenticity of his video?"

"Of course," I said. "We offer to accompany any of our clients to court whenever necessary," I said. "But it won't happen. I don't think there's going to be a divorce here."

"Well you'd better convince Mr. Temple of that," she said. "We just sent a process server to his home to serve papers on his wife and..."

I hung up on her and called Will back. I couldn't get him on the phone. I jumped into my car and drove to Will's house. I tried to fight my way through traffic. I had no idea what I would say to her. Hi, Mrs. Temple, I'm one of the PI's who spied on you for your husband. Just this once I was throwing the book away. I was ignoring the facts and the evidence and going on a gut feeling. I still believed somehow that I could fix this. I just needed to tread water until Chris got back to me and I could feel in my soul that my man was on his way.

I broke all records for getting across town. I pulled up in front of Will's beautiful house just in time to be...too late.

Even as I got out of the car and hustled my pregnant butt towards the front porch I saw a tall slender blond woman step down from the porch. She cracked her gum several times and then looked at me. "Hey, Sarah," she said.

"Hey back, Eliza," I replied. "Eliza Howell is a process server. She's one of the best in the business.

"A friend of yours?" she asked.

"Kind of," I said.

"Good, because she's going to need you," she said. "I really don't ever get emotionally involved in these things. It's just a job. But I felt bad about this one. That woman is shattered. She was totally blindsided. Usually the reaction is surprise that their spouse found out about something they were doing. Or surprise that their spouse decided to dump them. But this lady had no idea that this was coming. Sarah she's going to need you."

I hustled up the black granite stairs and went to comfort a woman that I had never met and whom all of the evidence told me was one of the most unrepentant cheaters I'd ever met.

* * * * * *

Becca.

I heard the doorbell and went to answer it. I got excited. Maybe Will was sending me flowers to make up for not calling me. No more business trips for him without me. I missed him too much. When I opened the door there was a tall slender blond woman standing there. She was looking down in a briefcase. She looked up when she saw me standing there. Something went off in my head. She was too well dressed to be a Jehova's witness. My next thought was that she wanted to sell me either life insurance or a time share, but she looked too young for that. She was chewing gum and cracked it a couple of times then looked up to face me.

"Are you Becca Temple?" she asked.

"Yes," I said and her eyes met mine for the first time.

"Holy Shit, you're pretty," she said. Then she tilted her head. "Oh my God that's your real name isn't it? You're Rebecca Miranova. Oh my God, I'm sorry, but...You've been served," she said handing me a bunch of papers.

I wondered who the hell was suing me this time. I was always being sued for one things or another. Every famous person is. But normally these things went to my management. If I said that I believed in some cause or other, the people behind it often took that as me saying that I'd do something for them or agree to be their spokesperson. In a lot of cases that meant they expected me to appear in a commercial for them or at a dinner that I had no idea about. Then they'd try to sue me for breach of a contract that I had never signed.

I looked at the papers and almost passed out. I dropped to my knees on the hard granite surface and just started crying. I felt like my soul had been ripped out of my body. I had trouble breathing. The woman chewing the gum dropped her briefcase and tried to help me. There had to be some mistake. Will could never divorce me. We loved each other far too much for that. I kept telling myself over and over that it was a cruel joke.

After she was sure that I was breathing, the blond woman walked away. I wondered what gave her the strength to do her job. What kind of job is it anyway? And what kind of woman could spend her day ruining lives?

I tried to get to my feet, but I couldn't. I had no reason to do anything. Sitting there on my steps...our steps was as good a place to be as anywhere else. After a few minutes of just sitting there, I realized that it had all fallen apart. Will had somehow found out about what was going on. He knew about my decision and had decided that we just didn't want the same things. I had to call him and let him know that if it meant that much to him, I would keep working.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of footsteps on the granite stairs. It had to be that awful gum chewing blond. She' discovered a mistake and come back to apologize for scaring the life out of me.

I looked up and shook my head. This had to be the day for beautiful women. Slowly making her way up my stairs was another woman with long red tinged blond hair. She wore those little square glasses, kind of like the sexiest librarian ever.

I noticed as she got closer that she was pregnant and that started me crying all over again. She sat down on the steps beside me and just hugged me. It was a nice gesture, but it didn't come close to easing my pain.

"Shhhh," she said. "Becca we're going to get through this. I know it looks bad but I have a feeling in my gut that something weird is going on here. Will loves you. He loves you more than anything. He's just hurt right now and he's striking out in his pain."

"Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Sarah Price," she said. "I'm the best there is at what I do. My husband Chris and I kind of helped to mess up your marriage. She told me everything she knew about what was going on."

* * * * * *

Sarah

"Cheating!" she said. "He's out of his fokkink mind. I would never EVER do that!" Her Russian accent got even thicker and she was getting angry."

"I believe you Becca, but we're going to have to stop him from leaving town until my husband gets here. As sure as I can breathe, I know Chris has found a way to convince Will that this is somehow wrong. Maybe you were drugged or something and just don't remember doing it."

Before the words were out of my mouth my phone rang. It was Sophia.

"Sarah, I put a tail on your client. I also intercepted a fax that went back and forth between him and his lawyer. He's gone. Tim tried to keep up with him, but his car is too fast and apparently he doesn't care about speeding tickets. Chris probably could have kept up with him, but according to Tim her was going faster than a buck thirty on the freeway. That's a felony."

"Thanks Soph," I said.

"What is problem?" asked Becca.

"Our luck isn't getting any better," I said. "Will has left town to try to get over you. He's letting his lawyer handle the divorce and running away."

"No problem," she said. "You said you know your husband like you know your own breath. Well so do I. We have a cabin in the woods that we go to sometimes. I think he will go there. But just in case, come into the house." She took me into their home office.

She booted up the computer and launched a program. There were five glowing dots on a screen. She pulled up a map over lay. She looked at the dots. Four of them were together. "These four dots are my BMW, My Range Rover, Will's Shelby GT 350 and his Jeep. The fifth dot is Will's other Mustang and as I said he is heading for the cabin," she told me.

She left the room and started throwing things into a bag. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm going to be with my husband," she said.

As she headed out to the Range Rover, I followed her. My phone rang again.

"Honey, I'm on my way in and you're going to be shocked," said Chris.

"Chris, don't come home," I said. I gave him the coordinates of the cabin that I'd copied from the map in Becca and Will's house. "Meet me there ASAP."

We drove for about two hours to get to the area around the cabin. I got Becca to stop in the little town that was about a ten minute drive from their cabin. We had a talk. I explained to her that Will was distraught. He was hurting as badly as she was, so she had to be careful. He might say some things that he didn't really mean and she had to be smart enough and strong enough for the both of them.

"Why would he believe that I would do that?" she asked. "He knows that I love only him."

"Becca all men are really just little boys. My husband Chris is so much like your Will that it's crazy. They became friends as soon as they met. Both of them have a couple of Mustangs, they're both as shy as hell. I'm telling you it's crazy. A big part of what you like so much in Will is that shyness and the way that he treats you like you're the only woman in the universe, right?" She nodded and smiled for the first time since we'd gotten together.
"Well a part of that is the fact that Will never really considered himself your equal. In the back of his mind he's always seen you as this rich, beautiful super model. He's always thought that someday you'd get tired of him and dump him. So when his friend Danny showed him that video, he got scared. And then when Chris sent him the second video he just snapped. He's hurting pretty badly."

"I want to see this video," she said.

"Sorry, you'll have to wait a while. I don't have it with me," I said. "Besides, right now our job is to go there and calm him down until Chris gets here. So let's drive out to your cabin and I'll go in first. When I get him calmed down, I'll bring you in okay?"

She just nodded. Ten minutes later, we were in front of a beautiful small house.

"This is a cabin?" I asked in surprise.

"My husband is an architect," she smiled, proudly.

I got out of the car and went and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" yelled Will from inside. His voice was clearly broken up. I could tell he was really upset.

"Will, it's me, Sarah," I said. It was a good thing that we'd parked on the side of the house. He cracked the door and looked at me suspiciously.

"I just want to talk," I said. "And you shouldn't be alone right now."

He opened the door and I walked inside. I spent about twenty minutes calming him down. I walked around the cabin picking up liquor bottles and putting them in the sink. Luckily he'd only opened one of them and hadn't drank much of it.

"Sarah, I really thought she loved me," he said sadly. Will looked like a balloon with all of the air let out of it. "I loved her more than anything. What did I do wrong?"

"Will..." I said. I didn't know what to say.

"My life is over," he said. "There's just no reason for me to go on."

"Will," I said again. "It's not that bad." It was the wrong thing to say. He exploded.

"How would you go on without Chris?" he spat.

"We'll never find out because I'll never have to," I hissed back at him. My compassion and all of that bullshit goes out the window when my marriage is questioned.

"That's exactly what I thought," he said. "I thought we were perfect but I over looked one simple fact. Angels never settle for regular guys."

"And they never settle for morons either," quipped Becca from the doorway. She headed for him. Apparently she'd been listening to him all along.

"Will, I never cheated on you," she said. "I would never do that."

She had me convinced and apparently she was even giving Will something to believe in. Because he'd stopped trying to back away from her as she slowly advanced on him.

"Get away from me," he suddenly yelled. "Why should I believe you?"

"Because you still love me dummy," she said. "Look into my eyes and tell me I'm lying to you."

"I want to believe you so badly," he said. "Deep down in my heart, I really want to."

"Then do it," said Chris. I covered the distance between us in a heartbeat and wrapped my arms around him so tightly I thought he'd burst and I'd shoot our baby across the floor.

"But what about the video?" asked Will. "Are you saying that someone faked the video?"

"It's probably photo-shopped," said Becca who was again very slowly moving towards Will.

"Nah, the video is 100% genuine," said Chris. Will glared at Becca again.

"What the hell is going on, Chris, did she cheat on me or not?" asked Will.

"Not!" said a big older guy walking in. He was dragging another man, kicking and screaming into the room.

Both Will and I recognized him as the short greasy looking guy from the videos. "I'm going to have you all arrested," he screamed. "This is kidnapping. You'll all do thousands of years in jail."

"Only if you live to complain," said the old guy dragging him.

Will immediately launched himself at the man. Only Chris intercepting him saved the man from a nasty kick.

Becca threw herself at Chris. She thought he was trying to hurt Will. Chris moved as if Becca was standing still and she ran into the table clumsily.

"Becca, besides his giant dick, what does this asshole have that I don't?" asked Will. "I would do anything he can do for you, if you'd only give me the chance."

"Will, are you nuts?" asked Becca. "I've never seen that man before in my life."

"If you're going to keep lying, I'm done," hissed Will.

"Will, she's not lying," said Chris. "You'd better sit down."

Will sat on a comfy sofa. Becca immediately dove for the spot next to him. She smiled at him even as he tried to move away from her.

"Let me guess," said Will. "The bastard hypnotized her so technically she's never actually seen him."

"Nope," said Chris. "Will, I'm your friend, you know that, right?"

"Yes," said Will.

"Then I need you to do something," said Chris. "...Because this is going to be a shock. Close your eyes and take Becca's hand. No matter what you do don't let go of her hand. Becca, close your eyes too."

Chris left the cabin and when he came back, I ruined his big reveal in my shock. I gasped and both Will and Becca opened their eyes. Their mouths dropped open. They were as shocked as I was. Standing there next to my husband was Becca, or at least a second Becca.

Will started smiling like an idiot. He grabbed Becca and hugged her like there was no tomorrow. "I'm so sorry Honey," he gushed. "When I saw that video I thought..."

"I don't care what you thought, dummy," she said. "Just don't ever let me go."

"So Becca has a twin?" I laughed.

"What's your name?" I asked the woman standing there smiling.

"What's YOUR name?" she asked.

"My name is Sarah," I said.

"My name is Sarah," she said.

"Is her name really Sarah?" I asked Chris. He shrugged his shoulders.

"What does Hugh call you, Honey?" asked Clyde. She turned to Clyde and smiled.

"He calls me bitch or whore," she said to Clyde smiling.

"Is she serious?" I asked. "Or does she think this is some kind of game?" The angry tone in my voice apparently scared the woman and she immediately ducked behind Clyde. She only seemed to be at home with Clyde and Chris.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked. "Is she mentally challenged?"

"Hi, Sarah," said the older man. "I'm Clyde Waitt. She's not mentally challenged at all. In fact she's as smart as Rebecca is. The problem is that she's only about two months old. If you really think about it, the fact that she can even speak is remarkable." He took the woman's hand and stroked it. She smiled. She obviously loved the attention.

"So this woman is my wife's twin?" asked Will.

"Nope," said Clyde. "She's a clone."

Chris stood there holding my hand. He nodded his head. The rest of us were too shocked to process it. Clones were something that didn't exist in the real world except for some sheep that died early, and didn't taste good. It was hard to wrap our heads around the idea that someone had somehow duplicated a living breathing human being.

"How the fuck is this possible?" asked Will. He and Becca hadn't let go of each other since they'd discovered what was wrong. "I'm really pissed about this," he said. "This almost ruined my life and my marriage."

"The key word in your case, Will, is almost," said Clyde.

It's taken me a couple of years to get to this point," he said.

"Two and a half years ago I was living with my wife. I'd just turned fifty. And she was forty eight but she still didn't look a day over thirty five. She was my entire world. Sure she had a few miles on her, but she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I'd just retired from the service to settle down in the same small town in Iowa that we'd grown up in. I was looking forward to a comfortable life with the woman I loved. We weren't blessed enough to have any children but we had each other and that was enough for us.

Then I started hearing rumors about things that had gone on over the past six months or so during my last deployment. The stories were ugly. I didn't have the benefit of the video that you got Will and I'm glad. Seeing that kind of thing can scar you for life. Luckily it looks like the two of you love each other enough to get past this. Especially since you can clearly see that your lovely wife didn't do anything wrong.

Anyway, I started to listen to my friends and acquaintances and I didn't want to feel like a fool, so I checked some things out. My best friend in town swore that he'd seen my wife Shelly going in and out of a motel that was just outside of town.

I went with him and I was shocked to see her getting out of a strange car and going into the motel. I crept up to the windows and peeked inside the room. She was already taking her clothes off and she dropped to her knees and started sucking the guy's dick. I didn't go busting into the room, I just turned and left. I didn't want to go to jail. I didn't want to beat anyone's ass. I'd seen too much violence in the service.

All I wanted to do was to sit down with her and calmly talk about what was going on. I waited for a couple of days so the anger would fade and I'd be clear headed. But before I could start the conversation, she brought it up.

"Clyde, we haven't made love in four days," she said. "You've barely spoken to me and last night you rolled away from me in bed. What's going on?"

"Why don't you tell me, Shell," I said. "I know that women get lonely when their husbands are away, but I thought that...Well I guess I never expected that of you. And since I'm back now and I've retired, at least you could have had the decency to either tell me so I could decide whether or not to stay married to you, or to divorce you."

"Clyde, what the hell are you talking about?" she asked. She looked really confused. I misread her confusion as surprise.

"I saw you go into that motel room with that guy, the other evening," I said. "I saw what the two of you were doing."

"You didn't see me go anywhere with any man," she spat angrily. And again as much as I loved her and knew her, I misread her. Her anger at being accused of something that she hadn't done came across to me as anger that she'd been caught. I now also suspect that she was devastated that I'd think that she could do something like that.

"So you think I'm a whore?" she asked loudly.

"Look we all have our needs" I said. "But I put mine aside because I loved you so much. I feel kind of stupid now because I had plenty of chances but I never slipped once."

"I didn't slip either, you fool," she spat at me.

"Look, Shelly, I know what I saw," I said. "And if we can't discuss this openly and honestly maybe we shouldn't be together." I packed a few things and left. She was really shocked. I don't think she had any idea how angry I was about the situation. We talked several times but we just couldn't work out our differences. I was angry at her for cheating on me and I had friends telling me that she was still doing it. She was angry because I was accusing her of doing something that she hadn't done. She was also angry because I didn't trust her. We ended up divorced.

Neither of us could help the other. Neither of us really wanted a divorce but both of us were too stubborn to back down. We were both depressed afterwards. I know I was but I was nowhere near her level of depression. Three weeks after the divorce, she made herself a pot of her special tea with four bottles of sleeping pills dissolved in it. She never woke up. By the time they found her she'd been dead for over a week.

I had to be committed. I went more than a little crazy. A few months after the funeral, some of my friends started to look at me funny. They told me that they were still seeing Shelly at that motel.

I started to hang out there and eventually met her. She was a carbon copy of my Shelly, but her personality was completely different. It's like the way Becca here and whatever we're going to call her clone, look exactly alike. But Becca two, here, doesn't have that Russian accent.

Eventually I got in good enough with her, that the guy who brought her to the motel every night...I guess he was her pimp, offered to sell her to me. I thought he was talking about letting me pimp her. But he explained it to me. He was going to sell her to me. She'd be my property body and soul.

By that time I had noticed that she had spots and other things on her body that indicated that she would die soon. By then I knew that something was going on. I got a DNA swab from her and some hair off of Shelly's brush. I sent the samples to a guy I know who does that kind of thing. He told me that I'd made a mistake and sent different samples from the same person. I told him the two were twins and he told me I was wrong. He started trying to tell me how they differentiate twins and the two samples I gave him were from the exact same person. Not a mother or a sister or even a twin, the same being.

I grabbed the pimp the next day and beat the shit out of him until he told me how to get to the guy who'd sold her to him. I found him and tortured him until I found out everything he knew and so on and so forth until I got near enough to the top to get the information I needed.

I'm so close now that I can smell the bastard. Doctor Franklin Nathaniel Stein is responsible for my wife's death and he will pay. Do you know that they just picked her at random? One of Stein's flunkies was out looking for DNA material to use to test the process. He went into a hair salon and picked up some of my wife's cut off hair from the trash. It could have been anyone. I lost my wife by random chance. Fate just decided to screw me over.

From the information I got from that bastard, Hugh, while we were on the plane, Becca was targeted as the next phase in the plan. The clones are more stable now but they still won't live anywhere near a normal human lifespan. According to Hugh, Becca two here will probably only live for about thirty years. And after the first twenty she'll begin to age rapidly.

Stein has this big plan to provide super rich customers with the women of their dreams. Just think about it. If you have the money, even if you're a fat, freckle faced, zit ridden nerd, you can have Eva Mendes; or her clone, on your arm. She'll be beautiful, she'll be sexy and she'll be faithful to you. She'll be obedient and you can even program how long she lives. When you get tired of her, you can trade her in on someone else.

Becca was a test run for Hugh here who's one of Frank's biggest investors. I guess that porno money comes in handy.

Clyde stopped talking at that point. We'd all had a really rough day. Clyde locked Hugh in the trunk of their rental car. It didn't have a safety trunk release and Clyde had drilled holes for ventilation in the bottom. They set up a schedule and Will insisted on taking part in it, for who would check on Peters. Tomorrow they would get more information from him. But tonight was about something different.

Obviously Will had the same idea I did. "Goodnight, find a room," he yelled over his shoulder, as he started up the stairs. He grabbed Becca's arm and practically dragged her after him. As soon as she realized where they were heading, it became difficult to figure out who was dragging whom.

I yawned cavernously and Chris got the hint. "Well, I guess we're going to sleep too," he said.

"Yeah," said Clyde. "Enjoy your uh...sleep. Don't forget you have the second shift."

* * * * * *

Clyde

I went out to the car to check on Peters even though it had been barely ten minutes since we put him in the trunk. He seemed to be breathing and the car had enough room for him to stretch out. He was actually very comfortable. He was asleep. I woke him up.

"What do you want?" he asked. "It can't be morning already."

"You do know that you're going to tell us everything we want to know," I told him.

"You do know that I'm going to have you all put into jail for kidnapping," he said. "You could let me go now. You could tell your friends that I escaped on my own. No one would have to go to jail."

"Hugh, this was always a one way ride for me," I smiled. "When my wife died, it left me nothing to live for. Since I'm willing to die to get Stein, jail really doesn't scare me."

"But you have women with you. They won't let you kill me or torture me," he said. "The tone of his voice had changed as a note of desperation affected it."

"Who says I won't start before they wake up?" I asked. "My slim blond surfer looking friend has the next shift. You've already seen the way he fights. You have no idea what he's capable of. The two of us could inflict more pain on you by morning than you could ever stand. In a couple of hours you'd give up your own mother to save your ass. You'll give up Stein. It's just a question of how much pain you want to go through. Remember back at your warehouse how Chris played a game with your men. They threw everything they had at him, knowing that his intention was to kick them in the nuts. Not only could none of those huge men beat him. They couldn't even stop him when they knew what his target was. What do you think he'll do to you?"

"But, Stein has people," whined Peters. "He has a lot more men than I do. If I give him up, he'll kill me."

"If you don't I'll kill you," I said. "Your best option is to tell us where to find him. Because once you do that we're going after him. And I think he'll be so busy trying to fight us off or hide from us, that he won't have the time to go after you. But you think about it. I'll be back in a hour or two for your decision."

I had given him something to think about. The fear in his eyes told me that as I hoped, I'd scared the shit out of him.

The car was parked very close to what I considered a nice sized house, but Will and Becca called their cabin. The place had four bedrooms, a deck that ended only fifty yards from a small lake and a spa. It was nicer than a lot of people's primary homes. I guess you think differently when you're a successful architect and your wife is a super model.

Will just seemed to be so normal and down to earth though. It amazed me that both he and Chris seemed to have and love Mustangs. What amazed me even more was that both of them seemed to have more than one and that they both seemed to be planning to buy more of them.

I guess life works differently for me. For one thing I'm older. For another, I don't seem to have what they consider or what most people would consider a life, anymore.

For most of my time on this planet or at least the adult part of it, I was in the service. And as strange as it may seem, for the last ten years, I've never been in combat. A lot of people don't realize it, but an important part of military operations is logistics. You can't have any type of war unless you get the troops and their vehicles and equipment to the operational zones. I've been involved in military logistics for ten years. Before that I handled a lot of missions that I can't talk about, but I got hurt on one of those and moved in another direction. Logistics was that direction. It kept me in the military even after my combat abilities were compromised. My thirty year military career continued.

For most of that time my wife and I had lived on various bases around the world. Five years ago when I began to consider retirement we'd bought the house in our home town. During my time in the service I'd seen lots of marriages and families break up for exactly what I had believed that my Shelly had done.

The time apart that most military couples have to endure can easily ruin or at least challenge a marriage. The separation makes your sex life a feast or famine situation. A lot of very healthy people both men and women all prey to it. While they're together it's nearly wall to wall sex and then the weeks or even months of going without, pushes them into doing something...human.

I guess that was why it was so easy for me to believe that Shelly had done it. The funny thing is that I understood the temptation. I'd had no intention of divorcing Shelly for being human. Although I hadn't liked the idea, because my needs were at least as intense as hers and I had truly never slipped, but I could understand it. What had angered me was the frequency that she'd displayed. People were telling me that she was doing it every night. And then the two factors that really damned us came. The first was that she'd seemed to continue doing it after I'd come home. And the second had been her absolute refusal to come clean about it. Actually the lying was the worst part. If we didn't trust each other, what was the point of us being married?
But I'd found out far too late, that she hadn't been lying. I blamed myself for her death of course. But at the same time I blamed the man who had caused the rift between us in the first place, as well. And once I'd discovered his reasons for doing it, for doing this whole thing, I knew that I owed it to Shelly's memory to end him.

And that's why I don't have a life. It's why I don't have creature comforts or cars. I'm on a mission and I've put having a life on hold until I put that asshole in the ground. I still have my house back home. But I haven't been there in at least a year. And even then it was a quick stop before chasing down another lead.

I've worked my way up the feed chain until I got to Hugh Joel Peters. I had left more than a few dead or disabled lab techs, scientists and shady business men in my wake. There had even been a couple of times when I'd nearly gotten Stein. But the bastard was very wary, very wiley and too God damned slippery for his own good.

Of course I'd been bluffing back there with Peters. I knew that Peters wasn't even associated with Stein when Shelly was cloned. In fact, I had been chasing Stein for longer than he and Peters had worked together. Peters was in no way responsible for what had happened to my wife. I could therefore, in good conscience, not do him any permanent damage. But he didn't have to know that. It was a bluff pure and simple.

The second thing was that I'd given him the impression that our little group was a unified front, when in fact we all had our own separate reasons for what we'd done. Chris and Sarah had been hired to find out whether or not Becca was cheating on Will. If she had been, they were to get evidence to support him in his divorce. It seemed funny to me. Will had been in the exact same situation that I was once in and we had completely different motivations. All I'd wanted was for Shelly to admit what she'd done and stop. I'd have forgiven her in a heartbeat and we could have gone on with our lives.

Will and Becca clearly loved each other a great deal. At lest as much as I loved Shelly, and honestly I'd probably have to say more.

But he'd been willing to simply walk away from that great love simply because she gave another guy some pussy. The oddest thing about it, at least to me, was that he didn't have any proof. At least I had seen with my own eyes, what I thought was Shelly cheating on me. And even then I'd been willing to give her the chance to come clean and stop. Will was obviously more absolute in his morality. Or perhaps it was only his youth.

In my time I've seen a lot of things happen and I've come to realize that no relationship is perfect. As much as Chris and Sarah love each other there are secrets between them. I'm pretty sure that Sarah has no idea that her sweet, soft spoken engineer husband, who helps her out on the occasional divorce case, was tracking and murdering people for Uncle Sam before he attended his high school prom. Chris has probably put all of that behind him. He probably considers it a different life or something that someone else did, but does Sarah even know what her husband is really capable of?

In my time with them I've also wondered just what would happen if Sarah and now the baby she carries was ever threatened. How far Chris might go for someone he loves that much scares me.

But now for all of them, the case is over. Will has the chance that I never did. His wife is back in his arms as we speak. For Chris and Sarah it's even simpler. They've gone far beyond what the average P. I. Is capable of and solved yet another tricky case. Once again, Sarah Price has proven herself to be the best there is at what she does, although this time she really didn't do much. Chris and I had done all of the heavy lifting. But in any event, they'd earned another fat paycheck and probably a healthy bonus for going beyond the call of duty.

All of the remaining questions and problems were mine.

The question of how to go about getting the information I needed from Peters was a problem only for me. How to go about using any information that I got from Peters was again my problem alone. The Becca clone? What would become of her? I had discovered her so I guess it was really up to me to figure out what the hell to do with her as well. Although perhaps I could convince one of the happy couples to look after her until I finished this.

I was hoping that Chris and Sarah would look after her. It probably seems more like something that Will and Becca should do, but it would more than likely be nightmarish for Becca to have to look at a carbon copy of herself all of the time. Especially one who would do some of the things that Becca two had been conditioned to do sexually.

From our conversations Sarah had explained to me some of the things that had angered Will the most about that video. Seeing his wife do things with another man that she had refuse to do with him had caused him to become unglued. Having a woman who looked so exactly like her that even her husband couldn't tell them apart, who did do those things around them, was likely something that Becca wouldn't care for.

Realistically, I didn't need their help any way. Of course I would have loved to have Chris in this with me. And Sarah would probably prove very useful in getting us intel and coordinating things, but Will and Becca brought nothing to the party. They were better off and safer out of it.

As soon as I reached for the door it opened and there she was waiting for me. As her beautiful eyes focused on me, I answered her unasked question before it touched her lips.

"I didn't hurt him. He's fine," I said, closing the door behind me. She looked at me in confusion. And then the lightbulb went on.

"I wasn't wondering about him," she said. "I was waiting for you."

"Why?" I asked. "Do you need something?"

"I have a lot of questions," she said. "And you're always so nice to me. You don't look at me like the others do. I learned to speak through subliminal and AV training while I was in the bad place. So I may not know the correct words for..."

"What bad place?" I asked.

"The place where I grew," she said. "It was full of men and a few women in white coats who pulled and prodded at me and gave me awful shots and took samples. They never asked and most of the time they talked about me as if I was a thing instead of a person. It was awful."

"Do you remember where the place was?" I asked.

"No," she said shaking her head. "The last thing I remember about it was the last time that I had to be examined by the man with the deep voice and the scary eyes. He told me that I would begin my new life soon. They gave me another shot and when I woke up, I was with Hugh. He told me that if I ever tried to escape, he'd kill me and get another. Hugh kept changing his mind about what he wanted. He was always looking through magazines and saying, "I should have gotten HER."

"I guess sometimes he liked me and other times, I was just wrong. Sometimes he'd talk about how great my legs are and others he'd complain about me not having any tits. Tits are breasts, right?"

I nodded and she smiled. "But you're so beautiful," I said. "You're a work of art. How could anyone complain about..."

"Oh he had lots to complain about," she said. "Sometimes he'd take me to a place where people who wanted to work for him met with us. Hugh makes sex movies."

She informed me of Hugh's occupation like it was the greatest thing in the world.

"There was a woman in one of those places that wanted to work for Hugh," she continued. "She was a short blond woman. Her chest was flatter than mine. But when she got up on stage and started dancing, Hugh's eyes popped out and I could tell that he wanted to sex her. She had a really rounded bottom and she kept wiggling it. I didn't think it was really dancing but Hugh loved it."

"He looked at me," she continued. "He asked me if I could do that. But then he just shook his he's and said, "Forget it. You don't have enough booty to clap."

"And Hugh was always sexing me. He made me do things that I just didn't want to do. But if I refused him, I knew he'd just send me back to the man with the scary voice, so I did it. I could tell that he was getting tired of me though. Because when you rescued me he was about to let all of those men sex me. I think maybe that was now he was going to get rid of me. He was going to let them sex me to death." I just shook my head. I really didn't know what to say to her.

"Uhm no one will ever sex you again unless you want them to," I said. She smiled.

"Not even you?" she asked.

"Especially not me," I said.

"Your friends seem nice," she said. "Why do they all look at me or talk about me like I'm not here?"

"Uhm...?" I began.

"Bitch," she said.

"No, Honey. Bitch is not a name..."

"You called me Becca two, before. Is that my name?" she asked.

"I guess that was just something to call you so we'd know who we were talking about," I said. "Maybe you don't have a name yet. That's a good thing. It means you can have any name you want."

"Your name is Clyde," she said smiling. "Can I be Clyde too?"

"No sweetheart. Clyde is a man's name," I said.

"So what girl's names go with Clyde," she asked.

"Uh, the only one I can think of is Bonnie," I said.

"I love that," she smiled. "Can I be Bonnie?" I nodded and she smiled again.

I sat down on the sofa and turned the TV on. She sat down next to me.

"Clyde why doesn't Becca one like me?" she asked. The innocence of her voice and the question amazed me.

"it's not your fault, Honey," I said. "But you almost cost her something that she loves more than anything else in the world."

"Her man, right?" she asked. "But I've never even spoken to him. And he's afraid of me too. And the other two look at me like I'm an oddity. I don't mind that so much. I'm used to it. But I really want Bonnie one...I mean Becca one to like me. I like her."

"Just give her some time," I said.

"Why does she talk funny?" she asked.

"Because she grew up in a different country," I said. "It's called an accent."

"You do know that they're all upstairs sexing, right?" she asked.

"I kind of figured as much," I told her.

"Do you want to sex me?" she asked. Thankfully, we were interrupted by the sound of quiet footsteps coming down the stairs.

I looked and saw Sarah coming down the stairs.

"Didn't you hear him yelling?" she asked. As I watched her don her tiny rectangular glasses while swinging that thick mane of reddish blonde hair out of the way, the thought occurred to me that she had to be at least as attractive as Becca, the world class super model.

She might even be more attractive because Sarah actually had breasts and hips to go with her long legs. Even as I took a breath to answer, Bonnie put her hand on my shoulder almost protectively. Sarah noticed the gesture and her lips formed a hint of a smile as she went past us.

"Where's Chris?" I asked.

"Window," she said. "He's already there."

Next I heard the sound of Will and Becca coming down.

A few moments later we all made it outside, where Chris was holding Hugh by his collar and heading back inside.

"I'll talk," screamed Hugh. "I'll tell you what you want to know, just let me go before you go after him." He looked straight at me. "You won, I don't want to be tortured." Then he looked around before settling on another face.

"Tell him to let me go or you know what will happen to you, bitch!" he screamed.

"That's not my name anymore," she said calmly. "And you can't make me do those awful things anymore, so I don't care what happens to you."

Hugh was flabbergasted. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You're my property. You don't get to just decide what you care about and what you don't."

"It's just like she said," said Sarah. "You have no hold on her anymore. How she came to be here; how she came to be period, doesn't matter. She's a person. She has rights."

"Yeah whatever," said Peters. "I want to do this like the old guy said. I tell you guys everything I know. Then you let me go. You go your way and I go mine. Of course I was planning on taking my property with me, but I guess it'll be easier for me to run and to hide, if I'm alone."

"My name is Bonnie," she said, surprising everyone. They all just looked at me.

"Bonnie and Clyde," said Sarah smiling. "I think it's cute."

We all went back inside of the cabin. For the next hour, Peters told us everything he knew about Stein and his process. He told us where Stein got the financing. Where he believed Stein's main lab was. Stein's most likely home address and how many people he'd seen the one time that he'd actually been to the lab.

We realized then that even with help from Chris, Sarah, Will, Becca and Bonnie, it was hopeless. There was no way that two trained men, one untrained but well mening guy, a pregnant woman, a super model and a clone, were going to take that lab down. Stein had too many hired guns, too much security and all of the advantages.

If this had been a movie, we'd have called in Arnold, Sylvester Stallone and the rest of the expendables, but in real life, we took a different approach.

Chris, Sarah and I went to visit an old friend of Sarah's that she knew from a case. It was funny because I'd have been sure that Chris would have been the one who called in an old friend.

Will agreed to drive me. I think he wanted to somehow stay in the mix on this. I didn't really want to involve any civilians, but I guess he had a right to know what was going on.

Besides there wasn't a better way unless we left Sarah behind and since the guy was her contact that didn't seem feasible. There was also no way for Chris, Sarah and me to fit into Chris' Mustang. I don't know why they put a back seat in that car when no one older than seven or eight can fit back there.

So the four of us drove to the spot Sarah had picked for a meeting. We'd been sitting there in that coney island eating greasy hot dogs for about a half hour, when I heard the growl. I looked out side to see that a third Mustang had pulled up beside the two we'd driven. I began to wonder if everyone except me had one of those cars.

The guy who got out, was older than Sarah and Chris, but younger than I am. He looked around the place with the eyes of a cop or an ops guy. He quickly scanned the place and took a second look at Chris and me, but no one else.

He came right over and sat down at our table.

"Hey Sarah," he said. "The pre-mommy look, looks good on you."

"Hi Dan," she said. "I was sorry to hear about Meg. By the time someone had told me about it, everything was over. I sent flowers to the hospital and called and left you a message."

"I know Sarah," he said sadly. "I got them, but with everything that happened, I'm way behind getting back to people. I was working my butt off to keep me sane. And every second that I wasn't working, I was at the hospital until she came home a couple of months ago and...."

"She came home?" gasped Sarah. "But I thought...."

"Yeah," smiled Dan. "Pretty much everyone did. But she pulled through."

"How is she?" asked Sarah. "Is she still...?"

"She's different in a lot of ways," said Dan. "But in many she's still the same. She can't work any more. And she uh...doesn't remember a lot of things. But you can't get shot in the head and not have it change things."

I'm a pretty good judge of people and the thing that struck me the most was that the man was either lying or holding something back. Shit, I hated this. Spies and spooks made their living lying and pretending to be something other than what they really were. I didn't think those guys could tell the truth to save their lives. Did any of them know what the truth actually was?

That made me think about Chris. In his case I was pretty sure that he'd either been sworn to secrecy or had just put his past behind him, not to fool the people close to him, but so he could have a somewhat normal life. This Dan guy though, was a different matter. He seemed as twitchy and secretive as every other CIA, FBI, NSA, EIEIO guy I'd ever met.

"Chris Harris," he said, extending his hand to Chris. "I guess this kind of thing is different from drawing car parts huh?

Maybe it was just his normal expression but the tiny hint of a smirk on his face made me think that he knew more about Chris and his background than he was letting on. Maybe he knew and had been advised to keep it to himself or maybe he was telling the truth but I couldn't tell. He turned to me then and stuck out his hand.

"Clyde Waitt," he said. "When I goggled "Old War Horse" your picture came up. Whatever you guys are into, I'm sure you can handle it." Once again his words told me that he'd probably seen my files as well, maybe even the stuff that was supposed to be very highly classified.

I noticed that as friendly as he was acting or attempting to act, he didn't bother to introduce either himself or the agency he worked for. It was simply more proof of the secrets and lies type of field that he worked in. Those guys never, EVER, freely give out any information. And they NEVER give you the whole story. With these guys, when they're looking you straight in the eye, there's usually a knife at your back.

I had to get my head in the game before I gave away anything that I didn't want to let out. I noticed that both Sarah and Chris were as cool as cucumbers. It took us about forty five minutes to tell Almond about what we had, what we knew and what we'd done. He took notes and recorded the conversation. He also asked us a bunch of questions for clarification. Then he got up and briefly went out to his car.

As soon as he left, we started making small talk. We didn't talk about the case except to ask each other several scripted questions about Dan himself and what we thought he might do. We'd asked each other those questions because Sarah had told us that she liked Dan and she trusted him, but he was as slick as oiled snake shit, so she wouldn't put it past him to have planted some sort of listening device or marker.

We had, by prior arrangement, left out a few things even when we went into detail about the case. We had never mentioned Bonnie at all. We had also not mentioned that we'd briefly held Hugh Joel Peters.

When Dan came back inside the restaurant, Chris and I were dumbfoundedly watching as Sarah managed to cram another coney dog into her svelte frame.

"Shut up, I'm eating for three," she said.

"I thought it was eating for two," I told her.

"I'm providing nutrition for myself and the baby. That makes two," she said. "And the more I eat here, the less chance of me sending Chris out to get me some weird craving."

Dan sat down then, and I could tell that he'd discovered something. He looked excited but at the same time he seemed pensive.

"Dr. Franklin Nathaniel Stein is wanted in several different countries," he began.

"He's done this in other places too?" I asked.

"Not that I know of Clyde," he said. "We have no proof that he's done what you claim at all and that's..."

"That's why Uncle Sam is going to sit back on his fat ass, while my wife's murderer goes free, right," I spat. I got up then. "Come on guys. Let's go."

"Wait a minute, Clyde," he said. "You have to let me finish." he actually seemed to have genuine concern, perhaps compassion or empathy on his face. Maybe what he'd gone through with his own wife had made him sensitive to my plight.

"Clyde even you have to admit that the whole cloning thing is far fetched. It sounds like bad science fiction. Cloning, although illegal all over the world is possible. But the way you guys described it is years away from being possible. The only successful things we can confirm that have been cloned are a few frogs and some sheep. And even those were implanted into other animals and had to grow to adulthood. What you're talking about is just..."
"So you think we're lying, or making this up, right?" I asked angrily.

"Clyde, you have to calm down. And for the love of God, please let me finish," he said. I sat back down and listened then.

"We've sent a team to surveil the location you mentioned. Even if what you claim is going on sounds iffy we have more than enough charges to to get a warrant. We have people checking on the guy you mentioned as possibly aiding him in financing, but do you have any idea of how Peters started out making his money?"

We all shook our heads. "He designed several uhm...designer street drugs and flooded several cities and a couple of small countries with his products before he disappeared and went into something more lucrative. He's currently being sought in connection with designing and marketing several supposedly untraceable PEDs."

We were all shocked. "Stein may be responsible for the way that sports have tipped lately. Especially in international or Olympic sports. You may have noticed that several small countries have suddenly begun producing a large number of athletes who are shattering world records and reinventing what is humanly possible, that's Frank N. Stein. So we're going to go into that complex as soon as we have an operational plan. Be ready because it'll probably be sooner than you expect," he said.

"That's great," I said.

"That's your tax dollars at work," he said smiling. "I'll be in touch." he waved and went back out into the parking lot where he got into his Mustang and drove off.

The three of us got Will and left the restaurant too. I started to say something, but Sarah gestured for silence. She reached into her purse and pulled put some sort of scanner. She ran it over each of us and nodded. Then ran it over the two cars. We weren't sure now he'd done it or even wheree they were, but our good friend Dan had managed to put some sort of locator tags on both cars. Since we didn't know the full capabilities of the tags we wouldn't talk about the case at all. Sarah also decided that we should probably drive to the office that she worked out of and switch cars before returning to the cabin.

We didn't want to let anyone know where we were so they couldn't surprise us.

Once we got to Rios investigations. Sarah used an even more powerful scanner to make sure that each of us was free of bugs or tags. We left the cars there. Until the investigation was over we'd leave them intact and broadcasting. If Uncle Sam wanted to believe that we were holed up at Sarah's office it was no skin off of our asses.

I was pleasantly surprised when we got back to the cabin to see Becca and Bonnie chatting away as if they were old friends. They had changed clothes to be more comfortable. The weirdest thing happened as Will got out of the car. They both stood up together and walked over to him. He looked back and forth between them which started both of them smiling.

"Okay, I get it," he said. "You think I can't tell you apart."

They nodded. Will walked around both of them and came back to the front. He reached out to the one on the left as both giggled and took her hand.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Bonnie," he said. She frowned and stomped her foot.

Then he grabbed the other one and hugged her tightly.

"How did you know?" asked Becca.

"I didn't until I saw the two of you from behind," he said.

"Are you saying our butts are different?" asked Becca.

"No, Honey," he said. "But when you and I uhm...reunited yesterday, you ended up with a few uhm...marks on your neck. Bonnie doesn't have those. Other than that, I wouldn't have been able to tell either."

We all settled in and had dinner. After that the two couples paired off and I found myself with Bonnie again. We'd just started to make small talk when my phone rang. It was Chris. He was out walking in the surrounding woods with Sarah and he was coming back to the house. Dan had called Sarah. Chris and I were going to be picked up in under an hour at Sarah's office to fly to Denver for the raid that they were doing on Stein's complex.

Sarah wasn't going. Apparently Dan's agency didn't think taking a pregnant woman on an op was prudent.

Chris and I barely had time to say our goodbyes. It had taken us fifty minutes to drive to the cabin from the office.

Chris made the trip back in forty five minutes. I had to close my eyes to avoid seeing the road as he drove Will's other Mustang back to the office. If we'd driven the car that we took to the cabin, we'd never have made it. The extra five minutes came in handy. We were actually inside the building when the three black SUV's pulled into the parking lot.

They outfitted us in black Tactical gear and filled us in on the plan. They had hacked into the main building's computer system and had seen that although Stein wasn't often there and when he was it was for very short periods of time, he was scheduled to be there that night at 1:15 a.m. to show the process to a possible new investor. The man apparently was a majority stick holder in a casino. I could just see him now offering some of his richest clients a chance to sleep with the woman of their dreams.

When the plane touched down in Denver, no one said a word. We'd been drilled over and over again on what we could and could not do. We knew our squad mates and what to look out for. And each squad had different goals and different objectives and targets.

Except for the fact that I had only one weapon, it was almost like being back in the service. Chris kept looking at the Sig Sauer handgun he'd been issued and shaking his head. I was sure that Chris would choose to get up close and personal if he encountered anyone. To each his own, I thought. I was just glad that Chris had chosen to take part. His job was over and had been over for a while. He could've been at home with his beautiful pregnant wife instead of being here to help me bring my own wife's murderer or at least the man who was most responsible for what had happened to her her down.

For my part, there was only one possible outcome. I know that we'd been told to take any suspects, especially Stein, alive, unless we were in danger of being killed or injured ourselves. But if I got Stein in my sights, his next lab would be a lot hotter and his boss would have horns, a pitchfork and a tail.

Even as we watched from the interior of another set of those all black SUV's, Stein's car pulled into the facility. We got a positive ID on him as he left his vehicle. I know it was him, because I'd seen him before and I was the one who picked him out among the three men who got out of the car. Another car that arrived with them, contained men I'd never seen before. They were probably Stein's cash cow and his retinue.

We waited for them to enter the building and then we silently approached from another angle. One team cut the heavy fence around the complex as we spread out to cover all of the exits and entrances.

We waited when we got there. Chris put a small charge on the locked door of our entry point and moved away to the side of the door and looked at his watch. Again I was stuck by how calm he was. Even the other two agents with us were nervous and they did this for a living.

At exactly the time we were supposed to move, we heard Dan's one word prompt, "Go," over the comm.

Chris pressed a button and the door was blown off of its hinges. We moved in immediately and started sweeping the building. There was utter chaos inside.

We checked the ID of every person we encountered and directed them outside, where the capture teams, would arrest them and take them to another location for debriefing, interrogation and possible charges. Some of the people here were innocent bystanders who just wanted to make a living. Others were scientists who knew that they were involved in illegal operations and would be prosecuted, jailed and lose their medical and scientific credentials for life.

Not very many of them put up a fight. Chris did get the chance to do an incredible scissor move with his legs to take down a huge security guy who thought he was Rambo. The agents on the scene were amazed at the ease with which he put the big guy on his back so he could be restrained.

About fifteen minutes into the op, a warning came over the comm. Stein had somehow gotten past us and was heading rapidly to the parking lot on the other side of the building where he was suspected of having a hidden vehicle.

I couldn't believe they hadn't considered that. Had the three stooges done the surveillance?

Chris grabbed my arm and dragged up the stairs. He'd memorized the map of the building and thought he knew a short cut. We'd been on the second floor so we went up to the third floor then back down to the second floor through a stairwell that cut down through the labs.

"Chris we're out of our zone," I said.

"You want Stein, don't you?" he asked. I just nodded and followed him. We were moving so quickly that I wasn't sure how the hell he knew where we were going. As he opened yet another door and then ducked a huge fist by bending backwards until his torso was nearly flat. I don't know how he kept his balance as he kicked straight forward hitting yet another huge guy in the nuts.

As the guy crouched holding onto his family jewels for dear life, Chris brought his elbow down on the man's skull so hard I could hear the crunch as I struggled to keep Chris in sight.

The altercation hadn't even slowed Chris down. Again I found myself wondering exactly what kind of childhood he'd had. It was difficult for me to rationalize the quiet, soft spoken man he was most of the time with the way he became at times like that.

With people running in every direction, he suddenly picked up an office chair and threw it through a large window. He jumped out of the window and onto the rooftop outside of it. It was only about a two foot drop. He ran along the edge of the roof looking down and pointing. I followed at a more sedate pace.

Chris started motioning wildly for me to hurry up and I saw what he saw. Two men just below us heading for a small garage-like building. I recognized Stein and my mouth narrowed.

Chris leapt off of the bulding's roof without losing a beat. The drop was at least fifteen feet. Let's face it. I know I'm over fifty, but fuck, I wasn't sure I could've made that jump when I was in my twenties. But if Chris could risk it to help stop a man who had ended the life of a woman he'd never met, I had to at least try. So I jumped. Did I jump as wildly as he had? Hell no, I'm too old for that type of foolishness. I quickly sat my ass down on the edge and scooted down as far as I could before letting go. Did I land as gracefully as he did. Fuck no, not anywhere close.

Honestly, I knew I shouldn't have tried that fucking jump in the first place, but I like to think that Shelly was proud of me wherever she was up there. The reality was that my left ankle snapped on contact with the ground. I was also lucky that my femurs didn't snap free of my pelvis and shoot up into my abdominal cavity. I did crack a tooth and break my nose as my head jerked so far forward that it hit my knee as well.

There I was on the ground with what sounded like explosions going off all over the building. I heard the sound of fire engines in the distance but the way this place was going up, I wasn't sure they'd be in time. I crawled to my feet with blood dripping from my face and found out that my left leg wouldn't support my weight. That ankle was definitely broken. I never realized it at the time but my career in kickball was over.

As my senses focused, I heard the sounds of grunts and looked to see Chris engaged with not one but three men at the same time. There were two huge body guards. I'd only remembered one. And Stein himself was trying to take jabs at Chris.

As I watched, one of the men pulled out a pistol. Before he could aim, Chris kicked him in the arm he held the pistol in. Chris kicked him in the elbow which snapped backwards causing the man to scream. Chris quickly turned to the other man and leaped into the air. He brought his fist down into the big man's face with the finality of a guillotine. But during the exchange, Stein had turned and ran. I pulled out my gun and leveled it at Stein. I shot him in the back. He jerked wildly and stopped running. I shot him again. The first shot caught him near his left kidney. The second shot in the upper back. Knowing that two thirds of the heart was on the left side; that was where I aimed. My aim was off a bit and I was trying to level the gun for third shot when I heard the screams.

"No we're supposed to take him alive. We can't prosecute him if he's dead." it was one of the squad leaders and he was clearly upset.

"You're out of your zone," he yelled. "You're not supposed to even be on this side of the fucking building. Why the hell is this place on fire? Who set off the charges? This is a cluster fuck."

"We got lost, dude," said Chris, smiling. He'd returned to his laid back surfer boy persona.

The pain in my ankle was overwhelming but I felt really good. I felt like justice had been done, whether Uncle Sam wanted it or not.

Two medical techs came on the scene they were heading towards me when the squad leader who was still pissed and shaking his head pointed them towards Stein.

"Fuck him," he shouted. "He's still talking shit. Take care of Stein."

They started working on Stein but were shaking their heads. An ambulance pulled up and they put him into it. One of the techs came over. "He won't survive the ride to the hospital," he said.

"Fuuuuuckkkkkkkkkk!" shouted the agent. He turned and looked at me.

"You killed him," he spat. "There goes our fucking case!"

"Works for me," I said. Even with the pain in my ankle, I was smiling more than I had in years.

The guy shook his head and just walked away in disgust. Dan came over to Chris and me then. He got a medical tech to look at my ankle. A few minutes later, I was loaded into an ambulance. Chris rode along with me. When we got to the hospital they gave me something for the pain and Chris went to call home to let everyone know what had happened.

I went to sleep shortly after that and when I woke up Chris and Dan were in the room with me. Chris just smiled and nodded. Dan shook his head.

"You know Clyde, you're no spring chicken," he said. "We got you the best doctor in the state, when it comes to joints. They put a carbon fiber pin your ankle. It's still going to be about six weeks until you get the cast off, but he thinks with time you'll be back to where you were before. But that still won't mean that you can go jumping off of rooftops with the school kids. Your old bones just aren't cut out for that any more. You're going to have to put all of that gung ho, hoo rah bullshit behind you."

I smiled again. He looked around the room and then closed the door.

"You guys can never tell anyone anything about what was going on there. Most of the agents there don't know what was going on. The science there was above their pay grades. Every member of Stein's staff who had an inkling of what was going on there has been incarcerated and will never see the light of day again. Luckily, out of all of those people, only a handful of them really knew what they were doing." He shuddered and shook his head.

"We found several...uhm specimens that were nearing the stages of completion. We terminated a couple of them. Luckily they hadn't reached consciousness. It wasn't like killing them because they had never been alive. It's a damned good thing that he didn't have any full grown clones walking around. That would have been awful. Since cloning is illegal and unethical, any specimens we found would have to be terminated after being studied for a while. This is a pure nightmare. The entire complex has been destroyed. Next we're going to level it, raze the sight and put up a daycare center. Your country and the world owes you guys a debt. this could have been really bad.

He looked around again. "The debt we owe you can never be repaid," he said. "Which is partially why A, we're going to name the daycare center after Clyde's wife. And B, I'm not going to mention that Clyde shot Stein, so he doesn't have to face any murder or interfering in a government investigation charges. You guys knew we needed that asshole alive.

Two hours later we were on a plane headed home.

* * * * * *

Epilogue

Clyde

I wasn't ready for it. I was prepared for and almost expecting to see Will and Becca holding onto each other like there was no tomorrow. The two of them loved each other, it was normal behavior. I was also prepared to see Sarah, doing a heavily pregnant woman's best attempt at running when the car pulled up. Even though she was in the business of investigating bad behavior and the sometimes bad things that happen when information about that behavior comes out, I expected to see her throw herself at Chris and check him out from head to toe to make sure the man she loves is still intact. I smiled even as the throbbing in my ankle alerted me that the pain was still there and would be for some time.

I stayed in the car as Chris got out so Sarah could see that he was fine. Then it happened. Bonnie slowly made her way around Becca and Will. She skirted the entwined forms of Sarah and Chris and made a beeline straight for me. When she got to the car, I think she noticed the difference in my face.

She yanked the door open and then saw the cast around my foot. Her face fell and I think I began to understand what Will must feel. When you see a face that is that beautiful suddenly change and see the pain on it, you'd do almost anything to bring back that beauty.

"What did you do to your foot?" she asked. The look on her face said that she wanted answers and she wanted them now.

"My foot is fine," I said jokingly.

"Then why is it in a cast?" she said loudly. Her voice was so loud and so shrill that that the other four noticed and tried to calm her down.

"He's going to be okay," said Chris.

"Shut up, Chris," she hissed, glaring at him. I noticed Sarah laughing. And Becca had a smile on her face too.

"Why is your foot in a cast?" she repeated, still maintaining her volume.

"I broke my ankle," I said. "It's fine, the surgeon said that..."

"What do you mean surgeon?" she asked. "They had to do surgery? Why didn't anyone call me?"

"I didn't know that I was supposed to...." I said.

"Yeah, you were supposed to," she said angrily. "This is going to mess everything up."

"Calm down," said Will. "It'll be fine."

"This is going to mess up your life too, William," she said. Will's mouth dropped open. If it hadn't been that the accent was missing, Bonnie sounded exactly the way that Becca did when she was angry.

"Well we do have one problem that we need to get together to find a solution to," said Chris. I nodded. Chris and Will helped me out of the car. I got my crutches and they let me walk but Bonnie wrapped an arm around my waist and walked the whole way with me.

As we gathered around the table, Chris and I explained the problem to them.

"So you mean that if anyone found out that Bonnie was alive that she'd be..." asked Sarah.

Becca and Bonnie looked at each other in that scary way that twins have of communicating without speaking.

"Is not really problem," said Becca.

"Nope, Clyde's ankle is the bigger problem," said Bonnie. "How did you break your ankle?" she asked me. Then she flipped her head towards Chris. "How did you let him break his ankle?"

Chris shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't his fault," I said. "I should know better. I'm too old to be jumping off of rooftops and..." her eyes got huge.

"Clyde we all know that I'm going to have a shortened lifespan. But I don't want you dying before me," she said.
"We need to figure out what to do about all of this," said Sarah.

"Is not necessary," said Becca. "We just need get me English tutor."

"What?" I asked. Sarah nodded her head. Will and Chris were both confused too.

"Will, Honey, I have been trying to come up with way to tell you this for weeks," said Becca. "You were wrong, from the start. You were very wrong. You think that I want some other man. You think that I am stupid model and want Hollywood living. I told you when we met that I am just farm girl. Meeting Sarah, made me realize that I have to go after what I want. So I decided to quit modeling and just be Becca Temple. It is really what I want most. I want to live with my husband and have a baby."

"But what about your career as a super model?" asked Will. "What about all of those signed contracts and obligations. They'll sue us blind and..."

"Rebecca Miranova will handle all of those," said Bonnie. "Nothing has to change. Rebecca just hires an English tutor and speech therapist to explain why she's suddenly speaking really good English. She also hires a big mean looking former military guy as a her manager, whom she eventually falls in love with."

"So how does my ankle ruin any of that?" I asked. They all looked at me as if I was stupid. But that was what we did. Four months later we got back together for the holidays. We were all far happier than we could have expected. Chris and Sarah had welcomed their new daughter, Charah into the world. Becca was three months pregnant and looking radiant. And Bonnie and I were truly in love. It hadn't taken very long. Taking care of Stein had left me open to forgive myself and move on with my life. Shelly would have wanted me find someone to spend the rest of my life with.

Bonnie and I would probably have about the same amount of life left to live. We'd even considered the fact that in ten years or so when Bonnie began to age at a far more rapid rate, Becca could take her modeling career back if she wanted it. Becca swore that in ten years her ass would be way too fat from having kids to even think about it.

* * * * *

Epilog 2

At a secret government lab located a hundred feet underground in the Nevada desert, agent Dan Almond looked at a row of large tubes.

He turned and looked into the lab behind the clear lexan viewing port.

"Somehow, I'm not sure about this one," said Almond. "There's something that's just not right.

"What do you mean?" said Geno Highsmith. "This is exactly what the DSA was set up to handle. No one in the world has a clue of what goes on here."

"I don't give a flying fuck about what the Department of Scientific Affairs does," snapped Almond. "That bastard is a killer. He's a sociopath as well. Think about all of the people he killed with his fucking drugs. Think about all of the problems his designer steroids are causing."

"But he's a fucking genius," said Highsmith. "If this technology is out there, the American people should be in a position to lead or at least know enough about it to defend our interests against it."

"What do we do when your genius, escapes?" asked Almond.

"Won't happen," said Highsmith. "We pulled two slugs out of him that should have killed him. He died there on the ground after what your friend did to him. He died again on his way to the hospital. The whole world thinks he's dead. During the surgery to save his life, we implanted an RF chip in him. If he ever goes outside of the complex it will release a capsule of poison directly into his heart that will cause instant death."

"He's a genius, remember," spat Almond. "He'll figure a way out of your trap."

"Let's say he did get out," said Highsmith. "Then we'd just call you and let you shoot him down like a dog in the street. After all he's already dead legally. So you can't kill him twice. And this way we get the benefits of his science to help advance our military."

As Dan almond left the complex, he was thinking about how tired he was of all of the lies. But...he thought as he hugged his wife. Sometimes the lies protected us from bigger sins. The problem was deciding when the time to lie was. Dan felt really bad about lying to Clyde Waitt. The man had served his country faithfully and deserved to know the truth about the man whose greed had led to his wife's death. Dan hated lying to Chris Harris even worse. But Dan knew that right not the two men had something that Dan rarely ever enjoyed. They had the feeling that they'd done a good thing. They had closure. Telling them wouldn't do anything but make them realize that they'd failed and take all of those good feeling away from them. There was also the fact that if Chris Harris wanted Stein dead, he could do it. So Dan kept the knowledge that Stein had survived although he disagreed with it.

He saw no future in keeping Stein alive. The man would probably be there in Nevada creating monsters that eventually would have to be stopped. But until then Dan would enjoy his time with his wife.

The end.