Chase Baker and the Golden Condor: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series No. 2) Read Free Page A

plane in Paris. Digging around in a
    pocket on my bush jacket, I pull out a box of wood matches I snatched from a
    beachside watering hole in Cotonou, and fire the cigar up. Inhaling the good
    Cuban tobacco, I feel the soothing nicotine enter into my blood stream. If my
    nine-year-old daughter, Ava, were here, she wouldn’t just pull the cigar out of
    my mouth, she’d probably toss a glass of water in my face.
    “Are you begging for lung cancer, Daddy?” the
    long-brunette-haired future pop star would say.
    I look out the window onto the towers that form the
    perimeter of Times Square.
    “It’s a beautiful spring day,” I say, loud enough for Leslie
    to hear me through the door.
    The door opens and she emerges looking even more ravaging
    than before.
    “I’m overwhelmed by passion,” she says, setting herself back
    onto the desk. “You may approach me now.”
    I go to her, as ordered.
    She grabs hold of my bush jacket by its lapels, pulls it
    off, lets it drop to the floor. She pats the .45 that’s shoulder holstered to
    my left ribcage.
    “You bring a pistol to my office? How did you manage to get
    that through airport security?”
    “What if we need to shoot our way out for some reason?” I
    say. “And I stored it in a locker at JFK prior to my departure for Africa.”
    “Good thinking,” she giggles. “But I don’t like guns. I
    mean, think about it. It’s not like imminent danger surrounds us. I think
    you’re living inside one of your novels.”
    I set my cigar on the edge of her desk, so that the burning
    end is facing outwards.
    “Shut up and take me, Agent,” I say.
    She unbuckles my holster and the pistol falls. Then she
    pulls off my T-shirt, revealing a torso that’s not too badly put together for a
    man of middle age—laceration, bullet, and burn scars be damned. I continue
    unbuttoning her shirt until it’s dangling off her shoulders. That’s when I
    allow gravity to work in my favor as it slides down her narrow back to the desk
    top. Reaching around I unbuckle her bra strap and allow the delicate garment to
    drop, revealing pert white breasts and perfect round nipples that stand at
    attention.
    Bending slightly at the knees, I slip my hands into her lace
    black panties and slowly slide them down past her thighs, then down over her
    knees, taking my sweet time the whole way.
    “Oh, before I forget, Chase,” she says, her voice deep and
    breathy. “You have mail.”
    “Jeez, can it wait?”
    The panties drop to her feet which are covered in black
    pumps. I drop down to my knees, pull off the underwear and both pumps all at
    once. I then begin kissing her stockinged legs, starting at her feet,
    progressing up her calves to her thighs. When my lips reach the point of her
    thighs where the stockings end and bare skin begins, she opens her legs for me.
    Not wide, but wide enough. Her breathing is harder now, and she’s beginning to
    moan a little.
    “Or maybe I should read my mail now?”
    “Not on your life,” she insists, placing her right hand
    behind my head, pushing me into her.
    I go to town, as they say, with Leslie, no longer moaning,
    but crying out, loud enough to necessitate my reaching up with my hand, cupping
    her mouth. After a time her body begins to tremble and I know that my cue to
    stand has arrived. That’s when she grabs hold of my belt buckle, unbuckling it.
    She unbuttons my pants, pushing them down. I enter into her and together, we
    rearrange her desk in ways she never might have imagined. The phone drops to
    the floor, and so do some manuscripts.
    It’s then, over Leslie’s bare right shoulder, I see the
    letter. It’s a plain white envelope that’s addressed to me in blue ballpoint. I
    happen to catch the return address. It’s from Lima, Peru. Now two things on my
    body are piquing with interest.
    “Are you there yet?” Leslie screams into my hand.
    “Yes,” I say. “I’m almost there, Agent.”
    She thrusts her hips under me and more things drop