Models and Super Spies Ch. 07

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Turning Point.
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Part 7 of the 13 part series

Updated 10/05/2022
Created 03/13/2009
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Chapter 7: Turning Point

My dearest Trey,

This isn't a goodbye or an end. It's just a pause. Things are confusing for me right now, and I can't keep hurting you like this. I need to figure a few things out on my own. I love you more than ever. It's why this is so hard. Some day, I hope you can forgive me. I love you.

Alicia

***

Liz's perfectly round breasts bounced with each downward thrust. Vincent watched her muscles flex and dance beneath her sweaty, freckled flesh. God, she knew how to fuck. They'd already done it three times the night before, and he'd awoken with his cock shoved half-way down her throat. She was insatiable.

"Ngh!" she cried, tossing her long dark hair. She raked her fingers through the sweaty locks and grinded her pussy down against the root of his cock.

"You know, you fuck even better as a brunette," he teased as she came back to earth. Liz laughed, returned to her slow, rhythmic gyrations. "But I'm on to you…"

He looked down at their union, where the dark curls of his pubic hair entwined with her trimmed auburn triangle.

The wig-wearing redhead rolled her eyes. "I think your inspection's a bit more thorough than most."

"What about Sarah Ellison? What's the model-gone-call-girl going to say when she goes down on your enlightening bush?"

"Now why would that happen, Vincent? I thought the plan was that it wouldn't ever get to that…"

"You never know. Plans change. Account for every angle; isn't that what they taught us?"

"You just want to see me with another woman."

Vincent laughed. It was true. They'd been lovers practically since their first assignment, but he'd actually never seen her compromise herself, men or women alike. Now that he was the one calling the shots, maybe he could use his power… "Maybe…"

"You're so full of yourself! Now come on, finish up. I need to get back to base camp…"

They shifted on the bed, Vincent moving in behind his petite lover. As he looked down at her body, back bowed forward, on all fours, he imagined the voluptuous blonde model, Sarah, at her head, legs splayed as she pulled Liz's mouth against her cunt.

"Oh fuck," he groaned at the fantasy, jerking faster into her. When Sarah became Alicia, he came.

***

Alicia sighed as she pulled her red Mercedes convertible up to the curb. What a mess she'd made of her life. Just a month ago, she had a loving husband, a stable household, and a clear picture of her future.

The tall blonde pulled her two suitcases from the trunk. Was this what her life amounted to now? A few pieces of clothes and toiletries shoved into a couple wheelie bags?

She'd meant what she wrote in her letter. This was something she needed to work out on her own. But she wasn't quite ready to even think about a future without Trey. Not yet. The other possibility – of never seeing him again – was too grim.

"So why here?" she asked aloud, forcing herself back into the here and now. She looked around at the empty street, lined with thick palm trees. She took in the modest sized, yet overpriced homes. She stood at the end of Vincent Silva's driveway in Larchmount. Truth was, she had nowhere else to go. She'd briefly thought about Alexander Mishin's, but after what she'd seen last night, he probably saw her as just another pretty face. At least Vincent cared for her.

Still uncertain as to whether this was the right thing to do or not, she rolled her bags up to Vincent's front door and rang the bell. She almost fled as she waited, tapping her heeled foot nervously on the concrete stoop.

A cute little brunette opened the door. Not Vincent. For a moment, Alicia thought she'd come to the wrong place. The girl was wearing an oversized men's shirt, her shapely bare legs emerging from beneath the tails, and her long dark hair was mussed.

The brunette's gray eyes went wide for a moment as the two women looked at one another. "Vincent, I think it's for you," she shouted over her shoulder, quickly disappearing without a word to Alicia.

The blonde was stunned. So this was Vincent's house. And… who the fuck was this woman?! She felt hysteria creeping in. He never mentioned anyone else, but why would he? He was a male. And he'd never been a faithful one at that. God, she felt so naïve!

"Alicia, wait!" she heard her old lover say as she turned to go.

She stopped, but kept her back to him. "Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Why, after all these years, did you come back into my LIFE!?" By the end of her sentence, she was screaming. "Fuck, I should have known! I should have FUCKING KNOWN!"

Tears were streaming down her face as she dragged her bags back out to the street. Fuck, so stupid! Everything started to annoy her. The palm trees and their unsatisfying shadows. The bright, unflinching LA sun. The way her bribe-bought convertible chirped happily as she unlocked it. How she could ever trust a rat bastard like Vincent Silva!

"Alicia, hold on. Let's talk about this!" Vincent said, following her out of the house. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants, but that didn't seem to stop him.

"Stay away from me, asshole!" she screamed, slamming the trunk shut once again. She could barely see through her tears and fumbled with the handle. "Fuck," she muttered.

Vincent was behind her before she could get it open, his strong arms wrapping themselves around her, pinning her to the car. He smelled good, although not fresh. He smelled like a man. Because…

"Why? Why Vince? Why, why, why?"

She felt him look over his shoulder. At that brunette? At that whore? "Let's drive around," he said at last, his voice calm and soothing. "There's a lot I need to explain." He stepped away, but stopped her when she went to open the door. "And… I think it's probably best that you let me drive…"

***

Trey re-read the crumpled note again. Not an end… He stared around his bedroom. It looked like it'd been turned over by a burglar. Drawers were half open, feminine clothing spilling out. "Not an ending?" he said aloud. "Then what the fuck is it?!"

He balled the paper up again and threw it across the room. Again. Things were hard for her?! Things were a little bit complicated for him, too!

His mind seethed as he thought of her lover. That young, handsome guy from last night. Were they together now? Laughing at him as they fucked?

Trey punched the wall, sending his fist through the drywall with a satisfying crunch. His phone rang. He didn't recognize the number.

"A note?!" he answered, assuming it was his wife, calling from her lover's place.

"Excuse me?" a woman's voice asked – not Alicia's.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was someone else…"

"Is this a bad time? I can call back later." Through the fog of his rage, he recognized the voice. Erin Small. The part of the night before he'd spotted his wife started to return. The part that had to do with work.

"No, I'm sorry. I just learned that one of my employees quit on me. Thought you might be him."

"Ah," Erin said. Trey hoped she bought it. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to let you know that we're on for tonight. 9 o'clock?"

"Of course. My wife has already left." He couldn't keep all the bitterness out of the statement, but he got most of it.

"Lovely. 9 then. Drink plenty of fluids beforehand!" With a laugh, she hung up.

Work, he thought. Always work. He glanced at his right hand. His knuckles were raw, some of the skin giving way to blood. He'd need to wrap it, but delighted in the burning throb of pain. That much was real. That much he could cling to.

He sighed. He needed to check in. He could sort out his marriage later.

***

"Let me get this straight. You're CIA? And you're… recruiting me for some investigation?" Alicia asked incredulously. The whole situation was made even more absurd due to the fact that the man explaining it was driving around town wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe…"

Vincent nodded. "I thought you might feel that way. It's why I'm going to prove it to you."

"Oh yeah? Going to show me your badge? Going to show me some… documents?" She laughed. Fuck, this wasn't the explanation she'd expected. At least it made her self-loathing and anger seem a little absurd. At least she wasn't crazy like this guy.

"Not quite. I'm taking you to CIA headquarters."

"This ought to be good," she said sarcastically, thinking they would pull up to some hokey looking movie set.

Instead, they pulled up to a very official looking security gate. A man in uniform came out, glanced at Vincent Silva's state of undress, and said, "Sir, this is a restricted area. Please turn your vehicle around and—"

Vincent produced a badge, drawing a scoff from Alicia. But still, she looked on curiously. The guard took the badge from him and returned to his booth, picking up the phone.

"Shouldn't they know who you are if you work here?" Alicia asked sarcastically. She felt numb. Nothing mattered anymore. She was being a bitch but didn't care.

"Well, that's a bit complicated. You see, I run a black ops division. I try not to come here unless it's an emergency."

"And I'm an emergency?"

He looked at her, his face deadly serious and nodded. "Oh yes. Very much."

"Sorry about the confusion, sir. Go right ahead," the guard nodded and the gate rose.

Vincent pulled in, driving up to a low sitting Federal building. Still could be a set, she thought. Vincent seemed to read her mind. "I suppose you could think all these people are extras," he said, parking her Mercedes right at the front doors. He scratched his five o'clock shadow thoughtfully. "Go ahead and talk to them. I assure you, this is all real."

Alicia actually did question a couple on their way in. They seemed to give intelligent questions, rather than the blank stares she'd assume an uninformed actor would. If this was a set, it was the best she'd ever seen. The gold emblazoned crest of the CIA spread itself across the floor of the reception area. The blonde was beginning to think this was actually legitimate.

A few of the workers gave them an odd looks – particularly Vincent and his lack of clothing. They bypassed the line at the metal detector with another flash of Vincent's badge (although not without going through the detectors).

At last, Vincent escorted her into what was his office, overlooking the green CIA campus. He had an extra shirt in his closet that he pulled on before settling in behind his desk. "Believe me now?" he asked. Alicia was surprised he wasn't smug about the whole thing, but tired instead.

She sat uneasily on the edge of one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I'm starting to," she said hesitantly, looking around the room. Pictures of Vincent with various important looking men hung on the wall. His family, including his ex-wife, Karen, sat on the window behind him.

"Look, Alicia, I'm endangering the entire mission by bringing you here, as well as my cover, but I got the feeling you wouldn't believe me any other way."

Alicia didn't say anything. He was right. And still, despite all the evidence working against her, she was skeptical.

Vincent unlocked a drawer in his desk and extracted a file. "We need your help. This is kind of a last resort deal here. We don't like involving civilians, but we've run out of options."

He opened the file. Inside was a photo of Alexander Mishin. "We've been watching Mishin for a while. Even tried to get someone inside, but that failed. When I saw your name come up on the list of models he had under contract… I know it's a lot to ask, but I also know you can do this."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Nothing much. Act as what we call a 'confidential informant.' A 'CI.' You don't need to do anything differently than you'd normally do. Just keep your eyes and ears open."

"Open for what? I'm sorry if I'm being dense, but I'm not sure what you could possibly be watching Alex for…"

Vincent sighed, mouthing the word, "Alex." "Alexander Mishin may appear harmless, but I can assure you, he's anything but. He's involved in gun trafficking, prostitution, and blackmail, to name a few things. But what we're most concerned with is his information dealing."

"Oh my God? You can't be serious. Alex couldn't…"

"We've been watching him for a while but have never been able to pin anything on him." He hesitated, as though uncertain whether he should continue. "So we leaked him a list of CIA operatives currently working black ops in the US."

"I thought the CIA only operates out of the country?"

Vincent's blank stare was answer enough. Alicia's face colored in her naiveté. "The list was meant to be a dummy, but…"

"It's not. How?" Alicia finished for him.

"We have a mole inside," he sighed. She suddenly saw the exhaustion in his features. This thing had been stressing him out for a long time. "No, not 'we.' I do. Inside my unit. I… I can't trust any of my agents. But I think I can trust you."

Alicia stared at him, her soft brown eyes wide. "Yes," she whispered.

Vincent nodded, his face softening. "From what I've learned, Mishin is looking for a buyer, and plans to sell it. Soon. Maybe as soon as the next week. We're still gathering intel, but things are urgent now."

"What can I do to help?" Alicia asked, clinging to his every word.

"Well, there's an outside chance…" He hesitated again, looking out the window.

"Yes? Outside chance?"

"As I said, Mishin's interests run all over the place. His high end call-girl service comes right out of his contracted models…"

"No…" Alicia said, her mouth dropping.

"Unfortunately, yes. And there's a chance you might be approached next."

Alicia started to shake in her chair. He wasn't asking… he couldn't be implying… "I can't…"

Vincent shook his head. "And I'm not asking you to. I just need you to pretend, OK? We've never had someone so close to his inner circle. We're desperate. If that list gets into the wrong hands…"

"But you're asking me to…"

He shook his head. "We have agents all over that operation, just not… inside it. You'll never have to 'compromise' yourself, understand?."

Alicia rubbed her eyes. Jesus Christ! Too much information, too fast. "I need to think about it."

Vincent nodded thoughtfully, but said, "We don't have much time. If you can't do this, then I'm going to have to figure out another way. Those agents only have two weeks left, max."

Oh, God, what was she getting herself into? She felt like she was falling deeper and deeper into a well with no bottom. "OK, I'll do it. Where do I sign?"

Vincent relaxed, his shoulders slumping back into his seat. "Thank you, Alicia. You… you have no idea what this means to me. To the United States." He flipped the file closed and filed it away. "No signing. This conversation never happened. I'm not even supposed to have an office here."

The blonde shivered one last time, this time at the intrigue. She'd been looking for adventure, for something different. Here it was. Was she ready?

***

The CIA headquarters in LA, Liz thought again, going over the facts that she knew so far. Why had he brought her here? Seemed a bit much just to secure a confidential informant…

And why had Alicia Kennedy shown up on Vincent's doorstep in the first place? Liz almost screamed in surprise when she opened the door to her new trainee's wife.

Things weren't adding up, and she was determined to figure out just what the fuck was going on. So she followed them. They'd meandered through LA, seemingly randomly, although Liz recognized what he was doing: trying to flush out any tails he might have.

But the redhead was good at what she did. The best, even. It's why she'd come out of the field to train other agents. Even Vincent Silva wouldn't have spotted her; of that, she was 99% sure.

Now, she waited outside the gates. She waited for close to an hour before Alicia's red convertible pulled away. She nearly followed before she realized that the blonde was the only passenger. It wasn't Alicia that she was curious about. Not anymore.

An unmarked, dark blue Ford followed about ten minutes later. The driver behind the wheel was Vincent, who'd picked up a shirt somewhere, and a couple of dark shades. She let him get a couple blocks away before pulling away from the curb and following.

One thing was certain: he wasn't heading home…

***

Alicia barely made it out the gates of CIA headquarters before she started to cry. The gravity of her situation finally hit her. Her life was in tatters. No husband. No one she could trust. And now, she couldn't even share this with anyone but Vincent, who instructed her to stay away until he contacted her.

And now, she really had no idea where to go. Alex's place was out – the thought of the young mogul and all of his secrets still made her stomach go queasy. Vince's was off-limits. Certainly not her own place.

Her cell went off just as she was wondering what motel to check into. Caller ID read, "Erin Small." She glanced at it, wondering how the club owner got her number, before picking it up.

"Erin?"

"Alicia! How are things?" The woman's refined voice sounded so welcoming. The young blonde felt her tears begin to well up.

"They've been better." Her voice wavered a little.

"Is something wrong? You sound… are you crying?"

"Maybe…" She sniffed.

"I heard about what happened last night with Michelle. Don't let that slut trouble you any longer. She's been black listed by all my clubs and—"

"No, it's not that," Alicia interrupted, although she couldn't help but feel a little happy that the former "Supermodel" would have a little harder time partying from now on. "I… I left my husband."

"Wow." Erin's voice was stunned now. "I guess… I had no idea you were even married!"

Alicia didn't even really hear her. "I feel so lost. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just driving around and I have no place to stay and no one to talk to and I feel so tired. And I just want to stop for a minute…"

"Shh, shh, honey. Look, I'm actually on my way out of town for the night, but you're welcome to stay at my place."

"Really?"

"Really. I'll leave the keys under the mat. Do you have a pen? Write this address down."

"Hold on," Alicia said, pulling off the road and rooting through her purse.

"I'll be back around noon tomorrow. Make yourself at home and… don't mind the boxes. I'm in the process of moving."

"Thanks, Erin. You have no idea what this means to me."

"Stay put until morning, dear. I'd like to talk to you about something when I get back."

***

Trey listened for it: the collective groan of nearly everyone in the bar as "I Will Survive" (the Cake version) played yet again on the jukebox. He didn't laugh. He hadn't dumped ten dollars in requests into the machine to be funny.

Trey had shifted into full, self-pitying mode. The spoken lyrics of Cake's version helped drive that feeling home. His chips were down – way down. He'd lost the love of his life. But he'd survive. Right?

"There you are!" a woman's familiar, yet still surreal, Southern lilt chided. He looked, feeling his vision blur as he did so. Caroline Aurora Turner slid into the booth next to him. "You haven't been answering my calls. Shit, sugar, no one has! Had to track you via the GPS in your mobile."

Trey shrugged. "I've been taking it easy." He waved his waitress over for another. Caroline shut that down fast.

"No more, hon. We've got work to do tonight. You're meeting up with Kelly, and while it's all in the script, I think it's best you're sober."

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