J the Sleuth Ch. 01: The Genesis

She lay on top of him for a while, and he stroked her hair, as he softened inside her.

"It's true what they say in the movies," he finally said. "Danger really is an aphrodisiac!"

"It is," she murmured in agreement. "Any time my adrenaline is up I want to fuck. Gets me so goddamn hot. The endorphins don't hurt, either; sometimes a bit of post-coital bliss even helps you deal with a minor injury."

She eventually got up, and padded over to her clothes. To his surprise, though, she didn't put them on, she just retrieved the gun from its holster, and let her clothes fall back onto the floor. She then took a little kit out of her bag and went over the chair he'd previously been sitting in. She was about to sit down, then thought better of it and threw her blouse on it, and sat on that.

"Never know how clean a motel chair is going to be," she said with a quick wink at him. She then disassembled the gun, and used the kit from her bag to clean it. When she was done, she replaced the bullet she'd fired with a new one, so that the gun would be full again, and reassembled it.

Meanwhile, he'd turned on the TV, and was watching the 24/7 news channel.

When she was done cleaning the gun she came and rejoined him on the bed, and cuddled her naked body back up against his.

"Nothing on the news about the shooting," he said. "What kind of power does your organization -- this 'Agency' -- have?"

"Not that much," she responded. "We don't control the news. If they're not reporting it, it's because nobody knows. I don't think anyone heard the shot, and they must have gotten rid of the body before anyone found it."

He paused a moment, and then asked. "How... how did you know to shoot? I mean... you didn't even hesitate. It was over before I even knew it was happening!"

"A lot of that is training," she said. "So much of what you learn is focused on that exact scenario: don't hesitate, just do what you need to do. If a gun is pointed at you, it's a danger that needs to be eliminated." As she talked, she relived the moment in her mind: hearing a noise behind her; turning to see a fellow agent poking his head out the door, and scanning left and right, just as she had done before him; their eyes meeting; raising her gun just slightly ahead of him raising his own; taking the shot, and seeing him get hit exactly where he was supposed to get hit, due to her unerring aim.

As she relived the moment, her hand slid down Ben's stomach to find his cock, and started gently stroking it. Willing life into it. As it began to respond, he repositioned them, so that he was spooning her from behind. Her arm was behind her, continuing her gentle handjob, while he reached a hand around to play with her clit.

When she felt he was ready, she whispered to him, "Fuck me. Fuck me again. Make it good."

They were already in a good position, so he simply slid into her from there. He grabbed her waist, to hold her in place, and started sliding in and out; gently, at first, but building in intensity. All of that adrenaline had been flowing through his body for the whole day; he needed to vent it, and their earlier session had only whet his appetite. He wanted to fuck.

And she agreed.

"Yes!" she moaned. "Fuck me! Give it to me!"

He soon found their spooning position was limiting him, so he got up, pulled her into place, and started fucking her doggy style. Her moan of pleasure as he repositioned her for his use was all the permission he needed to take her as he wanted. She was being much more vocal this time, so he reached down and shoved her head under a pillow; this left her ass-up to do with as he wanted, and he did: he grabbed her waist with both hands, and started pistoning in and out of her cunt.

As he used her for his pleasure, he did something uncharacteristic for him, and smacked her ass. He heard a long moan coming from under the pillow, and felt her pussy gripping his cock harder, and realized she'd climaxed.

He wasn't far behind: a few more moments of hard fucking, and then he slowed his pace, and finally timed his thrusts with the jets of cum he was filling her with. She grunted or moaned with each thrust.

He paused a moment, to catch his breath, and contemplated the odd day he was having. He was trusting this woman completely to keep him from danger, and at the same time he was using her like his own personal whore. And, in between rushing into danger to save his life, she seemed to love being treated that way.

Only two days ago he'd been a simple neuroscientist, without a care in the world, and now he was being hunted like a spy and fucking like a pornstar.

---

"I think it's time I asked," she said later, breaking the silence. "Why do these people want you dead, and what information do they need from you? I wasn't supposed to ask about it, but since my own Agency is now trying to kill me, I think I'm allowed to bend the rules. So... no offence, but why so much interest in a neuroscientist?"

They were polishing off the final couple of slices of a pizza they'd ordered, after they had finished slaking their lusts. She still hadn't put any clothes on, but he wasn't complaining; watching her amazing body as she walked around the room was beyond pleasurable. It wasn't just that she was young and hot, but she also kept herself in amazing shape.

"None taken," he responded, "because I've been wondering the same thing. I'm pretty unknown even in my own field."

"Well it's got to be something," she said, between bites. "A new patent you've filed? A conference you spoke at? A paper you've written?"

He was shaking his head at each suggestion, but he paused on the last one. "Well... I haven't written a paper in a while, but I did submit an outline to a journal, recently, about a paper that I might write."

"What's the topic?"

"Ever heard of 'quantum consciousness'?" he asked.

"Wasn't that a crappy James Bond movie?" she teased.

He mimed throwing the remains of his pizza crust at her, before continuing. "As a neuroscientist, I study the brain, and how it works. Which, to be honest, we don't know much about. I mean, I know more about the human brain than the vast majority of people on the planet -- I know more than literal brain surgeons do about some things -- but even I don't really understand how it works. We've mapped out different parts of the brain that seem to be responsible for different functions, and we've noticed weird patterns whereby the left and right side seem to be independent of each other, and yet also interdependent. But aside from little facts like that, there's just so much we don't know.

"But as folks like me are off to one side, studying the brain, there's a bunch of physicists off in another corner, studying this thing called 'quantum mechanics.' And those physicists are noticing that the laws of physics which apply to everything in the universe, from galaxies on down to atoms, don't seem to apply at the sub-atomic level. Down there, things are... weird.

"I won't even go into how quantum mechanics works because it's not relevant, and I couldn't explain it properly anyway, other than to say that the study of quantum mechanics has led some to speculate about creating quantum computers, which, in theory, could be much more powerful than the most powerful 'binary' or 'digital' computers we have today.

"All of this led to some folks in my field to start tying things together, thinking about these theoretical quantum computers, and wondering: is that how the brain works? Is that why we can't understand it yet -- because it's powered by these 'qubits' that the quantum physicists are all talking about?"

"Is that what you discovered?" she asked.

"Well... not really," he admitted. "All I was proposing to this journal was that I was going to run some experiments -- not even new ones, I was planning to reproduce ones that had been done by others -- and offering to send them my results when I was done. Journals don't usually publish reproductions of experiments, that's not sexy enough for them, but for some reason I decided to offer anyway."

"You don't happen to know who published the first version of the study, do you?"

"That's the other funny thing," he said. "Even the first study wasn't ever actually published. They ran their experiments, but it turned out their findings weren't conclusive of anything, so they didn't bother to go through with publishing. I was curious, so I reached out to the other scientist, and she graciously offered to send me the raw data, but she swore me to secrecy. The thing is... when I looked at the results, it seemed like they were tampered with. But... in reverse."

"What do you mean, 'in reverse'?"

"Well, there's a tendency in science to only publish findings that are significant. When you run an experiment, you want that experiment to prove your hypothesis conclusively. Even disproving it conclusively would be a publishable result. So, much as I hate to say it, sometimes scientists will fiddle with their results, and play around with the numbers a bit until they find something significant, that's worth publishing. But in this case, it looked to me like they'd found some pretty significant correlations between brain function and quantum mechanics -- maybe even something revolutionary in the field -- but then had fiddled with the numbers to make it look like the findings weren't significant."

"So I'm back to my original question: Who was the scientist who published -- or, in this case, didn't publish -- the paper in question?"

"It was Dr. Haversham, from Connecticut."

"Ah. Things are starting to come together, I think."

"Wait... you've heard of her?!?"

"A colleague of mine was down in Connecticut, recently. We don't usually know what each other are doing, but in this case I noticed some papers The Boss had on his desk, mentioning that so-and-so was going to see a Dr. Haversham."

"But... but what does this all mean?"

"I think you're right. I think Dr. Haversham's research was significant. I think it was significant enough that someone found out about it, and hired the Agency to keep it quiet, likely by bribing your colleague to keep her mouth shut. I doubt sending you the data was part of the deal; I wonder if Dr. Haversham checked in at work today -- or ever will again. But that's not our problem right now. In any event, when you told the journal that you were planning to try to reproduce her work, apparently the Agency couldn't let that happen."

"So who hired you? Who's behind all of this?"

"I have no idea," J responded. "I never do. But this time... I think I need to find out."

---

Hours later, J was no closer to answers than she had been when they'd arrived at the motel. They kept the TV on the news channel, with the volume turned low, on the off chance that something relevant would be mentioned, but nothing was. Meanwhile, J mostly paced the room -- thinking and making hand motions, as if she were talking to herself inside her head -- and Ben had his laptop open, doing some work. Anything to keep his mind off of things.

She was still naked, she seemed more comfortable that way, but Ben had had to put his boxers back on. He just wasn't quite as comfortable as she was in his own skin. He continued to enjoy the sight of her as she paced, though, whenever he looked up from his work.

At one point J fell into old habits, and got down to give the doctor a blowjob while he worked. He wasn't nearly as good as The Boss at pretending to work while he got his cock sucked, but it was a welcome distraction nonetheless. And then she went back to pacing, and thinking.

"Okay, so here are some of the things I still don't get," she finally said, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him. "First, is the Agency trying to kill both of us, or just you? When they sent that team to get you, where they intending to get me as well?"

"Worried about your pension?" he asked.

She playfully smacked at him. "It's a tactical question," she answered. "If they want us both dead, then we both have to hide; if they only want you dead, I might be able to use that to our advantage. I can pretend that 'someone' tried to kill you at the safe house, but that I don't realize it was the Agency."

"First of all, before we go any further, I have a new ground rule: Can you stop saying that they 'want me dead'? I don't know what your life is like, but hearing that phrase over and over is fucking freaking me out!"

She leaned over and gently kissed him. "Sorry," she said. "You're right. I'm treating this like a puzzle, but it's your life. And believe me," she said, running a finger gently along his jaw, "I don't want them to get you either. I won't let them get you. You're going to be okay. We'll figure this out, and we'll get you out of it. Somehow."

He kissed her back. "I know," he said. "I know you'll do what you can. I also know that... well, it might not be up to you. They might get me when your back is turned -- they might get both of us. But... well, forgive me for stating the obvious, but I don't want to die."

They held each other, taking comfort, and were on the verge of coaxing themselves right back into a love-making session -- he was already starting to get hard -- when she suddenly sat up and stared at him.

"Wait a second!" she barked. "You were doing work just now! Were you on the internet?"

"Well... yes," he answered. "The laptop's got a wireless data chip in it, and..." He trailed off, as he realized what the problem was.

"Okay," she said, back to her no-nonsense mode. "We're leaving, now. Leave the laptop on, but we're not taking it with us. Pack everything else -- we're out of here in 2 minutes!"

True to her word, she was dressed and waiting by the door a minute later, patiently waiting for him to get dressed. He didn't know how she'd managed to go from stark naked to completely dressed so quickly, but it was a skill he lacked. Still, they were out the door very quickly, leaving behind the rest of his electronics.

Even though the laptop was still in the room, she made him carry the briefcase. She had no idea if it would help, but having their enemies think he still had the laptop with him might prove to be some kind of tactical advantage.

He was expecting another round of taxicab musical chairs, but instead, when they left the motel, she simply brought them across the street to another motel -- why do motels always clump together like that? he wondered -- and got them a room that was facing the first motel. They sat in the room, in the dark, and she simply watched their original room out the window.

They sat that way for an hour, and he was impressed by her lack of distraction: not once did her attention waver from the view of the motel across the street. But finally, when the hour was done, she spoke: "Okay, we're leaving. I didn't see anything -- I don't know if they found the signal or not -- but I'd rather not take a chance."

They snuck back out of the motel, snagged down a taxi, and went to another area of the city. He assumed it was another part of the city she wasn't familiar with, though, this time, instead of getting a cheap motel, they got out at a nicer hotel.

It was late at night, by this point, and the guy working the desk was clearly bored. So, although they should have had to produce some proof of identity, she managed to pull off the "adulterous, cheating bastard with a hooker" routine again, taking a room under an obviously fake name, and bribing the guy to let them in without showing ID.

They got a room mid-way up the building, on the 7th floor, and as soon as they got in she went back to the window, asking him not to turn on the lights.

"You think we were followed?" he asked.

"I don't know," she murmured in response. "It's harder to tell at night. So, better safe than sorry, I'm going to keep an eye out for a bit. I'm starting to get a bit tired, though," she continued. "I'm not sure how long I can keep this up. Do me a favour, and ..." she smiled, "help me with my endorphins?"

He smiled in return, came up behind her, and helped get her skirt off, while she removed her top. In the blink of an eye, he was inside her, bending her slightly forward so she could continue her vigil, entering her with with slow, gentle strokes. Meanwhile, her attention never wavered from the window; even when he felt her pussy grasping his cock, when she came, nobody looking at her face would have noticed.

He came inside her, and eventually pulled out, pulling her panties (which had been around her knees) back into place. He then moved to pull her skirt back up.

"No, leave it," she responded, though it was clear her attention was on the view out the window, not on him. "Thanks for that," she amended, and she seemed to mean it. It was a weird feeling for him, to fuck her with abandon and then be thanked for it. Others took speed when they wanted to stay awake, but apparently she took an injection of semen and rode the endorphins. And he'd be happy to continue to help her out; she looked so sexy, standing there looking out the window, mostly naked. The ghostly, pale light coming in from the window, her white skin, and the black bra and panties created a beautiful contrast.

"You should get some sleep," she said. "I'll stay here, and wake you if I need you to take a turn keeping lookout."

"I'll try," he responded, but I can't imagine I'll be able to sleep tonight. Too much going on.

She wasn't surprised when he drifted off almost immediately. People usually assumed they wouldn't be able to sleep in these circumstances, but the twin realities were that the body needed sleep, and the mind needed to escape the stress it had been under.

As for her, her vigil never ceased. Her eyes and the back part of her mind constantly scanned the hotel parking lot and surrounding streets, looking for suspicious activity, while the front part of her brain focused on the larger problem: Dr. Martin couldn't stay on the run for the rest of his life. He wasn't cut out for it, for one thing, and it wouldn't be much of a life, for another. Not to mention that she didn't even know if she was in danger herself. If they were going to solve this thing permanently, they'd need to get back on the Agency's radar, in a big way.

The seed of a plan was forming, but there were a lot of details to work out.

---

Ben woke up the next morning feeling quite refreshed. To be honest, it was the first good night's sleep he'd had since he'd foiled his would-be assassin's attempt on his life. J had had a calming effect on him, and a solid night's sleep had done wonders as well.

All of the sex was probably helping, too.

J herself had obviously left the room at some point during the night, because he found her at the table, dressed in new clothes: dark jeans, running shoes, and a slim-fitting button-down top.

She had been reading the paper, but when she noticed that he was awake, she came over and handed him a scrap of paper, on which she had written, Whatever I say, play along.

His formerly relaxed mood was dampened a bit; if she felt it necessary to take such a precaution, it meant that she thought the Agency was listening to them, somehow.

"Oh, you're up," she said out loud.

"Good morning!" he responded. "See anything suspicious last night?"

"No, I think we're good," she responded. "So I think it's time to start planning our next actions."

"Sounds good," he responded, "so what should we do?"

"First thing's first," she said. "I've been wearing these same clothes for two days, as have you. It's time to get something new, and get changed."

He was confused, since she was already wearing new clothes, but she'd told him to play along, so he did.