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“I know my place, Agent Matthews,” she said with a sulk. “Don’t worry.”
“It’s Special Agent Matthews, Diana. The first order of business is for you to acknowledge and respect your superiors.”
She was squirming ready to spout off. I could only think the fact that she had a reputation for giving mind boggling blow jobs to some of the higher-ups had given her some sense of entitlement to disregard protocol. So much for her argument for gender equality; no male agent or cadet would have made the blunder she was making right now.
“I hear you, Special Agent Matthews,” she retorted stiffly.
We reached our flea bag hotel and checked in without incident. Slate found a way to come by later, dressed in the garb of a homeless guy. I had to admit, Slate was pretty damn good at that part of it, though I knew I was better.
Hatfield met us later and filled us in. The goods had cleared customs for dispatch via over-the-road transport. All things were in schedule for tomorrow night.
Diana and I were to make sure we made our presence known at the Anchors Aweigh bar that was just a half block from the loading docks. We were to cause a bit of a domestic scene, with her getting pissed and walking out.
The truck driver that always drove the cargo to Philly always stopped and had a cold one at that bar before he started his journey. Diana was to make sure she came on to him causing the argument between the two of us as if we were a couple. Oh God.
We had just finished our debriefing, when Slate called me aside.
“I got a call from the lab,” he said. “They lifted prints from the key and the baggie you brought in.”
“And?”
“They lifted two sets of prints on the key.”
“Two?”
“Yep.”
Okay, why was Slate being so weird about this?
“Whose prints?” I asked.
“Jack’s,” he said quickly. There was a pause and I waited. “And Samantha’s,” he answered.
CHAPTER 35
(TAZ)
It was nearly 10:30 p.m. Diana and I had been hanging at the Anchors Aweigh for a couple of hours.
She had dressed the part wearing a tight, short, jean skirt with fishnet stockings and high-heeled boots. She had a short cropped leather jacket on and tons of make-up. She had some nice legs going on. I wasn’t going to lie about that.
Of course, they didn’t hold a candle to Lindsey’s legs even though Diana was tall, about 5’10”.
We had acted like we were well into our suds when we got to the bar so we could minimize the amount of alcohol we consumed there so as to avoid getting shit-faced.
I spotted the truck driver from the pictures Hatfield and Simmons had provided. I nudged Diana with my knee, she spun her barstool around and nodded that he was in her line of vision. He took a seat at the end of the bar near the jukebox.
She took a swig of her beer and made a sexy little prance over to the jukebox, leaning over to make her selections. This provided anyone behind her a nice view of her ass, and for the truck driver at the end of the bar, he wasted no time in noticing.
She took her time, pressing her selections. She rolled her hips to the music that was already playing, snapping her fingers to keep his attention.
As she turned to head back, she did a little trip, allowing herself to brush against him. She of course apologized to him, giving him a sexy smile. He was taking the bait. Good. I let her sit there next to him, working her seductive magic for a few minutes.
I finally got up and sauntered over to where she was sitting, leaning over whispering to him drunkenly, giving him a show of her ample tits.
“Rhonda, what the fuck?”
They both looked up at me. She got a saucy little grin on her face, rubbing the palm of her hand against his bicep.
