With a growing feeling of apprehension, Carol noticed that Zack has been coming home later and later each night.  He always appeared distressed, distracted, edgy, and usually had had been tippling a tad.  She was fully aware (at least, she thought she was), how many cares he had constantly on his job, so she tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and some space to work it out in his own way.  He was tender with her, but disclosed nothing of what was actually going on at the Bureau that might be upsetting him unduly.

As the Bureau Chief of the local SF/FBI department, Zack worked in tandem with the local police in several areas.  In one area they assisted local law with the area of bank robberies, and helping the police when he was called on for consultation in unsolved murders that took place in foreign countries.

The SFPD will ask the FBI for help in solving local murders as well.  The FBI agency has state of the art labs, files, prints, photos, and DNA records and networking connections with other law enforcement, and their assistance is often requested and well used.

The SFPD have to print a letter out to the FBI requesting help in local cases of murder, robbery, and bank crimes.  That keeps it a professional frame and not just one buddy helping out another buddy.  Zack delegated many cases out to other of his team, especially because he knew so many criminals, was well liked in spite of it, and when he was out there as a detective he could be recognized easily.

For example, Zack knew Frank Jameson, an unlikely street person, who used to work for him on the outside when he was a detective and often on the streets.  Frank was scruffily presentable, like an alcoholic ex-Harvard professor, which he was. 

He looked up to Zack, admired and trusted him, and he was a reliable informant.  Zack trusted him as well.  They had a comfortable rapport where one felt safe with the other.

On this particular day Frank had come into Zack's office looking nervous and smoking like a chimney, (which was even more than his usual incessantly).  His yellowed fingers shook, indicating the degree of his apprehension.  He tended to speak with his hands when he was under conflict. 

"Steady on, ol' dog, you look scared shitless."  Zack observed.  

He led Frank to the chair in front of his desk, got him a cup of coffee and told him to relax and smoke 'em if he had 'em, knowing he would end up sharing his cigarettes with this man in any case.  Frank grinned at Zack because he always made him feel like a colleague instead of what he was in actuality, a snitch. 

Slowly he revealed his request to Zack in faltering sentences, which drove Zack up the wall, but during which, he put on his most patient face.  He asked Zack humbly that if he gave up his information, could Zack assist him in beating a small drug charge he was facing; a charge that could  put him away for two or three years. 

"Hoss, I just ain't up to the joint anymore, y'know?  Gettin'too old."  He was at the time out on $1200 cash bail.  

Zack listened closely to the particulars of the case.  He appreciated the fact that Frank didn't exaggerate the details - just laid them out there on the table.  Zack agreed to help him if it was within his power to do so. 

Relief and gratitude flooded Frank's lined face.  He patted Zack's hand.  Then he began hesitatingly to reveal his story.  

There was an FBI agent on Zack's team who had been deep into the dark side and heavy on the take for a very long time.

Zack immediately demanded to know who this person was.  Frank spoke the name of the agent in question.  It was Elliott Frost, Zack's old time partner, friend and colleague.  Frank told Zack that the growing word on the street was that Frost was suspicious that the department was on to him and he was being investigated. 

Frost apparently was becoming increasingly paranoid.  He was deeply into narcotics trafficking, gambling, numbers, murder, bribery, and many other areas of vice.  He had managed thus far to remain undetected and uninvolved, above reproach.

Zack had recently heard enough questionable stories about Frost himself that he had begun his own dossier on him, but had not of late been able to establish enough verifiable real skinny about his old friend until now. 

Frank added ominously that Frost was heard to have hinted his assurance that Zack was behind any investigations into his affairs, and the word was, if necessary, he wouldn't hesitate to take Zack out. 

Zack's shaggy head was leaning over his hand - as he had been lighting a cigarette - and his head snapped up.  His brows drew together and he indicated for Frank to continue.

Frank continued that Frost was talking to several third world narcotics gangs asking if they could produce a shooter who would come in solo, do the hit and disappear.  Allegedly, several different gang members responded that he would have to come up with a hell of a lot of cash to get this job done.

The rumor was that Elliott Frost had said, "No problem."

Frank said negotiations with these gangs were ongoing and purportedly supposed to be concluded soon.  They were to get back to Frost when a decision was made as to whom the individual would be, and things were set.

Zack was on his feet, pacing his office. 

"You'd better be fuckin'A right about this, Frank.  You better be fuckin' dead on with this,"  he stated gravely.  

"Why the fuck didn't you come to me with this sooner?  You like playing Russian Roulette with my life?  My life is on the line here!  You slowin'down, you crazy old bastard?"

Frank shifted around uncomfortably.  He knew he deserved this derisive attack, but he was "but a weak mortal."   He said solemnly,  

"I was afraid, Hoss.  You hear so much shit, you never know what's real, y'know?  I didn't want to raise a red flag to you if it was all just the usual gossip and hearsay bullshit."

Zack's first reaction to the news about Elliott was denial, because of the relationship he had shared with him in the past.  His intensity was due to the fact that Elliott Frost had been his closest friend and mentor when he was a young cop, then detective and now Bureau Chief.  They went back many, many years.  He mentally kicked his own ass and asked himself when the fuck he would quit being naive and surprised at what people (especially friends) are capable of.

He devised and finalized his plans with Frank, told him, 

"Not to worry, keep his eyes and ears open, report everything he heard."  

And he closed his office door.  The walls seemed to close in on him like a vice. This was some real heavy shit.  If he was in imminent danger, so were a lot of people - people close to him - people like Carol and Eric.   

He lit a cigarette and got into his car to go home, suffering the worst panic attack he had ever experienced as an agent.  He ran his hands through his hair again and again.  He banged his fist on the steering wheel, swearing exceedingly, creatively and loudly. 

He knew that he was going to have to check Elliott out, even if the bonds of friendship tempted to hold him back.  He didn't, on the other, hand want to lose his commission by letting grass grow under his feet while he tried to give an ex-friend the benefit of the doubt.  He decided he would delegate all available agents who excelled in computer hacking, accounting, codes, etc., and would call in on a few banks to check on Frost's equity.

Reliable, verifiable news came back to Zack in one week to the day that Elliott indeed held major holdings in some huge world corporations.  He was illegally sending millions overseas to safety deposit boxes in foreign countries like the Caymans.  He had set up dummy corporations with some of his mates to deposit under accounts which are listed as such, insuring that there would be a lot less scrutiny then there would be on a personal account.  Recently he and his wife had purchased a very toney house in San Francisco for at least six figures.  They had also just recently bought a Bentley.

"Jesus!  What the fuck?  Does this guy think he's impregnable? Invisible?  Indestructible?"  Zack whistled to himself as he read the report.  

He made the decision to call a meeting of his team and Captains the next morning to inform them of his latest acquisition of information regarding Frost's little enterprises.

Once he knew positively that Frost had gone bad as an agent he could have him under surveillance at once, 24-7, and keep an updated report.  His mind raced with all he had facing him.  He felt trapped on all sides. 

"Could sure use the fuck out of Terry and Dino about now,"  he muttered, and closed his briefcase.

He was heading for home but, on a whim, dropped in at the Pub hoping Bud was there for a much needed one-to-one over a few beers.  

He was overjoyed to find Officer White in attendance and alone.  He shook Bud's ready hand, ordered them both a beer, and very succinctly laid out to his friend what was going down in his suddenly very complicated life. 

Bud listened seriously, intently as Zack talked.  He especially noticed Zack dwelled on his anxiety regarding anything happening to Carol and/or Eric.  That was a place, Bud realized, he had not yet dared explore in is head.

Bud leaned forward on the bar, his chin on his folded arms, looked up at Zack as his friend poured out his mind boggling tale.  When Zack was finished talking, Bud ran a hand over his chin, hitched his stool a bit closer to Zack's, and whispered softly in his typically terse fashion, 

"Now listen to me.  Here's what you need to do, my friend.  Elliott needs to disappear."

Zack stared at him, "What do you mean 'disappear'?"

Bud continued his riveting look into Zack's wide eyes.  

"Think about what I just said, my man, and it should come together like that."  He snapped his fingers.  "You're my friend, Z.  I'll help you in any way I can - or any way you want me to. You only need to call.  You know that.  But you know and I know this guy has to go or you'll never have your life or your peace of mind back in place.  Or you could lose the life you have.  Not too many options here."

Zack nodded slowly, scowling.  They rose slowly from the bar, pondering all the ramifications, and shook hands, agreeing to meet up later to regroup.  

"I'll be in touch soon, Bro.  Thanks - glad you were here."  He clapped Bud on the back and went out into the wet dark night.  

"Me too."  Bud grinned.

As he drove home he fought the dismal, tightly wired pall hanging over him. Despite the beer and talk with Bud, he was still unsettled and felt like he was coming out of his skin. 

"How in the name of Jesus can I begin to tell her about all this?"  He said out loud.  "How will she take it, and where can I send her to keep her safe in the interim, if it comes to that, and how the hell will I convince her to go?"      

As he pulled into his softly lit driveway his last terrifying thought was: "How many other fuckers are involved in this?  Am I - even now - being watched?""

As he put the key in the door, he sighed deeply as he went into the kitchen and found everything was quiet, peaceful, and she had left a night light on for him.

He opened the fridge and drew out two cold beers, went into the darkened living room, sank into his oversized chair and slowly drank the cold dark brew.  No matter how many he drank this night, he was maddeningly sober.  His thoughts wee many and dark, and he ended up falling asleep in his chair.

He awoke later and crept quietly up to bed and slid in so not to disturb her.

"You're very late...."  Her voice was sleep-thick but not upset.

"I had a million meetings, cases to delegate, and people to meet with."   

"Is everything all right?"  she whispered.

"It will be all right -- and I hope it stays all right.  Right now I'm wiped, babe, and I really need some sleep.  Give me a kiss.  He turned off the light and said, "Let's spoon up like we usually do."  They cuddled together and Carol drifted off again while Zack lay there obsessing.  Eventually he fell into a fitful dose.

Neither slept very long.  Carol stirred in the early pre-dawn light and snuggled into his warmth.  He kissed her eyes awake.

"We gotta talk, baby."

She looked at him, her eyes like saucers, as they got up and went downstairs.  A myriad of scenarios ran through her head in a matter of seconds - all of them bad.

"Drink or coffee?"  She asked, quietly quaking.  She knew something was up.

"Shot of JD, please, darlin'" He said "You'd better have one too."  Her eyes pooled up in anticipation of incoming dire news.

"I'm in royally deep shit in the case I'm working on.  I should say potential royally deep shit, and I want you to know all the details up front in case anything unforeseen goes down."

She jumped up but he pushed her gently back into her chair, then drew her onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew her body in to his as close as possible. "Don't talk, don't react, just listen,"  he said with his finger over her lips. 

He gently kissed, more nibbled, her pouty lower lip.  She nodded slowly.

"One of the guys I used to partner with on the street when I was a young detective, and whom I considered a hell of a friend, has apparently turned dirty cop.  Name's Elliott Frost.  Word on the street is that he's turned bad and is on the narcotics take big time, and has been for some time.  I don't know if he knows I know yet." 

"I have an old time informant on the outside, (I have several, actually), who used to want to be a cop and this is his way of pretending he is one.  He just could never stay straight long enough to grab a hold of his dream, y'know?  He came into my office this morning and told me about all this shit.  He's a guy I trust; a guy I have used for years - name's Frank Jameson." 

"I don't know what to think or to do at this point except follow procedure.  I have Elliott under surveillance 24-7 right now, and I suppose he does me too. I get updated reports up the wazoo, so there won't be any surprises, but you never know."

"Carol, this could get very heavy, Babe.  This guy is into everything, drugs, gunrunning, and bank robbery. Money laundering, high stakes all around, foreign bank accounts, right under my fuckin' nose - and I didn't know ... all this time ... I didn't know..  .It hurts like a mother because I used to consider him my fuckin' best friend.  He was a neighbor, classmate, service pal, Academy buddy... you name it.  We were usually together and of one mind about whatever the issue was.  Once this gets out, The Bureau may suggest I use body guards, because he is most assuredly going to use all the artillery he has on me, once he knows what I know..."

Her whole body felt like cold marble on his lap. She stared so deeply and steadily into his tormented, clear eyes for hidden meanings or clues that he was underestimating a possible catastrophe, it gave him the feeling he was swimming in shimmering cobalt water.

"What I wouldn't give for Terry and Dino right now!" he sighed nostalgically again."At any rate, I intend to ask Bud White and Jack Turner, a man from my department who I trust implicitly, as my consultants, my protection and my eyes out there."

He took her hands and pleaded with her to stay calm.  Her tightly toned bum jumped up and down on his lap like a child having a tantrum, but she was quiet. "Now, here's the hairy part.  I want you to be away for awhile.  Thank God Eric is with Mary. He will be safe.  I'm cautiously optimistic that this plan can work.  I couldn't bear anything happening to either of you.  It has to be this way for awhile." 

He felt the pulse jump in her wrists as he held her hands firmly.  She began slowly shaking her head and mouthing, "No...no...no...no...Zack, my dearest love, don't send me away!  I couldn't take it.  I couldn't!"  Fresh, hot tears spilled down her flushed cheeks and broke his heart.

"And I can't take you being in danger," he countered.  

"Frank's brother in law has a really nice log cabin up in the lakes region in the foot hills. You would be totally safe up there for however long this takes to go down.  Please, Baby.  Consider it.  It means everything in the world for me to know you're ok.  You know it does.  It might even be enough of a refuge you can do some meditating or painting or something to take your mind off things. Don't put me through this anguish of worrying about you every minute while I do what I have to do.  I beg you."

He hugged her tightly to his chest and buried his nose in her fragrant hair. "You know I won't if I don't absolutely have to, Carol, but you're my other half and I could not take it if anything were to happen to you.  Do you understand?" 

"Take my mind off things?  Off you?  I'd have to be dead!"  She snuffled then slumped in his arms, and silently sobbed her submission into his neck.

A week later FBI Intelligence officers and accountants came en masse into Zack's office bearing reams of proof, briefcases of documents, folders, tapes, all stating unequivocally that Elliott Frost was indeed deeply on the take and owned all or a part of  every secret account they suspected he had in every country they suspected he operated, plus a couple more they weren't able to verify as yet..

He apparently has a fortune stashed for life.  Zack marveled at the ingenuity and connections it must have taken to arrange all this illegal activity, undetected, for so long.  He even used his own name on some accounts, which they had not been able to access at the time.  It all amounted to well over 6 figures.  He and his wife had recently purchased a toney home in Beverly Hills, and she now drove a Bentley. 

Zack's thoughts were stream of conscious....

"He's not yet 40 years old.  He's been in law enforcement since he was twenty-one.  At one point he was my supervisor as street squad commander.  I grew up close to him and a genuine friendship was there...we were like brothers ...fuck it, he is a brother!"  

"Always reminded me of Pierce Brosnan.  So confident, so cool, perfect composure and poise at all times; never a hair put of place, all that natural suave shit - where I was always the unpredictable un-made bed, loose cannon, the wild haired, rumpled wild card, the hot head.  Now this ..." 

He felt a bitterly deep betrayal and a feeling akin to mourning.

As Zack sat behind his desk with all the agents in front of him he knew he had to make a quick decision.  He intended to get agents he was positive Frost didn't know; he would set up a command post.  He sent agents to Beverly Hills to stake out Frost's house with orders to report back to him directly their immediate observations. 

He yearned once again for the feeling of union, protection and the sure expertise of the likes of Terry, Dino and Max.  Not that he didn't trust his own team, because he did.  But things were way different now; the status quo no longer existed.

The agents set it up so they could observe Frost's every move, each time he came and left from his home; he would be followed by various cars to minimize the chance of his becoming suspicious.  The agents were to be notified if anything became problematic or illegal or he had contact with any know drug lords or illegal contacts with know narcotics people, he was to be stopped, cuffed, and brought in for questioning. 

Zack had to move politically carefully so everything didn't blow up in his face or the department's  

That very night when he left the office he found himself heading to the Pub to unwind.  It was the only place he felt at home except at home, and he wasn't prepared to face that music yet.

He was on his second JD when, lo and behold, who breezes elegantly through the Pub doors but Elliott Frost himself, looking for all the world as if he owned the place - like he belonged there all his life.  He had the uncanny ability - always - to never appear to be out of place. 

He walked in, quickly scanned the room, waved his hand, and went right over to Zack with a big smile, slapped him on the back and said,  

"Hey, my old partner!  How y'doin', Buddy?"  

At the same time he gestured to a quizzical faced Paul behind the bar to set them up again on him, and he sat, as though invitation was implied, on the stool next to Zack.  He then said something that made Zack nervous to add to his surprise, because he thought he was good at hiding his insides better than that. 

Elliott said,  "Z. you look a little tired - depressed - not at all yourself.  What's up my, friend?  Is all well with you?  You're doing a splendid job on the Bureau, so that can't be it.  Trouble on the home front?  No, that can't be it.  Not that it's any of my business, but you do have a most splendid woman there, and when they're not happy -- well, they can make our lives a misery, est cela pas, ainsi?

"I don't recall you being so suave when we were on the streets together, there, Frost.  You talked like the rest of us."

The reference to Carol had erupted a fire in his gut.

Frost said smoothly, 

"I'm your Buddy, you know, so if anything's awry, just lay it on me.  I'm here for you."

Zack took a sip of his drink to keep from choking and shook his head nonchalantly,

"No, thanks anyway. No, Elliott.  Everything's the balls.  But, you know this job.  You have to be so fuckin' politically correct,  and you know me; I find that tough.  You, on the other hand, were born with a politically correct silver spoon in your mouth."

Elliott roared with laughter.  "Oh, my deluded friend!  We come from the same place! You should only know!"

But he did know -- he really did.  

They had been fairly close as kids from the same neighborhood, schools, colleges, and social backgrounds - but maybe that was just an illusion Elliott perpetrated.  From the beginning, Elliott was in another stratosphere in tactical intelligence.  Zack used to listen in wonder at how his mind worked when they were partners on the force.  He had learned a lot from him over their time partnering together on the force.

Zack reiterated, purposefully casually, 

"No, Man, everything's hangin'- I'm ok - but in a way you are like me - you've been on the street - you know how it is -- sometimes you miss not being out there, mixin'it up, y'know?  We should be on the street.  Not stuck behind some desk for the big bucks.  That's why I never went for those big political assignments for big money.  I liked my freedom too much.  Now -- well -- I'm fucked -- better money -- less fun -- sometimes not worth it.  Am I right?"

Elliott tossed back his scotch neat.  

"Remember, Zack.  I told you way back then you wouldn't like it.  You should have listened to me."

Someone put on a ballgame while they were sitting there drinking (the Oakland Angels vs the New York Yankees), and Elliott just happened to say,

"I've got some big money riding on the Yankees."

"Well, good luck.  I hope you win."  Zack saluted him with his glass.

As the game started, Zack seemed to relax a little and the conversation between them turned to baseball.  He had the sad fleeting thought that this could be the last time he would sit with Elliott as a friend. 

As the innings went by, Zack began wondering if the informant, Frank, had indeed been correct about Frost wanting him taken out if he got too close, because at the moment, he was so much like his old self.  Even at this juncture, he had the impossibly hopeful dream that everything would turn out legal all around.

Zack gave a slight smirk as he picked up his drink again, thinking, "Big money?  You're the one swimming in big money, Frost, baby, and I'll bet my last nickel it ain't legit.  It never is." 

In his gut he knew.  Sudden huge monetary incomes are never legitimate, and he readied himself for the fight ahead.  Zack knew that if Elliott was found innocent or guilty of fraud, robbery, embezzlement or whatever, he would inevitably lose a friend.  It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach - like a friend was about to die.

It was now the 8th inning of the game and the Yankees were leading 8-2 and Elliott jumped up off the stool and said to Zack,

"Well, I'm off to collect my big winnings."   He put his hand firmly in Zack's and shook it, looking him straight in the eye, turned on his heel and left the Pub. 

Zack stayed for a little bit longer and people began coming over to talk to him but he knew he wasn't up for casual chitchat with anyone other than Bud, and Bud wasn't there.  He stood up, ready to pack it in.

As he walked to the door, waving adios in general, he shrugged into his leather jacket. He put his hand on the door handle and looked out to see if there was anything or anyone suspicious out there in the car lot.  With a nervous flutter in his gut he lit another cigarette and walked casually over to his car.

He thought as he put his key in the car door that in all probability it could blow up.  This angered him and he swore lustily.  He despised being afraid.  It infuriated him.

"Christ!  I'm getting paranoid already!"

When he was in the car he still checked the rear view mirror, straightened the side mirrors, and put his high beams on so he could better see what was down the road.

He called Carol on his cell while he sat there; told her he was at the Pub, in his car, ready to come home.  He promised he would sit down with her and tell her of the day's events.  He was also going to interject that maybe if things get too heavy and dangerous, she might just have to give some thought to visiting her relatives in New England again - if she didn't want to take Frank up on the log cabin location - just so he could work without worry. 

He already knew she would balk again.  It might be time to get tough, but he would hold out until absolutely the last minute. 

Elliott was deep in thought about his meeting with Grant. He was hardly a complete idiot.  Neither was he blind.  He knew he had been being followed.  He was a dirty cop and he remembered that Zack at the Pub seemed friendly, but reserved compared to his old self, and kept leading the conversation into safe areas.  Also, he wanted to check out Zack's demeanor and attitude and to give his old friend the benefit of the doubt. He felt bad about Zack.  He genuinely loved him like a brother.  Love and business, however, he learned early on, never mixed.

Elliott was now thinking about making a run for it to another country before the shit really hit the fan, and he knew in his gut, it was about to.  

He was faced with several obvious problems:  

How would he gather all his cash and have it sent overseas into his various accounts without personally going to the bank.  He was from the old school and believed in doing cash business face to face - electronic age or not.

He knew in his heart that he just wanted to be ready for any inevitable turn of events, when and if the Feds piled in and overcame him and his operation.  

His last though - if this is true - should he exact revenge on Zack and his team by himself, (old school again), or trust other operatives to carry it out?  

He was aware that he himself and his wife would have to abandon their beautiful new home and make haste to leave the country.  He knew that she knew something was in the works and that his event had always been a potential possibility for them.  But she would still be broken hearted about it.  She was up to her ass in decorating, swatches, pillows, wall paper, curtains, etc. - in her element.  This would kill her, but she was tough, of that he was sure.

He thought about a late night coffee shop around the corner to see if anyone was following him.  Sure enough, as he was waiting for coffee and donuts to take back home, he saw a gray sedan pass by slowly with two conservatively dressed men checking him out. 

He smiled mirthlessly and thought bitterly,  

"They might as well be in lime green tights and hot pink gay feathered flamingo costumes, they're so obviously G-men."

As he collected his purchases, he knew he had been spotted.  He had been right all along. He knew the procedure, having been on the other side for so many years.  Time was of the essence now and he must move quickly.

He was, however, not fast enough.  Federal agents swarmed out of vehicles everywhere and covered his property.  They took him in the coffee shop where he stood, guns drawn, surrounded and cuffed him, while others agents ransacked his home and terrified his wife.  They cuffed her also, as they gathered all the evidence they could move into waiting cars and Federal vehicles. 

As all this was going down, later that same morning the observing agents hidden about the neighborhood streets saw a White's Dry Cleaning Co. van with tinted windows backed into Frost's driveway which circled around to the back of the house.  Once the van realized what was going down, they peeled out of the driveway and roared up the street, closely followed by unmarked cars and some police cruisers. 

Apparently, Elliott had been planning to use the van as an escape route past the Feds, to the airport and a waiting plane.  But it failed.  It had all failed.  

He was remarkably unemotional as he was led away.  Zack watched from an SUV with blacked out windows and wondered what was going through his mind.  He wondered what it felt like to go from having everything to having nothing in a matter of a few seconds. On a completely different level, he guessed he knew.

To help them re-establish their normal lives, Carol and Zack decided to take a brief vacation to Mexico.  

As they lay in the golden sun on the beach at Cozumel, they discussed the whole incredible string of events again.  Zack, as usual. couldn't let it go.  He couldn't accept that he had been taken in for such a long time by his old friend.  He kept trying worrying that the same old friend would decide to come up with ways he could get even with him, if it was possible. 

Zack entertained himself with ways he would get even first if the occasion arose.

"I know if I had my way I'd begin by slowly yanking his gonads up through his nostrils for starters."

Carol watched him as he plotted so intently, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully behind his sunglasses as he blew out a plume of smoke from his little cigar. 

"You are such a noble Philistine, darling."  She giggled.   "So indomitable, savage, so invulnerable, so unapologetically revengeful."  

He began to puff up.

"Fuckin A."  He confirmed with supreme authority.

"Ahh ...  and so eloquently modest and succinct."

"Precisement, Mademoiselle."  He purred in his velvet throat.

"O-o-h-h-h----, French!"  she mewed.  "You know what that does to me?  By the way, are you ever going to put your bathing suit back on?  There are people strolling around here somewhere you know."

She had been sketching the Mayan ruins along the incredibly beautiful shore of the sea as she listened to him rant.  They were actually far away from any living soul.

She put her art pad aside and scooped up his sun-warmed flesh in her hands, playing with his equipment as she rubbed suntan oil on his baby  soft, hot skin.

She chuckled deep in her throat. 

"Too bad I know your Achilles' Heel."  

She began to run her fingertips gently tickling the curls at the base of his cock and slid her fingertip a bit beyond for good measure.  She slipped the tip of her pink tongue into his ear.

He growled, "As one Philistine to another, I can't dispute your sentiment."

She attempted to playfully hold back from him as he reached for her.

"C'mere, ma petite Delilah .. resistance is futile.  You will be assimilated."  

"How does one become assimilated...?  H-m-m-m....it's so subtle ... starts something like this ....."