Capitol Conspiracy

48

The problem with having a torrid passionate affair with a danger addict, Jason mused, as he staggered off the side of the bed, disoriented and practically limping, was that eventually you would run out of ways to simulate danger. Eventually she would want the real thing. She would need the real thing to get off. And even though Jason was happy enough to send Belinda into multi-orgasmic paradise to the best of his ability, this was not a time when he was willing to court real danger.

Tonight’s sexcapade had been successful, but he had gone about as far with her as it was possible to go without leaving a mark. Belinda was still being interviewed by reporters and police officers. He couldn’t afford to do anything that would create suspicion. He shouldn’t be here at all, really, but given a choice between taking that risk and finding out what would happen if Belinda didn’t get her sexual jollies, he had decided a surreptitious romp in the hay was the best course. Her suggestions that they “do it in the road” or some similar public place, however, just weren’t going to happen.

She was insatiable. He knew she would be back in an hour or so, ready to go at it again. The woman must be part rabbit, for God’s sake. He’d heard of women reaching a sexual awakening, but this was ridiculous. How was he going to keep the excitement level at the fever pitch she needed to get off? He was running out of ideas.

He decided to comb through the garage. Some sort of bizarre garden apparatus might be just the thing to stimulate that oh-so-familiar squeal of passion…

Rakes, hoes, snow shovels? No, somehow he just couldn’t see it. Trowels, shovels, spades-ugh. This place was a pit. Obviously, Belinda never came out here. Not that he blamed her. He had never been much for home gardening. Why waste life doing something you could pay a grateful teenager to do for you?

The garden hose. What would he do with it? Tie her up with it? Splash her down with it? Both at the same time?

Underneath a workbench, he found a metal lockbox about the size of a nineteen-inch television. What would the late senator have done with that? The dust told him that it had been untouched for days, so he knew it was nothing Belinda used regularly. Curiosity overcame him. What was the big secret?

There was no way he could open the lock, but it was looped through a fairly thin piece of plastic. Maybe he could sever the whole thing off the box and not have to worry about the lock.

It took a while, but a combination of wire cutters and a very strong wrench enabled him to pry open the box at last.

There were no tools inside. For the most part, it was papers. And photographs. The papers were largely in English, but some were photocopies of documents written in another language.

He picked up one stack of photos. All at once, his jaw dropped. They were obviously surveillance photos, and he knew who the primary subject was, too. How could he not?

Oh my God, Jason thought, his hand to his mouth. How could he ever have guessed He pushed himself to his feet, staggering, unsure what to do next.

What had they done? he wondered, as he slammed the lockbox shut.

Good God-what had they done?