Against the Clock Read online

  Against The Clock

  Charlie Moore

  www.charliemoore.info

  Copyright © 2014 Charlie Moore

  Sydney, Australia

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Many of the moments and situations in this book are based on my own real-life adventures, some exaggerated for dramatic effect, and some downplayed―too shocking for even this work. It is important to note that all names, dates, locations, and any other identifying details have been altered for the purposes of confidentiality and privacy.

  To my mentor, I thank you. "Less is More" is a quote I now dream of in my sleep, as is the scowl I see so clearly on your face when I've crossed another of your moral lines. To my proofreaders, my cover artists, and my family, credit goes to you all.

  To my amazing editor Mary Harris, I THANK YOU! Not only a brilliant mind, but now a good friend.

  And to my beautiful wife, none of my successes would have been possible without your limitless support, endless encouragement, and immeasurable goodness!

  DEDICATION

  From the boredom of surveillance,

  to the risk of being caught,

  from working endlessly on assignments,

  to traveling abroad,

  It has always been my dream to have love and

  to write.

  I now have both!

  Thank you to my dear family for giving me love, and

  thank you to my readers

  for letting me write.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  "the absence of proof denies fact."

  the book of seekay

  23:38:14

  Wind whistled through the lobby as the couple came in from the cold. The heavy glass door of the hotel entrance swung closed behind them.

  As they walked toward a distant bay of elevators, the opulence of the grand atrium opened up before them. The ceilings were high and the spaces wide. Each step echoed off the marble floor and bounced back at them as though they were being followed by invisible doppelgangers.

  "I think I've had a little too much to drink. "The young lady giggled softly as her high heels struggled for balance on the polished floor. Her swaying gait was disguised vaguely under the shelter of the man's large, muscular arm. A knowing smile was his quiet reply.

  Following the curve of the sweeping atrium, the transformation from the bustling, dirty city to the chic and exclusive hotel was quickly completed.

  "So you own the whole floor?" she asked while entering the elevator. His quiet smile again told her everything and nothing at the same time.

  The lurch of the elevator moving upward caused her to stumble deeper into his arms, and with another giggle she apologized, promising it was not like her to drink so much. Finding her footing, she looked deeply into his eyes and smiled shyly. She stepped back and propped herself against the wall as her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

  They had met several hours earlier in a modern cocktail bar he had recently purchased, neither of them knowing where it would lead, but each of them hopeful. He had rescued her from the unwanted advances of a young man with poofed-up hair; she had introduced herself as Marisol, a primary school teacher from Camden, a small town an hour or so south of Sydney.

  He had watched her intently at the bar several times before. She always ordered a martini, stirred, with two olives and a twist of lime. She had one drink, and then she would leave. Never coming with anyone, never leaving with anyone. He had noticed her as he tended to notice most things: as being either "worthy" or "unworthy" of his time. She was noticeably worthy.

  Bill Civic wasn't an ugly man, but he wasn't an attractive man either, and he knew it. He had money, lots of it, but that tended to attract people more like him, or worse, if that were possible. He had done many bad and questionable things, and would do many more in the pursuit of greater wealth. He didn't deserve the happiness love could bring; he'd made peace with that a long time ago, but a small part of him had kept hoping anyway. When he saw this young lady at the bar, he had recognized something special in her instantly―felt something special. Excitement. Nervousness. Anticipation.

  Gazing at her now, he devoured her with his deep blue eyes. Not an inch of her went unnoticed. Her smooth, tanned skin hinted at a Thai or Filipino heritage, while her round green eyes, angular face, and five-foot-seven frame revealed a European influence. She was thin, not skinny, more like a gymnast; muscular yet feminine, firm, flexible, and teasing with the potential of what her body could do.

  She stood now, leaning against the rail of the elevator wall, watching him quizzically as his gaze roamed her body.

  Tonight, she wore dark beige slacks tight enough to hide no secrets and capture the curve of her buttocks to perfection. The tailored blouse revealed little of her physique, but with the collar open and the top three buttons undone, a flash of cleavage caught his eye occasionally as she moved. She wasn't wearing a bra. It made him want to see more. So much more.

  The thought of rushing toward her now, pinning her against the wall, and consuming her with the passion that burned deep inside him came at him in waves. At its peak, the desire was almost unbearable. He resisted the urge with such ferocity, his hands trembled. He dared not talk as he fought the desire again, for fear his lips would twitch uncontrollably.

  Bill was a big man with an affinity for business. In his world, he was legend. People feared him. But this girl…she made him feel weak, helpless, like a love-struck adolescent. He hated being the cliché of a strong man made weak by a woman, but he embraced it anyway. He felt he needed her. Needed her like he needed wealth. More. His body leaned toward her, his legs making the subconscious adjustments to step forward. Moving closer, his eyes registered her chest rising and falling, breathing in and out faster, deeper. Her small, rounded breasts heaved against the tight blouse that constrained them. The rhythm of her bosom's rise and fall moved in time to the pumping of his heart and the blood thumping through his brain. His vision blurred at the edges, her bottom lip at the core of all things.

  He was in front of her now, her hands resting on his chest, drawing him in. Her lips parted as she lifted her mouth, open, to meet with his. He felt the tickle of her hot breath on his lips. He breathed her in.

  23:41:52

  The elevator chime gave little warning before the twin doors slid open on the thirty-second floor. Caught on the verge of their lips touching, Bill and Marisol's senses were brutalized by the explosion of light and sound as six children in swimming trunks and towels came rushing into the lift. They were wildly ignorant of the moment they had destroyed, and oblivious to the couple nestled against the wall.

  Marisol buried her face deep against Bill's chest. He could feel her heavy breaths through the fabric of his shirt. The warmth stirred something inside him. He wondered if she would notice the pounding of his heart as it tried to hammer its way through the back of his ribcage. Ignoring the loud children, he gave into the embrace and held her firmly, close to him. In reply, her fingers intertwined with his.

  The elevator doors chimed again before opening to the foyer of the thirty-eighth floor. This was his floor. Leaving the lift, Bill led Marisol down the hallway as the sounds of the children's shouts and laughter rose, then quickly faded, leaving behind a peaceful silence.

  They didn't speak at first, their minds and bodies still engaged and committed to the passion and desire that had matured between them.

  At the end of the corridor stood a tall solitary figure―a man dressed in a dark suit, his jacket noticeably too large. His facial expressions changed like a statue trying to scowl. H
e was of a similar size and build to Bill, but of a very different skill set. His sunken eyes and overhanging brow gave him a menacing glare, one he now openly aimed at the young lady clinging to Bill's side.

  The large man stepped forward as Bill and Marisol approached. One of his calloused hands slipped inside the folds of his oversized coat. His movements were in no way discreet.

  Bill sensed Marisol tense and pull back, disturbed. Trying to reassure her, he introduced the man as Carlo, a trusted member of his security team.

  "Security team?" she asked, confused.

  Bill looked almost embarrassed to discuss it, then shrugged."It's more for my business partners than for me." Searching for the right words, he said, "We have a lot of meetings here." He ushered her past Carlo's menacing glare and continued, "They can be paranoid sometimes."

  Before they could reach the door, Carlo placed his large arm across the breadth of the entry, an unmistakable, silent narrative with which Bill was all too familiar. Pride versus mechanism, and Bill knew too well that this man was all mechanism. He was a machine and given a contest, Bill's pride would surely lose. Carlo did not work for him; he worked for Bill's business associates, and so, for the duration of their partnership, he would have to endure the embarrassment of being frisked at his own door. Bill fought the process in his mind for only a moment. It would end the same way each time.

  "I'm so sorry, Marisol," Bill said softly, "it's just easier to let him do his job." He raised his arms to allow Carlo to swipe the small, portable scanning wand over his body.

  "Oh, Bill, maybe it's better if I go home," she whispered, instantly sober. "This all just seems a little too…weird for me. This…"

  "Don't go." Bill caught her hand as she backed away. "Marisol, please."He paused, took a step closer, toe to toe; their gaze connected."I think we both know there's something great happening here. Before you let it go, give me a chance, and if all this is still too weird, if you want to leave, I'll understand and call you a cab."

  How could things change so quickly?. This whole conversation felt alien to Bill. It was as if he was only a bystander, detached from any involvement, watching from a distance. This was not him! He never "asked" for anything, he simply took it. The thought had occurred to him. He could just take her. This stone-faced bodyguard wouldn't say a word; he'd even help him if he needed it. But after he had his way with her, would she stay? That was what he wanted after all―for her to stay.

  He reached his other hand out to her, hoping she would take it.

  23:45:22

  "He just returned, sir," Carlo said into the phone.

  "Was he alone?" the voice asked.

  "No, he had a woman with him."

  "Did you search them?"

  "Yes, sir, they were both clean."

  "Tell me more about this girl."

  Carlo paused for a moment, replaying their interaction in his mind, then continued, "She was good-looking, green eyes, seemed a little tipsy, got spooked when I was going to search her, tried to leave, but Mr. Civic talked her into staying. There was nothing on the scanner and nothing of note in her handbag; keys, purse, condoms, tissues, makeup, and an ID card saying she's a primary school teacher at Camden Public."

  "Fine."

  Carlo was about to disconnect the call when the voice came back on."Did you take a copy of her ID?"

  "No, sir." Carlo wondered if he should have, if somehow he had failed in his duties. "I did install a hidden camera in the lobby downstairs. I have it transmitting to a recorder in my room. I can search through the video of her entering with Mr. Civic and forward you the image―"

  "That's great work, Carlo!" The voice paused; he could hear his boss speak with someone else in a muffled tone, then he came back on the line."There's a team on their way to you. It's probably nothing, but I'd like to be certain. Wait for them to arrive before leaving your station, then get me that image. If anything happens in the meantime, call me immediately."

  "Yes, sir. Consider it done."

  23:46:19

  "Scotch okay?"

  "Sure." Marisol stood at the glass sliding doors overlooking the balcony and the city below it. The city lights sparkled at night and from here, from a distance, the streets looked romantic.

  From the thirty-eighth floor, everything about the city looked better. Even the dirty puddles littering footpaths and roads looked more like clean glistening mirrors reflecting shards of hope and wonder from streetlights and projecting them toward the heavens. It was in stark contrast to the reality she knew, yet the view still mesmerized her.

  Bill watched Marisol step out onto the balcony, then turned to focus on preparing their drinks. He dropped two large ice cubes into his tumbler and watched them dance around, clinking against each other as he poured the Scotch. He could feel the warmth of it on the back of his throat even before he took a sip. He topped up his tumbler and fixed a glass for Marisol.

  From the mini-bar, Bill could see her peering over the handrail. He'd done the same thing himself many times before, looking down at all the little people, wondering what their lives must be like. He thought of them scurrying around trying to make ends meet, providing for their families and playing by the rules, but rarely being of any real consequence. He thought of them with an odd indifference, a mild curiosity, held in his mind for a moment and then discarded. He found no fault in this, just a keen observation of society's hierarchy, and yet he found himself wondering if Marisol would think less of him because of it.

  Marisol came in and closed the sliding door, shaking off the cold as though it were a physical cape across her shoulders. "Brrrr…it's cold out there." She shivered.

  "How do you like the view?" Bill walked toward her.

  "It's amazing. It looks completely different from up here."

  He met her in the middle of the large living room, offered her the glass of Scotch, and raised his own to make a toast.

  "To…different perspectives, and to us," he paused, "the beginning of something." Their glasses clinked together, their eyes met, and a glimmer of their past desires curled his lips in the hint of a smile.

  Marisol coughed at the harshness of the Scotch as it burned its way down her throat. "It's good," she sputtered in a hoarse voice.

  They both laughed openly, more nervous release than humor, and briefly, just for a moment, some of the tension between them slipped away.

  Caught between breaths, their laughter soon gave way to an awkward silence. Their minds were trapped by indecision; thoughts, questions, words jumbled in their heads, their bodies stilled, unable to move. A stillness so complete surrounded them that it seemed even the world had stopped spinning, frozen in time, frozen in that moment.

  Bill pushed himself forward, breaking free of the constraints his doubts and fears had placed on him. His hand cupped the base of her head, and he came in fast to kiss her. She leaned in, their lips crushing together with desire.

  The heavy glasses fell, bouncing off the rug. With a guttural growl, Bill lifted her off her feet and pulled her into him with a passion that surprised him. He heard her gasp, and stopped himself short of devouring her on the spot. He kissed her gently under her chin, kissed her again just behind her ear, and again at the base of her neck.

  Marisol moaned, and then whimpered as she pulled him in harder. Wanting more, needing more. Her legs wrapped around his waist, gripping their bodies tightly together, grinding her pelvis hard against him, up and down. She could feel his hardness through their pants.

  23:52:47

  Their bodies moved as one across the large room. Bill held her buttocks firmly in his hands, squeezing, kneading, wanting to rip the fabric from her flesh. Her groans spurred him on. He needed to be inside her now. The bedroom too far, he chose the dining table.

  Resting her on the edge, he desperately tried to free her of her blouse. His big hands struggled with the tiny buttons, threatening to rip her shirt to shreds in anticipation of what hid beneath.

  Marisol kissed him deep
ly, exploring his mouth, biting his bottom lip. She pushed his hands away and undid the buttons, letting the folds of fabric drape across her midriff. Her breasts seemed to push out against the open shirt with each heavy breath, but still the fabric clung to her, caught at the edges of each round breast. They were full and aching to be touched, the valley between them promising something magical.

  He squeezed her hips, explored her stomach and ribs. He arrived finally at the curvature of her breasts. He paused there, in preparation, in respect, and then moved his hands gently over the slope of her firm bosom and, teasingly, brushed against her hard, erect nipples. He rubbed them, cupping them in his hands, squeezing gently at first, and then firmer.

  He buried his face in the valley of her chest, kissing, licking, sucking, working his way to the center of her right breast. He took her nipple deep into his mouth, flicking at it with his tongue. He could feel the vibration of her moaning.

  Her hands cupped the back of his head, holding him tightly against her. Her firm grip told him all he needed to know. He moved to her left breast and captured its nipple between his teeth, nibbling at it gently.

  "Take me, Bill! Take me!" she gasped.

  Without stopping, he guided Marisol's hands behind her back and deftly slid the shirt off her shoulders. It fell in a heap at the small of her back..

  With her arms behind her, her breasts were pushed out, up and forward, the effect totally intoxicating. Bill straightened and kissed her mouth passionately. His eyes closed for the first time.

  Sliding her forward, he picked her up off the edge of the table, supported her weight, and lowered her slowly until her feet touched the ground.

  Marisol leaned against the edge of the table for support as Bill pressed himself closer. He worked his way down, from mouth to neck, to breasts, to stomach, kissing hungrily, gnawing at her flesh, spurred on by her gasps of pleasure.