by JaqWyn

I get paid to watch people. When I was a cop, I used to get paid to watch people, but now I get paid very well to watch people; beautiful people in beautiful places. I’m a P.I. And I should take a moment here to tell you I’m a female P.I.

In the bad ol’ days, we weren’t taken too seriously in this profession, but the times, they are a changin’. I’m on my way to talk to my shrink. Another woman who wasn’t taken too seriously because - well, she’s gorgeous. If I’m remembering correctly. I’ve only ever seen her once.

Dr. Gillis has this unique, some call it bizarre, practice of sitting in a high back chair that faces away from her clients as they spill the beans. She says people are freer to talk when they don’t have to look anyone in the eye.

She’s got that right.

Her chair is in it’s usual spot facing out the window over the city. Twilight is beginning to turn on street lights and office fluorescents: a twinkling panorama. The brown leather couch, sagging on the most used end, looks inviting.

I settle in.

You’re not going to believe this one, Doc. But, I swear, it’s true.

I told you I was going to the Caribbean last week. I was tailing the daughter of - oops - that’s confidential now isn’t it? Anyway, the daughter, eighteen was taking spring break in St. Thomas.

She and a posse of friends booked five cabanas at Sandals ready for a good time on the beach. Plus the usual stuff at the bars and clubs, etc.

Her Mommy Dearest couldn’t stand the idea of Baby being unescorted that far from home so she came up with a bright idea - me.

Always a bright idea. Right?”

Doc’s leather chair creaks a bit so I know she’s listening.

I booked my own cabana nearby. A dirty job, but-

Nothing out of the ordinary happened for the entire trip. An easy ten grand for me, not to mention this fabulous tan.

I realize you can’t see my fabulous tan, so you’ll just have to take my word for it.

But, on the last night, funny how it’s always on the last night, our little Baby took a stroll on the beach.

Now, Doc, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a Caribbean beach at night. How can I describe it. The sand glows. That’s it. The sand glows and the Caribbean Ocean pulses with this light that comes from somewhere below it. Uncanny, really.

And there are lights on in the houses hanging on to the mountain sides. Strands of diamonds wound among the palm trees.

Sorry. I drifted.

So Baby wandered off alone, down the beach. I was ready because, like I said, it’s always on the last night.

I had my ear piece in and my sound amplifier stuffed in my beach bag. My gun, as you know, never leaves my side - which is a problem when you’re wearing a bathing suit. But I was wearing one of those long, flowing beach skirts with the slit and had my .22 hidden underneath.

I fiddled with the amp while I followed her. This is a brand new piece of equipment so it took a bit longer to figure out. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard this voice in my ear.

I gotta tell you, the quality of this gadget is...well, it was phenomenal.

“Good evening, Senorita.” That’s what this voice said. “Good evening, Senorita.”

“Hi,” Baby answered. “Nice night.”

“I suppose it is.” He was sitting alone on the beach. “You’re very pretty.”

“So are you.”

This guy just sat there when she said that. I got my self situated in between a couple of palm trees and tried to blend with the shadows. Of course, the moon was full making that a real chore. I got my binoculars out. The only thing missing was the popcorn.

Then I heard Baby say, “That was supposed to make you smile.”

This guy patted the sand next to him and Baby plopped down like a trained seal. From what I could see, the inducement would have been hard to resist. He was wearing a white linen shirt; open because the sea breeze kept lifting it back away from his chest. White linen pants, rolled at the cuff. His feet were bare.

He tugged a band from his hair and then replaced it in one slick move. The ocean breezes were pulling at everything. Baby’s hair was starting to tumble around her face.

She’s one of those perfect blonde, porcelain-skinned, blue-eyed wonders you see in magazines but hardly ever meet in real life.

They were facing each other. Two perfect profiles under a perfect moon. On perfect sand. But I knew I recognized this guy. He was dark - inside and out. A bottomless pit kind of dark. Baby was staring into his eyes. Eyes that were more than human. Less than human. Like a rabbit mesmerized by a cobra, she was a goner.

“You shouldn’t be out alone, little girl,” that deep voice of his was warning her. “You’ll never know who you will meet.”

“I met you, didn’t I?” she said.

I swear to you, my binoculars were starting to steam up. Even from a distance, this dark - and did I mention - dangerous man could make you sweat. I kept trying to place that face.

“That may not be such a good thing.” He turned and looked at the water then. “You should be with your friends, swimming in the moonlight. Not talking to strangers on the beach.”

Baby looked across the water, too. Like she was trying to see what there was out there that kept this man from doing handsprings around her. Baby was used to handsprings.

“You come swimming with me.” She jumped to her feet the way only the young can and pulled her dress down over her shoulders, slid it off her hips and let it fall on the sand around her feet.

She was a goddess in the moonlight, standing on her little pedestal of puddled cotton.

He stood up beside her. “You go ahead. I’ll watch you.”

She stood on her tippy toes and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Then she turned and ran toward the water. He watched her go, his hands in his pockets, his shirt tail blowing in the night air.

That’s when I saw the gun in his waistband.

Baby was cutting through the water with strong strokes, looking back now and then to be sure he was still there. I waited until she was a little distance out before I made my move.

“Miguel Bain?”

He turned his head maybe a fraction of an inch. “And you are?”

“Of no consequence.”

“A funny name.”

“I need you to put both hands behind your back. Por favor.” I encouraged him with the barrel of my gun.

I should have known this was all going too easily. Miguel Bain was a shark. I remember a line from Jaws. Something like, all sharks do is swim, eat and make baby sharks. All this shark did was eat, sleep and kill people.

“What about the girl?” He looked at Baby slicing through the turquoise water like a mermaid. For a split second, he looked almost human. But I knew better. I’d seen the pictures. I’d read the reports.

I cinched the cuffs on then pulled the gun from his waistband and tossed it in my beach bag. “When she comes out, you will introduce your ‘wife’ to her and simply say goodnight.”

He nodded. A lock of hair had caught on his lashes. I pulled it away for him.

“Thank you.”

“And Bain...,”

“Yes?”

“I know about the trick thumb thing - so don’t even try it.”

Baby noticed me standing by her man on the beach. Keep in mind, Doctor, she had no idea who I was. I am very good at my job. She had not noticed me once during our week-long frolic on the island. She started swimming in and when her feet touched bottom, walked the rest of the way. Totally unembarrassed that she was naked. But then, when is perfection ever embarrassing.

“My wife,” Miguel said. He said it straight to her. He looked right in her eyes and said it. No sorrow, no regret. Just the lie.

Baby’s eyes responded by welling with tears. I was surprised at her reaction. But Miguel Bain was probably the most intriguing, beguiling man she would ever meet and it was already over.

Baby hardly looked at me. At his wife. For her, there was only the two of them. She picked up her dress and walked away carrying it in her hand. It was nearly twenty yards later she thought to put it on.

Miguel and I watched her go. My hand was on his arm. How ridiculous to think I could stop this man if he really wanted to go. But we both knew I had the guns. A round from a .22 would stop him if I couldn’t.

“Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“My cabana. I’ll call the cops from there.”

“Would you mind?” He looked over his shoulder. “Could you pull my shirttail over these cuffs? How humiliating it would be to have people see me like this.”

I did what he asked, Doc, but only because I was so furious. Humiliating! This guy had killed more people than World War II and he was worried about appearances!

Baby looked back only once. She walked in a straight line back to her own cabana. We could hear the door slam as she went in, giving it up for the night. She’d go home the next day and have a delicious fantasy that would only get better with time.

I was stuck with reality.

I unlocked the door and pushed it open, standing back so he couldn’t turn and run. Instead he scratched the sand off the bottom of his feet on the doormat before he went inside.

The room was dark and I left it that way. No sense taking the chance that Baby would see us.

“Can I ask you something?” He shook his hair back from his face. I can’t remember seeing eyes like that. Like I said. Not in anything merely human.

“What’s that?”

“How do you know about, what did you call it, the thumb thing?“

I don’t usually talk to collars, especially about anything personal, but Miguel was hardly usual. He was a near myth with the people I used to work with. A magician, an apparition, a plague. But I told him anyway.

“I used to be a cop.”

He smiled at that.

“And that’s funny, why?”

“Not funny. It makes me happy, that’s all.”

“Why would my being a cop make you happy?” This guy was amazing.

He lowered his head but raised his eyes at the same time. Doc, does that sound possible to you? Miguel Bain’s beautiful glistening, dark hair fell around his face like a some kind of other world velvet curtain. This curtain parts and two of the most glorious eyes ever created nailed me to the floor.

“It makes me happy,” he said, “because I know that any minute now, you, ex- cop, will have to search me.” He winked at me then. “You will have to search me because you know how terrible I can be.” He took a small breath in. “Don’t you?”

I took a large breath in.

“Of course I have to search you. Being an ex-cop doesn’t mean I forgot the routine and the Miranda Rights and the right to call your attorney.” I tapped the side of my head. “Like a steel trap.”

I almost convinced myself that I was in control. For the tiniest piece of time, I know he was almost convinced. But, in the end, he knew better. My hands had almost stopped sweating when he said the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire adult - no - make that my entire whole life.

Miguel Bain, killer of men, women, children and the occasional small animal, spread his legs apart and said, “Strip search. I insist.”

When you are speechless and your face is wet and your mouth is dry, it’s damn near impossible to be witty. I think I said something like, “Sure. Why not?”

He looked at the ceiling and shook his hair back. I moved my hands inside the front of his shirt and opened it wider with the backs of my hands. Hooking both sides of the collar with my little fingers, I lifted the shirt off his skin then let it slide down his arms. It caught at his clamped wrists and hung there like a shroud.

I took the precaution of removing his necklace, an ornate, heavy silver cross hanging on a chain, because - well, with a man like this, everything can be a weapon.

“Smart girl,” he said.

Did I mention he was still smiling?

I walked behind him and pulled the band from his hair. It might have hurt him a little because I thought I saw him flinch. I have to admit, that flinch, that simple little flinch, flexed the muscles in his arms and in his back and in my stomach.

Well, moving on. His hair is long and thick. A perfect hiding spot for a hairpin. And a hairpin, in this man’s hands...well. It was my sworn duty, as a former police officer, to ensure the safety of my fellow officers, whom I would be calling any minute now, so I combed my fingers through that hair until I was certain no danger lay hidden there. Then I did it again. To my satisfaction.

“You have good hands,” he said.

“I’m a pro,” I said.

“Then you’d better finish what you’ve started.” He turned and faced me.

Now that he was shirtless, I could see nothing was hidden from the waist up. From the waist down, there wasn’t much hidden either.

“Now I know you’re not glad to see me,” my Mae West accent went south in my throat. “So I’ve got to assume that’s another gun.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he said. His amber eyes got dark. It was as though he could dim them at will.

I dried my palms on my skirt, no sense soiling the beautiful linen of those slacks, and slid my hands down his legs, deliberately avoiding the obvious. OK. Maybe I was just saving the best for last.

Finally, there was nothing left to do but go for it. I stepped into him and with my left hand felt behind him, searching his back pockets for anything. Nothing. No key ring, no stretch of elastic. Not even a wallet. Just the hard rise of his perfect butt, smooth and firm under white linen.

I held him there like that with my left hand and moved my right to the front. Oh, he had a weapon waiting for me there all right. Locked and loaded. Cocked and ready. How many euphemisms can I use to describe what my hand wrapped around?

Excuse me, Doc, while I pour a glass of water. Any for you? No.

His mouth bit down on mine. His teeth held my lower lip while his tongue stroked it’s way across my lip and into my mouth. He stepped in closer trying to hold me to him with sheer lust. His hands were still locked behind him.

“Take these off,” he said.

“You’ll get away,” I said.

“Not these,” he whispered it this time. “These.” He bent down and started to pull my blouse away from my skirt with his teeth. He took a mouthful and tore at my blouse like a dog with a rag. He ripped it to shreds.

Bits and pieces of me were jutting through the material. He started licking at me - the bits and pieces that were jutting out.

“Show them to me.”

It was an amazingly easy thing to do. Miguel stepped back to watch. His eyes had gone black now. A terrifying and tantalizing sight. I wanted those eyes looking at me. I wanted them to see everything.

“Sit down,” he looked at the bed. “Over there. On the edge.”

The second easy thing.

The slit in my skirt had fallen slightly open. “Open it,” he said. “I want to see what you’re wearing underneath.”

It was no longer a voice I was hearing. It was music. It was what the inside of the earth must sound like at night. I opened my skirt.

Miguel walked over to the bed where I sat and stood between my knees. With his bare feet, he spread my feet further apart on the floor, widening his view. He took a step back and lowered himself cross-legged on the floor in front of me. Even with arms pinned behind his back, he was a panther. The only sound was the whisper of linen.

“Slide them down - slowly,” he said.

My world was getting very small. We were the only two people in it. I tugged at my panties and resented the split-second I had to take my eyes off him to get them out of my way.

“Move closer to the edge of the bed.” His eyes invaded me. “Show me that your body wants me.”

The big easy.

I was never tempted to take those cuffs off. This killer was on his knees in front of me, chewing, licking, eating his way into my wildest dreams. His hair buffed my thighs like satin. His tongue was relentless: gouging, drinking me like a man lost in the desert.

“Lie down on the bed. On your stomach.”

I moved back on the bed and did just that. From behind me, he lifted my skirt with his teeth. He got on his knees between my legs.

“Put your hands behind your back.” When I looked back at him, he said, “I want you only to pretend that you can feel what I feel. The restraint. The need to hold what you cannot hold.”

I put my hands behind my back.

He had the handcuffs on me before I thought I might regret it.

Doctor Gillis’ chair creaks again. This is more reaction than she has ever displayed in any of our sessions.

Well, Doc, he flipped me over on back. My arms were pinned. My skirt had twisted around my legs. Miguel saw the handle of my revolver jutting out, laying across my belly.

He pulled it out and then got off the bed and just stood there for a minute. Making decisions. He used my gun like a finger moving my skirt out of the way. I should have been terrified. Maybe I was but I couldn’t tell at that moment.

“A couple of things can happen now,” he said. His voice was...is ‘wet’ the wrong word? “We can finish this thing.” He picked up my panties and rubbed his cheek against them. “You’ve wanted me for a while,” he said, picking up my scent.

Then he kneeled on the bed between my legs again. “I can go -,” he kissed the spot where my gun had been. “Or,” he said, “I can come. It’s up to you.”

“I don’t want you to go,” was my answer.

He put the gun on the bed, next to my head. With both hands free, he unbuttoned his slacks and slid the zipper down, freeing himself. It was my turn to look. His slacks fell to the floor. The second godlike creature I had seen that night.

The moon was shining through the shutters, slashing his body with shadows, turning his hair ebony and silver.

He put his hands behind my knees and lifted my legs out of the way. He toyed with me then, using himself like a feather, barely touching my thighs, my belly. Then he’d move away from me completely, using only his tongue.

I could hear only hear his breathing and mine. He positioned his body above me and wrapped his hand around himself, gliding smoothly, touching me just enough to let me know the aching would soon be over.

My head was spinning.

I was being mounted. That’s the only word for it. Mounted like a bitch in heat. I was inches from what should have been complete and utter fulfillment.

Red and blue lights splattered off the walls through the shutters. Miguel grabbed my gun and his clothes and jumped, naked, out of the window on the other side of the room. There was incredibly loud banging on the door then it blew open.

At least six cops were in the room, followed by Baby.

“That’s her! She’s got a gun! Arrest her!” The pretty little girl was pointing at me hysterically. “She kidnapped him. And - and who knows what else!”

I’ll make it short, Doc, and tell you that I identified myself as a P.I. - after they discreetly covered me up. They assumed Miguel had tried to rape me, what with the torn blouse and all. And I let them think it.

Baby went home mad as hell.

And me. Here I sit with nothing to show for my adventure but one gigantic bruise on my hip bone. Miguel accidentally whacked me with my own gun on his way out.

Doctor Gillis’ chair squeaks once more. I think she’s actually going to speak. But it’s not the good doctor standing there.

“Show me,” Miguel says. He pulls his gun from his waistband and puts it on the desk. He walks toward me dangling a set of handcuffs. “This time, I get to be the officer on duty.”

He draws a little circle in the air with his finger.

I turn around and put my hands behind my back.

“Don’t forget to read me my rights,” I hear myself say.

“Did I forget to tell you?” He slips his present around my wrists. “You don’t have any rights tonight.”

And that’s all right by me.

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