Fun in the Den Read online

  FUN IN THE DEN

  Part 3 of The Wolf in the Sheep’s Den

  A.S. Peavey

  Copyright 2016 A.S. Peavey

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted by applicable copyright laws, no portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  Published by Peavey Publishing

  ASPeavey.com

  Warning: contains explicit descriptions of adult behavior.

  CONTENTS

  Title

  Copyright Page

  Table of Contents

  Fun in the Den

  Other Works by A.S. Peavey

  About the Author

  I awoke late in the morning to a gentle cough—someone trying to wake me up.

  I nearly forgot where I was. And that’s a bad sign; in my line of work and given my training; I can’t afford to forget where I am for even a moment. Half the time when I sleep it is in the bed of a potential victim, someone that I plan to rob, or to dupe into helping me rob their employer, their place of work, or what have you. Ninety percent of the time, I wake up sharing a bed. No one I sleep with is supposed to know my true and full identity. Even if I’m sleeping with an accomplice, they won’t know the full truth: that I am the Wolf, the world’s most famous burglar.

  It was all the more dangerous because I had never woken up before incognito in the bed of a detective who could track me down and identify me.

  But here I was, after I had come to the detective agency of Dawes and Fowler. After one of my lovers—and, yes, a mark for a robbery—had been assassinated before my eyes.

  When I opened my eyes I was surprised to see that it was Thomas Fowler, not Lydia Dawes, standing by the bed trying to get me to wake up. It was Dawes, Fowler’s wife, that I’d seduced and fucked the night before. Fowler was supposed to be out of town—trying to track me down so I could be arrested for the murder committed by an assassin who was really out to get me.

  I didn’t miss a beat. “Fowler! How good to see you.”

  I smiled up at Fowler, then I threw back the sheet that was covering my nudity. I spread my legs, holding my feet in the air, offering a place for Fowler to settle himself so he could easily enter me and fuck me (it wouldn’t be the first time we’d fucked).

  Of course, I didn’t really expect Fowler to just strip—or at least pull out his cock from his suit pants—and fuck me. Fowler was angry. And no, not because he’d found me naked in his wife’s bed—Dawes and Fowler were a very sharing, open couple—at least with their bodies. Hence why Dawes had been so easy to seduce the night before.

  But Fowler was pissed because I had snuck into his wife’s bed despite being his enemy, and I’d done it without giving a hint (or so I’d thought) to my true identity.

  “Get out of bed!”

  “Oh, but my wet pussy…”

  “What, you think seeing your pussy, I might just strip. That I might forget about your games? That I might treat you like some innocent woman? I’ve been searching for you to arrest you—for murder.”

  “Well if you’re not going to fuck me, where did you wife go? She seemed eager for my pussy last night.”

  “She wanted me to confront you—after I confirmed her suspicions that you really are the Wolf. Now, get the fuck out of that bed and stop acting like you can seduce me.”

  “Or?”

  “Or I will arrest you.”

  “You don’t have the evidence to arrest me, do you?”

  The Wolf was supposed to be linked to Karli’s death. But proving I was the Wolf would be another matter entirely. I’d probably left some DNA behind at her house, but that wouldn’t be enough, not on its own.

  Fowler didn’t try to speak. Instead he threw a robe at me—thick and cotton, not one of his wife’s revealing silk robes. “Put that on and meet us in the kitchen. We’ll talk over breakfast.”

  I went out to the kitchen and joined Fowler and Dawes at their breakfast table. I didn’t put on the robe, nor any other stitch of clothing. With all the people I seduce, I’m hardly self-conscious. But the two detectives would be fully aware of my nudity.

  Even if Fowler hadn’t wanted to admit it, he got turned on by my display. It wasn’t his overriding reaction—I hadn’t expected it to be. But he was turned on, and his wife would certainly remember our antics from the night before. It would be hard for them to overlook my nudity. They’d try. But they would fail.

  But I still didn’t like the way Dawes and Fowler were staring at me. I’m not sure just how much of Dawes’ reaction to me the night before had been an act, but clearly she’d figured out I wasn’t just some floozy hitting on her last night. Fowler hadn’t ceased staring daggers at me, not for a moment since I’d laid eyed on him. Even when I wasn’t looking at him, but had to catch his reflection in a mirror, or a glass of water. He was pissed.

  But I could deal with being stared at—and not in a sexual way.

  It helped that, even if Fowler was wearing a suit, Dawes was wearing a robe—something sexier than what Fowler had wanted me to put on. I could see—and enjoy—her cleavage. I could imagine taking that off her. Hell, I could enjoy fantasizing about either undressing Fowler, or just fucking him while he was still wearing that suit.

  But that wasn’t my job today.

  I just wished they’d keep their heat up a little higher. I’d pay for it if they wanted to do it now—except I couldn’t complain. The entire point of me being stark naked was to say that I had no secrets to hide. Well—no new secrets. Fowler and Dawes knew I was a career thief with a penchant for stealing high art and other riches, who liked to seduce her victims. They knew I was rich on ill-gotten gains.

  And they knew I had a lot of secrets and I wasn’t going to just give those secrets up. I wanted their help, but I wasn’t going to let them arrest me. I wouldn’t tell them anything they could use against me. And they knew that.

  The important thing, though, that I wanted to convince them of was that I wasn’t harboring any new secrets. There was nothing that they would regret not uncovering now. I wasn’t trying to trick them, to use them. I wasn’t looking to steal from their clients—this time. I wasn’t going to use them to cover up my crimes.

  The point was, this time, I was innocent.

  “Okay,” I said, taking the piece of coffee cake they’d left at my place—I was famished after fucking Dawes until I fell asleep. “What do you want?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I think you can help me.” Their stares increased. “I think you’ll want to help me. Because I didn’t kill Karli.”

  They didn’t respond. They just started for a minute. Finally, Fowler said. “What is your name? What am I supposed to call you.”

  “Slut,” I said. “Call me, Slut.”

  “You…” Fowler nearly lunged out of his seat at me. Dawes put out a restraining hand.

  “Your wife was moaning Evie last night. That would work.”

  Unlike most married couples, there was no glance between Fowler and Dawes, no recrimination. They both had the other’s consent to sleep around. They didn’t just have an open relationship though. Like me, they used sex and seduction in their work—though they used it to uncover criminal’s secrets instead of performing crimes.

  “Look…”

  I held up my hands. “Whatever name you want. I go by so many names. Margaux, if you like.” That was the name I had used when I first met Fowler—though last time Fowler called me that, I’d called him childish for using that name. “You have a list of names from all the stories I told yo
u—I’ve used them all at some point. Hell, I’ve used most any female name once or twice. So, I’ll respond to whatever you feel like calling me.”

  “What do your parents call you?” Dawes asked.

  “They don’t. And they won’t call me anything again. I’m not interested in them. And that’s not how I think of myself. That’s one of the names I don’t use. Frankly, I just think of myself as the Wolf. It’s easier that way.”

  “Okay, Slut,” Fowler tried. But he didn’t like the way it came off his tongue. “Evie. Why the hell should we help you?”

  “Aside from the fact that I didn’t kill Karli Hofmann?”

  “But you are a criminal, and one who can generally take care of yourself,” Dawes said.

  I flinched. I’ll admit it. That came a bit too close to home. I could take care of this on my own, I’m certain. But I wanted help. I don’t like to admit it—I don’t like feeling needy. I like being independent. I’m good at what I do, and when I have help on my jobs, it’s always from people who are working for me, under me. But the conspiracy against me presented more trouble than I’d ever encountered before. Someone had figured out my identity—and, unlike Fowler, without my help.

  Now, if Fowler had said that, I wouldn’t have flinched. He was being an ass right now—though maybe I deserved some of his anger. Dawes, however, spoke earnestly.

  “Yeah. And if that’s your attitude, the real killer will stay loose. Maybe they’ll kill again. I have a feeling they’re after me, but they’ll kill innocent people to get at me. They already killed Karli.” I wasn’t going to admit that she wasn’t completely innocent. They knew enough about my selection of targets to know that I don’t rob from the innocent.

  Fowler and Dawes look at each other. “Why should we trust your word?” Fowler asked.

  “I don’t think you should. I didn’t imagine you would. I just think, when you’ve learned more about what happened, when you see what evidence has been faked, you won’t have any choice but to believe me.”

  “Okay,” Dawes said. “What’s your story.”

  I explained what had happened. I tried to avoid admitting any guilt, I tried to avoid admitting that I had planned to rob Karli, though I didn’t want to pretend that I wasn’t. I just didn’t want to say it for their recording devices—I’m sure they had something hidden. I wasn’t there to bend the truth. Dawes and Fowler would uncover any of my lies and they’d have cause to kick me out and not help me. Maybe they’d still seek justice for Karli, but they’d do that without providing help or shelter.

  “I still don’t trust you,” Fowler said. “You could just be infiltrating us to figure out what we and the police know. You feed us some cockamamie story to get us busy while you search our home.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If that’s what you think, then cuff me. Tie me up. Whatever you want to do to make yourself feel safe until you can convince yourself that, right now, I’m not your enemy.” I grabbed a strawberry and slowly ate it, playing with it on my tongue.

  “You’d like to be tied up, wouldn’t you?” Fowler said. “You probably have some kinky game? You’d like to be tied up and spanked and made to look vulnerable so we’ll believe you actually are vulnerable? Meanwhile you’re getting off on duping me.”

  “Yeah. You could spank me for the dirty tricks I played on you the last time we met.”

  I’d never met Dawes before the previous night, but I’d spent a long night with Fowler a few months back. He thought he was tracking me down, fooling me into telling him true stories about my crimes, unaware that he was a detective, and thus capable of using my stories against me, to have me arrested and thrown in jail for my crimes.

  But I had known he was a detective the whole time. So the stories I told were close to but not exactly true. That way, Fowler would be enthralled, but he’d never learn anything he could use to have me arrested.

  More than that. He hadn’t come to me on some anonymous tip-off. I’d sent the tip, through an accomplice, so I could use him to gain access to the agency’s files, and in turn make a run at the art collection of one of Dawes and Fowler’s clients.

  Hence my tenuous situation in their home. Though the only reason I had come to Dawes was because, after my run in, after Fowler actually managed to halt my planned theft, even if he didn’t manage to get any dirt he could use to arrest me, I could respect the prowess of their detective agency. Dawes and Fowler could, I believed, be of some use in my present circumstances. If I kept my guard up, they wouldn’t outwit me and throw me in jail. But they’d keep their guard up too.

  That didn’t mean I had to like the way Fowler talked to me.

  “You could fuck me, you could use my holes, thinking about getting back at me. Using me as the slut you think I deserve to be.”

  Fowler frowned at me. I was getting him more and more pissed. I shouldn’t have, but after having one of my lovers killed by an assassin targeting me, I needed a little relief. Plus, Dawes was there to restrain him. And, eventually, he’d get over himself.

  So I pushed further.

  “Or, you could tie me up and make me watching the two of you fucking for a while. I’m sure you’re both horny right now—and not just because I’m sitting here naked, sucking my food like a cock, more than I’m eating it. It’s because you two haven’t seen each other in a little while.”

  “Why you…!”

  Fowler would have hit me, if only he could have reached me across the table.

  I turned to his wife. “Lydia, could you deal with your husband?”

  Dawes turned to Fowler. “It’s unbecoming dear.” Then she turned back to me. “And you should definitely not incite him.”

  I held up my hands. “Fine.”

  “We need to get down to business,” Dawes said.

  “You’re sure we can’t fuck first?” I got up and wandered over to the sink to refill my water glass, swaying my naked ass the whole time.

  It didn’t work. I hadn’t expected it to.

  “Business,” Dawes repeated.

  “Fine.” I would stop trying to get them horny—or hornier. Horny enough to forget who I was and fuck me. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. I was tempted to go back to the bedroom and get that robe, but that would be a sign of weakness. So I stayed naked while we talked.

  I didn’t want to skip to fucking, honestly.

  Part of me did. Okay? But most of me wanted to hear what Dawes and Fowler had to say. I wanted to hear the evidence against me from the perspective of detectives chasing me. I’d been framed for a murder, and I wanted to know how my enemy, whoever they were, had done it. That crime scene should have looked like a home invasion murder. It should have looked like the other occupant of the bed was just as innocent as the murdered woman.

  Except, of course, for the fact that I had skipped town. But, considering that someone had tried to kill me, that should be understandable. Besides, there should have been signs of a struggle. Signs of a struggle throughout the house, and far from where the assassin had killed Karli in the hallway. Probably even signs that the struggle had taken place after the floor started collecting blood.

  So what had they done to restage the crime scene?

  Or who, it seemed, had pulled strings with the police chief?

  After breakfast—after they were done with breakfast and I decided to give up the game and pretend like I’d eaten my fill as well, rather than belaboring the point and making it look like I would suffer from toying with them—they led me into their library (after again giving me a chance to put on a robe, which I finally did). On one side it was full of books of criminology and law (most of which hadn’t been read, it looked like, since before Dawes and Fowler acquired them, probably since the dawn of the digital era). The other side held a random assortment of even older hardbacks, fiction and non-fiction.

  Maybe they read some of the books. Or maybe they had once read some of these books, but I doubted they had the time anymore.

  This, though, was their home off
ice. They had two easy chairs on the criminology side of the library which they sat down in. There was an easy chair on the other side of the library which they directed me to sit in.

  I stood. I wandered around the library, looking at the books. I would not let them slot me into one of their scenarios where I was their client and they had to question me. I would play along and answer their questions but I wanted to make it clear that I had a role to play aside from helpless client. They had hinted a little at information that wasn’t public knowledge over breakfast, but mostly they had recapitulated what was known in the media—while making it clear that they knew more.

  I had to answer their questions—at least, before they would explain anything. I had to tell them my role, from my perspective. I explained what had happened with Karli. Try as I might, they wanted me to tell them how I had scoped her place out, how I had met her, what we did (besides fuck) as I prepared for my heist.

  At least they let me speak in figurative language and avoid admitting that I was a thief. If they weren’t before, I had no illusions but that, by now, they had started recording. Though they also had tablets in hand to jot down their reactions and, of course, they were known for their highly trained memories which they had honed over years and years like the rest of their minds (and like I had trained my own mind).

  I was fully aware the entire time that this was a momentary truce. I was aware that Dawes and Fowler were my enemies, and while they would help me for now (if I convinced them of the truth, that I wasn’t the bad girl—for the moment), this was temporary. I was aware that anything I said without care, any trust I gave them, could come back to haunt me later.

  So I couldn’t make any clear statements of my crimes.

  I kept it honest otherwise, at least as much as possible. And Dawes and Fowler both also kept me honest. They couldn’t quite see through me. But if I slipped up even a little bit, they’d catch me. I tried to hide my skills when I was talking about evading and combating my assailant, and they told me to cut that out.