OPERATION FOXTROT
Geek Squad 2
coming March 2018
I was a pretty boy. Everyone said so. I had the
right looks for the modeling business and I'd made a lot of money plastering my
face all over the world. I had a brain, too, but no one seemed to notice
anything beyond my good looks. It was aggravating when they didn't.
I wanted Sgt. Dennis Cooper to notice. I wanted
him to see my pretty face and realize
I could carrying on an intelligent conversation at the same time. I wanted him
to want me the way I wanted him. It was frustrating when he didn't.
When someone else does notice, keeping Cooper safe
from them becomes more important than proving to the man that I was as smart as
I was pretty. It was just too bad Cooper didn't seem interested.
STORY EXCERPT
If I had to smile at one more idiot or shake one more
clammy hand, I was going to scream. Why my agent had suggested I attend this
stupid party, I would never know. I was really starting to think I needed to
find a new agent. I was nothing but window dressing at this damn thing.
The number of people who thought they could feel me up
because I was a model was staggering. I was pretty sure I had bruises on my ass
from being pinched so many times. And if one more person tried to get their
hands down my pants, I was going to hurt someone.
This was ridiculous. I had been at this party for over
two hours already, and I was so ready to go home. I glanced at my watch. It was
only eleven. The party would not doubt go on until the wee hours of the
morning. I had a shoot in the morning. I couldn't do wee hours. The
photographer would have my ass in a sling if I had bags under my eyes.
Maybe I could slide out without anyone catching me. It
wasn't like I'd be missed. This party was all about being pretty. There were at
least ten models here who were by far more attractive than me. I wasn't even
the most attractive waiter. Soon enough, there would be someone prettier than
me to take my place and I wouldn't have to endure these horrid cocktail
parties.
I hated them.
I wasn't putting myself down. I knew I had the right
looks for this business. My hefty bank account attested to that. Most models
made about what I did. I just invested better than most, and didn't spend
frivolously.
It wasn't like I needed all
that much. I had a spacious loft apartment. I had gotten it cheap because it
was above a Cuban restaurant. The smells were intoxicating. The music was
lively, but played all too late in the evening.
Strangely enough, I had grown
used to it.
There was always some sort of
buffet on the shoots, so I ate relatively cheap. I didn't own a television, but
I had the top of the line computer set-up. My biggest expense was my sweater
budget. As most of my clothes were provided for my shoots, I didn't need much
else. I usually showed up for shoots in my jeans and sweaters.
I had a strong addiction to
cashmere. I liked how soft it was, how it felt against my skin. I liked how it
made me feel. Cable-knit was my next favorite. I owned three pairs of well worn
jeans. I had over forty sweaters. Five Armani suits. Two tuxedos.
I didn't even want to
contemplate how many pairs of shoes I had.
I didn't indulge in drugs or
over-drinking. I wore one piece of jewelry, a silver bracelet given to me by my
grandma before she passed away. I never took it off, even for photo shoots. I
didn't travel all that often, and when I did, my travel expenses were paid for
by whoever I was modeling for. I had actually been around the world on someone
else's dime a couple of times.
The trip to South America a few months back had been
all on me. Just knowing my cousin Hank was really alive, and now living happily
with his boyfriend made any amount of money I had spent chartering a plane and
arranging everything more than worth it.
No matter how much I'd had to dip into my savings to
pay for that trip, I didn't regret one bit of it, except the car. I regretted
that damn car...if it could be called a car.
Metal box from hell came easily to mind.
I was going to regret a whole of a lot more if I didn't
get some fresh air. The air inside was stagnant, stale, and filled with the
overwhelming stench of smoke and sweat. I moved toward the balcony. It was a
bit chilly to be outside, but if I didn't, I was going to gag.
I pushed open the double glass doors leading to the
balcony and stepped through them. I took in a deep breath of fresh, clean
air—or at least what qualified as clean air in the city—and realized almost
immediately that I wasn't the only one out here.
I could smell at least four...no, five people out here,
and one of them smelled very familiar—and delicious. I craned my neck to get a
better view of the balcony. It was actually quite a large space with several
different seating areas, an infinity pool, and an unmanned bar.
The sound of a scuffle reached me. Considering who I
was scenting, that couldn't be good. I moved around the large wall divider and
spotted several men standing by one of the seating areas. They did not look as
if they were having a friendly conversation.
I tilted my head and lifted my ear toward them,
shamelessly eavesdropping.
"Who are you?" someone snapped. "Why are
you here?"
"I told you. I was just out here having a
cigarette."
The sound of flesh hitting flesh made me wince.
"Who are you? What did you hear?"
When I heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being
cocked, I knew I had to do something. All of my instincts were screaming at me.
Considering who—or rather what—I was, that was saying a lot.
"Darling," I called out as I stepped around
the corner. "Are you done with your cigarette yet? I'd like to head
home."
I plastered one of my award winning smiles on my face
as I strolled toward the small group of men. "There you are, love. Are you
ready to head home yet? I have a shoot in the morning. I need my beauty
sleep."
When I reached the men standing there staring at me, I
sent them all a friendly smile before leaning leaned up and pressing a kiss to
the lips of Sgt. Dennis Cooper.
My eyes widened just a bit when I felt an electrical
zing zip through me at the contact.
I hadn't been expecting that.
