J the Sleuth Ch. 01: The Genesis

He later told her that he could easily picture her in a similar situation with a target, seeming for all the world like she was lost in the moment, while her razor sharp mind was absorbing every detail going on around her, gathering intel while her partner(s) were none the wiser.

And so she'd graduated university, taken a week off as a vacation, and shown up at the Agency for her first day of work. "The Professor" had become "The Boss," and her new life had begun.

One thing that hadn't changed, of course, was their affair. She had lost count of how many time she'd been bent over this desk, or, like now, under it. The cliché of a professor fucking his student had morphed into the cliché of a boss fucking his underling, and he'd quickly realized how much of a turn-on that was for her. So, with this in mind, he'd developed a habit of continuing to work while she sucked his cock under the desk, and it made her so fucking wet.

Once, as she was giving him one of these blowjobs out of sight under the desk, there had been a knock at the door, and to her shock (and excitement), he'd given his usual answer: "Come."

Her eyes had opened wide -- what was he doing?!? Her brilliant mind had immediately started analyzing the situation: did the front of the desk hide her completely, or was there a gap between the bottom of the desk and the floor? What shoes had she worn -- if The Boss' visitor(s) could see her, would they recognize her heels, or would they just be an anonymous pair of women's shoes?

If he came while they were talking to him, would they be able to tell?

While these thoughts had coursed through her mind, there were two things she hadn't done: She hadn't panicked, and she hadn't stopped sucking. If anything, she'd redoubled her efforts: she really had been curious how he'd react if he came while in the middle of a conversation, so she'd decided to try and make it happen.

But he'd been even cooler than her. After a quick, inconsequential conversation with Janice from accounting, he'd waited for the door to close and then pulled back from the desk, grabbed J's hair to drag her out from her spot, bent her over the desk, and fucked her properly. (Which wasn't difficult at all, because she was soaked!) When he did come, it was into her sopping went cunt, with nobody to witness it but her.

When she'd left his office, that afternoon, she'd spared a final glance back at the desk, and confirmed that there was no gap between the desk and the floor. No chance that Janice had seen her under there. Good to know...

---

All of these memories passed through her mind as she continued to expertly, lovingly suck his cock once more. She didn't hike up her skirt to play with her clit, or pinch her nipples; at these moments, it was about his pleasure, not hers. Before too long she felt his balls constrict, his cock spasm, and then she was greedily sucking down his cum.

As usual, she took in every drop, cleaned him off with her tongue, and put him back into his pants, before getting out from under the desk, straightening her clothes, and taking a seat across from him. All business from this point on.

He spent another moment with the paperwork in front of him, but she now realized it was just for show. He was on the same page he'd been looking at when she arrived; as she'd passed by, she could see it was something to do with a Dr. Haversham that a fellow colleague had gone to visit. A bit disappointing that he was only pretending to read, from the perspective of her boss/underling fantasy, but useful information to file away for later. He then set the papers aside, and focused his attention on her.

"Any troubles?" he asked.

"No, it was flawless. As I said, we should keep an eye on him, since he's bound to fuck up on his own at some point, but until then we've got free rein with him."

"Good."

And then he did something that wasn't usual: he pressed a button on his desk that opened the blinds on his windows, and turned his chair around to look out over the city's skyline. It was a breathtaking view, from his floor-to-ceiling windows, but one he rarely enjoyed since the blinds were always closed for privacy. After a moment, with his back still to her, he said, "I need your help."

"Of course," she responded.

"I've taken on a... a job. It's something we don't normally do. Dr. Ben Martin, a local neuroscientist, is a friend of mine. He says his life is in danger. I need you to figure out if it's true, and, if it is, who it is that wants him dead. And, while you're at it, of course I also need you to keep him alive."

"A combination private dick and bodyguard?" she responded. "Yeah, I see what you mean; not our normal kind of thing. But I'm sure we can handle it. Do you think he's really in danger?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "He's a smart guy, and I've never known him to jump at shadows, but... who could possibly want a neuroscientist dead? And it's not like he's got any personal enemies, everyone loves him -- when he was married, he didn't even cheat on his wife!"

She smiled to herself. He'd said this last as if it was unusual for a married man to stay faithful. Having given her a load of his cum to swallow just a few moments ago, she could see why he assumed all men were like him.

"Okay, I'm on it," she said.

"The details will be in your phone. Go to his home first, he took the day off and he'll be expecting you. And then... well, take it from there, I guess. Use your judgement."

"Sounds good," she responded, already getting up and heading to the door.

"One more thing," he said, just as she was reaching for the knob. "There's a 'need to know' aspect to this job. He thinks that its his work that's putting him in danger; ask him whatever you need to figure out who's doing it and how to stop them -- if there is anyone -- but no questions about the nature of his work. Not even in generalities. He's a neuroscientist, that's all you need to know."

"Got it," she responded, and headed out.

---

Dr. Martin's townhouse was out in the suburbs, so she found herself heading back out of the city almost as soon as she'd arrived into it. It was still early enough that most of the traffic was still heading inward, so her drive was mostly free from competing cars, and she made good time.

The Boss' behaviour just now had been... weird. At least for him. For a man of few words, who was always instantly decisive, to be caught gazing out the window and getting introspective about a job was unusual. Even the fact that the job involved a friend of his didn't explain the anomalous behaviour; he'd taken on work for friends before, and treated them like any other clients. She didn't get into the economic side of things, but she didn't think he was even giving his friends discounts; he wasn't that kind of guy, and this wasn't that kind of business. Besides, anyone who'd needed his help in the past had been more than able to pay the bill; maybe that was the difference this time? After all, how much could a neuroscientist make?

In any event, J had gone from James Bond to Sherlock Holmes. Or maybe Kevin Costner, if Dr. Martin's life really was in danger. (What was Costner's name in that bodyguarding movie? Didn't matter...)

On her way out of the office she had stopped by the armoury, signed out a Glock, and grabbed some spare clips and ammo to go with it. Another unusual moment, in her unusual day: her job almost never required her to be strapped. But, on the off chance that Dr. Martin was actually in danger, she wanted to be prepared. Now, as she drove, its weight against her side was both comforting and foreign. She was thoroughly trained in the gun's use, so having one at her side always gave her that mild feeling of invulnerability -- she'd even had her jackets tailored specifically for those times when she'd need to carry, so that the bulge wouldn't be obvious -- but it was still a rare enough occurrence that she still felt her elbow bumping against it sometimes, as she drove.

When she pulled up at Dr. Martin's place, she placed him somewhere in the well-off but not quite rich category. It was a nice townhouse, for sure, and big, but not quite as impressive as it would have been in, say, Forest Hill or the Bridle Path. It meant that he likely made more than J did, but probably not enough to afford the Agency's fee. Curiouser and curiouser.

She backed the car in, getting the trunk as close to the door as she could, and left it running as she went up to the front door.

She rang the bell, and a fairly handsome, middle-aged man opened the door. "You're from..." he asked.

"The Agency, yes. Let's get inside, shall we?"

He stepped aside, and she followed him into the house.

"How long have you--" he started, to ask, but she cut him off.

"Doesn't matter," she responded, all business. "I'm here to keep you alive, let's focus on that." As they talked, she was wandering from room to room, along the main floor, looking out each of the windows.

"I didn't get the impression that Kevin actually believed me," he said.

"That doesn't matter either, Dr. Martin. For now, we're going under the assumption that someone wants you dead, and it's my job to stop them. Do you have family? Where are they?"

He'd jumped slightly at her bluntness in mentioning that people wanting him dead, but he mostly maintained his composure. "It's just me. My wife died a few years ago."

"Sorry to hear that," she said automatically -- it's what you say -- but she was obviously more focused on finishing her inspection.

"Okay, here's the deal," she finally said. "This place won't do, from a safety standpoint. As I look out your windows, I can see a half dozen spots where someone could lie in wait. All you need to do is walk past one of these windows, and they could take you out quick and neat. So I need you to pack a bag, and I'll take you somewhere more secure. Once we're there, we can start talking about what's going on, and we'll put together a game plan. Deal?"

"Er... deal," he said. "I've actually got a bag packed already. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I figured I should be ready for anything."

He was living up to his reputation as a smart guy after all. "Good," she said. "Grab it, and let's go. With any luck, you'll be back here soon enough."

He went upstairs, came back almost immediately with a bag over his shoulder, and then ducked into his office to grab one of those rolling briefcases.

"Planning on working while you're gone?" she asked him.

"No idea," he responded wearily. "Depends where we end up, and if I have any free time. If you're bringing me to some kind of 'safe house,' then I'm guessing I'm going to be pretty bored, so I might as well make myself useful."

They got to the door, and she stopped him.

"Just a sec," she said, and then opened it, and scanned the immediate vicinity. Whether there was any validity to his worries or not, she was going to treat the situation like his life was in real, imminent danger, until proven otherwise. She stepped outside the door, and still waited for a few moments, scanning left and right, looking for any kind of movement in response to her being there. It would be obvious that they were leaving the house; was anyone going to react to that?

Nobody did.

"Okay," she said, still scanning the neighbourhood with her back to him, "here's what we're going to do: I'll open the trunk, and when I give the word, you come out and throw your stuff in there. By the time you're closing it, I'll have your door open, and you come climb in. You don't need to run -- I don't want you tripping -- but you're not taking your time, either. Understand?"

"Got it," he said. Her estimation of him continued to climb; he was all business, just as she was. "What about the alarm?"

"You have to punch in a code?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Do that first. Then trunk. Ready?"

"Ready."

She scanned for one more moment.

"Okay, let's do it."

He came out, at that point, with the bag over his shoulder. He'd put down the handle of his briefcase and was carrying it instead of rolling it. It looked heavy, but J thought he'd made the right call: it would be quicker to carry it than roll it and have to fiddle with the handle before putting it in the trunk. She figured he must have been in pretty good shape, too, based on the ease with which he was carrying it. There's a difference between a weak man carrying a light bag and a strong man carrying a heavy one, and she was pretty sure this was was a case of the latter.

He set it down long enough to punch a fairly long code into the alarm console, closed and locked the door, and then they both started toward the car. He put his bags into the trunk as she went around to open the passenger door. He slammed the trunk and got in. She was closing the driver side door just slightly ahead of him closing his own, and then they were on their way. She wasn't squealing the tires or anything, but she was going fast enough to be near the end of his street before he even got his seatbelt on.

And then she heard him let out a long breath. "Jesus," he muttered. "I've never been so stressed out doing something as mundane as getting in a damn car!"

She smiled. "You're doing fine so far," she responded. "In... oh... ten, maybe fifteen minutes, we'll get to the safe house. There's a garage there, so no stress next time."

"Phew," he answered sardonically.

A few minutes later she pulled into a different neighbourhood, slowed down as she approached a house on the right, then sped back up to the speed limit. She circled the block, and slowed as she approached the house again, but still didn't stop.

"What is it?" he asked. "Are we being--"

"Quiet," she responded. Her tone wasn't harsh, but neither did it brook negotiation. He didn't press her any further.

She spent another couple of minutes circling the block, as well as the next block over, and then suddenly sped up. In moments she was out of the neighbourhood and back on a main road, her eyes darting between her mirrors and the road ahead.

A few minutes later, she pulled into a different neighbourhood, making similar motions around a particular block, before pulling a garage door opener out of the compartment between their seats; she pushed the button, suddenly sped up, and pulled into the underground parking lot under a low-rise building. She pulled into a parking spot, and then just sat there, her eyes glued to the rear-view mirror so that she could watch the entrance behind them, until the automatic door had finished lowering.

"Okay," she finally said, "we're here. Let's go."

She hit the trunk release, and they got out. He grabbed his bags -- she might have been his bodyguard, but she wasn't going to set herself up as his servant -- and she flashed a fob at the door to get them inside.

There were only three floors to the building, but it still had an elevator, which they took up to the 3rd. When they got out of the elevator she led him to the last apartment down the hall and let them in, before closing the door after them. Based on the thunk it made as it closed, he could tell it was a very solid door, and he was pleased by the sophistication of the alarm system he saw beside it, too. Maybe he could start to relax, if this was where they were going to keep him.

As J made her way to the kitchen to double check their supplies, he wandered around, getting his bearings. The blinds were drawn, and he left them that way. He poked his head into all of the doors he saw, confirming that there were two bedrooms and a bathroom, all off of the main living room. All of the rooms were bare-bones; they had the essentials -- beds, night tables, and lamps in the bedrooms, a TV in the living room -- but nothing else. He noticed that all of the noise he made seemed dampened, somehow, as well; there was no echo. The place must have been soundproofed.

She came back out of the kitchen and joined him in the living room, where he'd fallen onto the couch. "We've got food, and there are even drinks, if you need to take the edge off. Nothing fancy, but wine and beer in the fridge, and some liquor in the cupboards."

"Not right now," he responded, "but I'll take you up on that later." And finally, he gave vent to the fear that he must have been holding in for the last little while. "What was that, back in the car?" he asked. "Were we... were we being followed?"

"No," she responded promptly. "There was one car, early on, that I thought could have been following us, but when I drove around in circles for a while I confirmed that he had no interest in us. The second time I did that was just a precaution, and, again, nobody there."

He hadn't realized how worried he'd been until he breathed a sigh of relief at these words. As she watched him, it was as if someone removed a steel rod from his spine; he didn't collapse, exactly, but a definite relaxation came over him.

For a moment, at least, and then he got back to business.

"So what's next?" he asked. "What do we do now?"

She came and sat in the armchair across from him.

"Now you tell me what this is all about. Why do you think someone's after you? What's happened? Have you called the police? If not, why not -- and if so, why are you here with me, instead of talking to them? Give me as much detail as you can, and I'll decide what's important. The only thing you leave out is the nature of your work, which I've been told not to ask about."

"And then you'll decide if I'm crazy?" he asked.

She smiled. "Something like that. But for now, let's call it 'paranoid,' not 'crazy.' We all get paranoid, from time to time, but sometimes the bad people really are out to get you. Today, it's my job to figure out if you're right to be paranoid, or if we're jumping at shadows."

"Well," he said, "this is one of those situations where I'll be happy to be wrong. In any event, it's a long story, but here we go..."

---

We met at the gym. At the time I thought I was the one who was coming on to her, but in retrospect I guess she had her sights on me the whole time.

Anyway, she was a new trainer there. I'd seen her a couple of times, but never really paid much attention. So one day, when I met her on the street and she said hi, I knew I recognized her, but couldn't remember from where, or in what context. I politely smiled back and nodded a hello, but that was it. Then, the next day, she came up to me in the gym, all smiles, and I managed to put two and two together. But she was no dummy.

"So you recognize me today, eh?" she teased.

I was on the rowing machine, but I managed to wheeze out a reply as I went. "Sorry," I said, "I didn't know... the proper... etiquette. Never had a... stalker... before..."

"I'm not-" she started to reply, when I finished my thought: "... who could beat me up."

She laughed at this, and I finished my reps and matted my forehead with a towel as my breathing returned to normal.

"Just kidding," I said. "Most of my stalkers can beat me up."

"Well... keep working out, then," she replied. "Maybe someday you can even things out a bit." She winked, and went back to her client.

She happened to be finishing her day at the same time I was leaving, so she asked if I wanted to get a coffee. I did my best not to strut out of there like a peacock, thinking that my masterful flirting had won the eye of this hot young thing.

We went to a nearby Starbucks, where she did all of the classic things girls do when they're interested in a guy: She laughed at my jokes, she played with her hair, she made lots of eye contact, she blew me in the bathroom... you know, the usual stuff.

---

"Sorry," he said, interrupting the flow of his story. "You probably don't want to hear the dirty details."