Days in Rodanthe Pt. 07

About twenty minutes later, just my luck, it sounded like someone, actually a large family, was moving into the adjacent rental house. The noises of tires on sand, muffled car doors slamming, cell phone chatter, and footsteps on the sandy walkways echoed from the cul-de-sac side of the house. The presence of people next door would squelch any more naked hot tub time.

Suddenly it sounded like someone was running up the adjacent wood walkway and was stepping on the deck above us. I thought maybe lucky redneck Duke had comeback for another round, but then a couple guys in dark pants, white tennis shirts, bulletproof vests and baseball caps appeared on the dune. They were walking toward us, raising drawn pistols. Oh shit. I nudged my girlfriend.

Then our friend Constance appeared from around the corner in similar dress, hair pinned up under her ball cap. The blonde's tits were mashed behind a Kevlar vest and she was wearing a pair of yellow Aviator sunglasses. Her stubby shotgun was pointed right at Za'ana as she rushed up to the hot tub. Fuck! I couldn't believe this!

"Who the fuck are you?" Za'ana said with a rare surprised tone. She was pretending not to know Constance.

"Federal Agent! Zamira Svetlana St. Pierre, you are under arrest for violation of.."

The blonde, using my girlfriend's legal name, went on to shout a short list of banking laws that were allegedly broken, then added "The Treasury has had you under surveillance for six months now. Did you think we didn't know about your little love nest down here? We've been looking for your name to show up on rental data bases ever since." Constance had made us think she believed that Za'ana and I met online, and didn't know about my sadistic but sentimental girlfriend's fondness for the windy Outer Banks.

Za'ana cocked her head in annoyance as one of the male agents read her Miranda rights aloud, since she had given the same speech probably a thousand times.

"Robert Dale Voss, you refused to cooperate with our investigation. You are..." She went on to mention an obstruction charge, but the meaning was lost as I panicked. Even Oksana was being arrested for 'suspicion of unlawful interstate transportation of' something.

"How many of you does it take to arrest three naked people?" Za'ana asked about the small crowd of agents surrounding us and the pool.

I was frozen stiff, I never had a single gun pointed at me before, much less six. The rest of the Treasury agents moved in, including the large African-American guy that was Constance's partner. He wasn't smiling this time. At least they could have waited until the week was over.

"Okay, let's see your hands! Out of the water! Get on the ground, all of you!" one of the agents yelled.

"Get us some blankets! I told you we're naked and have nowhere to hide any fucking weapons!" Za'ana countered.

"Oh for fuck sake! Go get some Goddamn blankets or something!" The blonde, apparently in charge, yelled to a co-worker, motioning with her head toward the house. She overlooked the fact that the towels could have covered us and Oksana's jettisoned gold bikini laid dripping in a chair.

The absent agent left Constance and four men, counting the one on the balcony with another shotgun.

My girlfriend then spoke to her sister in Uzbek, I guessed. Oksana looked pretty scared, then nearly smiled, and closed her eyes tightly.

"Je me rends! Je me rends!" Oksana shouted, surrendering, I guessed, in French and quickly rising out of the water, raising her hands and nervously placing them on the back her head. "Ne tirez pas!" she yelled, acting terrified, telling them not to shoot her, I thought.

All eyes, including mine, were on the beautiful naked, wet, exotic girl. Her caramel curves and multiple hued ink sparkled in the sun, and water drained off the undersides of her pendulous 'banana' breasts which were conical and slightly upturned. Oksana's dancing, bloated dark nipples were rapidly stiffening due to the temperature change from the heated tub to the cool breeze as the sun glinted off their imbedded silver barbells. The vaginal cleft below the Persian beauty's narrow, flat stomach and jeweled navel was smooth and water flowed down it and dripped from the labia minor that sprouted from within, nearly as chaotically as those of her sister. The soaked redhead played her role well, looking down and pretending to cry.

"It's okay, ma'am, we don't want to hurt anyone," One of the agents said after regaining his composure.

No one moved for the next uncomfortable thirty seconds or so, waiting for the coverings to arrive. At least I thought no one had moved.

"Hey! She's got a phone! She's texting! " The returning agent, arms full of white sheets, said about my girlfriend, who was tapping away on Oksana's iPhone.

Za'ana had apparently told her sister, in their childhood language, to stand up and surrender. It quite successfully distracted the males, as well as bisexual Constance, long enough for my girlfriend to send a message to someone.

"You think you're so smart!" Constance said as she lowered her gun and snatched the iPhone from Za'ana and stuffed it in her pocket.

"Hey! I'm allowed to contact my attorney!"

"You will get your chance, ma'am." Constance replied.

Great. Now the government had even more video of me being fucked in the ass. I was practically a porn star before I turned twenty-one.

Constance handed the short black shotgun to a fellow agent and passed Za'ana a sheet.

I stood up naked and shielded my girlfriend with my own sheet as she wrapped her gorgeous wet body up like a roman empress. I wondered how long it would be until I saw her naked again. Za'ana was stoic as she was handcuffed by the blonde. To my surprise, Constance whispered 'I'm sorry" into my girlfriend's ear.

Dripping, Oksana, who no longer had anything to hide, had exited the tub and was leaning forward to step into her bikini, breasts swaying as they hung from her torso.

She declined a linen wrap from Constance's chivalrous and appreciative partner before tying her top on and began to dry off before being handcuffed.

"Where is it?" the blonde agent asked.

"Where is what?" Za'ana replied.

"The counterfeit currency, Godammit!"

"Oh, in the garage. Didn't you see it?"

"The garage is open and it's empty," one of the agents said, "except for a shipping palate and some plastic wrap.

Za'ana smiled and raised her eyebrows at me, visible above her sunglasses.

"They must have moved it last night while we were walking on the beach or this morning. We've only been up an hour," Za'ana said, of course failing to mention the breezy enema party on the shore in the wee hours.

The 'they' my girlfriend was referring to, were truck drivers for the European criminals that she brokered the deal with. The mysterious boxes contained tens of millions of dollars in counterfeit currency of certain Balkan countries.

The agents were discussing how to escort one suspect at a time inside to get dressed, since we had to be taken to a detention center for 'processing and interrogation.'

Suddenly Constance held her hand up to her ear. A black microphone extended partway down her cheek. She answered a call.

"Brewster...Um, yes sir. Yes sir. No. Can you repeat that? But...Okay, yes sir."

Constance then shouted out to her fellow agents. "Stand down! Release them. It's over! Nice job anyway, guys!" She turned to my girlfriend. "They classified you as 'armed and dangerous'. Not so much when you're naked and hung over, huh St. Pierre? You smell like a distillery!"

"Not armed, still dangerous," Za'ana said, smiling at her secret admirer and flexing her un-cuffed wrists. "and I've smelled much worse," she quipped, a comment she knew Constance, who was well aware of the shit fetish, would understand.

The other agents protested as Constance, trying to maintain her composure, explained to them that the whole operation was a sting to apprehend the members of the cartel, and Za'ana was undercover once again, this time posing as a rouge agent re-selling confiscated fake paper money that was supposed to have been destroyed. Once the cartel's payment had been wired into an offshore account, nearly a dozen arrests would be made near Dulles Airport, where the drivers were headed.

My girlfriend had explained all this to me back in the woods in Pennsylvania after my hoagie shop confession and apparently swore her sister to secrecy as well. Constance's department wasn't made aware, and their diligent pursuit gave the sting operation even more credibility. The sneaky cartel drivers made their pick up a day sooner than scheduled, however, and Za'ana was surprised that Constance was able to trace her down to the shore and actually make arrests. My girlfriend's text to her section chief saved us from an unnecessary trip to the slammer until everything was cleared up.

The bewildered and pissed off agents un-cuffed the rest of us and left amid radio chatter and the cul-de-sac was eventually quiet once again. About a half hour later we had dressed and reassembled in the kitchen drinking fruit juice or coffee, planning a road trip for groceries, when Oksana's cell rang a hip-hop ring tone.

"Allo?" She answered, then handed the phone to Za'ana. "It's that Agent woman. She called herself from this phone so she would have the number." Oksana seemed a little perturbed.

"Hi Constance sweetie!" Za'ana said.

Oksana made a quizzical face upon hearing the friendly greeting. She hadn't been told about our history with the lusty blonde agent and fledgling coprophile, We listened to one side of the conversation.

"It's okay...I'm sorry too. I did ask permission to disclose, just to you, but they refused...sure, you can call anytime...Yes, We'd like to have lunch, but I'm not in New York until next Sunday...Why wait? Come back here and stay with us...no, right now. Tell them to leave you at a restaurant, that a sorority sister suddenly invited you or something, we'll come get you...Nonsense, no one here is angry with you... Silly girl, you don't need any beach clothes! You can borrow mine or my sister's...we haven't exactly been overdressing, as you know...Okay we'll see you in about an hour, and don't forget your handcuffs," she said with a grin.

I knew this was going to be one hell of a week, and it was only Sunday afternoon.