felt in the hotel was overwhelmed, confused, and a burning need to run as far and as fast as she could.
Willow was packed and ready to go, contemplating her next move throughout the morning — terrified of her next move, horrified of what she had become, and finding it impossible to ignore the burning need inside her.
And as hot as the fire she felt burning between her legs, it wouldn’t be too long before Willow was running from an entirely different sort of heat. She had to get out of town immediately. Run away and never return. Throw herself into isolation, somewhere where she could never harm another soul. Maybe Alaska.
If only she had more than $9,382 in her bank account, or hope of a cure.
If only she’d taken the briefcase.
Willow was minutes from flight when she heard the knock on the door, and saw the two agents standing on her porch. She was terrified, and might have run right there if she hadn’t smelled the pungent sex of Agent Brad Hammer on the other side.
Willow had to calm her mind so it didn’t scream. She could feel it calling to the large and well-practiced cock in Agent Hammer’s pants. She could clearly see the memory of his last fuck — a quickie with a waitress at the end of her shift, two days earlier in Austin, Texas — and see the filthy thoughts he couldn’t help but have about the partner standing beside him.
More importantly, Willow found the memory of the briefcase.
Agent Hammer had what was hers, and she was going to get it back.
Agent Hammer was the key to everything. He had the briefcase, and if Willow could retrieve it, she would have enough money to go on the run, as well as the research that would lead to her cure.
Chapter Four — Brad Hammer
“I’m taking a long nap, and if I’m lucky I won’t wake up until tomorrow,” Grayson said, pulling into the underground parking lot of their hotel, driving the Lincoln toward a spot at the back.
“Are you serious?” Hammer looked at his watch. “It’s not even 3:30?”
“Which day?” Grayson said as they got out of the car and walked around, leaning against the trunk. “Did you not have the same week as me? Were you not in Synecdoche, New York for four days following dead leads on a werewolf case?”
Brad said nothing. Of course he’d had the same week as she had, but he was numb to the travel, and the schedule that went with it. He was never affected the same way, and nap-time for Agent Grayson usually meant Brad went looking to lift a skirt.
“What do you care? You’ll end up at the hotel bar looking for tail anyway.”
“I don’t care,” Brad said. “I was just thinking maybe you wanted to look through the briefcase, you know, see what everyone’s trying to keep us from seeing.”
Grayson shook her head. “That’s not our concern. Division ordered the case closed, so that means the case is closed. We already broke protocol talking to the twit girl who could barely tell us her name. We’re not putting our asses on the line for that. I’m sure Division knows about the briefcase, Hammer. It’s evidence and we weren’t the first on the scene.”
“Yeah,” he smirked, “and according to you they’re listening to this conversation right now.” He asked for the keys, popped open the trunk, pulled the briefcase out, and then slammed the back lid of the Lincoln and threw the keys to Grayson.
“You never know,” she said.
They entered the hotel lobby, heading for the elevators. “Promise me I can get some shut eye without having to worry about you,” she said, stepping inside.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Brad smiled. “Go get yourself some beauty sleep, then meet me downstairs at 7:30 tomorrow morning before we hit the airport. I’ll even treat you to one of those crap scones you like so much.”
The elevator dinged and Grayson stepped through the parted door with Brad a step behind. “You didn’t say you promised,” Grayson said.
“I promise,” Hammer smiled, waved goodbye, then turned toward his room as Agent Grayson walked toward hers. He muttered under his breath, “ I promise to tell you about everything I find in the briefcase.”
Brad slipped his keycard in the lock, opened the door, tossed the briefcase on the bed, changed into jeans and a tee-shirt, then went to work on the lock. He figured he could crack it in less than 10 minutes. It took him 25.
The briefcase held three items: a flash drive, a shit heap of cash, and something that confused him.
The flash drive didn’t surprise him. After all, a scientist’s research is what made him worth killing. The money only surprised him a little, since a guy as mud fence average looking as Madsen would need major coin to score the six hotties he’d spent an entire day fucking, until something stopped his heart from beating. What Brad didn’t get were the six cartons of cigarettes.
They were packaged in regular looking cigarette boxes, complete with shrink wrap. Across the top was a stamp: PROPERTY OF HELIX PHARMACEUTICALS AND ADVANCEMENTS in red lettering. In smaller black print just below it said: RED BREATH #2327.
The oddest thing about the cigarettes wasn’t their silvery gray paper, it was their scent — something he couldn’t quite place, though a battery of conflicting smells were suddenly soaking his nostrils: chocolate and vanilla, jasmine and fresh rain, spring after a hard winter, and though he knew it wasn’t possible — pussy.
Brad wanted to know what in the fuck Red Breath was, but even more, he wanted to know why in the hell had it been left in the hotel room. Maybe Doc Madsen hadn’t been murdered, because the briefcase had at least two things worth killing for, probably three, and yet they were all sitting safe at the back of the closet.
Hammer sat at the desk and opened the lid to his laptop, then plugged the flash drive into the port and waited for it to pull the data. There must have been a shit ton to read because his super fast laptop kept spinning while Brad went on waiting.
When the files finally sorted themselves on the screen, Brad about went apeshit.
There might have been a quarter million in the briefcase, but it was pennies compared to the thumb drive. Brad could have spent all night if not all week going through the two years of research. It took him nearly an hour to understand half of what he was seeing, then another hour to finally believe it.
Red Breath was the world’s first super sex drug in its most potent form. But for all its wonder, the drug in its current form was apparently peppered with problems. Brad wasn’t sure where to start looking since every limb of research sent him in a dozen new and confusing directions. Rather than the actual research, Brad found the most telling information in Dr. Madsen’s notes.
It turned out the doctor was prescribing himself a taste of his own medicine, and judging by the documented doses had turned into quite the junkie, moving from casual use to constant intoxication in just under two months.
The drug also appeared to affect different psyches in different ways. The doctor never should have self- medicated, at least not before he found a way to dilute it. Being a lab nerd since high school hadn’t prepared Madsen’s mind to deal with the drug, and it looked like it had eaten him alive. A guy like Brad, on the other hand, could take a dose of the Breath to amplify what he already had, without the danger of it completely altering his brain chemistry.
Brad leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thick head of dark brown hair, staring at the briefcase and the open carton of Red Breath. He knew he shouldn’t take it, and the whisper inside him was screaming for him to stop, but Brad smelled the adventure, and loved how much the odds were in his favor.
Dr. Madsen was a nerd, Brad wasn’t.
Dr. Madsen had an endless supply of the drug, Brad didn’t.
Dr. Madsen had an academic interest, Brad’s was purely social.
Of course, Dr. Madsen didn’t have Agent Grayson, who would be furious with him if she knew what he was doing. But she would never know if he didn’t tell her.
The open briefcase was a no-win situation. If Brad said yes, he’d be breaking protocol and the law, maybe even jeopardizing his health or safety. If he said no, he would wonder what he’d missed for the rest of his life.
