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“Eyes,” he says as I close mine again, concentrating on the sensations spiraling up my spine.
I force myself to focus. Force myself to obey. Force myself to watch his face as he spreads me, strokes me, breaks me into elemental pieces faster than I ever thought possible.
I’m clutching his biceps. I’m balanced on my toes. I’m stretched, taut, strung tighter than the strings on a violin, waiting, watching, almost, almost there.
“Come,” he whispers, and I fold around him, shuddering. My thighs clamp around his wrist as I hold him fast, hold him tight, hold him like I’ll never let him go.
I’m coming and I’m coming and I’m coming, but all the while a little voice hisses at the back of my mind: This is all I’ve ever wanted. And I’m going to lose it soon. All this will be history, the moment Herzog’s brothers release their video to the world.
There’s payment to be made, and I’m not sure I can live with the cost.
10
TRAP
* * *
Istroll over to the freeport garage, where Cole Wolf is loading in his latest purchase, one of Harley Davidson’s limited-edition motorcycles. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen a cooler use for a spare sixty thousand dollars, and for just a moment, I wonder how Alix would look riding behind me, hands around my waist, pressing close as we lean into curves on a winding mountain road.
“You keeping that thing?” I ask. “Or looking to make some money on your investment?”
He grins, looking nothing like the computer geniusesIwent to school with. “You in the market?”
I shrug. “I might be.”
“Finish the track you’ve been promising for the past year and a half, and you can take it out for a ride.”
“Deal,” I say.
Dover Motor Speedway is just ten miles away, but it doesn’t do jack for the freeport clients, who can’t take their prize possessions out of the tax haven. So I hired away Dover’s chief engineer to create a three-quarter mile track. A million dollars later, we’re a month or two away from opening.
Wolf uses a soft cotton cloth to polish the Harley nameplate. With a practiced air of nonchalance, he says, “I doubt you came over here just to admire this bike.”
I roll my neck, trying to work out a couple of kinks. “I’ve got a question.”
Something about my tone puts Wolf on alert. He steps back from his baby. Plants his feet. Looks me in the eye. “Shoot.”
“Let’s say someone has a video. Something they threaten to make public.”
He doesn’t move, not exactly. But every muscle in his body tightens, just a little. He’s focused like a laser cutting solid steel. “Go on,” he says.
“And let’s say they make that threat by email.”
He doesn’t bother answering. He just nods.
“And the person who gets the email has a pretty good idea where it was sent from. A street address. Floor plans. That sort of thing.”
Wolf’s lips twist into a frown.
I knew this was a shitty idea before I hunted him down. But I have to run out the ball. “Is there any way to blow up the video? Go back upstream? Fuck it up before it can be sent out wide?”
“It’s a recording?” he asks. “Not something going out live?”
“Yeah.” I already know the answer. It weighs on my back like a beached blue whale.
“You’re fucked,” Wolf says.
“No room for doubt?”
