Ballistic(98)
“I noticed you were in good shape.”
“You did?” she said it with a smile in her voice, and Gentry could feel his face warm from embarrassment. Her hand on his chest began moving back and forth slowly.
“I mean, I could tell you exercised. Good for you. You might need those skills again before this is all over. If we run into the Black Suits on the road, we can’t expect them to—”
“Joe?”
“Yeah.”
“May I kiss you?”
Yes, he thought. But said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Court did not know why not. He stammered out something about Eddie, about needing to sleep, about her not knowing who he was or what he was.
“That is crazy, Joe. Eduardo wanted me to find someone else. To find a good man.”
“Laura. I’m not a good man. I am just a man. Just a guy trying to help.”
“Then help.”
“Help wha—”
“Help me.”
She climbed on top of him, leaned down into his face, and kissed him softly on the lips. His eyes widened, and he did not contribute, but he did not pull away. Again she kissed him, his face and his body went rigid as stone, until the third kiss when his eyes closed slowly.
They opened. “Wait,” he said.
“No,” she replied, and she pressed her weight against him, wrapped her arms behind his neck, and kissed him more deeply now.
He could see her. When he opened his eyes, they had adjusted to the darkness of the hotel room, and he saw her eyes shut tight, and her wet bangs swaying with the movements of her head as she kissed him: his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, his neck.
Suddenly, she stopped, sat up; her weight pressed against his waist. He noticed his hands had roamed to her hips, and he held her there.
She looked down on him, and he could see her clearly now in the light from the window. “Your name is not Joe.”
Gentry just shook his head.
“Tell me your real name. I do not want to call you Joe while we are making love.”
Court blinked. We’re making love? He shook his head again.
She said, “Tell me what your friends call you, what people used to call you when you were young, something that means something to you.”
Court almost said Violator, his code name. It was almost the same in English and Spanish. But he didn’t want her calling him that. He thought for a moment more and whispered. “You can call me Six.”
“¿Seis?” she asked, confusion mixing with the lust in her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Bien. Seis.” Satisfied, she pulled off her polo shirt, unfastened her bra, and let it fall to the floor between the two beds. She unbuttoned Court’s shirt; he put his hands on hers for a moment, tried to pull them away from the buttons, but in truth, he did not want her to stop. He thought about Eddie and Ernesto, men who would do anything to protect this woman, and then he thought about the men who wanted to hurt her. He had been protecting her, but now he did not know if he was hurting her by giving in to her advances. She leaned forward and kissed him. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, not at all confident that he was getting any better at this.
His mobile phone rang.
He ignored it.
She ignored it.
It kept ringing. Stopped. Started up again.
You have got to be kidding me.
She ignored it.
“It must be the embassy guy.” He barely got the words out; he reached for the phone, but she held his head tight and kept her lips pressed against his.
He almost had to fight her away. “Hello?”
“Hey there, fellow countryman. Sorry for the late call, I’m burning the midnight oil up here in my office and had a couple of questions.”
“Yeah. No problem.”
Jerry asked Court a few odds and ends about past professions of the four Gamboas. He said it was necessary to have some sort of occupation for their work visas, and although they could make something up, the more accurate the information on the documents, the better they would hold up to scrutiny on the other side of the border.
Court conferred with Laura and answered Pfleger’s questions. Half of him hoped that this interruption would quell the heat between himself and Laura; he felt guilty for his actions and intentions with his old friend’s kid sister. But the other half of him hoped they could just pick right back up where they left off before the cell phone rang.
Five minutes later Gentry and Lorita had picked up where they’d left off. She stayed on top of him, kissing his face like it was some sort of precious treasure, and his strong arms kept her body tight against his while she did so.
When she pulled him up to slip off his shirt, he became nervous. He knew how long it had been since he’d taken a woman to bed. He said softly, and more to himself than to Laura, “I’m not . . . trained.”