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She was reading, not looking at me. Her one leg was idly swaying back and forth as she read, seemingly unaware that I could practically see up her miniskirt. One elbow was resting on the table, holding her book, and the other hand was twining a lock of her hair around her finger and then unwinding it.I forced my eyes down and noted that I could almost see up her skirt as her knee rocked back and forth. Lecturing myself to not look, I ran my eyes to another paragraph of my own erotica. My eyes scanned the words but nothing registered. I looked up again. Her other leg had lazily leaned outward and her nipples were obviously hardening under the emotional impact of whatever steamy passage I imagined she might be reading. I watched her intently, feeling the heat well up inside me. Her mouth idly chewed her finger-intwined hair.I tried to resist as hard as I could, which was not at all, before I let my eyes gaze between her legs. I wondered what sort of panties such a brazen woman might be. Who do we want him spilling his guts to.”“God Ed, I don’t know. I’m thinking the FBI, but I want to put him into protective custody until the Gmen get their bureaucratic asses in gear. As far as anyone is concerned he just a John Doe assault suspect or something.“It would be better right now if we call him a terrorist bomb maker. We won’t have to say shit to anyone else. Are you going to stay out of it?” She asked.“I’d love to, but it ain’t gonna happen,” I said. I handed her Agent Wilkes card, which I had kept in my wallet for over half a year. “Call this jerk from my burner phone. Tell him only what is necessary to get him to bring a team down here quick.”“Then tell him, I have a plan.” I gently demanded.Wilkes didn’t like my plan when he first heard it. After a while, he came to hate it. His team was sworn to secrecy. So the week before Christmas, at 2AM, they made a traffic stop. At that time a fake Eddie Archer got out of the car gun blazing. There was a gun fight where the fake.
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