He saw her from the doorway and almost stumbled.

She was concentrating on paperwork and didn’t look up for a bit and he enjoyed a private moment of self-indulgence as he blatantly stared at her smallish breasts. It had been over twenty years since he last held those impish tits and wet the brown nipples he knew they supported.

Twenty-two years since he had taken Sharon by the head and guided her face– damp, wide-eyed and full of surprise– down onto his cock.

He was transported to a time when he held a scrawny teenager by her buttocks and drove his cock up between her legs. It was on the backseat of his police cruiser where she straddled his hips and squirmed as he struggled to get it into her. And he suddenly remembered how silky-smooth and firm her little ass felt, cupped in his upturned hands.

Twenty-two years, and Sharon was more lovely than ever and he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel now, today, to lift her ass up and settle her onto his cock.

She was still slim, he noticed, but in her late thirties, Sharon’s scrawn had matured into a healthy, long athletic body, her blond hair was full and flowing, almost to her waist. And he noticed she sported a wedding band and he cracked a smile. Did her husband know whose cock had paved the way for their wedding night– did he know the name of the dude who had stripped off his wife’s panties and banged her blond pussy? Looking at her mouth, his smile deepened into a slimy smirk. Oh yeah, and you swallow, don’t you, bitch?

Sharon Secco had been his first, and only, virgin. And regrettably, he had only fucked her the one time. Soon after, Sharon discovered he had a wife and two young daughters. And that had brought screwing in the backseat of his cruiser to a decisive halt, and his marriage along with it when, a few months later his eldest ratted him out.

He had tried to make a game of it, at first and, to his delight, his youngest daughter took to it immediately. Little Tracy was fascinated with his penis and wanted to know all about how it worked. She was amazed she could make it grow by simply taking her underpants off. And by the feeling she got when, while held in her mouth, it squeezed and gave her the gummy surprise.

His fourteen-year-old had been fun in the beginning too, but Angie quickly came to see the dark-side of what she was being asked to do. But still, she had agreed to join her sister in the bathtub while he filmed them together with his old Super 8 movie camera. And Angie didn’t seem to mind, bending over the edge of the tub with her bum in the air so he could get close-ups of Tracy licking her older sister’s clutching burr.

He got good money from the film producer in Brussels but the fact that men across the European Continent were masturbating to the sight of his lily-white daughters romping naked in the tub was his real reward. But it had ended badly when Angie went to her mother. And ratted him out.

The divorce was swift and final. And for obvious reasons, he was not allowed near the girls, ever again. He lost the house, most of his paycheck, and the blond teenager he had screwed in the backseat. But a new job came along and there were other women. The memories of young Sharon Secco wiggling on his dick had faded– until now. And, twenty-two years later, as he watched her working at her desk, his cock moved beneath the zipper of his trousers and he knew he had to get it into her pants again. Whether she was willing or not was of little importance.

Their appointment was short and during the meeting, Sharon was cold and evasive. But, in his mind, that just made her the all the more enticing. And on the way back to the barge, he paused to pluck a bloom from a wild rose bush. He inhaled the fragrance and decided he would wait a-time. Maybe six or eight months even, before he made his move.

Detective Sargent Tomasina Vencenzi placed a rusty revolver on Sharon’s desk, tossed across a file folder and dropped into the guest chair. She swung a leg over the chair’s arm and bobbed a knee-high, flat-soled boot with a .32 caliber Beretta clipped to the cuff.

“The lab report,” Tommy said. “About your package.”

Sharon ran her eyes over the old gun on her desk. “Anything of interest?” she asked.

“Yeah. But not from the Lab. From Ballistics.”

Sharon’s eyebrows wavered. “You sent it to Ballistics?”

“Yeah. You wanna tell me your story?”

Sharon shrugged. “Not much to tell. Day before yesterday I arrive for work and the Desk Sargent calls me over. He tells me my package from Amazon has arrived. That was weird because I don’t shop Amazon; just got tired of returning stuff that didn’t fit, was the wrong color or wasn’t what I asked for. But the package has my name on it so I bring it up here to the office. I booted-up Miss Gates, checked emails and ran a program I wrote that takes the night’s criminal activities and looks for similarities to other crimes that have taken place over the past fifty years. Anyway, when I finally get to the package, I find that rusty old revolver inside along with a rose.”

“And you called the Lab...”

“Yes. They told be not to touch anything and they arrived at my door a minute later. I told them I had already handled the cardboard box but the gun and rose were all theirs.”

“Okay, first the box,” Tommy began. “It is genuine Amazon, but the tape and mailing label are not. The Lab thinks that maybe the box was rescued from the trash. There’s a bunch of finger prints on the outside, as you’d expect from something being delivered by a courier service. Next, the rose was plucked from a bush, not cut, and is not of the home-grown, garden variety. It didn’t come from a florist.”

“And the gun?”

“An old Colt Python. The Python was discontinued back in 2005. And it’s clean, not even gun oil. The Lab believes the gun was boiled in soapy water before being packaged up. They found traces of dish detergent.”

“And Ballistics looked at it?”

“Yeah. And here’s the interesting part. Ballistics matched a bullet they shot through this gun with a bullet that was removed from Jack Banano’s head. He was the crime boss that was assassinated in 1991. He was enjoying a plate of linguine at his favorite restaurant when a guy walked up, pointed this gun at the back of his head and pulled the trigger.”

A frown knitted Sharon’s forehead. “Before my time on the force.”

“Same here. Some thug by the name of Casiano,” Tommy continued, “was fingered for the killing. He was hired out of Miami, made the hit and got paid. According to him, he didn’t know anything about the guy sitting at the table. That makes sense. He was just getting paid to take the mark down and the less he knew, the better. But someone snitched on him and he died at Riker’s several years later. The gun was never recovered. Until now. So you have nothing that would connect the rose and the revolver?”

“Nothing that jumps to mind but I’ll certainly think about it.”

Tommy got up to leave. “Okay. Let me know. I’ll pull the file on the Banano killing, then we’ll talk some more.”

A week later and Tommy was back. “Looks like you got a secret admirer.” She plunked a second gun, an automatic, onto Sharon’s desk.

“Which crime boss bought the farm this time?” Sharon asked.

Tommy shook her head. “This time it was a domestic dispute. A woman used this gun to kill the stripper her husband had taken up with.”

“A stripper? Nothing to do with organized crime?”

“Not that we can tell. In 1993 a woman comes home unexpectedly and finds hubby in bed with Betsy Boobs. The gun was on the nightstand. The woman lays a hand on it and shoots Betsy. There’s a scuffle when the wife takes aim at hubby and she swore the gun was knocked from her hand and kicked under the bed. It was never found.”

Sharon pushed hair from her face. “The girl delivering the interoffice mail dropped the box off. Said UPS left it for me at Reception.”

“Uh-uh.” Tommy shook her head. “I checked. Neither UPS nor FedEx have a record of a delivery made to the 14^th. Might have been a private courier or someone paid to make the drop. I dunno yet. You handle the box?” Tommy asked.

“No. I left it for the lab boys to open. They get anything?”

“Nope. Bit of dish soap, like last time. But the rose came from the same bush, if that helps any.”

“Great. We just have to scour the City for a rose bush with two blooms missing and we got our man.”

The phone rang and Sharon lifted the receiver. She listened a moment then looking up, she covered the mouth piece. “There’s an Amazon package downstairs. They want to know if they should send it up.”

“Three blooms,” Tommy said.

Paul Secco crossed the street to the park across from the office tower where he worked and dropped onto a bench. He flipped through the pages of a travel brochure and stopped at the Cruise section. He was planning on doing something really special for his wife, Sharon. A surprise.

The previous day had been the highlight of his career and Sharon had been there for him, by his side, in fact. And now he wanted to show her how much he appreciated having her as his wife and partner.

A shadow, like a threatening thunder-head, abruptly darkened the colorful picture of Hamilton, Bermuda and Paul looked skyward. A large man blotted out the sun, nodded and turned to sit. Paul, enjoying his happy moment, felt disrupted, felt his private space had been invaded, but he shifted sideways a little and dropped his eyes back to the photo of sunny downtown Hamilton.

The big man leaned in. “I fucked your wife,” he said smoothly. “And those blowjobs. Amazing.”

Paul felt his face go slack, his senses abruptly pulled down into a dead zone. There’s no sound anymore, just white noise. The shock pulls the oxygen from his lungs. “Whaa...” he managed, afraid to look.

“Those blow-jobs,” the big guy says again. “Taking all the spoog into the back of her throat, holding a moment, you know, like she’s savoring it. And then gulping it all down. Makes me shudder just thinking of it.”

Paul would not have believed his ears. Except there was an element of truth in what the guy was saying.

From the very beginning, Sharon had treated Paul to amazing oral sex for which she demonstrated a willingness and an extensive set of skills. Sharon constantly surprised him with new tricks and oral quickly replaced the more tradition aspects of their love-making.

And her hunger wasn’t confined to the bedroom. She had taken him into her mouth while sitting in the back pew during a friend’s wedding, then halfway down a ski slope in Aspen, at the movies, in the bathroom while attending a dinner party, and once, during his yearly examination when the pretty doctor had been called away.

Given Sharon’s insatiable hunger, Paul had wondered if she was content with just one cock: His.

He knew opportunities existed for Sharon, at every turn. What man wouldn’t be thrilled to watch a tall blonde drop to her knees and reach for his zipper. He had seen lots of guys, friends and strangers alike, lower their eyes to examine his wife’s body and knew that, in their heads, they had her down naked and were wildly fucking her.

And Sharon had even suggested he might enjoy watching her go down on someone else for a change.

It first happened when a college buddy of Paul’s dropped in on his way through town. Nothing had happened but she had laughed at the haunted look in her husband’s eyes when she suggested she take his friend for a walk in the garden while Paul positioned himself by a window to watch her nuzzle her face into the guy’s crotch.

And when Paul was in the market for new golf clubs, Sharon wondered if he might get a sizable discount if she asked the salesman to show her into the backroom. Even their paperboy, a young lad of fourteen, had caught Sharon’s attention and when she invited him in for a cold drink, the look she shot Paul was downright lecherous. All in good fun, Paul had hoped.

Paul was afraid to ask where Sharon’s prowess came from. He assumed that some guy got hold of her at a tender age and taught her a thing or two. Paul suspected that to be the case, didn’t like it, but learned to live with it. And now this big lug comes along claiming to have fucked Sharon and seems to know enough about his wife’s sexual preferences to make his claim plausible.

How could such an unbelievably euphoric day, suddenly be turned to shit?

After yesterday, this was to be a time of celebration. He was up for promotion: Vice-President of Marketing. And with Sharon’s help, he had made his pitch to the Board of Directors. And nailed it.

Sharon had spent countless hours doing the research. She had helped write his presentation and watched as he rehearsed. And when it was his turn to stand before the company directors, Sharon had been there for him.

She had bought a charcoal-gray business suit, especially for the occasion. And in four-inch heels, Paul thought she looked stunning. Sharon was tall anyway and, holding back long strands of blond, she had to bow slightly to receive each Director as Paul introduced her. But in no way was she condescending and each man who took her hand seem pleased, even privileged, to touch her skin.

“Gentlemen,” Paul had started, “Lancing Industries has been a domestic powerhouse for twenty years.” Sharon, seated behind, secretly disengaged the top two buttons of her blouse and leaned forward. As if on cue, twelve men behind the table shifted to the edge of their seats.

Immediately encouraged, Paul launched into his expansion plans: Germany, Great Britain, New Zealand and Australia. It would be an ambitious endeavor but the Directors seemed riveted as Sharon idly toyed in the opening of her blouse with long, delicate fingers.

After the presentation, Sharon and Paul, giddy with excitement, raced along the hallway. “Did you see the look on their faces when I suggested global expansion,” Paul laughed, euphorically. That was about the time, Sharon thought, the members of the Board realized I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“You were wonderful,” Sharon gushed. “So dynamic ... what’s in here?”

Paul watched as she opened, then closed a door to a reception area. “And the budget was immediately accepted. We were bang-on with our figures.”

“Yes, Mr Vice-President,” Sharon said, opening another door. It was a supply locker with metal shelves stacked with file-boxes, stationary and envelops. “C’mon,” she squealed and dragged Paul by an arm.

“What are you doing?” Paul demanded, but allowed Sharon to propel him forward.

Sharon slammed the door and placing her back against it, she shimmied her tight skirt up skinny thighs. “I’ve never gone down on a Vice-President before.” And Paul, with bugged eyes and the sweat beading across his forehead, watched his wife drop to her knees.

“You c-can’t. Not at the office...” But Sharon already had his zipper down and her hand was roaming in the front of his suit trousers. “Oh Lord,” he hissed as she pulled him out.

Sharon knew her own body. And especially how to tilt her head to streamline the passageway between lips, and mouth, and throat. She had his cock in her right hand, his balls in the left and, adjusting the angle slightly, she took a breath and relaxed her neck muscles. She leaned in, closed her lips firmly around the head of his penis and pulled him forward.

She took the entire length in one slow, delirious slide. And when she had the tip nestled up against her vocal cords, she hummed silently, sending the vibrations into the pee-hole.

Paul tossed his head back and searched behind for support. As Sharon’s throat clutched, she made small circular gyrations, back and forth. The movement staggered him against a metal shelf. “Oh Jesus.” he cried. “Not at the office...”

“Go ahead,” Sharon pulled back. “Tell me you don’t like what I’m doing to you...”

Paul tried to gather himself. “But you d-don’t have to.”

“It’s okay,” Sharon looked up from her position on the floor and tilted her head seductively. “I don’t mind the taste. And you know I love the feel of it, sliding across my tongue. The silky feel. That’s something I don’t get from inside my vag.” And angling her jaw, Sharon opened her lips and he slipped effortlessly past the soft pallet and into her throat. “Mmm-mm,” she hummed and he felt the quiver, like she had pressed a feather into the end of his penis. Was probing in the depths with the quill.

Sharon snatched at the head with her lips, switched directions, tightened her throat muscles and again she swiveled on his cock. A hand came up, gripping her at the back of the neck and, grinding in, Sharon buffed his pubic bone with her lips, side to side, before coming up for air.

She stroked his penis, her fingers encircling the foreskin. “Are you ready?” she asked simply, studying the tip.

“Please...” Paul moaned.

Sharon smiled. She bobbled on the head a moment before descending. She held him hard into the back of her larynx, holding him in place with a finger pressing in his anus. She tightened the muscles in her throat and did a slow retreat. She sucked and changed direction, several times, the strokes longer now, milking him. His thighs stiffened, relaxed, and stiffened again. Sharon felt it, went down deep and held.

He seemed to topple but Sharon pushed back, holding him tightly against the metal shelves. His loins pumped and Sharon felt the intoxicating heat flood her throat. She pulled back a little, to give him room, and so she could work his semen down.

“She gives the most amazing blow-jobs,” the guy said again.

Paul wrung a sweaty neck with a hand. Yes she does, he thought.

“Look. I got a little something for her...” and the guy held out a carton with Amazon stenciled on the side.

“Whaat?”

“For Sharon,” the guy called his wife by name. “Pass it along, will yuh? It’s sort of a gift ... for remembering the past, and hopes for our future.”

“Your future?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not done with your wife yet. Fucking her in the mouth is...”

“Jesus Christ.” Paul turned on the guy. “Who the fuck...”

The guy cut him off with a cheap smirk. “And I got something for you as well.”

Paul heard the click and felt the tug at his shirt. There was a brief tingling sensation between his ribs, but surprisingly little burn as the blade slid smoothly through flesh and tissue. Like it was moving through butter. The point nicked his right ventricle and warmth flooded his chest. Paul experienced a moment of light-headiness before the sounds of the birds crescendoed in his brain. The travel brochure slipped from his fingers and darkness filled in the void.

Daniel Rich watched Paul slump against the back of the park bench. He chuckled lightly and stuffed the Amazon box into Paul’s jacket pocket. “There you go, chump. No more blow-jobs fur you.”

“I know it’s a bad time,” Tommy said. “And if it makes you feel any better, Doc Reid said his death was almost instantaneous.”

Sharon bristled. “No it doesn’t. Doesn’t help at all.” She met Tommy’s eyes. “And I don’t want to hear any more about it. Got it?”

‘Tommy winced. “But Paul was a lovely guy. We, all of us, feel the loss.”

“Well deal with it on your own time.” Sharon spat. “I’m expecting everyone, and I’m including myself, to just get on with it. Do our fucking jobs, like always. Understand? So leave your feelings at home. Now, what’dyah have for me?”

Tommy lay the Walther P99 on Sharon’s desk. Used in 1995 at a drug deal gone wrong. Donny Risco shot at his drug dealer. The drug dealer shot back. And by all accounts, he was the better shot. Donny took a bullet in the stomach and fell, presumably holding this gun, into the Hudson. His body was pulled from the river by EMTs but his gun was never recovered. Until now.”

“And the rose?”

“Same deal. Plucked from the bush.”

Sharon stared at the gun that had been found in her dead husband’s jacket and drummed her fingers. “Okay. Leave the file and get back to work. And close the damned door, would yuh?”

Tommy retreated and closed Sharon’s door on the way out.

Sharon picked up the Walther, dropped the magazine and checked the breech. She could smell the dish-soap. Four guns, all addressed to me, she thought, and then he kills Paul. Tommy’s words floated through her brain like a bad dream: “Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer.”

Shit. Why didn’t I...

She swiveled in her chair and booted up Miss Gates. Sharon typed Ctrl Alt T to open the Terminal then Octopoda. The program opened and she typed in the dates of the crimes associated with the four pistols. The details of all of the crimes opened up, but in each description, one line, the common denominator, was highlighted in red. Attending Squad Leader: Sargent Daniel Rich.

“Shit,” she swore again, this time at the screen and turned to her phone.

“Thanks for coming.” Sharon’s response was clipped.

Jilly slipped into Sharon’s guest chair thinking about the time she had been called to the principal’s office after dumping a carton of milk into Billy McIntyre’s lap. “Well he keeps touching my hair,” she had complained.

Miss Swanson, the principal, hid a smile. “Jill, you are an attractive young lady and sometimes boys act silly around girls. It’s Billy’s way of seeking out your approval. Understand?”

Jilly didn’t but nodded anyway.

“The next time,” Miss Swanson continued, “tell him that when he’s older, you’ll have something much more interesting for him to touch.”

Sharon flipped a page in a file folder and didn’t look up. “Did Daniel Rich hit on you?”

Jilly was suddenly back in the moment. “Whaat?” She gripped her hands to control the tremor she felt rise in her fingers.

“You were undercover, working for Daniel Rich. The CIA operative who headed up the sting on that European arms smuggler, Ida Vetch. Did Rich hit on you?”

Jilly found something of interest on the wall behind Sharon’s left shoulder. “That was six months ago.”

Sharon finally glanced up. “I wasn’t asking for a timeline, Detective. I’m asking if Daniel Rich acted inappropriately. Toward you.”

Jilly felt the heat in her cheeks and shifted her gaze to the carpet. “Sort of...”

“Christ.” Sharon swore. “Sort of? C’mon. Spill.”

“I ... I mean, I don’t wanna get him into trouble.”

“He’s already in trouble. Now, what happened.”

Jilly slumped. “I got booked into that slummy hotel, The Riverside, down where they unload the boats and Mr Rich came by after his shift to see how I was. He had wine and...”

“Wine?” Sharon cut into Jilly. “He came to check on a subordinate and brought a bottle of wine?”

“And to ask me out to dinner.”

“Geez,” Sharon exhaled. “Did you go?”

“No. I had already eaten. But he had the wine so we sat together on the bed. He poured.”

“Wait a minute. You were together. On the bed.”

“Well there wasn’t a chair,” Jilly whined. “And the floor was filthy.”

Sharon let out a breath. “Go on. What happened?”

“Well he was kinda talking dirty to me. Being suggestive, yuh know?” Jilly lowered her chin. “He was asking about my virginity, how I lost it, and if I shaved ... down there.”

“Down there...”

“Yeah. He called it my beav. And he ran his hand up under my dress. To check, I guess...”

“And you let him...”

“Well he was so much older,” Jilly wailed. “And he was heading up the sting operation. Mr Rich was the boss ... and he was touching me on my breasts. I didn’t know what to do. Everything was so sudden and confusing ... And yeah, I guess. I did it. I let him feel me there.”

“Same MO,” Sharron said.

“What?”

“Nothing. Anything else?”

Jilly shrugged and studied her fingernails. “He came in my hand.”

“He did what?”

“It was summer,” Jilly mumbled, “and really hot in the room and I went to stand by the open window. I was wearing a light cotton dress and Mr Rich came up and lifted it from behind. He had unzipped himself and he was rubbing it against me. I felt I needed to do something so I reached back between my legs and held him while he moved. Until he ejaculated.”

“You masturbated him.”

“Well no, not really. I mean, he did all the work.”

“Spare me the semantics.”

Jilly blinked away tears. “Am I in trouble?”

“If you are ... we, both of us, are.”

“Both of us?”

“Ahh shit. The only difference was you did it underhanded. I did it the regular old way– from the front.”

Jilly’s eyes circled. “I don’t understand. You and Mr Rich?”

“Yah,” Sharon tossed the file folder. “Dan used to work here, at the 14^th. He was a regular cop and I had just signed up. I was your age and, like you, a rookie. And Dan was my handler. We shared a cruiser.”

“Oh gosh. You said the same MO.”

“Yep. He was older, an experienced cop and my boss. And you know how good-looking he is. I was terribly infatuated. So one day when he kissed me, I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. He recognized that, saw I was vulnerable, so instead of catching bad guys, we’d park and fool around on the front seat of his cruiser.”

“But weren’t you afraid of being caught?”

“Sure. But only after my shift ended and I’d cooled down to the point I was thinking straight. Anyway, he liked to feel me up while I used my hand and well ... the other. That was until the day he asked me to join him in the backseat. We were parked in some shit alleyway and Rich had my shirt open when he made the suggestion. I really wasn’t prepared to go that far but, as you found out, he can be very persuasive.”

“So he talked you into it.”

“I guess. It was back in the days when lady-cops wore those hip-hugging, navy blue skirts. He got my underpants down and I straddled him in the backseat. And all I remember, as I lost my virginity, was looking out the rear window at the dumpsters and all the trash strewn about and thinking how filthy it was. I never settled it in my own mind whether it was the alleyway or the feeling of his dick moving inside that was so filthy.”

“He raped you.”

“I didn’t want to. I froze. And he did all the work.”

Their eyes locked. Each realizing the commonality of their words.

Finally Sharon looked away. “About a week after he got me, I found out from another policewoman that Rich had been bragging about tagging a nineteen-year-old virgin. The woman also informed me that Rich had a wife and two teenage girls at home. I was devastated. Christ, every time I walked into the squad room, I could hear guys laughing.”

“You thought Mr Rich was in love with you.”

“I was a dopey nineteen-year-old and thought a lot of stupid things. And yes, the truth was hard to swallow. I confronted him and he said something about that’s the way things worked at the 14^th and if I wasn’t willing to put out for him, he wouldn’t object if I asked for a new ride. I did of course, asked to be transferred and a couple of months later, his wife divorced him. I was still love-sick and got a hold of the court records. Dan had been fooling with his daughters, Tracy and Angela.”

Jilly sat back. “Jesus. You still remember their names.”

“Mmm. Crazy, huh?” Sharon continued. “Rich pleaded guilty to save his career and moved over to the CIA field office. That was more than twenty years ago. I married Paul and moved on. Then, six months ago, guess who shows up on my doorstep. Right here in the office to discuss a sting operation. One involving you.”

“And I remember you were pissed. I couldn’t understand why you were acting so cold to such a beautiful man. But now I see ... how it makes sense.”

Sharon’s computer contained a City Directory. The most up-to-date Directory possible. It was connected to real estate lawyers, rental agencies, to the phone company and internet providers, the post office and the tax department. If anyone changed their address or phone number, anywhere in the City, the information was relayed to Miss Gates and updated hourly.

Sharon typed in Daniel Rich and drew a blank.

“Damn,” she swore at the screen. She wasn’t used to being let down.

His wife had divorced him and Sharon checked City Records. The divorce took place six months after Rich shit on her. His wife’s maiden name was Mathews. As part of the settlement, Mathews got the house and then sold it in 2012 to a Mr Davies and his wife Angela.

“Son of a bitch!” And grabbing her shoulder bag, Sharon raced for the stairs.

It was after lunch when Tommy’s phone rang. Doctor Frank Reid was on the other end. “Is Sharon in the Squad Room? We had an appointment.”

Tommy glanced about the room full of over-worked detectives– blurry-eyed guys in loose ties and rumpled suits. A slim five foot-ten blonde would stand out like a thoroughbred filly among a herd of Clydesdales on route to the glue factory. “Not here Doctor Reid. Problem?”