Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me

"I have a suite in the Bellagio. You will meet me there afterward."
    I frowned, "Alright look, the sex was nice. It was fun. I feel young and adventurous again. Thank you for that. I’m feeling more alive than I have in years. I owe you for that. I feel like I might have compensated you already for it, but we can argue over that later. But you must need to rest at some point. I personally have been married for the last decade. That means sex once a month, and only really on a day where I drank too much wine and read something hot and naughty. Usually a Saturday or a Sunday. To be honest, we haven’t actually had sex in seven months. Looking back, I’m not sure how I missed that as a bad sign for the five months he wasn’t pretending to be dead. But I can’t be having sex every hour on the hour. I’ll need an ice pack for my hoohoo."
    He cocked an eyebrow, "I don’t know what you're talking about. I don’t know what a hoohoo is. Focus. You will come back to the room and I will clean you myself."
    Was he goading me again? He had to be kidding. Even David Duchovny didn’t have that much sex in one day. I was going to get a rash if this continued, or at the very least, a bladder infection. Clearly, he hadn’t been reading much Cosmo.
    He ignored my protests, "The second thing I need you to do is, take this and write on the mirror in the hotel room." He handed me a tube of lipstick. It was Russian Red. He was setting me up. Why the hell was he setting me up?
    I took it and nodded, "What should I write?" My stomach was in my throat. It was panicking and plotting an escape, instead of a murder.
    He smirked and tried to dazzle me with his hazel eyes and handsome face, "Whatever you like."
    The room would be bugged, the hotel would be bugged, he would be watching my every move. If he had the manager telling him what the fat man was doing about hooker supplies, he was watching the surveillance cameras.
    I remembered the phone I had in my clutch, the one that if I dialed 9-1-1, I would get the young man. That would get me Coop. I shoved the lipstick in my clutch and snapped it shut. "How do you want it done?" I asked.
    He shrugged, "Make it interesting. Surprise me." His smiled turned devilish, "Thus far, I have to say, I've been very pleasantly surprised by you."
    I hated myself in that moment—the me I wanted to be, not the me my country needed me to be.
    All I could think was, that the Burrow had better be something so fucking important the president himself would thank me for finding it, and taking a finger in the ass.

Chapter Eight - What happens in Vegas… Shit

    I dialed 9-1-1 from the stall of the ladies’ washroom.
    The young man was there instantly.
    "My, you look spiffy. Where are you going, the CMA awards?"
    My hands shook, as I nearly cried with joy, "Bellagio. Bathrooms by the slot machines on the east wall." My old ways were slowly coming back. I could tell directions again and notice things.
    "Coop said he'll be there in a second. Hold tight."
    I shook my head, "I don’t have seconds. They're watching the doors, halls, and floors."
    He winked, "We’ve got this." And the call ended.
    He was a cheeky little shit. CMA awards, really?
    I heard the door to the bathroom open. I held my breath as footsteps made their way across the shiny floor. I stepped up onto the toilet and waited.
    Dark-brown dress shoes stopped outside the door. My heart was almost leaping from my throat, "Do we have a secret knock or just whatever?" His voice was my saving grace. I reached for the lock and turned it. He swung open the door and smiled. His eyes were serious. "You okay?"
    I felt the tears coming. I shook my head. I wanted to tell him everything and nothing. I wanted to touch my filthy disgusting face to his soft beautiful face, but I didn’t. I looked down, ashamed.
    "Did he hurt you?" his voice was deep and scary.
    I parted my gooey lips but nothing came out.
    Had he hurt me?
    I supposed he had, but he had also made me cum like no man ever had. I closed my lips and shook my head.
    Coop’s huge hand cupped my chin and lifted my face, "We all do things we're ashamed of for the job. I worked as a gigolo for three months in Sweden, once." He fought a grin, “It was rough.”
    Someone else whispered harshly, "Speak for yourself. I woulda nailed his ass in every crevice of that airplane and never felt a moment of shame. Did you get some for me?"
    I laughed when I leaned forward to see Luce. She winked at me.
    I sighed