Page 85 of Wrecked
As she paid for the drink, Addison murmured, “Ten thirty, tonight.”
Melinda held her gaze for an extra second before swiping the card and handing it back to her. “Thanks for coming in.”
Addison waited for the barista to make her drink, then left, walking a block in the opposite direction. One Uber ride later, she was back at the shopping center and sitting in the back seat of her ALPHA SUV.
Off came the wig and supersized sunglasses. She pulled out the hair clips, fluffed her hair, and hopped behind the wheel. She’d parked at the far end of the lot, away from any store-mounted surveillance cameras, but it was impossible to know if she’d been followed.
As she started the vehicle and took off for the black site, a shiver ran through her. She’d always been the one hunting down the criminals. Never before had she been on the receiving end.
* * *
Hawk exited the Chevy Chase estate, slid on his shades, and lit up a cigarette. He was tired as hell from a terrible night’s sleep.
Addison’s stunningly sexy and nude body was etched into his brain, their role play a first of many. Of that he was certain. No way was he going back to just friends when they had so much fun fooling around.
He inhaled the cigarette, the invigorating hit of nicotine powering through him. Two of his crew stepped outside and down the front steps of the elaborate home.
“Yo, boss,” said one of them. “We fixed the wiring and took care of that glitch.”
“Nice job,” Hawk replied before sucking down another drag.
The guys moseyed over to one of three Hawk Security vans parked out front at the circle and went heads-down on their phones.
Hawk had started his company from nothing, had worked his ass off for a decade, and now owned the most successful security and surveillance business in the region. The majority of his business came from government and commercial accounts, but he had thousands of residential clients whose homes were protected by his proprietary state-of-the-art system.
In addition to his installation teams, his forepersons managed the jobs, while a staff of seasoned salespeople brought in new business. Rather than farm out the monitoring and customer service teams, he kept that in-house as well.
Nowadays, Hawk was too busy running his company to oversee the installs. That’s what his forepersons did. When this new client had hired his company to install a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar home security and surveillance system, they’d insisted Hawk personally oversee the job. Since the monthly services fees to monitor the estate were more than most people’s rent, he’d agreed. With his personal net worth fast approaching forty mil, he was happy to burn a few hours and manage the job. Word-of-mouth was still his number one marketing strategy. Provide the best equipment along with exceptional service, and let the client sell the system for him.
One more drag before stomping the cigarette and tossing the butt into a van’s ashtray.
Back inside, he sat at the massive kitchen island where his laptop had been doing a final calibration test. Earlier, his team had found a system bug, which they’d resolved. Looked like everything was good to go. Time to find the homeowners, record their voices, pair that with the system, and ensure it worked for all commands. Once that was done, he was outta there.
The client, Ken and Sabrina Stoolin, owned a prominent Chevy Chase plastic surgery center. Ken was the surgeon, and his wife, Sabrina, the practice manager. The middle-aged couple had just purchased the home and wanted it outfitted with all the bells and whistles. Security cameras everywhere, voice-activated commands to lock and unlock doors, regulate the lights, the fireplace. If Hawk Security offered it, they bought it.
They’d even canceled patient surgeries for the day so they could both be there for the install.
Ken’s lit cigarette lay perched in a nearby ashtray, but the homeowner wasn’t in sight. He checked the first-floor home office. Not there, so he called Ken. No answer. Then, he called Sabrina. Her ringing phone was sitting on the kitchen counter.
Where the hell are they?
Ken’s phlegmy cough snagged his attention and he followed the sound up the massive staircase. At the top, he called their names. Nothing. He’d been at the residence since eight that morning and he needed to get to the office. Agitation had him chuffing out a grunt.
More nasty-sounding hacking had him walking down the hall.
As he passed bedroom after bedroom on the second floor, grunts and groans caught his ear. The door at the end of the hall was partly closed, but Ken’s throaty cough had him peering around the bedroom door.
No fucking way.
A naked Sabrina was bent over the side of the king bed while his newest installer banged her from behind. If this was a porn flick, he would have laughed, but this was his multi-million-dollar business.
If Ken saw this, he’d fire him, then probably sue his ass. As Hawk stepped into the bedroom, he got an eyeful. Ken—also naked, with a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth and thick smoke hanging over him—sat in a corner chair, rubbing one out.
“What the fucking fuck,” Hawk roared.
All eyes whipped in his direction. Ken let loose, his ejaculate shooting in the air. Then he started coughing so hard, Hawk thought he’d hock up a lung. With his dick in hand, Ken ran into the bathroom to address his coughing jag.
“Give it to me, baby,” Sabrina cried while bucking against his employee.
